I read the last comment on my blog. Then I read the post. Then I copied paragraphs of the post and searched them online. My post was the first result.
I wrote it. It’s tone is so unlike my own.
Well, it’s unlike my own now. It’s from my days before mood stabilizers and anti-depressants.
Did I write it for E, who less than a year later would break up with me? But we weren’t even officially a couple. Did I write it for the Korean boy that broke my heart, married some other woman, and I have never seen since? More likely.
But perhaps not. The other love letters were to myself. My unloved self, aching for affection. As through the mouth of the dramatic, romantic lover I wanted and as of yet have never found.
And it is powerfully intense. The writing of one not yet under the stupor of the artificial deadening produced by drugs. Bipolar is the clinic diagnosis.
The drugs have lessen the roller-coaster, but never prevented it’s descent. Depression still comes. Joy does not. And obviously creativity has died. I didn’t even recognize the piece as my own.
My fear in 2006 was that psychiatric treatment would change me. I resisted for 6 years until a suicidal depression that stole my waking hours, extra pounds, and all possibility of happiness. Then I crawled towards anything that could save me, including therapy and medicine.
Now 5 years later, the evidence is in. I have been changed so thoroughly I can’t recognize myself. It’s a bit troubling as I have traded that intensity and creativity for periods of low energy, neutrality, and mediocrity. Only lapses in the reoccurring suicidal depression that causes tears and confines me to bed. So, I have lost heights to prevent valleys that yet I still travel. I quit writing. Maybe I have made a horrible mistake.
After the battle, I won’t see you as my enemy. Forgive me, love? I wanted to be right. I forgot we are on the same side. I didn’t remember who you have been, who you are, and whom you promise to be.
I am sorry. Please forgive me, my love?
Once I saw you in pain, my rage broke. How could I have wielded a sword at you? You, the princess of my youth. You, the comforter in my times of need. You, the compassionate healer of my wounds. You, my ally, my friend, my family, my lover.
I am so sorry.
Seeing you in pain, my position crumbles. Seeing you cry, I am full of remorse, completely filled. Seeing you after what I did, I can’t understand why I did it at all.
I am asking for your forgiveness, love. Please, let’s repair our bond. Please, let me listen to you and try to understand you instead of employing my defense. Please, give me space and time with you, because I long to be in connection with you.
Let’s find our way into the same space again. I promise not to hurt you this time. I promise to come in vulnerable and humble, ready to see you as you are. What I did was destructive and wrong, but can you forgive me? I am truly sorry.
Let’s make plans. Let’s commit to the future. I hope to share my entire life with you.
I don’t want to waste another day separated from you. I want to share my mornings, my evenings, and even my nights with you. To greet the day with you and recollect it at night with you. To share special moments with you, that would constitute my happiness.
Even an ordinary day with you becomes extraordinary. Sharing the littlest of things with you brings me so much joy. Yours is the ear I long to be lent. It’s your voice that sounds like home. It’s your touch that comforts me. It’s your smile that tells me the world is beautiful and all will be well. My deepest hope is to share everything with you.
How do I know you and know me and meld you with me without losing you or me?
Is it a mystery? Is it a possibility? Is it a dream? Is it a hope?
What is love? I can feel it. I can give it. I can receive it. I can know it. And I still can’t describe it directly. Because it encompasses so many actions and so many withholdings. A parents holding their tongue while their child explore a complicated world. A smile from a stranger. The silence of a friend. The perfectly timed word of a friend. A kiss. Or a hug. Or a goodbye.
There is so much in love.
But to unite two hearts, I know there is no judgement in love. Love is acceptance … even of the unacceptable.
Death comes to us all. But when the pallor rests on your cheek, when the hollows deepen by your eyes, when your skin grows colder and your appetite lessens, the effect of all of this will be personal. When you go gently into that good night, perhaps raging, perhaps calmly, hopefully not willingly, my heart will not pass undisturbed. Your passing will be for me specific, distinct, pitiless, and raw.
How can we two be separated? How can I go on without you? You are my light, bed-side companion, fellow dreamer, reveling cheerful knight. Your absence will be felt, deeply, in my heart. My heart, whenever the time comes, will be torn. Torn for you, not because of you, but that you only live in my memories and never again will we pass again upon this earth.
Death will tear you from me. Of course the tears run down my face. My breath is only gulped in hoarse gasps. Wailing will pierce the quiet silence of the surrounding air. With a bowed head, senseless of time and space, full of physical pain that momentarily numbs the grief that crashes in on me as a tsunami. I will not be able to stand against the raw force of that blow. Who could?
My lovely, when death takes you, it will take a part of me, the part that you touched …
Someday I can recover my tranquility. Someday I will remember you in lighter moments and pleasanter scenes. But the person I was when I existed alongside you will be gone. For us both, I will grieve. Goodbye my lover, goodbye my love, goodbye my hope of the continuing full enjoyment of love.