Protest Against Life

Sept 2/97. Tuesday.

A phone message left on Friday from my brother changed all plans. He and his wife decided to drive up to Toronto after all. Saturday was spent wondering what time he would arrive and wrestling with the longing to see him again and the refusal to want to be a part of his life anymore.

We had Sunday together before they had to leave early Monday morning for the long drive back. It left me wishing he never came up. The turmoil he left behind was agonizing. I cried and so I went running until I stopped crying. I cried because the gap between us seems to have widened again, because I hadn't realized the loneliness could hurt so much, and because I seem to have created a mirage in my mind and am only beginning to see it for what it is. It is shock, it is illusion shattered, it is pain, it is bitter disappointment and more grief.

And when he left, the many battles I knew were ahead of me seemed impossible to defeat; arduous tasks which I cannot find the heart and courage to face. I slept well only last night, mostly out of pure exhaustion. But I have woken up to a Tuesday morning finding tears too readily available. There is no courage here.

Sept 3/97. Wednesday.

Stronger today from the lack of feeling, from the growing numbness spreading through my heart. Is this all there is to life? The ever so brief highs, the crushing lows, and the incredibly flat plateaus over a period of hours stretching to days? It doesn't matter. This has become too familiar to whine about.

These days, so torn between wanting to simply be left alone and wanting so much to reach out and touch someone. To allow that comfort of being close to someone, being loved, and to love. And this, this,..... is something I've long ago decided I had no need for. Yet now, what is this yearning all about? A part of me disgusted at the fact that I even went out on a date last night with a guy I could never find a fit with. A sweet guy, but a guy who could never be my type. Who have I become, so much so that I have become alien even to myself? Who is this bizarre creature, walking in my shell of a body, taking my shape and form, doing things that surprises, shocks and disgusts me? And why is this better than the slow self destruction of an organism that knows it must die soon?

So many questions, and I know they will never be answered. The solution to this being to refrain from asking at all.

Sept 4/97. Thursday.

Not much on my mind today. Simply sitting on a plateau, contemplating odds and ends. Drifting with thoughts of freedom, of running away from it all, fantasies of escape. Too much noise and then too much silence. Where is the median?

If only life had a fast forward button and I could browse through it to see how much good versus evil there is in my future. Although I suppose I can always come to a conclusion based on history. History repeats itself, does it not? Cliche, but true.

More mindless thoughts -- whatever hapenned to that button on the blouse I got dry cleaned?

I hate this feeling of vagueness. Of not knowing if the next bump will send me plunging downhill or engulf me in a frenzied destructive energy.

Sept 5/97. Friday.

Still hanging in here, in the Land of the Forgotten. Wondering where the hell blue and red pens go when they disappear. As if thinking of the mundane will ease the burden of reality. No, it's Friday, and I want to forget. I want to float away and disappear, to where the socks, red/blue pens go.

Windego, a story I wrote a while ago has become part of Extinct 2. Why I choose to put it online now, I don't know. Boredom perhaps. I've been fidgety. I've had strange curious energy that comes and disappears without a trace. I'm running on a magical fuel and then running on nothing but air.

The guy I dated on Tuesday called up and wants to see me over the weekend. It's true I agreed to the first meeting. It's true I admitted to the fact that I was looking for someone. But now that I have him trying to get into my schedule, into my life, I feel violated, angry, and simply want to be left alone. I will never want to have someone in my life. I will never be happy putting up with the quirks of someone else. I've done fine on my own, and perhaps I should leave it at that. Weekends are such a rare treat for me these days. I need them so much to fade into the nothingness of an Elavil induced sleep, into the anonymity of city life, into my own self created prison. Yet this has caused me so much pain, so much loneliness. I'm torn. And I'd rather sleep all the decisions away.

Life, without a fast forward button is indeed dreary. Life, without the hope of seeing some light at the end of the tunnel is not life at all.

Sept 7/97. Sunday.

Everyday there seems to be a fall out. Something to remind the eager, wide eyed child that life truly is "short, nasty and brutish" . Innocence seems to be forever stampeded in this wild and crazy safari.

I spent yesterday in bed mostly. Floating and drifting above idle thoughts, and watching these thoughts scatter as I try to land on them. Wondering where I will be next week when the final decision has been made. Wondering how this decision will affect me and where I will take it. This morning, when I awoke, I decided that either way, it doesn't really matter. It has mattered too much for too long. I have nothing much to lose anymore. My only regret over this entire matter is that of all the days it has to happen, it will be this Wednesday, the day I usually see DH. My fault this time. I will be the one away. And whether I come back or not, this will be in my hands. Yet, the final decision is not. My prayer in this matter would be to ask that they no longer delay the matter. I'd rather it all be over. It would spare everybody more grief.

Again, I will ask myself why I want something so badly, as to come down to this groveling. Where is the dignity of that stubborn hearted one? What have I become that a feather so much as lands on me would reduce me to tears? Shame. So much shame. Crying is the act of one who has been defeated. It is the sign of one who has failed and has admitted so. And I, of all people, have shamelessly done so.

I've come a long way. I've come a long way to nowhere. People used to say to me, "you're so young, give it time, and you'll find something". Just exactly what that something is, I have no clue. I am just beginning to understand that it might not be anything at all. Just beginning to comprehend the idea that adults always paint pretty pictures that do not mean anything, and that do not reflect much of reality at all. And as an adult now, I find it part of my duty to paint these pretty pictures. But in my heart, I feel the pain of seeing it as it is. For knowing it as it is. And it does nothing for me.

Sept 8/97. Monday.

Long day almost ending. It will probably end like the usual weekday evening - a long run and a warm shower. I am very much looking forward to my evening run tonight. This weekend was spent too much in bed, with my fog filled brain barely able to grasp the very idea of coordination.

I have decided not to be too anxious over the next couple of days. I will take it all in stride. After all, it is quite laughable to think that anything can frazzle me anymore, especially after all that they'd put me through over the last two years or so. Some people may say that such events have made me a stronger person. But I will not admit so. I will say that such events have crippled me, and I can no longer be crippled further.

Sept 9/97. Tuesday.

I suppose facing uncertainty brings out the worst in people. I wish I wasn't in this spot. I wish I could stop feeling that whatever outcome it is, I will emerge a loser in a matter of degrees. There is only one way to end this, and it isn't remotely related to a yes or a no answer, not related to the final decision, whatever it may turn out to be.

When I said thank god it's almost over, I meant I wish to be alienated, cast away. I wish to be propelled over the edge, sent flying off into space, because I can't do it on my own. Not enough will on my own. Not enough courage.

Is a person's worth judged by his or her achievements? It mostly is. And I was never one who made it that far. I get by, like thousands of other people. Insignificant. Worthless. We're replaceable. Like Kleenex. Use and dispose. Hurts to realize this, but it's true.

Sept 11/97. Thursday.

I've finally come a full circle. And I've found the exact same spot I was a year ago. Disappointment, grief, fear, anger, grief, more grief. It feels as though this life is over. It feels as though all the fight I've put up for the last year has been entirely worthless. It had costed me heartache and pain and hardship. At the cost of my pride, my dignity, my self esteem. It angers me today, more than anything else, that I had allowed myself to believe in that one illusion I so desperately wanted to believe in. That even though I put up a hard fight, that even though I knew the road would be bumpy and painful, I allowed that one hope, that one flicker of hope to remain in the core of my heart.

I have decided that I have sacrificed too much for nothing. It simply isn't worth it anymore. I do not wish to pursue this hopeless matter anymore. I do not wish to believe in the tooth fairy, Santa Claus, and I do not wish to believe in this mirage anymore. I should never have. Never. Ever.

One woman. Fifteen minutes of her time. Over five years of mine. And my world has come tumbling down faster than a house of cards caught in a draft. So much pain for nothing. So much struggle for nothing. So much money which I do not have, gone, vanished. Gone to those who suckered me into this, who made me believe there was a fair chance.

It's over, and this is finally beginning to sink in this morning. The long seemingly endless five hour bus ride home last night was spent choking back the grief of such helpless frustration. When I finally arrived in Toronto, a warm fuzzy numbness had settled in, and I slept well to it, especially after having been deprived of sleep for over 36 hours. This morning, there is simply a cold calculatedness. I know it's over, and the acceptance stage has to kick in soon. It's a matter of time before I have to leave. Leave for where, I don't know yet. I'll find out when I get there. When? It might as well be soon. Once everything is settled, and once I've had time to go around thanking the few people who have supported me in this. Of course, I will allow time. It's all I have that's mine right now. But the wheels have to be set in motion. I no longer have options.

Sept 12/97. Friday.

Dismantle. Function : transitive verb. Meaning 1) to take to pieces; also : to destroy the integrity or functioning of 2) to strip of dress or covering : DIVEST. Thesaurus : Synonyms ; destroy, revoke, dismount, demolish, raze, ruin, unbuild, wrack, wreck, lift, repeal, rescind, disassemble, dismember, take down.

Pieces of my life. Gathered, sorted and ready to be destroyed. It should have happened a long time ago. Like the burning of my journal note books, it is both with relief and with a heavy heart that I do this. To erase the damage I have done. To wipe out as much of this miserable trail of an existence I have made. And to slink away like an animal to lick my wounds and perhaps die the way I have lived - insignificantly.

She seems to be dead already. Not just quiet. But at times, she actually seems distant and unattached. Not just numb. Not as much crying either. As if she's run out of tears, or as if she's running on clockwork, purposefully carrying out the tasks at hand, one step at a time. A wave of sadness will wash in from time to time, and she will cry, but mostly in the dark, in the middle of the night. But I see that she holds within her the knowledge of the inevitable, and this time, she does not fight it anymore. She knows, just as I know, that it's time to let go. And we both know we don't have a choice. We are both merely trying to accept it in our own way. She, in her quiet resigned way, and me, full of questions and with uncomprehending naivete.

Sept 14/97. Sunday.

I don't know exactly how long I'll still be around for. I know it's only a matter of days. Damn. I'm terrified. But living in fear has become familiar. And I do believe fear subsides with familiarity. Yet, this seems like a different kind of fear.

Letting go of things. Upheaval. A major change to my life. Perhaps an inevitable one all along. Crying, kicking and screaming, I am finally accepting the fact that perhaps what I have tried to pursue for so many years have never meant to be. The voice whispering to me, "it's not worth this much pain", seems to be growing louder and louder. My brother called and very gently tried to tell me that there are other things out there, that there is a big picture out there, that my field of vision has narrowed to a blind spot over the years, over this one dream. My heart already knows this - but his pointing it out to me made it more real. And a terrible sadness and regret fogs my soul as I realize this shattered dream.

Where I choose to take this is my decision now. Facing this enormous decision feels awfully lonely. And I am sfraid the anger and frustration will drive me over the edge. What was it DH calls it? Ambivalence. Yeah, whatever.

Losing this dream evokes a feeling I can't even begin to describe. The loss I feel leaves a hollow spot in the center of my core. I have sacrificed so much for this. That's all the anger I can muster. It all originates from the fact that I have sacrificed so much for nothing.