Rage, rage against the dying of the light...

A month ago the unspeakable happened, and now it feels as if we are in an Orwellian world… I question my own grasp of the reality and wonder how long I may have deluded myself about it.

Waking up in the morning is the hardest. In these early hours, the thought of facing the world is next to unbearable; the absurdity of it all makes my head implode… So I look at pretty pictures of Instagram, consciously and deliberately avoiding the news… Then I push the clouds of dread hanging over the bed and force myself get up. Because I must go on – for my own sake and for the sake of the values I believe in. I must go on, out of sheer spite, refusing to give up logic, rationality, compassion and kindness. This spite is about all the agency I feel I have, and I hold on to it with all I’ve got…

I talked to him on Monday. It was a difficult, strained conversation, with long, drawn out silences. It was cold outside, and I stood there, on the sidewalk, a small dark speck against the grayness of the day, smoking a cigarette, feeling the fingers holding the phone to my ear get colder and colder, with a sudden and very acute awareness that the man on the other side was not the man I had taken a liking to.

Now I can write the story - a version of a Dorris Lessing story that seems to be most fitting. A trite story, for what we've got here is something trite, and trite is much easier to come to terms with.

***

A woman letting herself be deluded about the nature of a man she has taken a liking to. She ends it with him out of sheer exasperation, and spends days crippled with pain and longing. And yet, once aware of this delusion, all the brief moments of closeness that she thought they shared suddenly lose their meaning, and the warmth she used to feel for him quickly dissipates. She blames herself for her inability to see what in hindsight was obvious, gives a shrug, and moves on about her day.

Waking up in the morning is the worst. Besides the heaviness in my limbs and the tightness in my chest- consequences of smoking too many cigarettes - there is pain in my heart, sharp, piercing pain, and I miss him more than ever.

I miss him. I'm angry at him. I'm bargaining with him in my head... and quietly, I'm pleading with him... even though my pleas are unworded and I'm not even sure what it is that I'm pleading for... The finality of it is hard to grasp, the loss of those simple moments of joy is hard to cope with. But then, the realization of how badly I may have deluded myself about him, about what we had, makes me feel like a fool...So I'm angry at him, but more angry at myself. This most pedestrian, banal ending has unhinged something in me - for what I feel is not a simple heartache, longing, or ennui... It's desperation. And I feel more helpless than ever.

It ended out of sheer exasperation. Because of too many unspoken words and misplaced expectations... Because I couldn't bear to be anything but. Because he refused to be anything but.
...

It had to end - in my mind it is so clear that it had to end. Yet the tightness in my chest is unbearable, and my heart hurts... It hurts all the time. And there is nothing more painful than his silence. And this silence is the most unfair.

...

The only emotion that I ever managed to get out of him was anger. Misplaced or misdirected anger. Whether this anger was due to misunderstanding, or his unwillingness and inability to listen, will never be known to me.

...

It will take a while to get through this. And maybe, one day, when it does not hurt so much, I'll write yet another short story and move on...

I'm sorry it had to end like this. It's a bad, sad and frightening time for many of us. It's a particularly bad time for me, and I know things are bad for you too. I had hoped that maybe we'd be able to carry each other through this, and I'm sorry if my timing was so so bad...

But I want you to know that I will always always think fondly of you. We had a really good beginning - I won't forget that. You gave me many many of your free days, and I'm grateful for that. There are many moments, frozen in my mind's eye, where I was with you, and I was happy. I'll think of them often, and I'll think of them fondly. Like the first long date we had on that park bench, or how you kissed me, for the first time, so shily, in front of Starbucks. Or lying in your bed, between you and sleeping Linus, listening to your even breathing in the dark. Or drinking coffee on your deck, early in the morning, looking at your still sleepy face, and smelling the early fall. I'll remember how excited I'd get right before seeing you, as I'd scramble to get ready, because with you I was always, always running late. Or how I went into Sandy's office with a big smile and told him "I think I'm going to fall in love with this guy..."

It really was a good beginning, and I am very sad and sorry it couldn't be anything more. But it's ok - sometimes things are the way they are, and the best we can do is accept them for what they are. When I talked to you last night, it became very clear to me that what I wanted was closeness, and that perhaps you merely wanted someone to have a fine time with. And that's ok too. I can't ask you to give me what you are unable or unwilling to give. But I also cannot be someone casual for you. Perhaps this isn't the best way of wording it, and I wasn't any better last night, but it had to be said, even though I didn't want you to get defensive.

I hope things get better for you, for me, for all of us. It will hurt for a while, and I will miss you... Please, don't be mad at me - if there is anything I want to ask you is to please please not be made at me.

I really, really like you, regardless - the charming, shy, stubborn, clumsy tired orbit. I will always think of you fondly, and I will smile, and I'll wish you well...

Be well...

Cold, cold and rain...

The dread that has settled in at the pit of my stomach continues to grow...

My muscles are tense and sore, my chest is tight, and my heart hurts with a dull ache, in anticipation of a doom.

A long winter lies ahead, with a string of cold and dreary days, and once again, I can picture myself - a small, dark, brittle figure, in sharp relief against the background of gray, shivering in the wind and looking dolefully at the sky...

The unspeakable happened...