You know the kind of girl, a wonder for a weekend, nightmare by a week. “I was her rock, her centre and her ballast” was what she called me, within our first hour of meeting, lying in her bedroom, surrounded by a party, shortly after sex. Talk about the jackpot, had I won it ? You bet your life I had because she was so beautiful, strong and yet fragile: something out of films, or maybe an explorer, but certainly something special: unique you know.
And then she started shouting. Screaming because I dropped the kettle. Life as we know it had ended and it was all my fault. And then she said “Sorry, I cannot help myself sometimes” and I was young, and still thought I could fix things, so of course I put my arms around her and said, “I’ll love you always” which is not so good because I’m slightly north of crazy myself: well “out there,” if you want to know, and being someone’s “rock” sounded slightly scary.
And then there were the tablets I took so we could share together and she would not be lonely, tripping out to nowhere, living in a kaleidoscope. discovering “Real” together. Turns out to be a kind of hell, “Real” I mean. Didn’t say that in the brochure. Wish someone else had told me, but we knew too much by then. Knew everything in truth, except the need to listen.
I was in my twenties, setting off on that road, or was it a maze, leads us beyond the range of comfort, or normal or average conversations, and now I swear by nothing, because the face I see in the mirror is me turned into Stranger. And you might help me if you’ve got a minute. Tell me where I lost myself. Could you do that ?
Am I making any sense this time, it’s just the way it sounds right, but we see what we wish to see, and then it all goes pear shape. “Ain’t that the truth,” . The truth is all I know for now, but I’ll forget that in a minute.