Tuesday, November 24, 2015

INEVITABILITY

Once i understood that his withdrawal  was imminent i experienced a rare peace. This withdrawal , whose imminence i finally figured out after much denial, was, it seemed clear, immanent. The signs were there. It was just that when i fell in love so precipitately i became thoughtless. I lowered my guard , became artless. Conversely i appropriated myself in my own aegis, in accordance with his idea of how i ought to be, or so i told myself. It never struck me that my incontrovertible being, in itself, was good enough. Continual self doubt and a customary reticence had induced inadequacy that no subsequent effervescence could obviate. I do not believe i was being insincere because in the white heat of fulsomeness, in a fevered , disordered part of my consciousness i believed each word i uttered to him.

Because falling in love with him seemed so arbitrary. If his mind , at one level, seemed so irresistibly attractive then so did his unassertive demeanour. That restfulness, calmness in the face of my importunity is now , to me, a clear sign of a robust egotism, a belief and entitlement he felt about himself. I interpreted it through his continued detachment which, in itself might betoken circumspection but was disconcertingly enlivened by an exaggerated solicitude and ironic smile. Many an hour was spent by me in trying to decipher the unamiability behind that sly smile. I no longer ever pretend that unequivocal clarity is possible. Perhaps my intuitions might themselves be projections though i resist this thought.

The undisguised contempt behind his ironic smile, the rebarbative strand in his jocularity was counterpointed by intermittent moments of authenticity. Then he would admonish my tactlessness and unreasonableness. If his witty barbs hurt me cruelly then his constrained candor lacerated me. Outwardly i managed to be undramatic but within i seethed. My conversations with him mostly took place in my mind , imaginary colloquies where my willed belief in my wit would open up spaces for laconic but sharp repartee. I wished , in moments of reflexiveness, to smash open his self containment. Something in me desired a dissolution of our psychic boundaries, a mingling and mangling of soul and body whose tumultuous intersection, stripped of reserve, would institute a deepening of intimacy.

Sex between us was tempestuous enough but it was mostly passion from my side. I could discern his lubricious intensity but was undermined by its inherent corporeality. Gratification of a desire felt  urgently in the body was his preponderant impulse. There he eschewed reserve and became wild. But while this wildness elicited the requisite erotic rejoinders from me given that he transmuted his heat onto me i never felt fulfilled. Orgasms were strangely unfulfilling because where i sought a coalescence i met with demarcations and lines of resistance in him. His selfishness manifested also in a disengagement of his centres of pleasure, erotic or intellectual . That there was a certain emotional deadlock only grated all the more.

We had many conversations of an intellectual nature , chiefly of our natures and human nature. And here again i witnessed his indulgence of my impassioned self revelations which, though laced with sufficient psychological depth , nevertheless exposed my vulnerable neediness. Whereas his ironic self analysis was always at an emotional distance. Perhaps he needed the scaffolding of jocundity to temper his own fallibility or this was standard conversational fare, with myself as an incidental presence in his scheme of things. Both possibilities distressed me unduly.

In any event i repressed my voracity with my own brand of dispassion though it is too late now. Once a certain barricade, erected out of expedience, is breached then it becomes an aperture for other searing hurts to bludgeon regardless of their arbitrariness or unexceptional nature. I know i will feel this hurt which i deem him capable of inflicting. His solipsism authenticates such sadism. What i would like to prepare myself for is a way of circumventing, at pivotal moments, the piquancy of this pain. Meanwhile my burgeoning misanthropic sardonicism , wrested from human neuroses, is furnishing delectable tidbits of seemly though embittered merriment. He enjoys it. That is all we seem to share  for now. Strangely , it is enough.


No comments:

Post a Comment