A Moment In Trepidation

I’m sitting in my home, and I am bored to tears. I suppose they call this love after 30 years, the problem is I’ve never felt so lonely in my life. I have tried to come to terms with who I am in this world, my marriage, my job, my purpose in life. I discovered almost twenty years ago I really did know love, but the society I was raised in did not give me license to openly explore my passions, so my life became discreet.

When one day I realized we couldn’t go forward, I walked away and returned to my family. My children obviously took precedent and I did everything I could to make sure they have a good life, and today I believe they do. I made mistakes along the way, but I do believe they know what love is in our lives. My spouse and I have had our struggles. If I attend one more support group that gives me a takeaway and tells me that marriage is a compromise I suppose I will go stir crazy.

I’ve tried for years to enhance my relationship ~ creating romantic events ~ exploring ways to enhance our communication, and yet, to no avail. To some, it may sound like I am feeling sorry for myself, and maybe I am but I cannot leave my marriage. If I do it will be perceived as selfish, not trying to find my happiness. I’m stuck, so I was easily flattered when a woman showed me attention 18 years ago. That initial attention turned to love which will be a story for another time.

Tonight, I’m reaching out, I don’t know where, only to let the reader know I have experienced the darkest of my days, and I am hopeful I am stepping out of the chasm as I like to refer to my environment. I need to find a way out or I will do something impulsive. I would devastate my children and I don’t want to do that. I’m so exhausted.

The reality is there is only one person that has the strength to keep me alive and I know everyone might believe it is me, but it is not. That person is responsible for the concept of love and what it means in a world that walks around in a fit of quiet desperation a world of confusion and trepidation. What is remarkable is I know I am not alone.

On the Burden of Mental Health

I’ve written poetry on this site for years, along with several other venues. I’ve traveled many circles in words, encountered countless writers of all gender, all with the same passions, same desires, same hurts and wants and understandings. I’ve met some that so spoke to my own inner self that I wondered if our lives had passed by one another. Ironically, I have often thought of former lovers, years ago, who might come across my words, and without really knowing, wonder if, just if.

I’ve written about the mystique of woman in so many different ways I’ve lost count of my reason why. Or perhaps I no longer want to think about why. I do know what love is, and at the same time, I recognize pain, and I struggle to allow the beauty of love to become a tragic malady in the lives of human beings who feel. I wonder about the actual moment when what a person feels suddenly turns dangerous, and their bodies both mentally and physically choose to retreat, because humanity is taught to shelter ourselves rather than take risks. I don’t fault a person for wanting shelter, for choosing what is safe in their lives. I just sometimes envy those that learn how to navigate the edge.

There is someone out there for all of us. I know this to be true, because even so, we cannot always have what it is we believe we should have. Sometimes the choice is not ours and no matter how hard we try, we cannot change the mind of a lover scorned. Once described as an unmet expectation, the unraveling of what once was a certainty no longer holds the fabric of our quiet passion. We find ourselves scrambling to justify, to describe a rationale that will keep everyone happy, and then one day, it is a silent day, a meditative reflection, we come to terms with the form of alone that allows us to make a decision, to create another chapter, or in the crudest manner, gloss over the beauty of what once was a magic, a wonder, a reality.

In recent months, my mental health has been tested more than I would like to imagine. I’ve made choices based upon my desires, leaving me with an outcome that has revealed a certain void in my life that has me on my knees more often than I would like. The beauty of woman is what first motivated me to write here, the words the readers, the venue allowed me to explore a fascination that has been closed, locked away, denied for many years. I wrote words that I wanted both men and women to shudder upon, to realize just how marvelous is the sensual nature of the human condition. I had a wonderful time doing so, and have met many lovely and real and genuine people along the way. Yet love is a surreal reality in the mind of a philosophical romantic.

I came to realize I was writing for one person, and it wasn’t me. Now, all the research I do on writing seems to suggest I must write for myself. I find that to be a very lonely place, one that only allows me to struggle. I listen to music as a background to my writing. There are times when a certain song or melody takes me places that I want to go and it inspires my world on paper. Then there are times when I cannot find the right song, composition, driving force of nature to give my writing a boost.

So tonight I sat in my – local – cafe, close to my home, and I wondered how to address this question in my mind. I still haven’t found an answer beyond knowing I have known love and I am grateful. I wish it could just be that without all of the societal constraints that determine just how much we can be who we are in a managed and planned experiment. I wonder sometimes who it was that determined the rules for this experiment. I believe in God, or some entity of spiritual determination, but as I write these last words I am convinced we have, or maybe it is just me, moved a bar beyond the original concept of what He means in our lives, in my life.

I wonder about the beauty of two people in love, I wish breaking rules meant a greater understanding without the fear of discretion. I appreciate the loneliness of having to choose a place to land. My feet are still not firmly planted on the ground, so I’m still at risk for knowing what is true, what is fantasy, what is my own personal breaking point.

I wonder always about the beauty of woman and the inspiration you do bring to my life.