The despair and loneliness of the day often pervade my dreams, manifesting themselves as nightmares. My mind currently seems to be capable of conjuring some fairly unpleasantly far-fetched scenarios, but it is the others, those with a much more probable degree of reality, that are much worse. I will wake and listen to the seemingly endless slow-moving goods trains that pass in the middle of the night, but sometimes the realisation that I’ve been dreaming is not much comfort when the reality of the situation clears into focus.
I cast my mind back 11 months or so ago, or look over some old emails or even some comment chess, and think how genuinely happy I was. I’d probably never been happier. It finally dawned on me this week that during that time I was being bullied in my last place of work – something that is not always easy to admit or want to realise, such is the stigma attached – but quite honestly at the time I neither particularly noticed or cared: I had a best friend to turn to, which meant I could decipher and dismiss such meaningless pettiness. It was the type of relationship and friendship which I could draw strength from and focus all my emotional energy towards, and that in turn highlighted the fact that everything that had preceded it had been, in comparison, quite pointless and unworthy of comparison.
Some of the memories I’ve been left with are nothing short of perfection. There were an abundance of special and unique times, but that is sometimes what scares me most: I don’t see how they will materialise again. It’s part of what makes something so precious, the fact that it is rarely found, and it’s a scary thought to sometimes wonder how long it might be before I come close to finding such wholesome fulfilment again. When I broach this apprehension with friends, they generally try to silence me, saying I mustn’t think like that. But I can’t help but wonder whether they say this because they sense the fundamental truth in my statement and don’t want me dwelling on it too much (or don’t fancy contemplating it themselves).
I’m not imbued with oozes of self-confidence or arrogance, but nor am I so diffident or falsely modest not to know that with just a little bit of concentrated effort within a week or so I could find someone to fill that gap should I want to, to spend those evenings with. But it would be superficial, and the shallow pleasures aside I know I would find myself not listening to their conversation, unable to take a genuine interest in their feelings and generally would be itching for them to leave.
Before, I’d come to understand that I didn’t need or desire the company of someone else just for the sake of it. I’m really grateful to Whitfud and his wife for providing me with this opportunity to live alone, and come to terms with everything in a comfortable and relatively stress-free environment. I need this time to myself to try and find my way back to that self-sufficient mindset.
The two places are miles apart though, so it could be a lengthy journey.
5 weeks ago