Carrion Comfort

Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist – slack they may be – these last strands of man
In me or, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.

I studied those words of Gerard Manley Hopkins in high school and wonder now what sense I could have made of them then. How, protected from any of life’s arrows, I could have grasped anything of the anguish and triumph in those words.

Will you indulge me in a little paraphrasing …?

To give in to despair is an empty comfort, like feasting on a rotting corpse. I will not accept that option. Even though I am hanging on to whatever it means to be human by no more than an unravelling thread, I WILL NOT let go. I will not say “I can’t go on”. I can go on. I can at least take one more step forward. I can last the night and hope for a better day ahead. I will not give up.

Even though my marriage has ended as roadkill, the fly-blown carcass of my dreams will not define who I am or dictate what I will do next.

The concept of Despair has captured my interest ever since reading the words of Stephen Donaldson, in a commentary on his own “Chronicles of Thomas Covenant” novels – “In reality as in dreams, what matters is the answer we find in our hearts to the test of Despite.” I wish I could write a book that expounds on that brief sentence, but in the end it would be a dry discourse that did no more than point to the astounding insights in the parable Donaldson has already written. In the series of novels, virtually every character faces Despite – despair personified – in their own way, whether it be giving up, maintaining an allegiance to some law or vow, fighting to the death, or sacrificing themselves. I am forced to ask myself how I will deal with Despite.

“Despair”, said someone to me, “is a Western luxury.” Can’t recall if they were African or perhaps South American, but the point was that in their context, there is no option but to struggle, to live, to continue. One cannot collapse in self-pity because it would achieve nothing. In a Xhosa song I wish I had the lyrics for, the guiding theme is that no matter what befalls us, we will walk, we will walk, and we will keep walking.

— Nat

The desire to be known

I have a ridiculous, never-ending whining in my ear, constantly reminding me that something is not right. It cannot be shared with anyone else and no-one but my doctor would want to know about it anyway. The doctor says there is no apparent cause and no remedy.

Whenever I am not active, the wish for someone to hug, like the incessant whining in my ear, invades my consciousness. I am alone in both maddening experiences.

I love so much the feeling of being known. Of not needing to hide. But who wants to know me? Maybe just my mum and God. Why did I marry someone who is the opposite, who wishes for privacy and felt the constant need to protect herself from me rather than open herself to me? And now she’s off on her own journey, no longer even wanting the façade of travelling together.

Regardless of supportive friends, I am totally alone in the ways that are most important to me. Not least of which is the wish that someone was interested in me sexually. I don’t mean someone interested in having sex with me – though that is also an ever-present wish. I mean someone who would actually like to understand how I experience and express sexuality in the broader sense. A female who enjoys my masculinity and who appreciates my converse interest. Someone with whom to discuss desire and with whom to explore passion and pleasure.

At the moment I am neutered sexually, forcing myself to be celibate. Forcing myself to endure alone-ness, hidden-ness, and this ridiculous, never-ending whining in my ear, constantly reminding me that something is not right.

— Nat