Wednesday, July 8, 2015

PUTATIVE CANDOR - A NARRATIVE EXPLORATION

I knew he'd hurt me. I had already worked out the manner in which this would happen. This realization , preconceived yet veracious, was not a startling insight attesting to any perspicacious attribute in me. It was simply that his behavior was self explanatory. It was so unambiguously reticent, which had an undercurrent of fearful truculence that i knew the pattern that was subsequently to materialize.
Knowing the imminent course of things should have prepared me, bringing forth a self congratulatory smirk at my prescience. Unfortunately it brought about a searing hurt that was unassuageable. His withdrawal , despite its prefiguration, failed to ameliorate my wounded heart. It might be my egotism which could not withstand the prospect of my subjectivity or else it could be my subterranean hope, conceived in the very absence of its actualization, that might have undermined. It certainly unleashed a protracted neurotic cornucopia of embarrassing contretemps which, though rooted in pathology, underscored my hapless capitulation to that pathology. I seemed to be impelled, despite my well thought out misgivings, to behave in a manner that i deplored and then to experience the tides of mortification at the fruitlessness of self analysis.
The more he withdrew the more my neediness accelerated. I could smell my desperation through the continuous fusillade of phone calls and emails i inundated him with, which were, unsurprisingly, not responded to. I couldn't accept this detachment because its entrenchment in his own attendant insecurity brought out the good samaritan in me. I was hoping to demonstrate, through my patience and incessant proclamations of authenticity, the sincerity of my feeling. In retrospect the assiduity of my expostulations concealed a certain lack of feeling, a residual realization, unacknowledged consciously, that i was overcompensating and self exonerating by negating my ambivalence towards him.
Rather percipiently, though it was inadequate, i divined his insecurities. By drawing home to him the febrility of his tremulousness i sought to strengthen my own precarious certainties. By projecting on him my self image of probity i simultaneously martyred myself and vilified him. I could see his fine qualities and mostly remained cognizant of his merits. But these merits served as ineffectual rationalizations in extending a friendship which was predicated on mutual incomprehension. I made a myth of him and of myself. I abrogated the provisionality that bound us together thereby contravening my own theoretical observations on human nature.
I've thrown him out of my life while retaining a wistful optimism of a resurgence of old ties. Perhaps my gesture of weary resignation, which i explained to him in a mail, had a manipulative intent of inveigling his sense of contrition by evincing my intolerance.On most days i don't think of him. Yet unbidden moments of our fleeting though intense intersection poleaxe me. For all my self awareness i am still irretrievably enmeshed in a predicament i created not knowing how to face the precipice an irrevocable breach would institute. Peregrinating this self defeating circumference of an unprofitable and tenuous friendship is my bulwark. And i know it, accept it, in all humility . But i see no way out though eventually i will have to find one. In the interim this exegesis reveals its inherent uselessness except for its transmutation into narrative exposition which i proffer here.

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