History repeats itself

So the love of my life doesn’t want to be the love of my life.  I knew this was coming before we even got started.

He’s an alcoholic.  He’s depressed. He’s suicidal. He hates this life, his life. He loves me but doesn’t want me to love him. He doesn’t want to be important to me. I guess that way he can slope off to die quietly, and without my knowledge.

He pursued me knowing all the while he shouldn’t. He isn’t capable right now (maybe he never will be) of functioning well enough to support himself, let alone in relationships.  I let him in, again, and hoped for a better outcome this time even whilst having this nagging feeling that we’d just end up disappointed.

Doubt thou the stars are fire,

Doubt that the sun doth move,

Doubt truth to be a liar,

But never doubt I love.

So said him to me a year ago when I expressed doubts – and he was stone cold sober.

I want to shake him…

Shake him out of his depression, free him from his prison and drag his sorry arse into the light.

I have suffered from depression and sometimes it returns – everybody has been there and goes back again in their lifetime, to highly varied degrees.  It is not the same experience for everyone.  You can’t be talked out of it amongst friends, you can’t be drugged out of it. I talked to my GP and that was the extent of the professional help I got; the rest of the heavy lifting I did alone for the most part.  I have sought solace in a few drinks to numb the pain over the years and I still do, but not to the extremes that he does.  I have felt suicidal several times and in fact just a few months ago.  I survived a life threatening operation to return to a life that continues to hit me.  But that is life.  It isn’t pretty most of the time, it can be bloody boring too much of the time but there are bright spots and I seek them out.

He sought me out: “…the only and one bright thing in (his) life…”.

He said: “…I need you in my life…”.

But here I am, covered up again, filed away under what exactly…?

Am I an idiot?  Don’t think so.  I didn’t fall for a line/s, my eyes were wide open, he wanted to marry me and I knew within a few short weeks that it would never happen.  He lacks the courage and will and force to make a change that will benefit him and those around him. It is easier to hide behind your pain than to get out in front of it.  To do that takes effort, it is a monumental shift in the brain that sadly, some never rise to.  I want him to rise, and he simply cannot.  I’ve been there and fought through.  It took me such a long time… But all my experience comes to naught here. The arrows miss their target, the seeds lack fertile ground…

I hope he reads this, I hope against hope that it breaks through.  I want my friend to be well but I can’t tell him that in a text or email and he is avoiding a face to face. I get it.  The last thing you want when you feel like this is to be told there’s a better way. And yet he has said he didn’t want me to stop trying.  The man is a walking, talking contradiction in terms:  “Don’t wait for me, move on, I’d hate that you did but you should, I love you, I need you, I have no right to want you for myself or feel jealousy, I love hearing from you and then I don’t, I want to hear from you, be with you but I can’t handle how you or I feel.”.

I don’t want to be your all and all…

What a mind fuck, you say – except it isn’t because I was prepared.  The defences were much better this time around.

Dark soul that he is, messed up as he is, he is and always will be one of my bright spots. We shall, I hope, maintain a friendship but that is up to him.  He has hidden behind texts and has not seen me in months, yet a year ago we were in one another’s pockets.  I do not apportion any blame.  He is a sick man who needs professional help and isn’t seeking it beyond drugs that utterly fail to control the extreme low cycles he experiences.  He is barely clinging to life and it is a crying shame as he has much to give.  The state of his mind does not allow him to see this or believe it. He is locked in a prison largely of his own making and the depression makes that worse, a condition he simply cannot control without help and support.

So what do I do?

What I’ve always done with anyone I love and care for:  be a friend, watch, wait.  I’d like to see him but he probably can’t handle it.  As his friend, I am involved and care for him like really true friends do.  The fact that I do love him more than a friend is secondary.  All along I made it clear that if he couldn’t handle “us”, our friendship mattered more to me and I was not willing to lose it again.  He agreed but I do wonder if my greatest kindness to him would be to disappear for a while with little or no contact.  Hard to know what to do for the best really…  I must just keep working on loving him less but enough to keep us both sane and stay friends.  We don’t do so well apart and the friendship is important to us both.

I sent him this poem today.  I came across it earlier in the week and it’s by Adam Lindsay Gordon:

Life is mostly froth and bubble,

Two things stand like stone:

Kindness in another’s trouble;

Courage in your own.

He didn’t respond and I didn’t expect he would.  We all have troubles and heaven knows I have mine.  I was struggling with something yesterday. I wanted to put the past few weeks behind me for so many reasons and meet up, shoot the breeze, not talk about problems. He couldn’t meet up but when he texted me later and at the end of it, said that he didn’t want to be important to me (after I had said how much he mattered not just to me but because he is so intelligent, etc), he knew I was not in a great place. Timing is everything. It’s never going to be a good time to be negative but it didn’t exactly brighten my mood. That’s not his problem though and it’s not as if I wasn’t expecting it.  Still, it wasn’t fair was it.  I only said it (again) because he told me 2 weeks ago quite out of the blue that he came close to ending his life.  I have no idea what stopped him and he typically didn’t elaborate.  All I can say is that I knew it was coming because I know him and his family didn’t and still don’t have a clue.  He won’t tell them.

He has so much to say and is so intelligent which only makes his illness all the more frustrating because it blocks him.  I almost always get a lift when I hear from him and there is a word that I came across a few months ago:  Sapiosexual.  I am a sapiosexual person – the mind is more attractive to me, than the physical.  A much younger man has shown an interest but I find myself having to explain the simplest of words/phrases and I feel like an English teacher!  I want conversations to flow, not to stop every 10 minutes to explain the vernacular.  He isn’t available and although he might be in future I just can’t see myself as anything but a good friend. We have a giggle, there’s great chemistry and he’s lovely but that’s it. I have a best friend just like him. If I could feel more that would be great as he ticks most of the boxes, but I just don’t – and it is not because my heart is elsewhere.  Head and heart need to be engaged: the physical tale is told in the first kiss, which seals or breaks the union.

Ah life…  I shall plod on with my projects, fun and not so fun, keep up with my growing circle of friends and not expect anything to happen in the realm of the heart.

Perhaps I shall be taken by surprise.

We live in hope…

 

 

This life

So, it’s been a trying time.  Mum had been having TIA’s and kept them quiet.  She finally went to the doctor and within days was told she was at very high risk of a major stroke. In under 2 weeks, she was rushed in for an operation.  That was 6 weeks ago and Mum stayed with me for a month.  Lying about the last TIA before the op ended up causing my son and I a great deal of stress and was the last thing he needed with exams upon him.  He cracked spectacularly 2 weeks ago; I had seen it coming but it was more terrible than I had imagined.  It had had a tremendously bad effect on his mocks.  All looked bleak and lost in that moment.  He became just like his Dad and there was simply no getting through to him. That man is not an example to follow, no model of how a man should be by any stretch of the mark and I said as much the next day.  An apology is words and those words are always welcome, but an apology backed with change is what really means something. His Dad was and is barely about the words and has never changed. My son utterly despises him.  “Watch you don’t become him – or like your Aunty.” is what I said…

To say Mum’s illness came out of the blue is an understatement.  To say it revealed my sister’s full and ugly nature is also an understatement.  She chose that time, when it was highly likely Mum could either die or be paralysed and unrecognisable, to offload a year’s worth of poison.  I opened the door to her nonsense because I got defensive about a particularly nasty comment and could not let it ride.  Still, it taught me something:

When you’ve tried over and over to reach someone and they just don’t want to hear you, turn your back, shake the dust off your feet and walk away.  

So this is what I’ve done.  I no longer have a sister.  Moreover, she no longer has me.  The loss is entirely hers.  I never had anything in particular to gain from trying “to be all peaceable like” with her.  For most of her life she has brought me and others, nothing but grief.  She could not even be civil while our Mum was going through one of the scariest periods of her life.

So many of my friends wonder at her anger and why she is so bloody pissed off at me, the wronged one?!  After all, she got a house and garden, the daughter I longed for, my ex-husband…  What’s the problem?  Who bloody knows…  According to one of my friends, she and her ex no longer have a hold over me and that lack of control has made them both nuts and they despise me with a passion, bordering on the psychotic in my “sister’s” case.  I am not joking.  She really did and still does think she can call the shots and doesn’t like to be told no or reminded of her failings – well nobody does, do they?  She however is sitting inside a glass house and has no right to literally dictate to anybody!  She tried to dictate to my son a few months ago after ruining his Christmas and then again to me a few weeks ago.  Bollocks to that, love.  Those days are long done.She is still pissed off about a dinner for our Mum that I did not plan but is convinced I did in order to spite her.  For that, I am “dead to her” and should “stay the fuck out of (her) life”.  Really?  If anything, it ought to be the other way around and I wasn’t actually in her life nor wanting to be.  I was just trying to get things on a better footing and not just for the sake of civility but because we are supposed to be sisters.

She holds onto grudges like The Tower of London holds on to the Queen’s jewels according to a cousin of mine.  How true that is and how shite that must be for her.  She has barely contained rage coursing through her veins whenever I am near. Me? Calm as fuck because I am calm as fuck.  I dealt with my demons with respect to our sorry story; she needs to deal with hers and stop trying to blame me for how she feels/how she claims others feel because I finally put my son and I first (and which I do without malice).

My son turns 18 soon.  He can’t wait and I suspect he may run a little wild and loose over time and take this whole “I’m adult” thing to it’s fullest however, “My house, my rules” still apply!  He’s off to Uni before too long and I am happy for him to spread his wings and really embrace change.  I will not be a grieving Mum, crying over baby photos and old toys, wondering why my boy has gone.

I can’t wait to watch him move through this next phase.

 

 

 

 

Friends, Romans…..Anyone?

I shouldn’t let any of it hold sway, but astrology piques my interest.  As a teen and into my 20’s I bought into it completely – Western and Chinese.

By Western standards, I’m a Cancerian a few days short of Leo and depending on what you read I have Taurus or Aries rising and the moon affects me as well as some of that Leo fire.  Being a water sign and with tides being controlled by the pull of the moon (and with our bodies being mostly made up of water) this can apparently make one’s moods fluctuate constantly.  Being on the cusp of Leo apparently means that I have a very sociable side tempered by a need to be away from people – I want to be in the thick of it but at the same time, side-step it!  People see a different side to me at social gatherings, bright, carefree, outgoing and yet I find such events uncomfortable and can become disengaged.  That part is true enough. Cancer is the adolescent of the zodiac – moody, changeable teen…?

By Chinese standards I am a Metal Boar born in a “Golden year” during the hours of the Rat (which makes me shrewd, apparently), with great mental and physical strength.  The Boar resides in the twelfth House and whilst it was the last to complete the race, it is the most mature and accomplished.

Being this particular type of boar apparently means however that I:

“…underestimate my enemies and overestimate my friends.”.

Now that is spot on.

I read that line many years ago and I still haven’t learnt from the latter part of that declaration. Others who are apparently “in my house” are: Sir Alan Sugar, Bryan Adams, Hillary Clinton, Alice Cooper, Simon Cowell, Amy Winehouse, Carlos Santana, Henry Ford, Iggy Pop, Stephen King, Meat Loaf, Oliver Cromwell, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Elton John, The Dalai Lama, Wolfgang Mozart, Luciano Pavarotti.

I see many among them whom I find it hard to believe could be taken for granted – and I also see some very damaged, highly creative and flat out brilliant individuals…  I do not count myself as such, but will accede to having been very badly damaged. And having got back up again. And again. And again….

And then there are famous Cancerians whom I admire or whose work I enjoy (some a great deal) but am I anything like them?  Until today I had no idea (bar George Michael, Henry VIII, Caesar and Tom Cruise) that they shared my sign:  John Cusack, Meryl Streep, Sofia Vergara, Emmeline Pankhurst, Oliver Sacks, Edmund Hillary, Malala Yousafzai, Erin Brokovich, Nikola Tesla, Robin Williams, Kathy Bates, Frances McDormand, Gustav Klimt, Pablo Neruda, Harrison Ford, Bob Marley, Gustav Mahler, Alan Turing, Josh Hartnett, Nelson Mandela, Peter Paul Rubens, Jake La Motta, Edgar Degas, Steve McQueen, Alexander the Great….

Again there are some incredible individuals in that list.  Could I ever aspire to or attain the brilliance of Oliver Sacks, the depth of creativity of Rubens or Neruda, the immense talents of John Cusack or Meryl Streep, the emotional and rebellious musicality of Bob Marley, the fortitude of Mandela or La Motta, the wonderful comic timing and genius of Sofia Vergara or Robin Williams?  All of these people have moved me and continue to affect me; I get them.  They speak my language whether in print, with a brush or on film.

But I’m pretty sure I could find two dozen or ten dozen others with whom I also vibrate sympathetically and who are neither Cancerian or metal boars (bores…!).

I expect so much because I give so much – my “sign ” has naught to do with it.  Naively I still believe that what I so readily give will be reciprocated yet time and again it is not.  I think I will always be a “giving more than I receive” person because it is hard wired into me. Stings a bit though, especially if I’m not available when someone pulls the string and suddenly I am “persona non grata”!

Do I get taken for granted?  Yes.

Do I resent that?  Yes, sometimes I bloody well do!

Do I forgive it?  No, not always and a hardening begins (that crabby shell?).

But if you’re always there, what makes you necessary…..?  I hit upon this earlier today and it is an incredibly complex idea.

I’ve been told that I’m tenancious and formidable.  Could be that shell, but shells can be broken and claws lopped off…  Then again I’m apparently a metal boar (bore?) and a boar can be pretty damn ferocious if provoked, never mind one made of metal!  But I’m not a crab and I’m no boar (bore).

I’m just me.

The truth is I can (and have been) all of the above.  I’ve been stomped on and gone to pieces.  I’ve pulled in, disappeared and taken decades to re-emerge after being let down by people.  I’ve been a chattering ray of sunshine and harsh, cold showers.

Ask me who I am and I’ll say I’m an inquisitive, feeling, strong person who is loyal, shy, sunny, tough, sappy, melancholy, deeply loving, giving, self-sacrificing, sociable, sensitive, intuitive, insular, trusting, cynical, stubborn, cautious and impulsive, with a creative streak, sometimes a lazy bone, a fierce temper when provoked and a soppy centre.  I am independent and also long to let go and give over control but that takes trust. Who I am depends which mood or even decade you happen to catch hold of me in.  I can be warm or incredibly cold, but not quite unfeeling and I can feel too much one way or the other to my detriment. I’m a tricky combo, often misunderstood. Life gave me lemons early on and I didn’t learn how to make lemonade until I hit 40.  It’s also said when life gives you lemons, grab tequila and salt  – or just throw them at someone!!  Two songs that come very close to encapsulating me, who I am and where I’m at or have been at almost any given time in my life:  Four Seasons in One Day and Distant Sun – both by Crowded House.

Where am I going with this…?  Basically, where are my wonderful friends and family when I am in need? When I spent 2 hours on the phone while you railed at the world, when I dropped everything to see you or that time when you called and sucked up my evening when I was half way through dinner and my son ate alone while I listened and sympathised about how blue you were feeling?  Where are you?

I don’t necessarily need your advice but time off from being “me” would be nice once in a while!  And being me isn’t some terrible dark world it’s actually mostly light and happy but when those clouds gather, I’d like one of you to be present with a big umbrella!  I’m not bitter but it’s a bit rich when I push back and you decide to drop me like a hot potato!  And don’t I allow that to happen because I’m understanding, forgiving and soft, yes all true, but I can also be a hard-faced bitch.  I’ve cut people off over the years. There are some I’ve regretted and I learnt all the while, however I think time and recent life experiences are making me hard (tougher?).

It’s not a bad thing so long as it doesn’t run out of control and I end up a Julius Caesar or Henry VIII type  – or even a Robin Williams, God rest his soul…

I’m the only person I can depend upon, even when I let my stupid self down by being everything for those I care about the most.  Heck, I’m even 150% there for my boss all the while knowing he isn’t always going to match my input/effort.  So I get let down a great deal.  But I absorb it, let it out and move on.  Mostly…

Perhaps I need to learn faster and better what most people already practice: “Me, Myself and I”.

It’s not really me though – and there’s the rub!  I need to love, be loved and love myself more. I should continue to let people in but temper their subconscious or even conscious need to dominate my time and subjugate me.  Love – sexual, emotional, familial or intellectual – has to be breathed in and out, taken in and out, expressed, felt and wholly, unconditionally reciprocated and not flow only in one direction.

Love is about growth not the diminution of another.

I’ll end with this from The Bard:

“Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.”