Hmmmn, that might be a place, described more as a place for the mentally ill, if I had my "druthers" but who am I to say?
I mean, if someone has no remorse, do they fully understand? They don't understand. But I can understand also why some would prefer that there be a place for "those people" to cry the river, the ocean of tears that others cry.
But, again, most of us will suffer mental illness or know someone who is suffering at some times in our lives. It is a subject close to us, one which we live with, one which we read about, one which sometimes terrifies us and often angers us and with out a doubt confuses us.
I can become mentally ill over the idea of cutting short a fantastic date with my boyfriend because some young (is he even 18, hard to believe!) man who moved in downstairs called the police on us last night. We were listening to some music cds I had bought at a local hangout recently, and he was playing his guitar along. He had had a whisky or two. I don't drink these days. We were dancing together and singing and laughing....I had bought a huge bouquet of flowers for myself because I've recently been ill, and it cheered me up. The apartment was full of life and energy and love.
When the policeman stopped by (about 11:00) we were beginning to wrap it up, or start it up, whichever you prefer. "Is there a problem?" I asked. "I got a complaint about some noise.....I don't hear anything." He left.
Unfortunately, then my boyfriend also felt compelled to GO HOME. His place is so full of artwork and books and music there is literally room for one person to lie down. Nix the idea of me staying there, ever.
I am capable of being very cool when I'm distraught. I was distraught. I am still distraught.
Do you know how long, with illnesses, age, work, art, friends, life, tragedy, etc etc etc inserting their huge footprints into our lives, it takes to find the perfect moments with the love of your life?
We were literally dancing and he was singing in my ear. It wasn't an unpleasant cop.
But, who is to blame here, really? Who should feel sorry? There is no tragedy here, in the minds of anyone but me.
But it's enough to wish there was a hell...for little whiny college students who can't handle the sound of two middle aged lovers connecting by the grace of God. On a Saturday night for God's sake.
I could write him a letter and explain how it took me 25 years to find this man again. I could explain that I'm new to this "living alone" stuff after a 15 year marriage and divorce. I could explain that he's the only one who's ever made me happy.
But how is an 18 year old going to understand?
See what I mean about mental illness? Oh, well, that's life.
love, blink