Saturday 18 June 2016

Young monsters

Deb,

How are you? It has been awhile since we last talked. A year? Maybe a little more. I'm writing to you at the end of what has turned out to be an eventful couple of weeks. I guess what happened was I went for my annual checkup and my doctor basically handed me a death sentence. In one sickening thunderclap of realisation, you are forced to shed the protective lie we all tell ourselves since the day we are born. Or at least since the word 'death' comes to exist in our vocabularies. The lie that we will go on and on and on forever. The fact that the clock has been ticking down since the very beginning.

I went through all the usual emotions. I say 'usual' but there is nothing usual about that experience. I started thinking about my life, what I had done with my time, what I had failed to do. Of course, when your standing on the edge of the proverbial precipice, it seemed like your time has gone by very quickly. Anyway, I got some counselling which seemed pointless and didn't seem to help at all. Every shred of advice that came out of my empathetic councillor's mouth I could only think, that's 'nice but when I die, you are going keep on living. You will still exist in the comfortable lie that makes life sane. You will still be sitting in this office. And I'll be gone.'

And that will be it.

I made a mental list of the different ways to take myself out of the picture. You know? By my own hand. The impact from a high fall? An overdose of medication? Kicking over a chair to dance on the end of the belt? Asphyxiation from car exhaust? Swan dive into an oncoming train at Central Station? I didn't want to do any of these things. One day I quit my job and I drove out to the Heads. I suppose I was tired of the waiting. I just wanted to step over the edge. I parked and got out. I left my keys on the drivers seat. There was no point in making it hard for the police. I guess I must've been lingering there on the edge for quite awhile because this old guy who lives there ambled across the road and ask me what I was doing. He knew why people lingered there. After so many years of living on the edge of a cliff, a prominent suicide spot, of course, he would have a pretty good idea about the difference between a tourist and a jumper. Anyway, I talk to him for a little while then I just got back in my car and left. Apparently I'm just not the type to off myself.

And then, the very next day, 9 am, I got an urgent phone call, followed by an SMS, followed by an email. There had been a mistake at the pathology lab. A fucking mistake. A typo on a lab sticker. In actual fact, I wasn't going to die. In actual fact and statistically speaking, the way I have been living over the last couple of years what with all the exercise and eating well and reduced toxins...and considering my family history, there was a good chance I am going to live to a ripe old age.

Do you know what I learnt about myself during those seven days with that death sentence hanging over my head? I learnt that I'd made a big mistake. A colossal mistake. And that mistake was you. Specifically not saying anything when you got married to Philip. I had a chance. I had an opportunity and I could have said something. I should have at least introduced the idea into your thinking that you and I need to be together.

Deb, we have a history together. More than most people. I don't think we really gave each other a chance to see what our relationship would be like when we weren't using or under the influence. Philip was your doorway into the grown-up, responsible world, I remember you said that to me. Well, I want to tell you something now. I've been sober for five years. I keep it to myself because I don't wanna get preachy about it. Being sober is about denying the addict part of my ego which led me into such self-destructive way of living. Now, if someone wants to sit next to me and have a glass of wine that's their business. I honestly don't care. For me, the only option is hard sobriety. No dabbling on the weekends. No chemical rewards. Those days are completely over. It took me a long time to realise this but I understand what I need to do now. And I remember you expressed doubts over the validity of our relationship, saying we spent the majority of our time together high or drunk. I would ask you to think back before all that bullshit happened. We were kids once. We loved each other. Remember? Remember the pure joy of being each other's company? Remember what it was like to spend the entire day doing nothing but screwing and talking? How good that used to be? From your crown down to the soles of your feet, I still remember every inch of your body. I can still reach out and touch it. In my mind I can draw a line with my fingertip down your rib cage, falling down the contour of your hip, down the slight dome of your belly, down, down your inner thigh and find the softness of your pussy. I still have this tactile and visual memory in my mind. I had it when I was standing on the edge of the cliff the day before the good news came. In my mind, your body is a sacred topography. A vessel made all the more lovelier because it contains you. Your voice, your thinking mind, your love.   

Despite some of my behaviour, and the fact that I couldn't accept the changes you made in your life back then, you and I have maintained contact over the years and I can't help but wonder if this is not an ongoing indication of your feeling towards me? I don't want to say who, but several people have told me your marriage is in turmoil and that you're not happy. I have heard things about Philip. From my own experience, I can only read between the lines in your emails because you've never said anything directly to me. These concerned people who have told me about your marriage being on the rocks...I trust their opinions. They have shed light on some of the things you've been going through recently.

I guess what I'm saying is, I have finally caught up with you. Maybe 'grown-up' is the correct phrase? Anyway, what I'm asking you to do is leave Philip who I know does not try to make you happy anymore. Come and live with me for a while. A month. A year. Let's see if the old feelings are still there. Please Deb. I know they are. I'm telling you this because, in those seven days, I sorted my life into categories: the happiest times, the mediocre times, and the worst times. The regrets and victories. And our relationship, even during the worst of times, was the best thing that ever happened to me. By a long shot. I knew that I had made a ridiculous mistake not fighting for your love. I know this is an unexpected thing to come your way at this point in our lives but make no mistake....I am being sincere. In the same way I was completely foolish to let you go, I think you would be equally foolish to remain in a relationship with Philip. It must be obvious to you that I don't have a high opinion of him as a man. I am convinced that whatever we have been through on our recent separate paths in this life, in one form or another, the bond linking us has remained intact. Tell me I'm wrong and I'll drop the matter. I know now that life is finite and it can be taken away from you in an instant. I ask you to consider all I have said in this letter. Let's try again Deb. We can take up where we left off. If you need further confirmation of my sobriety my sponsor's name is Anthony Willcock. He has helped turn my life around. I will include his contact information.

With the deepest respect and love,

Malcome.

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