Moving, flowing, stagnating…decaying…

Now what?  Will the stench of my battered and beaten soul carry over?  Will the people here smell it as easily as the people there seemed to?  Will the breakdown of the very fiber of my being, atom by atom, continue here to break down?

Woke up this morning to thoughts of him, resentfully wondering when will the first day in six years that I do not think even once of him? …not remember some cruelty, or worse yet some ancient loving kindness which should by now be so stale and moldy that I’m not at all tempted to revisit a site or feeling so ancient its very authenticity should now be questioned…because it’s validity has been so thoroughly contaminated by age and drenched in poisonous toxins of regular cruelty…  When?

…can people smell the decay of a rotting heart, the bloody and beaten spirit from 2,000 miles away from the scene of the crime? And four years after the initial deadly stab?  All the countless following merely a swift revival of that heart, just to rip its tenderly mended pieces apart yet again?  Does mere redundancy smell of the bitter metallic scent of the initial blood-fest?

“Stalked” his FB page the other day, overwhelmed with curiosity. (Maybe that’s why the thoughts?  Haha..who am I kidding here?!)  Yes, he has an official (albeit not FB status official yet) new bi-annual flavor.   So interesting!  Took the man four years after our split to make a commitment for anything beyond a one-night-stand, well other of course than the 2 AM booty call “regular”…  And now he’s suddenly a serial committer?  WTF?!  His booty-call turned engagement split was a mere 7 months ago or so and he’s already on to another “girlfriend”?  Is this due to the hardened heart he’s claimed so many times that I caused as he stabbed another knife into my heart,  yet another time?  Or is it desperation on his part to stay away from me..or desperation to have someone, anyone, something meaningful in his beginning-to-age years?  A sudden newly developed fear of being truly alone?  Exaggerated quick commitment because his fear of commitment has grown beyond his control?

After crying and whining for over four years that he could not find what we had..nothing even close to the passion, joy, and love we shared, suddenly he’s meeting these types of suitable replacements back-to-back? 

What is that even?  Other than either just plain good fortune (I  mean, WOW!) or mere pathetic desperation stemming from a  weariness of chronic one-or-two-night stands with faceless, nameless people full of drunken meaningless redundant sexual escapades?

I shouldn’t even ponder any of this..it certainly matters not a smidgen on any level at this point…  However, it’s mystifying to me…  What on earth does this even mean?   So odd…but hopefully he’s found “the one”.  In spite of my resentments that he refuses to leave my heart and mind once and for all (ugh!), I actually do wish him happiness…..well that mixed with a bit of karma too perhaps…hehe…  After all, I am still a human being, perhaps barely, but I am…I am…still flawed and human after all!

Did John-Boy seem the vengeful type…or was it just me?

She was torn between desperately seeking the stability and love she’d never known and enjoying her relatively new freedom.  She was seeking her own identity, uncomfortable and unsure in her own skin and never quite sure why she warranted so much attention and certainly not at all sure how to handle such attention politely, without hurting anyone’s feelings.  It’s not that she had not been told she was beautiful by boys and men before or wanted by many, it was that she literally could not see that or comprehend the possibility.  She was a dry sponge full of holes, seeking all the love and attention she had never felt before.  She certainly wasn’t a slut in any sexually promiscuous sense, but perhaps she did fit the description of an attention whore. She couldn’t understand how anyone could love her or think her beautiful in any definition of the word. In spite of her need for freedom, she longed with every part of her being to feel loved and to believe she was beautiful in someone’s eyes…to feel accepted just as she was, flaws and holes and all…

Unfortunately, she felt the closest to beautiful and worthy when she was making other people feel good about themselves and this would eventually be her slow demise in satisfying her own deepest hopes, but that’s another story entirely.  There was a supply and demand in effect seemingly at all times.  Men longed for her attention and she longed to make people feel good.  She could spend hours talking to a stranger in a club about his job, his school, his relationships, his dreams, his broken heart, anything…and treat him as if he was the only person on the planet for the duration of that conversation…often to the annoyance of her friends and/or boyfriends.

By her early twenties, she had ended two significant relationships.  The relationships themselves weren’t bad per se, but she was a lost and meandering spirit.  It was almost as if once the relationship reached a mutually satisfying point, she felt her “work there was done” and her attention needed to go to the next soul seeking her heart, time, and attention.   So after ending two serious LTR’s, which did not go quietly, she finally conceded to her long-subdued need for freedom and her completely suppressed  wild at heart nature…  She dreaded the thought of committing to a relationship with a man because it seemed somehow to always eventually end with a hurt man and her feeling as though her effort to make someone feel loved and important always began with the best of intentions and resulted in their broken heart.  This was not at all what she wanted.

So after ending an engagement with a terrific man who loved her in the most beautifully endearing and devoted way and running straight into the arms of an abuser, she resolved to stay free.  In her partying and carousing with friends she only gave a few hours of dedication to anyone and moved on to someone else…until she inadvertently and unintentionally met John.  Strange that she’d caught him watching her quietly on many occasions and took note of him.  She found him truly handsome in the most adorable boy-next-door way, but he never approached except nonchalantly in passing.  After several of these incidents, they finally had an actual conversation.  He was so damned likeable and undeniably adorable.  She loved his eyes – the way they watched her quietly without attempting to connect with her or pick her up (ugh!) and she loved the way he innocently made her laugh without even trying.  She spent several platonic evenings with him, just partying and having fun.

Since this started innocently enough, she felt no warnings that trouble was brewing.  They were both having a blast and neither seemed intent upon choking the other’s freedom, but they enjoyed their time together so much each day would follow into the next.  She even discovered that he was a few years younger than she and it didn’t  matter at all to her. He wasn’t even jealous of her flirty personalityand he gave her total trust and freedom!!!!  She loved this.  Could it be he actually understood her?    It seemed natural that suddenly one day she realized that their affections had grown big and they were spending all of their free time together…and she didn’t even want to change that or run from it…were they falling in love?

Yes, it seemed so.  This realization hit when she received acceptance to the school she’d applied to upon her last release from a relationship.  She had applied in a moment of freedom and need to not be held back from her goals again…a brief respite between obligations.  But against her design and intention, he was now in love and she loved him in return as well. Uh-oh..scary, as this never ended well for her.  Always seemed to end in a flurry of anger, broken hearts and her immersion in guilt which provoked a need in her to run far, far away.

It was a difficult situation, but they were young, confident with one another, and happy…therefore this could still work.  Right?  No one had to get hurt this time.  Long distance relationships could work for truly happy couples.  Besides, she just wanted to go finish her education at the school of her choosing, not date around or get involved in any relationships.  This should be easy.

They missed each other terribly, though.  The connection was difficult to maintain from such a distance.  And she was immersed in the collegiate life while he was in the town he grew up in and working the job he intended to work forever.  She wasn’t dating anyone else, but she had a few study friends whom she enjoyed hanging out with as well.  They had little in common under these circumstances and their phone calls started feeling like a “duty” to her, not an enjoyment.  He planned a visit.

On this visit, he mentioned shopping for a promise ring to cement their relationship and their desire to progress into the next natural step for a happy couple.  Except, his visit, his presence, annoyed her.  She didn’t know why.  She still loved him.  She just couldn’t feel or find that connection to him anymore once she was removed from their little shared town, at least not enough to accept a promise ring or in good conscience, continue the relationship that was stunted for her and clearly still growing stronger for him. After a few days of his visit, she discussed this with him and ended the relationship.  She felt sick to do this, she adored him, but she felt it was the right thing to do in the midst of her confusion confounded and highlighted by his devoted certainty.  It was over.  He left.  She could tell he was very hurt and she hated that, but he didn’t seem angry and for that, she was so grateful that it almost sparked her feelings again…but not quite enough to change her choice in the matter.  She had to be fair to him.  He deserved at least that and her conscience refused to accept less for him.

Fast forward five or six years.

Back in their hometown for a few years now, she was a single mother, scared and still lost.  One night she runs into him at a bar.  They start talking and reconnecting.  Inside she is scared and far more damaged than she was years before.  In her loneliness and fear, he represents something good and safe to her.  She decides to go home with him.  After all, it’s John Boy.  The safest place she’d known at this point.  He’d never gotten angry at her for who she was.  On the contrary, he had always seemed to understand her when no one else could.  Ahhhhhh…safety and sincerity. 

When they woke up the next morning, she felt happy to be next to him.  No it wasn’t the answer to everything of course, but it was a safe and familiar place at last and she had always adored him anyway.

As he was driving her home, he said, “I don’t want you.  I just wanted to pay you back for breaking my heart all those years ago….  How does it feel?”  Her heart ripped as he laughed.

Well done John Boy…very cruel effective.

Why NOT play Kick-the-Carcass?

No consecutive hours of sleep for what seems like weeks, although I can easily remember not so long ago when it had been more like months, so I logically know I can pull through this “short stretch”.  However, when n the midst of the sleeplessness, it feels as though I’ll pass out, die, or just maybe snap into forgettable pieces.  I keep reminding myself that it’s been worse and try to be grateful for the little bits of sleep I do get blessed with.

Stressing the move, finances, the gossip and lies (of course, as usual), THE ex, the children, packing, moving across the entire country from everything I’ve ever known, living out of district for my kids’ school out west, my ex husband, and his motives and choices, and how they’re going to relate and affect our lives out there, so far from the only  home we’ve ever known.

With all of this, I’m struck hard with acute awareness of the severe alteration of my heart, my perspective,  my very essence…  Who I once was is gone, with all that’s happening now and all I am responsible to be and do, with all the fears that are hanging just over my head like a shark’s mouth ready to swallow me whole, I really just want to sit down and bawl myself sick.  Grief hangs all around me like buzzards and flies on a  carcass.  I know, I know…  This is nothing new…I’ve been a barely-breathing carcass for years now, my only traceable movement being the slight shakes and involuntary shuffles and slides  of a dead body that’s being kicked a few extra times for good measure.  Big thanks to Dave and friends for that lovely prompt..without it, the buzzards might literally begin to feast on my mourning flesh, not just the metaphorical feastings of Dave and friends on the leftover remnants of my heart, my soul, my reputation, my freaking character!  After all, at this point, the pickings are so slim and meager that I genuinely can’t understand the interest…surely there’s not enough there to satisfy even a starving soul?

Apparently so, as I can’t even plan my pathetic, late-as-hell “escape” without a kick every once in a while for good measure.  I’m struggling and fighting this damned sense of victimization which I hate so much it makes me sick even to write of these things any more.  Or maybe it’s that burning sense of injustice and flood of unkindness and continued crucification which keeps me from withering up and dying completely.  It’s almost cost me a great degree of my voice and I do not know what I could even be after he’s fully taken my voice and my ability to write.  It just might be my lingering indignance which is holding the shell of my existence together at all, keeping it from crumbling quietly into dust. Perhaps I should stop fighting this victimized-feeling and embrace it, allow it to strengthen me out of my hopeless feeling of being powerless, beaten, and small?   Hmm….

I have comprised a plan of revenge.  In my circumstances, I have no way in which to actually carry it through, but it’s a lovely fantasy nonetheless.  I imagine that many people love me and know the truth of these past five years…the whole down-n-dirty, humiliating truth and they are so outraged and angry they begin a letter-writing campaign on my behalf – no, on the behalf of all people who have gone through emotional and mental abuse.  Upon me leaving my home, he receives hundreds of letters from people who know the truth, faceless people who are not afraid to stand up against this man’s cruel persecution of my spirit.  Each day or week he receives lovely pieces of mail from people who know what he has done and refuse to buy into his lies and bullshit, as a regular reminder that he did not just “get away with it”.  And he, like me, has no chance, opportunity, or method by which to combat the attack.  He would just have to sit in it, regularly reminded of his cruelty, its effects, and his powerlessness!  Then he might have to spend some time in paranoia, looking at every stranger who meets his eye and wondering, does he know?  Does she?  Just as I still worry with every person I meet or pass, “Did he tell them I was crazy?  Did he tell that person I’m a psycho?  A slut?  A lying cheater?  Wonder what story  that person heard?”

For it seems, just when I’ve let the worries go and have convinced myself anyone who believes his garbage at this point is merely a victim of sorts themselves and is entitled to my sympathy, when I finally get to the “I don’t give a damn what he’s said to anyone”, another lovely twisted story of his finds its way to me…piling on top of the huge pile of garbage he’s dumped on me that I’m already trying to climb out from underneath.  And the exhaustion revives itself in me.  The sense of powerlessness and damned victimization I hate SO much, gathers al around my soul to begin feasting again.

I sent him a message asking him just to please SHUT UP.  Leave me alone.   Reminding him he has not a single reason at this point in his game to speak my name even, let alone tarnish it further.  He has won by yards and miles already. The damage done is irreversible even now.  I’m leaving and his story will always stand in my place of absence; not mine, not the truth, but his sick and twisted deviation of my person. I can’t imagine any greater victory for him?  So why continue beating this broken and beaten thing?  Does he really still get that much pleasure and self-satisfaction from it…even NOW?  Why not just SHUT UP?   No, go above and beyond to make everyone always, think the person you’ve victimized is psycho crazy, then you never have to worry about being held accountable for the cruelty you perpetually heaped upon her…  After all, she’s just “crazy”.  Nothing she says will ever account to anything after you’ve told that to enough people ad nauseum.

Why am I so surprised anyway?  Why wouldn’t anyone want to continue kicking and beating the person they’ve already slaughtered?  After all, she’s dead already…. It’s not like anyone will ever find out the truth now…or believe it coming from a crazy-psycho dead girl even if they did!                                 

Ohhh it would be Christmas every day to just imagine this letter-campaign of outraged people, addressing the truth to him which he feels he has sufficiently buried beneath his heavily placed offensive-tactic accusations and insults. He could just laugh away a few letters, but if hundreds came to him long after I’m gone, that would have to make him think maybe he wasn’t really fooling everyone after all.  His mailbox becoming the screaming, lingering Tell-Tale Heart of an Edgar Allen Poe story!  It’s a harmless, but juicy thought in my weak state of stress, fatigue, and hopeless indignation…

(insert evil cackle here)

Broken wings

She felt like a child still in so many ways…wondering why the world always seemed to roughly push against her when she tried to stand up for herself and expect to be treated like an equally important member of society…  It was so uncomfortable to stand up for herself against anyone for any reason at all and the slightest resistance or push back and she just crumbled…feeling more and more weak and pathetic. She often wondered why she was so easy to knock down?

As a child, she hadn’t been permitted the luxury of finding her own way, questioning authority, having opinions, or expressing  any type of individuality.  These things simply had not been permitted or tolerated in any form.  What evolved from this was a fearful person; one who fit smoothly into the world and so many lives of others merely because she wasn’t equipped with a backbone to go against the grain, much less, stand up for herself.  Although it sometimes seemed to her that she’d been born without a back bone, a genetic deformity of sorts, logically she understood her mother had removed it entirely over a slow and degrading 17-year-long process. A few times when it seemed  one might be trying to develop in her, it was quickly squashed and eliminated.  One did not question adults, either respectfully or otherwise.  No questions whatsoever.  One liked whatever one was given, one liked what other people liked if one wanted to BE liked or ever hope of being loved.   Always just smile and go along with it.  This made her an easy target for all types of abuse and manipulation. 

So at 5, she didn’t question the teenage boy who insisted she go into his bedroom with him every day.  She didn’t question the other babysitter either, an even older teenage girl  who manipulated her even further.  She didn’t question the elementary school janitor who groped beneath her panties after school.  They were so much older and she desperately wanted to be a “good girl”.  She wanted to be liked and thought well of and maybe if she was ever good enough, someone would come along who could love her.  And anyway, she learned from a very early age that if you didn’t like something, you’d better keep your mouth shut and pretend to or it promised to get far worse.  Plus, she didn’t want to be the fussy, problem child.   God forbid she be an insolent, precocious type child who disgusted the adults with sass or youthful curiosity! She longed for love and acceptance..ached for it actually from her earliest memory on…  Thus, she never questioned or argued, never pushed back against any type of authority…no matter how uncomfortable or wrong it felt.  She didn’t suffer from a lack of identity, inner strength, or sense of righteous indignation, she simply never was permitted to develop any from the beginning.  She was always a chameleon, learning to quickly change colors and quietly blend in with whatever color seemed safest in any given circumstance or moment.  Somewhere buried inside her was envy of those people and children who had no trouble speaking their minds or pushing back against an authority figure if they did something which seemed wrong.  She envied them the security that came from knowing if they just did the right thing for themselves, someone bigger and more powerful would be there to support and protect them.

Ironically, the catch-22  started hitting her early.   She was so hungry for love and affection, any type of acceptance would be welcomed. This must have been obvious and she was often treated cruelly by her peers or friends.  She early on became the common door mat for many to wipe their frustrations and insecurities.  When she was hurt and tried to  discuss this with her mother, desperate for some consolation, compassion and perhaps even just a little sense of support,  mother would yell at her for letting people treat her badly.  This was always so confusing! She wasn’t supposed to expect better, much less demand anything better, right?  Be quiet and content with what you have, or else…it will only get worse.  All she knew for certain is she wanted to feel loved and had to be quietly unassuming and accepting so it  would not get even worse.  

After she left mother’s home and had her very first official boyfriend, she soon realized she had attracted a violent man.  A Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde type man who worshipped and adored her more than she’d ever experienced before, but also would get very angry if she upset him intentionally or otherwise.  This was especially hard for her to handle with any self-respect.  There was the back-bone issue of course, mixed with the open affection and love that flowed freely in moments when her boyfriend wasn’t angry with her.  She knew she wanted more of that, in fact she felt a bottomless pit of need for this love.  How could she walk away from the first person who loved her enough to defend her to others, even if he did physically attack her himself?  At least he didn’t allow anyone else treat her badly.  He loved her most of the time and at least this way the cruelty only came from one person, instead of several.  This was better than anything she had ever known before!

After a few years of his random and violent beatings she realized she must escape soon when he started openly threatening her life if she tried to leave.  She turned to her mother for help… scared and begging for a place of refuge.  Mother said, “You’ve let him treat you like this for years now…so you deserve what he dishes out. You must like it to have stayed so long.  Give it a few years and then if I can believe that you’re really not going to go back to him again, maybe I will help you at that point.” 

Give it a few years?   He had recently forced her into his car and kidnapped her for an afternoon and another time recently had threatened her with a gun.  She never once called the police on him (not wanting to get him in any trouble), and when concerned neighbors would hear and called the police, they never helped.  In spite of her obvious busted lips and bloody noses, they would always say something like, “You two need to separate for a while and work this out on your own.” 

Dad would take one look at her black and swollen eyes and say, “Honey, what did you do?  You know how sassy you can be…you must have said or done something to really set him off this time.  You have to learn to watch your mouth, girl.”

Give it a few years?  The violence was escalating amazingly fast.  She had no where safe to run and she didn’t believe she would last another few years.

In this desperation, she did what she had to do to get free and after a few years of counseling later in life, she realized that mother hadn’t allowed her to have a backbone or to develop any self-respect and then punished and criticized her further for being “weak”.   No one was ever going to stand up for her and she didn’t have the strength or self-confidence to ever stand up for herself, she wanted to be loved too much to ever take that chance.  It was a no-win situation.  She was the world’s punching bag, literally and figuratively… and she could never lose the fear that if she didn’t learn to accept this, it could always get worse.

With this innate sense of constant fear and drastic lack of self-respect or entitlement, she set out in life, mostly hoping not to be noticed much and praying someone safe someday would.

Absolute aberration

I experience the full comprehension of the literal definition of a wasted life…  It is when you have placed the highest value, importance, and priority on something which was hardly a fleeting thought to another.  What a sad waste of a life and tragic assisted suicide of a heart this has been.  I realize it will never be a worthwhile thought or experience to another living soul…except perhaps, just perhaps, in the book of “What Not to do in Life”.  It could possibly gain notice in that list, but somehow I doubt that even, as any reasonable human being would consider it as a given and not need to dull lesson of the obvious.  Even there, the experience could be skimmed through or skipped altogether….  How did my life become defined by this ridiculous aberration?  When exactly did it shift to that?  And why in the HELL upon this epiphany, would I allow it to continue feeding on the juice of my life?  Sucking me dry of all things worthwhile or  note-worthy in the slightest?  How is it possible or allowed that my experience, hell my existence itself, is one of complete futility?  This disgusts me.  When (and how?!!??) will that disgust grow strong enough to change it?

As I slowly die,I realize yet again that no other will be held accountable for this murder…  And I don’t really think even that matters any more to me.  That strong passion for right and wrong, justice and accountability…all falls back onto me.  Only I am to blame for allowing this death by slow torturous murder.  I couldn’t possibly point a single finger at anyone else because at the end of the day, it is I alone who must take responsibility for the contual madness…  No one has held a gun to my head in years.  I’ve chosen this..in spite of myself, because of myself…  Although it doesn’t feel like a choice was ever placed in my hands…..I logically understand that it’s my finger on the trigger.  The rest is just words thrown in my direction, giving me step-by-step instructions albeit between the lines…reminding me that it is my fault alone.

I can’t help but wonder lately if I have ever had such a profoundly negative and immensely detrimental effect on another human being merely through my own selfishness, knowingly or otherwise?  I can’t know, except to know factually that if I have, it was sheerly unintentional and unknowing….

I have never played with my food for this long…nor someone’s emotions or quality and quantity of life…  I still feel guilt over saying something hateful once to Theresa ten years ago.

How does any one person become so much?  It is not rational or logical and certainly not sane or “normal”?  And if I have enough wisdom and intellect to see that, then why doesn’t it stop right there?

I was never intended for one-on-one love…it’s all a fluke and an aberration of nature…an absolute train wreck I can’t tear myself away from long enough or far enough to move past…or around..or over…

I pray for forgiveness if I have ever once created this much pain in another living thing for even one moment in time.  Ignorance is no excuse…

Realizations

Writing is my breath, my oxygen, my life-line.  I suddenly realize that I can’t write anymore unless I’m gloriously in love or have a knife stabbing in my gut.  The rest of the time, I’m too numb to breathe… I’ve become like a person on the operating table so full of anesthesia that they have to be reminded or forced to breathe.

I no longer have the ability to feel anything less than absolute excess.  Am I dead?  How did this happen?  Is the rest only a formality?

Rinse and repeat

  1. So, that’s a good start!!  I went through with it and he was every bit as terrific as on our first date…

The red car was suddenly there Thursday morning and stayed for some time.  I can’t help but wonder and wish so much I didn’t even know.  I have no interest in knowing these things because I’m way too interested…so much more than I want to be.  Interesting that the car’s presence itself was not all that difficult, just the length of time it stayed…  Brought back memories and I don’t want to think that (a similar scenario?) is happening!  How many Wednesdays there have been spent in random sexual encounters anyway?  I’m sure too many to count, but then I remember I was originally a Wednesday too…so I have to accept that anything can happen.  No matter how unlikely it might seem to me.  It’s really not at all that unlikely.  That is wishful thinking and I do not want it. 

Why should any base substance inside of me care one way or another?  That is so unfair, I could just whine like a baby over it till the day I die!   And who on earth would I waste so much time and energy doing that?  I will not.  I perceived the situation, thought of a million scenarios (good and bad) and then let my feelings wash over me like a heavy cleansing rain, hoping they would subside as soon as they were acknowledged and allowed to flow…  That didn’t so much work, but I’m proud of my effort!

I lose all elements of creativity and inspiration when I suppress these things.  And it only hurts terribly when I let them flow.  Where is the middle ground for someone like me in this position?

I am really trying and although I question why I’m still in the position to have to try this hard, I want to be grateful that I completed a second date with JK and tell myself that IS the baby step in the right direction of change that I’ve been praying for.  …tell myself over and over and over…until it might become real….

strange vocations?

Stole a little time away to write…  After a few days the urgency of that need is overwhelming and I’ll do or say whatever I must to steal away on my own and get the thoughts from my head out, where they seem to make more sense to me, to me at least!

Having a thoughtful discussion with Mark’s friend Rick yesterday.  We were talking of God having a vocation for every person; a gift which he gives each one of us to give back to the world to make it a better place.  Rick thinks his gift is encouragement.  I’d have to agree.  He’s very gentle and compassionate minded.  He not only asks questions, but he actually listens as well, as though he’s actually interested in the answers.  He is very kind and encouraging.  I appreciate that in him very much and I’m so glad he recognizes that he has that gift!

So I start thinking about what my gift is.  I used to think it was my empathic nature, but I’ve had to choose to try to relieve some of that and when otherwise impossible, to deny myself to act upon any of those natural tendencies.  This now as a much needed self preservation/protection mode- a somewhat method of survival in any peaceful sense anyway…  I don’t know about the rest of the world or what is “normal” everywhere else, but I’ve learned repeatedly that I’m not so safe utilizing my “gift” in the environment in which I currently live.  This reluctant realization has propelled me into an uncomfortable “Who am I?”, “What is my purpose?” mode. And thus, I must rethink my purpose.  Whoaaaa…this is rather unsettling under the circumstances.  After my conversation with Rick yesterday, I really pondered over and over what might make sense.  Thinking over everything that the past three years have brought, the specific struggles of most of my life, past situations, future possibilities etc., and add to that a couple of interesting, unintentional, off-handed remarks from Mark (which took me a few moments to “get”) and I think I might’ve figured out one possibility.  It’s actually the only thing that makes sense at all…and makes some sense of all my past challenges.  It’s rather sick and disgusting to me really, but in my current state of mind of years now, facing all that I face each day, in each situation,  I really can’t deny that it might be it.

Little boy

Spirits in my house, my life…my heart?  I do not think this is crazy.  Ang says, “There’s a little boy.”   And yes, I know.  I do not doubt her or him for a moment. I have been told before of him.   He feels me. When he can’t put words to his feelings,  I can.  Sometimes. 

Who are you little boy?  You are the little boy from the video?  The little angel boy who has been with me always, like in that video?  You are Dave’s good spirit, before he turned to the darkness of resentment and pathology?  You are my little Romeo-soul-lover?  Are you what kept that little girl going on those cold scary nights darkened with abuse?  Are you the reason I lived beyond it?  Are you every kindness that has been extended which kept my momentum going when I felt there was no more?  Are you the kind friends on my blog who read and seem to understand?  Have you saved me from hundreds of “mishaps” that should have killed me but didn’t?  Do you live in my soul?  My heart?  My space?  Do I hope for your story when I ask Dave to tell me a story about the little boy who lost his kite?  Is that you?

Who are you little boy?  Why do you follow me through this life?  You could have found a happier place.  You should have.  You deserve a happier companion, but I am grateful for your presence still. 

I know you are there.  Thank you little boy.

Sleeping with the enemy

You were a vampire from the start

feeding on my innocence

I was desperate for faith

It was easy for you to lead me to trust

You – the enemy.

This rape, your rape, is within the law

A selfish persistent rape of my heart

Which your lack of conscience helps you deny

You’re good like that

I am not.

I have no blanket of emotion-less steel

to protect either my heart or my reactions.  

I was not trained to respond quietly

While being repeatedly raped

As you smile and tell me I am not.

I am raw and simple when I feel danger

I scratch and push. I yell and scream.

Yes, I fight like a girl to protect myself from

The cruel cold pain you use to slice my heart

To shreds

As you feel nothing but twisted desire

I don’t have the deceitful

Mechanisms you employ to protect yourself

And use people to get what you need.

I haven’t allowed the world or you to instill these in me

I don’t have the greedy selfish coldness you have

I fight against it.

I do not want it.

Not even with quiet predators like you.

You will kill me someday,

In the only way you haven’t already.

I will be dead and you’ll

merely move on to the next hunt.

…never satisfied.

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