Bokeh

In photography, trends come and go. When I was still taking photos, I was taught to have the sun behind me, but that causes some problems for the subject. If the subject is people, often they are squinting into the sun. If you can place them in the shade, then you have harsh shadows. If the day is overcast, then that produces other problems. A recent trend is to shoot into the sun, often with it producing a flare behind the subject, illuminating them from behind. That's all well and good, but often the subject is partially hidden by shadows and partially blown out by bright light. And then there is bokeh, the near-circles that splatter the photo, which is how the lens shows things that are out of focus, which is a pretty cool effect. As with everything, too much of a good thing can sometimes be a bad thing. 

This is where I point out the similarity with my life. Much of my life has been — though lived fully — out of focus. It's there. I know I experienced it. But I cannot access or retrieve it. If my life was a photograph, that part would be blown out or in the shadows. 

Extreme trauma has the ability to split a person's personality. The parts of me that are hidden are still there. I just can't get to them. When I try, all hell breaks loose. Many of my memories are hidden and locked away. I experienced certain things, yet I have no conscious memory. Dissociation is a game we all play, but for people like me, I must dissociate to keep living. Unfortunately, I lose parts of myself that way. Sometimes that's the price we pay for what most people call sanity.

Much of my life is like this. It feels like it was erased, but because I experienced it, I know my brain still has it ... somewhere. It just won't let me go there. That's how it is with the girl I fell in love with. She told me many things we did years ago. I have no memory of them. It must have been something I had to lock away in order to forget. So I "forgot" those things, but I could never forget her. I thought of her often over the years and hoped she was well. Whatever happened between us was impossible for me to deal with given the tools I had at the time. What I saw as rejection from Cindy (she broke off our relationship to be with the man who chose her, the man she eventually married) propelled me into a drastic series of very bad decisions from which I never recovered. And that was nearly 25 years ago. I can still remember hanging up with her from a phonecall and telling myself, "I think that will be the last time I talk from her." I was clearly either in love or falling in love with her at the time. I definitely did not want to lose her, yet I did. This process repeated itself in every relationship. Apparently, I am very bad at relationships. I'm curious how she got over me — and so quickly — back then and the second time, too. Perhaps I can do the same thing. But that's comparing apples to oranges. Getting over me is not the same as getting over her.

Will there be another woman in my life? Perhaps. Maybe just the nurse at my deathbed who asks if I need anything. My heart still loves that girl it was falling for 25 years ago. She is the last woman I will ever love. If the first time I had to bury huge parts of myself, including my memories, in order to carry on, can you imagine what the second time I lost her did to me? There is no recovering from that. I have nothing in my heart but love and tenderness for her. Love is always a gamble. Sometimes you lose. Sometimes you lose big. Sometimes you have to live with that the rest of your life. But at least you gave it a shot. 

Knowing I will never again feel a woman's skin on mine is an odd thing. But it's better that way. I get sick when I think of being with any other woman. My hands are guided by my heart. How could they embrace someone I don't love? Some things are worse than not having the girl you want, such as having the girl you don't want. Some may say I just need to focus on getting over her, maybe get some therapy. But if I didn't get over her the first time, the odds are much worse I'll get over her the second time. No, this is how my life has been and will be.

The Song of Solomon says love is as strong as death. I always wondered about that. Now I understand it is true. Of course, the author is talking about God's love, not mine. But no one but me knows the depth to which I let that woman in, how I opened every door to her, gave her every key, and kept nothing secret. Love gives of itself completely. And that is what I did. I kept nothing back. All these years I thought I wasn't capable of loving like that, but it turns out I was missing something, and that was her.

Thank you for reading, and God bless.

A note: I've had a lot of trouble with Blogger (what I use to write what you're reading) lately. It won't post. It won't post right. It won't format like it's supposed to. It has never been a good platform, but it's free and is fairly useful. I originally posted this Wednesday, but it never showed up. Not only that, but the legacy interface will be phased out in August, so I'll have to learn the new interface (it sucks so far). Perhaps Blogger decided to crap out like everything else this year.