Timeless
The most significant events seem to happen in the shortest span of time. Here it must seem even shorter, when I only write about the most brutal realities when they occur. The rest is just the gap of time.
It's hard to believe that it was late 2013 when I met Andy. It was my lady Bran that met Mathieu first, Andy's husband. Although they delayed the more intimate aspects of their relationship for a couple of months, their chemistry was strong, and the bond between Andy and I was just as vivid. Our times together flourished for around one year, with plans being made for a lifetime together, for all of us. In late 2014, Bran attended a house party with our two lovers; they all got drunk and left her there alone with a man, who sexually assaulted her. Mathieu left her because of the assault, and Andy quit speaking to her as well. For people who identified as modern liberals, poly, and trans, I would have expected far different, but this is the reality of things. I blindly continued my relationship with Andy, for we were deeply in love, yet no more or less than Bran and Mathieu were either. Andy was swayed against me; his paranoia reigned. One day I found out he was going to have a child and then, very shortly after, in February of this year, he left me.
This was one of the most brilliant highs and devastating falls I've ever had in my life. I was truly Icarus: I saw unrivaled potential, and felt the brilliance of complete fulfillment. For a year of my life I had everything. I was at the apex of happiness. The fall from my hubris was of an identical magnitude, a fall which marked the second great betrayal of my life.
I'll never know why Andy left me. He never provided any real reasons, instead grasping at straws, repeating minor superficialities (I don't like being licked by dogs, for example). At the beginning of this year I began a casual relationship alongside Bran with another woman as well, whom Andy discriminated against because she was younger than me... younger being in her early twenties, as opposed to Andy in his mid-twenties. She is mature; she graduated college at a young age and now travels the world helping people. I knew her early in life, and I know she is a wonderful person. Andy never graduated college, never travelled, never grew up, is afraid of the world... so why is it that my love for him still glows so bright, these buried coals failing to be smothered?
It's irrelevant now, of course. The experiences I had have happened and ended, and cannot be changed then nor reclaimed now. The path I take is outside of my control. Last night I stayed in and reminisced briefly not just about him but about all of the loves and affairs of my life, all of whom are mentioned at some point in this journal, many of whom even contributed. This account itself was gifted to me by the first girl I ever had a crush on, back in middle school, a person who refused to speak to me ever again following our brief and friendly encounter during my college era. This mystery, too, remains unresolved.
My memories brought me not just into the past, but into what is the future as of this writing. My mind does not organise thoughts linearly; it is instead a series of flagged points, each one representing some vital event, indiscriminate of date of occurrence, ranging from my birth to my death. It can be overwhelming, especially (as in this case) when events I knew before are no longer in my vision. I've lost faith in a lot of things, now. My mind has reverted from an all-consuming happiness, contentment, and love into what it was before (with a transitional period of extreme despair): the mind and outlook that you no doubt have already seen recorded here. I'm back to who I was, but I don't see that as a good thing. I had events to attend, people to hold, a true feeling of belonging and value and purpose, and it was moving me forward and helping to overcome my doubts and weaknesses. Now I have been forced back to exactly where I used to be. Oddly enough, when I mentioned to Andy that staying together was to the benefit of us both, he distinctly argued, to the word: "I cannot be a reason for your improvement" even though he already had been since the day we met.
I don't want revenge on him. In his head is enough self-doubt and paranoia from a lifetime of integrated emotional abuse, both from his family and his spouse. Any suffering I wished upon anyone would pale next to the dead soul that resides inside him now, one that cannot even feel ecstasy or trauma when the greatest peaks and pitfalls of the world abound, one that cannot know love nor betrayal and so does both freely without discrimination or reason or understanding. If I were to hold every living person he knew before him and torture them with red-hot pokers, his eyes would stare ahead with indifference, slightly misty from the anxiety of simply having an unexpected event occur, an event that has to be "dealt with" ... as is all our relationship was to him.
I put together a mixtape about our relationship on Soundcloud, publicly, before he left me. It's called I Love Andy, because I sappy like that. The songs are contemporary mixes, so no doubt it will sound outdated from this moment forward, but at the time it was created it expressed what I felt was the core energy and the end of our relationship. When he broke up with me in person (at my insistence, as I won't accept digital breakups), at a sushi restaurant up north, a song from the playlist (which had already been put together, the song called Counting Stars) played over the radio while we slowly ate. It's the first song on the list that I think is truly ours, though: Naked Souls. I cannot fathom how or why we ever became anything different.
It's hard to believe that it was late 2013 when I met Andy. It was my lady Bran that met Mathieu first, Andy's husband. Although they delayed the more intimate aspects of their relationship for a couple of months, their chemistry was strong, and the bond between Andy and I was just as vivid. Our times together flourished for around one year, with plans being made for a lifetime together, for all of us. In late 2014, Bran attended a house party with our two lovers; they all got drunk and left her there alone with a man, who sexually assaulted her. Mathieu left her because of the assault, and Andy quit speaking to her as well. For people who identified as modern liberals, poly, and trans, I would have expected far different, but this is the reality of things. I blindly continued my relationship with Andy, for we were deeply in love, yet no more or less than Bran and Mathieu were either. Andy was swayed against me; his paranoia reigned. One day I found out he was going to have a child and then, very shortly after, in February of this year, he left me.
This was one of the most brilliant highs and devastating falls I've ever had in my life. I was truly Icarus: I saw unrivaled potential, and felt the brilliance of complete fulfillment. For a year of my life I had everything. I was at the apex of happiness. The fall from my hubris was of an identical magnitude, a fall which marked the second great betrayal of my life.
I'll never know why Andy left me. He never provided any real reasons, instead grasping at straws, repeating minor superficialities (I don't like being licked by dogs, for example). At the beginning of this year I began a casual relationship alongside Bran with another woman as well, whom Andy discriminated against because she was younger than me... younger being in her early twenties, as opposed to Andy in his mid-twenties. She is mature; she graduated college at a young age and now travels the world helping people. I knew her early in life, and I know she is a wonderful person. Andy never graduated college, never travelled, never grew up, is afraid of the world... so why is it that my love for him still glows so bright, these buried coals failing to be smothered?
It's irrelevant now, of course. The experiences I had have happened and ended, and cannot be changed then nor reclaimed now. The path I take is outside of my control. Last night I stayed in and reminisced briefly not just about him but about all of the loves and affairs of my life, all of whom are mentioned at some point in this journal, many of whom even contributed. This account itself was gifted to me by the first girl I ever had a crush on, back in middle school, a person who refused to speak to me ever again following our brief and friendly encounter during my college era. This mystery, too, remains unresolved.
My memories brought me not just into the past, but into what is the future as of this writing. My mind does not organise thoughts linearly; it is instead a series of flagged points, each one representing some vital event, indiscriminate of date of occurrence, ranging from my birth to my death. It can be overwhelming, especially (as in this case) when events I knew before are no longer in my vision. I've lost faith in a lot of things, now. My mind has reverted from an all-consuming happiness, contentment, and love into what it was before (with a transitional period of extreme despair): the mind and outlook that you no doubt have already seen recorded here. I'm back to who I was, but I don't see that as a good thing. I had events to attend, people to hold, a true feeling of belonging and value and purpose, and it was moving me forward and helping to overcome my doubts and weaknesses. Now I have been forced back to exactly where I used to be. Oddly enough, when I mentioned to Andy that staying together was to the benefit of us both, he distinctly argued, to the word: "I cannot be a reason for your improvement" even though he already had been since the day we met.
I don't want revenge on him. In his head is enough self-doubt and paranoia from a lifetime of integrated emotional abuse, both from his family and his spouse. Any suffering I wished upon anyone would pale next to the dead soul that resides inside him now, one that cannot even feel ecstasy or trauma when the greatest peaks and pitfalls of the world abound, one that cannot know love nor betrayal and so does both freely without discrimination or reason or understanding. If I were to hold every living person he knew before him and torture them with red-hot pokers, his eyes would stare ahead with indifference, slightly misty from the anxiety of simply having an unexpected event occur, an event that has to be "dealt with" ... as is all our relationship was to him.
I put together a mixtape about our relationship on Soundcloud, publicly, before he left me. It's called I Love Andy, because I sappy like that. The songs are contemporary mixes, so no doubt it will sound outdated from this moment forward, but at the time it was created it expressed what I felt was the core energy and the end of our relationship. When he broke up with me in person (at my insistence, as I won't accept digital breakups), at a sushi restaurant up north, a song from the playlist (which had already been put together, the song called Counting Stars) played over the radio while we slowly ate. It's the first song on the list that I think is truly ours, though: Naked Souls. I cannot fathom how or why we ever became anything different.
apathetic