I’ve taken to not writing anything about my personal life, but.. it’s a late hour, and i’m feeling like shit, so i might as well use this as a kind of diary. I don’t expect commentary. Not many people can understand what i’m going through, and that’s just fine. This is mostly for me. So i can read about it later. Maybe i was also influenced by E to some degree to write this.
Since the breakup from my 6 year relationship with the first woman i really loved, I’ve gone through so many stages. I guess these are all in psych 104 or whatever, but it’s another thing experiencing them on your own.
I thought i was set. A great kid, a son none the less, someone to carry on the family name. A beautiful wife whom i loved. A burgeoning career doing the thing i love the most. Years worth of un-replaceable experiences, good memories and immortal moments. A home.
Some people say that home is where you are. But when you’ve built something together, and one of the architects are taken away, it’s no longer your home. It’s just a storage place for memories.
Granted; good memories never fade. Bad memories stick around just long enough to teach us something, but they are gradually put aside. It’s how the human mind works. The brain can’t handle too much of the bad stuff, or it malfunctions and you become incapable of performing anything but the most basic tasks; if even those. I have what is called a high thresh-hold for activity or performance. I can take higher than average loads of crap, before i become unable to go to work, meet people, do things. Whether this is a good thing or not is debatable.
We’ve sat on the beach facing the Mediterranean, felt the fine sand under our toes, looking at the sunset. Feeling the salty breeze on our faces. Being happy, smiling and looking at each other. Ate rabbit stew up in a restaurant in a small village in the Sierra Nevada mountains, with an entré of Jámon Serrano. Climbed up to an old Moor castle. Climbed the Eifel Tower. Walked across Paris to reach the Louvré which looked a whole lot closer on the map. The gargoyles of Notre Dame. The steps leading up to the Sacre Coeur. Standing in the middle of Time Square. Looking across the bay toward the Statue of Liberty.
Sitting on the couch watching Eureka, or Alias or something. The small things. Saw the whole of Alias almost in sequence. And this was just a few months ago it feels.
Since i have partially eidetic memory, and a visual memory in general as well, i can’t look at certain items anymore without feeling such deep sorrow. I remember where almost every DVD in my shelf was bought. When we first watched it. I had to replace about 3000 euro worth of furniture just to be able to live here. And here i am, still stuck in this 95 m2 appartment, with jack-all to do, and a brick where my brain should be. Just writing this makes me cry.
As i’ve concluded to so many people: all i have is a pile of good memories and the question of why.
Why do nice guys finish last?