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Memory rant

Discussion in 'Rants, Musings and Ideas' started by Singularity Platy, Feb 27, 2018.

  1. Singularity Platy

    Singularity Platy Well-Known Member

    The thing is that, you see, once in a while it gets so damn lonesome you kinda wish maybe someone could actually save you.

    When I say save, I don’t mean one of those hypocritical phonies who like to be the savior and pass down judgment on you and stuff. Like, someone who maybe not really tries to save you but them just being there is enough. Know what I mean? Like way way way back before I became a nutcase, I used to work for this lady. I used to go to her flat every morning and wake her up, wash her and make her breakfast. I did all that because she lived alone and didn’t have any kids and the government paid her a small sum to pay for someone to take care of her. After I did my chores and tucked her real cosy in her chair, I used to stay and chat because she was pretty old and couldn’t go nowhere and that could get a little lonely. So I used to just stay for a little bit and tell her things. Most of the times I had to really yell because she had a real bad case of hearing loss. So I just yelled at her whatever happened and she just nodded and sometimes she would pause with this deep look on her face and then she would tell me about her ex-husband who was a poet and smoked a lot of pot. I was pretty damn lonely at that time too because I just came to that goddamn city and I wasn’t so good at making friends. In fact I used to walk down the grey street and the smell of hot cakes and coffee used to make my eyes water because they smelt so goddamn nice and warm and that made me feel so goddamn lonesome.

    But anyway, the lady is dead now and I’m not in that city anymore but now and then I do regret not visiting her more, you know what I mean? She was one of the few people I know who was too old to put up a face. She didn’t care so much for what anyone thought of her and her house was filled with half-written manuscripts and sculpture made of steel and iron. She didn’t need any body to define who she was. Some thought she was lonely and pitiful but I knew better than anybody the truth. She lived and died as she was, the unique soul. It was her who taught me how to be strong and not let age or time define my spirit.

    I still remember the day I quit working for her. I didn't quit because I hated the job or anything, even if I had to wake up real early in the morning and the city was still dark outside and the early morning bus was so empty it sometimes depressed the hell out of me. But I didn’t quit because of the early morning commute. I actually quit because H. told me I could do better. He said I would go nowhere being a carer like that and perhaps I should get a real job to build a nice career portfolio, if I wanted to prepare for the real world. So I told her I had to quit and she had this real sad look on her face. She said she understood and told me to drop by now and then for a chat. I promised her I would, and I meant it. But soon after I made my promise, I got caught in H’s web. I got caught in all the fights and shouting and me trying to leave and him trying to get me to stay and more yelling and hating and him cheating and lying and me trying to get the hell out of there but couldn't. But of course I couldn’t just show up at her doorstep to tell her all about it either. At that point I was too goddamn confused to even tell myself what the damn hell was going on, let alone someone else.

    The day I found out that she was dead I was trying to cash a cheque she had paid me a year ago. When the cheque came back with a letter from the bank telling me that its owner had passed away, I sat on the bed for a while. I couldn’t even cry. I couldn’t because I had always taken for goddamn granted that she’d be in my life forever, that her existence was as infallible as gravity. And then just like that she was gone, reality’s slap to remind me of the inevitability of the mortal.

    Just like that, Peggy Taub passed away. With one children story published, countless half-written manuscripts pilling inside her small flat at Trafalgar Square. No children. No family. But forever engraved in the memory of a stranger that is me.

    As I sat there speechless and contemplative at Peggy’s death, H just shrugged. I would have hoped for a hug or something. But he just shrugged. I should have known even before then that the bastard had no soul. But then sometimes you can get so goddamn lonesome you denied the truth even if it was right in front of you knocking on your eyeballs. I remember wishing, well imagining then that my imaginary friend would show up, perhaps climbing up the windows or something, and knock on the windows. Hey, he would say, let's get out of here. And then we would get into the car and just drive and drive and drive far away. But instead I stayed and cried some more and locked myself in the bathroom and called work to tell them they might as well fire me because I wouldn't be able to get out of bed tomorrow. A few months later I woke up to find out that H had been cheating on me with C. The world had crumbled then, and yet I still couldn't leave the damn bastard. By then Peggy had been dead for a few months and even so I still wondered what she would have said if only she knew.
    AlexiMarie7, Dawn and Alwayswrong like this.
  2. Singularity Platy

    Singularity Platy Well-Known Member

    I have never told anyone about how I became suicidal or about that evening H. left and I tried to kill myself.

    I don't remember how I became suicidal. I remember being depressed.
    H changed. He was cold and distant and it still shakes me even now to remember how monotonic and humanless his voicemail sounded like. He was my first love. He was everything. He was my friend and my family. He was supposed to save me. I don't remember how it first started. I don't remember how I started to cut myself. H. was angry, disgusted, frantic, horrified. He bandaged me, tucked me into bed, pulled me back when I was trying <mod edit> He shouted at me, screamed at me, hit me, cried with me. And so it went on.

    The evening <mod edit - methods> I was taking a long bus ride home. It was Friday. A sunny beautiful Friday. I was supposed to meet H. and as usual his monotonic and humanless voicemail shook me. <guidelines>. I missed that feeling of nothingness, of letting go. I missed being numb and emotionless. I missed not being hurt. Later that day when H. called to say he forgot I was numb and drugged. I don't remember what happened. We argued. We fought. He hung up. He abandoned me and I wanted the pain to stop. <**********>. I told H. I wanted to die. <*******>. He said that was it. And then he was gone. All was left was the sound of the cold and terrifying voicemail.
    The person you're trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message after the beep.
    And that's how H left. That's how he found you.

    I have never met you yet thinking about you makes me sick. A stranger on the street with similar eyes to yours shook me to the core. I can't explain it. I feel ashamed that I hate you, a perfect innocent stranger. I'm disgusted, with myself and you. My stomach churns and churns. It's the kind of feeling that makes me want to step out of my own body and <*******>
    I still don't understand how pain from the past could have the power to hurt me even now. I don't even understand why I was hurt. Was I hurt because I was betrayed and abandoned? Was I hurt because I fell in love with the kind of man that disgusts me? I wish it would stop. I really do. I don't want to hate you, CD. It hurts when I do that. It really does. Are we just scared little children desperate to be loved? I was desperate. You were too. And so was H. We all were. We played with each other's feelings. We fucked each other up. We tried to get love from the others. And we failed so miserably. We did.

    I hated him. I resented him. I wanted to make him suffer. I thought of shaming him. <******************>. You know. I pitied you. At one point. When H. convinced me that you were the only one who was in love with him I pitied you. I was rather smug with that new belief. I was the heroin. You were the villain and H was the confused one. I didn't know, did I. And now that I do I pity myself. Apparently, he told you what he told me. What a conceited, manipulative dirty bastard. And yet, I loved him. I wanted to protect him. I wanted to have him in my arms and rock him like a little child. I wanted to think he was just a confused kid and that he didn't mean to hurt anyone. So I played being a martyr. Look at me. I'm not giving up on him. I'm the hero. Look at me.
    Last edited by a moderator: Mar 2, 2018
  3. Dawn

    Dawn Well-Known Member

    This is beautiful. And I am so very sorry u have not gotten any replies sooner. I have a huge heart for the sick and elderly. Used to work helping them before I got sick and loved that and volunteered for years before that job. My best friend ever was 48 years older and in a wheelchair. The most amazing animal rescuer I ever met. I miss Georgia all the time and others. Still go to the nursing home when I can. There are Peggys all over unfortunately. Hell Im one now myself. U are a kind soul. There are others waiting to have u as a friend and they give so much back (I know u know that obviously) And I know that no one can ever replace your special friend. U are kinder than most believe me.

    I am so glad that she is not forgotten. Thank u so very much for sharing this. It is very special.
  4. Winter Blues

    Winter Blues SF Supporter

    I am lost for words. Your story is so sad and yet so beautifully written. Your love for Peggy shines through and she will have known that and rejoiced in your visits. You are a very special person, please never doubt that. There will be others in the future who love you unconditionally. Please stay strong, don't hide away. You have far too much to offer this world that is so often grey and sad. Shine - like you can. Sending you a hug xxx