Monday, April 23, 2018

Fairy tales

Sometimes I feel as though I will drown in this trench of melancholy. I feel as though nothing is substantial enough to believe. Because I believed in her and I didn't believe this was anything like the person she is.

I feel the sharp pain of loss. Not of the cruel, hurtful person who makes me look at my child on a phone screen. That's not the woman I loved. Not of the person either who tells her friends she is glad I am ruining anyone else's life.

I didn't ruin anyone's life. I lost my job and I fell ill. I didn't choose either and I know I didn't do well with either but I have done what I can to come out of the other side. I have shaken that box up and down.

I am the same person who still thinks over what happened with Mrs Zen, who castigates himself for the ill I did her, the person who is critical of himself that he couldn't carry B throughout her life -- a woman who gave me nothing, didn't even try, whose only commerce was tears and rage. But I still blame myself for not being good enough. If anyone would know, I'd know. And I shake the box and it's not there.

But not of that person because I won't believe she is that person. I feel like that's her shell, I get it, and there's nothing to be angry about, except that she doesn't want me to love Miggins, doesn't feel it's worth anything -- and even if it isn't, it still hurts -- and I loved her daughters and that might mean nothing at all to her but it means something to me.

And you have to be able to feel like what means something to you is worth something, whatever other people think. And not being able to even say hello to them hurts me.


I do shake the box. I think, well, I know I could not give enough. And I do know that the pressure, the pain she suffered was too much for her to bear, and that hurt for her to recognise, because she depends on herself to be strong. And I know I'm selfish and felt like I too was crushed.

I did not sleep for nearly a year until I had figured out how to sleep. I am not exaggerating. I literally did not sleep. Even now some days I feel broken, as though I cannot function.

Some days I feel broken regardless but that is because of the void that she left. I feel empty because I am the person she just shrugged off. I don't know how you can do that. And I always did shrug people off but I never closed the door. I have never really been unkind enough to do that.

I was kind to her too. Did you know that? I've seen how people are and I can't help but wonder how you can feel a person who was trying and wasn't very good at it deserves to be whipped.

And I do get that "deserves" is the word here. That people don't consider you transactionally. They do what they do sometimes to protect themselves. They do it for themselves. And ultimately of course we all do things for ourselves first of all, and only then for others. I no more expect others to be martyrs than I do myself.


I do wish she would talk to me. I don't really understand why she decided not to. There's nothing that happened. Just one day we were talking and it wasn't so bad -- as I said, I was kind, and she was kind enough too -- and the next she just was like fuck no. And that makes me sad, that I went from the person she loved to a person not even worth a few words.

It makes me sad because I feel like we did have something special. And I think we both know that she became unable to maintain that and maybe she felt guilty, maybe she felt I was punishing her for that. I didn't feel I was but I can see that maybe you could feel that way. People feel what they feel after all. They're not in your head.

But I didn't feel any of that was irretrievable. I would say, it's okay because I know you can recover who you are. And maybe she didn't feel I could. Maybe I can't.

I know this rambling isn't fun to read. I know you re not supposed to share the swirling waters that swill around your heart with anyone. I do know it upset her when I talked about her -- although surely not when I said how wonderful a person I thought she was, how beautiful I found her.

But this is what you do when the person you do find beautiful will not let you love them. They have a right not to -- I don't deny that -- she has every right not to let me speak to her, and even if you might think that's wrong because we share a child, I'm not a judge, I don't apply that standard really. But you still want to speak. I still want to tell her I love her. I still want the chance to woo her. I still do want to be someone she would want to be wooed by. And I do think, perhaps he disappeared, but perhaps he didn't.

And perhaps she did too. I know. Perhaps the woman I loved really did twist into someone who thinks it's okay to make my child a tiny figure in a telephone. Perhaps it's not just misunderstanding and miscommunication. Perhaps it isn't. But why should I choose to believe that? Why would I want to believe the beautiful soul I saw beneath the whatever you call it, the persona, has stopped existing? Why would I want my love story to end with a wicked witch? I don't. I want it to end as it began, with love that was worth everything.


At 2:30 pm, Blogger Ahkenaten Kor said...

Rambling is fun to read if you can connect with it, and I certainly can. Good post

At 3:04 pm, Anonymous XBlaze said...

Unfortunately, there’s no set amount of time it takes to get over your feelings. All you can do is take things day by day and move at your own pace. Try not to compare your healing progress to anyone else’s and don’t be too hard on yourself if you feel down.


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