Measuring loss
It’s raining outside. The sort of rain that soaks you to the core in seconds and leaves you without a trace of warmth in 90 degree weather. I watch gray clouds sink over the lake, the surface alive with movement. Man and beast huddle beneath makeshift huts and branches.
I chose this place because here, there are no noises of the city, and stars stretch on for an eternity until they meet the tree-lined horizon. No access codes, no gates, no fences, just land that bleeds seamlessly into each other, unmarred by territorial markings. It’s the quiet I yearn for - where only nature punctuates my evening.
And I think. About N. My sadism. About my decisions. My career. Family. About this blog which has stretched on for three years of my life. About N, again.
I started this for her. In turmoil, in anger, in love, in grief, happiness and in desperate need for an outlet, I’ve turned to it. I don’t - can’t, rather, express myself as easily in person as I do here. I am a person of few words and many thoughts. This - place, was the bridge between my head and mouth.
A place I could speak and not have to wait for a bended, trusted ear. Trust, you’ll find, is very rarely forthcoming from me. Less and less as I cut losses and re-evaluate with my head. A weakness, you’ll say. I’ve heard it before.
The fact is that sometimes I am weak.
I wrote her. I owe her that admission here, not you, silent readers. I wrote her to tell her that I miss her, that I look for her in a crowd. I wrote her to hurt her, remind her that she pulled away from someone who would have given her everything I could give her. I wrote her to tell her I loved her.
I curse at my stupidity.
This isn’t a blog about a relationship. You think me a fool for letting her go? I think her a fool for going. Find fault that I don’t chase her. Find fault in my coldness, or my rage, or my ability to speak here so clearly when I falter in person when confronted with someone who isn’t fooled by my guards.
I faltered with her. I made myself stronger, my guards stronger - until finally she believed my silence masked nothing more than fond regard. I look out over this lake in the coming darkness, watch the ghostly clouds skim the water, and curse her for believing the lie.
And then I curse myself for telling it.
Protecting her? She knew my beasts. I was keeping myself from feeling them.
That hurts.
June 25th, 2007 at 9:14 pm
D…
i understand not chasing. oh, i do.
elise
June 26th, 2007 at 1:04 am
Daemon, you write of these things like you invented it…
Do you think you’re the first man to hurt the object of his affections because he lacks the skill to just “surrender” to his heart and BE LOVED? And then to bemoan the passing of his heart?
Maybe it’s the perspective of time, but let’s just assume the scientific approach for a moment…
Regardless of ALL the routes you take and all the explanations you conjour… are you where you want to be? (first hypothesis)
If not, why not?
If one looks at getting from A to B…then surely the shortest, most direct and least bullshit path is the best?
So, if you want to “B”…why not just….”BE”? Surely… SURELY it IS that simple.
Fact of life - men and women are two sides of a coin. Men need women to process their emotion; women need men to feel secure in order to HAVE a heart (that processes the emotion). An exquisite design - proof of the Divine. so why…pray tell, does everyone try to F$%& with the SYSTEM????
Look passed the spot in your vision Daemon. It really IS … that simple. Pick your battles. Do you really want to fight yourself? Are you prepared to take on that casualty of war?
Personally, it’s an exercise in futility.
SM
June 26th, 2007 at 1:06 am
PS:
Oh, let me clear up one thing - I do not mock your pain. If that perspective comes across, I do, deftly, apologize. I *AM* however, saying, that you control this and you’re doing it to yourself. No one is doing it TO you.
SM
June 26th, 2007 at 8:57 am
I know how you feel. You aren’t alone. And also, not everything is your fault though you might think so.
Hope you feel better.
June 26th, 2007 at 12:33 pm
You remind me of a poem, The House of Judgement, by Oscar Wilde, in more ways than one.
June 26th, 2007 at 9:14 pm
I don’t have anything wise here to say.. only that I understand your pain of your loss.
June 27th, 2007 at 10:02 am
silently watching. remembering the pain. S
June 27th, 2007 at 9:24 pm
I’ve grown convinced that the word fallibility was especially coined to describe the human condition, yet it is strange that when we’re frustrated, emotionally strained or tongue tied, or in a kind of pain we’re unable to articulate, we end up venting our internalized rage at ourselves on our closest loved one. We all do it - a Greek chorus in a knee jerk reaction.
Then regret sets in. Repercussions, consequences and self flagellation follow, especially if we’re misunderstood or unforgiven. The only thing we’ve accomplished is to gain fleeting attention and a few open wounds. Been there. Done that. Come. Join our club. We’re legion.
June 27th, 2007 at 10:15 pm
Anyone who read this blog and thought what you felt was “fond regard” failed reading comprehension really, really, really hard.
July 3rd, 2007 at 10:36 am
Cursing at your stupidity? If you are constantly remaking yourself (as you seem to be), then stupidity is not a good word. Maybe “shortsighted”?
Cursing her for leaving? Well, go ahead. Nothing wrong with that. I hope she knows what she is doing.
Sometimes, the strongest love can not withstand too much twisting and pulling.
Faltering can be useful, as it has kept me from making a number of mistakes, I do not like to regret or look back; I prefer to act anf then let it be as it is.
I am not sure what level of pain you have to experience, for you to change in a way that will please and reassure her. Do you even want to and at this point, is that enough?
But maybe I am not that one to speak such words in your digital ear, for I am juggling 4 men who all think I love them. opps, make that 5.
I love one of the motley crew, but let’s keep that an open secret, hmmm?
As usual, my thoughts and wicked wishes are with you, Tiburon.