I think I understand now.. I think I've finally, completely understood my purpose..why I'm here.. And, lonely as it may be, I guess at least it's something I can work with..perhaps. Only time will tell I guess..
Looking back at my life, I've realised that, it's always been about helping others.. Caring about them. Fixing whatever I can, however incremental and often seemingly insignificant it may seem. Life works out, that way. I feel alright, and less useless, and can believe I belong..almost.
However, as with every good story, there is always the pinch of salt; the twist in the plot; the catch- there's always a catch. In this story, the catch is that, I'm not supposed to expect anything. That's when everything starts going wrong. And unfortunately, as I now see, it's not only for ME that things can go wrong. At least till now, it was a matter of me suffering the consequences, and eventually picking up the pieces, and dragging on. But obviously, since I was getting too comfortable with that routine, the universe decides “Hmmmm, he's forgetting his place.. Let's remind him in the most brutal way possible".
So here I am..again. Forced to acclimatize myself to a new private Hell. And, sadly, I almost couldn't bring myself to write this, because the only person who is likely to see this will go through even more pain because of it. But, sigh...I have no other option. I say this, because I've realised something else.
So far, my coping mechanism has been to let it all out. Vent. To the few people I'd trust. And it helps. At least, it used to. But this time, I realise that it's completely useless. Their intentions are all good, so not that I blame them.....But all they seem to see, is what it seems on the outside...the “reality", as it were; the hard truth. But here's the thing...so do I. And I'm doing what I have to. And I know what I have to do. So telling me, for example, that I need to “move on" isn't going to fucking help now is it? I KNOW that's what I have to DO. The problem is, this time, it's going to be next to fucking impossible. And EVERYONE prefers to tell ME what I feel, and how it's not what I THINK I feel, as if they know better than me. Perfect. Just what I fucking need. To hear everything I already know, repeated to me over and over again, like I'm not getting it.
So I've decided, I'm going to give it a week or two. Then, I'm going to start telling everyone that “I'm fine"; that I realise now that it was “just another" infatuation. Nothing more. They were right. And I'm over it now. If I wasn't so averse to collateral damage, I'd have thrown in a “relationship" for better measure. But knowing my luck, I'd surely end up with someone who refuses to leave, when that's all I want: for them to leave.
So thus ends (or will end, soon enough) what I will refer to henceforth as the “Two months of madness". It will/has been, in a way, but not in the way that people will be made to understand it. And now, back to my never ending job; that of being forever the spoon.
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