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I'm not quite sure why I'm doing this. Maybe it's to stay sane and give myself some much needed purpose so that I stop looking at the dark void that is ever present. I have always loved to write, but find it knows how to reach into my soul, usually camouflaged so carefully, and jostle it into the light. My secret life is in the payback phase, an equal and opposite reaction to happiness. Of course, the greater the happiness, the harder the payback, but so slow. Trickling that vivid wild ecstasy from my life in deep tender sobbing furrows.
Suddenly it seems very stressful, to have to write EVERY day! My life crowds in and squeezes time and dreams, but I claw it back ferociously. I need something to keep walking down this road, although the alternative route is ever present, whispering and luring. Such beautiful sunlight and clear cold air today made me want to walk and think and feel the rush of exhilaration from being free. Of course, I was good and dutiful and went back to work instead, imprisoned by reliability. How wonderful to be selfish and narcissistic, a great deal more memorable than altruism surely?
A beautiful, strange and wild day - some still yet to come. Snow drenching the world in such a soft sweet grip that never fails to exhilarate me, a mixture of fear and longing that is irresistible. Strangeness in the form of a stranger, walking past my car where I was sitting and thinking and lost as usual. He walked past me, turned and looked then retraced his steps and came to my window. I was defensive thinking he was about to shout at me, but instead he was kind and concerned and asked if I was alright. Am I?
He had never seen snow before and touched it with wonder and delight, his infectious smile filling us all with laughter and riotous joy. Friends fill us with memories and emotional whirls that meander with us through all the years and it is always a warm embrace for me to let my mind wander back to the time the memory was created. Yesterday was just such a new creation and I hold it gleefully to me knowing that it is added to my rich store for life. How blessed I am to love my simple pleasures, plentiful, with fine friends.
Snow, ice, cold and passionate glittering beauty. The bright light of daytime gives me a wonderful high, but there is always a payback for joy and it insidiously creeps through me each night. The wild frantic loneliness of each blackened star goads me into ever desperate ways to talk with him. But caressed replies grow further distant until soon I shall no longer be able to see where the tactile memories and the exchange of our words began. I have tried to warm him, but the ice chills me until I am close to death. My demise is without cure.
My best friend is quite new, a surprise, a lifeline to cling to in the labrynth. He is young and wild and outrageous, but he listened. He let me talk and saw me through my words, even though I had hidden behind them for so long. I have no idea why I trusted him but he helped and cared and kept my secrets safe. He alone knows my lover's name and how, when he left me, I wept until all traces of colour were washed from my world. Never did I dare dream that I could meet such a friend.
It's funny how life lulls you into such a mind numbing boredom and daily mediocrity that you don't even realise it has happened. You live in the middle of the road, with no great lows or depressions, but no highs either. Things are balanced, neutral, safe and suffocating. Then one day you start to take a little risk and that leads to a bigger risk and the ride starts to become interesting and thrilling until you realise that you weren't really living before, only existing. The highs are then incurably addictive, despite the corresponding lows you know you must endure.
Some days are happier days, but it's not clear why that should be. Same work, same people, same rain soaking me through, yet everything is bearable with the cloud's silver lining gleaming in my smile. Moving on, staying positive, accepting the disappointment with a shrug and my whirly giggly self is back in play. Amazing. I met someone today I had not seen for twenty five years and she knew me instantly although I had only a vague memory of her. Am I really just the same after all this time? Outwardly I must seem so, but I know differently.
Oh Happy Day! Just a simple message, only a meagre handful of words, without any care or devotion and yet I am ecstatic and brimming with fizzy happiness. How can such a tiny and, let's face it, neutral communication make me smile so much? Then another far more dense and intricate conversation followed with someone who I think really does care. Happiness begets happiness and my cup runneth over. I don't care to think about the fact that the opposite is also true, so I fizz and giggle and bathe in joy and leave the serious thinking until another day.
How strange the coincidences and chance events that arrive when least expected. Sometimes they lead to wild, wonderful memories that can be recaptured by a mere abstract thought and sometimes they were something you once wanted so badly but have arrived too late to be born. A phone call, unexpected, made me a little wistful and I remembered how I loved him. All the days and nights of wanting and longing and hoping, followed by so many tears. And yet I am grateful to him as I discovered I can still fall in love and that feeling is worth everything.
How am I regressing and become less mature and grown up as I get older? At my age I should be sensible and responsible and reliable, but no. Instead I am reckless, foolhardy, embarrassing and living more dangerously by the day. This is the morning after the night before. A night more wild and abusive than any I had when I was young. Worryingly the guilt is only the merest smudge on my conscience, shrugged off easily by apathy akin to a teenager. But there is real fear, clenching and cloying as my brittle future begins to crack and disconnect.
Such a promise to the day after so much time and effort. Hope and excitement and a quiet confidence in our abilities. Then a valiant performance with pride a job well done. But our judge was harsh and callously slashed our dreams before plunging his knife deep into our molten core. Shared misery does not always console and many raging sobbing thoughts lay behind those quiet facades as we journeyed through the icy darkness. No words could explain or soothe and the hot lava of doubt began to push us apart until some were lost and others left traumatically adrift.
It is a fact that my friends, my real and wonderful friends who I could trust with my life, are all men. All the women I know have women as their true friends. Men are the friends I can talk to, whereas women are generally the people who I make small talk with, and that is quite different. I have poured out my heart to my best friend, a man of course, and told him everything that I keep hidden from others. When I need care, my men friends always say things to make me smile and keep me alive.
Today was his birthday. He sent me a text, he called, I went to see him. I still have a deep fondness for him and felt a little of the old tenderness when he was near, but my system has been purged of the enveloping love that held me close for so long. He was never mine and the love I felt was always that of John Donne's undertaking, to keep that hid. It had a special beauty and opened a door to a new world, changing my life forever and for that, I shall always be silently, caressingly grateful.
Angry young men, angry middle aged men, angry old men - I know them all and their anger always seems so pointless to me. Harsh words and hurting each other for want of a little patience and understanding - I can't understand it. Of course I get angry too, but mine is so easily dissipated and makes me so sad that I rail against it anyway. My dad is not angry any more. He is old and wise and calm and patient and such a sweetheart that I am sure ladies still fall in love with him even at 81.
This is so weird and spooky. I started writing today's words a few hours ago but got disturbed so abandoned it midway. I was talking about how I thought I was falling in love with a dear friend of mine and how could I let it happen? Then, just now, I got an email from someone who I was madly crazily in love with and who I thought I had forgotten. Of course I haven't forgotten him and it only took a casual word to tug my heart back to the place it truly wants to be, despite the pain.
I am not being fair, to anyone. The one I want doesn't want me, but I won't or can't leave him alone. The one I should be with is so nice to me and yet I am silently cruel and disloyal and am storing up cartloads of evidence to push me through the gates of hell. It will be deserved, I can see it slithering closer, but my emotional feet keep walking relentlessly forward. Then there's the one who I should gently turn away as he will be hurt, but I am selfish and crave his smile and soothing words.
I am three years away from being 50 and was told today that this is quite probably half way through an adult life, assuming adulthood begins at 20 and the average lifespan is 80. As my mum died when she was 49 I have always thought I would not live that long, but maybe I am wrong, maybe I should be thinking of looking after myself more. I just don't know. It seems to me that now I have discovered excitement I can't bear to return to normal and safe. Will life be tolerable without tasting those dreams and experiences?
I was going to stop talking to him, to say that it was madness that we were getting so close, but I realised that this will take a superhuman effort. An effort that I just can't make right now, no matter how many alarm bells are ringing in my head and despite every warning that is etching itself into my brain. I think I am more than a little bit crazy as I keep finding the same path and it always ends in such pain and tears. Why can't I let my life be safe, boring, calm, serene. And ordinary.
Writing this retrospectively I can see that this was when I was starting to get ill, but as always I just hoped it would pass and I could carry on as normal. I managed my smiles and my usual happy demeanour so nobody would have known. I am truly excellent at hiding things, which is probably not a good thing in the long run, but have so many years of doing it I don't know how to change. Only show things which are absolutely necessary and hold the rest close. Why? Because I am afraid of revealing my true self.
So cold, so dark, so down, so scared. I am crying for help, but don't know how to make a proper job of it. I want someone to talk to, but nobody replies. I seriously consider being honest and open and saying how bad I feel, I am so desperate for a kind voice in the wilderness. But I still can't do it, even through my tears I can't admit to anyone how far down this deep void I am. It's probably just because I'm ill. Soon it will be fine. I will pull myself together. I can do it.
I'm really poorly and it's so hard now to do this writing when all I want to do is sleep. I am three days behind and will have to motivate myself somehow or it will be impossible to catch up and I really want to complete the batch. I can't remember when I last felt so ill, although I regularly seem to get viruses and coughs and colds which stop me teaching, so my boss is not happy with me. Thing is I know that I don't eat or sleep properly, but those bad habits are very hard to kick.
I wait for you
I need you
I fear you
Our hands are almost entwined
Our eyes have glanced at each other's soul
Our words have promise between their lines
But the next step is a chasm
Only a touch away
Ready to leave a brand
It is not a love story
Merely a longing
With full tears already in waiting
The past delays the future
But the yearning thunders on
Speeding past a safe conclusion
Terror will be smothered
Smiles will be helpless
Caresses will be harmonious
Regrets can linger
Until their appointed time
For now we must live
My illness is a leaden blanket which I struggle to cast aside. I look so pale, but I also feel pale, deep inside. The once vibrant, swirling colours of my life force keep getting washed away, along with the breathless sparkle that used to dance me through the star filled nights. There are still some muted smudges of colour, but the grey hues dominate the landscape. Occasionally there is a painter who skilfully uses his brush and palette to restore a miasma of pigments, but this project needs long term restoration and I fear that it can never be completed.
It's like a monsoon out there tonight, but things seem brighter and sunnier somehow. Maybe because I have lots of lovely friends who have talked to me and sent me messages, so it makes life much smilier. I'm not managing to do an awful lot, but feel stronger and a little braver, ready to take the world back on very soon. I think I need a slight shift and change in my life to make things work a little better because, looking back, there is always a good patch after I've altered things. Not immediately, but not too long afterwards.
How can a day be so polarised? This morning I was so sad without a friend in the world and tonight the stars are shining and I feel happy and serene. It is of course all because of friends. They talk with me, laugh with me, cry with me and then we put the world to rights. Some are very special and I treat them with exquisite care, equal to my need for their embrace. I am finding so many friends around me and I hope that I match their care, for they deserve only the very best from me.
Thinking. It is the essence of our being and heart of our mystery, known only to ourselves in glory or damnation. It exists in many strata and we explore the depths when needed. I have done little but think for eons of time and reach no answers, no matter how deep into my inner territory I forage. However I feel a calm serenity, gained from the sheer luxury of thinking and know that my smile is safe. I have blessings in abundance and begin to see them clearly through my thoughts. How lucky to have this life and its loves.
Today has been full of dangerous promise, suggestion and fizzy happiness. The easy connection with people I have missed, the secret kiss in a smile, the unrestrained giggles and blushes - all combining to hit me with a high that propels me dizzily through the night. These are the times I live for, when nothing can spoil my rapture and it is so fondly infectious, making others laugh at my sheer love of life. It is pure immediate thrill in the moment, no thought for the future or regrets from the past, merely a gasp of delicious, tingling, hedonistic pleasure.
I was surprised she remembered me, let alone my passing remarks about poetry and life. Aside from a few standard phrase greetings I have not spoken with her for many months and we could not say in the most tenuous sense that we actually know one another. And yet a letter, with poems, showing me she has seen something of me that others have never noticed. I replied of course, just to be polite you understand, with a casual light hearted thanks. We are both creative I think, although hers is transparent and mine is opaque, or so I thought.
It's really very enlightening reading back through all the things I have written this month. Although maybe I should instead say it's actually quite frightening. Do I really sound like that? Surely anyone reading the batch will think I am a suicidal schizophrenic. Well perhaps I am? It's quite depressing to see my inner thoughts stretched out and baked dry, but it helps me to see myself too, in a way that I didn't know was possible. Scary? You bet! Especially now others can see it and know me a little, when I have always hidden myself so carefully away.
Yes - I have made it! The final day of the batch and my very first batch ever. I am amazed that I have managed to complete it and astounded at how cathartic it has been. Such few words each day, but they convey an ocean of dreams and hopes and miseries too. I hope that my first batch will not turn out to be my last. I feel an affinity with this site and yearn to stay connected with my twisted creative wire. It's like writing a diary for everyone to see, but at least I can stay anonymous.
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