Welcome to my blog, where I write about all manner of things... 

the watch

Its funny, the things that haunt you and weigh you down. I have a watch, titanium frame with a leather strap, that sits in a small leather box on my desk in my bedroom. It is a lovely watch, hardly used, superb quality, excellent name.

I can't wear it. I struggle to look at it, let alone hold it.

It was an anniversary present from a friend to her husband before he died, and she asked, as a memorial to him, that I have it and wear it, because he was my friend too. There is a lot to regret about his death, not least that I wish I had been there for him, for both of them, before it happened but I wasn't and I still  don't know how to deal with that. I am not sure I will ever know how to deal with it. I failed badly and I feel it every moment of every day.

I can't wear the watch. I'm not worthy. I don't think I will ever be worthy enough, strong enough, forgiven enough to wear it. I can be pretty good at rationalising things, at separating myself from my problems to look at them as objectively as I can (if occasionally irrationally). Distance and boundaries and space. Liminality. Its what I do. But I can't do it with this. I don't know how to. I can't separate myself from this, from what I feel and what I think. I can't make the space and define the boundary.

There is this watch, in a box, sitting on the desk in my bedroom.

It is just an ordinary watch.

But the truth of it is that it isn't.

And it never will be.


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