Saturday, September 20, 2014


When Robert left me i was left with the memory of our furious parting words.

'you're a control freak. You were consuming me. You have an insatiable appetite for emotion. And i hate you for this'.

The 'i hate you' were the three words that dissociated themselves from his entire tirade and lodged reiteratively in my benumbed mind, repeating themselves in different variations until i though i'd go mad. These three words, feverishly obsessing me were, to me, points of sanity because contained in their maddening cadences was the incontrovertible fact of his having left. And it was this absence i had to accept, unconsciously as well as cognitively, for me to move on.

And move on i did. For some time, in a bland observance to the quotidian i immured myself in my daily routines. Truth to tell i was in a state of shock. All consciousness of my being with him was in a limbo. I, with frightening impassivity, presented a dour, stoical face to the world. Friends, commiserating, dropped in to proffer empathy but my stony profile must have distanced them because their ministrations,at best provisional, were terminated rapidly.

When i allowed myself to think and it was with a great unpacking of this wall of repression in me that i could i ruminated wistfully on his 'i love you moments'. Being loquacious, his demonstrations were convincingly sincere but i wondered if they weren't based on his lack of understanding of my actual nature.Because i do believe, with unmitigated fatalism, that there is in us, an intractable self, a compendium of our collective history and neuroses. That i was unsentimental, pragmatic, taciturn was ,to me, the essence of who i was. A lifetime of repression had crystallized these propensities and changing them, becoming more communicative, as it were, was inconceivable to me.

With inveterate finality my self doubt, immanent, reared up. I began to see Robert's point of view. He had divined, perhaps penetrated the essence beneath the essence i thought was my essence . My wordlessness must have conveyed volumes. And indeed this yearning, passionate hunger i felt for him, a hunger i never acknowledged as mine when we were together, convinced me that beneath my practicality lay a fount of passion and insecurity. That perhaps my commonsensicality was an ineffectual barricade against my more primitive desire to possess and incorporate.

Going to a therapist didn't help much either. I was excoriating a past that was irrevocable. And putative moments of clarity were,ineluctably, moments of homecoming because i knew, with unequivocal certainty, all that was being offered to me as interpretation. Robert's absence had, in my interlude of quiescence, inveigled a process of morbid introspection. The discoveries of therapy were anti climactic.

The more i learnt about my true nature the more i felt a need to conceal it and great was my terror at its being found out. I couldn't stop wanting and possessing an object of love but i couldn't also expect a subject complicit enough to submit to my expectations. I am prepared to forswear that a dialectic of dissimulation and denial will constitute all my future relationships and that i am an incurable neurotic. But i am what i am and i hope, earnestly hope, that one day i will meet a fellow neurotic whose capitulation to my madness will be predicated on my acceptance of his.

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