“For your love,
For your love
I would give the stars above.”
The Yardbird (1965)
Love, or so the theory goes, is an evolutionary response to ensuring the continuation of the human species by keeping the family together to raise their young. But what is the evolutionary benefit of being in love with someone who wants nothing to do with you? And continuing to be in love with that person four years past the breakup, through various relationships? Shouldn’t there be some sort of a fail-safe mechanism? At this point my pain is intermixed with a sort of a wry amusement at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.
The shocking thing is that pretty much anything can set my heart a-flutter: from hearing a client’s Irish accent (we both like Irish folk rock), to merely seeing someone smile because her the image of her smile pops up in my mind, to simply making a cup of tea. The pang of the empty feeling inside hits immediately, like a current. You see it coming yet it shock you nevertheless.
I keep thinking of going somewhere. Running away, if I’m honest… Would it make a difference? Would the change of scenery help or would Yours Truly be just as miserable elsewhere? We all carry our pain and hope that it doesn’t crush us. It suffocates and strangles and it makes the simplest tasks seem insurmountable. There are plenty of opportunities to enjoy, to take advantage of yet even if I do, there is no enjoyment and it feels empty and bland. It is also so bloody ridiculous to be that dramatic about a rather brief relationship that happened years ago. That in itself is a shock.
I am not delusional (one hopes). There is no basis in reality to think that somehow we will end up together, that she will change her mind. Nor am I the coercive or abusive type to constantly pursue someone who has previously made it clear to hold no interest in yours truly. I will not be showing up outside her door with a boombox or cards. In the end, all one can do is to carry on and hope for the best. Whatever that might turn out to be. Or – for fuck’s sake! – at least not for worse than now…
It has been a long time since the last post. There was improvement. Then things got worse. Then better again. Slowly, overall, things have improved. The need to share, to post has waned. Every year, around the anniversary of the breakup and around her birthday, the feeling of hopelessness, of despair would return. Except the breakup anniversary this year went by with nary a thought of her, save for realisation that there was nothing but contentment and the usual darkness had not enveloped me as it did the years before.
And yet, here we are. Despite other relationships, despite all the progress, the thoughts of Her have permeated my vary being these past few weeks. Why? Why now? Why still? Life has been getting better! There’s someone who really likes me and respects me. And She is in a relationship as well.
Couple of years ago we have reconnected and would occasionally hang out. She had broken up with a boyfriend and was probably feeling lonely and decided to contact me. We did not spend a lot of time together but we would go to shows or get a drink every now and then. All my friends were vehemently against it but even that <a href="Meager“>meager presence of her in my life was enough. It was better than nothing!
But for the last half a year or so She has been gone from my life again. And that still hurts. It shouldn’t but it does. I wish it didn’t but it does. I wish the pain would stop but on and on it goes…
Yours Truly is so truly and incredibly fucked. I am currently trying to dig myself out of the whole I plunged into head first at work. Why? Because I am too preoccupied with my own condition. My shrinks say it is a good sign though one suspects that my employer would disagree.
The main issue in this mess, however, is that the only thing that got me to calm down today and be able to function, was to dig out the photos of my EX. The one. One suspects that my shrinks would not agree that this is a good sign.
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.
I ran into her again. We exchanged a few words. She smiled. Bloody hell, I missed that smile!
I am still shaken from the encounter with the ex yesterday afternoon. Seeing her there, smiling, chatting with others only served to remind me how much I missed that smile, that voice. It also highlighted that Yours Truly has been living in the world of shadows and ephemeral memories for the past 11 or so months.
Ancient Greek poet Heraclitus wrote:
“Immortal mortals, mortal immortals, one living the others death and dying the others life.” In the all too brief a time that I spent with her, I have felt like an immortal god of old. Yet in losing her I have come to live the death of my greatness and I have been dying in the life without her in it.
And yet I have grown. I am most certainly not the same heartbroken wet mess that first started writing this blog nearly a year ago. She has lost that god-like status yours truly has endowed her with; I see her in a somewhat different light. Despite all that my feelings for her have not changed. My therapist asked me whether I would get back together with her should she decide to come back. He was not pleased to know that even after the way she treated me I would still go down that rabbit hole. Needless to say that yesterday’s encounter drove home the message that she would not come back to me. Seeing me there was nothing more than an afterthought. Just like our entire relationship.
How does one increase own pulse rate from a regular steady 80-84 to a breakneck racing 154? Simple: run into the theatre where you are doing a show and find yourself face-to-face with your ex sitting at the ticket desk. You know, the EX? As my friend puts it, The One That Almost Kills You. Fan-fucking-tastic!
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.