a portrait – loneliness

“With precision he focused on the target, set the trap, lured me in, and fired. Fully conscious I stepped off the cliff.” SKL

You’ve done it again–it’s a loop for me, I did not learn, I thought I had.  I need not quote anyone else now, I can quote myself.  I am stunned by your lies,  your professed desire to be a good person, as, without thought or regard, the lies tumble out of your mouth, random and unaccountable.

Nearly a year has passed since I walked away, ashamed of myself, tired of your abuse, your illogical world filled with imagined wrongs.  Not a word have I said, not once have I seen or desired to see you, all the days of my life could pass without a glimpse, my need of you over.  Then, a phone call, a message, it’s urgent, from a mutual friend, you are sick, you are returning to the USA, you must see me.  I go, drop everything, after all, we had something once, a long time ago, before the vitriol, before India, before so much, we had a love and we had a life.

A blood disease you tell me, India has given you a blood disorder, constantly anemic, suicidal you say, you must flee this space, this room, still with the filthy sheets, boxes, disarray, double stacked mattresses, but you are moving.  This cold, room I wrote about so long ago, still cold, still dirty.  Your feet are filthy I say, on the sheets, black.  You are depressed, I sit, I listen, you try to give me things, I want nothing from you. I know what your gifts mean, how that tide turns with you.  I observe how pink you are and ask where you had the tests done, Pims you respond. What type of blood disorder?  A lie, you say, you made that up but you are, “psychotically depressed” you tell me.  Suicidal, you must leave.  The sadness of the year unfolds over the  next 7 hours, I listen.   I share a little, my own life, good, bright, full  of love, careful I think, it’s precious.

You don’t want me to leave, we have dinner, my freedom, the lack of need for you, space..I can now care for you without anger or reserve, I can hear your words without pain or defensiveness, this is pure and this is peace.  But you have not, you are anguished you tell me.  You forget your phone at home, doesn’t matter you say, no one contacts you. You love me, miss me, I listen but can not respond in kind.  What we had is packaged away, it’s on a shelf, the dust has collected, the box is battered but intact, it’s way up high and out of reach.

 “Like a vulture she stalks my Facebook page-I know this because he tells me-it matters not-he tells me all.”   But now it is you, for a year, through a friend’s account, you scour my pages, my blog. I have come to fear you, a double minded man. If I am the evil you claimed me to be then why not leave me be?

They will find him one day, not much more emaciated than he already is, cold, stiff, lying on filthy sheets, preserved through the sub-degree temperatures he keeps his room…the madness deepens. SKL

I drive home late, the air cool, down the Coconut Road, the streets deserted but for the dogs and cows that rise up during the night to claim them.  I feel free and sad.   I am sad that you came here with me, that your life was small, soiled and tightly controlled.  That you return, “to a small apartment, I have no money left, I will start my practice again in NC”.  Intermittently through the night I cry for you, tossing, turning, trying to make a plan, I will encourage you to stay, to make your life work. My friends warn me, call me during the night, send messages, be careful, stay away from him. My friends tell me to be careful but I say no, he is in a bad way, it’s okay.

“Others, those who love me, have told me of his manipulation, his abuse, I am blind until now. This time, this final time, he entices to humiliate, empowered by the budding of a new romance with his *virtual* friend and the sex holiday (his words) they have planned.  She naively pours honey on his wounds.”

But it’s not okay.  Morning comes, you call–more of your loneliness, your sadness, your this and that, slowly you work her into the conversation, she of the failed sex holiday, now your good friend, through thick and thin you say. There is so little thick with you and so much thin.  I chuckle inside because you never learn, you build imaginary worlds. This woman whose words you deem true, you are blind, but it’s her life you want.  I suggest maybe you will have a connection with her–then the truth comes–another lie, another tale told, you called her last night, to make sure she really wanted you to live with her–this you tell me–the sad, dark life in NC that you painted so well the night before has evaporated, along with the blood disease, into the WASPish life you prefer, as you did with your first wife.  You will take from each other as you took from the other for as a long as you both believe the lies.

Your portrait of loneliness, your nest of lies. All that you need will destroy you in the end, there will be no goodness, your life has shown your seed was sown on rocky soil, it will not prosper–your father was right I think, a bad investment but still there were things you gave to me.  I hug my box closely, choosing to keep all that is precious, I blow the dust of today away and slide it up high, far away into the dark of the closet, it is safe from you there, you will not touch it again.