Category: Writers Block
I never met anyone like him before, and probably never will again, which is good and bad. Good because I can only hope this experience will never play out the same way again; bad because not many people have the courage to be themselves the way he does. When we met in October, it was like a reawakening of summer, a miracle of sorts: gray autumn days burst with sunlight, flowers bloomed, their sweet scent permeating everything we did and said. our laughter filled the stuffy, conservative corridors, seeming to open a world to us that was unknown to all but ourselves. It threatened everyone who didn't have the key; they could only watch us through the frosted glass, glancing furtively about to make sure no one saw. And, their harbored jealousy, and their disgust at blind people experiencing natural human desires and pleasures, was evident in every word they uttered, every conspicuously placed sarcastic comment a fire they attempted to set but couldn't seem to start. Inside the world of light summer breezes we found in each other, however, their voices were muffled, though a shout would occasionally catch us off guard, flooring us for the moment but as we wrapped our arms around each other, strength flowed through us again. It was as if our souls and our bodies connected--one of us was not seen without the other, even in the physical realm; our eyes told a starry story even when we were apart.
Time passed, and things changed. Much like a birth process, we went our separate ways, but not by choice; the sunset slanted down upon us on that dreaded day, leering at us as if to say, "This goodbye is more trouble than you know..." And yet, we released each other, released the lock on the door that had been ours and ours alone, took one last long look at everything we had built in such a short, explosive time, and walked away in unison as if to say we would be back soon, the state of our souls would not go disordered, we would be back...
Methodically, mechanically, we moved on. I grew quieter and he grew angrier. Back in my own world, I realized how much I had missed the comforts of home. But soon enough, I realized that the same self-loathing and piercing loneliness that had lead to all my previous transgressions and unabating, self-deprecating analysis were still there. The difference was, I now had a new code to crack, not just my own, even as my feelings evolved and morphed into things I did not recognize within myself. The world he inhabited was as impassive and airtight as a turtle shell, only opening when he wanted it to open, never allowing me to understand, though I tried vehemently to no avail. I could imagine him pacing up and down inside that suffocating space, exerting his power and control over me where before only words of love had existed. Sometimes it was direct: I wasn't pleasuring enough to him, or he hoped I met a nice girl while I was away. Having male friends was an absolute crime to him. Each time this point was raised, it jabbed through me, as his tone said clearly, "You are not trustworthy. I have the right to mock you, play with your feelings, and then see what happens." However, the subtleties were always what blew me away the most, kept me trapped and helpless under his thumb, keeping me attracted and distracted. There was no one like him. He is so intense, so passionate, that you want to believe everything he tells you. His voice rings like musical notes of the most beautiful ballad, hums sweet notes of a lullaby as his tenderness shines through, yet swells to a jarring crescendo when you least expect it, but the unpredictability though unbalancing me, left me wanting more. His charm is irresistible as he sucks you in with tales of all the wrongs done to him in the past even if it was a pile of psychopathic ex's that I didn't want to know a thing about. All I wanted was for him to be OK. His pain was my pain, and bearing it seemed so unfair that I would have gone to the ends of the earth to stop it, if I only could have. I couldn't do that though...I've never been strong, and I have needs of my own. As time went by, he became increasingly reliant on me, trying to bridge the gap between us by creating the world we had before. We couldn't do it without the physical presence, but we tried. Or, he tried. Because I was increasingly drawn into dilemmas and struggles that were bigger than myself, and all that he wanted was bigger than myself. I could not be everything. It drained me, and I began to question what I was actually doing in this self-imposed hell. However, I had already casually thrown away my stable life as unfeelingly and erratically as a child throws a penny into a wishing well. Everything was collapsing in on me, and I had to stop it or I would have been crushed under the weight of our combined insanity.
In March, winter had truly set in. There was not a ray of sunlight to be found; a wicked storm was upon us and the more I called his name, and the more his agitated reproaches responded, the more alone I felt. I made dangerous ventures over icy peaks to find him, to restore everything back to its proper order. But no matter how close I got, it all turned out to be a mirage: he was not there at all, just ghosts of memories past, staring me in the face and daring me to make it right. I could not make it right. he would not let me. I can still hear the agony in his voice when I finally ended things. Like trees breaking and thunder shaking mountains and every terrible natural disaster rolled into one. The guilt took hold of me then, but I somehow stuck to my guns even as I looked outside and saw a vision of the world collapsing around him...But even as I saw that, a full moon rose above me and shone its light down on me, smiling upon me as if to say, "It's all right. He's not as hurt as he looks. he will get up, and he will go on." I wasn't so arrogant as to think I was above him, however, even armed with this sudden serenity. I stayed on, lending my support, my empathy, my compassion. Always extending a hand, always understanding, always encouraging. And then yesterday there came a change. A month ago he stopped talking to me. And yesterday he said that the very same flaws he exhibits himself are so much worse in me that I am worthless to him. Nothing more than garbage to be burned and returned to a lower place than before. Composing, decomposing, forgetting, reliving. I am just a funeral flower, stuck carelessly on a grave; and when I die, I will become one with the rotten sins that have been laid to rest, and the cycle will repeat all over again. You see, I will become just another story he tells to grip the hearts of those that love him, just another unjustifiably evil black spot on a life marred by so many things beyond his control. And no matter how much he scrubs and scrubs at the stains that have plagued his soul, no matter how many times he speaks of higher understanding and peace like it's the latest fad, yet seeming so convincing, he won't forget. The daily, self-penned newspaper he thrusts into the weary hands of all who will listen boasts headlines of hysteria and sordid details of everyone and everything that hurt him. And yet, I can't be angry. No, I can only feel shame settling like a weight in my heart, a weight that I don't know if I can bear. I did everything for him, at least I tried, and it wasn't good enough. I'm so sorry...I just am not good enough.
sorry to hear that. and hope you will feel better soon. hugs. if that could make you feel better.
Raaj.
I am sorry. Well, forgive my bluntness, but this guy sounds like a real asshole. You are not worthless! No one is worthless, and you should never let anyone tell you that you are. Forget about him. Move on. I know it is haard to do so, but you must. There are far better people in this world that will appreciate you for who you are, rather than trying to keep you in a little, velvet-lined box.