We live in pain every day, physical, emotional, and psychic torments that we can never escape from except through the machinations of the puppets in our minds…
There are those terrible days when our entire world can melt away to reveal another world, a world in which we appear to have been locked away in some phantasmal mental hospital for the past 30 years or more, a world in which none of what we may believe we have perceived can be trusted to be real.
Too often, the more we consider such a possibility the more likely it seems to become.
If we really can allow no one to be real to us, then perhaps we can escape the inevitable pain that must result from our relationships with anyone and everyone we love.
How can we really know?
We are afraid to approach anyone we once knew who might know what really happened in our past; albeit even if they did seem to know, could we trust them to be informing us correctly?
When Alina died it seemed as if we died with her.
Of course, we might have been in a world of trouble long before we ever met Alina.
… sometimes we must wonder if Tina or Kelly has ever wondered whether Alina ever really existed?
On the one hand, it is only reasonable for any of our lovers to wonder about someone they could never know; on another hand our speculation might be some effort on our parts to uninvent Alina in order to distance ourselves from the pain of losing her, pain that might return with each new person we fall in love with.
On another hand we might be trying to distance ourselves from our fears that we may really have somehow killed Alina. Perhaps she never killed herself, perhaps we killed her instead.
We can no longer be sure what is real, however as we listen to the story of ‘Shutter Island’ the portrayal of the protagonist’s extreme mental disorder feels very real to us and very personal to us as well, particularly in a metaphorical sense. Shutter Island is a very scary story, particularly for anyone who might resemble a solipsist psychotic, such as we must sometimes consider ourselves to be, at least, in parts of ourselves.
For some 36 years now, Alina’s ghosts have stood like spectral shadows over all of our relationships, even with our newest girlfriend, Tina.
We have tried to consider this problem from Tina’s points of views. Tina must choose what to believe and what not to believe with regard to what we may say about our past, there is no one Tina can go to who can reliably confirm or deny anything we may have said about our past.
Tina must answer disturbing questions such as ‘why do we have so few friends?’
Tina must ask why are our relationships with our past families so poor?
Tina must wonder why do our ex or our former step-children want nothing more to do with us?
There are no good answers to these questions that do not lead to finding us somehow suspect or unwholesome. How can Tina ever be sure we were never a murderer or something worse?
It becomes possible for us to sometimes feel as if we have somehow murdered everyone we have ever loved.
Certainly we have murdered them in a metaphorical sense, in the sense that our relationships with the people we have most loved have all become so seriously estranged that we cannot relate to anyone we have ever loved without hurting both our loved ones and ourselves.
Our consistent isolation from our families, friends, peers, and various societies, have eroded our senses of who we may be, we have lacked any clear, reliable, externally sourced definitions of whom we may be that we may trust.
We have become a non-person, a tabula-rasa, a monster.
We naturally wish to believe we are a harmless, innocuous person; someone safe to introduce to your children, someone welcome to babysit them and tell them stories.
Of course, our apparent mental health issues may seem to rule out the possibility of such an innocent occasion ever arising with many people. We cannot even be sure if we are someone we would trust with our own children, were we ever to have any.
We had told ourselves that we should never have children; then, in the nineties, we married into a ready-made family against all of our own best advice to ourselves, because we were lonely and had always wanted a family with kids.
We had a semi-idyllic life, half heaven, half hell; a life we could not sustain, a broken life we still could not heal. So we hurt our wife and kids and eventually left them.
But before we left them, we learned to want to have our own kids, we learned that other parents are just as messed up as we were, if not worse.
So why shouldn’t we have kids? Were we really protecting our kids from ourselves by never allowing them to be born? Or would our children decide that the gifts of their lives were worth whatever prices we might later extract from them?
Are we grateful for our own lives and all the pain that has ensued?
Mostly we haven’t been very grateful; but then, one day everything changed for the better.
So how do we get back to those better days again?
Today we still hurt.
Today we wish we could hold Alina in our arms again to wash away all the hurtful things that have transpired from that terrible day she hanged herself until now, and still save all the best things in between, like Tina, Sid, our pets, and Megan.
So that is what we shall do, it may not have happened like that today, it may take us many eternities to get to that particular day, but there is nothing else we would rather do more.
It will happen that way, though we drag everyone we know through hell to get there.
It may be that we shall simply disappear one day; if so, we will not be found; just ask our ex, she complained that one day we stopped coming home, that the person walking through our door had become a stranger to her, someone she never loved and never would love.
We are sometimes sorry we are like that, but we do not yet know how to deliberately, agreeably, or decisively, change ourselves, nor do we trust that anyone else knows how we may somehow successfully change ourselves any better than ourselves.
We live in a scary state of affairs where whatever still passes for realities these days continues to erode away all around us.
C’este la vie…
Love, Grigori Rho Gharveyn,
aka Greg Gourdian, Falcon, Chameleon, Roger Holler, etc., et al., ado…