When I am locked in to some work project, I have plenty of thoughts I want to convey. Weekend comes - I've got nothing... but the guilt of having not written in far too long. At least once a day I think about writing, and I go to bed annoyed with myself. I'm so easily distracted, and compelled to sit in front of a TV. I find it difficult to escape watching the news, but will it is on, I can't escape my cell. This seems like a many-layered trap that I've slowly been sinking deeper in to for several years. But what value is there sitting here writing about not writing.
It feels like a lot has happened in a small window of time; and I am struggling to piece that all together. Possibly it's better framed as; life is happening to me, and my ability to approach outstanding moments for what they are is compromised; and packed with a lot of anxiety and fear. In not knowing who the "two" people are (I may be one of them), that consistently read this blog, it's probably best that specificity remains shelved. And because this sphere of characters is such a small one, I'm full of trepidation in even cracking the spine to some chapters.
As previously addressed, fate, universal intervention, deities - I'm not particularly subscribing to their catalogs. There's an experience that Christians often cite as their claim to faith, "the word/voice/hand of God" - tearing through all the layers of science that sustain even the most complacent of moments; ushering them from a precipice instance. Generally, I feel this is hyperbolic, and such a miracle (this would indeed be a miracle of Catholic recognition) is incredibly rare. However, I have felt that recent events are oscillating about me, and right now, I am aligning my beliefs that this is a pattern of life that we conscript consciously and unconsciously. In my current state of unwell mental health, I am unable to participate in patterning this out. So, I will attempt to present this in a linear fashion; ranging from the absurd to the unlikely coincidence.
I'm afraid, I have to begin this narrative as The Vandal. An unflattering, foolish, selfish decision that is in my opinion where this portent of gravitational forces takes root. Granted, the history; brief as it was, offered brilliant, explosive hues that tore through heart and mind; lighting the imagination and fantasy that lie just beyond a door and a failing keycard. No time, no root, too many vying for the same moment. To this very second, we have not revisited those passages; only to say, there remains an undefinable thing. A mass so dense it solicits orbit. It's but a few pages out of either of our books, though the tone is agreeable, I may never know if the experience was shared to a point of arguable plagiarism. Emotional and intellectual spans give way to self-sabotage and hurt; and I told my friend that I did not value her enough to see her and support her. I crawled inside my darkness to protect the tethers I had left of my everyday world out of fear. Rightly, I was given a forever ultimatum. I honored these wishes for many years; the kind of time span where someone finds their footing and creates a life of stability and unconditional love. I broke that last remaining bond of trust last year... as I stood in the parking lot at work; experiencing my first real Autumn - and I was doing so alone. From that moment forward, I am asking myself, did I do the right thing? Not for my sake, I am the one who is reaping the rewards of this connection, I am not the one with value in the cards I hold. I'll be honest, there are feelings, emotions here that are as raw as when they formed. My resistance is as pale as a ghost, as loud as a whisper. This isn't a shared sentiment for good reason. I have to also believe that trust is at best, unrecognizable. Every day, I question if I broke a promise only to add complication to a person doing their best to navigate the same life that only a few months ago did not include me. Am I continuing the cruelty? What kind of love exists like this?
Now, if I try to step away, a lot of pieces in both our lives moved in support of our gravity. Is it just nothing; a random pattern of pain, emotional hurt, job loss, relocation, the nature of our jobs - all just things of no mass or consequence? Here I am, at this crux of critical thought vs an orbital collision neither of us saw coming. I'm fully cognizant that my shattered confidence, and hemorrhaging heart reached out in desperation for the last memory of tenderness it ever felt. In that, I have guilt and shame... should I have waited until I was well. Did I come bearing gifts of unexpected burden without consideration? I did. I don't know the right thing to do.
I have other situations to ruminate on... it's clear to me, this is the one that's been gnawing at me. Finally having articulated to myself these thoughts and feelings gives them freedom. You know those people that are just happy to be along for the ride? Is that something you can learn? It may be my weakest skillset.
Let's pick this up at a later date.
Listening to: Guilty Strangers - "Memento Mori"
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