All the time, we listen to them on the radio, our favorite songs written by legends, even a guy named Legend. The lyrics can be soothing, endearing, haunting, depending upon a person’s state of mind. Whenever I listen to a love song, I try to hear it as intently as I possibly can, because then I may derive meaning. I find myself writing here about a lot of heartbreak lately, and I try to write for myself. I try to be the person I am for me rather than anyone else. But it is so difficult, such a daunting task when I feel my disposition beginning to crash.
This weekend is particularly challenging. I’d like to write a letter but I cannot. Then part of me is upset for writing this because even though there is a disconnect, the person I want to say all these things to, will one day read my words and then to themselves in their own quiet world decide there is no need, because he has already stated where his head is landing. She’ll decide to stay away and then I will spend my days, many of them trying to ascertain whether my instincts are real or I am full of shit.
I do land with the latter of that last passage more than the former. I do feel more like I am full of delusion most of my days, and it hurts to try to come to terms with that. I cannot say in here how many times, I have woken in a morning, gone to sleep at night feeling I was in control of my moods, that I was going to be alright, that I had a certain need to move forward rather than bask in my own self-pity. The other day as I spoke to someone close to me, I talked about suicidal ideations and how they have been with me since my teens. I now live in a place where I wouldn’t be found for days, it would be easy.
Listen to me. I’m really pathetic when my moods take a dive. Just the other day, I was in a high, I can no longer imagine that it was just a good balance, it was a manic balance, and I have to live through this every day of my life. I cannot count upon a day like today showing up – I feel it coming, and I try to busy myself, but I know it will be here.
So by now, if you are still here, you are probably wondering, if not bored to tears, why or how all of this has anything to do with love stories. The reason being is that those stories, those heartaches, the highs, the definitions of true love are the only thing that keeps me going. I’m not talking just about romantic love – that genre carries volumes of literature music, artwork, photography – every aspect of our lives.
I’m talking about healthy love, the sort I share with my students every day – the sort that I carry with me for my own family – every single one of them. The sort I embrace for those people I feel close to, those I yearn for, those I pray will read my words, and find the strength to be okay with themselves.
I’m trying every hour of my life, and it is a challenge, forever. I want to love life unconditionally, rather than wrapping my world around in fallible expectation.
© Scott F Savage 5/2020 Memorial Day Weekend
There are people I reach out to more frequently than I once did. I wish I might everyone.