ergo, naught: much ado about nothing

So when I was younger, I guess I was a kind of “hopeless romantic". I believed in love, and soul mates, and any number of other Bright, Happy, Hopeful Things that all, so far as I was able to tell, had been made manifest upon this planet in the form of Her.

And then the Great Miracle: She made all that was good and all that was worthwhile in the world, namely Herself, mine. She was The Way and Light and Life.

Cynics and sadists may be excused from the room so that their laughter does not disturb the rest of the class.

When it all fell apart and she left me, so suddenly, so brutally, so wonderfully direct and clean and i can say thank you so much for that and mean it, I was something well beyond devastated.

Life was gone; Light was gone; The Way was gone. Everything That Mattered turned Her face from me and walked away.

I spent about two months in a darkened room, staring at the blackness staring back at me and smoking 7 packs of cigarettes a day and just hurting. I chased that with a steady diet of self-destruction that I’ll not bother describing in detail. A conversation with my mother is the only thing that stopped me from just killing myself outright; I pursued it slowly, instead.

I faked a few relationships afterwards, only one of them meaning anything at all to me (this is difficult for some to believe, and it is surprising how many who do believe it identify the wrong relationship; I do not know why). I got myself into things and people and places that I would not have, otherwise. I spent money on people too dense to realize that all I was really doing was throwing away money I could certainly spare buying dumb shit for my whore of the moment.

I tried feeling good when those relationships were good. I tried feeling bad when those relationships were bad. I tried feeling any damned thing at all. Alas.

I was having a very slow nervous breakdown.

So far as I can tell it took about 6 years for me to really crack. I suspect no one noticed; I had gotten quite good at pretending to be me over the years.

A chance encounter in October 1997 began a series of events that ultimately pulled me back from the brink, and believe me, I had gotten very close indeed by the latter half of 1998, when the healing finally began.

The point?

Just recently I suppose I had an epiphany of sorts, wherein I realized/remembered that “the signs” had been there all along. By “all along” I mean from, like, the very first time I spoke to her directly. Literally the entire reason we even got together in the first place was a Giant Fucking Cluebat that must have slammed into me so hard that it caused the brain damage which is the only possible explanation for missing the other Giant Fucking Cluebats along “The Way".

You have to understand, I tore myself to pieces when this relationship ended. For years.

GFC #1: We got together because she was going to give her Holiest of Holies away casually to a schmuck I knew who was, really, a worthless individual, and I volunteered to receive ye olde H of H instead. I’m looking for love, she’s looking for laid.

It gets much worse from there.

Now, my perspective and attitude and feeling on a lot of things is dramatically different than it was back then, so that a lot of things that disturbed me (or damned well should have) then would really not matter to me today. But I knew what I wanted then; I had a very definite idea of what I sought.

She wasn’t it. She was never it. From day one she was Something Completely Other.

Could she have become what I did actually want? Certainly.

Would she have, if I had not made my own horrible mistakes in the relationship? Maybe.

Does it matter? Not at all.

I screwed up my head and my heart and my soul and my life for over 6 years because of losing someone who had never, for a moment, been what I wanted her to be.

And it is not like she ever misled me. No! I misled myself. I have always maintained a very high opinion of her, and nothing, not even the sudden remembrance of oh-so-many cluebats, has diminished this.

But she was never That, which Destroyed Me Utterly to Lose.

So, back to the point, which is all about perspective, and rational euphoria, and “staying grounded” and “maintaining balance". I ruined myself and no doubt contributed to the ruin of many around me because I could not live with the loss of something I never actually had.

This is idiocy.

I’m not the first, and I am certainly not going to be the last, love-blinded moron worshipping a deity of his own heart’s devising, but perhaps writing this down will help some other love-shattered soul realize, more quickly than I did, that it was all bullshit anyway.