An Unmarked Grave

It is true that I struggle with Bipolar Disorder, but some depression can be separated out into that purely environmental in nature.  I wake to sleep and I live to march toward my unmarked grave.  It is not lost on me that I am an abrasive and destructive individual and that my prospects for any meaningful relationship are slim.  I may have once been married, but it failed miserably due to the mismatch of expectations held by both parties.  Now that I know my inner workings and that I am honest, I know the challenge that faces me.  Unwilling to learn how to fake what I cannot feel, I realize that the types of relationships that would work for both myself and another are slim.  It is a damning realization.

The overwhelming majority of people on this earth want to feel loved.  There is something about the perception of another’s selfless bond that keeps relationships together and adds color to what would be a monochrome existence.  I cannot provide such and I cannot fake such.  I do not love nor do I suppose that I want to be loved.  I yearn for a symbiotic existence with another in which we enjoy each other’s company and bodies but we do not pretend that any connection exists between the brains.  I’m of the age where there are few people available to begin with as most have started families and those that are left are often broken in some unknown way.  I’m not thrilled about picking through driftwood and chaff to find someone I could tolerate and someone that could tolerate me.  Tolerate.  Heh, it sounds so romantic doesn’t it?

This is not a post for pity, but merely the realization that the underbelly of the human existence has its price.  I almost manage a chuckle as I think about the stilted conversation that could lead to such a relationship that I envision?  Money?  Health?  Similar Interests?  There would be no mention of the “L word” though, as any relationship with me could not survive if either party expected such from the other.  My family will soon die off and my former acquaintances are no more.  My social orbit decays and I realize that the future will be unpleasant.  I suppose that is my fate, a solitary life with an equally solitary and unremarkable death.

Parrot
Meltdown

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