I could not see at the time how I had alienated my daughter. I was too far lost in what I considered my poetic memory, though now it seems more like a perturbed detachment, thinking longing thoughts, of Parnassus, and of my Muse.
If my loneliness was consuming me, the only adversary threatening its displacement was my anger. And as longing may begin broad and its focus becomes narrowed on the specifics of our lacking, anger is the inverse of this. But that may have been a trait specific to my circumstances. I had known my enemy from the beginning; I could’ve found out his name without much effort, but as is often the case, paranoia came in quickly to “check” (to use its own word) my ambitions so they would not betray me.
I knew, and I say “knew” only to signify the surety I held on my belief and not to emphasize any validity that it may have had, how easily my questioning could have been mistaken for an obsession that may have threatened both my professional career and my personal reputation.
Soren became increasingly intolerable to me during this time. There is no doubt in me now that he was attempting to console what in me he could, but pain and fury brings us to speak another language than those around us. Everything begins to take on obscure inflection and hidden meanings. I alone knew the truth in what they were saying, and in what they had conveniently chosen to keep to themselves. I knew that they would never know what was happening inside me, who ever could? It was my burden to bear and the futile offerings of my friends hit me like an insult to my strength. I knew that I was alone.