My father my king

I went into Zenella's room last night to check on her. She was very quiet. Are you asleep, I asked.

No, she said. I was dreaming I was awake, and then I was awake.

Oh, I said. I'm sorry I woke you up.

I was dreaming you were here, she said. And you are here.

I do not want anything else from this life. I used to, but I realised that none of it mattered to me. I have always wanted to be of service, but I think that is just a reflection of a need to be felt. I need to know that I mean something to you when I am not with you.

I have been drowning in sadness. I do not mean I have been depressed. This is something different. I feel I cannot maintain structure in the way I think about the world. This is much more than feeling I cannot fix it -- although I do feel that; I spoke to Mrs Zen last night and we do not even want to have the same conversation. The problem is I cannot stand to have the conversation she wants, because I do not think we can remain married if we do. I cannot explain why I feel that but maybe it is simply that I fear revealing who I am and her realising that what she wants is truly impossible. I do not make any secret that I simply want her to want something else. I do not mean to surrender what she wants, only to compromise, just as I am willing to do, and have done; maybe I mean only to prioritise, to work out once and for all whether being loved would not be worth more than feeling she can trust me. Because I never will be trustworthy in that sense. I don't kid myself that I'm that person. I do not feel bad about it; I am just more than that. How can you hate yourself for what you consist in?

I am about to go and pick up the kids, Zenella from afterschool care and the twins from their kindy. I am thinking about Zenita and Naughtyman, running along the corridor that leads from our lounge to the bedrooms, up and down, in a mad race that does not have a winner and a loser. I am thinking about them sitting together in my chair, laughing because I will have to drag them both out before I can sit down.

I'm in your chair, Naughtyman yells. I'm in your chair! He is laughing his head off.

I do not want anything else in this life but I cannot leave them. Not ever. No matter what it takes. I could not bare to fade. I am drowning in misery because I cannot bare to fade; I am so afraid of it, and because of other things, which are not so easy to find words for, but they all boil down to being suffocated by hatred and choked up by the love I cannot express. I want Mrs Zen to let me love her. I want the world to let me love it. I do not know how it can. That is why I am crying and I cannot say why that is.

posted by Dr Zen @ 3:43 pm