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Lonely early evening 10-16-03
There are moments where all you really want is to be able to roll over in bed to touch the person next to you; to have them say "What is it?" and then, when you do not reply, hold you very tightly.
This (obviously) is one of those for me. It happens when I am unmedicated, but accepting these moods is a choice that I made long ago-- and one that for the moment I still stand on. And in this case the mood has very good reasons. This weekend I have to say goodbye to another friend who I am losing to the vastness outside my life. It is not the first time I have had to do this recently, and I am sure it will not be the last. It feels like this part of my life could be subtitled "The Year of Long Goodbyes."
Each week brings reminders of friends lost. Yesterday I was cleaning out my email, and found brief, tenuous, unanswered messages from two people I loved dearly once and who now have drifted away. While walking I ran into an old friend who loved me far more than I loved him, who fell out of my life due to my own lack of care. Typing this sentence I am reminded of another in a different account. Before I finsih this entry I remember an entire group of others on a third account. This evening while driving I saw the face of a woman who is a friend-of-a-friend who I never made time to know; and while driving back I heard a song on the radio that could only remind me of Stacy, who has made no effort to talk to me in months, or I her, despite the fact that she may be in-state again soon. My buddy list is littered with people I used to know but now do not talk to, and each time I log in I fear who I will find there.
And this weekend is another goodbye. A horrible one, to someone that I have bonded to in a way that makes him utterly unique in my life. And some of our other friends are doing the usual things: making sure we have a group photo, making sure he can come back, arranging a weekend of his favorite activities. Each thing is supposed to be a celebration, and each thing is like a razor in my gut.
I hate goodbyes. I've always hated goodbyes. They remind me too strongly of things that did not happen and now will never happen. I wish I could focus on the positive, on the fact that my departing friend has added immeasurably to my life-- that he's going to a far better situation than he has here. I wish I could pull myself out of this depression by thinking about the friends that I am making even now wherever I go-- all the hellos to counterbalance the goodbyes. I wish that the fantasy of the opening line didn't involve someone else coming to save me from it.
But since superwoman isn't going to appear out of the woodwork-- and even if she did she couldn't really make it go away-- I guess I'll have to content myself with distraction until the mood blows over. And hopefully get back into counseling. Soon.
This (obviously) is one of those for me. It happens when I am unmedicated, but accepting these moods is a choice that I made long ago-- and one that for the moment I still stand on. And in this case the mood has very good reasons. This weekend I have to say goodbye to another friend who I am losing to the vastness outside my life. It is not the first time I have had to do this recently, and I am sure it will not be the last. It feels like this part of my life could be subtitled "The Year of Long Goodbyes."
Each week brings reminders of friends lost. Yesterday I was cleaning out my email, and found brief, tenuous, unanswered messages from two people I loved dearly once and who now have drifted away. While walking I ran into an old friend who loved me far more than I loved him, who fell out of my life due to my own lack of care. Typing this sentence I am reminded of another in a different account. Before I finsih this entry I remember an entire group of others on a third account. This evening while driving I saw the face of a woman who is a friend-of-a-friend who I never made time to know; and while driving back I heard a song on the radio that could only remind me of Stacy, who has made no effort to talk to me in months, or I her, despite the fact that she may be in-state again soon. My buddy list is littered with people I used to know but now do not talk to, and each time I log in I fear who I will find there.
And this weekend is another goodbye. A horrible one, to someone that I have bonded to in a way that makes him utterly unique in my life. And some of our other friends are doing the usual things: making sure we have a group photo, making sure he can come back, arranging a weekend of his favorite activities. Each thing is supposed to be a celebration, and each thing is like a razor in my gut.
I hate goodbyes. I've always hated goodbyes. They remind me too strongly of things that did not happen and now will never happen. I wish I could focus on the positive, on the fact that my departing friend has added immeasurably to my life-- that he's going to a far better situation than he has here. I wish I could pull myself out of this depression by thinking about the friends that I am making even now wherever I go-- all the hellos to counterbalance the goodbyes. I wish that the fantasy of the opening line didn't involve someone else coming to save me from it.
But since superwoman isn't going to appear out of the woodwork-- and even if she did she couldn't really make it go away-- I guess I'll have to content myself with distraction until the mood blows over. And hopefully get back into counseling. Soon.