I am not OK. I am circling. Round and round I go. A muddled merry go round of melancholy and morbidity. Early Spring is here, the birds are out taking on life, the sun and biology. I am walking well worn paths and wishing the memories would fade. The sad truth is, I still love her and that is holding me back, restraining me and preventing me from growth.
And I have no idea how to put her down and get on with whatever is left of my life.
There is no going back. I am so far away from a home. I have nothing to tie me down and keep me from floating away. And I feel myself doing exactly that, floating off, directionless and without purpose. Without meaning. It would be so easy to fill that void with belief. Belief in god or some other comforting thought that something else will come next.
Intellectually, I have denied myself that option. All notions of god or godliness are problematic to say the very least.
That leaves me severed. Cut off from certainty and free to live any life apart from the one I was living, apart from the only one I wanted to live. Now I need to find a new life and some new meaning to give life a purpose and to make life worth living. I really want joy to be a part of it again. Yes, work has value, yes, exercise makes the mind and the body strong and flexible. Yes, writing makes meaning of this cold and hard meaningless space.
I miss joy. I miss happiness. I miss the warmth of another body, and the intimacy of a shared life. Together.
I am not OK. And I guess that that is OK. I don't have to be. And it will take time. To heal.
In my new endeavour to be positive, I am failing. It is still there and I am still guided by it, I have merely strayed off of the path. Hopefully briefly. But I know I am lost. I admit that I am lost. And even if I have no one to really share that with out loud, saying it here is a fairly good substitute.
tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all
I have been thinking about all the time we spent together. Do I regret it? Do I want to take it all back? I honestly can't say. Part of me thinks back to me in my twenties. God, I sucked. What a fucking shit fuck. I thought I was so fucking cool. For a guy that was living in a caravan, I certainly had an overly excessive amount of self confidence. I had so many friends and such an insane social life.
Then I met her. She was one of a few if I am honest. But, she was the one. I couldn't get enough. This will sound crass, but from the fucking outward, everything was great. Even her hard edges. Maybe particularly her hard edges.
My world got smaller and smaller until it was just her and I. And the world, that we started exploring together. Just us.
Then came the dogs. Then the house.
And then, when my whole world was just her, our dogs and our house, I discovered that she had moved on. Without me. And left me. In my tiny little world, alone.
No dogs, no house, no her.
Alone.
Fuck.
Now I am free. After almost twenty years of specialising in one subject, I failed the final exam. Now none of those last twenty years of specialisation have any value. Now I need to start again. And I need to start by learning myself first.
Who the fuck am I even? And what is it about me that drove away the one person I wanted to spend my life with?
I have no answers to those questions, or any of these questions. But I will keep trying. I will keep working. I will keep working out. And most importantly, I will keep writing.
