I just want to go away, where these problems don’t exist. I want to sit in on someone else’s problems for a while. I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to be childless. I don’t want to wait to enjoy my life more. I miss T. I miss feeling inspired. I miss thinking anything was possible. I’m so lonely I could cry. I wish Eric could see inside my heart. I wish he could understand how this affects me. I even miss Was. I even miss Anna and Ashira. I wish I still smoked. But mostly this is just a silent shout that no one will probably hear. I respect Jen’s wishes to not want to be friends. It’s a Richard Parker situation with that one.
I want to call upon the God of weird people and strange things that aren’t explicated in books or by parents. I want to ask that she protect me from further emotional harm. I ask that she give me hope of seeing my friends again soon. I ask that I not be allowed to die without some part of the perfect happiness I once knew. Bar nights aren’t going to cut it anymore. I know I am grateful for not being alone and for being on some level loved. But being alone would be the truest manifestation of what separation has felt like. Nothing will ever compare. It was exquisite.
I’m married now and that’s that. I am stable, productive, pleasant. My grandmother speaks to me in Portuguese now. But I don’t want to end up like her, waiting until the last minute to say what needs to be said. It just feels like no one will ever read this or ever care, and that’s where all lost loves go, into a secret hole in the wall, like rubble or its dust. There are things it seems I’ll always be too scared to handle or face.
My marriage proves nothing except that I was a being capable of love and commitment all along, and it is its own shame for my earlier life. Smart means nothing to me. Confident means nothing. It’s happy that means the most and is the most elusive. How do I know that the happiness I have is greater than any happiness I might’ve had sooner? How do I ever let that question go?
And without children of my own...
What’s the point of it all?
I feel I am grasping at invisible straws waiting.
Erika
