Day 162

2:30PM:

An ode to your beautiful brown eyes, those beautiful brown eyes, the windows into your soul

Those beautiful brown eyes, that have looked into mine, exhausted and without energy

Those beautiful brown eyes, that have cried tears of joy and ecstacy

Those beautiful brown eyes, that have looked deep into another’s

Those beautiful brown eyes, that have so much colour and vividness

Those beautiful brown eyes, that have looked at me with drunken hate

Those beautiful brown eyes, that show the loving and generous heart inside

Those beautiful brown eyes, that have forgotten to look into my heart, something that takes conscious looking to see

Those beautiful brown eyes, that have the power to heal my heart, because they saw that penguins can fly

Those beautiful brown eyes, that need to know that healing is needed

Those beautiful brown eyes, that I love without condition, now, forever and always

Day 152

Baby –

You got emotional and drunk and hijacked last night; you walked out on me.  You saw that I was hurt and tired and instead of fighting through, instead of love carrying you through and providing you with the strength to be caring, you walked out.

I was scared for your safety, since you were in no shape to drive.  I was scared and you didn’t care – how is that love?  Do you love me anymore?  Is that why you haven’t been able to consistently hold the flashlight to light our way?

I’m going through one of the hardest times of my career and my family ain’t no crystal stair right now either, and you decided not to be by my side, to understand that.  I want the you version of you back please; I love you.

I am usually a pushover when it comes to you, it comes with me being stupid in love, but you need to understand that this was not right.  This was so far from a relationship, from understanding, from a just us.  This was not an us.

My wife – the love of my life – left.  She physically left and I’m scared for her, for us.

You gave into your blackness, to your evil thoughts.  We can get through that, we can forgive that together.  But it will only happen if you act like you believe, by going on faith and loving with abandon.

I love you forever.

– Yours

Day 118

2:30AM:

Yes, that time is correct – 2:30AM is when I spoke the following words into my phone:

“I’m sorry”

“I’m sorry for when I don’t look up, for when I’m not being appreciative and grateful”

“I’m sorry for all the times I didn’t come for dinner, go out for a drink or take the food that was available”

“I’m sorry I have let the blackness and asshole-ese have voices”

“I’m sorry that I have nurtured a toxic environment – between my fatigue, my perpetuation of not sitting down, my lack of relaxation, my anxieties – that has allowed the blackness to survive”

“I’m sorry that I can’t fix it right away and that there might always be this in pieces, little drops of its blood in my veins”

I am not sure to whom I was apologizing – it could have been my wife, my family, my friends.  It could have also been to me.

Day 87

12:30PM:

I want to explore my thoughts on the affirmation I got in my email this morning:

“I forgive those who need forgiving, for not being what I wanted them to be.”

I have been let down a lot recently – it was kind of the theme of my yesterday.  The aunt and uncle with whom I spent weeks, months with in the summers of my teenage-dom (to escape the alcoholic father and mother who let me down) treated my existence like any other, they were nice-but-not-caring and appeared oblivious to the disorders they both have seen grow inside me and shape who I am.  My relationships with their children aside, the loving connection I had (and thought I currently have) with them should give them the ability to look at me!  And Family Friend called, wanting to meet three months after we cracked, connected, cried, came to an understanding about what I need from her (or at least, I thought she came on board to the support system team) – but three months of nothing and now it’s convenient for her to care.

This is truly a case of who would I ask to suffer for me?  Who do I want to have there as I regain my strength?  Who will I ask to help re-build my house?  Who do I want to forgive for my sake, my forgiveness being my own (as opposed to keeping this victimization, keeping this burden on me, keeping this constant lashing)?

            Choice 1: keep being a victim, letting it hurt, letting the pain fester.

Choice 2: accept their imperfections (or repairable flaws, I’m not quite sure about which one it is) and let them back in, trusting that if hurt comes, being an unforgiving victim is worse.

Choice 3: accept that they aren’t what I wanted them to be, forgive them and let them go for now.

To be continued…

Day 85

8AM:

Are yesterday and the worn-out feelings of today the result of it being close to the end of the week, a stress-filled one at that?  Or are they the accumulation of a couple of weeks’ worth of rust, which has not flaked off as much over the last little while because priorities have been elsewhere (brother’s mental health issues, my wife being physically worn)?  Or is it past ghosts that I can’t shake?

There is a Colin Hay song I heard many years ago.  It kind of sums up my answer to that question:

I drink good coffee every morning

Comes from a place that’s far away

And when I’m done I feel like talking

Without you here there is less to say

I don’t want you thinking I’m unhappy

What is closer to the truth

That if I lived till I was 102

I just don’t think I’ll ever get over you

I’m no longer moved to drink strong whisky

‘Cause I shook the hand of time and I knew

That if I lived till I could no longer climb my stairs

I just don’t think I’ll ever get over you

Your face it dances and it haunts me

Your laughter’s still ringing in my ears

I still find pieces of your presence here

Even after all these years

But I don’t want you thinking I don’t get asked to dinner

‘Cause I’m here to say that I sometimes do

Even though I may soon feel the touch of love

I just don’t think I’ll ever get over you

If I lived till I was 102

I just don’t think I’ll ever get over you

Even on the good days, cuts have left scars and scars have left scar tissue and rust.  So even once the cuts have healed and the rust has cleared off, there will be feelings that the experiences of life, the people I’ve met have left their marks: I just don’t think I’ll ever get over the blackness, there will be pieces of its presence whispering to me.  It does have an impact, but it is not the sole decider.

It doesn’t mean it controls my life or my ability to be happy and grateful and fulfilled; nor does it mean that feeling worn down or crapped on isn’t exacerbated or ameliorated by it.  I choose to act on the things I can and live with the things that I can’t change.

I know that this is a little jumbled, and probably a reflection of how mind-fucked I am right now.  Simply put, I have the truth in my world and it isn’t given to me by fresh wounds, emotional scars or old ghosts – they can be with me forever (never gotten over) and affect me always, but not control me ever.

Day 22

6AM:

Three days, three “fun snacks.”  Day 1 was Rolos, Day 2 was unknown amount of wine and Day 3 was truffles.  The funny thing is that none of them were awe-inspiringly liberating.  I didn’t feel some sort of euphoric “AAAHHHHHH” when I had any of them:

Truth be told, I would have rather had the 85% Lindt Dark Chocolate over any of them.  But I can’t know – I won’t allow myself to be wrong about whether or not this is something that I actually want.  Do I want it for actual satisfaction/desire or do I want it because of control/restriction?

Truth be told, I didn’t feel like having the 10PM snack I made last night after eating the wife-delivered truffles and artichokes.  But I can’t know – I won’t allow myself to be wrong about whether or not this was me fighting back against relatively-unstructured eating that night.  Did I not want it because I was tired and satisfied with the food I had eaten or did I not want it because of control/restriction?

Truth be told, I feel kind of crappy this morning after having “test the waters, loosening up barriers, unrestricting restrictiveness” Chinese food for dinner last night.  But I can’t know – I won’t allow myself to be wrong about whether or not this is something that I should attribute to the food that I ate.  Do I not want it because it made me feel sluggish or do I not want it because of control/restriction?

Yesterday, Social Worker asked why I don’t trust myself to make decisions like this anymore.  It is because I fucked up.  It is because I don’t want to be wrong again.  But I can’t know – I’m not sure if this is because I want to be perfect or because I actually recognize the side effects of being wrong.

Day 15

9AM:

I used a phrase with Work Friend earlier: I am everyone else’s life lesson.  Old Boss and Family Friend didn’t reach out when I needed them, now they will for the next person.  Mom and Dad ignored the things that made me fucked up, now they won’t ignore them for my brother.  My wife abandoned me on two occasions – one time she wasn’t there physically, giving me someone to lean on, and the second time, she cheated on me, pretending she was there when she was somewhere else entirely – and now she tries her damndest to make sure that never happens again.  Same thing would apply for the family – who knows how that will go around Christmas, but I will most certainly become the life lesson again.  Is this an element of my disease or my personality?  I don’t mind this role; it makes me useful and wanted (and lonely).

And the train of thought continues…

My wife has asked me about forgiveness a number of times, so much so that I’ve had the thought rattling around in my head: forgiveness for all these aforementioned things, forgiveness of my own sins, forgiveness of my own faults.  What she does not understand is that I can’t forgive myself; how the fuck am I supposed to forgive anyone else?  In fact, I would be more likely to forgive everyone else for leaving me to rot in this hole of stress and anxiety and ED; it would be that much harder to forgive myself.

It has never been a question of forgiveness.

Why does it have to be forgive or forget, forgive and forget, or any of these permutations?  Why can’t it just be living the next day, and the day after that and the day after that?  Worrying about forgiveness, regretting what is done, longing for redos – these are the tragic flaws of Shakespearean plays, all leading to self-imposed dementia, deterioration and desolation.  But that’s her and everyone else, they are the ones that worry about those things, not me.  I wouldn’t regret what is done, I wouldn’t long for redos, I would just breathe.  I quack like a duck, walk like a duck and talk like a duck, so perhaps I am disguising moving on as forgiveness – but only for me, not for anyone else.  For the first time in a long time, I could very well be a life lesson for myself (now I just have to figure out how to accept and forgive myself).