Love And Dependency

This is a letter I received from a reader who felt like sharing his pain. I find it ludicrous.

The quietness surrounding me is piercing cold. As I sit in the here and now, soon to be there and then, I wonder about what has gone wrong. My spirit seems to have been hosed down by despair and I wake up, sorrow swelling my eyes, as if unable to smile, missing something – something I can’t quite put my finger on. Bewilderment. Discomfiture. 

None of it makes any sense; I’m unable to comprehend what this calmness that seems to drown all other feelings is. I’m not sad. I’m not happy. I am. If being can be. I stare into nothingness, sitting here not really seeing those fingers typing as though they’re alien to me – possibly belonging to someone else. Tears refuse to flow. Always. On the edge. Looking down at the cliff but not falling. Balancing. Daring me. Depression? Resentment? Resentment of having to wake up in the morning so that work can be done in order for a salary to be received. Selling oneself, hopes and dreams included, for a roof and a warm meal. Rambling of an old man. Inadequacy of the self. Valentine’s day is in two weeks. I’m alone. 

I dread this day. I dread it with shivering pains. Every Christmas bauble has been replaced by a heart-shaped balloon. Poinsettias have turned into roses. Shops bully you into buying the perfect gift for your partner. I don’t have one. I’m alone. ♪Love is in the air… Everywhere I look around…And I don’t know if I’m being foolish♪ but I want to jump out of a two-storey building, not to die but just to be in enough physical pain to cover the sheer agony of my loneliness. 

Seeing happy couples walking hand in hand, or even bitter ones arguing like raging alcoholics makes my spine shiver. I refused to reflect on my own solitude. If a friend starts dating, I immediately erase his number. If a film has even the most remote inkling of a love story, I refuse to watch it (I haven’t been to the cinema since ‘94). I sit, instead, in my pyjamas, drink coffee and brood. I’m old. I’m alone. I’m nothing without that glint in the eye of the beholder. I don’t exist.  

All I am, all I could be, all that is, is meaningless without someone to share it with. Without someone, anyone, to hold your hand, to kiss your neck, to bring you soup when you’re ill, to rub your back when you’re tired, to listen to your ramblings, to make you orgasm, to wash the dishes. But most of all just to be with. An unyielding companion to help you through the journey. Because one is not enough. One is, as it has been sung, the loneliest number. And one can’t when two do.  

The letter goes on for another twelve pages. I didn’t read the rest. Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!