Panic attack. Through years of practice I learned to automatically breath with my “stomach” (lower lung section). It is instinctual by now. But those instincts do not work right now. That learned behaviour is overridden by primal panic. I draw short ragged breaths as my chest rises and collapses in adrenaline-induced spasms. My heart beats like the loudest gong in my head. Sweat rolls down my head and the roots of my hairs feel like they are white hot. A buzzing feeling permeates my skin throughout my body. My mouth is dry and my tongue and fingers no longer feel like my own.
I was wondering what would happen if and when I saw my ex. Now I know.
Sometimes being a thoughtful person just plain sucks. Remembering dates is a good thing in a relationship but when that relationship ends those same memories become a burden.
A year ago today was my first date with my ex. She has been on my mind again quite a lot lately. I have moved on but I am still a long way away from getting over her. In fact, those pesky memories have played a rather cruel trick on me a couple of weeks ago.
In the meantime, between the missing Malaysian airliner and the fun in Ukraine, I am not sure it is worth it to get out of bed in the morning. No, wait… I still have to work for a living. Damn the reality!
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.
Happy birthday! I realise that in Your response to me to my message following our breakup, You have told me to stay away and not contact You. For the last four months I have done just that and, unless at some future date both of are able and willing to change that status quo, will continue to honour Your wish, save for this one occasion of your 29th birthday.
If You have not by now, shortly You will receive a gift that I had posted to you few days ago from a store in the Dominican Republic. I remember Your preference for colour blue and wooden jewellery. Add to that the colour of Your eyes and I think the Dominican blue-green amber would fit You quite nicely.
It is my sincerest hope that You will accept that gift in the spirit that it is given. It pains me deeply to know that our post-breakup communication has caused You to be so incredibly angry with me so as to cut off all lines of communication. Please believe me when I say that it was never my intention to upset You or cause You pain or discomfort, nor do I wish that Your last memory of me be such a negative one. For the all too short a time that we were together, You have given me such happiness and a feeling of peace. You have made me believe that my life needs not be one of misery and despair. You gave me hope when I had none, nor knew what one felt like. And for that I will be eternally grateful to You.
Goodbye (perhaps?), I. I miss You dearly.
It is helpful to be able to express my feelings and share them immediately. This community has been very supportive and inspiring. More so than many realise.
The way I personally chose to go about blogging is to do it as anonymously as possible. It gives me freedom to be as honest and open as possible without fear of judgement spilling into my offline world.
This right here, is – for me – the difference between putting down in writing my inner struggles and being too dead to do so.
And, predictably, everything that has to do with Her turns to shit.
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 must’ve dreamed a thousand dreams
Been haunted by a million screams
When Genesis wrote this song they were not talking about my situation. But in many ways it still applies. I have been living in the Land of Confusion for the past 6? 7? 8 months? Considering how things turned out I have clearly been the one in the dark since before the breakup. Since the breakup though, I have really understood what it means to live through those thousand dreams and million screams. I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes. Other times, it hits me like a tank during the days. I want to scream so hard that my vocal cords are ripped out by the force of the escaping air. There does not seem to be an end to this despair. I know there are others struggling with the same questions but it makes not my burden any less crushing.
And not much love to go round
Can’t you see
This is a land of confusion.
In this case, my problem is quite the opposite: there is way too much love. It fills me to the brink and it has nowhere to go for She is not with me. I think of Her and my eyes fill with tears. Some say it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Bullshit! How could that possibly be true?! How could that pain be worth anything?! How could running out of the office to escape in the bathroom and collapse on the floor hyperventilating and crying be worth anything?!
The refrain of the song represents which direction I need to choose. Though lacking in ability to see where to go, or the strength to continue for much longer, or the belief that the world without Her is not the one worth living in, let’s hope that one day I will be able to get better.
This is the world we live in
And these are the hands we’re given
Use them and let’s start trying
To make it a place worth living in.
Amen to that.
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.