A Long Dark Wait

I'm angry all the time. I hate everyone and everything. I'm absorbed by it, filled with it. The teasing of life -- I'm angry at having been shown happiness and then have it taken away from me. The cruelty shown by the author of my life. There must be an author, because I would not have written this for myself.

The author of my life - God or him? I've never been a believer of destiny, God only creates us and watches us destroy ourselves. I gave my life to him, he had my life, he held it's pen, and he wrote. He wrote for me the most beautiful fantasy, created for me a utopia, he let me feel happiness of unimaginable beauty. And then he wrote himself out of my life, and my world crashed.

And here I am, serving my life sentence of misery. Every day seems like an eternity passing; it exhausts me to think of how many eternities I have yet to endure. I can think of nothing but him, his name circulates my thoughts, my mind is saturated by him. I walk though life aimlessly, with only a dark cloud for company. I walk but I am stationary, as if I'm waiting.. awaiting the end, waiting to be relieved. How much waiting can one's patience tolerate before they decide they have to excuse themselves, to just bow out? Until they reach that threshold one can never know.

I hate what he's done to me, and yet though I wish I had a happier ending I would still re-live this all again given the option. Because all the pain is worth the intermittent teases of heavenly joy. He showed me happiness of a pure kind, head-reeling sensations of bliss, intoxicating chest filling emotions that must just be pure happiness. I would accept any degree of pain in exchange for just a single minute more of this happiness. I know with certainty that no other person in the world could generate such a feeling in me but him. I know this because I believe that what I feel for him is pure true love, and by definition love can only ever be for one.

It frustrates me when he tells me that time will heal my pain and that fate will allow my union with another some day. It frustrates me because he knows not of the morbid reality of it, or chooses not to know. For me there will never be anyone who will come remotely close to replacing him, let alone exceed him in any way. He cannot be exceeded, for he is unearthly and his status unattainable by mere mortals. And I fear that his uninformed insisting of the validity of his naïvely wishful hopes of my future will instead result in a permanent shroud of darkness upon my future; He has hope that I will find another, but I am certain that I can give my heart to no other. It is his, he already owns it, and it will always belong to him without condition, nor can he return it.

What I feel for him now is a mix of both love and hate -- such is the paradox of love. The overriding feeling though now is that of intense frustration, the gut wrenching helpless feeling of despair. I cannot make him see my reality, I’m desperately desperate for him to snap out of his airy fairy wish for my future. He thinks he is helping me, but he will destroy me, and in many years time this will be proven to him. It frustrates me that I have to wait for years to pass for him to be convinced, to waste my youth on proving to him that I cannot live without him. Time is precious, these are the days of our lives. The frustration that he thinks he knows me better than I know me. The despair, the despair.. it kills every fibre of my being. I wish he could feel my pain, because if he could feel my pain he would do everything in his power to end it and would beg for my forgiveness.