It’s fucked up. To be lost in love, to be missing someone who is no longer there. To make stupid decisions because you see some remembrance, some twinkle of reminder in someone else. I want to say it’s seeing something wonderful in someone else. Something I recognize because I’ve known it. I want it to be a good reason. But I can’t help but see the other side and think that I’m being dishonest. That I’m looking for her in others and deceiving them and myself. That I’m seeing what I need to see.
Maybe I’m just not in the mood to be charitable, to harness the better demons of my nature. Maybe that negative view is bullshit. I hope it is. I hope I’m recognizing that glimmer of beauty because I’ve known it. Because I knew Morgan. I hope Morgan knows I’m trying and not just wallowing in darkness.
But I can’t know. The 30th is Morgan’s Birthday. She would have been 44. I loved her. I love her still. I’ll love her always.
As I love and will love all those I’ve loved. Because she showed me.
When I don’t have a romantic focus, I feel an emptiness. Like I’m going through the motions, like I’m not doing what I am. A cipher. And when days that are deep in remembrance approach and I am without focus, I fill. I fill with a vast sadness. An ocean of memories and lost hopes pours in. Until I become nothing but sadness. Until I lose my self, bit by bit, on a empty sea under a moonless sky. Until sleep and dreams lose their ability to be a refuge and I live in happy moments, deep in dream, which shatter as dust on waking. I seek almost any distraction. Trying to ward off a few minutes of thinking. Until, striped, without shield or succor, I am bare and sleep…traitorous…rapturous sleep…resets the stage and again and again, I lose her.
Feeling broken for no particular reason
No glaring signal saying this is the red flag
This is where the healing will begin
Instead just hurting
Just a bag full of empty
Spilling out over symptoms
The endless seeking of distractions
Anything to not think except in those moments between cease and sleep
Where all that was held away comes crashing down through paper walls which held it at bay
Thin constructs fooling myself that this is a normal life and these are normal activities
Fundamentally seeking but burned out from the search
Looking for a reprieve but places aren’t safety
Just defensible rooms
People have ever been my succor
Holding and taking care of those I love heals me
Keeps me going to the point where you say you want to see my darkness
But become Mired in light
Because the darkness retreats when my love is allowed expression
Wrong to say it’s gone but it retreats to lurk and wait in ambush
Too tired to even think about suicide
Instead yearning for sex, something passive, to be done to me while I curl and cry
Anything just to feel more than empty
I’ve been seconds from the ledge, one steps from jumping and still this all consumption of emotions is worse
This endless expanse of nothing
Stretched borders making for the treeline
Drowning in the blood of mourning
Lost without her Yes or Sir
Masters have demons too
Ours just seem like controlled because they are control
Perfection is a lost art
Artists lost in the false storms of embrace
A yes away from hell or salvation
One more chance
One more piece broken
One more piece of jagged glass
Still capable of cutting me free
I want to talk a bit, briefly, about loss. Specifically the loss of a not only someone you love, but also someone who made you feel as if you were worthy of love. I think that’s what people miss when they hear that my Morgan was killed. They get that I loved her, but they don’t understand that prior to that, I had never felt completely accepted. I had not felt what I term as love. Not just a feeling but the seeing of who a person is, the accepting of who that person is, the knowing that they have your back. To me that is fealty, a bidirectional exchange of the thought and deed that this person, this person has my complete support. Maybe that’s a strange concept, or not something that most would conceptualize as love. Personally, I keep my word. And I am very careful at how I word things. Because, If I give my word, I am bound to it. Lie, my entire identity is bound up in it. So to break my word, would be to break this self-image I have of myself. And maybe, it’s an artificial construct, some framework I’ve built in the hopes of being this better man that I believe I was not. But that just makes it more frightening to me, because I know how I was pre-Morgan. If I were to somehow lose myself now, to the point where I become what I was then, I would literally be a different person. my whole personality and outlook would be different.
That is who she was to me. Not just the person I loved, not just the person who saw and loved me, but also the person who began to change who I was. Who allowed this man who sees his road as one of honor, maybe not honor in the chivalric sense, but honor nonetheless. Not through her direct actions, but by being someone who I wanted to change for, needed to change for.
And then she died. Was ripped from me. and I lost it. I literally have almost no recollection of the following years. Bit and pieces. Drips and drabs. But it was like a fugue state. I didn’t feel alive in it. Like a ghost in the world. An angry one. People who know me in that time, think of me now as cruel and mean. And rightly so.
So after that time, I came, not out of the state but realized I was in one. If that makes sense? So I tried to crack out of it. Like it was a stone egg around my heart. And I didn’t do anything healthy to do that. I wasn’t in a place where I could judge what was healthy and what wasn’t. I’m very surprised I lived through it.
No surprise, it took someone else who saw me, knew me, and took the care to break me out of the shell. I can’t say he loved me. Because to me, if you love someone, you are willing to sacrifice something for it. And he wasn’t. I’m not saying sacrifice of everything, that’s a pretty tall order, but something. Given his line of work, I don’t think that stopping taking solo work was too much of an ask, but it was to him.
So after him, I began to wake. I say it’s where my life began again.
But to touch on loss again. It’s a process. It took me literally years. Years to get to this point where I no longer cry because of a memory surfacing, now I cry because, as a plot point, they kill off the spouse or the love of someones life to set up a revenge tale. And years to get to the point where it no longer sits heavy on my chest, a weight dragging me back to fugue state.
Everyone is different. But I know that it took someone external to myself, seeing me for who I am, to beak the terrible cycle I was in. Because when you are that deep in despair, you can’t see it. It’s just how you are, what your life is.
This is the 13th anniversary of Morgan’s death.
I’m reliving those minutes. Those mistakes. In full acceptance. I failed her in a way that I won’t fail again. So I seem like I’m cautious. Making sure we are on the same page. Reiterating thoughts to garner agreement and clarification. A friend of mine said that’s just what a Sir does. Perhaps she’s right. But I think that I must admit that this more than anything is what shaped me. Not just her death. Her murder. But also her life. Her love.
Because of her, I have bedrock proof that love is real. I know that relationships are hard. That letting things go causes damage. That failing to fight for your desires is a mistake. I know that losing someone never goes away. That you don’t heal. Instead you grow around the pain. Grow beyond it. And so appear sound. But the wound is always there.
I thought when I came out of the depression. The bleakness. When I could again feel. I thought that I was healthy. But those were first steps. And really, I won’t ever be whole. No one is. Being whole is being stagnant. Unchanging.
It’s not that I’m hopeful. It’s that I don’t want to fail to live in the love that she showed me was real. How could I dishonor her by failing to see the people around me, See their beauty, Foster their light and darkness?
I take this time. This day. To remember her.
To lament all that was lost.
To realize all that I’ve become.
From this frozen moment, I’d erase if I could.
This bloody seed crystal of the man I am.
Of the person I become tomorrow
That moment in your otherwise ok life when you look up and remember what’s over the horizon and you are instantly overwhelmed. The past comes round again, no matter how much time passes, it’s always there lurking and ready to ambush you. Tarnishing your thoughts with grief and an impending sense of falling.
Today I wondered why I was feeling sad. I should be happier. Things are going ok. Then I realized, just over a month away is the 13 year anniversary of Morgan’s death.
And like that, I’m adrift.
Hold up a mirror to face my flaws
Saw you watching me
Quietly in the background
Mirrors show us things we cannot ourselves see
And how can such an image be trusted
It reflects but does it reflect true or
Is our brain trying to fill the edge of space with maybes
I saw you there
Crying in the mirror
And I turn and you are dust
Fogging the mirror with steam
so that I can not see
Until I look and see
That I have become whole
And what I’m missing is you
This is what healing is
Another way of losing you a third time
She consumes me
Heart on fire but no words
Take you into my hands
Make you safe and unsafe
Dance hands across skin
Air dwindles as euphoria spreads
I know she doesn’t want me
Her heart a danger
Can’t help how I feel
She doesn’t want to know
Again and again on this circus wheel
Making the same mistake
Only one ever wanted me
And I failed her
I don’t deserve anyone else
Ethereal tones steal into my heart
Feather kisses along spine
Choices made and remade
Cold seeps in
Your lips on mine