Conversing with the Frenemy

UNMASKING Entry #10

Yesterday I started writing a piece titled This Life is a Love Letter. It started out positive and life-affirming, but at some point - I’m not quite sure when or why - my energy dipped and my writing took a turn. Suddenly I was describing an emptiness overtaking me. Sometimes that’s how it is. The dark clouds gather quickly and smother you before you realize what’s happened.

These days, I’m trying to focus more on discipline and consistency rather than the quality of my writing. So forgive me, if some of these posts start to read more like a teenage girl’s angsty diary than the polished poems or essays of an adult who’s got her shit together. 

Depression is a thief. Doesn’t matter how much you think you’ve healed over the years, how much experience and wisdom you’ve gained, what kind of reputation or esteem you’ve built for yourself. Depression simply says, “So what? You’ve somehow managed to fool them all, even fool yourself for a bit, but I’m still here with a timely reality check. You have no idea what the fuck you’re doing, or who you even are.”

Not true, asshole. I am Love. I am Love. I am Love. I am…

Oh, stop chanting that mantra like a little child trying to ward off the devil. I’m no devil; I’m you. A part of you. Clearly, a part you haven’t healed because otherwise, how could I even be here?

I don’t know. Are you a part of me? Or just a chemical imbalance? Or a reaction to how fucked up the world is right now? Are you the emptiness inside? Or a reminder to rest, be silent, and take care of myself? I can’t decide if you’re some kind of saviour or my arch enemy?

I can be whatever you want me to be, baby. But for now, I am the keeper of your life force. You say I’m a thief, I rob you of your desire, your delight. But maybe I’m just protecting it. Putting it away under lock and key, ready to return it when you’ve been a good girl.

Good girl? What the fuck? Don’t perpetuate some kind of master-slave dynamic. This isn’t Stockholm Syndrome and I’m clearly not your submissive. 

But “surrender” is one of your favorite words, is it not?

To God! To the Divine. Surrender to Love, not you. Never you. I was wrong. You’re not a saviour. That’s just you playing tricks with my mind. You’re the thief of my mental sanity, my clarity of thought. Stop taking more and more things away from me!

I only have as much strength as you give me. If I’m in your head, you can easily stop thinking about me, and I’ll no longer have the power to take anything from you. But clearly, you’re obsessed with me. Every time you’re alone for too long, every time you’re reminded of your lack, you latch on to me for dear life. It’s because you know I’ll always be there for you.

(Looking away) Why can’t I stop thinking about him? He’s right. If I take away his power, he won’t have any. So then, why do I keep giving that power away? Why do I struggle so much with power in the first place? What does it mean to be a powerful woman in today’s world? I’m sure it’s different for different people, but what does it mean to me? I don’t think I’ve ever met another woman and thought - her! That’s who I want to be! Crafting an identity from scratch feels Herculean. Is it even possible? Maybe I only turn to him when it all feels impossible?

I’m always here for you, and you know that. I’m neither evil nor angelic. I’m just here. Unlike everybody else in your life, who comes and goes at will. I am here. And you only come to me when you want me. If i wasn’t there, there’d only be emptiness.

(Shuddering) The emptiness feels like a fate worse than death. Maybe he IS better than nothing. He is something to hold on to. An identity based on lack when I can no longer fathom the abundance. I know there is abundance all around me; sometimes I feel it and it is overwhelming; other times, I view it with awe from afar. But now, right now, it’s like a distant dream. There’s a veil that’s been thrown in between. Do I lift the veil? Or does he? Do I surrender to the Divine’s timeline of healing, or do I resist it, try to rush it, squirm and struggle just because that feels like action? Or do I simply sit still? 

Do you really think you only have these two choices? Be creative, for fuck’s sake.

Creative? How can I fight you with creativity when you’ve locked up my life force? 

Alright, discipline then. Consistency. Those are the two qualities you were exalting earlier.

Discipline, yes. To show up. And keep showing up. To affirm, I’m here. Life force or not, even if I’m a shell or a shadow, I’m still here. That is perhaps all I can handle. Sometimes more than I can handle. But I’m here, in this moment. I can’t say how, or why, or what the fuck is my purpose. All I know is, I’m here. Talking to a figment of my imagination. A wounded part of myself. A chemical imbalance. A reflection of all that’s missing within me. With some hope that there is more. I will create it, but also, it already exists. Even if I can’t feel it right now, I know it’s there, on the other side of this veil. 

What is?

Love. So much love. And wherever there is love, there is never any lack. So you and I, my friend, will then be parting ways.

Oh, so now I’m your friend?

Well, you’ve listened to me all this time. I’ll at least give you that. I still can’t figure out how to feel about you. Maybe, if I just love you…wherever there is love, there is never any lack…I wonder…what do you think? Are you ready for some bear hugs? Goth poems about falling in love with my darkness? Submitting at the altar of some masculine, shadowy stranger? Ugh, I do love to eroticize everything, don’t I? But my sexual energy is steeped in my life force, which, if I remember correctly, you had said you’d locked up? So how will I do that?…Hello? Are you there? Are you even listening? 

Silence