Disappointment

I went back through my old LiveJournal to see if I had anything there that would help unravel the whole past life thing.

No, I didn’t.

I found a couple of posts that reminded me of a detail I forgot, that York and Dover Castle had both been second choices; my first choices had been Iona Abbey (Scotland) and Calais, respectively, which makes me question my interpretation of those stops in the context of Count William’s life.

On the other hand, what I didn’t post was more remarkable.  I didn’t talk much about my emotional landscape except how lonely I was.  At the time, I was 19-20 years old and so fixated on sorting out my sexual orientation and getting a long-term partner that I pretty much excluded everything else for the most part.  Even when I traveled, I was preoccupied with trying to get friends to join me (they never did).

There were so many things- big and small- that were going on in my life that just weren’t there.  I didn’t talk about my forays into theology, though the LGBT-affirming Bible study I co-authored is still around online.  I didn’t talk about many of the things I bought while I was in London.  I didn’t talk about the strange way every English town made me feel, or certain details or items from Victorian/Edwardian times made me feel.

The only lasting proof I had any of this on my mind is in the photographs I took, the sorts of details I captured that showed what I wanted my own personal vision of England to look like.  Only there do I see a place very much like the England I left behind in 1915.

I just wish I’d been able to listen to my own mind and heart instead of being a soppy co-dependent mess who felt like I needed to be in a relationship to be happy.  Being in a relationship doesn’t fix that sense of emptiness; I know, I’ve been in one for eleven years.  I had to spend much of that time focusing largely on myself so that I’d be in a suitable psychological condition to keep that relationship.

I was so confused, so stunted, so immature.  It’s no wonder any memories of past lives lurked below the surface and never rose into conscious thought; I was living in my own world and that world consisted largely of the men (and women) I tried dating unsuccessfully.

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