"'yeah baby I need a man who can go
and if it's you, well you better come through, right about now
cause I need, I need a man who can go
and if it doesn't come true, well it's too bad for you
cause I know what you're gonna say
looking back to me, calling me
'the one that got away'"
[Lizband, "I Need a Man (Who Can Go)"]

I find it interesting, sometimes, to take a step outside of myself, and make note of my own behaviour as an objective observer might. If a psychologist knew of certain repetitious patterns of thought or feeling within me, what might they say? There are many things about me, things that go on inside my head, that even my closest friends might not know. I'm sure I've friends who probably know more than I realize, yes, but there's also certain things that, simply by virtue of having gone unsaid, probably remain a mystery. And there's some I find very telling.

Ask youreslf: how do you react when you're at your most desperate? What do you do in secrecy, to cope with your greatest fears or despairs?

Me? I feel an urge to pray, but my atheism doesn't dissipate, so instead it's mostly just wishing there was someone or something to pray to. I miss my mother. I kiss her ring and wonder if maybe somewhere, somehow, she is still conscious and aware of me, and sometimes say a little "if you're out there listening" kind of prayer.

And what does this say of me, or of humanity? I don't know. Does it say that my religious indoctrination runs so deep I'll never truly be free of it? Does it say that within every person exists a certain knowledge of something bigger, or perhaps just an irrepressible desire to believe in something bigger? And what does it say that I'm still willing to accept the possibility of an afterlife for my mother, yet steadfastedly denounce the existence of Jesus?

It's not always so penetrating or philosophical. Last night I had insomnia. I couldn't sleep, and I knew so long as I kept thinking about what I was thinking about (unemployment), I'd never drift away, just worry myself into a frenzy. So I needed to think about something else, to take my mind off it.

Whenever I need a distraction, I always turn to thoughts of sex. My lust is the only part of me powerful enough to fixate my mind, and sometimes it's not enough. But lying in bed, without anything at hand, I had to rely on memory or fantasy. I can go either way, from reminiscing encounters that did happen, to inventing ones that haven't.

Ask yourself: do you fantasize about ex-lovers, perhaps when you masturbate? Which ones do you chose? Is it always the same one, or the same few? Are there some that are never brought to mind? And what does that say of those sexual relationships? Did you not find it exciting or satisfying?

For me, there are some that frequently come to mind, others seldom, and some never. And I find the results interesting. One with whom I didn't have a particularly great relationship, and not even a very good sexual relationship, is one frequently recounted. I guess because there wasn't any lingering emotional attachment after, and because I don't expect to ever lay eyes on her again. Perhaps it makes it one of the "safest" or "simplest" to recall without fear of opening old wounds. Others are more obvious; they were more recent or more exciting.

And then there's my dark infection, hovering just beneath the skin. I call it that now because it's like a life-long ailment, borne of love lost. If I put on weight, the heartburn returns. If I don't sleep right, the back pain revisits. And if I'm feeling lonely because there's no romantic prospects in my life at the time, thoughts of her return, such as when I can't sleep, and I'm stressed, and I just want to feel comfortable enough to drift away, and so I fantasize not about sex, but about a time when I'd have fallen asleep with her in my arms. And my dark infection seldom varies; it's almost always the very same her.

And so I ask myself, what does this say about me? It says I've never truly gotten over her and never will. It says that as independant as I am, I still get lonely sometimes, and I still want someone to share the rest of my life with. It says that when I said I'd love her for the rest of my life, I was telling the truth, and not just a temporal truth, but an eternal truth. And that's the price you pay for true love - that dark infection that forever remains. And the cure? There is only one: to find true love again.