The first two weeks of July passed uneventful
I was reading more and more
and I finally left my job
Several things happened the following week
one night I was feeling the haze particularly strong
and I decided it was enough, enough
and I wrote again to my twin flame a mail called Breaking the goddamn pattern
I want to write but I’m sleepy and can’t think clearly.
I feel a mingle of fury and peacefulness, which is quite unnerving. I would like to tell you go fuck yourself and end it there.
I would like just to look into your eyes, without speaking, like in *****.
Having to bear all this fierceness in me is too much of a burden. Take some please.
I’m fed up of always living in the past or in the future, never in the now. Fed up of repeating the same patterns over and over and over. Fed up of not having the energy to do the things that are good for me. Fed up of gliding aimlessly through hours and days. Fed up of waiting for you to write me spontaneously. Fed up of not being able to write. Fed up of feeling so damned empty. Fed up of everything.
Sometimes I briefly contemplate oblivion.
Even this mail is part of this pattern I want to break down. I don’t need to say any of it. It’s all worthless, worthless chatter on paper.
Go to hell…. my love. That’s how confusedly I feel right now.
Tell me anything, everything of you. Or not.
Send me some of your earliest writings, if you still have them.
The next morning she replied to me with a long letter
she told me that she was in Crete with her sister and they were strolling in the street and each coffee place and pub insisted that they go in
and suddenly she had this voice within her screaming enough, enough, enough and she shouted at the umpteenth and unfortunate man who proposed his services
she told me she had enough of that holiday, she had enjoyed the nature, the beautiful landscapes, the slow old fashioned way of living
but it was so tiring to be a tourist
and she encouraged me to write, telling me that nothing was holding me anymore but myself
The same day I had sort of a revelation about the world around which my novels would revolve
And suddenly all my creative flow returned
And for five days in a row I wrote whole chunks of world building
Already two months before, my twin had told me several times to question the haze
she had insisted I did not simply hate it, but sought to understand it
she had told me a great novella lied in learning to control my mind to keep the haze away
And that was the starting point of my inspiration
I decided to write about a world that resembled ours, which societies that resemble those that cohabit on Earth, as well as more advanced civilizations and more ancient ones
A world that resembles ours but gathering all what existed from past, present and future
And around that world existed a membrane of haze, thicker in some places, thinner in others
And other worlds existed beneath that rational world, other worlds that I coined Shallow, Middle and Deep Hazen
Hazens do not function as the Earth works, the physical laws are not the same and can greatly vary
and there magic of the mind and magic of the heart is possible
Everything, the rational worlds and hazens are shaped by the beliefs of the people living there
people living in Hazen are more or less conscious of those living on Earth, depending of the societies they live in, their qualifications and how much their magic is developed, and their level of wisdom
and there are some gates between worlds, some souls who live in the rational world but belong in reality to Hazen and follow a slow self-discovery journey
and there are places in this world that can be hazened, and places in other worlds that are unhazening
I was in a flow of ideas, and I shared them with my twin
She replied the same day, telling me it was endless for her
After her Greek vacations she needed to go on camp in Pas-de-Calais that same weekend and she didn’t feel at all like going
and wondered why in the hell she had decided to go
Sunday was a strange day for me
After waking up early I decided to go on a long excursion following the course of a river to places I had never reached
I spent four hours outdoors between jogging and walking and felt proud of myself and full with the beautiful landscapes I had seen
but as I came back home my energy level drastically fell
and I didn’t even have the energy to refrain myself from opening the fetish videos and masturbating in front of them
but afterwards I felt guilty and angry
and I wrote her a mail called Deadening emotions
Forgive me of doing over and over and over what I know is not good for me.
Watching videos and reading stories during hours to try to fulfill my endless physical cravings.
Entirely taken by the delight of the moment, unable to stop.
Then, afterwards, being invaded by guilt and disgust.
About having wasted so many good hours of the day, about being so tired and uninspired, about having my eyes burning so much.
Swearing to myself never ever to do it again.
Unable to pardon myself, unable to live in the now because of all the time I’ve wasted.
Just to repeat the pattern the next day or the next week or the next month, over and over, over and over.
I have come to accept sexuality as part of my nature.
Yet, what is wrong is that I use these moments in which my fetish awakens for oblivion.
I use them to artificially focus on the present during one hour, or two or three and forget about all my other anguishes.
These anguishes that overwhelm you and spill in me.
Because right now I have very little anguishes of my own.
I feel anguished.
Often, I now manage to recognize that I am feeling anguished, that I should do something about it. I try to focus on the anguish, to understand it. I try to gather it in a bundle and throw it away, throw it away at you, preventing it from overflowing in me.
But sometimes it is a struggle that will not leave me of the day and the night.
It manifests in different ways. An emptiness. A knot in the belly. An anger. A sadness. All together mixed.
They come in easier when I can’t write, when I don’t have this fierceness about me.
And suddenly there seems to be a solution that will deaden, yes deaden, this anguish during several hours. A solution that promises to fill me in when I am so empty and aimless.
I try to resist, but it is almost useless. Rare are the times I successfully resisted.
Sometimes I did resist.
But the anguish would stick to me all day long, until I surrendered.
And so I deaden my anguishes, I deaden your emotions.
I’ve done that since I was ten or close to that age, I can’t recall exactly.
Every night before sleeping, I chased away insomnia by telling myself stories about my fetish.
Every time I felt empty or anguished and had access to a computer, I used and abused of that liberty.
Is it the divorce memory that I’ve buried in a black hole, that I block still?
Two months before she had already admitted, agreed that our emotions were somehow related
and that I was taking over some of the emotions she didn’t want to live
and at the time she had written me with fierceness to give her back all what belonged to her, because only in this way she’d be able to make the right choices in her life, and perhaps surprise me with her courage
she had also told me to stop trying to control her
The same evening after receiving Deadening emotions I felt a warmth spreading in my left arm
I didn’t dare to hope, but she had written me when I opened again my computer
It was a long letter again telling me she had started crying while watching a movie
she had spent a struggled day like mine, divided between the desire to write and draw and create, and loss of time
she was frustrated with herself, frustrated with me, but she recognized she couldn’t blame me more than she blamed herself
crying had emptied another little bag of sadness under her heart and she told me that hopefully after that night her body would be truly reawakened to emotions and she wouldn’t fall again in how she was before
she told me that all her life she had sought for the figure of a boyfriend, but perhaps what she truly looked for was a hug from her mother
and she ended the letter by telling me
I love you, my dear, weird twin
and asking me to give her love to Chantal too
It was the first time she told me she loved me
I had suspected it at times
But it was strange hearing her saying it, writing it
and she told me to write and write and write
whatever happened, however I felt
telling me that sometimes the greatest of pieces
were born in the most troubled hearts
“Lune vaporeuse” and “Paon” are two drawings by Chantal Peguiron
You can continue your reading with the next chapter, Rediscovering Drawing