20240626 - 21:49
I feel like a dead man. If it wasn’t for her I would probably stay dead. What does death feel like, you might ask? It feels like nothing. I remember discussing death with people at some buddhist retreat and there’s always a group of people saying they don’t fear death, which for some reason infuriates me like nothing else. If you don’t fear death, you don’t know it. The fact that it bothers me, well, that’s my own problem. Anyways, someone said that death isn’t scary because when you’re dead you can’t feel pain. “There’s no suffering in death” I think she said. Oh boy. Suffering is absence. Death is the ultimate absence: absence of everything. I feel like I’ve died. Like the world just didn’t get the notice. Slowly it continues to move forward, while I stay put. Except she’s still there. Somehow, even now, she coaxes tears out of me. I care. I care so much that I can’t bring myself to admit the fact that I care. Because what would I do with all the care?
I’ve been having these “attacks”, I call them. Abdominal pain like no other. It mainly surfaces as cramping. All my muscles tense and there’s this overwhelming energy, yet every miniscule movement makes the pain so much worse. So I have to lay there, with every cell in my body screaming at me to move, and just try to let the energy be. Sometimes I sing. All the time I chant, at least in my head. Tayatha Om Mane Mane Maha Manaye Soha. It’s the anchor that makes sure I don’t float away. God knows I need it. Both of these are her invention, of course. Part of me is angry at her. God knows why. It’s hard to admit everything she does for me. Part of me wants to stab love with a knife, watch it bleed. I don’t know where that part comes from. I abhor violence.
She’s everything to me. I pushed her away. Tears are rolling down as I write this. The feeling of caring is the same as the tension in my muscles. Overwhelming; without outlet. I don’t want it, I don’t know what to do with it. I want to be angry at her. I want to shout, to scream, to be mean. I want to push her away. But I love her so much. Seeing her hurt breaks my heart. It’s a choiceless love. If I could push her away, I could stop caring. But I can’t. So here I am, trying to face it. I care. My care gives life meaning, gives it purpose. It also means I can be hurt. Well, haven’t I already? Wouldn’t you’d rather have both: pain, but also love?