Tunnel

A chilly autumn Friday afternoon. I was seating in the waiting room and waiting for my appointment with the psychiatrist. I had such high hopes, I thought therapy would magically fix everything and things would start getting better day by day. I was so anxious about noticing the changes that I was starting to grow impatient. I thought this trained person would be able to come into my soul, knock out all the walls, grab a microphone and give a bad ass inspiring speech to my heart and then everything would become the way it is supposed to be. I was expecting someone or something else to take over my mind and solve my problems because I had grown so weak after fighting with my own issues for years that I had finally given up. Well, maybe not given up all together, because I did seek professional help, but at least I came to the conclusion that I was not strong enough to deal with it on my own. Who knows, maybe that was just another excuse. Maybe I am craving this long path for myself to be able to run away from responsibility. At least now if I fail, yet again, I can say that I at least tried, and hell, I even have witnesses now who can prove that I tried.

It was the same Friday afternoon that I realized that I am slowly starting to romanticize even this whole act of going to a psychiatrist. I told you about it, I am not sure why. I don’t know if I want you to know that you are the ache in my heart or I want to torment you with a feeling of responsibility. At the same time, I don’t want you to think that you are that important to me because I know I am not equally meaningful to you. You remember about me when you are sad, lonely. You write after a long tiring day, when you find yourself in the room by yourself surrounded by darkness and melancholic thoughts. Well, at such vulnerable times it is easy to remember me, hell, it could be anyone in my place. But I remember you even during the bright daylight.

I know that all you want is a meaningless casual dialogue, simple catching up that will hold that last string together, and that will be enough. But we both know that so much is not said in between those lines, and those silent words are the ones tormenting my heart. Those are the things I want to talk about, those are the things I want to write. And even if I do, once in a blue moon, I am greeted with your silence, or a harsh reality that you don’t want to face those words. And yet again, I don’t stop. I give in into your wish of simply writing back and forth about casual topics, about work and the weather. I send you a picture of the rainy day, you say how you have missed such weather, while in reality I am sending you the picture of all those rains we had together and all those rains that we missed, and all those that we still could have. I am sending you a picture of a rainy day hoping you would see the two silhouettes missing in there, the two not kissing under the rain, the two not dancing through the bad weather, the two not drowning in each other’s eyes. You reply how you have missed the rain, and in my heart, I read how you have missed me, how you have missed the rainy days we have spent together, the soft kisses we shared under the rain. In my heart, I read between the lines and can only hope that at least half of it you meant to put in there between the silent words for me to notice.

We are going in different directions. You are happy with whatever it is that we have and I am hungry for labels and definitions. You are happy with talking about whatever is on the surface and I can’t help but drift into the depth of it all. You seek simplicity but we are way far from simple and I am desperate to untangle the confusion. Maybe in some twisted way I am addicted to this pain, I keep torturing myself with the thoughts and possibilities that you so masterfully have learned to hide. And if I bring something up then I am distressing the shield that you have created around yourself to be protected from those thoughts that are still haunting me. I can’t get away, maybe I don’t want to. I don’t want to surround myself with a lie, no matter how soft and comfortable it might be. You are way too good in burying all that matters for the sake of moving on, and I am way too good at remembering everything with every intricate detail, and that’s what makes me sink deeper and deeper.

I guess the ultimate question is what is it that I want. I want closure. I want to understand the things I still don’t get, I want to know the things you never told me, I want to be reminded of details I didn’t notice. I want to ask all those questions that I have out loud and hear answers in reply instead of the dark silence of the night. I want you to explain me everything, I want you to be honest, I want the truth. I want reasons instead of made up excuses. I want logic to be able to move on. And even if the logic is quite illogical, I’ll take it, I will take whatever motives you might have, as long as you don’t leave my begging palms empty. I need this. I desperately need this to finally move on. But the truth is that I can never be sure if you will even do this for me. I know it’s not easy what I ask of you. I know we both will have to relive through things we don’t want to, this might bring out demons we have tried so hard to hide. But some of my demons are still out there and I need to go through it to make sure I can survive, I need to go through it to stop wondering and putting my bets on the non-realistic possibilities. I know it will drain us both, but I so desperately need it. I am stuck in between this tunnel and if you don’t at least meet me half way, there is no way I will find my way out. I need you to come back for me and take me out of this hole, even though you have found your shortcut, we will need to go through the long way to make sure we never fall back again.