Regrets.

Last night’s dreams were pretty weird. I think I dreamt about every regret in my life. Yes, her included.

I usually enjoy my dreams. Often enough they are like big Hollywood productions. There are exciting storylines, fantastic special effects, surprising twists. It is like watching a movie and being in it at the same time.
But last night’s fare was more of an art house cinema: dark and no happy end in sight. Which is a good reminder that although I am as “over” her as one can be, my underlying problems are still hanging over me like a depressing sword of Damocles. For so long the pain over our breakup hung over Yours Truly’s eyes like a veil of pain and sorrow and obscured the view behind it. Now that this veil has been lifted, the giant snowball of problems accumulated over the last two decades is in plain view: daunting, looming, casting a shadow over everything in my life. Why did I not seek help earlier? Why did I not go see a therapist a year and a half ago when I have originally asked for a referral? Why did I not do it over ten years ago when I was initially diagnosed with ADHD and was strongly encouraged to speak to a professional about my depression issues?

Few days ago, I was chatting with my improv friends. The conversation came to a topic of age (because as it turns out, one in our midst was somewhat of an overachiever and has just completed his post-doc at the tender age of 27). So the psychology grad in the group has mentioned her view of mid-twenties as a time of self-discovery, when one goes down the dark path inside oneself and looks at the dark and horrible figure within, points at it, and asks the eternal question: “Who are you?”. (She may or may not have had a few beers by the time I joined the party. I had a good reason to be late – I was having a slight anxiety attack.) In any case, it seems I’m a decade late to that existential internal trip as well.

Regrets, regrets…

Love Letter #8. The Final Cut.

Dear I.,

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.

Love,
YT.

New Beginnings?

This post is being published under the category “Road To Recovery.” I am, in fact, actually on the road. This is a long trip and I am super nervous about this holiday and how this is going to unfold.

Last night some stuff went down involving my Ex (we still have not spoken but there was a really intense message exchange) and I am feeling better about myself and about not being with her. For the first time since our breakup I am starting to feel that things are going to be alright. I am feeling free. There is that to be Thankful for. (There will be another post on that in several days when I get back.)

But for now, this is all about this dream challenge of mine coming straight at Yours Truly. I am on my way to go ice climbing on Mt Washington in New Hampshire. This is not my first visit to the Presidential Range but this is my first trip to Mt Washington. I have definitely overpacked and will need to repack once we arrive there. We will be spending three days and two nights on the mountain itself. I got ice tools, walking ice axe, crampons, REALLY warm sleeping bag, and ton of shit that I do not need but that makes me feel better.

I am quiet excited. I have been ice climbing for several years but this is my first mountaneering ascent. And I am starting with Mt Washington. As the saying goes “Go big or go home.” I am going BIG.

I could not have gotten here without the amazing support of the WordPress community. Some of you have chosen to honour me with awards for my blog and I promise to get to writing about that very soon. You guys are my rock and my sun. When I was down, you picked me up and carried me in the palm of your hand even as you all were dealing with your pains and your hurts. Even as you all have been struggling with darkness, you had time and grace to talk to me and care for me. I would love to do more for all of you. I love all of You, my dear readers and I look forward to doing more for You.

All The Difference.

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.

What It’s All About. Maybe.

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.

Winning! (while reading this title, visualise American actor Charlie Sheen)

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.

Day 79. Broken.

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.

Day 72. My Gypsy Soul.

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 noteĀ  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.

Day 68. Living The Dream.

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.

Day 67. A New Perspective?

After a lot of thinking I am starting to see Her in a more realistic fashion as opposed to putting her on a pedestal. I realise now that She treated me with contempt, disrespect, and a complete lack of consideration, and with disregard for my feelings. She has chosen to be angry at me for whatever it was that made Her angry rather than be my friend. She has abandoned me in my moment of direst need.

And yet, somehow, my feelings for Her are just as strong as they were three months ago.