Notes To Myself -- Thursday, March 07, 2019

I would rather do anything than write this, and so, I need to write this.

Last night I walked to the university in Ottawa where my sister does graduate work, to return a pair of books that she had found for me through interlibrary loan.

With the cold March wind at my back, I walked along the Rideau Canal, where my last girlfriend had loved to skate; I walked past the National Arts Centre, where we had gone to concerts; past a museum where we had spent a wonderful afternoon, past her second-favourite vegetarian restaurant, past what had once been the organic food market where I had helped her to shop. None of these locations altered my mood, because in our few years together, we had biked and walked all over this town and throughout my own section of Québec. No matter where I go, no matter what I do, I find myself immersed in memories of her, and of what we shared.

In the past, I have lived with chronic physical pain -- not for too long, thank goodness -- but for six years, now, I have lived with chronic emotional pain. People in pain learn to compensate by limping in unusual ways, by not moving in rhythms that other people take for granted, by adopting patterns of life and outlook that other people might find limiting. We do this to survive, and after a while, survival methods become a habit that can be hard to explain. There is no question that people consider me odd.

"Time heals all wounds," people say, and in the long term of decades, this might be true. In six years, however, my pain has become worse. Nothing helps. I surround myself with beauty, with books and art and music. I bike like a maniac in spring, summer, and fall. I write books that few people read, and a blog that nobody reads. I do my best to keep busy, but nothing helps.

Decades ago, a woman who taught me yoga suggested that I take muscle-relaxant pills for just one week. Why? She wanted me to feel what it was like to be relaxed. Once I knew how it felt to feel normal, I would never again tolerate my usual symptoms of tension.

I never did take the pills. But decades later, I found myself happy in a relationship, happy in ways that I had never been before, and have never been since.

Having been happy, I now find it hard to carry the weight of my normal unhappiness. And so I limp in unusual ways, and people consider me odd.