It's been that unending moment, still and cold, called the weekend. I've become so fed up with travelling and living out of a bag to go to London. I have no passion for anything right now. I'm in that state where I'm motivated to do nothing. I'm stuck. This is my wilderness period. I thought it was over. It isn't. My eyes were just closed temporarily.
I go from one escape route to the other. Fingers from my most recent failed relationship maintain their hold on me. And as they pulsate with regular diligence, I go through the cycle. Why? Does she realize where I am now? Will I survive this? I can't get over the fact that I am lonely and I have no one around me I can truly connect with.
I don't cry, but I've noticed that I'm almost constantly teary-eyed when I'm on my own during the weekends. Everything seems to be crushing onto my heart, I can't breathe or conceptualize freedom. Things have been stressful at work. My FoC called me at 9am on Saturday morning. He asked whether I was upset or angry with him. I am, but I said I wasn't. I wasn't lucid enough to talk it out with him. It was most inappropriate timing and I couldn't even express that. As I contemplated telling him that I was and that I needed to vent about everything in my life, Kubrick scenes of horror flashed in my mind of how he'll just treat the symptoms, not listen, and leave me for dead. Click, went the phone and I continued my sleep.
I hate clergy. I really hate clergy. I feel more awe and splendour of God proceed from an Evangelical pulpit by a guy who stutters and lightly swears than a world-renowned Egyptian Orthodox bishop whose beard and robe are supposed to be a sign of something. Maybe just God's mercy.
I'm in this wilderness period and it is pitch black. The stars are shining and a cold breeze is lapping against my cheeks. No one is around and there is no life anywhere. It's a concrete jungle, concrete made from homogenous waste I can't see clearly. I can't move forward because I'm so tired, dry, and sad. It's depression. Two weeks from now I'm going away to the south coast for the weekend with some people I've met from London. I hope the beach will ease me. And making new friends. So, since leaving service and the on-line world, I have very little.
My counselling class is great and I'm enjoying it, seeing glimmers of hope for my future, but just during that Thursday night. My triad group respected and admired the fact that I'm passionate, that I have so much to say, that I'm a deep thinker and analyst. It's so refreshing. But just one night of week isn't enough… Here I am, trying to rehabilitate from leaving the on-line world, trying to recover from a breakup that I never saw coming. I thought that was it, this is the girl. Living every day with so much hope for just one year from now and I'll be in her arms.
One year, chronos itself means nothing when you have so much hope. I'm finding it really hard to hold conversations and keep eye contact when I'm in a social setting. I'm oversensitive and feel so out of place. 24 years old and I feel like I've been on a desert island, regressing back to some social infancy with no sign of parenthood around.
I keep on rereading the course handbook and stop and almost crack when I read "a counsellor needs a strong social network". I go to see my sister and I love being in her house. It's so great. But I come home to my room and I'm depressed further by the smell and the isolation and mood of the house. Everything depresses me at the moment. Everything. It's hard to read or get into reading because the drama and rage in my head occupies me incessantly. The drama in my head is more attractive and important to me than the written word.
Am I doomed then? I keep on thinking about the Incarnation, all the time, I'm trying to submit to it but I can't. Christ wore flesh and walked the earth once. Now, he's in heaven in his transfigured glory. And I want him to wear flesh again, just for me, and hug me. Because I'm very alone and there's no one around.
