It's been some kind of month for camp Durban. I recently came to a conclusion that I want to be checked out by the time I'm 35. And ever since I've come to that conclusion, things have been simple - and my life...simply simplified.
Oh, Jenny...
Truth, I haven't been drinking. Truth, I've been clean of everything lately, really, completely. And two weeks ago, I was on a flight from London to Tokyo because I'd never been, something in me thinking I had to see the lights and people of a country only defined by the perceptions in my mind. Like there was a craving inside of me - a void that the trip was supposed to fill. That's what I was doing on the plane. Since I've been sober, she's been on my mind, constantly. And it's been hurting, really fucking hurting and I know how easy it is to chase it away, I know ways, believe me, I know ways. But I've been sitting in it, feeling it, trying to work my way through it and the badness and I'm not going to say that anything I was doing was working, but I was in it and for the time being, that was good enough.
I was sleeping in super first class and was having this dream about her where realities reversed. She was still alive and existing in the world and the pictures of her death, of her blood spilled out on that white tile floor, and her pale, naked body and her cut wrists that I demanded to see because it's "what I was owed," because she was "mine and mine alone," was the dream. And maybe for the first time in my life, I felt truly happy - like I was going to get a second chance at it, this beautiful it, this beautiful girl that I had loved...
My eyes opened and truth rushed through and took hold of me. And it wasn't until that moment that I realized...I had loved her, absolutely. And now she was dead, and she cut her wrists not because of me...but maybe - and I was there close to the end, and I left, and then she did that to herself and she died.
I was awake but something was way fucking wrong...
I remember needing to stand, so I did. I remember needing to scream, so I did. I remember no longer being able to be on that plane, or seated, or still or silent. I remember the panic and fear in the other passenger's eyes. I remember no control and then a bump on my head and heat running down my forehead and off the bridge of my nose. Then I was on the ground, hands pinned behind my back and felt this cool, slow burn running through my veins. And the last thing I remember was the expression of this stout little Asian man in glasses. He pitied me. I wanted to die. I felt like he knew.
I woke up in jail, in Arakawa, had 14 stitches in my forehead and was released after the airline decided to not press charges. Apparently, one of their male stewards struck me in the head with an undisclosed blunt object and both parties agreed to part as amicably as possible. I was having a psychotic episode, yeah, but the attack was poor protocol on his part. The airline, which I can not mention, (but you can certainly narrow it down not only by carriers who offer that itinerary but also by the distinct few carriers who could satisfy my shameful Champagne tastes) has done a decent job keeping the incident under wraps, but sometimes if you Google, "Man Goes Berserk On Airplane From London to Tokyo," a story pops up. It was on YouTube for a day, for real. And it was fucking amazing. Keep it in caps, oddly, you'll have better luck.
That was two weeks ago.
People sometimes tell me I live an eventful life. And in the past, maybe that would have made everything worth while. Probably. I don't know what I feel. I'm just coasting, have been coasting for some time...and I can't stand it anymore.
Last week, after spending an entire week at the 4 Seasons in Tokyo, laying in bed watching American TV and crushing room service, I jumped a flight to Amalfi. It would be the first time I'd been back since everything went down. People told me about a small service that I didn't attend. Honestly, how could I have? And without me there, they let her ashes go into the Mediterranean.
I went back to the spot where we first became, thought back to the words she pulled out of me, that she was like nothing I'd ever known - and standing there, thinking back, I realized what I had meant.
The wind picked up and started to rush around me. I closed my eyes and imagined her ashes still floating. I imagined that maybe, maybe there was still part of her swirling in that wind, part of her that had all along been waiting for my return. I imagined her ash finding me and soaking through my skin and flowing through me and finding my heart and calming it and quieting it and telling it that everything was going to be alright. And forgiving. And for a second, it settled me, being there, paying tears to that coast that we owned, together, forever.
I looked over the edge of the cliff and thought about it, how easy it would be, to take that step. And it'd be something short of honesty to say that I don't dream of a day where that would be my reality, to really, truly toe the edge of that thing called clipping life. I fucking wish that was in me. It's not. Not like Jenny. Because I stood on that cliff and realized two things, that I hold no value on my life...and that I'll never be able to take her path. Because whatever hurt comes, I'll never be capable of that.
And something came over me. I felt fearless. I wanted to live, fucking live and be dead by 35. Easy. Simple.
It's funny the way people always talk about the dead. Because when we die, we all become heroes and saints and visionaries. And we all have these priceless smiles and flawless hearts.
Sure we do.
Jenny was totally fucked, she was, but that was her, and I don't know what that made or makes me...but it makes me something. And whatever that is, I'll take it. And when I close my eyes, I see her face in the way she came, and I could see everything she was - and I may never know another beauty like that, ever. Every day, the thought of it changes my life.
My goodbye came in the form of a hope that wherever she was, a part of her might feel the entirety of truth in me...and a scream, vibrating along and down the coast...
"I fucking love you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
...
Finally.
