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Saturday, Dec. 11, 2004 / 2:45 p.m. ~Overactive Associative Memory Capabilities~ I'm so tired of being sad. And is it even sadness, exactly, I feel? What is it? Depression? Is it the rain? Is it the darkness outside instead of light? Is it opening myself up to love, twice in one year, and being horribly rejected both times? Is it the pain of being alive, suffering as all good Buddhists know? Life is suffering, and once this is accepted one can go about one's living, with knowledge that a distance from all earthly desires is the purest way to get through this, life. But what of love? What of all these other people here, right beside us, next to us daily? Surrounded by them, and wanting to connect with them, coming and going, always, people, wanting to share our lives with them, but it's the going that's hardest. Reaching out, opening up, holding on, letting go, pushing away, pulling in, it's the struggle that is the suffering. The rest, the earthly desires, are far more controllable, it's the people who pursue and seem to want and then leave, after having taken what good was offered, having run from the bad that was expelled in an outburst, this cannot be forgotten, or overcome, lived through, gotten past. I never did give up, I don't give up, I do, I don't, I want to, rational mind dictates thusly, but it's the heart, and I'm never one to believe in it, much less extoll its virtues or tenacity, for it is merely a pump, a fuel pump that sends the blood, the fuel, around and keeps me going, filters it back out, it's not a barometer of emotion, but it is, yet, a euphemism for the central command post for all that is love, and it opens and closes, and it shrinks and grows, it is possible to feel all of this. And now it's so unsure of how to continue. Do I pump?, it asks, Do I expand again?, Do I shrink back into a mere semblance of my former self, before, before it all happened? Yes, as before, as you were, so to speak. And get the brain involved in this too, make it stop, make it stop remembering, make it stop associating songs with memories, let me listen to that one without thinking of him, let me just get past this, and why is it so hard? Why is it so hard to get past someone who once pretended he wanted to know me, but must surely have lied even in that pretending, of the wanting? I am so tired of being sad. I am so tired of the remembering, always the good, as if the bad is there too, right alongside, but something pushes it away, every time, no, but look, remember this? And remember that first kiss, and remember him singing in your ear, and remember playing with his cats in the morning, and remember his face between your thighs, and remember him stroking your hair, and remember him calling you on the phone, and remember leaving it on just so he could, and remember that party and all those different open spaces in that garden, following trail after trail in the dark, only to come upon colored lanterns, in blues and reds and whites, and so many wonderful creative delights to discover, no, remember all of that. He's stuck with the worst, he can't remember any of the good parts, his heart shrivels when he thinks of me, he is stronger, but I can't forget, and I am eternally sad inside myself. Perpetually, it's prolonged, it's permanent, it can go nowhere, this sadness, this remembering, this being stuck in this place. It comes, it goes, it seems, but it's there, so close to the surface, nothing can make it go away, it seems. I try, I do, I try for everything, to let go, to get past, to give in, to get back, but it's seemingly a permanent state. Nothing is helping, but have I tried everything? I've tried for, but I have I truly tried? There must be something else, a wand of sage tightly wound with string, burning in every corner, or a voodoo ritual, or a hypnotic purging, a suggestion, post-hypnosis, there must be some way to expunge, to purge, to rid myself of all memories of being pursued by him, of finally giving in, and of being rejected once my mood was not conducive to a good time. That's what is on the inside. On the outside is, hey, coffee? How about that new soy milk, blech!, even with French Vanilla flavoring, no, it sucks bad. And lunch, what's for lunch? What movie is coming on? A trip to the indie theatre? Christmas, oh yes, cards? Oh nooooooo, should I send HIM a card? And it starts all over. Him, him, him, make him go away, make me forget that I want him. Make me forget that he no longer wants me. Make me forget that we shared a brief time together, make me realize it was brief, and he refuses to forgive and what did I do that was worse than what he did?, and this is what it's like. Associative memories. An overactive brain. Make me remember only that he no longer wants me. Cost of the War in Iraq
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