Sunday, February 16, 2014

Life.

"Masochism. What of masochism? The tortures I suffered from Henry's early promiscuity, his stories of going from me to a whore, but that was not deliberate cruelty, and soon he changed. Yes. I suffered, but mostly through my concept of love to sacrifice. My lovers did not betray me. they ere childlike, selfish, narcissistic, unconscious, irresponsible, but not sadistic. I suffered mostly from jealously (without cause) and excessive self-denial. Too great. All that I needed, I gave away, even the essentials...I dream of voyages, new lives, new relationships..." 
Anais Nin
I had been reading a lot of Nin lately. I read her when sometimes I felt isolated, without understanding. The one thing I knew from Nin was that nothing I was doing was really new. My life was not a repetition of hers, either. My loves were different. My entanglements were my own. However, there was some simpatico there. I understood how she sought to understand them all and sometimes her wanderings felt so familiar. 

Lately I thought that what I needed more than anything else was a new lover, and yet there was no potential here. Perhaps this was my reaction to not being an expat, that I was just shutting down, not allowing myself to do those things that I might otherwise do.

My time was spent trying to connect here, while trying desperately not to remember all those desires that I so desperately missed. Life.

Life.

Life was nothing but winter ice, and snow. I had been trapped inside my home and head for three days. I wanted to claw myself out of this cage. The bars did nothing but grow thicker. There was nothing but tomorrows and tomorrow I did not even know where to begin, or how to start.

I needed something more.

Life.

 I missed it.

No comments: