the light

I can’t help notice
No light in our eyes
In our eyes


Dreams mean nothing, in a predictive sense, your subconscious trying to say something to you? I know things that bother me pushed to the side often rear their ugly heads in my dreams over and over again. I used to have nightmares nearly every night but as age eats away at my cerebral cortex, brain activity slowing, the nightmares have gone from horror to a repetitive mundaneness that almost equals the horror of dead bodies and tsunamis.


Last nights dream was no exception.


background on the situation i created, that eats at me nearly everyday….


Sometime 23 years ago i feel in love. deeply madly take my breath away love. I am not ordinary, neither was he. it was a struggle for a few years to find a way through all our hang ups, apprehension and oddities. we never really found our way through those but found a way to be, despite them. there were some of the best times in my life and there were many bad times, there was never much communication about emotions. I liked to over communicate, he didn’t like to express his emotions at all. I was over emotive he dealt with mine and his own emotions but shutting down. I was plagued by my own madness, to much feeling and to little control. I would stray in an effort to find some happy place to take comfort, but ultimately I loved him too much to ever wander to far. His resentment built and every indiscretion I had traversed he held against me (I can’t say I blame him, but I sometimes resented his resentment. like a lizard eating its tail we spun around and around)


The city was killing both of us. his job was awful, my world was isolated and  dark. we had during this time healed some wounds but i think underneath it all the cuts were still deep and salted. Our new home away from it all helped, finances were tight (and that came to play a greater role in my psychological state later on) but the world was a little newer, we could both pursue our interests with a little more freedom and for the most part life was good. as mentioned in the previous post my mothers cancer returned and things became darker in my world once again. I gave up my job to care for her. we were living on the left overs of my inheritance from my grandfather. it didn’t last very long (there wasn’t much to begin with)  losing my mother changed my whole world , I had never felt alone and now i felt naked and exposed stranded, i realized i no longer had anyone to catch me when i fell… i wanted to think he would catch me, but i was unsure he even loved me, he never said it on his own (without my instigation that i remember anyway). …

I guess it all comes down to what i wanted him to be and what he was weren’t the same thing, and i never stopped expecting him to act and be someone he wasn’t.

None of the shit that transpired between then and the end really matters much, not to me, not anymore… actually none of the bad shit matters at all. life is far to short to let any of it matter much… i got the sense (and maybe my sense was wrong, i’ve never had much) the feeling of a deep unhappiness inside him. his mental state felt dark, and i was in a dark place (I’m still there) everything compounded……. I felt more alone than ever…. being alone is ok, as a matter of fact i love being alone, feeling alone is another beast entirely: that empty void where your thoughts and ideas  just drift off into nothing.  those days when you cant get out of bed and you know that no one gives a shit if you do, even you…..


Since my mothers death I couldn’t stand the uncomfortableness of being, some days an intolerable loneliness some days apathy without bounds.  my expectations have always been unrealistic i suppose the feeling that he should have surrounded me with love and pulled me out of my darkness was unfair. he had never been that person. instead we sunk together. I would cry myself to sleep on occasion but I wouldn’t call for him because i feared his disdain.  i resented him and his feelings and perhaps i blamed him for my own. so I became hard on the outside, and cold on the inside. i think i needed to be for my own sanity but it certain didn’t help anything in our relationship. I began to think we had become toxic to one another. i just wanted some light,  wanted to feel loved.  i needed strength and couldn’t seem to muster any on my own.


I met someone here, i’d known them for a while but hadn’t spent much time with them. they were always happy to see me, paid me compliments and made me feel special. and as much as I hate to admit it to myself…. to anyone… i think what i was hoping for was an opportunity to try and break the darkness that had encompassed me and my relationship. I had felt for a while that i would not be able to end my relationship  on my own. I had thought of a separation for us to get our heads together, for me to find some sanity and strength in myself. but honestly i knew and still know that the depth of my love for him was going to make this one of the most difficult things i had ever done in my life. i couldn’t do it on my own. 


Do i sound like i was a little confused?


i was trying to crawl out of my skin


The hardest thing I’ve ever done.


I mean being alive is really the hardest thing we will ever do. life is a continual process of loss, and learning to cope with that loss, continue, not cope. i’m not sure that many of us really cope, we forget we overlook we regret and we lament…… makes you wonder what the hell coping is. ignore that is what we do. ignore the pain ignore the hate ignore as much as we can so we can optimistically look forward trying not think about what we will lose tomorrow. coping … ha! sticking our heads up our ass is coping….


The hardest thing I’ve ever done… I suppose the worst of it was the lie. I knew i was lying, not like those lies we discover later when we realize we were lying to ourselves. no this was a intentional lie because I couldn’t face all the uncomfortableness of telling the truth. I wasn’t even sure I could make the truth make sense and afraid that i would become a coward and back out of it before i even managed to make it make sense. a lie was so much easier. I told him I wasn’t in love with him anymore, that i was falling in love with someone else. the truth was I did love him, probably as much as the day I met him although the passion had dissipated the love never had.  i was in love with the idea of being in love with someone else because it  made it easier. but it wasn’t easy.


i had to stay away from our house as much as possible just so i wouldn’t turn around and collapse begging forgiveness. he was so angry and so hurt and i felt so awful, so confused. i was hurting, but i had to stick to my conviction, i had to do this, i’m not even sure why. and perhaps i become less certain of why as i have gained more distance.  with that distance comes the questions i should have asked then, that i have no answers for now. with distance comes perspective, with  perspective comes understanding? someone told me that,  but exactly when does the understanding come in?


I still feel awful, maybe that is why it haunts me everyday.  i hurt him a few times over the years and i wish i could make him understand that i i never wanted to, tried to, but i was hurting and  he ended up being collateral damage as i frantically thrashed around trying to find a way to stop the emotional pain. I think one perspective i have gained is that maybe i will never stop trashing. seems i just trade one tragic state for another.

The dream I had last night was like all the others and probably not worth wasting text explaining. it all comes down to my emotions.


i miss him terribly i can’t help it. there was never anyone else i could relate to. he tolerated my darkness more than think anyone else could. we were alone together and i realize now that is how i like it. i don’t want someone who puts me on a pedestal and makes me the center of their universe. i want to be in my own universe and have someone in a parallel universe i can share things with… through a worm hole…… what my dreams tell me is; i think i fucked up, my choice was wrong. in an effort  to find some modicum of happiness, to crawl out of the darkness, i destroyed the one thing that brought some light into a darkness i will most likely never escape . and to be truthful i think the only thing that i have learned in my last year of searching myself and my dreams is….. stop trying to crawl out.


The thing about realizing i fucked up is that there is no fixing it…… its  just another stone along the pathway of loss that will culminate in the lights going out forever… no wormhole, no parallel universe no one to be lonely with…….. i would never ask him to forgive me, i would never beg or ask him to come back . in a long line of mistakes this one had a finality to it that leaves me feeling it  can never be undone…… i can only imagine how much he resents me now……


I just wish i could at least tell him, be honest and maybe open some communication about it. although what would that accomplish i am uncertain. most likely it doesn’t really matter. i not sure what does anymore.


back to the darkness.



An introduction

As it were……
 I’m not the great writer, or even a modestly good one, most of my grades were high in school, but not in English. my spelling is atrocious (thank the great flying spaghetti monster for spell check), my grammar skills are probably still at elementary school level. But I am also a determined arrogant twat, that thinks  that I still have a spark of insight that is worth sharing, as feeble as the delivery  may be.
why  did I start this? a question to myself, not that anyone is asking. Because I am now traversing a difficult time in my life, well really they are all difficult, our species being as insane as it is finds ways to attach emotional drama to almost every stage and journey though life… but I know I will get to that subject later…..  Anyway….. the difficult stuff…. I think the true self examination and change started 4 years ago when my mother died, death is probably one of the single most consuming events in a monkeys life. we fear it sometimes we relish it, but mostly for entirely selfish reasons we abhor it. when it takes our loved ones the changes that are wrought upon our daily lives are tremendous, and usually very unpleasant. It was no exception  for my families feelings of loss. My mother had been my best friend, I am extremely anti social by nature (perhaps my experience with other monkeys is to blame… later for that…)  I had ended up isolated in a small Canadian town with my small insular family unit, my daughter my S.O. and myself, and my mother was the only contact outside that family unit, my connection to the world. But in many ways she always had been. that secure feeling of always being loved and never judged, probably the only person we experience in our lifetime that will love us no matter our transgressions or abuses. well for us lucky enough to have that kind of mother. I did….
small cell lung cancer…. 6 months almost to the day, but I lost her a few months before that as she regressed to the unhappy child i never knew she was. It still makes me cry, it always will, because us monkeys have a very hard time controlling our  emotions. she was the only person I could go to when I cried, the only one I didn’t feel foolish with. now i cry alone… I don’t know anyone who might be reading this, so today I cry with you and I don’t feel foolish (maybe that is why I started this blog… no, fuck crying, it changes nothing and never feels better)…
It changed my life, of course it would, it always does, for every one….. It left me so alone… there was no one left to let my guard down with, no one to catch me if…. when… I fall.
I spent every day with her after the diagnosis, I had talked to her everyday before but now I was with her. I quit my job against any better judgement because I was the sole income for my own family unit. I went to all the appointments, chemo, radiation, grocery store visits. her and my father moved to this small town despite any better judgement any of us could have, but my mother repeated daily we just needed to stay together, because we were all we had. how I wish she was wrong. As her mind went and her body crumbled beneath us, I was there for almost every moment of memory and of sickness. the whole thing was entirely horrible, not just because of the disease but because of the apprehension and the fear, because of the unwillingness to die. life can be beautiful and no one (well mostly no one wants to die) but when the inevitable truly marches us towards the end the fight against death can make death so much more awful than it should be, than it could be. she cried almost constantly while her mind was still sharp. there were no beautiful sunsets seen, or fragrances inhaled. every moment was a painful battle against death and there was no hope though her and my father broke their arms grasping at it. It got so there was nothing to say, almost everything there was to talk about seem insignificant (I am not one to pretend or ignore. I can’t.) everyone was searching for a cure….. except me… there was no cure, is none, and doubtful that there ever will be. most of us seem to forget life is terminal, and something will kill us all…. eventually……  
I wanted to enjoy those last months with her more than anything, they were the last chance I had to listen to her voice to feel her comforting arms, to share a laugh, a smile, even a tear….. but there was very little of that… there was madness, there was desperation, and there was sadness so oppressive that we all found it hard to breath. My father was frantic and insane with grief, and made everything, every doctors visit, every trip to town a panicked frenzy. i know he loved her more than life itself, but I resent him even now for how painful his grief made those last few months for all of us.
October 23rd 2010: after being in a coma like state for nearly a week , 1 day after i finally convinced my father that she should die in a hospital, not in her bed (where she writhed in pain for weeks,the 2 of us were barely able to change her diapers and administer her pain medication) my mother finally passed on. I was on my way home, the 1 hr drive through the mountains to get a change of clothes so I could return to her bedside. I came around a corner and there were nearly a dozen deer standing in both lanes of the road.  dusk and a fresh coating of rain on the road, my choices are a cliff side or over the side of a bridge into a freshly swollen lake. did I close my eyes? did I go into a trance? or did automation take over and i operate under some unknown mechanical programming to do what needed to be done? I come aware of where I am facing in the opposite direction perfectly within the boundaries of the opposite lane, deer on every side of my vehicle, standing staring, my horn is blaring. no one is even grazed. the deer and I exchange unspoken looks of horror , they dart off into the bush… I find a place to get off the road and inhale the shortest cigarette i have ever smoked.. when i get home my father phones and tells me mother is dead. If I had gone the way the deer pointed me I may have been at her side when she took her final breath. she was alone, my father had gone to his hotel room to rest. I hope she wanted to be alone. I hope she didn’t know I wasn’t there. I think my father and i probably still carry that quiet guilt, especially now that we are both so alone.
There wasn’t one thing about my mothers death that changed anything. nothing I can point to and say “ah that was an epiphany”. maybe it wasn’t even her death, or suffering, maybe it was the entirely selfish experience of no longer having someone i could lean as hard on as I had her. I don’t know, and to psychoanalyze myself is idiotic, I just end up thinking  in circles and self assured dead ends. What I do know is I view each day of existence as important, kind of a common conclusion for those who have seen the face of death. no longer is the future sprawled out in front of me like a empty page. each moment is a closing sentence, an entity unto itself. the importance of the last 5 seconds is nothing in the universal scope of things, but everything in the existence of one monkey that hardly anyone or anything knows about. I don’t give a shit about legacies anymore on an individual basis. upon my death any recognition of my ego is entirely irrelevant to the only person it ever really mattered to …. myself…. yet I still want to do and say things even though i have this overwhelming sense of meaninglessness to everything. nothing matters yet everything i do matters more than it ever did. interesting dichotomy….or maybe entirely uninteresting… but it has brought some importance to even the simple act of breathing, life isn’t about anything in particular it is about being, being alive, moving from one breath to the next and enjoying as many of those inhalations as you can. even pain is something, as opposed to nothing, we will all find nothing soon enough……
This fucking monkey is an atheist, she believe wholeheartedly in nothing. and relishes in it. because the alternative would bring an absurdity to the universe I can not except intellectually. there is no logical basis for a belief in something. if there is a god or an energy force, than there are unicorns fairies and santa clause, because the human imagination then has control of reality without any basis in measurable reality. not to mention what a fucking prick a God would have to be to create a mess such as this. I haven’t met a human warped enough to create the suffering and horror that is the workings of the planet and the universe (mostly the world of man). a sadist of unimaginable scope such as that, is to awful to consider…  nothing is paradise.
This monkey is an anarchist…. not a mask wearing  anti-authoritarian so angry that I need to smash shit. But someone who believe in the individual and the ability of us to rule our own actions (should we dare to take on the intellectual responsibility to control our monkey nature). as far as smashing the system, well I leave that up to those who actually created and support the system, why would I invest my energy in smashing something everyone else seems to be content with? no I will just sit on my sofa with a bowl of popcorn and watch us eat the world…… until there is a mass awakening…. for that i’m not holding my breath, breathing is far to important..
This monkey is an environmentalist… who believes that life as a whole, and  itself, is far more important than the existence of one species. our arrogance infuriates me daily,  only until I inhale, then I try to go back to not giving a shit because my anger is meaningless.  
This monkey is a misanthrope. that dirty dirty word than makes me a traitor to my very species. a far greater crime than genocide or matricide, I don’t like my own.  I see other monkeys and what I see inspires hatred, unimaginable to most. but I’m a hypocritical misanthrope; I love my child and other members of my family. I celebrate and champion the individual.  I lump us all into one and then separate us into the parts. I hate myself but love my toes the quirky little lumps of flesh they are…..
This monkey is a pacifist who was raised a Buddhist and had no interest in finding enlightenment, still doesn’t . this monkey doesn’t believe in enlightenment,  life is already full of enough delusions who needs another even if you find happiness and peace, its still an illusion….
what a long abstract meander as to how I got here, and why I’m bothering, I know I could go on, and I will…. I hope some one visits here,  at the same time I will tell no one I started this blog. this is a secret place for all my thoughts to go. I hope I return as I need this, and have so much more to say even if it doesn’t matter… my aching head says stop now, so I listen