Getting old. There’s a lot more grey hair now than there was just a few months ago. Do I need this stress?
I was walking to the theatre this afternoon for the improv show and was hoping that solo scenes would not be a part of it. In improv we sometimes use a competition-like format. It is not a competition in a sports sense but rather a way to facilitate it for the audience to invest themselves in the show and connect to the characters on stage. In any competition there are winners and losers but on stage we all support each other. The real competition is always against self in the constant strife to get better and to do a good show. That said, nobody likes to lose spectacularly which is my track record with solo scenes. OK, so it is was a track record of one but, oh, what a disastrous one!
So as I was getting closer to the theatre, an anticipation of the rush of being on stage has set in and I stopped dreading the possibility of facing my nemesis. Or rather being inside my nemesis? Well, you know what I mean.
As the “competition” progressed and other players left the show (no, it is not like wrestling – we do not determine winners or losers; it is all improvised) it was down to three players including yours truly. If you thinking “Oh my god! The last round is going to involve solo scenes!”, you are correct! Of course, being a much more experienced improviser than I was the last time I had a lot more tools in my improv belt. Of course, having gone through the emotional rollercoaster of the last three months, I felt about as sure of myself as a eunuch in a whorehouse. I have about zero self-assurance. In my time as an improviser, I had numerous opportunities to train with some amazing artists. I chose to put my trust in their craft and in what they have taught me. Without thinking that it was all on me, I was able to relax and pull together a pretty amazing scene that the audience loved. I did not end up winning the show but I came in second and that was my best showing so far. Afterwards, fellow improvisers came up to congratulate me and tell me how much they loved my solo scene. It was a success.
And yet, it was a success that still felt empty, for She was not with me. She will never know what happened tonight. In the end, win or lose, every success feels like a loss for I have lost Her.
Google and smartphones have changed the conversational landscape. People do not argue for hours anymore about a matter of fact: they just whip out their smartphones and look it up. I do it all the time because my memory sucks. I keep going “you know, it’s that thing, from that place… you know what I’m talking about!” Nobody does, of course, which is why Google and HTC are directly responsible for keeping my sanity functioning. When I had my meltdown, I even Googled “psychotherapy in (my city)” and “ways to cope.”
Sadly, Google itself is yet to move into the realm of therapy. Or online dating for that matter, which, I am sure, will be quite a day! So apart from the constant searchers for the “whatsitcalleds” and the “whatchamacallits,” there is something that I keep plugging into Google in the hopes of finding something new, something that would change my current situation. In the hopes of being able to get ideas on how to keep on living after being dumped by the love of my life, I have been googling the self-help sites on how to do just that. There even was the “No B. S. Guide” from Cosmopolitan that was full of B.S. So here are some thoughts on their suggestions.
1. Avoid contact.
In my case that is not the issue since She was clear about me never speaking to Her again. I desperately wish I could but I am respecting Her wishes on the matter.
2. Think about Her faults.
Easy. She is impatient, presumptuous, and is seriously lacking in tact. Which is why She reacted the way She did to my letter: She misunderstood some stuff and decided to think the worst of me. My therapist insists my letter was quite clear and there was nothing to misunderstand; in his words she is a “cold bitch.” Whether logical or not, I do not believe that.
3. Find someone else.
This is damned hard for several reasons. I was never that good with women at the best of times. Except now I have no desire to find someone new. In fact, it is worse than that. My usually overly active sex drive is all but gone. My brain has done what millions of years of evolution could not: it made a male (Yours Truly) monogamous. Of course with my luck that means I am on a self-imposed abstinence regime. Be still my heart!
4. Give it time.
Time cures all. Or so they say. We shall see. So far – not so good. It has been about three and a half months and though the worst of the pain has either subsided or I have just gotten used to it, I am still just as much in love with Her as I was before.
So I guess that means that the search for the cure from unrequited love continues. And I still love Her.
Google, Google on the screen,
Won’t you wipe my love slate clean?
It has been so long since You have left me… In the strife to keep busy and getting my mind occupied so as to not think of you, I am loosing track of days. Yet the memories of You still burn ever so brightly. Not a day goes by that my heart does not get crunched by the wistful vise of despair and loneliness. Even on a day like yesterday, when I should feel happy and proud for having achieved an important milestone, what I am confronted with is the realisation that the success means nothing without being able to share it with You. I miss our closeness, the comfort and peace I felt when I was with you. I miss being able to talk to you about anything.
You are certainly forgetting me more and more every day or, perhaps, you have completely shrugged off all memories of our time together, of me. You are leaving our time behind further with every second that passes yet those same seconds are excruciating to me because I still live in those memories, I have not moved on nor do I see a way to do it. And every day the realisation that on this day you are slipping away just a little bit further feels like a ice cold thrust of pain through my heart.
I need You in my life, my dearest girl! My therapist insists that it is not You I miss but rather the emotional intimacy that I thought we shared. He is wrong. I do miss that feeling of oneness I felt with You but I do miss You.
I miss you so, so much and I love you still.
Once upon a time, there lived… me. For a long time things worked exactly the same way. Not in a good way, mind you, but there was consistency to my choices in life. And although not a conscious one, it was a habit nevertheless. A habit that I did not break. Until one day I did. I met a girl and we hit it off. It did not work out and I was heartbroken. Now, dear reader, if you have been reading this blog prior to getting to this post, you might think that the girl in question is the one I have been writing about for the past few months. It is not that girl. But I digress. I was heartbroken and it took me a while to get over her. That fact that she was batshit insane helped me out a lot. And so things went back to normal. Well… My normal. Which is to say not normal for most people but whatever it was that made up normality for me. You get the point.
So I started walling myself off from people and emotions. Again. It is a sound emotional defence. If you do not get close to anybody than they cannot hurt you. It can only get you so far though. We need to feel emotional intimacy. Having felt it before, meant that I could not go back to the way things were. I broke my habit of taking myself out of the human equation. I tried other solutions. I started doing improv. Yet even there my habit of building a defensive shield around myself was a problem. Nobody wants to see a Dalek on stage. I started making new friends and getting perspective on my life. I started to feel more freely.
And then I met Her and my life has changed forever. I fell in love. I fell in love harder and with more openness than ever before. I had been living without feeling any emotional intimacy for so long that, having tasted it once before, I dove in head first with complete disregard for the likely dangers of doing so. The rest is history. You can pretty much guess what happened from the name of the blog alone. I went into a complete emotional breakdown.
And so hear I am. Broken. Wondering if it was worth it. If I figure it out, I will be sure to make another post.
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.
An interesting conversation with the mind technician today. I have realised some time ago that at times I could be a total prick. I’m working on it. But now I am also realising that I am still devoted to Her and somehow feel guilty for doing stuff to occupy myself in order to forget about Her. How fucked up is that?
I am OK.
I breathe easy.
What’s done is done and it is in the past.
This is a temporary feeling and it is passing.
On the advice of my mind technician, I am supposed to repeat this mantra every time I have an anxiety attack. So far they (the mantra repetitions) work on the physiological level. My heartbeat slows down and gets back to normal but the emotional darkness remains. Though the attack has passed, the thoughts that triggered it are still weighing heavily upon my soul. My soul yearns for You, my darling. It wants to tear out of my chest and fly to You! I have been away from You for over two months and the pain of our separation is just as unbearable now as it was then. Everyone is telling me to move on and to find someone new but as much I try to look at other women, none compare to You. How can I move on if that means letting go of Your memory?
I am not ready. And I still love You.
Well, this is no good. Between the pain in the wrist and in my blogging thumbs and just generally feeling sick, I have completely forgot about blogging.
To be honest though, I have been feeling a bit better lately and as usual I deluded myself into thinking that I am better.
But I’m not. In the past, I have tended to latch onto an idea or a goal that would get me feeling excited and optimistic. And I would latch onto it with the thinking that it would make everything better because the problem was outside of myself rather than inside of me.
I have got to stop doing that!
I need to work on getting myself better. I have to work on changing my patterns of negative and defeatist thinking. Otherwise, I will not get healthy and will continue to carry this pain inside.
One of the reasons I am so fucked up right now is because I have thought of my last relationship the same way as I did about my other obsessions: this will make everything right. So when She left me, the sense of loss of my greatest love was perversely intertwined with the sense of loss of my better self. Even though that was never the case – that relationship, nor any other relationship, would have “cured” me – I still can’t help but mourn the loss of that future.
And regardless of everything else, I still love Her and think of Her constantly.
I should have let my knee and my wrist more time to rest but instead the innate force of familial responsibility has overcome my soul and I went to help my mother with her garden. So three hours later, after spending that time digging up clay and on my knees digging out dandelions.
Me remembering Her is my equivalent of self-harming, cutting. My memories of Her are like dandelions, spreading their roots everywhere through my subconscious, unable to be removed without leaving pieces of themselves around and sprouting back up just when I think they are gone. One accidental glimpse of her life and I am reduced to a quivering puddle of snot and tears. How long can this torture go on? I can’t breathe, my pulse is racing so hard that every heartbeat is a deafening noise in my ears, my blood feels like it is boiling hot in my veins, my mind is on fire.
I need to stop! This has to stop!