Of course, one always has to read between the lines. The truth is out there but is not said.
In addition, I feel that, maybe, there’s something wrong with me. Or, maybe, it’s just circumstances. I feel nothing. Well, that’s not entirely true but I don’t feel as I feel I should feel. I wonder if that is because of the walls I have built, the ones that permit me to be safe but, from the outside, may make me seem cold and uncaring. Or should that be ‘unfeeling’? I can put on a show but it’s inside that really counts.
“They’ve asked if we want a priest”. Nothing is said between us – between her crying and me being calm with the uneasy sensation of not having any feelings. I think we know what that means. I mean to say, I think that we agree on what that really means. Of course, we say nothing.
“Yes, they said he had a good night”
“Is he awake?”
“No, not yet. I need to ask some questions this morning. His brain was starved of oxygen”
Again, we both know what that means. Or, at least, I think we do. Again, we don’t say anything, for what is there to be said? Except the truth. So we hide behind the lie that, if he has ‘had a good night’ then all is well, which, of course, it is not. I strangely find some relief in that lie. And I can feel the feelings welling up inside me – which only makes me think and question why there was none before. I know that, if I were there, I would cry. But I am half a world away (not literally) and so I do not.
“I think he’s trying to get a flight today”
“Yes, he needs to come”
Of course he does. We both know that it may not be long now. We knew it before when he wasn’t eating. I suspected he was tired of it all; tired of life. Of course, I didn’t say anything then. She was much more determined to get him to eat but I think she understood what it all meant.
This is my view. Taken from brief conversations. Looking for the real meanings. Unable to ask the real questions. Why? Well, obviously, for fear of getting the real answers, I suppose.
Not, that’s not entirely true. Part of it was for fear of having no feelings. So, if I get no real answers I can have no real feelings. Like everything else in life, I prefer the true lies to the true truths, I guess. Then it means that, whatever feelings I have are not real feelings either. After all, real feelings may break down the wall and we can’t let that happen, can we?
I think about what may happen. I discuss with F and try (very badly) to explain that I really don’t know what to do. He tells me to do what I feel – and there’s the rub. What do I feel? He suggests that I should go round but I don’t want to. To go round – I know what that means. I don’t even know the true feelings let alone the right thing to do. I bluff that I won’t go round because of the people that might be there. The people that, in some way, I blame for the split – even if the split was, in reality, because of us and not them. But if I don’t see them then they can be nameless faces. Not to I hate but to avoid. For the truth of that is that it is better than looking for the true truth of that and better to have the true lie of that.
Of course, I’m also worried that, maybe, he will get the wrong idea about me being there to comfort him. It was, sort of, mentioned by FfI when I phoned her to keep her informed. Of course, I didn’t phone her to really keep her informed but to make sure that V had someone, having tried to get hold of other friends earlier without success. I told her about the ‘priest’ thing but, of course, didn’t then follow that by the truth but rather by the true lies.
And now I write this – more to understand what is going on in my brain than to tell you anything. It’s what I use this blog for. Writing the true lies and the true truths just to get my head around it all and to discover the feelings that I do or don’t have.by