back in the saddle again

bear with me a moment.  i finished reading a certain incredibly famous series of books this weekend.  i’d been through most of the series a couple of times, but had only read the last book shortly after its release.  ordinarily i read very, very slowly to ensure that i can actually remember what is passing before my eyes.  when i read this book last not only did i speed through it, but i simultaneously experienced a bit of what can only be called Hell.  between these two facts i barely remembered the contents of this finale, let alone its aftermath.

now, it is very important that you understand that these books, unlike all of the movies, television shows and, yes, other books i have taken in, actually manage to move me.  every time i have traversed those pages i have laughed out loud, screamed, shuddered, cheered and, more than once, cried.  i have tried, on numerous occasions, to explain both to myself and the people around me why this is so.  to date, i feel as though i have not accomplished this seemingly simple task.

here i am, at the end of this cycle one more time realizing with some amount of unfolding horror that this was a mistake.  i can remember now, the way completing this journey with these characters left me feeling last time.  i recall this now simply because i find myself in the same predicament, only some large number of magnitudes worse.  simultaneously, i have begun to understand what some more innocent beings would refer to as "the magic" of this series.

simply said, these characters and their exploits fill a hole in my lie life.  the underlying principle of the whole spectacle revolves around a pact, an assurance, of friendship.  these people’s lives are never empty because they complete one another.  and this is something that i have been lacking for a long, long time.  and the fear of this emptiness is something i have carried all my life due to the actions of an irresponsible young woman so many years ago.

i feel as though i have maintained some semblance of rationality thus far, but i must impress upon you that, in fact, it is a lie.  in reading these books, i connect with the things i yearn for.  that i do not have.  and when the ride ends, after i have become accustomed to the security blanket of another page to turn, the fall off is like being stabbed in the gut.  i have to wonder if this is what it feels like to be well and truly addicted to something.

i know this is something that you never understood about me.  this was not due to any ignorance on your part.  rather, i am an exceptional liar.  i am an even worse worrier.  with these twin blades it was inevitable that you would never know how very badly i needed you.

it’s always like this.  if ever i let down these defenses another sharpened tip is awaiting, just beyond the veil, to remind me how incredibly weak i am.  it is why i keep you all at arms length.  it is why i try so hard to put on a show, to create a distraction away from who i really am.  it is why some nights i feel as though i could just fall away, whether i really wish to or not, and still find no peace.

the desire to simply begin again, rereading those tales i just completed, to pull myself closer to a false fulfillment, is very nearly overwhelming.  and it saddens me.  saddens me to now recognize these same actions in my friends so long ago.  i wonder now, if i went back and told them how much they meant to me, how much their company filled my day, if they would put down these false reassurances and pass the moments with me instead.  but even then i’m simply creating another lie.

i moved here because my mother was draining my bank account.  i’ve been supporting her for a year now and it’s destroying me in more than one way.  and now i’m starting to wonder, if by simply being here, i’ve started one last jaunt down a dark and winding road.

everything i have said, everything i have done has been a lie.  just another attempt to make you believe that i am rock.  immovable.  fine.

but i am not.  i never have been.