I was going on to write about something else, and then R called me and I feel kinda shitty right now, and all of a sudden I realize that love always come at a price. I had a slightly biting tiff with him on the plane about the difference between love and like and that ‘Love’ wasn’t necessarily better then like. Love isn’t about the incredible lightness of being, love is heavy for most people I guess, and even I can’t help but worry a little about his feelings. And I nearly never worry about other people’s feelings. I can deal with mine, can’t they?
I just don’t get it. I’m very glad to have him; the most important thing’s that I’m really into him as a person and all of that, there’s definitely fantastic chemistry, better then the sort most other people have I suppose –there’s really nothing about me he doesn’t know, and I don’t feel like there’s much about him I don’t know…- but sometimes I really just don’t get it.
A couple of weeks ago, Lynn came over and quite late at night, we decide to take a walk down to Indochine for a drink. Richard kept on telling me he was really knackered, so it didn’t occur to me to ask him along. Lynn, oddly enough, knew he was feeling lonely when the both of us left, and he did call later sounding rather upset (like he wasn’t wanted), making me feel like I was not being fair to him and all of that. None of it made sense to me of course, and I hope it never will, because that’s where you start to enter the realm of ‘giving a shit’, and really, actually having emotional responsibility is not a good thing. Funnily enough, I think a large part of a reason I don’t understand why he was upset is mostly because I presume people naturally don’t want me around, so I just don’t bother (oh, they want me around alright, when they can get laid).
The next morning he was all clammed up and didn’t want to go to church with me, and I really just didn’t get it. Not that going to church was a big thing, despite it being something I do weekly with my parents, but it bothered me because it felt like 1) he didn’t need to care because I didn’t really care about him last night; which was bullshit of course, because he did say he was really tired and behaved very much like he was; and I am me after all. I would have been happy had Martine spent just a day in private with me on a weekly basis 2) my family wasn’t part of him (and I told him off on this. I mean, my parents have definitely come to take him into our family, it’s just not fair for him to behave otherwise) I got really upset and started crying and he was sorry for it I suppose. Not that I care about making him sorry, but the ‘since you didn’t want me last night I don’t think you need me today’ attitude.
I suppose the thing that could really upset me would be saying that I was wrong, punishing me for it, and punishing yourself while doing it. You know. Like Catherine Earnshaw in Wuthering Heights. Terribly depressing book; silly, immature mains, don’t you think. I wish he wouldn’t do it any more, but I suppose it’s all been so fast, and I am terribly unpredictable, but I can always be trusted to be honest. I can only remember disappointing ONCE in the last three and a half years and that was because I was extremely, extremely pissed, and it just happened. But we all learn. Besides, if I were predictable, what fun would that be? I couldn’t live with myself then. He’ll never have to worry about me becoming too boring. Two days of not feeling inspired, and I felt myself thinking in my dad’s car today how nice it would be if we could just choose to die painlessly when we wanted.
Why are we still alive for anyway, what was the point of it. Would it make a difference if we died today, or tomorrow, or several decades later? If Peter Jackson had died as a baby, who’s to say someone else wouldn’t make a batter Lord of the Rings film.
I love him, but I cannot bear this constant worrying about whether I’ve done something to make him feel less loved whenever I put down the phone on him, or don’t manage to wake him up in the morning before I leave for school, or whatever. But things like that work themselves out eventually I suppose. We’ll just have to do what we feel is right. And the moment that stops happening, and what is right isn’t what we feel is right, then that’s that I suppose.
Love is a great thing while it’s happening, and it’s worth to cling onto some people and some things. Reciprocated attachment can be a very satisfying feeling, but you’ve only got one lifetime to lead. You’ve only got one Today, one Now. Love is weighty, and maybe many people see it differently, but I grew up in a family that treated it very lightly. There was no ‘I’ll stick through it even if you treat me like shit’ nonsense. And it’s really better that way.
Better and more real.
Better, and more real because you’re happier, no one takes advantage of anyone else, and if love is about being happy and about hope and about a sense of freedom, then it is more real. Depression is always mostly imagined and just a fucked up state of mind for most people, happiness is usually a real cause. Something good happens, and you’re happy. The world for most of us is filled with more good things than bad ones, so certainly most depressions are just a fucked up state of mind.
xoxox
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