Although I have not maintained new content here as of the past couple years, I have not lost my desire to write..only my motivation to do so. It’s truly a shame to abandon something for which you’ve always held an affinity. Perhaps a little something to bring any readers who may still be around up to speed.
Over the last year and almost a half, I have been in the process of a divorce which was made final just more than a week ago. For my entire adult life I had opposed divorce. I believed in the vow of “I Do” but once and your chips fall where they may. This, however, ceased to continue as a viable option. From my perspective anyway, I persisted in an emotionally and psychologically abusive marriage — you know, for the sake of “family” and the children. Days for me because torturous. Enduring a spouse who seemed bent on branding into my heart the fact that I was not loved — but more than that, I was loathed.
There came a point where I had a decision to make. You see, for most of my life I could not understand how a person could, in any serious way, contemplate taking their own life. I could not fathom how any woman could allow herself to endure what onlookers would describe as battered women’s syndrome. And although I was not physically abused, the verbal affliction I permitted myself to receive unreciprocated, I would never have knowingly allowed someone I cared for to absorb. To this day, the psychological conditioning I was subjected to still occasionally manifests in small, but effecting ways.
For a short spell, I had actually contemplated darkening the sun for myself. I went so far as to choose a location, a method, and plan for my sudden disappearance. I had visited this spot often, eyes full and lungs empty. My saving grace had always been my children. I could feel the horror that they would feel. The news of losing their father in such a morbid fashion..experiencing all their lives’ milestones without me there. Their agony saved me and they don’t even know it.
Since leaving the home I had fallen in love. I discovered someone who was willing to give their entire being to me. Life-changing. Here’s the thing: I believe in true love. Not just hypothetically or as the novelist pens. But real Westley and Buttercup love. The kind not even death can stop, to quote the Dread Pirate Roberts. I believed I had that, I really did. For some reasons, that love did not endure. I suppose we can all offer speculations as to why the story ended where it did, and I’m sure we are all correct to one degree or another.
Not discarding the permanent impact that relationship has had on my heart, love — real lay-down-your-life love has thus far been evasive. Granted, the time I’ve spent searching has been relatively brief. The notion that she is out there, and that I will absolutely find her is something of which I’m certain. I have to be, else..why endure? Save for the Almighty God Himself, I have yet to discover a thing..a principle..or a feeling worth living for more virtuous than true love. It’s all I want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.
Imagine being wrong about the existence of something so significant? You’d forever be chasing something that isn’t there. What an immoral waste of time — an unconscionable mockery of human desire.
Perhaps the only thing more sobering than finding that Love, is the task of keeping it. For just because it is the realest, most powerfully life altering experience, it is not immortal. It can be jettisoned, or worse: killed.
And though I am eager to discover my Heart’s other half… I am petrified that I might find what I’m seeking and either lose it, or cause its ruin. After all, what if there’s only one?