Friday, 10 August 2012

Back again

It is not fair but I am angry with Virgil.

I leave and when I get home send an email explaining that I will no longer prioritise seeing him at weekends. Virgil goes out with Sarah while I work on Saturday nights. But when asked I tell people that I already have plans for the weekend. Only being available during the week is a city phenomenon. It hints at exciting weekends planned well in advance with A-list weekend friends. The truth is more mundane: cinema, meals, nights in and early to sleep. I am unhappy with my social life. I am jealous of Virgil and Sarah. Although I miss Virgil terribly, most of the time, I have to start doing more things on my own.

Lunch with my mum today goes well until the end when she asks me how things are with Virgil. 'Really fucking difficult,' I manage angrily with eyes that are suddenly full of tears. 'Now isn't a good time to be making decisions. I have to remain agnostic but I don't know if we can make each other happy. Sometimes it feels like the end times.'

Nobody can save you from yourself. This is what I have been thinking. By October I shall be back in my own apartment where I lived before I met Virgil. It will have taken me five months, since the explosion in May, to get there, just to get back to the place I was when I met him.

In my twenties I tried giving everything up for a while. I travelled without a plan for several years, hoping that I would find one. I didn't and eventually I had to stop. I realised later that you can travel around the world but you are always yourself. The next thing I gave up was my job. I trained for a career in something someone else suggested I do. It hasn't been a success. You have to find your own answers to the questions life asks. Most recently I have tried to change by falling in love, as though loving Virgil would solve all my own deficiencies and lack of answers. Predictably this hasn't been a great success either. I am crawling back to an apartment I thought I would never live in again, grateful for the security of this imperfect bolt-hole and wondering whether anything has really changed.  

It was very unfair on Virgil to hope that loving him was going to fix my life. I didn't realise at first what an awful burden that is to put on someone and also how impossible a task it is. To his credit and my chagrin, he has refused to be responsible for that. Loving him has changed my life but it hasn't fixed it. I have a sense of circularity and yet another painful lesson learned.

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