"I am the feathered fool who flew too close to the sun, and I shall plummet to my destiny."
What did she mean when she wrote this line? What led her to believe this? Perhaps an undying love? An obsession gone wrong?
She too, was self-involved and selfish, though she considered herself to be selfless.
All her life she was searching for her lost love. Her soul-mate. Her saviour. Something.
She was helpless. Lost. She only wanted someone for her own self-esteem.
So, she fabricated many. Turned ordinary people into these gods. These perfect mistakes she, herself, created. Misfortunes. And all the while knowing the outcomes of these tricky situations she always managed to find herself getting into. She may as well have intentionally gotten involved with emotionally unavailable people. Dead-end relationships from the very start. One, after another, after another. She knew these things would come in cycles. She was aware of her patterns. Her own habits. Her obsessions.
In knowing what was to come of these relationships, how she would fall so hard, give it all she had, only to be let down once again, she would then give herself the title-
The Feathered Fool
and fly too close to the sun. Eventually she'd get in too deep. So deep that she'd never manage to get out.
And that is when she would
plummet to her destiny.
What a fool. A fool, indeed.
April 14, 2008
April 13, 2008
From The White Island
This girl is neurotic. She is unstable and anxious. She makes silly situations into these catastrophic events. She takes the slightest criticism as a personal attack and stab in the back.
This girl is supposed to be helping others in need. Giving advice. Analyzing their silly situations turned into catastrophic events. This girl is supposed to be the smart one. The one who you go to for help.
The one with her head on her shoulders. Her head is nowhere to be found.
This girl should be the one who thinks positive. The one who doesn't get ahead of herself. The one who brings you back down to reality when your head is in the clouds. This girl has her head in the clouds.
This girl is supposed to be strong. This girl is supposed to be stable. This girl is supposed to know the answers. She is weak. Unstable. She knows no answers.
How can this girl be who they say she is?
A psychologist? No way. That can't be true.
Oh, but it is.
This girl is supposed to be helping others in need. Giving advice. Analyzing their silly situations turned into catastrophic events. This girl is supposed to be the smart one. The one who you go to for help.
The one with her head on her shoulders. Her head is nowhere to be found.
This girl should be the one who thinks positive. The one who doesn't get ahead of herself. The one who brings you back down to reality when your head is in the clouds. This girl has her head in the clouds.
This girl is supposed to be strong. This girl is supposed to be stable. This girl is supposed to know the answers. She is weak. Unstable. She knows no answers.
How can this girl be who they say she is?
A psychologist? No way. That can't be true.
Oh, but it is.
April 12, 2008
She Left Home For Good
And she said she needed something more. She said friends were great to have, but only in passing. She said keeping close friends was never really something she did, nor wanted to do. She didn't need them.
I went to her house. I went to her house when she wasn't home, or so I told her.
I told her how I went to see her and found her father there instead. I told her how he said how much he really loved her. How he always loved her, so very much, but could never really show her, and now it's too late. She'd already been jaded. Ruined. Already seen the ugliness. She'd seen life in real time. She'd seen hate and felt unloved and unwanted once too many times in her short adult life already. She would never come around again. Her time had passed, and he missed it.
He told me he wished only the best for her and he was glad she finally came home. He didn't want to see her out there in harm's way anymore. He was glad she was home, but he was afraid still.
He told me how scared he was that she'd leave again. He said he knew he had made some bad mistakes. That he had done her wrong. But he was regretful. Remorseful. He wanted her to know how he sufferred while she was gone. He just wanted her home safe, where he could take care of her.
I told her all this. I told her how I went to see her and found her father there instead. I told her all the things he said.
She was unmoved. Unphased. Untouched. Emotionless now. She had gone past that far too long ago, and now it was too late.
Then I told her a lie was told. I told her the truth.
I told her I never went to see her. I never found her father there that day that didn't exist. He never spoke such words.
She already knew.
She left home anyway.
She left home for good.
Now she has disappeared. She lives in Long Island somewhere now. Close enough to visit on the holidays, but far enough that he won't come find her.
Far enough that she will find new friends.
Though, only in passing, of course.
I went to her house. I went to her house when she wasn't home, or so I told her.
I told her how I went to see her and found her father there instead. I told her how he said how much he really loved her. How he always loved her, so very much, but could never really show her, and now it's too late. She'd already been jaded. Ruined. Already seen the ugliness. She'd seen life in real time. She'd seen hate and felt unloved and unwanted once too many times in her short adult life already. She would never come around again. Her time had passed, and he missed it.
He told me he wished only the best for her and he was glad she finally came home. He didn't want to see her out there in harm's way anymore. He was glad she was home, but he was afraid still.
He told me how scared he was that she'd leave again. He said he knew he had made some bad mistakes. That he had done her wrong. But he was regretful. Remorseful. He wanted her to know how he sufferred while she was gone. He just wanted her home safe, where he could take care of her.
I told her all this. I told her how I went to see her and found her father there instead. I told her all the things he said.
She was unmoved. Unphased. Untouched. Emotionless now. She had gone past that far too long ago, and now it was too late.
Then I told her a lie was told. I told her the truth.
I told her I never went to see her. I never found her father there that day that didn't exist. He never spoke such words.
She already knew.
She left home anyway.
She left home for good.
Now she has disappeared. She lives in Long Island somewhere now. Close enough to visit on the holidays, but far enough that he won't come find her.
Far enough that she will find new friends.
Though, only in passing, of course.
A Journey Into the Heart of Thanksgiving
She wrote him, wishing him a Happy Thanksgiving, telling him how grateful she was that he was in her life. That he was always there for her. She felt bad about everything and hoped he could forgive her. She asked him to think about it.
She signed the letter,
"Love Always"
There was nothing for him to think about. Nothing to forgive. She was who she was, not what he wanted her to be. He had to accept that. But yes, he was going to be there for her, always.
There was a lot for him to say, but he felt he'd be wasting his time. He didn't think she'd ever let him reach her. Not really, at least. He knew she didn't like people. Didn't trust them. He tried so hard to prove he could be trusted. That he would never let her down. He would always be on her side, blah blah blah. Nothing he ever did seemed to get him anywhere with her. He knew he never really mattered that much to her and that he could never compete with the derelicts of the world that she was always more interested in spending time with than him, even though none of them really cared about her, only about getting her drunk and taking advantage of her.
She complained about her love life, he knew, she couldn't get close to anyone who really cared about her. She only wasted her time with the others, the ones who would come and go like a revolving door. Inside she probably knew she couldn't trust them, and it was all about trust, wasn't it? Beliveing in someone so much that you are not afraid to open yourself up. To be vulnerable, because you know they will never hurt you. His ex had the same problem. The same intimacy issues, and the same medical condition that she did. He wanted badly to belive her, to be with her, but she made it too difficult.
He witnessed her lies. He witnessed her decieve and keep these secrets from the people that really mattered, the people who really cared, and usually whoever the boyfriend-of-the-month was, but especially to him, and that hurt him.
She said she wanted to see him? She'd had an open invitation, on more than one occasion, since they first met. He gave her a key to his house for Christ's sake. He had never done that before, not for anyone. He could list dozens of times she said she watned to see him. He would make plans he thought would be special to her, only to be stood up time after time. He would, and did, drop all previous plans to be with her, but she very seldom made any time for him.
He felt he only had one chance to go around in life, and he felt bad for himself knowing he'd never care for anyone the way he cared for her. He felt bad for her as well, knowing there was no one who would ever care for her the way he did. No one would ever understand her like he did.
He told her she couldn't just brush away her actions after all these years by merely dropping in once in a blue. He told her, if she wanted to even be friends, then she must be a friend to him.
She wanted him to trust her? To belive in her? To be trustworthy, he told her she must resist the need to lie to him.
She said she was grateful he was in her life? He wanted her to prove it. He needed to see it. He told her what he missed the most. When she would tell him stories of when she was a little girl. He loved that. He wanted to hear more stories. He remembered it all.
He missed playing with her hair. He missed watching her sleep.
She may have been the most restless sleeper he'd ever seen.
He left it at that, but not without a post-script.
"P.S. Who takes care of the puppies over the holidays?"
She signed the letter,
"Love Always"
There was nothing for him to think about. Nothing to forgive. She was who she was, not what he wanted her to be. He had to accept that. But yes, he was going to be there for her, always.
There was a lot for him to say, but he felt he'd be wasting his time. He didn't think she'd ever let him reach her. Not really, at least. He knew she didn't like people. Didn't trust them. He tried so hard to prove he could be trusted. That he would never let her down. He would always be on her side, blah blah blah. Nothing he ever did seemed to get him anywhere with her. He knew he never really mattered that much to her and that he could never compete with the derelicts of the world that she was always more interested in spending time with than him, even though none of them really cared about her, only about getting her drunk and taking advantage of her.
She complained about her love life, he knew, she couldn't get close to anyone who really cared about her. She only wasted her time with the others, the ones who would come and go like a revolving door. Inside she probably knew she couldn't trust them, and it was all about trust, wasn't it? Beliveing in someone so much that you are not afraid to open yourself up. To be vulnerable, because you know they will never hurt you. His ex had the same problem. The same intimacy issues, and the same medical condition that she did. He wanted badly to belive her, to be with her, but she made it too difficult.
He witnessed her lies. He witnessed her decieve and keep these secrets from the people that really mattered, the people who really cared, and usually whoever the boyfriend-of-the-month was, but especially to him, and that hurt him.
She said she wanted to see him? She'd had an open invitation, on more than one occasion, since they first met. He gave her a key to his house for Christ's sake. He had never done that before, not for anyone. He could list dozens of times she said she watned to see him. He would make plans he thought would be special to her, only to be stood up time after time. He would, and did, drop all previous plans to be with her, but she very seldom made any time for him.
He felt he only had one chance to go around in life, and he felt bad for himself knowing he'd never care for anyone the way he cared for her. He felt bad for her as well, knowing there was no one who would ever care for her the way he did. No one would ever understand her like he did.
He told her she couldn't just brush away her actions after all these years by merely dropping in once in a blue. He told her, if she wanted to even be friends, then she must be a friend to him.
She wanted him to trust her? To belive in her? To be trustworthy, he told her she must resist the need to lie to him.
She said she was grateful he was in her life? He wanted her to prove it. He needed to see it. He told her what he missed the most. When she would tell him stories of when she was a little girl. He loved that. He wanted to hear more stories. He remembered it all.
He missed playing with her hair. He missed watching her sleep.
She may have been the most restless sleeper he'd ever seen.
He left it at that, but not without a post-script.
"P.S. Who takes care of the puppies over the holidays?"
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