I Am Alive
The sickness within me is dying. I cast it out in the name of the Lord. One night, my mind, the part that sometimes drifts away to fight battles elsewhere, came to me. In that tired, half-sleep, I cast out my own demon. One in particular. I did not see it (I want to say him though), fully. I simply knew I must proceed with strength I almost did not possess, but I asked and commanded at once and it left.
I begin to see.
My first long-term girl at uni lost her sister, she was estranged from her family for having a gender change operation at a young age. Conservative family, quite well-to-do and the father didn't understand emotions at all. Understandable situation. She kept in touch with my ex though, the only one.
My next, my current, lost her mother at almost the very same time. This was 8 years after I lost my uncle. His death closed doors for me. I could tell we were alike. He had this heart that just wanted to help people, but died a little every time because of how ignorant we humans have become, how disrespectful and full of aggression, negativity and hate.
Perhaps that is where my path began.
My uncle, blood uncle this time, Dad's brother, moved out to Colombia before I was born. He dearly wanted to return at one point. He believed, as I do, that he is actually my father - in the same way as Abdul Khader-Khan is Shantaram's father in the eponymous book.
He decided to stay away, for his daughter's sake. A beauty to behold, and such a spirit and heart of gold like no other. Though he felt me in pain sometime around 1998-2002. He tried to help but just felt the bond between us like a physical lightening bolt, strong and strong.
I lost something of myself when my uncle died - the non-blood one. The social worker one. The cyclist who cycled the country wide and long. I was angry at transport, that blind spots could be allowed. At governments, for not providing proper ways for cyclists to go. At humans, for losing all sense of our true potential - put a child born of English descent (office workers or the like) in the Amazon and he/she will be able to climb mountains fearlessly by the age of 18 - or be dead. We can brave the weather, I prove that. I came from here, warm-blooded, went to South Africa, and returned fully acclimatised. All we have to do is go outside.
I was angry that I didn't know what my uncle did (other than the two words, "social worker"). I thought it was probably what I wanted to do, but I didn't know. And I didn't know what I had to study to get there.
But I didn't truly realise I was angry - nor what triggered it - until just now.
I lost my life. I gave it up, surrendered to others at that point. I joined EP, spent hours, nights, days, here. I lost my way into an addiction, a f***sh I'm not proud of. It was the mirror image of my sickness. I see it all clearly now. It is simply my bereavement curve.
Someone came along and tried to love me. She was my 2nd long-term girl. She couldn't love me truly because of her own loss. Her mother. Breast cancer. But she tried. That was enough for me to surrender my life to her. As long as she could hear my pains at work, she would have my full support in everything, and I would give everything to make her happy in her life.
I realised I was not giving her everything. My addiction got stronger as the stress she was creating/feeling in her own life reduced her drive for love, and mine was at its peak. I died inside doing it, but I could only do that, commit crime, or leave her. I still die inside doing it. But I do it less.
I left a great many groups on EP. I left "friends" behind. I grew some confidence in the idea it was wrong, and when someone offered me their film collection, I simply hit 'delete' on the folder containing all the contraband. Naturally, the cold turkey approach was temporary but as with all steps forward, it was vital.
I began to use EP for what I came for more and more, and realised I myself needed support. I got it from the comments on other people's stories. I learned from them, the silent reader. I often added my two penneth to be honest, but still.
Back to my fiance and I...
A few key fundamental issues were killing us.
MONEY: she wanted me to earn. To reduce the pressure on her to provide for us, for our future baby which will hopefully one day come. To allow her to screw up sometimes, have a down day, etc. I couldn't earn because of my visa. She knew that, she accepted it, but it was too much for her to swallow all the same.
COMMITMENT: she wanted to run. She wanted her way out if things went wrong. She wanted to fix problems either herself, or if they were mine, I fix them. I realised we had to work together to go forward, she did not realise that.
FRIENDS: she had rules. Slightly OCD/Aspergers type rules. Thou shallt write to me. Thou shallt make efforts to see me when I am home. Etc. One couple are dear friends of both of ours, but she has had a bone to pick with the man for many years. He stood her up twice, and called her up one lunchtime to say he was in the same city could he see her perhaps. She took offense, taking it to mean she was not worth planning to see, but since he was there he could call up and just waltz in - before an apology was forthright for standing her up. But they were too dear friends to cast out. So, dilemma. Depression even I would say, at least a contributor. I broke that camel 6 months ago. I felt the wrath of a woman that night, the following day, and thereafter for three whole months. I came home, I did not want to return to her side. I did not work, I sold off possessions and I thought. I thought through the whole thing. I concluded that how I felt when I saw her at the airport would decide our future. How she felt, also.
So we saw each other and a little flutter of butterflies came. We knew. We were ok. So we talked. ALL of those issues we talked through. We resolved them, too.
And she loved me. She caressed me with the touch of true love. For the first time, in a long time, (yes, Frozen...), I was loved. Truly loved. For who I am now, where I am going. For me.
That gave me permission somehow, to begin to love myself. And it was with her by my side that I cast out that demon in fact. Before these caresses, but deep down I must have known. This love is probably what cast out that demon, what gave me that strength at last.
And so now I feel the sickness within me begin to shrivel. It is a sickening process, ironically, to see that devil shrivel up like on Who fr<x>amed Roger Rabbit. I am beginning to feel like exercising again. Like waking up this skeleton of mine.
You know, I can attribute much of this last part to the loss of another. More, the suffering of another. He gave me hope that life truly is better. I once was filled and headstrong with that notion. Lately, before that fateful airport meeting, I have not been so sure. This guy, overdosed - but got to hospital. He proved that life is better. After all we said between us on this very site, he lived to tell the tale. And he had hope, in the end, wishing to pass onto the next generation views of respect for each other, for the shy person sitting across from you probably is that "nice guy" you so desperately seek and so willingly denounce the existence of.
So I rise. Employment prospects are shaping up too, as I begin to realise my previous role encompassed project management in international teams to the highest quality standards, along with quality management. Both of those seem to be worth a considerable £25-30k a year, which would seriously help us right now.
Wish me luck, I hope you are glad you read to the end ;)
I begin to see.
My first long-term girl at uni lost her sister, she was estranged from her family for having a gender change operation at a young age. Conservative family, quite well-to-do and the father didn't understand emotions at all. Understandable situation. She kept in touch with my ex though, the only one.
My next, my current, lost her mother at almost the very same time. This was 8 years after I lost my uncle. His death closed doors for me. I could tell we were alike. He had this heart that just wanted to help people, but died a little every time because of how ignorant we humans have become, how disrespectful and full of aggression, negativity and hate.
Perhaps that is where my path began.
My uncle, blood uncle this time, Dad's brother, moved out to Colombia before I was born. He dearly wanted to return at one point. He believed, as I do, that he is actually my father - in the same way as Abdul Khader-Khan is Shantaram's father in the eponymous book.
He decided to stay away, for his daughter's sake. A beauty to behold, and such a spirit and heart of gold like no other. Though he felt me in pain sometime around 1998-2002. He tried to help but just felt the bond between us like a physical lightening bolt, strong and strong.
I lost something of myself when my uncle died - the non-blood one. The social worker one. The cyclist who cycled the country wide and long. I was angry at transport, that blind spots could be allowed. At governments, for not providing proper ways for cyclists to go. At humans, for losing all sense of our true potential - put a child born of English descent (office workers or the like) in the Amazon and he/she will be able to climb mountains fearlessly by the age of 18 - or be dead. We can brave the weather, I prove that. I came from here, warm-blooded, went to South Africa, and returned fully acclimatised. All we have to do is go outside.
I was angry that I didn't know what my uncle did (other than the two words, "social worker"). I thought it was probably what I wanted to do, but I didn't know. And I didn't know what I had to study to get there.
But I didn't truly realise I was angry - nor what triggered it - until just now.
I lost my life. I gave it up, surrendered to others at that point. I joined EP, spent hours, nights, days, here. I lost my way into an addiction, a f***sh I'm not proud of. It was the mirror image of my sickness. I see it all clearly now. It is simply my bereavement curve.
Someone came along and tried to love me. She was my 2nd long-term girl. She couldn't love me truly because of her own loss. Her mother. Breast cancer. But she tried. That was enough for me to surrender my life to her. As long as she could hear my pains at work, she would have my full support in everything, and I would give everything to make her happy in her life.
I realised I was not giving her everything. My addiction got stronger as the stress she was creating/feeling in her own life reduced her drive for love, and mine was at its peak. I died inside doing it, but I could only do that, commit crime, or leave her. I still die inside doing it. But I do it less.
I left a great many groups on EP. I left "friends" behind. I grew some confidence in the idea it was wrong, and when someone offered me their film collection, I simply hit 'delete' on the folder containing all the contraband. Naturally, the cold turkey approach was temporary but as with all steps forward, it was vital.
I began to use EP for what I came for more and more, and realised I myself needed support. I got it from the comments on other people's stories. I learned from them, the silent reader. I often added my two penneth to be honest, but still.
Back to my fiance and I...
A few key fundamental issues were killing us.
MONEY: she wanted me to earn. To reduce the pressure on her to provide for us, for our future baby which will hopefully one day come. To allow her to screw up sometimes, have a down day, etc. I couldn't earn because of my visa. She knew that, she accepted it, but it was too much for her to swallow all the same.
COMMITMENT: she wanted to run. She wanted her way out if things went wrong. She wanted to fix problems either herself, or if they were mine, I fix them. I realised we had to work together to go forward, she did not realise that.
FRIENDS: she had rules. Slightly OCD/Aspergers type rules. Thou shallt write to me. Thou shallt make efforts to see me when I am home. Etc. One couple are dear friends of both of ours, but she has had a bone to pick with the man for many years. He stood her up twice, and called her up one lunchtime to say he was in the same city could he see her perhaps. She took offense, taking it to mean she was not worth planning to see, but since he was there he could call up and just waltz in - before an apology was forthright for standing her up. But they were too dear friends to cast out. So, dilemma. Depression even I would say, at least a contributor. I broke that camel 6 months ago. I felt the wrath of a woman that night, the following day, and thereafter for three whole months. I came home, I did not want to return to her side. I did not work, I sold off possessions and I thought. I thought through the whole thing. I concluded that how I felt when I saw her at the airport would decide our future. How she felt, also.
So we saw each other and a little flutter of butterflies came. We knew. We were ok. So we talked. ALL of those issues we talked through. We resolved them, too.
And she loved me. She caressed me with the touch of true love. For the first time, in a long time, (yes, Frozen...), I was loved. Truly loved. For who I am now, where I am going. For me.
That gave me permission somehow, to begin to love myself. And it was with her by my side that I cast out that demon in fact. Before these caresses, but deep down I must have known. This love is probably what cast out that demon, what gave me that strength at last.
And so now I feel the sickness within me begin to shrivel. It is a sickening process, ironically, to see that devil shrivel up like on Who fr<x>amed Roger Rabbit. I am beginning to feel like exercising again. Like waking up this skeleton of mine.
You know, I can attribute much of this last part to the loss of another. More, the suffering of another. He gave me hope that life truly is better. I once was filled and headstrong with that notion. Lately, before that fateful airport meeting, I have not been so sure. This guy, overdosed - but got to hospital. He proved that life is better. After all we said between us on this very site, he lived to tell the tale. And he had hope, in the end, wishing to pass onto the next generation views of respect for each other, for the shy person sitting across from you probably is that "nice guy" you so desperately seek and so willingly denounce the existence of.
So I rise. Employment prospects are shaping up too, as I begin to realise my previous role encompassed project management in international teams to the highest quality standards, along with quality management. Both of those seem to be worth a considerable £25-30k a year, which would seriously help us right now.
Wish me luck, I hope you are glad you read to the end ;)
36-40, M