Epilogue

[Depression = 72% of members]

“L’ enfer, c’est les autres”

Camus

I’m finally liberated from the endless cacophonous dirge that accompanied my every waking moment since I left her.

In terms of munificence, it’s as miraculous as the feeding of the 5000.

As with all of you, my web of experience was easily outpaced by this wretched episode in my life. All of the familiar reference points that safeguard one’s passage through life were of little use, much like trying to safely navigate using a nautical chart without a datum.

It wasn’t a coincidence that there was a super abundance of vultures in the skies in the months leading up to my departure, as I truly couldn’t have found myself in a more putrid mess if I tried. Their presence didn’t add a great deal of cheer to the continuously leaden-grey skies.

Most of you old salts will already be familiar with the details of my cascading nexus of horrors, but any of you unfamiliar might have a chuckle reading about finding myself in a house with the largest forest fire in Nova Scotia’s history bearing down upon me; my former partner’s best friend crafting a cottage industry out of her claims of being the reincarnation of Queen Guinevere; being subjected to continuous harassment from our neighbours after moving 6000km to a rural location in Nova Scotia from British Columbia, etc.

It truly was an epic rib-tickling farce.

It was an overly optimistic assessment that leaving the situation would miraculously sweep all of my cares into a dustbin permanently.  What it did accomplish was ushering in a new set of horrors, most of which were internal. I’m here to confess that I came perilously close to not surviving the experience.

As for my former partner, in true BPD fashion, she is unrecognizable now. It later emerged that she began an affair three months before my departure, which fully accounts for her constant vigil on her phone, and six-hour visits with a local friend.

How unrecognizable? Whereas she shared my interests in classical music, the theatre, literature, and art, she now favours muscle cars, and atv riding; two things that she formerly abhorred.

My last words to her were, “Christ, I’ve had a bellyful of this sh*t.”Not said in anger, but in exasperation. It wouldn’t have mattered if I spoke to her in Aramaic at that point, as her BPD filter was set to femtometers, and she was looking at me like she was watching an old newsreel of one of Hitler’s speeches at Nuremberg.

My salvation arrived in June in the form of a job offer. A job in an industry with hurdles to accessing employment that are notoriously difficult to clear. I’m still in a bewildered state of disbelief, as the job will transform my life beyond all recognition.

Regarding this larger episode in my life, I consider myself no more than a survivor. In a world predicated on maximum entropy, I was the exception, and I count my blessings, as my outcome could easily have been catastrophic at any of the junctures I encountered. I mentioned this in my last post too: there is no tumultuous victory to celebrate, just a tragedy to be mourned for a while as the memory lapses slowly into a fume.

Along the way, I lost my reverence for life. There was a time not too long ago when I’d sit for hours by the sea, transfixed by the moon over the sea, and straining to catch all of its nuances as one strains in breathless anticipation over the Andante con moto movement in Schubert’s Piano Trio Op. 100.

The requiem dirge and circling vultures are slowly being replaced by Schubert and moonlight again.

[Augustine]

“L’ enfer, c’est les autres”

Camus

I’m finally liberated from the endless cacophonous dirge that accompanied my every waking moment since I left her.

In terms of munificence, it’s as miraculous as the feeding of the 5000.

As with all of you, my web of experience was easily outpaced by this wretched episode in my life. All of the familiar reference points that safeguard one’s passage through life were of little use, much like trying to safely navigate using a nautical chart without a datum.

It wasn’t a coincidence that there was a super abundance of vultures in the skies in the months leading up to my departure, as I truly couldn’t have found myself in a more putrid mess if I tried. Their presence didn’t add a great deal of cheer to the continuously leaden-grey skies.

Most of you old salts will already be familiar with the details of my cascading nexus of horrors, but any of you unfamiliar might have a chuckle reading about finding myself in a house with the largest forest fire in Nova Scotia’s history bearing down upon me; my former partner’s best friend crafting a cottage industry out of her claims of being the reincarnation of Queen Guinevere; being subjected to continuous harassment from our neighbours after moving 6000km to a rural location in Nova Scotia from British Columbia, etc.

It truly was an epic rib-tickling farce.

It was an overly optimistic assessment that leaving the situation would miraculously sweep all of my cares into a dustbin permanently.  What it did accomplish was ushering in a new set of horrors, most of which were internal. I’m here to confess that I came perilously close to not surviving the experience.

As for my former partner, in true BPD fashion, she is unrecognizable now. It later emerged that she began an affair three months before my departure, which fully accounts for her constant vigil on her phone, and six-hour visits with a local friend.

How unrecognizable? Whereas she shared my interests in classical music, the theatre, literature, and art, she now favours muscle cars, and atv riding; two things that she formerly abhorred.

My last words to her were, “Christ, I’ve had a bellyful of this sh*t.”Not said in anger, but in exasperation. It wouldn’t have mattered if I spoke to her in Aramaic at that point, as her BPD filter was set to femtometers, and she was looking at me like she was watching an old newsreel of one of Hitler’s speeches at Nuremberg.

My salvation arrived in June in the form of a job offer. A job in an industry with hurdles to accessing employment that are notoriously difficult to clear. I’m still in a bewildered state of disbelief, as the job will transform my life beyond all recognition.

Regarding this larger episode in my life, I consider myself no more than a survivor. In a world predicated on maximum entropy, I was the exception, and I count my blessings, as my outcome could easily have been catastrophic at any of the junctures I encountered. I mentioned this in my last post too: there is no tumultuous victory to celebrate, just a tragedy to be mourned for a while as the memory lapses slowly into a fume.

Along the way, I lost my reverence for life. There was a time not too long ago when I’d sit for hours by the sea, transfixed by the moon over the sea, and straining to catch all of its nuances as one strains in breathless anticipation over the Andante con moto movement in Schubert’s Piano Trio Op. 100.

The requiem dirge and circling vultures are slowly being replaced by Schubert and moonlight again.

[seekingtheway]

I have to admit, I had a glass of wine in my hand as I was reading your post... which felt fitting because your writing certainly does take me on a journey! I was hoping to do a big cheers by the end, but instead I did a silent salute towards the moon, which is shining brightly here tonight.

I'm glad things are moving on for you and that the new job will take you to a new important stage that will no doubt help with your recovery.

I identify with the dark days... but it's so great when you've got the knowledge that things always shift and change, and dark eventually transforms to light. If that's literally the only thing we know in this world, it's enough for our survival.

Good luck for the new job!

[EyesUp]

@Augustine,

Thank you for the Aramaic and femtometer references...  I don't often chuckle when reading these forums, but today was an exception.

Congratulations and best of luck re: the new direction.

[jaded7]

You are quite the writer Augustine! And congratulations on the new job. You are fellow traveler here with
all of us and it's so great you share your journey is such a literate way.

Fun fact, I've not seen the prefix 'femto-' since my friends had the brewing hobby going in grad school and
they decided they were too small to be called a microbrewery, so they were instead a femtobrewery.

This recovery process is indeed a journey, with twists and turns and a great deal of self-examination, because
after all it's us who got in the relationship, it's us who were presented with the abusive behavior and
confusion, and it's us who need to understand our deep attachment to our former partners.

Seekingtheway, I love the mental image of you enjoying some wine and toasting the moon and reading this post. That's a step outside yourself and your mind, and acknowledging something bigger and greater, it's nature and the natural world, which is healing.
step outside yourself and

[Augustine]

Thank you, everyone, for your warmth and kindness.

When I was in Nova Scotia, I truly felt menaced by the incessant presence of Vultures in the months leading up to my departure, and grew to loathe them, as I saw them as harbingers of evil.

Would it surprise you that my assessment was comically incorrect?

“Vultures are symbols of death, rebirth, purification, patience, protection, and new beginnings. Seeing a vulture is a sign to let go of the things that no longer serve you and embrace change. Vultures are considered a positive omen of new beginnings.”

When I left Nova Scotia, and returned to British Columbia, guess what was waiting for me in the driveway of my new home.

A Vulture’s wing feather.

[OKrunch]

beautifully written as always friend.

I had to laugh at the vulture references, I don't use social media much, but I had to repost something i saw the other day.

It was a drawing of Prometheus, tied to the boulder, as the vulture descends.....yet again.....to devour his liver. It was captioned "every day is a fresh start"

cheers friend, may the autumn wind bring peace and change to you.

[Augustine]

beautifully written as always friend.

I had to laugh at the vulture references, I don't use social media much, but I had to repost something i saw the other day.

It was a drawing of Prometheus, tied to the boulder, as the vulture descends.....yet again.....to devour his liver. It was captioned "every day is a fresh start"

cheers friend, may the autumn wind bring peace and change to you.

It’s a remarkable coincidence, as I was reading Melville’s Moby Dick, and came across this passage which exemplifies our struggles over the last year.

“ God help thee, old man, thy thoughts have created a creature in thee; and he whose intense thinking thus makes him a Prometheus; a vulture feeds upon that heart forever; the vulture the very creature he creates.”

Thank you for your generosity, and I’m grateful for your companionship through this intensely black period in my life.

Another happy coincidence is that we both seemed to have sloughed off our torments at about the same time.

Best of luck to you, my friend.