Wednesday, July 20, 2011
It seems like forever since I was at
peace. Even the memory of better days
is tainted with what has commenced since.
I can recall, in my mind's eye at least,
a dapper and charming young man, full of
vitality and inspiration. A man brimming
with possibilities and unmet rewards. Yet
all of that cut short from unexpected
circumstance, and I cannot for the life
of me see attaining that same chap again.
After the devastating losses of the four
primaries in my life, I spiralled out of
control. Drunken, beaten, lost from all
purpose, devastated beyond compare, insti-
tutionalized, penniless. I gave up hope
of ever knowing interest in another person,
for the knowing give way to caring and
thus to further pain.
It is easier by far to stand alone and
know what that means than to risk connection
and meet with undesired frustration.
And yet, at my lowest point, I sought out
others, and did happen upon one who was full
of light and hope, though his underpinnings
gave way that this was not his true self.
His words and smile served as welcome platitudes
and provided me solace I had so desperately
sought in the lonely, harrowing years prior.
When I did visit the dark night of the soul.
He seemed quite glad to spend time, and we
exchanged ideas and theories and inspiration
through countless lengthy letters. As time
went on, I felt a kindredness I had long ago
abandoned hope of seeing again. It was
difficult to digest; there was much hesitation
and stridency in discovering this potential.
I am afraid I must admit fault of a sort in
my bristling at the prospect of trusting anyone
It must be stated that there was also an
element of unrest in this fellow's approach,
as well. There seemed almost an animosity
in his efforts to reflect on my weaknesses.
A rather schizoid effect was in play, and I
found myself looming over a chasm of peculiar
uncertainty as to whether my new friend was
in truth out for my good.
I recalled the embittered look in his eyes
that I had seen on earlier occasion, and
rallied behind him with the firm understanding
that he was dealing with difficulties not known
to me. That he was likely doing all that he
could to perform the duties of confidante
and intellectual conspirator as best he knew.
But one day, after several failed attempts
to get him to speak freely about the matter,
he fell silent. I came to find out that a new
compatriot had arrived in his life, leaving
no time for frivolities such as me. He was
all at once attentive and excited, dedicated
and attuned, where he had formerly been aloof
and diffident with me.
I quickly discovered that his inattentiveness
was not inherent inability, but lack of interest,
at least as had reference to me.
(from the journal of Mr. Henry Eckham of Devonshire)
(end first entry)