Skip to main content

Trying to learn to love myself post-Park Mioseon

Apparently there isn't anything particularly of interest for me back here in London. It's been a week or two since my return and it hasn't contributed to my ever-improving feeling of longingness for that one person. I try to stir something in me, but so far nothing has helped. There is no sign of depression, only a weird sense of wanting to find a valuable friendship with someone, anyone. Nothing. And it seems to me that there is no sense of interest coming from the world to do just that. So I contribute to myself however way I can, making sure that my sanity stays intact for the remainder of my days.

I try not to think of the other party -- I'm pointing my finger at Mioseon -- but most of the time it only reminds me how much I still want an answer. The why to my now, and even though my rage is still fresh, some part of me still wants that sweet, masochistic hardship back into my life, while she now revels in an orgy of self-fulfilling happiness. She finally figured out that I was the one holding her back.

I hate myself. I hate myself but I'd always forgive myself. The same way I would forgive Mioseon if she could forgive me. My life moves on from here, but the scars are forever. Etched like a tattoo, forever and a dream. In a life of what could have been if she'd conceived my child from her womb. The abortion stings me to death, and so does the sex, and I constantly find myself in a tantrum of insecurity, desperation, and constant paranoia.

There's nothing from her for me now. Please remind myself that constantly. It is only through her that all of this will have any desirable resolution. I hope in time she rids herself of fear from me, I hope she doesn't. I don't know what I hope. Pero que sera sera, I will bounce back with or without her, and there's only one way forward: vindication.

Popular posts from this blog

Unprayer

Dark, darker, darkest, there is no difference. All hurts the same. Pain, everlasting, lingering. Pain, day and night. The hours are uncertain. Anything can happen now. Thinking about it hurts. Truth is unreliable. The romance is dead. My heart, it is lost. Unrecoverable, hateful, distrusting. Wishful, perhaps, but I have lost everything before and survived still. This one was special. So special. Embittered, the tip of my tongue tastes. The flavour of my life. Cuisine of kitchens unwanted. It burns, to the heart. I do not understand. I do not understand.

Me: Things that have happened to other people are happening in mine, the worst truly has come and not a moment too soon

My important wishes always happen to fall on deaf ears, and now something really, really bad (that has already happened before) is happening to me again. Beneath all the charade of misleading coulrotic bliss is a sad sap of a man merely wanting a bit of trust from everyone around him. Yesterday's news was Mioseon all over again, and it has drained me of all strength. The worst really has come, and heaven knows I'm miserable now.
So it goes without saying that the biggest tragedy I have ever undergone in my life is fighting for the life of my child whose face I will never see. The most perplexing event was having to beg over and over unknowingly oblivious to the fact that my words carry no weight at all. Mioseon had trapped me into a corner and made me complicit to a sin I tried very hard to disavow. Regardless, she had found a way, and judging from that experience, Miriam herself will submit me to the same torture all over again, guilty by association.
For some reason this wa…

Me: At ease, the worst of the worst has yet to come

The wind was cold today, a Sunday, a proper start to September. We are within these months again. The road to the end of a very short year. A year for me where very little was accomplished. At the very least, compared to the previous one, this was a surprise blessing. Not without its challenges. Not without its pains.
Miriam went to work an hour ago. We left each other at Starbucks after a mild break. I was trying to help her with the buses. She never seems to catch on with the intricacies of the public transportation. I let her know that the easiest (not necessarily the fastest) way to work is to take the 260 bus from across the street in our new place in East Acton and stop at the underground station in Shepherds Bush. From there, she can then take bus 94 going to Piccadilly Circus where she can easily walk to her workplace in Soho in about five minutes or so.
She begged me to join her. I was still groggy and asleep at two in the afternoon. That seems to be our common waking up pat…