There is nothing more soul sucking than realising that you do not exist.
I spent the early afternoon looking up my old unrequitted love - and by that I mean the girl whose attention I wanted when I was 6 years old. Esther Ida Sweetman. She never gave me the time of day, and looking back I guess I cannot blame her. Not because I know anything like she had the foresight to imagine what a loser I have become at 40+ years old and avoid me, but because I had a difficult childhood.
Anyway, enough about my childhood.
She is married now 12 years, living far away from the place where we grew up (actually she lives closer to me now after she got married) and has a child. Born on Christmas Eve, she is 9 months younger than I. Her sister, Stella, is also married. Everyone has passed me by. I think back to other people, too, but Esther Ida is a particular case. I am sad, and bitter, but also happy for her. I would not wish a lifetime of loneliness on anyone I have any affection for. At my age, were she not already a mother would make me weep.
And it all comes to one conclusion: for whatever my reasons and justifications, I have not lived a life worth remembering. I have lived to whatever portion of life I have lived without giving anything of meaning to make me remembered and loved.
So I thought what can I give this Martha woman with whom I live a token of appreciation. I made our bed, after I crawled out of it using all the anger I could muster to break my depression, and decided to write.
I have nothing else to give. And even this gift is not to the standard that would make it much to be remembered. But it is all I have.
I am not going to recount all my thoughts. I am still under the secrecy that makes my writing time here very short. And I am battling some rather serious depression that just leaves me emotionless, which is no shape to write.
I have suffered many failures and set backs over this past year I have not written. But there is no one to notice so maybe it did not happen after all.
Off to writing!
