I called out to the Holy One to know if I should give those two stories to the pretty lady. He said No, do not do it. I called out again and something said it would be OK to show her, since she was accustomed to me now. Yesterday I presented her with the one story I had confidence in. Today she has a cloud over her face. No apology will fetch back those smiles.
Linda’s good graces are hereby revoked from my good pleasure. No refund is possible. I specifically inquired of the Almighty, and He said No in my heart. I have done more than violate Linda’s good faith, I have sinned against Almighty God. I’ll need to go to Him in prayer and ask for His forgiveness. Have no idea what to do about Linda.
I feel as though something has died by my hand. My heart is remarkably heavy for the loss. Something new and beautiful between Linda and I, has been violated, and I’m not even certain what it was. I know she got her feelings hurt, but I don’t understand how or why. I only gave her one more story, but the Lord my God told me No, do not give it.
I gave it anyway.
Linda turns out to be a sensitive, fragile person.
Exactly what have I done, besides transgress of the word of the Lord, or is that the sum and total of my offense? It matters to me to know. I want to know, like a dog returning to his vomit, looking for something meaningful in something which has no meaning, other than the one given. Come on, Linda was really responding to me, and now it looks like her feels are dead.
I see it in the way she behaves.
I’m writing her first name now, unlike all of the earlier times I’ve referred to Linda, as a she and a her. I figure there’s no more point in being covert about her name now, as long as I don’t write both of them out. I want to leave a footprint in what I’m doing, to remind myself of what I’ve done, and it’s cataclysmic results, of what and whom I have offended.
You may do me the privilege of believing this or not, it’s your choice. My reality is a very thin thread, stretched tightly throughout my very tentative perceptions and choices. I live on a fine line of occurrences and fantasies, struggling to live in this very nebulous, intangible world of mine. I was reduced to this position a life ago, by something more powerful than I am.
I’m not quite certain what the identity of such a power is called.
You see, I struggle to know what is real every other moment. I must make choices within this distorted set of perceptions of mine, with little information about what is real to others. This is not the case with the proliferating of a couple of stories I’ve written recently. I had specific instructions from my Higher Power to file both stories away, not publishing either one.
I proudly published both stories, not withholding either one, because I believe them significant.
Being proud of my workmanship, I passed the stories around to certain lady-friends of mine, making a hard copy a gift, ignorant of their effect. From the responses of one of the people I see on a daily basis, it’s obvious that one of the forbidden stories has dealt a definite unkindness I did not intend. I suspect the same result with one of my most important internet friends.
I should have known, and was warned specifically by the Almighty, but wouldn’t listen, in advance, that passing around these stories would be hurtful of people I care about. Apparently, these stories are offensive, but this idea is something, was something I did not comprehend. I plead stupidity. My perception was that these stories were milestones of accomplishment for me.
I was wrong.
It cost me two friends.
The idea is devastating to me of course.
I’m catastrophizing, because one of the ladies was in an introspective mood all day, and when I had heard from the other, she was in a different state of mind than what I expected altogether. She was jubilant. I should treat myself better than this, particularly in regards to the ladies. I’m likely to find both ladies pleasantly disposed toward me, regarding the way I write.
My moods are contingent on my unstable emotions, not on anyone else’s reality. It’s a part of the pathology I have to live with daily. This is the reason I choose to keep more calm and self-assured in the face of “rejection” as I perceive it, and resort instead, to do some soul-searching in my text editor: some more journaling than I ever resorted to in the past.
What I’m doing here is some sort of crisis intervention. I must say the tactic is effective, and I find myself feeling much better by evening, by a process I’ve just now laid out to my reader as we speak. In the past what happened was that I would get myself all worked up, and make absurd threats in an ER that I never intended to carry out in the first place.
In the past, I’d find myself psychiatrically hospitalized on false premises, making assumptions the way I just did here. I’d put put my whole life on hold over a feeling I had, if not walk away from everything and everybody altogether. I’d base the whole ruse on an idea that I had been rejected, as I’ve described here, and proceed to gain nothing from a hospitalization.
The whole thing amounts to trying to stabilize my emotions, as I should have been doing at home. It would have been more comfortable, if not more cost effective. Early on, those hospitalizations happen to be attempts to get sober, but I’d forget the intent, finding myself on a ward with home boys.
If I managed to articulate the intent to get sober, we could have cut to the chase right there.
Sobriety has been an issue in my life which could not surface for a long time.
The one friend who spoke to me today, was delighted with my writing, in contrast to all I assumed. All I can say about the other is that today seemed like an off-day for the young lady, not at all a clear catastrophe for me. Honestly, I have no idea what she thought about the story, and to be fair to her, for a change, I think I’ll let her tell me what she thinks, instead of assuming.
I’ll stop jumping to conclusions, as I’ve habitually done, and give her the benefit of the doubt.