When angels cry

There comes a time when even your strength is not enough. When whatever you do, everything falls apart around you, life, friends, job ... leaving you vulnerable and maybe subject to other's undesired attention.

The name of the game is Affective  Bipolar Disorder. And my SO is fighting this beast of a burden. It is a pain to see such a beautiful human being tried so much in the past, tortured now by a disorder which risks to bring her down. 

When I found out that her doctor decided to increase the medication after previously reducing them, I was upset. My SO broke down in tears and was distressed after two weeks of my absence, stress and other added effects that simply triggered this disorder anew. I didn't know how to answer at first but with the help of my SO's mother I found all the info I needed to understand why the medication is necessary and why the disorder is so vile and why it can crumble a person from within.

I don't know how to cope with all this situation, I feel overwhelmed and slowly eroded by her hyperactivity and rapid mood swings and lack of sleep thereof. And in this sensitive state, my SO understands why she needs the pills but some other times she perceives them as chemical threats to her dancing mind. A race of thoughts yearning to emerge and take shape in words and actions. 

Last night she slept for 4 or 5 hours and kept me and eventually her mother awake in an internal need to speak, to express herself and to dance. She paced between her room and her mothers incessantly looking to give sound to the voices in her mind. And here is my conundrum as my SO has a marvelous and beautiful mind! I want the voices in her head give her pause and let her rest and heal. I want to silence them one by one by one until my SO is her old self again and is happy and healthy. I want her to sleep and to rest properly and to understand that not all medication is bad and not all doctors are torturers.

Her mother has steeled herself against her daughter's verbal abuse when the mood swings hit, but I feel I should be there and reorient and mitigate all that towards myself mostly, so her mother can find a bit of breathing room for she needs it the most. I want to help her more but I feel powerless against such disorder.

There are few things I can do ... I can love her and support her and be there now, when she needs me the most. Hug her and kiss her softly and tell her I love her. I do love her with all my little heart and it hurts me to see her so. And this I do. I am there for her anytime and any day. I hug her when she feels the need to, I give her soft kisses that she loves and when she gets moody I give her a back rub to relax and comfort her. 

Doesn't always work but I am playing my part. The Leo's part, the defender of the meek and the protector of my SO. Hope that will be enough to see her through this and to see her old self again. 

I love you.

Of peace, Guild Wars 2 and miniature painting

Hello world !

The last two days were filled with a lot of activity  and a lot of fun. Although these "week-end" days were in the middle of the week, I got to fill them with something I didn't do quietly for quite some time.

Monday evening, I picked up A. along with some food-to-go from her mother, some acrylics and some lead miniatures. We spent the evening at my place with some sweets and fruits playing Guild Wars 2 and reading the rules of D&D from the Rules Compendium.

Tuesday we chilled most of the day. I got up early though, to go to work and participate in something they call "On-the-Job Training. A. slept until late doing some creative illustrating for work and playing Guild Wars 2. The rest of the day was dedicated to us chilling about, sleeping in the afternoon and then watching a movie (R.E.D. with Bruce Willis).

Wednesday, today, we slept until late, played a bit of Guild Wars 2, went shopping for food and started to paint the lead miniatures A. gave me as present for my birthday.

I am having the time of my life and even if tomorrow I start work early, I am glad that these days I got to do whatever I love doing with my special one A.

Blessed be!

Of her .. Memories of blue.

As I listen to this song, over and over again, memories of her fill my heart. Joy and sorrow join their hands in a dance of memories long turned to ashes Or are they?

I remember the first day we met. You were so chaste, so beautiful. A blonde, blue-eyed angel with a pair of strange glasses that made you look so sweet in my eyes. When we parted ways I even attempted to give you a kiss. You turned away quickly, taking advantage of the subway's sudden arrival.

The memories roll on with me inviting you and some common friends, to dinner. I got the wrong wine for some white sauce pasta, but you seemed to enjoy that particular vintage a bit too much. I remember you, getting pretty smashed after said dinner. Fun times must I add for you were smiling and uninhibited. I later found out that only alcohol seemed to unchain your true self: fiery, passionate.

For others around us you seemed bland and common. Yet I discovered what pyres burn inside your soul. I regret to this day that I have failed to teach you how to unleash yourself from the chains of routine and shyness. Fearful of God knows what, you accepted my invitation for a dessert with great reluctance, but driven by a feline curiosity, you came over to my place. You left frightened even more and you spoke to me no more for a while. And I grew impatient. Restless. Like a burning brand, you left your mark upon my heart, forever burning. I raged, I wept and then when silence reigned supreme, I accepted the fact that I had fallen for you. Of course you, spoke ill of me and my feelings until I took a cab in the middle of the night and showed up at your door.  I knew then as I know today that it was more than a simple desire that drove me. It was more than lust and red-blooded passion.

I felt for you as I will never again feel for someone else. I truly and deeply loved you. I still do. And as this song plays over and over and as my tears flow over my old keyboard at 3.50AM, it feel my heart beating broken. For that is what I have left after you were gone. A broken, shattered heart.  It hurts but I move on. And there are days like this when I remember the good times we had together. Times that will never come back and will remain dead in our memories, like ashes carried by an autumn wind.

Boys do not cry, love. But men learn to cry when they are alone. It is but appropriate to admit that, now that I do have a reason to cry for. Pain can be endured physically, it is true. Whatever pain I felt when you were gone, was different. It was like you tore my heart apart and threw it into a fire. As it was burning, so were my feelings for you turned to ash. It is then a good time to ask if I still feel something for you. If, when I see you down the street, does my heart remember the pain. I'd lie to tell you that I feel nothing. That the pain went away and I am perfect as the day before I fell for you.

It hurts, love. But in this pain I find solace with the thought that you are happy. I find peace knowing that you are loved and cared about. Or are you? Maybe someday you will call me, happily married with a great and fulfilling life ahead of you. Maybe that day will be the day when we will sit together at a cup of tea and speak of memories long gone and speak of things that ne'er shall be ... Maybe ...

For now, all I have are my memories of your candid smile, your blue eyes and your soft blonde hair in the summer's wind. I love you.

Adieu.

Am I really alone?

Sometimes I ask myself, while listening to whatever music I enjoy, how lonely am I really. Indeed I may be a little bitch and complain about many things ranging from lack of education, proper job and career to lack of money and wealth. But loneliness has nothing to do with the above.

So I ask myself again: how lonely am I really? And the answer is as simple as the question. I am not alone at all. I am alone only when I want to be alone but that is entirely other goose on another pond.
I have parents. Humanly imperfect but humanely loving. Without them and their experience, their help and their proper words at the right time, I would not be the man I am now. For which facts and deeds I am grateful to a degree. Not entirely, because then I wouldn't be able to throw my tantrums at them anymore and what good jolly fun would that be? And even in their absence, my parents are with me through the image I have projected about them as a child. An imperfect image but it is good enough when I want to be not alone.

I have relatives. Few, true, but they are there when I need them. They represent something for which I had and still have a great disdain: family. Do not get me wrong: family as a concept does not appeal to me; you know, father, mother, kids, happy family with a nice house in a residential area with quiet neighbors and all that jazz. My relatives represent something deeper: ties of blood. They are called family ties but I like to have that hubris and think of them as something special. It was the good influence of my cousins that got me a nice and cool haircut and convinced me to change my style. And everything went better than expected. The next moment, I bought a pair of glasses and a hat! And even my father stated that I have changed. Yea ... family can do that to you, in a good way.

Looking around me further, I see friends. Old friends, new friends, pals and drinking buddies. Old friends grow older and distant for they have plans and careers and even children. New friends are wise beyond their years and manage to pull my hide out of some nasty situations through good advice and patience. I am a difficult friend to maintain and even to speak to. I am quick to anger and to accuse but also I am quick to laugh and sing. Psychically unstable? No. It is just me. Yet I value all my friends, old and new. I can't say I respect them or they respect me. I place a too great value upon this word and whatever it represents. So I only say that me and my groups of friends, new and old, do get along well from time to time. Sometimes we argue, then we drink, other times we laugh and dance then drink again, so on and so forth.

Am I then alone? No. I would lie out of my ass to say that I am alone and morose. I would be undeserving of the few friends and the loving family I have. But then ... why do I feel so alone? So ... bored of what life is all about? Why do I walk inside my room small as it is and feel like a lion in a cage?
I play games but I do so out of boredom. I watch TV shows but I lose track of them pretty fast. I read blogs and articles, but I merely scroll and look at pretty pictures. I listen to music I used to listen but from 3200 files I play 4 or 5. On repeat. I even write for my D&D campaign setting but I haven't done so since last month! So what happens with me?

I am unloved. And I do not speak about my family's love or my friends affection and care. I speak of which, at my age, should be able to obtain or at least garner in some way. I speak about a woman's love. Indeed it sounds lame. I am twenty eight years old and unable to find myself a girl in this age of hyper speed and communication. Facebook, Twitter and all this social media and I can't seem to find that one girl that is able to look upon me and my being and not run away or throw up. Or both. Maybe love is overrated and I am looking for something that simply does not exist. Like the fabled Eldorado sought by the Spanish army, I am the fool that seeks love and finds it not. I may look in the wrong places. Maybe not Facebook, Twitter, Hi5 is the answer, but a personal approach but how am I suppose to know if the girl on the street I approach isn't already with someone else? That and the fact that I am not a very good risk taker might be an element too to this absence of feminine in my life.

Would a girl activate or tap me? I don't know. I need the right type of girl to do that. Someone who understands my current situation, understands my passion for games, understands my passion for romance and kisses and most important a girl that understands what feeds me, what propels me to the nine skies and makes me fly with passion and conviction. Someone optimistic enough to fuel me with her affection and optimism. But we all know that whatever I girl I crave for, exists in the arms of better men. Better peers that have boring jobs, wealthy careers or even a silver spoon in their mouth. A girl like the one I am looking for, would look upon me with contempt and disgust thus I should lower my standards. A lot! For the girl has to bee attractive too!

Dreams ....