I shall call you someday. I've so much to talk about, you know. If you were to ask me, I'd say the wheels are coming off the train that my life's been. And then, knowing me, you'd say, "You always say that! I've been hearing it for the past 20-odd Goddamn years now. Give it a break, will you?!" And then, I'll tell you, as I always have without fail, "No... this time, it's different." And then, you'll say, "Wow! I didn't see that coming at all!". I always knew you did not have the ability to thinly veil your sarcasm.
I must tell you the fact that you don't react at all just baffles me in that moment. I ask myself, "Why would she do that to me?! I just narrated the horror that my life's been for the past century and she has absolutely nothing to say. I've known her to be much more sensitive and understanding and caring towards me. Or, did I know what I wanted to know?" These are strange, almost demonic thoughts. Self doubt has never been my strong suit. I say self-doubt because doubting you almost feels to be the same.
And then, like you always have without fail, will ask me to enter that endless monologue. And then, through some random twist, I don't have words to put forth. I feel my throat getting parched and my lips getting drier with every passing second. It all comes back to me: hasn't it always been like this? I have always felt I've so much to say and I've never found the words or the intonation.
The few occasions on which I have ended up churning out words from thin air, it has ended up being completely different from whatever it is that I wanted to say in that mind... creepily different. I've then had my words ringing through my own ears and inside my own cranium and I've felt gutted - for saying the wrong thing in the wrong manner at the wrong time. I've then proceeded to apologize profusely for the mess I've created and you just don't get what makes me go down like a pack of cards all of a sudden. You shut down and stomp on my apology... I don't blame you, its almost always the right thing to do because it gets me to stop speaking about myself.
I must tell you the fact that you don't react at all just baffles me in that moment. I ask myself, "Why would she do that to me?! I just narrated the horror that my life's been for the past century and she has absolutely nothing to say. I've known her to be much more sensitive and understanding and caring towards me. Or, did I know what I wanted to know?" These are strange, almost demonic thoughts. Self doubt has never been my strong suit. I say self-doubt because doubting you almost feels to be the same.
But then, very soon, my brain comes back from the long vacation it went on to Bahamas or some other mind-numbingly exotic place. And it begins to dawn on me that if I didn't get a single word of what I said, its just plainly stupid and pathetic of me to expect you to get it. And by some strange twist, even if you get it in bits-and-pieces, how in sweet Hell are you supposed to react?
And this cycle repeats itself, every now and then, with almost boring regularity. I don't know why I find a strange kind of solace in not saying or saying it like it isn't... its almost like I experience inner peace for one fleeting micro-second. And you know what is the worst thing about inner peace? When you have internalized it even once for that quintessential fleeting second, you want it all the time. You pine for it and you run behind it... knowing fully well that there's not a more false way to reach it.
Anyways, this shall go on. I promise you I'll call you someday.
