I miss him, he misses me
…and despite that we miss each other every moment, we never talk about it online. We talk about everyday stuff, about our day, what happened, who said what, but we never describe our feelings. I confronted him about that and he says that he keeps saying that he misses and adores me, and that he’s unable to express more over the Internet.
Sometimes I think that it’s impossible that anyone in this world could love me. I’m unlovable. And I’m grumpy. And nevertheless, he does. He claims so and I’m sure he wouldn’t stand being with me for so long if he didn’t. It’s a miracle, that he does. And nevertheless, I feel… lonely. Somewhat empty. I need constant adoration to reassure me that I’m loved. I need him to tell me that he misses my presence, my love, my body. Because I forget that too easily.
It’s good that he comes for a visit so soon.
This just isn’t enough.
When I dig deeper in my feelings, I discover things I never realized existed.
I’d very much now need my Good Wizard to reach to me over distance and stroke my head for a little while.
Yearning
Sometimes yearning is almost physical and it almost hurts. Each memory of being close and intimate with him is sweet and painful at the same time. Even more painful is the awareness that the next meeting will be short, and after that I’ll again become cut in two.
It’s good that he’s coming home tomorrow, five days of being close is better than none.
…
Today I had a dream about my friend, the good wizard.
He came into my dream only to run away, with his dark-haired girl, and I was travelling after them through the sunlit land (looking a lot like the Grazelands in Morrowind, but very realistic). The purpose of this journey wasn’t clear to me, but I followed them anyway. The Summer was sweet and warm, but I was sad nevertheless. They were so uncatchable and they hated my presence. I stayed behind and felt paralyzed.
I woke up feeling cold. I miss the Summer. I wish I could be the Black Cat in my dreams, to follow people when they don’t wish another person around.
The mess
Sometimes I have a feeling, that if I sort things that are around me (clothes neatly set in piles in drawers, yarns in bags by colours, beads by size and colour in boxes, books by authors on shelves and all the trash thrown away), I’ll be able to sort my life and thoughts.
So why do I panic, when I see a pile of stuff to sort? I always postpone those actions for as long as I’m able to, and then finally i put everything in one big box and lock it away until the next time when I have to use it. It can go on forever. I can’t find enough strenght or will to sort things, to clean the great mess which never ends. Maybe my subconciousness is afraid that when all the stuff is already sorted, I’m going to have to make more difficult decisions. Or maybe I’m just making excuses for being lazy.
Postlife dream
I had this dream about a year ago, and I’ve remembered it just recently.
I have found a way to enter a world where all the dead go after they die, reversibly. The journey was long and problematic, but it was worth it. I had to stay by the abyss and wait for a great eagle to carry me over it. The flight was very long.
On the other side there was a spring, everything in bloom.
There weren’t many people there, but I’ve immediately found my friend R who had died a few years back and my dog, who had died even before that. Everybody seemed happy. You could move in to a house you liked, and there was food and everything you needed there. Everyone was as beautiful as they wanted, even me, even though I wasn’t theoretically dead.
There was something in the air, the mood of something evil coming, a storm, a nothingness, an enemy. Nobody wanted to talk about this and I know only what I’ve gathered from their silence, glances, a slight feeling of fear. I remember a sea with an endless horizon, and the evil thing was coming over from that horizon. I didn’t manage to research more in that matter, because I had to get back to the living, again, with the eagle, over the abyss.
I daydream about such place, where everyone is happy, all the dead are peaceful and living a quiet and happy postlife ever since.
My dreams in general
I usually remember my dreams, or at least some fragments, or a general feeling. Today it’s nothing. I only remember that there was a dream, but other than that, it’s a blank page.
Most of my dreams are about running from something (or someone) and hiding my identity. Themes change, the action changes, the characters are different each time, but the main idea doesn’t. Something is chasing me and I must run. And it’s been like this since I was a child, since I remember.
Empathy I
I need to learn how to listen to people better. Without interfering, without digression, without judging. To simply listen.
And also, I need to learn how to listen to myself.
Why am I here?
When did I last write down my personal thoughts?
I don’t remember.
I used to keep a diary for a very long time. Somewhere in the meantime I forgot how to verbalize my feelings and thoughts. After that I forgot how to express them through all the artistic activities I had been performing.
And after that I stopped talking about emotions. I stopped talking about anything that wasn’t emotionally indifferent. I stopped listening to people talking about such things. I stopped crying. And I also stopped enjoying. I became an emotional vegetable.
I functioned like this for another couple of years. I made the biggest effort to deceive myself, because it wasn’t difficult to deceive others. Oh joy, Black Cat is happy, finally, they kept saying. They still do. I think I even was for a while. My demons were carefully buried and asleep. It was good to not feel watched by my demons for quite a while.
They woke up. They started to dig their way up to the surface and yell for attention. I couldn’t keep them hidden from myself forever. When they are digging, the pain seems almost… physical.
I’ve got a friend.
Not a lover. There is only one lover. And the friend… simply is. He’s with me all the time. He says that when he feels me hurting he comes over and strokes my head or holds my hand for a while, over a distance. I can feel his presence all the time. He appears in my dreams, when I dream of danger.
But he also made me dig out all my demons at once and now I can’t get a hold of any of them!
Why am I here?
To catch all the demons one by one and kill them, because writing clears my thoughts, helps me understand, makes me realize things, helps the thoughts out of the chaos. When a problem is unverbalized it’s very difficult to solve. I don’t want to talk to people about my problems. They have enough problems of their own, they don’t need mine. I’d be unhappy if I gave them that burden. I can’t speak, so therefore I write.
