It’s a sad and strange day when your realize you’ve been removed from someone’s life altogether. This reality has hit hard, like the rubber end of a No. 2 pencil hitting the page and erasing my name from the header, leaving nothing but the subject and the date. I’d like to say it doesn’t bother me at all. Well, 98% of the time I think I’ve talked myself into being OK with everything but then there’s the 2% of the time where I feel some semblance of anger in my chest about the whole thing. At those times it almost seems wrong to just have been made to feel like YOU are the only one who has been erased from reality.
I know this because my friends know this. My roommates are currently dating girls who apparently keep in close contact with this eraser of lives, this denier of existence. And so it feels almost as if I have landed in an alternate dimension when I somehow find out that they’re still in contact with this person. It makes me wonder just why I keep finding this stuff out because I have yet to go out of my way to find this person in every social networking utility on the internet. Is God trying to tell me something, am I being screwed with by the enemy or am I just being screwed with?
I’ve prayed about this situation and I’ve thought about it some but I try my best not to let it pervade my thought processes. Especially since there is absolutely nothing I can do in this situation but sit on my butt, wait, maybe read a book or something. But that just doesn’t make sense to me. Life, minus a few minor setbacks, has been pretty good and I’ve learned a lot about myself and what I’m capable of in really good ways. God has been good despite the troubles and I’m trying really hard to let this stay in his hands as much as I want to be the petulant child who tears it out of his hands and says, “No thanks, I got this.”
Sometimes this whole situation makes me think of the movie “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”. The premise revolves around a company called Lacuna, Inc. that specializes in erasing memories of specific people completely out of someone’s memory. Sometime I feel like this is me. Very rarely do I entertain the thought of going through such a process. Think about it for a second. I’ve always said that I would never want to change anything in my past but there are those instances where I could have spared myself the pain that I endured. But pain makes us stronger, doesn’t it?
I use to hang out with a lot of people who have had piercings or tattoos and most of them multiple times. Almost any of them would tell you they’re able to do such things because they have a high pain tolerance. Some people have a natural pain tolerance and I would count myself among them or so I thought until my gallbladder decided to rebel. I was near tears. It’s similar with emotional pain. But I’ve had to build up a tolerance to that I think. To say that life has handed me more than a fair share of that would be an understatement, at least I think so and others have intimated. But I’ve found that, with God, prayer and good friends, surviving such things have become exponentially easier to handle. And that’s saying a lot, I think, considering my Bipolar II disorder.
Sidenote: I had someone tell me the other day that they wish they could have my mind because of my marginal capacity to write. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
Just so you know, this is part of that 2% where things are not settled well in my head about all of this. Writing offers some catharsis in these situations and so I’m feeling some of the pressure released. But now I hear the calling of my bed and the hopefulness of sleep…
Took out your pencil and paper
wrote my name, subject and date
in the top right hand corner of the page
And you thought it would stay there.
I was foolish enough to think that,
yeah, so did I.
But things didn’t work out that way,
you flipped that No. 2 pencil ’round
and put it to work
where my name is
brushing away and blowing away the shavings
leaving nothing but the ghost of a grey smudge
and maybe a little
memory of my name
but the subject is still there as far as I know
and the date
well, it never really mattered then
why should it matter now
but that space has been left vacant
and for a while I wished that it was still mine
But if you brought that pencil
anywhere near that page now with
intentions of pencilling me in somewhere
well, the lead would break against the irony
of course because this happened more than
don’t you get tired of repeating yourself?
We all want to be known
and my name at the top of that page
would certainly mean that but
Now, I’m not so sure that’s a good place to be
or even something I’d remotely want.
I’d forgiven you your past and transgressions
but that doesn’t mean I want things to
be the way they were.
Let’s not try to rewrite history, backward
But maybe write things forward
If we rewrite things at all, no matter the direction.