I have had a lot of messages from you. Many asking about me and my wife. It's ok, I don't mind talking about it. It's all I ever seem to talk about anyway. The story goes like this...
I first met Niamh when I was about 18 or 19, she was everything I wasn't. At least outwardly. In those days I had a really decent raincoat that I'd nicked off some pissed bloke on a night out. She complemented me on it just as it started to rain thereby ensuring I'd do the gentlemanly thing and let her borrow it. That was the last time I ever wore my raincoat. It looked better on Niamh anyway.
I remember when we bought a typewriter with the money we'd saved from doing whatever it was we did for money back then. We had just been to the cinema and seen a double bill of film noir classics. We were walking past a charity shop and they had one going cheap in the window. It needed a new ribbon but we could just about afford it. She bought me a hat too so that I could look like a detective. We used to stay up for hours just having snappy noir conversations and typing them onto the paper. "We'll make a film one day" she said.
We were married not long after. And with the typwriter being about the only thing we owned we settled down onto the floor of our house together. Money was tight but we kept ourselves amused with our noir fantasies and eventually my dad gave us his record player. We dreamed of dancing around the tiny bare floors of our house in time to the music in one long embrace.
We rarely had time for friends but we didn't need them whilst we had each other. It was around this time we both started to drink heavily. Eventually the drink started to turn things sour and we'd argue, Niamh would storm out and I'd just drink some more until we woke in each others arms blissfully unaware of the evenings animosity.
And then one day I just wanted the drinking to stop.
Niamh didn't and I quickly began to relate to her less and less and sought more selfish vices in the form of Anna. For the record, looking back I never was even close to loving Anna but at the time she seemed like the ray of light. I can't remember how long our sordid affair lasted but suddenly she tired of me and I began to see how much Niamh needed me.
So I started drinking again.
Niamh and I were briefly back to our old ways and old passions and although the guilt of Anna was always in my mind I knew that telling Niamh would only make things worse. Eventually we began to ween each other away from alcohol and were greeted with the blessed news of a baby on the way.
I still don't know who told Niamh about Anna, all I remember is the horrible, haunting silence. Our house was never silent, there was always a well worn LP spinning loudly or someone speaking quickly about "the train, damn it! She's on the train". This day there was no noise.
I found her slumped over the bath surrounded by vomit, gin and a bottle of sleeping tablets. She left no note but she'd scribbled the name Anna all over.
So I drink to be close to her again, the music doesn't stop and I still act out our movie - line by line.
So tell me dear readers - do any of you think that you have destroyed someone you love/once loved?
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17 comments:
I think thats a cheap question. Fair enough to tell your story, but a one-line question at the end certainly wouldn't get me leaking all my gruesome guilt all over the place.
It's not particularly a question I want answering. It was more of an ask yourself now so you don't do what I did. Where do you go if you don't believe that there is a Jesus to forgive you?
It must be noted as well that Niamh and I both suffered from mild mental disorders and that she (and indeed I) had self harmed before. It is easier to destroy someone that is mentally fragile.
what pills did she take?
Presumably sleeping pills as she was on them at the time.
why do you write here?
I write here to make sure that I don't lose my thoughts. I write here as a way of dealing with the serious problems in my life. I feel that if I put it on the internet then it isn't true, that I can say "Bollocks, you can't believe anything on the internet".
It's not much different to a diary or writing on scraps of paper, or even my beloved typewriter. Perhaps I am looking for the redemption that can only come from perfect strangers. Why do you write on here?
Someone made me a theoretical argument on their blog, I resented that (very deep down), and wanted to make myself real here.
Plus, I'm scared of not existing, and this has a false permanence about it.
Niamh always used to say that people only exist in the hearts of others, once the ones you love are gone you cease to be.
I think she was right. I don't feel like I exist.
What was the theoretical argument about?
Well I'm currently finding that you don't know if you are in the hearts of others. Best to try not to bother them and do the existing yourself.
The theoretical argument ...
http://nmrboy.blogspot.com/2005/05/on-fidelity.html
Are you unsure of whether you in are in the hearts of anyone or just specifics? Because if it is specifics and you aren't sure then they probably aren't worth it.
Hmm I'm not sure I like the argument I must say and I can see why you got annoyed about it. All in all it does seem like our protagonist is weaving a complex snare trap.
Did you prove you were a better person than them?
I can never be sure that I am in anyones heart. Even if I ask directly all that can be sure is that they have said that I am.
Who was the snare for?
How would I prove I was a better person than them?
Is your blog not a barbed comeback [on at least some level] to Mr Nmr Boy?
No it's not. I did want him to read it, but if he hadn't I would have written the blog anyway. I just didn't like the idea of being a picture on the internet, or a number of remarks for that matter. I wanted people (who were interested) to know what i do and think (like a real girl).
Did he read it? If so what did he think?
I think he reads it most days.
Well then I suppose you have, in part, proved your point.
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