I think I have tried every flavor of love, and if not every precise brand and minor variant like the million ice cream's in the grocery store, near enough that I do believe I am entirely too close to either dying from over-consumption or at the very least making myself diabetic.
I am, as it were, entirely sick of it. The little head rush that turns from pleasure to pain so quickly you would think I should learn soon enough to not touch again, but oh no, I do go diving back in again time and time again with the last stomache and headache forgotten and tempted by something so yummy, so completely, wonderfully, eternally desirable.
And here I find myself yet again! Oh my darling man in the elevator! Look how scrumptous and yummy you are standing across from me! Clean-cut and obviously you have a job, even at my same company I see. You don't look poor and your bag ... it is just unconvientional enough to say you are not looking to be the perfect, plastic ideal of this world. Oohhhh.... how very appetizing you could indeed become! And if, by some chance, by some small fated accident, I happen to bump into you twice, say I even discover some easy cause for a small bit of conversation, a tiny kick which overturns a stone that tumbles into the mouth of a cave that I find too curious to simply ignore. So I follow the roll of the stone and stare into the darkness and wonder what treasure's it could hold. And I follow you, as I see you looking at me as we both see ourselves watching each other in our reflection in the dreary light of a corporate, mirrored elevator; with mounting excitement our eyes meet each other's reflected person and a moment passes such that we both realize there is a chance here at more than a passing stranger.
Such is the opening into that dark and wonderous cave, and how easy it is to begin, how easy it is to cast a step into the dark following along our little conversation's thread and the small piece of vital information you imparted which gives me cause to seek you out, to ask for advice, to find you and strike up a conversation which has not the same time limit as that in the elevator. And there, within a day, we both have found ourselves quiet tumbling downward, convention and rules quickly thrown away as we dare and find that we can be ourselves. Here in the dark we are free to cast away those small demands our world and society calls us to place upon our behavior.
For a brief moment in time, I forget there is anything else outside of this hole and we hide here, away, quiet, but not alone, never alone again so long as we stay here.
And here, at long last, we may PAUSE AND BREATHE!
But such escapes can NEVER last! The sun will and always does find it's way in, bidden or no, you can not stay here child.
As we venture forth in the light of day, we are faced again with all the pressure's that were destroying us before, and a new, and added burden. But we can hide away, even if it is just for a few minutes a day, we have found a place to hide, to say 'F8CK THE WORLD!' and just be ourselves, you and I, here and now. Where we pray for no one to find us, not even ourselves.
Oh what a precious little treasure this place makes!!! You have become my quiet, hidden spot where I can actually be the sadness that I feel without fear and shame. I can be silent and make no effort at human noise, just for a bit, and be not afraid of it. I can be passionate, lustful or a cringing child who needs only to be held and you will hold me.
It is a pleasant little paradise, I wish only that this world was truly real, but the darkness of our hide-away has lied, lied to us both. We can not stay here. As all plants die in the dark, so shall we. The world may be difficult, but none, not you and not even I, can hide from it forever.
Eventually all of our realities must be faced. You have your's and I mine own. And one day, we will have to face those apart, seperate and alone again. Our secret's buried again as we loose ourselves to the shell of the person we both wear to simply get by. You behind your quiet, and I behind my icy, unfeeling shell. I don't wish to go back, but this darkness is killing me. One way or the other, my dear and darling one and for no fault of your own, I must walk away. I hope you walk as well and I wish so very much that we both may walk into a happier place than the one that caused us to seek this refuge. Like two albino's fleeing the painful brightness of the noonday sun, may we leave - please, dear God, may we leave- and re-emerge more balanced, peaceful and happy. It is only in this, it is only if we can find this... this inner salvation, that we can both be saved.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Haunting's
Have you ever had a bit of music stuck in your mind? Over and over on endless rewind?
It doesn't matter if it's a song or a phrase, so long as it stays inside, on and on it plays.
My silly bits of phrase aside, I'm having one of those (melancholy?) moments tonight. Sometimes I get stuck inside a song and endlessly it plays in my mind like an unstoppable case of hiccups. I wonder how very like my life this is - jobs, relationships - they seem so uncontrollable and unstoppably repeating. Same person or same situation, the relationship repeats. "Personality conflicts" on the clock, tumble over on repeat.
A stuck song, like hiccups, simply evaporates unnoticed like a morning's fog. I am 34 years old. My other problems repeat and have yet to evaporate on their own, or with visits to one of several counselor's or a "druggist's" tender care (and the subsequent lining of his pockets). I am fully aware it is my own self that is creating these repeating situations, the trick is the illusionists answer to how to get out!
My age has it's advantage's. I am a very different person now than whom I once was in every respect. I am finally happier. I am more sure of myself. I still find change difficult, but it is manageable now. 14 years ago, in college, the simple action of applying for an entry level part-time job to work while in school was so over-whelming it would send me into hysterics to try to do nothing more than fill out a job application. "What if they don't like me? *I* can't do this! No one could *ever* accept me!" Thoughts like this were repeating for me then. They were my un-asked for mantra if you will. I am now, thankfully, far, FAR better, but how much can one person truly heal? Actually *change* from what they once were?
Can you fall so deep into a pit that no matter how high you might climb, what is *your* personal highest is never more than a higher spot in the rabbit hole you tumbled down? But then, a thought like that could might be applied to the whole of the human race. Higher, and happier, is where and what it is. I have achieved MORE, That is what matters. Reaching a particular state or idealized goal, reaching enough of something... what is this "enough" creature? This dreamed "goal"? Why it is MY own creature! Society may dictate to me that I am to be a certain way. I am to look a certain manner and embrace a certain lifestyle. That is society- NOT I. I and that world in which I live are not at all the same.
There is one thing that I have heard from wise women much, much older than myself. In the end, the one you must answer to for your actions, for your very life and who and what you are, is yourself! Have you made decisions that are ones that *you* can live with? As death brings a gentle hand of the final darkness to your eyes, will you look back on what it is that you have done, the person you have been, with a sense of peace or despair?
I am no saint. I am not particularly religious nor swear to any exact faith though I have investigated many. I do try to live a life that I consider honorable, but I have *many* short-comings. I currently fear the worst of these would be my status of relationships.
Seven to eight years ago now, I suddenly found myself falling into a group of friends. They were wonderful people and I was enamored with them all and the idea of them both. They were all people who were in their 20's, attractive, clean cut, non-drug user's ... and Pagan. Wiccan to be precise. It is a religion which I played with for some time, but while I liked some aspects of it, it never really fit. And so I remained both a part of their 'circle' and outside of it at once, but the one thing I never doubted was our mutual love and affection for each other ... until I did.
Surely anyone of an age with myself is familiar with this problem or process. While my friends and I loved each other, expectations and hopes of each individual in a group can never be completely met (as a great many married couples know, I am told.) Failed expectations and failed relationships between many members of our group - our 'recycled man' policy as my girlfriends and I call it sometimes - in the end, we are only a shadow of what we once were. Friendly acquaintance's, little better.
As such friendships began to fade, I found myself in a desperate want for company and companionship.My most ready supply of a fix for such a drug was, and still is, the location where many of us spend the majority of our lives - the cubicle farm known as work. Unfortunately, the most readily agreeable members of this farm to ripen and provide me the fruits I wanted, were the fruits most forbidden. That being, the married men of the office.
The story of how it all happened is long, but it is the truth that I am having an affair, or close enough to it ... two, actually. Two married men at the same workplace. Oh I *am* a fool to do it, I make no excuse of simple-mindedness for that. The fact is, I am lonely ... and terrified of a relationship that has a real shot at becoming long-term, although I couldn't admit the second half of the problem to myself until very recently.
It is ironic because I have never had 'sex' with either of the two men, but it has been quite enough that I imagine their respective wives should be quite rightly upset if they ever knew, even if the wives themselves are finding satisfaction elsewhere too.
This is the truth of my life. The truth that I am only beginning to feel the weight of the guilt from. I *never* thought I should be so stupid as to do these things. I was always very hard on the women who would have affairs for their lack of self-control. I know now that it is less a problem of self-control and one of simple loneliness, apathy and boredom combined for too long in a stressful environment where we maintain a fake identity and force ourselves to go against our very human animal, and it's needs for acceptance, caring, companionship.
And so ... my life repeats. I find love that can not be had, to prove to myself that love does not conquer all, no matter how strongly you both my swear it. To torture myself with the grapes of Tantalus, and the dream of being a happily married woman.
Ah! What tricky things dreams are! Dreams are a mist world subject to your every changing whim and thought such that you can only find endless perfection. Welcome to the hardness of the solid world where once you enter a relationship beyond that initial infatuation, you are confronted with still finding fascinating the magician who has now shown you the truth behind his illusions and the person behind the stage paint and clever costuming and lighting.
The dream repeats, the disappointment repeats, and endless we go as the shadow-show played out against the screen of the earth, who's candle-flame is the light of the sun. But I do not feel so hopeless as I sound. Even a great tragedy is nothing but a mere play, a play which I intend to wake from laughing.
That laughter haunts me now. I can hear it as if it were a whispered line off-stage for an actress frozen by the amazement of the world she now see's. It is a gentle, forgiving and loving laughter, one that has been happy to see the play, whatever the play was about, however great or poorly performed by it's thesbians. A play I am glad to have been in, and I will wake from this laughing, and let the laughter haunt me now.
It doesn't matter if it's a song or a phrase, so long as it stays inside, on and on it plays.
My silly bits of phrase aside, I'm having one of those (melancholy?) moments tonight. Sometimes I get stuck inside a song and endlessly it plays in my mind like an unstoppable case of hiccups. I wonder how very like my life this is - jobs, relationships - they seem so uncontrollable and unstoppably repeating. Same person or same situation, the relationship repeats. "Personality conflicts" on the clock, tumble over on repeat.
A stuck song, like hiccups, simply evaporates unnoticed like a morning's fog. I am 34 years old. My other problems repeat and have yet to evaporate on their own, or with visits to one of several counselor's or a "druggist's" tender care (and the subsequent lining of his pockets). I am fully aware it is my own self that is creating these repeating situations, the trick is the illusionists answer to how to get out!
My age has it's advantage's. I am a very different person now than whom I once was in every respect. I am finally happier. I am more sure of myself. I still find change difficult, but it is manageable now. 14 years ago, in college, the simple action of applying for an entry level part-time job to work while in school was so over-whelming it would send me into hysterics to try to do nothing more than fill out a job application. "What if they don't like me? *I* can't do this! No one could *ever* accept me!" Thoughts like this were repeating for me then. They were my un-asked for mantra if you will. I am now, thankfully, far, FAR better, but how much can one person truly heal? Actually *change* from what they once were?
Can you fall so deep into a pit that no matter how high you might climb, what is *your* personal highest is never more than a higher spot in the rabbit hole you tumbled down? But then, a thought like that could might be applied to the whole of the human race. Higher, and happier, is where and what it is. I have achieved MORE, That is what matters. Reaching a particular state or idealized goal, reaching enough of something... what is this "enough" creature? This dreamed "goal"? Why it is MY own creature! Society may dictate to me that I am to be a certain way. I am to look a certain manner and embrace a certain lifestyle. That is society- NOT I. I and that world in which I live are not at all the same.
There is one thing that I have heard from wise women much, much older than myself. In the end, the one you must answer to for your actions, for your very life and who and what you are, is yourself! Have you made decisions that are ones that *you* can live with? As death brings a gentle hand of the final darkness to your eyes, will you look back on what it is that you have done, the person you have been, with a sense of peace or despair?
I am no saint. I am not particularly religious nor swear to any exact faith though I have investigated many. I do try to live a life that I consider honorable, but I have *many* short-comings. I currently fear the worst of these would be my status of relationships.
Seven to eight years ago now, I suddenly found myself falling into a group of friends. They were wonderful people and I was enamored with them all and the idea of them both. They were all people who were in their 20's, attractive, clean cut, non-drug user's ... and Pagan. Wiccan to be precise. It is a religion which I played with for some time, but while I liked some aspects of it, it never really fit. And so I remained both a part of their 'circle' and outside of it at once, but the one thing I never doubted was our mutual love and affection for each other ... until I did.
Surely anyone of an age with myself is familiar with this problem or process. While my friends and I loved each other, expectations and hopes of each individual in a group can never be completely met (as a great many married couples know, I am told.) Failed expectations and failed relationships between many members of our group - our 'recycled man' policy as my girlfriends and I call it sometimes - in the end, we are only a shadow of what we once were. Friendly acquaintance's, little better.
As such friendships began to fade, I found myself in a desperate want for company and companionship.My most ready supply of a fix for such a drug was, and still is, the location where many of us spend the majority of our lives - the cubicle farm known as work. Unfortunately, the most readily agreeable members of this farm to ripen and provide me the fruits I wanted, were the fruits most forbidden. That being, the married men of the office.
The story of how it all happened is long, but it is the truth that I am having an affair, or close enough to it ... two, actually. Two married men at the same workplace. Oh I *am* a fool to do it, I make no excuse of simple-mindedness for that. The fact is, I am lonely ... and terrified of a relationship that has a real shot at becoming long-term, although I couldn't admit the second half of the problem to myself until very recently.
It is ironic because I have never had 'sex' with either of the two men, but it has been quite enough that I imagine their respective wives should be quite rightly upset if they ever knew, even if the wives themselves are finding satisfaction elsewhere too.
This is the truth of my life. The truth that I am only beginning to feel the weight of the guilt from. I *never* thought I should be so stupid as to do these things. I was always very hard on the women who would have affairs for their lack of self-control. I know now that it is less a problem of self-control and one of simple loneliness, apathy and boredom combined for too long in a stressful environment where we maintain a fake identity and force ourselves to go against our very human animal, and it's needs for acceptance, caring, companionship.
And so ... my life repeats. I find love that can not be had, to prove to myself that love does not conquer all, no matter how strongly you both my swear it. To torture myself with the grapes of Tantalus, and the dream of being a happily married woman.
Ah! What tricky things dreams are! Dreams are a mist world subject to your every changing whim and thought such that you can only find endless perfection. Welcome to the hardness of the solid world where once you enter a relationship beyond that initial infatuation, you are confronted with still finding fascinating the magician who has now shown you the truth behind his illusions and the person behind the stage paint and clever costuming and lighting.
The dream repeats, the disappointment repeats, and endless we go as the shadow-show played out against the screen of the earth, who's candle-flame is the light of the sun. But I do not feel so hopeless as I sound. Even a great tragedy is nothing but a mere play, a play which I intend to wake from laughing.
That laughter haunts me now. I can hear it as if it were a whispered line off-stage for an actress frozen by the amazement of the world she now see's. It is a gentle, forgiving and loving laughter, one that has been happy to see the play, whatever the play was about, however great or poorly performed by it's thesbians. A play I am glad to have been in, and I will wake from this laughing, and let the laughter haunt me now.
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