The past few months have been rough on me. This must be the winter of my discontent.
And while I wait for the sun to come back out, I have my own personal sun.
This long-legged bundle of joy is very supportive in the face of my adversity and she shows it any which way she can. She’s exceptionally sweet and caring and showers me with text messages, wants to know how I’m doing, pumps me for all possible detail on my mental life. It’s a miracle I have a girlfriend like that and I’m very grateful for her.
Now you are expecting a ‘but’. Well, I won’t say ‘but’.
I like what she does, I appreciate how she tries to talk me out of this mess, how she tries to stop the negative, prowling voices in my head dead in their tracks. And her words and actions are balm on salted wounds. And she wants me to talk and talk and talk.
In her view talking solves everything. Now I’m a man. And to me talking seems the last thing you need to be doing when faced with problems. The very last thing.
I know this to be wrong, if my dad had talked a little more, he might still be alive today, but still, I’m a man. I don’t want to talk when I’m down. When I’m down, and it seems like the whole world is spitting at me, I want to retreat. To my cave, alone, and lick my wounds. Find my center again. Get in touch with my life’s purpose. Alone. No talking. Just me. Just me. In a cave. And the visits of the spirits of my forefathers.
Maybe I not only look like some Mescalero Apache, maybe, by some very erractically wandering gene pole I have some indian blood in me. I mean, native American blood. I’m down and depressed, not racist. And so I let them come, adamant voices, not as loud as the agressive screaming one in the world outside the cave, where I can’t hear them. Wisdom speaks in whispers. In my cave I can hear them again, the wise ones, the true ones, the ones that belong to me. The ones that remind me of my priorities and won’t let me be gobbled up by problems I have to let go and be unperturbed by.
And in my cave, alone, I feel the strength coming back to me. Battle plans form themselves. My forefathers on their horses in the sky nod approvingly. The fears, the dissapointments, the pressures and shoves and pushes of people who knowingly or unknowingly make me stray from my personal path, as a warrior (though only armed with a pen) fade away, I shed my horror like a snake sheds my skin. And I come out again, clean, refreshed, defiant, back on track.
Without talking. And when I come out, I’m ready for her. And then we can talk. Not before. And I hope she understands. No, I know she understands. I have a miracle of a wife. It’s my guiding spirit’s counterweight for the unusual challenges my mind has in store for me. And I love her from the bottom of my bi-polar, or whatever you want to call it, maybe just artistic, heart.
My love, we can talk now, I have left the cave. I can see clearly again. And the first thing I want to see, is you.