Dying, Again

September 2, 2010

How can dying hurt so much every time? The terror that comes from knowing what is in store only adds to the agony. The grey of the dead time has already begun to cover me. Ghosts can’t taste, can’t smile, and cannot lift their faces to the horizon. I eat and it is sawdust, I try to turn my lips up and it hurts, the once bright horizon is shrouded in darkness. All that remains is the ache.

I now know what I have been screaming, every time I sob, “save me”. I cannot save myself from this death. I will revive myself, but there is no stopping the dark death of heartbreak. Every man I have ever loved has let me die. Some have been necrophiliacs, continuing to make love to my lifeless corpse, some have walked away, but not one has heeded my cries.

My old nemesis, Lonely, has found me again. He makes the death even more tortured. My only salvation lies in the cruelly slow hands of time. I will taste again, I will find my hunger and my smile, but there is no telling when I will see those dear friends again. Last time was different, it was years in the making and I had let much of it die already. My desire still lives this time, making me acutely aware of every labored breath.

I ran last time. I filled the screaming silence with chatter and drinks, I ran from sleep as it was useless. I don’t know if I have the strength to run this time, hell, I don’t know if I have the strength to sit still.

I tried to comfort myself with food until it made me ill. I am more comfortable with an empty stomach. I tried to sleep it away, but the nightmares continue. I tried to seek solace in company, but their life made me more aware of my own death. I have smoked my throat raw, waiting for the relieve to set in. I drink until I feel something close to nothing, but the pain still catches me as the alcohol is absorbed. I work and am distracted for precious moments, but there is no relief.

No, there is no comfort in this death. There is no peace. Why couldn’t he have been who he pretended to be? Why did this heart of mine have to fall in love with a fraud? I still have to give him my final warning, and his final bullet to put through my heart. There is no hope inside of me, he has already shown me the answer, I simply need to hear it. Then it will be done, perhaps then I can submit to the death and wait for my reincarnation.

Each time I wonder if it will be the last, each time I wonder if this will be the time I stay dead. My mind says coldly, but not unkindly, that I know it will not last forever. My heart just weeps and writhes in her suffering. There are no more “I told you so’s” from the assassin, she just wears her anguish on her face and lets a few tears slip down her cheeks for the heart’s suffering. There is nothing left to fight or protect, what is done is done.

We all knew this was a risk. The mind rationalized the risk with empirical data and observations, the assassin was subdued only until the first red flag was waved, but by then the heart was too far gone. There was a point where a collective decision was made. There was a point when we saw the amazing possibilities and knew that we must either surge ahead or walk away. We are brave, we three, if nothing else. We were afraid, but it is not in us to walk away from an opportunity, not one this rare. We gambled. Only the assassin knowing how much we had wagered. I saw it in her wild eyes, but I wanted so deeply to be wrong this time, I wanted so deeply to be saved.

The line has blurred between the hurt and the love, making it impossible for the mind to see him clearly, or for the heart to trust herself or for the assassin to take a shot. We simply sit here, in the darkened room with our pain, waiting, again waiting. We glance every now and then, hatefully at the unwelcome guest. The hideous Loneliness lurks across the room.

The bottom line is, it sucks to die, and dying is the only ending I have ever had to a love story. Is it better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? No, it is not better, but I keep on dying, so I guess that makes me the contradictory one doesn’t it?

Desire is our lifeblood, you kill that and you die. You chase your longing, and it will probably end with your demise. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t, spectacular.