My mind technician thinks that the true source of the excruciating pain from my breakup is because of having lived without true emotional intimacy for so very long and then putting all my eggs of emotional connection need into one basket. I do not think that is what the pain is really all about. Sure, that is a part of it but what really hurts beyond hurt is the loss of hope. I would not have admitted it to anyone including myslef but deep down I knew my life was broken and needed to be fixed. So when She came along and made me feel so safe that She could quiet my worried mind with Her mere presence rather than me taking Ritalin, I fell so desperately in love. It felt that with Her in my life everything would be fixed. And the sad, sad trouth is that if She had stuck around long enough to help me open my eyes to the true nature of my issues so that I could get help, my life would have been fixed. The other part of that sad, sad truth is that had I paid more attention to what She was saying, had paid more attention to Her, she would likely still be a part of my life. There is a great deal of blame on me for the breakup.
Having left, She not only took Herself out of my life, She took my hope and my dreams with Her. It feels so empty and so cold now.
And I still love Her.
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.
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.
As I am writing this, the exotic sounds of Arabic fueled gypsy music are wafting through the Bohemian atmosphere of this weird cash-only bar.
Surrounded by the most diverse crowd of hipsters, artists, immigrants of all creeds and races (on a side note how is it possible that Eastern Europeans can manage to sound racist even when not trying to be? – overhearing conversations), my mind travels to places that I have only read about or seen in films or on television. And yet, my traitorous mind still manages to bring up the images of Her, my greatest love. She would love this place and this music. Whenever I imagine myself in some exotic locales, I keep seeing Her next to me.
The great thing about imagination is that I can imagine anything. So why do I keep thinking about Her rather than being happy without Her? She is not even that good looking. I can imagine being 6′ 4″ and being hugged by Uma Thurman but instead I dream about a plain looking girl with a very average body. But, of course, to me she is the most exquisite and intoxicating creature in the Universe.
I still love Her. I am so thoroughly fucked.
Some times I think that this thing I am living through is actually just a dream, a nightmare. And I think I am going to wake up from this any second now. But, unfortunately, this is one bad dream that I won’t be waking up front. I will be dealing with hot sweats and sleepless nights for quite some time.
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.
Every morning, as I wake up, like a long stare directly at the sun, the thought of Her not being with me rips me up like a sun hot knife through my mind and my heart. I chase the thoughts of Her out of my mind and almost right away start feeling guilty as if, somehow, doing so would mean betraying Her.
There is no rhyme or reason to this belief. In fact, She would prefer that I forget Her out right. But I can no more loosen myself from the gilded chains of my memories of Her than I can forget about the piercing shine of the Sun in my eyes. I revel in my pain, I hold on to it because letting go of it would mean letting go of Her.
So yesterday I mentioned about how being super busy was not leaving me any time to obsessively think about my failed relationship with the love of my life. It would seem, however, that this energy had to go somewhere and so I woke up at 4 am with a stomach ache that quickly turned into a full blown panic attack (not just an anxiety one) which finally culminated in me passing out on the bathroom floor. Good times!
On the advice of my mind technician I have tried some mindful relaxation during lunch break. Thank fully the weather is nice and I went to sit in my car and listen to the sounds of wind while trying to repeat a mantra that is supposed to quiet my worried mind.
This is harder than I remember it being when I was younger. Granted my mind has been far more perturbed lately and in my younger days (prior to being diagnosed with ADHD and discovering Methylphenidate) I spent a lot of time shutting and locking down my emotions. Still though, this is ging to be far harder than I initially assumed.
The thoughts that plagued me the most were the self-aggrandising daydreaming kind and the ones about Her. I guess no matter how much I am trying to gain some emotional peace, the memories of Her haunt my every thought for I do still love Her.