Posted by Rystefn on August 5, 2008
So it’s been over a week since my last post – the longest absence I’ve had so far, I think. I’ve started writing this post six times so far, and every time I just can’t seem to get through it. I’m in pretty constant pain these days, and there’s not much I can do to lessen it, but that’s not really the reason I haven’t been posting. I’ve dealt with a lot of pain in my life, a great deal of it much more severe than this. Honestly, I’ve enjoyed much more severe pain than this under other circumstances… being a pretty severe masochist does wonders for one’s ability to handle pain. Physical pain, anyway… See what I’m doing here? I’m beating around the bush, as they say. Rambling on about frivolities rather than saying what I’m here to say. Like avoiding the subject will somehow keep the hurt away. Nothing will keep the hurt away. They say time heals all wounds, and while I disagree, it does seem to heal most of them sooner or later… I don’t think I have anything like enough time left to heal this one.
Last week, my Dove left me. I was blindsided by it, though I really shouldn’t have been. One of the complications of a polyamorous lifestyle is that, even though it’s rarely talked about, everyone has that one person who means more. Sometimes it’s clear and simple, sometimes it’s not obvious, even to ourselves… Sometimes we’d rather kill ourselves than have to choose. Not so long ago, I was shown, in no uncertain terms, that I love her the most; that I would choose her over everyone else in the world. The only surprise was that it took so long for me to see it. I’ve always known that for her, I could only be second. She loves V with a fervor that is, frankly, neither deserved nor reciprocated, but it is not my place to interfere. If asked, I would say what I think, and did a few times, but I would never press her about it. Maybe I should have, I don’t know. I know beyond doubt that I could have played the power struggle game, and I would have won it. I also know that I don’t want to browbeat and brainwash someone into being with me. Stockholm Syndrome is not love… but at least she would now be with someone who loves her. Either way, it’s far too late now. V forced the choice, and we all knew what would happen if she did.
It hurts me more than I can say that she won’t wear my jacket anymore, or the necklace I got her last year. It pains me far more than any sickness that while my last memory of her face will be a smile, my last memory of her voice will be tears. This week has been death to me, far more than coming to grips my literal mortality could ever be.
I have never in my life felt so alone. Another complication is that when you lose the one you love the most, people sometimes get offended that you’re so depressed about it. No matter what I try to say, the response always seems to be, “Am I not good enough?” For some reason, no question taps into my anger over everything that’s happened more than that. I can’t explain how my love for her does not diminish my love for others, even though I’ve done so many times before. I can’t convey how emotionally invested I’ve become these past months in the parting gift I wanted to give her. I can’t get across that the legacy of love I meant to leave behind for the world to remember me by has been tainted by all this. I can’t even say “please leave me alone right now, you’re only making a hard situation harder.” I feel all those things inside me, and then some person dares to think of something in the universe besides me, and the megalomania people so often find witty and charming, for some reason, takes over in an a very uncharming way.
In a moment when a perfectly stable and rational person might be expected to take center stage, so to speak, the people who say they love me can only focus on what they see as a personal slight against them. I’m not the most stable person sometimes. People often laugh and joke about my particular brand of madness, but they never seem to be prepared for the down side. Even while I know that everything I’m saying and doing is only making a bad situation worse, I can only sit inside my own head and watch as I lash out. “Goddamned right you’re not good enough!” I’ve shouted. “You think this is about you? Who the fuck are you?” and “If that’s how you see this, get out of my house and never come back” and “If you killed yourself right now in front of me, I wouldn’t care half as much as I care about losing her…”
I say these things to the people I love. I can’t even feel bad about it. I feel lost and alone and I cry until I’m out of tears, but it’s all for my Dove, my beautiful, lovely Dove. I fake my way through a few things, here and there. I post two or three comments, or have a semi-normal phone conversation sometimes – mostly hoping that by pretending to feel better, I can maybe start to feel better. It never works.
I bought her the earrings, if you’re wondering. I spent money I don’t yet have, and I honestly wonder if I care enough to pay off the debt. I can’t ask her to wear them now. If there is any such thing as a sin in this universe, putting such guilt onto her would be it. I can’t leave this world with the wish that she remember that I loved her. Most of all, I cannot tell her how much it hurt me that it happened now, or why.
People have told me that it is horrifyingly morbid of me to have thought so long about what my last words would be. Maybe they were right. I think the horror is that after actually deciding, I cannot now use them. If the last few days are any indicator, they might well be “I wish I could die right now so I wouldn’t have to hear your voice any more.” That’s the last thing I said… I said it on Saturday. The only sound here for days has been the click of a keyboard and the falling rain. I would kill to hear her laugh again.
If there’s a positive quality you think I have, you should probably give her credit. The love I felt for her amplified the joy and alleviated the pain of anything that happened to me or around me. She made my entire life a message of love to the world. What do I leave behind me now? Rage. Pain. Suffering. Maybe the great tragedy here is that I don’t even care that much.
I’m dodging calls from doctors. I never really wanted to spend what might have been my last days lying in a hospital, and now I can’t truthfully say I have any desire make it through this anymore anyway. I wish I could say that I’ll miss you all, but I don’t believe that for a minute. I’m reasonably certain that in a couple of weeks, I won’t be missing anyone anymore, and that is why it holds such a draw. I’ve spent much of my life dealing with severe suicidal depression, as some of you know. Now, I look at the pile of medications I’ve acquired because doctors never believe me when I say pain killers just don’t work on me, and I wonder if maybe it wouldn’t have been better if I hadn’t fought against it quite so hard a decade ago. No, I won’t be taking that route today, if that’s what you’re thinking. I won’t put my death on her hands when a little patience will suffice. She would blame herself, and if there is any legacy I refuse to leave, it is that.
…maybe that means I’m leaving a message of love after all.