Killing Time, Waiting on a Meteor

July 15, 2017

It’s difficult to explain, and I realize most don’t want to hear my woes. So, I keep it all to myself. I smile and say I’m fine. I give the standard answer so nobody is ever uncomfortable. My truth isn’t that happy of a song, and sadly, I realize nobody cares.

Today was one of those days where I was reminded once again how little power I have over my own life. I’m crying at random intervals, just like I did last summer near this time. Memories of six years ago, when I lost my business, all my horses, and my very fixed adult identity, are haunting me yet again. Memories of him, from last summer, are ghosting through my heart, and wreaking havoc on my will to stay upright. Even though I live in my moment, every so often, I’m reminded that I have no future to live for.

I’m a servant to many, and there is very little in my life that I can call, “My own.” I don’t have a person of my own, or a real life, or a career. I have a couple dogs and a couple horses, and a couple friends. But, that’s it. I’m beholden to those who’ve spent their lives earning, acquiring and living by the rules. Even my horses are really nothing but work and money, and I must answer to the property owner where they live. They aren’t really mine. I have to ask myself, why am I getting this same lesson, yet again?

I thought I’d learned, it does me no good to gain attachments or love anything too fiercely. The more I do, the more it hurts when it is inevitably taken away. My life lessons have come in the form of letting it all go. Don’t hold on. Don’t get attached. Don’t open yourself to the inevitable pain and suffering to ensue.

At this point, my life is nothing but casual acquaintances and the expectations of others. In other words, it’s all nothing but one chore and duty after another. I don’t have love, at least not in the capacity I crave and am capable of returning.

My entire life, I’ve worked hard, but I followed my bliss, and now I have literally nothing to show for it. I’m fifty, and I’m once again exhausted. This last year took what little youth I had left, and now I feel ancient. I feel as if my body matches my very tired soul.

Last year, when I met him, I was reborn, and I forgot all that hooey about not loving too deeply. I remember thinking how grateful I was I hadn’t succeeded in taking my own life. He was reason aplenty to live and thrive. He was it for me. He was the one I’d been waiting for. He was passion personified and youth incarnate and all of that was infectious. I bloomed.

But then it all fell apart. I wasn’t that person to him, and about a year ago, I remember my ongoing mantra, “What I allow, will continue.” I couldn’t allow him to treat me with so much indifference. I could feel he didn’t love me. The only thing I needed. The only thing I’d craved my entire existence, and he couldn’t be that person for me. I needed someone to love me, and he didn’t. No matter how much I loved him, I knew it wasn’t going to work. He loved himself, but not me, and I began to fall apart.

He didn’t care that I was crumbling and dying anew. This time it was even more painful because I was an open heart, and I’d lost the ability to go cold and insulate. I loved him so intensely, it was as if I were an entirely different person than I’d been all those previous years. It was overwhelming, and yes, way more than he could handle, which I truly understand about him, and I hold no resentment over it. It’s true, “You can’t make someone love you.”

What he never understood about me was that I needed his strength. I needed to be nurtured. By the time he got to me, I was little more than a torso. Everything about me had been amputated and I was gaunt from the starvation. The lack of a love connection in my life, had severed my will to live, and even before meeting him, I’d been struggling to find a reason.

I made it through this last year, without him, without talking to him, without any connections to anyone other than those I serve, so I can live. Every day I ask to die. Yes, it sounds morbid, and I’ll never try again to take my own life, but that said, I want to die. It’s all I want. I just want to escape. I can’t find a reason and my limbless body is tired of dragging this soul around. It’s heavy. It’s lonely. It’s gaunt from the lack of sustenance.

It’s painfully obvious he will never be in my life again. He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t care, and no matter how much I continue to suffer without him, I know it’s better to be alone, than be with someone who doesn’t return the sentiment. So, I will continue to suffer in silence, and kill time, as I pray for that random meteor to take me out as soon as possible.

All roads lead to Payne