A shrill ringing cut through the air, forcing the Other to relinquish his (it’s) control.
Out of time.
A lucky escape.
What the fuck am I doing?
I stepped back, removing my hands from his throat like I’d just been burnt.
As with a rising sense of horror and panic, I found myself existing again.
There were people all around us, how could they not have seen, not have understood?
Without a word, the Other’s intended victim walked away.
did he not see the danger in me?
This time it was not a game.
I wasn’t there.
And they meant to kill.
As the world carried on oblivious, I remained routed to the spot, as I fought to contain the waves of emotion that threatened to overwhelm me.
As the students around me wandered off to their respective classes, as I should have been too, I knew I had mere moments to make a choice, one that would undoubtedly alter the course of my life.
My first thought was that I should tell someone about this. I had no idea if the Other would return for round two.
That first thought was dismissed almost before it had even finished forming.
conscience subdued by self preservation.
Truth be told I was afraid.
Afraid of not being believed, even more than being labelled mad by those around me.
So I forced the feelings away, I needed to be calm, needed to be rational.
I needed to carry on like everyone else, like nothing happened, like it was just a couple of teenagers arsing about, like a part of me hadn’t been hell bent on strangling someone.
And that’s exactly what I did.
It has been several years since that day, the Other hasn’t yet tried anything like that again, I’m hoping it stays that way. I’d like to say it’s gone, but who knows? Sometimes when I’m approaching the edge of sleep, I swear I here his (it’s) voice, in the back of my mind.
I wonder just where I’d be now if that day, I’d instead found the courage to do what I suspect many will feel was the morally correct choice and admitted to the experience, instead of leaving it to fester.
The first response of most people when confronted with the kind of rain that bounces off the pavement, would sensibly decide to stay indoors, maybe with a nice cup of tea.
Is strait out with the dog.
As we ventured out into the downpour, I started to question my sanity.
However, once the tree line we had been walking along ended, revealing a single sphere of the setting sun piercing through the clouds and reflecting off the surface of the pond we were now walking parallel to, I decided it really didn’t matter.
I could have stayed there for hours.
Beautiful is a word I very rarely use, however, it is for moments like this I reserve it, and even then, I don’t think it’s enough.
The rain hammered down harder.
Neither of us seemed to mind.
Standing there, just me and the dog, and the sound of the rain, and the rushing water from the beck nearby, and the calls from the ducks in the rushes, with the solitary heron, the cold feeling of water running down my back, dripping from my eyelashes. With the sent of earth and foliage and water, with the setting sun and the dark clouds, I was struck with a feeling of wonder I don’t often experience.
I am not a religious person.
I do not do gods or spirituality.
But it is in these moments that I find peace.
Its interesting how memories can be triggered from seemingly unrelated sources.
Case in point, it was in coming across this post
and the subsequent reflections on my own experiences with, and attitudes towards failure that caused the memory of this particular event to surface.
There were two young Blackbirds who’d found their way out of the nest before they were quite ready..
I removed the first quite literally from the jaws of one of my dogs, it was unharmed. After some poking around the nest was located to which the first was returned.
And now the predatory instincts of my dog were awake and ready.
It was his behaviour that gave away the second, it was in the focus and intensity of his movements that let me know there was another.
He flushed it from some bushes, it escaped under a hedge, I moved infront of him, dropping down to peer under the hedge, to see if I could make a grab for it.
In the spirit of cooperative hunting, my dog located another gap in the shrubs and stalked into position, almost parallel to me, angled slightly towards my location, crouched low, presumably waiting for me to drive the bird into his path.
Of course, that was not my intention.
But in the end it was the bird who sealed its own fate.
A single squeal
And then silence
In trying to avoid me, it placed itself in the path of the dog.
I’d wanted to save it, to give it a chance of living, or to die naturally. In the context, I didn’t feel death by domestic pet, could be considered natural. A belief I extend to peoples pet cats.
You would think I would be sad, possibly even a little angry.
It was instant acceptance.
I did not succeed.
Very well then.
Let it go.
You could almost say there was a dismissive quality to it, perhaps born from a life where accepting and learning from failure was a skill acquired early.
About a week or so later, the surviving one successfully flew the nest.
For those who require a happy ending, there you go.
About 2-3 weeks ago I was traveling on a bus, the destination wasn’t to familiar to me, so I was trying to keep my mind on the journey, but as per usual it kept wandering off into the realms of fantasy and general introspection.
Apparently another part of my mind thought this just wouldn’t do.
Enter the 10th Doctor
Ok, ok, so it wasn’t exactly David Tennant, just incase there are any jealous Doctor Who fans considering hunting me down, but the voice was very Scottish and well, male, two things I most certainly am not… Unless I’ve gotten the erge to talk to myself in different accents again, in which case the former is a distinct possibility.
Anyway, Mr. Scottish took to prompting me to pay attention to where I, or should that be we? Were going. After some time, in which I resisted asking someone if we were near our destination, on account of the fact I thought the Scottishness was going to come out, we, I? disembarked at the right stop, and he, disappeared back from wents he came.
I’m not sure what it says about me, that at no point did I find this little episode anything other than intriguing. After all, its not like it is a regular occurance and when it’s happened before, it hasn’t been pleasant, but that’s a post for another time.
Perhaps I’m finally coming to accept these little eccentricities of mine.
That’s a nice thought.
I’ve always had a fascination with animals, dogs have always had a particularly strong hold over me, I can do and feel with them, things I will not or cannot for members of my own species.
However, today it seems to have finally dawned on me that my at times unpredictable moods are working their way into my relationship with them.
That is unacceptable.
I do not like it.
They deserve better.
For them I can cry, love and just feel.
I refuse to lose that part of me to.
Where have all my emotions gone?
They won’t come out to play.
Not grief, or joy, or love,
They’ve all but gone away.
I struggle with emotions, this is not a new thing, looking back it started early on though I note that thought and behaviour patterns of the sort appeared around the age of 9. At around that age I started to reject physical contact with people, hugs from family etc. I distinctly remember telling myself that I wasn’t going to display such weakness. To this day I’ve no idea where the attitude came from, only that it did, and still is a part of me.
As a teenager friends thought it was a bit odd, they’d try hugging me just to see what reaction they’d get, they gave up when they realized that their repeted attempts had done nothing other than to desensitise me to the contact. Awkwardness gave way to indifference, a running theme in my life. This isn’t to say I’m completely void, more like the range is limited, expression is dulled, accept for random periods of quite intense mood, the cause of which is often unknown.
I cannot sympathize.
I can empathize on a cognitive level, but 99% of the time, I seem to lack the emotional element that is apparently supposed to tell me I should care about the understanding.
I tell myself I should care, but telling myself doesn’t make it happen, so I try to fake it… And fail spectacularly.
I sometimes have to remind myself that other people are actually affected by things such as family, relatives dying. Grief is a foreign concept for me.
I’m sure that another aspect to all of this, is the fact that consciously or not, I try to remain somewhat detached from people, a source of internal conflict.
On the one hand, there’s the part of me that believes that there is something not quite right with me and wants to change, fix it, and on the other hand, there’s the part of me that is quite happy the way it is, nothing is wrong, nothing needs fixing.
Maybe one day I’ll work it out, I’m trying.
I didn’t have a plan for a first post, however, out of all the things I’ve contemplated to kick start this blog of mine, venting my frustration on the attitudes of those around me to my relationship status (or lack there of) wasn’t even on the list. But alas, here we are.
Where to start?
How about with those favourite of lines “just wait until you find mr/mrs right ” or, “don’t worry, you’ll find the right person one day”. This usually comes after I’ve just stated I’m happy with my single status, honestly, you’d think they weren’t listening.
Quite literally my last response to one of those lines was “not everybody’s life aspirations includes getting married and having fucking kids”, to which they appeared suitably cowed. That particular person was a repeat offender, and frankly I’d just had it.
I like solitude, actually no, I need solitude, otherwise I just can’t deal with people effectively.
I am not you, just because you prefer the company of another, doesn’t mean I do or should. Just because you can’t handle being alone, doesn’t mean I can’t either.
It might not be your choice, that doesn’t make it wrong, seriously, get over yourselves.
I shall return to this subject when I’m feeling more reflective.