I was sitting around being haunted by the war, battling my ghosts, when suddenly my love triangle erupted into acrimony. My love triangle consisted of a nice man, a tiny elderly man, and me.

My nice man was seen everywhere by everyone, especially at the end of terrible events like wars. And he looked deep into their eyes and said, “You must be contrite because your war was unjust. You were wicked. On the last day of the war, you executed three men who were against the war. They were good men. Now you must go in sackcloth and ashes. Let us bow our heads in honor of those three resistance fighters.”

Then my tiny elderly man appeared and said, “You, sir, are a very nice person, but you yourself were present as a judge and as a public prosecutor and helped condemn those three men to death. You are guilty too.”
And my nice man replied, “What’s that?
And my tiny elderly man thought for a moment and said, “I don’t remember.”

My yearning for these men was something I hid from. Unsuccessfully, for I followed them everywhere, trying to hide from my yearning while they talked of systematic guilt and cruelty and forgetting. I tried to give others what I didn’t get from them, but it didn’t work out. I tried so hard to conform to the situations into which I was forced through my love for these men. Now I know that something is missing. It could be love. It could be connection. It could be meaning. Why? It could be that I too am taking part in the dirty work.

No more love triangles from now on. . . . so help me. . . . ah well.


About judyjablow123

In my youth I was a world class tournament golfer. I earned an MA in history at NYU, after which I knew I had had enough of academia. I have remained a student of history. I have a strongly personal - almost entirely negative- take on the contemporary pharmaceutical and mental health industries. That was the impetus for my Bluepolar blog, which will also include stuff on sports, history and anything else that strikes my interest.
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