For Your Love

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…

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And Yet Another Letter…

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.

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.

Searching To Survive.

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?

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 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.

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 66. Trying To Stay Calm And Carry On.

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.

image

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.

Day 58. Paying The Price?

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!