I have lived a fair amount of my life with the firm conviction that romantic love is a delusion. Its a futile hedge against our existential terror that is our own singularity. Then I met ….. and that forced me to reexamine those convictions. She of course, turned out to be …… . I feel liberated. I am, now and forever, post-love. And as such, I am free to pursue a life of meaning.
Little time is presented to sustain the elaborate ruse of marriage. An unnatural arrangement which forces its participants into an unhealthy monogamy. An accretion of petty fights and resentful compromises which, like Chinese water-torture, slowly transforms both parties into howling, neurotic versions of their former selves.
Friendship, as Ive come to understand it is most accurately defined as two people working towards the best aspects of one another, it is a relationship of mutual benefit and mutual gain.
My isolationist tendencies are decidedly not my best quality. I am not a better person for the lack of connection. If you must know, I have been feeling rather down lately, its the process of maintaining my sobriety. It repetitive and relentless and above its tedious. I have accepted the advice bestowed upon me and committed myself. Now two years in I find myself asking…”is this it?”. Sobriety is simply a grind, a leaky faucet that requires constant maintenance and in return offers only not to drip. I am alive, I have solid reliable friends and I have my work, I have told myself this so many times that is now has no meaning. To relapse is usually a ginormous anti-climax. Surrender to insistent drip drip drip of existence.
Ive often wonder if I should’ve be born in a another time. Ahem, sorry, my name is Nic Shonfeld and I’m an addict. “hi nic”. My senses are…, well one could say, unnaturally keen. And ours is an era of distraction. It’s a punishing drumbeat of constant input. This cacophony which follows us into our homes and into our beds and seeps into our souls, for want of a better word. For a long time there was only one poultice for my raw nerve endings, and was, er, copious drug use. So in my less productive moments I am given wonder… if i’d been be born when it was a little quieter out there,… would I have even become an addict in the first place? Might I have been more focussed? A more fully realised person? I want some of the wonders of modernity…just before everything got amplified.
So, tell me, is it truly possible to know another person? Is it even a worthwhile pursuit? YOUR’S is the opinion that I trust and is the only point of view that holds even the faintest of any interest
”i think its sad nobody knows you, and that you have given up, I think you have a lot to offer the world if you started believing in yourself again”
I am not cut out from the world, I am engaged in creating one that is actually worth living in. One that addresses my needs entirely and eliminates everything extraneous.