It’s not that …

It’s not that I don’t care about you. I just can’t feel it lately. I don’t know what to make of it. I’m just oddly detached. Which is both a relief and is scary. A relief because, well, I’m accustomed to focussing a lot of my attention on the health of my connections with people. I’ve tended to them like my life depended on it. And as rewarding as the outcome has been, the work has been exhausting. But it’s scary to stand here alone and see you way over there and feel unmoved because what if some day I suddenly snap out of this and really regret that I’ve let these connections deteriorate. Yes, when you get down to it, I’m scared of dying alone. Not dying itself. I have a feeling that I’ll be ready for that. I just want to feel your hand holding mine when it happens and I want you to tell somebody, “I was there when….”

… [thinking] …

From a spiritual perspective, this sense of detachment could be a good thing except that I’m not particularly focussed either. In fact, I’m in a bit of a haze. I’ve not been looking for richness in the moment. I have been waiting for it to catch me by surprise, as if on a dare. I’m in so much of a haze that I’m forgetting things. Today, as I was typing at my computer, I looked down and noticed the little bag of vitamins allocated for today. Then maybe 2 minutes later, I looked down at them again and there were three less, but I could only remember swallowing one. How to be in the world and not of the world?

This is the end of this entry and this is the point in the entry when I feel compelled to make a nice, tight, psychoanalytic summarization in which I deftly reveal the cause of my misalignment. And I already know what I would say. But I’m sick having things tied up in a bow. It gives too much of a sense of relief. (As in, “we can all relax now because we understand why this has come to be, right?”) It leaves me feeling cheated. So, it’ll be my little secret instead. I’d rather you hang out with me in the unknown than in the known. Can you do that?

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12 thoughts on “It’s not that …

  1. secrets..

    Secrets are important. You see, we must all have them. Secrets that we will never figure out. Secrets that we know, but never share with others. It is (as I’d describe it, right or wrong) the grand joke upon consciousness. And I clearly accept it. (no matter how frustrating) So I will state here in this semi-public forum.. as your friend.. Yup.. unkown… let us all enjoin in the recondite.

  2. I am completely out of my element here…but isn’t detachment one sign of depression?

    But whatever is going on, I can hang out. I’ll totally support you in being the you you need to be right now.

    • isn’t detachment one sign of depression?

      Not clinically. But I just went back and checked the DSM-IV just to be sure. I don’t feel empty or worthless or lethargic, I haven’t lost interest in other activites (in fact, I’m so interested in some things that I wish I had more time in the day to put towards them), I have a little appetite increase (but that’s normal for this time of the month), no abnormalities in sleeping, no suicidal thoughts (in fact, I’ve got too much I want to do before the end arrives). My physical responses are still even and sharp (even though my memory sucks–I’ve been having short term memory problems since I developed anemia last year).

      I feel perhaps a little guilty that I’m not being nicer to people. I’m used to managing my relationships more. I’m not one of those people who can comfortably walk through life like a bull and then, after every china shop or two, look around and see which of the lucky riders are still with me. But maybe I’m learning. And the jury is still out as to whether that makes me resilient or just obdurate.

      So, I think I’m OK in the depression department. It thaws me a bit that you asked.

      I just got back from a movie (Bad Education, which was pretty good although the movie within a movie device is getting a bit tired) and reread what I wrote. I like it. Something so satisfying about seeing my inner thoughts in print.

  3. in the unknown

    yes, I can hang out with you there. That’s where I feel alive. That’s where life is worth living. Uncharted territory. Where are we today?

  4. >>>But it’s scary to stand here alone and see you way over there and feel unmoved because what if some day I suddenly snap out of this and really regret that I’ve let these connections deteriorate. Yes, when you get down to it, I’m scared of dying alone.

    • Thanks for that and for joining me in this place.

      Really sorry to hear about your own endings. […pause…] And there it is again, my desire to say something insightful or profound. Just in typing that sentence makes me see something about why I sometimes push for quick wisdom: the words “Really sorry” just don’t give justice to the sentiment. I want something more, a vehicle that allows me to convey the depth of my sentiment and the genuiness of my intention. I want a reader to be so touched or inspired that even I can feel it echo across the chasm between us. But in this shadowy space of questions with no answers, “really sorry” will have to do, along with a trust that my sincerity will be self-evident.

      Looking forward to getting to know you more. Thanks for inviting me in.

  5. I too am a fan of that unknown place. Easier to be there, often, than in certainty-land.

    Jack Kornfield advocates “‘Don’t Know’ Mind.” Why do you feel what you feel? Where’s it coming from? What’s it indicate? What should you do about it? What’s next?

    Don’t know πŸ™‚

    Delicious.

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