Hello my dearest. It has been a long time since I have last written to you. Since the last time, I have not expected to write again and yet here we are.
It has been a year since you left me and, oh, what a rough year it has been. A stormy time when waves of anguish, squalls of despair, and clouds of darkness were my constant companions. Say what you will about the dark thoughts, at least they stay.
We have met face to face a couple of times since the worst of the storm has past. It was all very adult and civilised. Yet underneath my calm demeanour a vortex of the pyre of my love for you still burns as strongly as when I wrote that fateful letter that set you off so greatly.
Not many things have changed in my life in these past twelve months. Still as troubled as long before our lives intersected, I have made strides to improve my dreary existence, to believe in myself, to believe there is a better future for me. These last twelve months of extensive psychotherapy have also opened my eyes to see your actions in a more realistic light of not being all that ethical or worthy. And yet it remains a mystery to my therapists and to myself why I still love you. What poison have I drank to still be infected this way? What sin have I committed to still suffer the consequences? Or is love itself is my cardinal transgression?
The road ahead of me is dark and full of mysteries. One hopes that when I see the light, it will be the end of the tunnel and not the light of the oncoming train.
Sunday morning. I am on a set, filming inserts for the play that I am doing. There is a great cast of people associated with this production. I did my part in two takes and helped out on the set for other’s camera time. I should be feeling great!
And yet yours truly is unsettled. I still get constantly rattled by sudden pangs of memory of love lost. It is not helping, of course, that my favourite and most important day of the year is coming up (no, it is not my birthday) and last year I spent it with who I thought (and despite everything, frankly still feel) was the most wonderful human being in the world.
People in my life keep telling me that I am a great chap, that I have a lot of things going for me, that I am funny and interesting. So why don’t I feel it? Why do I not feel that I deserve good things? Why have I never felt that way in my entire life?
(Continued from The Inevitable.)
It has been a few hours since The Encounter, if it can even be called that. I kept walking and it is doubtful she had even seen me. Granted, it was only a matter of time until our paths would cross; but it was shocking nevertheless.
And yet, that is not the full story for an ironic twist made the whole experience far worse. I was on my way to the theatre for sketch practice. The sketch we were working on was about unrequited love. Great! In the whole sketch I have only one word at the end of it. We were practicing doing things in different ways and basically just doing the sketch about unrequited love over, and over, and over again and, as much as I am looking forward to the full performance in a big show, the entire bloody time I was thinking that I would rather have been any-fucking-where else doing anything else but that bloody sketch.
I have reached the point in the search for Malaysian airliner news cycle where it is starting to make me even more depressed than I normally am. If you have been reading my blog, you already know that yours truly is not a happy go lucky character. Far from it! Being a very depressed individual, it is easy to absorb depressing information because it is not making one feel worse than one already is. Not any more! Since the beginning, I have been listening to the daily reports about the search and about the relatives of the people on flight MH370. This morning BBC News Service decided to interview a young woman who was moving to Malaysia from Beijing with her father. Her father was on the ill-fated airliner coming back to Beijing to finalise the moving arrangements. And I just could not take it any more and switched the station. Surprisingly enough for yours truly, I have attained the point of misery saturation. The good news is that before my meltdown last August listening to more and more MH370 news coverage would not have affected me. Not being able to absorb additional misery speaks to the fact that yours truly is getting better and – dare I say it? – happier.
Avoiding additional informational input is a good way to insulate self from misery. However, when that is not enough and you feel the blues deep in your soul, listening to Warren Haynes’ song “Soulshine” usually gives my soul a lift and leaves me feeling a bit more hopeful than before. So, enjoy!
As I wander this night in my neighbourhood park
And I peer inside at my self that’s so dark
I cry out “Oh, Angel! Why did you go away?
Why did you have to leave me, let my sunshine turn grey?
Will I meet some else? Will she love me as due?
Will our love be as strong as what I felt for you?”
As I wander alone in the darkness again
Your image returns like a bane of my brain.
Like a desert mirage your friendship has gone.
You left me alone with one hope forlorn.
One hope that maybe in some strange universe
You are loving me back. Is that so perverse?
As I stand here tonight, in this cold, lonely park
I strive not to dwell on the past oh so dark.
But I wish you were here. I can’t help it, I do.
And I beg your forgiveness for having fallen for you.
A good day of climbing today. Did some good routes and spent some quality time with friends on the cliffs. And now, after a good meal we are sitting around the fire and chilling.
So why does this seem like work? Why do I feel like fleeing people that have been my friends and climbing partner’s for over five years?
So I did flee. I’m sitting in the dark and listening to the waves of the tide coming in. It is quite peaceful. And cold. (It is fucking cold even in my pants that I usually wear for ice climbing and a down jacket. The temperature sure does change a lot in the North East.) I close my eyes and for a moment things disappear. Civilisation, politics, economy, my broken heart… it all fades away.
Could the heartbreak change things for me that much? I have always enjoyed spending time with these folks. I love sitting around the campfire and tell and listen to stories. But now it is different, unbearable even.
I have no answer. Best I can do is just amble on and hope that sooner or later I will find my path.
And so starts a week of being busy every waking hour. My hope is that I will be too busy to think about Her.
I will try to keep posting if only to make status updates.
I may not have high hopes but I will be OK if my simple hopes of making it through the next two weeks without being constantly miserable will come true.
It feels like I’m thousand years old. Can barely type due to tendinitis in my right wrist. Can barely walk due to a knee injury from the weekend’s hike. Can’t turn my head to the right because a nerve is pinched or the muscle is inflamed (or something entirely different is going on) in my neck.