Phone Conversations

I said something very mean to Mirela tonight. I was frustrated with editing and being swamped with work. There’s just so many things to do and not enough hours in the day to finish everything I desperately need to!

Yet there I was, just settled into the computer lab at SFU and ready to fine-tune my edits when she called. I’ve never liked talking over the phone. It think it’s a tedious task, especially if someone called only to chat – like Mirela often does. It’s not that I mind talking to her on the phone but that we always seem to be talking about the same things in each conversation. Always the usual, “why don’t you want to be with me?” or “are you going to be with me ever again?”, and I always give the same answers. Except maybe this time.

Perhaps I was still frustrated from editing or that talking to her on the phone gets me frustrated more than I’d like, I wasn’t very pleasant to talk to. Basically I insinuated that I wasn’t with her because of her illness; that I’m the most selfish and arrogant person in this world because I have a prejudice. She’s emotionally unstable (thus immature?) and has been battling her mental illness (or whatever baggage that has resurfaced), for some time now. But, as sad as it is to say this, I am relieved that I am not constantly helping her fight her battle.

On the other hand, I feel guilty for not caring or doing enough to help her. Guilty for not being there when she’s having panic attacks, or guilty for having a good night when she’s in the dumps. Why is it so hard for me to just care a bit more? Or have more time in my day so I can spend some with her? Why can’t I picture us together again? Why am I not giving her another chance to right all the wrongs she’s done?

There are so many more questions and not really any answers. It is quite the dilemma. I just really hope she’s courageous enough to walk out of the tunnel. Or at least have a couple more friends who are willing to help out -talk to her, keep her company, hang out and do things with her- because frankly, I can’t be 7 people all at once!

Nights like tonight when I know she’s crying herself to sleep, life is a gamble. I can’t stop thinking and worrying about her.

Fix You

Tears stream down your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down your face
And I…

Tears stream down your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down your face
And I…

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

I discovered a new me three years ago when I went away to work on a cruise ship for about 7 months. It was the single most rewarding journey I’ve ever undertaken so far in my life. It was also during that time I fell in love and found an appreciation for partnership in my personal life.

But love can be toxic and broken if it’s not coming from a healthy place. I wanted to fix that love for the sake of a stable and happy relationship. I wanted to be the handy-woman who is able to repair whatever was handed to her, even if it’s something intangible. I wanted to try, at least, because I believed that love could overcome all things, including the demons in your head.

The constant danger and threat? That desire and temptation to give in to the dark, even for a fraction of a second; that dip into the madness can be forever detrimental. It seems like I lost that love just seven months ago, but really it was already gone before we had met.

The other day I was dining by myself at one of my favourite and most frequented restaurants on Commercial Drive. A playlist comprised solely of Coldplay filled the silence. I was unaware that Fix You had come on, and I was equally surprised by myself when tears started to well up in my eyes. It hadn’t occurred to me that I knew the lyrics or the title of the song; I guess it’s one of those things that gets stuck in your head when you’ve heard it too many times.

I wasn’t sure why I had tears running down my face (ironically when they sang “Tears stream down your face”). Maybe it’s the reminder again that not everything is for us to fix or that if it’s even “fixable” that made me feel defeated and therefore sad. I was naive enough before to think that love can fix anything and everything.  However, I realize now that love is a responsibility and can become a burden at times: love is wonderful and exciting but all too overwhelming…

I was crying for all those gentle but lost souls that have touched lives but cannot save their own. I was reminded again that in a battle against depression or any sort of mental illness, you’re the only one up against yourself. No matter how much support and help is available to you, it’s almost always a lonely battle. I tried, but I couldn’t fix you.