Everybody Thinks You're Crazy (2)

I have to add this as a companion piece to the last post.

My friends cite their overwhelming concern for me as a motivation for their badgering me. Because they don't like seeing me "like this." They forget that there were only a few times when I was "like this." That maybe there's an overwhelming reason why I'm moping like an idiot.

I'm not always like this. And I'll come out of it when I'm damn good and ready to.

Everybody Thinks You're Crazy

They do think I'm crazy. My friends, gentle readers. It's not the first time and it certainly won't be the last. Normally I wouldn't mind. "Crazy" is usually a badge of pride. Means forward-thinking, off-center in a cool way. It's just that right now their definition of "crazy" is the kind of crazy that, if knocked up a couple of notches, gets people locked up and on medication for depression.

It's because they see me "suffering" and "miserable," hung up on a girl who-- for one reason or another-- will never return my affection. Dex has fallen and fallen hard and is therefore on his usual trainwreck ride to his special hell. He must therefore be saved from himself, barring having him committed, by means of friendly if exasperated and angry unsolicited advice. Really, it's the Angelica Wars all over again.

Quite a few of them forget that years ago they were also moon-eyed over an uncooperative someone or other. How hard was it to convince them that they had to just let the matter drop and move on like they want me to? It was like wringing blood from a stone, to listen to the accounts of others who tried vainly to dissuade them.

Okay, what's my point? My point is that people deal on different levels, in different ways. And most times, simply telling them what ought to be done hardens them to the idea of it. Some people learn their lessons the hard way. Often the people who are in these messes are so mired that they cannot simply disengage even if they wanted to. What they need is for their friends to be with them whatever happens.

They never got that one reason why the Angelica Wars lasted six whole years was that everyone I'd talked to was doing my thinking for me. Dex, do this. Dex, do that. I just needed time to process my own thoughts, to know that whatever my choices, I would still be able to return to the safe harbor of their regard.

I remember promising only that to two friends of mine playing a courtship tug-of-war. Guy loved girl. Girl didn't like the idea. Guy talked to me. Girl talked to me. I could not take sides (but I was secretly rooting for the guy). I only did three things--

1. I listened.
2. I wished for each of them the best, praying for each as he or she asked.
3. I told each of them I would still be a friend regardless of what happened.

Guy won girl.

So how can this same guy tell me to quit when he didn't? I could have told him the same thing years ago when the girl was giving him a tour of the special hell. No guarantee I'd get the same result of course, but I have to see it through on my own.

There are no words more foul to someone who's had to turn the other cheek on issues important to him when he finally decides he wants something bad enough to take a stand, than the words "move on." He knows why he may have to, but the point is he doesn't want to have to. Not until he's fully convinced himself that the effort is futile. Eventually if the effort is futile, he'll come to accept the need to walk away from a bad situation. But he has to come to it on his own terms or his decision will always feel tainted. He'll never know any peace.

Heresy

I can barely remember happy.
I'm used to these trysts being
exercises in futility, excuses
to burn me at the stake
for the heresy of loving you.
Half the time you didn't even
show for these witch trials.
Nevertheless your perpetual crowd
would dunk my heart in water,
gleefully waiting for it to float
so they could shoot at it
with rumor and innuendo
to assure themselves
that all was right with the world.

I can barely remember happy.
Happy was long talks, long walks with you;
Happy was midnight taxi rides in your arms;
Happy was kissing your hand good night;
Happy was putting a blanket over you;
Happy was falling in love with you
When loving you didn't have a name.
Happy was half a year ago.

Now-- another tryst I'm not
so sure you'll come to.
Another witch trial with
all the motions mapped out;
Likely the same tired verdict.
If the charge is still heresy,
I'm pleading guilty to save you time.

But maybe this time it won't be bad,
won't end with a charred corpse,
won't end with a heart full of holes.
Maybe you'll actually get it--

that the world is really round;
and that I'm in love with you;
and that maybe,
just maybe (heresy!)
it's not such a bad thing.