Affairs of the Heart
Every now and then I am forced into taking actions, and generating responses, that cause me grief, pain, and deep emotional, intellectual, and psychological loss.
Like most people, I try to avoid these situations whenever possible - to put it bluntly: unless one is an avowed masochist, they are just no fun whatsoever. I realize that, much as I hate to admit it, I am human and subject to all the associated pitfalls, pratfalls, and false hopes and paths this condition implies and seems to necessitate. The understanding does not make the results one whit better.
I am, as are many of my social group, opinionated, garrulous, "id-centered", self-assured, and often totally "full of 'it'". That the road to the theological place of eternal punishment is paved with the best of intentions is, too often, a given. No matter that one tries to communicate and explain, to do "the right things", and to be prepared to "take one for the team" - any action which CAN be misconstrued is almost guaranteed to be misconstrued in the worst possible way.
It becomes especially bad when one is lost in emotional, physical, or even medical "fog" - and not only are the outlines unclear, but the actual layout of reality (whatever that may be) becomes amorphous or tenuous as one's debility or infirmity further masks the effects of one's actions and maps the negatives into positives. There is, alas, no way to change the past and undo what was never meant to happen. There is, alas, no way to undo pain and hurt - no matter how unintentional and non-visible it was. It can not be done... at least not by such mere mortals as myself.
Under the best of conditions I am not the easiest person to live with. Aside from being moderately set (like concrete) in my ways, habits and thought patterns, I am getting older and feel little desire to try to be a new dog learning new tricks. At the same time, things that do not change - that stagnate - are already dead... they just don't know it yet.
One who is the penultimate of near and dear to me has made it very clear, with no room for ambiguity or misunderstanding, that she believed and believes that I did and do not wish to live, that I did and do simply want to give up and no longer be an active participant in that abstraction commonly referred to as life. To further complicate matters, there is - in her viewpoint - no way that I could have been so far from cognitive content that I could not, did not, would not see and understand the pain and hurt I caused to those around me (and her in particular) while not only attempting (with minimal success) to deal with the concept of dying, but simultaneously attempting to distance myself from those I cared and care about to protect, shield, and soften what I had finally gotten to believe was the ultimate end of my corporeal existance.
(Talk about circumlocutions!)
No matter how I try to phrase it, the truth is that real damage is done. By trying to do right, I have done wrong. All the King's horses, etc. can not fix the eggshell. Unfortunately, I now feel much like I have trekked through the Valley of Death, survived Jurassic Park, and fought the Army of Orcs only to have nearly every hope and dream, reason and motivation, destroyed and broken into dust just as there is cause for optimism.
Worst of all is that I can not, in any kind of good faith, truly or honestly promise that I will never be debilitated, severely ill, or just "lost" again. All I can do is to promise to do my best, which just isn't good enough to even provide plastic bandages for what is still openly bleeding.
There is truly a difference between being alive and living. I do have reasons to live, including wonderful children, family, and friends. But how does one live without that which has been the light of one's life for so long that it is one's raison d'etre? Especially when one knows that much of that loss is one's own fault - no matter how unintentional and without malice?
How does one live without one's heart?
Like most people, I try to avoid these situations whenever possible - to put it bluntly: unless one is an avowed masochist, they are just no fun whatsoever. I realize that, much as I hate to admit it, I am human and subject to all the associated pitfalls, pratfalls, and false hopes and paths this condition implies and seems to necessitate. The understanding does not make the results one whit better.
I am, as are many of my social group, opinionated, garrulous, "id-centered", self-assured, and often totally "full of 'it'". That the road to the theological place of eternal punishment is paved with the best of intentions is, too often, a given. No matter that one tries to communicate and explain, to do "the right things", and to be prepared to "take one for the team" - any action which CAN be misconstrued is almost guaranteed to be misconstrued in the worst possible way.
It becomes especially bad when one is lost in emotional, physical, or even medical "fog" - and not only are the outlines unclear, but the actual layout of reality (whatever that may be) becomes amorphous or tenuous as one's debility or infirmity further masks the effects of one's actions and maps the negatives into positives. There is, alas, no way to change the past and undo what was never meant to happen. There is, alas, no way to undo pain and hurt - no matter how unintentional and non-visible it was. It can not be done... at least not by such mere mortals as myself.
Under the best of conditions I am not the easiest person to live with. Aside from being moderately set (like concrete) in my ways, habits and thought patterns, I am getting older and feel little desire to try to be a new dog learning new tricks. At the same time, things that do not change - that stagnate - are already dead... they just don't know it yet.
One who is the penultimate of near and dear to me has made it very clear, with no room for ambiguity or misunderstanding, that she believed and believes that I did and do not wish to live, that I did and do simply want to give up and no longer be an active participant in that abstraction commonly referred to as life. To further complicate matters, there is - in her viewpoint - no way that I could have been so far from cognitive content that I could not, did not, would not see and understand the pain and hurt I caused to those around me (and her in particular) while not only attempting (with minimal success) to deal with the concept of dying, but simultaneously attempting to distance myself from those I cared and care about to protect, shield, and soften what I had finally gotten to believe was the ultimate end of my corporeal existance.
(Talk about circumlocutions!)
No matter how I try to phrase it, the truth is that real damage is done. By trying to do right, I have done wrong. All the King's horses, etc. can not fix the eggshell. Unfortunately, I now feel much like I have trekked through the Valley of Death, survived Jurassic Park, and fought the Army of Orcs only to have nearly every hope and dream, reason and motivation, destroyed and broken into dust just as there is cause for optimism.
Worst of all is that I can not, in any kind of good faith, truly or honestly promise that I will never be debilitated, severely ill, or just "lost" again. All I can do is to promise to do my best, which just isn't good enough to even provide plastic bandages for what is still openly bleeding.
There is truly a difference between being alive and living. I do have reasons to live, including wonderful children, family, and friends. But how does one live without that which has been the light of one's life for so long that it is one's raison d'etre? Especially when one knows that much of that loss is one's own fault - no matter how unintentional and without malice?
How does one live without one's heart?