Inner fire burns white hot...

The choices we make, the actions we take, the decisions we own, they all come down to our own conviction and the exercising of personal will. But what happens when the thinks we think we know we’re incapable of validating and the consequences of choice are just too far flung to fathom, too daunting to contemplate, and too terrifying to really try to comprehend. For me, I’ve never shown fear, I have always owned my decisions, I’ve made my choices and stuck by them without ever flinching. Sure there have been times where I’ve wanted to take something back, to do something over again and try for a better outcome, but I’ve always been blessed with an abundance of personal conviction. My resolve is unwavering in almost every instance. It’s this that I’ve taken for granted. Now in keeping with the idea that in order to attain closure on this whole thing and move beyond it, I have to understand it, I feel it pertinent to at least posit, what if I was not so resolute? What if my conviction was in question? Or if my choices were something I couldn’t necessarily believe in?

It’s a token thing that I don’t spend much time second guessing myself, rather I acknowledge mistake or error when it happens and attempt to atone and correct the situation. It’s a no brainer response, and it’s something I don’t question, but while for me it’s a tried and true response, and for the majority of you guys it’s something that you aspire to, what has allowed me to be so undaunted, so resolute, and so unquestioning of my own motivations? I know it seems nonsensical but it’s a valid question. I barreled along for four years without ever flinching or even pausing to consider another choice. But I forget that for so many others, her included, and even the majority of you, that kind of commitment is something unheard of. So that being said, it’s worth at least considering two major points, what endows me with the ability to make a decision and stick to it, heedless of the personal cost. The other thing to consider is, if my resolve is something unique to me from experience, upbringing, or is instead something indelible, well am I the anomaly that should seek to change?

I know this is a lot of questions and not much in the way of a formal argument toward a point. I also know that those of you who have been along for the ride this far or even those who got off and came back along the way, I should be decrying her and doing nothing at all to put myself in her shoes. Well, I’ve made my decision here that I’m not going to wallow in anger or pity, or doubt. It’s unproductive and it does nothing to help me heal or understand. It’s negative emotion that becomes nothing more than added weight and keeps me from doing more. There again, a simple affirmation of conviction that takes less than a second and I’m not even slightly inclined to consider another course of action. So what is it that lets me do it?

I certainly do not completely understand the universe, my role in it, or anything of that nature. Nor have I come to fully understand the intricacies of every situation. I’m not clairvoyant, psychic, or in touch with anyone on the other side. And I do have fears, no phobias per se, but I do have fears. So why am I so capable of having such unwavering conviction? I’m really hoping you guys can give me answers to this. I stand in the face of adversity time and again and I always manage to stay the course and arrive at exactly where I want to be.

So let’s just put together a scenario for sake of argument. So the choice is life changing, something that completely alters the day to day of existence. The results are far reaching, affect a good number of people and their reactions are expected to be along certain lines at the outset, but it’s hard to tell whether their own hubris and prejudice will win out over their wanting me to be happy. Okay let’s put names and faces to it all. Let’s say that I was considering getting back together with her and it could actually work out. She’s single and asking me to be with her. So if I decide to be with her, I invoke the ire of so many who have vilified her, I suffer the slings and arrows of others who say I’m throwing away something beautiful and it won’t be worth the sacrifice. No for me, it’s a no brainer, I make my choice and stick with it. But for sake of argument let’s say I’m not so resolute, not so self-assured…I think that’s it. Nosce te ipsum. I know myself, inside and out, I know what I’m capable of and what makes me tick and it is precisely that fact and understanding of myself that allows me to do what I do. I see my flaws, my faults, my shortcomings, and I embrace them, I don’t necessarily flaunt or laud them, but I accept and work to resolve them. I am comfortable with myself and who I am. My strength and resolve is culled from my innate understanding of who I am and what I’m willing to do. I am unafraid because I know that no matter what I do, I do it with the full understanding that I remain unchanged and unaffected unless I choose to let it be otherwise. Unfortunately that nifty little epiphany has given way to another question of why am I so comfortable with myself and my own skin when so many others are so ill at ease? Meh, an argument for another day, this is circular enough and I think I’ve raised more questions than I’ve answered. 

The good left unsaid...

Finality, it’s a word with a singular meaning yet somehow I manage to give it nuance. I’m not sure at what point in my life or my existence it was decided that the extraordinary would become the norm but somehow or another I consistently find myself in situations that defy the laws of reality and seem to be more like something out of a movie with clever writing and an all too appreciable protagonist. Don’t get me wrong here, I’m not complaining or even lamenting this, hell I like it, it’s always something I can manage, it makes for great stories, and in the end if it makes it here (I’m terribly sorry for all but abandoning you guys) hopefully it makes for a good read.

I’ve been playing Madness Returns all week as well as re-reading the books in an effort to make them my own and keep from having a sour taste in my mouth following the excision of a monumentally, almost integral, part of my life. Y’know that whole thing about how certain music you just can’t listen to following a break up? Well for me it goes to an almost, and I’ll admit it’s unhealthy, virulent extreme. TV shows, books, movies, restaurants, clothing, even jokes and quotes get relegated there. Because of my astuteness for details and my near flawless ability for total recall…well it becomes very hard for me to break associations to things once they’ve been made.

Please don’t misunderstand this entry to suggest that I’m struggling under the labors of just being able to listen to Tool or enjoy House. In truth, Tool is, and always will be, mine. I got into Maynard’s catalog around 2003 with A Perfect Circle and songs like Judith, Weak and Powerless, The Noose, Blue, The Outsider, and Passive. I can remember going to see Constantine with friends and knowing every word to Passive as it played in the film. I fell headlong into Tool following a long and somewhat less well documented pursuit from 2006. The Tool song "Right in Two" provided the initial impetus for my long suffering novel. At that point in time it was less a love story and more a supernatural action adventure with little grounding in anything real. But I really began to experience the band, the music, their message, their catalog, and the emotion evoking power following a chance listening of Pushit while stuck playing the same damn video game ad infinitum for a paltry sum of money. The song had a message, unclear and a bit muddied to me upon the first dozen or so listens, but as I resolved to just provide white noise outside of the game’s insipid soundtrack, my attention continually focused on the lyrics and I began to relate and apply the song’s story of disparity within a relationship and the lengths to which the singer is willing to ignore it in the hopes of making the relationship work. The gap between them and how the constant pushing and shoving from the other forces the singer to see it, the continual challenge of keeping them from disappearing despite having to face that chasm, the incessant feeling of being alive when they touch and when the singer is shoved again and again, the codependency of it all but having to acknowledge that the gap is there, and the constant entreaty from the singer to keep from being pushed over the edge, knowing it will be the end of them. I began to relate to that, to see how much I was pushed, again and again, over and over, seemingly without end but I managed to side step falling into the gap. I never hit the breaking point as the singer of the song does, I was strong enough to keep from throwing it all away. The days wore on and I began to relate to more songs, Schism, Parabol/Parabola, H., Stinkfist, I could list the majority of their work but you guys already know I’m kind of a fanatic. But the point is that I chose Tool as a means to relate, to cope, to achieve catharsis I just couldn’t get otherwise. It’s kind of occurred to be recently and I know you will all disagree so I’m curious to hear your arguments, but I really suck as communicating my own feelings. I can argue points, convey thoughts, pontificate and even explain things quite well but when it comes to really putting emotion and not just words to paper…well it’s kind of a rare thing.

As great as most would profess me to be at expressing myself, I have to admit, if for no other reason than just for my own benefit, when it really matters, I’m terrible at it. I could say the most beautiful things, I could paint the greatest and most enjoyable and lovely pictures with my words, but I couldn’t ever work up enough courage to really say what was on my mind. I would stare her in the face and decry her for being so closed, so stoic and inscrutable, and yet in trying to get her to open up, I began to shut down. I would close up and lose my ability to really say what I felt or what I meant, saving it until I could do so here, in a venue where it didn’t matter, where she would never see, and where it would end up having no bearing on the only thing it should have affected: us. In that regard I failed. I’m more than willing to admit that and I know that the majority of you will come the aid of my ego and my practice of expression. I can already see the comments, “You’re a master at self-expression, she just didn’t understand you. Stop beating yourself up and know that she wasn’t worth your time.” Well do me a favor guys, stow the comment, because you’re wrong. I can be eloquent, pithy, succinct (it’s rare but it does happen) and flawlessly expressive here because while I do most often write these in a single sitting and most often as a single stream of consciousness, I do still have the ability to pause for a moment and rephrase something without it ever actually seeing daylight prior. In a conversation, her standing right in front of me, I’m scrabbling with utter recklessness to collect and convey my thoughts as quickly as I can because I knew that every visit was timed, governed by an ethereal clock of sorts that could only be pushed so far. For anyone who’s ever had a long distance relationship or something of the sort, you know that things gets lost in translation when you’re trying earnestly to get everything out before the bell tolls. Such is the case for this, as beautiful as it was, I did, on more than one occasion, fall terribly and achingly short of getting everything out in the time allotted and more often than not for all the eloquence she thought it possessed, it really came down to terribly ham handed commentary being given on a rudimentary and slapped together analysis of things. I did my best, don’t get me wrong, but it was nowhere near what I would have liked it to be.

I know I’ve come a long way from finality and the nuances of it to the point I’ve made above, but you should all be accustomed to it. I’m trying to sort things out, to make the picture clear in my own head and hopefully save myself some arguments and needless battling. So I’ll put thought to text and see if I can make the picture a bit less muddied for my own benefit. Hope you guys are enjoying that I’m back, even in the state that I’ve returned to you in. Hopefully someone comments and lets me know there’s life out there. 

Day by day...

Not sure how Sunday will be known in the annals of my history. Saying it was the end of the world is giving it too much credit, and saying it was the end of something beautiful….well it’s accurate but I don’t want to dwell in imagery, I’ll be doing that enough in my own head. Sad to say that no matter what gets posted here, it’ll be raw truth and but it will be refined. My own proclivities, the madness of this whole thing…well there’s no real way to make it make sense to anyone that isn’t me. I’m hurt, I’m in pain. I know that relationships end every day and while this one has ended many times before, I’m faced with the assertion that this is the end. Some part of me thinks it was a copout on her part simply because she got pregnant. Certain things she said kind of resonated with me that it might be the case. But then again I could smell the cigarettes in her hair, and she alluded to a drinking problem, that along with the fact that I saw a receding gum line and a slight yellowing of the eyes, well it’s the early markers of jaundice. I know that to most these observations would seem like my attempt at being deliberately mean or some weak attempt at a self-affirmation for my being better off without her, but it’s just simply not true. I don’t need to hide from the pain or make myself feel better. Truth be told I kind of saw this coming a long time ago. It just didn’t make sense, she carries a mountain of baggage but is far too afraid to even see it, let alone attempt to deal with it. Like so many others she is broken, and I think in that, I’ve recognized the fundamental impetus for the overwhelming animosity toward her.

While it would be unfair to say that it’s all because of this presumed epiphany I think the unspoken and perhaps even unconscious cause of the animosity is not necessarily that she’s hurt me, but that she is what we all fear we might one day become. She is stagnancy. She achieved a plateau and sought no higher plane. She chose to accept that what she had achieved was the best she could do and in that she has become a personification of perhaps the greatest threat one like myself could encounter, something that strips away my passions. I am the embodiment of conviction and commitment, the last of a dying breed of romantics and it’s no wonder that it infuriated so many of you so much that I devoted so much of myself to someone that just seemed to take it as a given. I have become a universal constant of sorts, the lone voice of reason and rationality in this world. I am the last man willing to give up everything, to sacrifice all that I am and offer up all that I have in order to win love. I make no excuses for her choices, but in the same token I do not seek to vilify her. She is a good person, but she is terribly lost. I saw that, and I’ve spent the last four years trying in vain to save her from herself. I can save anyone from anything, but I couldn’t save her from herself, because she didn’t want to be saved. She wanted to badly to stay in that place, to remain that zone of balance.

I am so consumed by impotent rage, such vitriolic and overwhelming anger. If I gave myself over to that impulse…well I don’t want to think about the lengths I would go to. I’m set adrift without an anchor at the moment and this is perhaps the most lost I’ve ever been. I chose love and I was thwarted by fear. There is no apology for that, there is no redemption, no excuse or explanation that allows it to make sense. The whole thing is a riddle. We may not have ever been meant to be. It began because she felt underappreciated, and I was the answer. I was a young man, still naïve to so many things and she saw in me an innate adoration that would satisfy that need, such was her fear that she sought out what she needed from another rather than ask for it from the man she was marrying. I obliged, but I pushed all of my passion into it. I made a relationship from nothing. I invested all of myself into it. I allowed all of my power, my pride, my ability to bring it together, to keep it running, to make it work. I did this. I have done the impossible and I should feel pride in that. 

"I want to wipe my ass with the Mona Lisa..."

I watched something beautiful be destroyed...

And so it has ended. The long saga has finally penned what is, for all intents and purposes, the final chapter. After 4 years, 5 months, and 1 week, the final curtain has come down and the decision has been made. Needless to say, it did not go in my favor. Right now I’m still reeling, a bit too far flung to the edges of pain and misery to really process any intellectual thought beyond simply, “wow, that fucking sucks”. I had the initial reaction of angry tears, but stifled them in her presence, she’s scared enough of her own shadow, don’t need to give her more reason to live in fear of me. I’d say I’m in shock, but it would be lying for the most part because deep down I saw this coming weeks ago. She asked me to see things from her side, to put myself in her shoes, and to try to understand the reasons for her decision. It’s always been difficult to do that with her, because while I’m able to empathize quite well with most, I can offer a compulsion or at least the promise of the strength needed to implement change. With her however, it just always cycles back to self-deprecation and too much crippling fear to try anything. So in following her wishes I think it is simply fear that made the decision, not her. Fear of life changing, fear of admission, fear of doing anything. As Maynard says, there is no love in fear, and it’s true. To quote Ewan McGregor, “Choose”. I made my choice 4 years ago and I spent every day from then until now fighting to validate that choice and to see it come to fruition. I’ve taken most of you along for the ride, thank you for joining me. I at this point, while the pain is still overwhelmingly fresh, and the wound has not yet had time to heal, the best I can come up with, is that I feel hollow and empty inside. As for putting myself in her shoes, well, the best understanding I can offer right now is that she looked at her perception of my life, an existence riddled with trials, drama, chaos, and a myriad of larger than life situations, and saw that I am able to endure, overcome, manage, cope, and deal with all of it with only a token need for venting and expression. Somehow she convinced herself that she could not measure up, could not manage, and would inevitably be consumed by it all. She chose the path of least resistance, the road more traveled and the life with less work needed to endure. I’d say I blame her, but being honest, I think I’m the only person in existence that sees the value of suffering for a greater good. So for right now, I’ll end this, but expect many more in the coming days, depending on how well I’m able to manage whatever emotions might pop up. For right now I’m really trying not to be hostile about things. I did notice a few things though, she mentioned too much drinking being a side effect of all this and she admitted to feeling underappreciated with him being the impetus for the dawn of our affair. At this point there are two truths within that, the receding gum line is an early testament to the liver failure that has already begun and the genesis of cancers that are beginning to grow. And the fact that she felt underappreciated and sought out companionship elsewhere says that even in the relationship she chose, she still feels unequal, so in being completely honest, it’s only a matter of time before things reach a point where it all comes back full circle.

Brainstorm: A crack of ideological thunder, a bolt of ethereal lightning, the tempest has passed its prime

It has become something of an oddity that I have found the time and clarity of mind to sit down and write anything of length and substance. But not for lack of trying of a shortage of impetus, rather the drought has been the result of far too many things plaguing my already addled mind. The job situation has been a near unyielding source of stress and discontent. My recent move presented its own trials and woes, albeit it has paid off so far. And of course, the Long Saga continues to be written, a narrative with no clear ending and all the characters running stagnant in their roles. How terrible and boring such a book would be, and yet it is my life and I can’t find a single person that finds my tribulations to be anything short of remarkable.

I say remarkable because when explained at length, the circumstances of my upbringing, the inescapable nuances of my vernacular and of course the tongue in cheek irreverence that allows me to come off as charming and tolerable, most are staggered as to just how I keep my mind about me. I’ve offered a myriad of explanations but sadly, none has seemed “right”. Truth be told, the exact method by which I have managed to escape the seemingly inevitable maladies to which I have been predisposed, is a feat I’ve not yet fully understood.

But I press on, from one day to the next, heedless and unceasing in my forward march. The question however has recently presented itself; to what end do I march? It used to be that the aim was to prove myself worthy; to exemplify all that I believed myself lacking, in order to attain her. While that story continues to be written, one page each day, I have yet to pin down or extract the exact means by which I will attain my success. I’ve accepted that while my prose might be enjoyable to all of you, to the mass audience I hope to reach is far too consumed with Twitter, Facebook posts, and other minutia to really invest themselves for any length of time in absorbing the meaning and forethought poured into every sentence prior to its birth on the page.

As my previous post noted, I’ve no intention of sacrificing length or substance simply to pander to the cretins that find themselves too embroiled in their own trite pursuits to actually enjoy writing they claim to be of a pleasing caliber. While I know that might seem like a seething attack on some, or an outright indictment and an admittance of my refusal to show understanding to the busy schedules of so many, I’d like to point out that amid the hustle and bustle of my day to day existence, I still manage to find time to author these pieces, and rest assured, the time is takes me to churn one of these out is roughly four to six times the length it takes the average reader to reach the final punctuation.

Having dispensed with the premises, updates, and gripes, I find myself unable to really put forth a concise (as my attempts as concise go) or focused string of prose together in order to argue any specific point. That is, my mind is somewhat fractured at the moment; a torrential and angry sea of ideas and notions, churning about violently, the ship of my consciousness set adrift amid the waves, with no clear heading. My thoughts center on the future, my future with her, will my prayers of holding her in my arms as my own ever be answered? My professional future, if I will ever find a way to be paid for putting my fingers and mind to work in a way to produces text? I need to make my life simple, to make the complications and complexities of my existence into something extraneous and negligible. I’m tired, I’m exhausted, and I need a break, from this life, these burdens, these arduous and trying tasks, but most of all, from being me. 

Affirmation of Conviction...

Following my last official entry, it was suggested that I begin to trim these down. “Say less with more” was the actual quote. While it might be a good way to attract advertisers and even to attract some new readers, I just can’t bring myself to do it. While I do want more engagement and more response from the few that do read, and some part of me really does want to increase my exposure, I can’t give up the fundamental facets of what this is: catharsis. I make my argument, I elaborate on my point, and when all is said and done, either there’s an argument (see Valentine’s Day 2010) or there’s agreement and encouragement. Now I know the tone wavers a bit between nauseating whining about my unrequited pursuit of love and the vilification/adulation of her, and my seeming overwhelming exuberance at something a bit more far reaching and relatable. I’ve done a lot of analysis in the past month or so about the kind of posts I put up and the comments they receive.

I found a bit disconcerting that while so many of you are unabashedly eager to bandy one slur or insult after another freely when commiserating on the shortcomings of my relationship with her, not one of you, not a single one, had the guts, gumption, or willingness to come to her aid and argue for the endurance of something truly beautiful that each and every one of you has a stake in: my happiness.

You’re all here because you care. I matter to you in different ways. And a majority of my regular readers have actually approached me at various times to vent, converse, decry, lament, or seethe about your relationships, and have I not always been ready and willing to listen, offer advice to make it work, and provide an objective analysis of the motivations behind a certain behavior or action? Yet when I ask the same, not a single voice in the Asylum cries out for my cause. Do you all truly despise her that deeply? She has wronged me, not you. It is my burden that carries the weight of her indiscretions and the shortcomings of her actions. And while this open tome has served a means of getting a clearer picture of things onto paper for the sake of allowing me to process my emotions and give me clarity, I have never expected anyone here to intercede on my behalf. I’d like to make clear that I’m not writing this with a tone of condemnation or anger. Quite the contrary actually, as I’ve found within myself, the resolve and the conviction I needed to keep going.

Like it or not, I have made my choice. I begrudge no one their happiness, in whatever form they find it. Mine comes in the form of a woman with more baggage than an airport terminal and more repressed emotions and unattended to insecurities than I could possibly enumerate. But I love her, deeply and fully. Those of you that know me with any measure of actual insight, know that my passion is intense and capable of being overwhelming in the extreme. My greatest task has been finding a way to focus that energy, to harness that potent passion and put it to use in a way that retains the power but does nothing to provide a detriment. I have finally reached that pinnacle and achieved my aim. The last month or so has hardly been one of grand excitement or blessing. True there has been a bit of good fortune, I got my new place with hardly any trouble, but the move has left me all but broke. But all of that aside, I’m no longer a slave to my passions, no longer chained or tethered to the ferocity of my own demons. I am free and in control of my reactions and my emotions.

My relationship has reached its apex. I honestly have never been happier with her. The coming weeks will yield a final and unquestioned decision and from that will either bring the greatest pinnacle of happiness and splendor I ever dared dream, or the ashes of the phoenix will be prepared to rise once more. I don’t know what the coming days have in store, nor do I venture a guess too far beyond what I can see immediately. I have hoped for far too much before, and I have felt the terse sting of disappointment that comes from having to accept that things didn’t play out the way I would have liked. For now, I’m doing my best to just enjoy, to just be, to feel happy, and to let the universe unfold on its own, in its own time, and as it chooses. 

A Case Made...A Cry For Help Follows...

            It is truly a beautiful thing to look back at the memories and mementos of days gone by and reminisce fondly with a smile and a whimsical feeling of elation or joy. Sadly, such a pleasure and indulgence  is beyond me at the moment. I’ve reached my fill and resolved that the final act must be played out, unfinished as it might be. I think a large part of me opted to continue the delusion and the charade for lack of a better option and the fear of having to accept that I was alone. Philosophically one is never alone, but in a more empirical sense there is only so much that hope can do for keeping you warm at night.

            My exploits reach far and wide, I have done the impossible and as Malcolm Reynolds would say, “That makes [me] mighty”. But in the end, regardless of the stakes faced, the cards played, and the risks taken, if you cease to believe that victory is possible…well you lose your will to keep fighting. Only when you actually believe that you can win, that whatever your fighting for is truly within reach, can you muster the courage and the strength to spend each day giving everything you’ve got on the battlefield. I’ve recently taken stock, evaluated everything, surveyed the missed opportunities and the ravages of the slain “bodies” left strewn on the battlefield of this war I’ve been fighting, and I have to be honest my friends, my losses are too great.

            It pains and saddens me beyond words to have to admit that perhaps this was a futile endeavor, the chips were against me from the start, the victor was decided before the armies reached the battlefield, or perhaps it’s just simply that I wanted more than the universe was willing to give me. Pick your cliché, I’m sure there’s more than a few I didn’t nail there. But the bottom line to this whole thing…well I just don’t have enough belief, enough hope, or conviction left to hit the battlefield again. I’m a veteran of a war I was too foolish to realize I could never win and quite honestly, at some point it did become a point of pride for me that I would do the impossible. I resolved that I would commit, that I would win at any cost and against all odds.

            As we get older, most of us grow and take with us the lessons of our years so that we can apply them later. For most another thing happens with the passing of each calendar, the loss of innocence. For a vast majority of us we reach a point where we are no longer predisposed to the willful acceptance of the incredible and instead regard almost every extraordinary experience with an air of cynical incredulity and jaded disbelief. It perhaps for this reason, when we reach the apex of our disillusionment with the wonder of the world in which we live, that we are compelled to procreate, in order that we might witness ourselves born anew and live once more vicariously through the next generation. It would fit to reason as most parents invest so much into providing a better life for their children than they had growing up.

            I somehow, despite the traumas, trials, tribulations, and catastrophes that have befallen me in life, managed to enter my adult years with a wild and untamed inner fire. I turned twenty-one and was possessed of a passionate flame that was as contagious as it was powerful. But as has been said for countless years, “The flame that burns twice as bright, burns half as long”. My friends, I have extinguished my air supply.

            I have, in all seriousness, begun to reevaluate my pursuits, goals, choices, desires, and convictions and I have found that the things I wanted when this conflict began, are no longer the things I crave. I am older, of that there is no question. Wiser is a subjective claim, and I am nothing if not humble about my intelligence. I am, however, undeniably, more jaded, more cynical, and from where I sit I’ve become the personification of what it is to be ignoble. I once held a resolve and a conviction that was unmatched by anyone. I was once the envy of other men for my unwavering commitment to a single woman despite the circumstances that my love for her resided in. Now I look myself in the eye and see only the hollow, empty, husk of the man I used to be. My features are more pallid, more pained. Beyond the wrinkles and skin blemishes, there lies a broken spirit, devoid of passion, lacking in conviction, and absent of all resolve to accomplish even the most base of difficult goals. So curtailed, neutered, and impotent has my mind become…well imagine trying to cut through frozen butter with a cold light bulb and have the slice come out exactly at the right measurement. It’s an impossible task given the bluntness of the tool.

            I once possessed a mind that could analyze and process most anything to a conclusion that despite the absurdity of it would more often than not turn out to have at least a majority of accuracy. Now it seems that I can’t even muster the energy to analyze the information laid before me, let alone draw a conclusion.

            I know I’ve waffled between painting her as a sinner and a saint. On the whole the relationship has been one of dependency. My fear of being left to the screaming silent echoes of my own mental solitude, gives way to a need for companionship. However my proclivity against being able to trust or let down my guard has strained my ability to connect with others. I have expressed and touted the value of connection, of true emotional vulnerability to someone that can help you be a better person. But until I met her, I was incapable of fathoming such a suggestion. To be truthful, when I met her my faith in mankind has been all but completely extinguished. I was so close to the precipice of shutting down the emotional nerve centers. The absolute closest I think I have ever been to true sociopathic tendencies. The once often heard “Systematic detachment from emotional reaction” was more than just a jarring quote to be examined by those that heard it, it was a life philosophy. It served a guiding beacon of change and freedom. I had gotten it into my head that if I could just detach, just turn off and no longer be connected, my life would improve. Things would get simple. Then she saved me from myself, from shutting down, from letting go and disappearing beyond the heavy curtain into the endless black void.

            Somewhere along the way I let the intensity and the power of those stifled and stymied emotions, the ones that had been choked back and held under pressure for fear that any expression or acknowledgment would undercut the endeavor, burst through the dam. An overwhelming deluge of visceral emotional sentiment that was tinged with the stink of love cascaded over the psyche and permeated the conscious, causing the first bitter taste of obsession. It was, however, obsession that was quite cleverly disguised. A façade of love and devotion provided a sheep’s clothing for that wolf to slip in unnoticed and before long it proved to more of an elephant in the room. The unacknowledged object that sat silent and looming in the corner, casting a shadow and pallor over everything it touched. Eventually maturity won out and called the eyesore for what it was. Obsession so defined was sent from the dynamic and love was brought in to fill the empty seat at the party. Sadly, love requires a bit more care, a bit more attention and appreciation than obsession. No longer self sufficient, or able to remain ignored and forgotten for extended periods of time, love is a bit needy. Requiring constant reminders, diligence, and commitment, it became a bigger burden to bear than the rest of the room was willing to tolerate. First patience left, finding little to remain idly standing by for. Next went tolerance, as the glossy veneer to which it had become accustomed no longer glinted in the dim light of the room with obsession gone and unable to reflect and radiate the dim illumination. Understanding tried to hang out as long as it could but eventually it took its leave with empathy and compassion. All three headed for the door at the same time. Passion did his best to remain, but in the end, too much stress had strained his heart and he finally collapsed, a soft and quiet death that barely made the remaining inhabitants lift their heads and take notice. Love continued whining and requiring care, but there existed only pride and conviction to tend to its needs. Pride was insolent from the outset and regarded the entire affair as an exercise to be experienced and later examined, having spent the majority of its time conversing with Intellect and Reason. Pride opted to depart while it still had something left to leave with, and Conviction remained alone with Love. Conviction endured and staunchly weathered the storm that ravaged the house. Happiness and Slavery, the odd couple that should never have met, tore the quiet silence in the eye of the storm to pieces and ripped away what little strength Conviction has left. And now there is only Love. Conviction breathed his last collapsed alongside Passion, spent and quietly broken beyond repair. Love was left on its own, to breathe, to live, to survive and function. John Lennon once said that Love is all you need. My god how I wish that were true. Love is indeed powerful, but it’s nothing without the others to rally behind it.

            The die has been cast once more, and this time, I’m wholly indifferent to the outcome. My bag of tricks is empty and moth eaten, my emotional self is more shell shocked that a captured Jewish POW at Auschwitz during WWII. And my rational mind has plumbed the well dry for defenses of why the relationship can or should work. In the end, Pride, my sin of choice, is the only impetus left to see this cavalcade of futility and foolishness toward the slightest glimmer of hope within the clouds. But Love is blind, and far too forgiving, and to that end it endures. Weak as an infant, ignorant as could be, possessed of a will and a whim to disregard vitriol and discontent, the last bastion stand blindly in the face of the coming second half of the storm, clutching fervently and unyieldingly to the tatters of Hope. Make no mistake, my resolve and my conviction have left me, I’m set adrift in the storm and have come to the eye. But despite the fragile nature of Love, there is power in him yet, and if his brothers can be rallied, if his cry can be heard as a call to arms, then “hope springs eternal”.

            So it is to you, my readers, my audience, my friends, my confidants, my trusted and valued equals, that I pose perhaps the most difficult and taxing question I ever have. Give me reason, give me justification, convince me that love is a beautiful and valuable thing, plead your case, make your argument, stand your ground and draw a clear and bold line in the sand. Argue as though the fate of your life, or the life of the one you love above all others, the one you hold in the highest regard, is on the line and the final impassioned plea of your heart will sway the reapers scythe toward another. Show me that love still exists in some form and is worth fighting for, that she is worth fighting for. Please.