Sunday, December 29, 2013
Threads of Love
This to me is the weakest and most ridiculous of all objections that could be raised here.
I don't like Shakespeare, but do you remember the plot of that one play he did.
Murder, suicide, bruised thighs of battered wives. No that's not love.
Yeah, go fuck yourself. It is.
It all springs from the quintessence of love. Not being able to live without someone.
I never really suffered as much on account on anything else.
Depression is bad, but it has a numb quality to it. Depression is like a calm ocean of gasoline that puts you under and love is a like a spark that makes it into a burning inferno of pain.
Depression makes you lose interest in life, unanswered love makes you want to pull the plug on the whole edifice.
I could wish depression on my enemy but I wouldn't be so cruel as to add unrequited love to that brew.
Love gives you a thread of hope, a hope of connecting. Its like flickering fluorescent light at a train station.
You can't rest, you can't stay calm, you have to watch the flickering, hoping for a break. Light is better but ever darkness has consistency.
If I were asked if I could terminate my depression, I would pause, it would mean destroying a part of my self. Throwing my DNA into a spin. What remains? Only a few percentiles of difference separates a man from a common ape and maybe depression is part of that equation.
But the love I know...
"You're in love with someone who only likes you sometimes, Ivan."
I repeat that to myself like a Tibetan mantra.
I have to will myself out of this. Rationality is a feeble weapon here. Like fighting an African lion with a scalpel. But its all I have.
Maybe if I was different she could be with me or talk to me consistently.
But I am who I am. I can't change. Can't always text about weather and food.
I am Russian. We don't talk about small things.
You know who I am,
You've stared at the sun,
Well I am the one who loves
Changing from nothing to one.
~ Leonard Cohen