Free fall

What happens when the person you love most is not capable of supporting you?

What do I do now that a third major bout of depression seems to be rearing its familiar head?  When after two and half years of being relatively ok, of making progress and achieving, I suddenly feel the icy water closing over my head again?  When suddenly the only sunlight is that light refracted through the water as again my toes touch the gravel on the bottom of my mind?

This is our second time around.  In 2013 after 7 years I called time on us because I could no longer take care of us both.  I picked me.  I had to, and it nearly killed me.  I missed him all the time.  Now after over 3 years back together, I stand frozen as my mind tries to look away from the possibility that once again I am doing this all by myself with nothing but the illusion of a team mate.  A fair-weather companion who will shut down and withdraw at the first sign of my strength failing.  Am I seriously here again?  Rage.  Despair.  Indignation.  Gut wrenching fear at the prospect of living through it all again.

So as I stare down my growing anxiety and notice myself withdrawing daily from my life so that I won’t have to hide this relapse from the people who know me best, I wait for my love to find it in himself to take my weight, to carry me along as I have done him in the past.  I’m waiting for him to snap into action.  To understand that this is when I need to be carried.  I can’t say it.  I open my mouth to speak and then close it again.  I won’t beg.

I just let the horror of it wash over me.  Either he hasn’t noticed that I’m in complete free fall.  Or he has and is choosing, for whatever reason, not to try to catch me.  Does he not have it in him after all these years?

free fall light through water

 

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Mental Health Awareness Week…I’m aware

May 16th 2018

Travelling to Manchester, early, on the shit train that rattles and smells faintly of engine. A little known colleague sleeps softly in the stained seat next to me. I’m shattered. It’s been a long week….month… year… decade. Decade is probably more accurate. Im turning thirty in a fortnight. It feels odd.

Why the train anyway? I’m going to a best practice conference of Senior Mental Health Support workers. The spectacular bit about all this is that I’m having one of the worst weeks I’ve had in a long time… you know… mental health wise.

This week I realised that I’m not really friends with most of the people I call a friend anymore. I realised that I am, in fact, predominantly alone, I live unknown, my internal life somewhat, if not exclusively, lost on everyone around me. I also noticed that I no longer have the energy to pretend that I’m alright with all of the above. So this is what I am choosing to do now: I will be taking a position of non involvement in making other peoples lives alright, in going the extra mile. I will be speaking my truth. Or choosing not to speak if I don’t want to. This will be my person centred next decade, with be being the centre. Finally.

I’ve spent the last few days laying down and thinking and crying a lot. I’ve been letting it all mull around me. It’s been a lot to process. But there has been a shift, or a break or a snap of something in my head. I have marginalised myself, my opinions and my own needs, and now I have noticed this, I will no longer be doing so. I will now be operating on my own terms.

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My perfect world of sex

So, I, as it turns out, am a sexually ambitious human. Ambiguous too. I am also utterly in love with my best friend. He knows of course. It’s not one of those secretly in love with my best friend who’s just my friend affairs. It’s a completely in the open, we love each other, aren’t we lucky, sort of affair. Which is wonderful. He fulfils a great many, so many, of my needs, more certainly than any predecessor. Having said all that. In all honesty. If I were able to shape the world around me, I would magic it so that we could have whomever we wanted. At any given moment just dive into another human. Learn their shape. Know them in all the intimate ways.

Hear me out. I’m not selfish. I wouldn’t give me everyone and deny my beloved to wander. I would adapt myself. Edit my essential makeup. I’d make it so that I could be alright with sharing him, and so that he could share me too. So we could share each other… and share everyone else.

Is it wrong to feel this way? As everything stands I will never cheat, never go there, never wander. But if I could change it? I would. I’d keep him for always, and he would keep me, and our love would know no competitor. Together we would get lost in the technicolor sexual delights the world has to offer. This would be my perfect world. Confidence, kink, satisfaction from every angle, pardon the pun. This would be my ideal happiness.

Am I wrong? I know I can never have this. For my part I could never share him. Too fragile is my ego and delicate my belief in my own allure. But yet I will yearn, probably always, for the many pretty things that I am not allowed to touch.

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(Outro)

There’s a bit of me that always sort of wishes I would die.  

Just for it to be over. 

For the rest 

To relinquish my quest 

To call time 

To say no 

To let go 

To catch some zzzzzzzs

Fuck your thank yous and pleases

To close my eyes 

To unwind

To be done 

Because fuck fun 

It isn’t fun

What did I become 

I am undone

  1. Show me my way down to the people pound where the grass is  dark and the earth is wet and the bodies sweat and the planet eats them, nothing but teeth to distinguish, no blood, no skin, no English. No tribe, no wants, no goals, no souls… soul done left me.  Gone where it goes, left my skeleton empty.

But I’m just joshing with you 

Down here in the hole where the lawn meets the dawn   

Nothing to keep chattin bout 

Muscles gone, I ain’t got no clout 

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Great Love 

What can I write about my great love?  I want to pen something of such sweeping wonder that will bring him to life on the page for you. 

 In truth though I think the best way to do that is just to tell you about him and about us.

“We were friends for a long time, and then we weren’t, and then we fell in love”, that line’s from When Harry Met Sally, but it about sums us up, except we were friends and then we were in love, and then rather crushingly we weren’t friends or together or any part of each other’s lives…and then one day we saw each other, and couldn’t stop seeing each other, ever again, because we have always been in love.  

We were apart for three years and for me those years were like wandering down a poorly lit road in the middle of nowhere.  I experienced both freedom and happiness along my solo journey.  But mostly I had just wandered further and further from myself.

A year ago we reconnected, I thought it would take longer but in honesty it took a day.  It took the first hug, the walking around talking, the second hug, the stolen kisses, it took seeing each other again.  Our love is a force of science really.  We are pulled together, the one orbiting the other in our own personal solar system.  Without the other all the light goes out, we fall away from our rightful paths, spinning into nothingness. 

 My Great Love is a man of humour and light despite his darkness. He is beautiful and funny and stubborn to a fault and can be relied upon to play the Devil’s advocate, a quality that never ceases to enrage me.  He will not put up with my bullshit, a quality which forces me to evolve myself.   He sees the beauty in most everything and hears the world in a way that I cannot fully comprehend.  

We had a thunderstorm recently which robbed us of Internet, so we held ‘analogue day’ and listened to records and played 90s video games consoles and talked.  I love to talk to him more than anything on earth.  He shares hilarious videos with me on Facebook though really he hates Facebook.  He loves football but hates those social ‘football men’.  He hates pubs but he loves puns.  I love both these things.   

Is there day to day and year to year work required in our relationship? Of course there is.  But my little planet is back on its axis, whooshing along on its orbital byway. My Great Love is mine and I am his. So it has always been, even when it wasn’t.

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The crush

Not a crush

As in not the feeling of lust/joy when your loins/heart lights up for another

But the crush of feeling

When you are crushed 

When you can’t get your breath

When you are crushed to nothing

I am crushed

This is my crush

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No Earl Grey, No Cervical Access 

Im sitting waiting in our rural Doctors surgery for my triannual invasion of privacy, albeit totally for the best.  I sit amidst old ladies with their old gents and a variety of mums with their unilaterally wailing offspring.  Today I woke up late for this appointment and so am wearing mismatched clothing and have wet unbrushed hair.  To say I stick out here would be putting it mildly  I guess, though for me, cradling my ‘central perk’ travel mug filled with steaming earl grey, this is not one of the things I currently care about.  Neither is the oncoming nudity with a stranger or the part where the stranger inserts into my vagina that thing that looks like it could grab stuff off high shelves for old people or the toddlers paintbrush apparatus they use to harvest my cellular matter.  I am however deeply concerned by the new chip I have just noticed in the rim of my travel mug… causing it to leak.  This is truly a bit of a rum do.  My dear faithful travel mug, my tea filled amigo, my consigliere… my poor fallen brother.  “Alas poor travel mug, I knew him well”…that’s what the line is right?  I’m being overly dramatic sure, and it’s possible I’m funnelling my unruly emotions into this one problem to avoid the anxiety of others, but I think it’s for the best. Don’t you? I mean hell! It works for me, it’s my way now.  This is my life now/currently; emotional displacement, light anxiety, a certain amount of cloudy humour and earl grey, always earl grey, saviour of all things. 

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