I am having a slight twinge of jealousy right now and it’s so far out of my wheelhouse.
I am uneasy being green.
My girl came home and just vomited up all these damp, dark secrets up into the light. The relief that flickered across her face and lit her up from the inside, as a table full of us played priest-in-a-box, triggered my envy. We just said ‘hallelujah’ and celebrated her decisions and becoming. Testify.
I can’t have that, but I want it.
I don’t get a welcome back party.
I don’t get absolved.
I can’t even get words out right now, save these. I am struggling to write around self-imposed gag orders. Some of these are not my stories to tell, some wounds are still bleeding.
And honestly? I am afraid of what I might say.
I am currently unable to even.
Fuck this, fuck that, fuck everything.
Throwing on my yoga pants, grabbing a venti/iced/soy/latte (ew, I am totally not doing that) and going full white girl. I need brunch and mimosas STAT, with a mani-pedi on top.
Aaaaand I am grossing myself out right now.
I need, I need, I want, I want…
I deserve nothing.
Not the kindness and understanding pouring into my inbox, no sympathy and definitely no more bandages.
I promised everyone a fairy-tale.
As it turns out I am not the damsel that needs saving. I am the dragon that burns down the world when I sneeze and all I am left with is ashes. It ended, unhappily.
I strive to be the shield and not the sword and yet, there is a blood trail leading straight to me. It’s not my blood. It’s my fault.
I should be shunned by my tribe right now. I should be yelled at, punished.
No one’s stepping up to do it for me so I will go ahead and do it my damned self.
I’m putting Baby in the fucking corner.
My behavior was predicted and predictable, but I still don’t know exactly why.
I was navigating uncharted waters on a ship called Hope. Then…
That bit of awful and a few other choice phrases running loops in my head right now. Like those spherical cages with multiple motorcycles in them at circuses. Just waiting for the crash and burn.
That is what my head is, that and a roundabout with hidden exits. A weigh station where everything is weighed and measured and takes the long way to get where it’s going or ends up in Timbuctoo. A switch-yard where the trains never seem to be on time and the signals go awry and shit blows up.
A line from Return to Oz where Jack the pumpkin headed scarecrow fucks something up and errrbody is about to die and Dorothy Gale just says “it’s alright Jack, it can’t be helped.” Really just the second half of that sentence.
I just hurt someone exactly the way I have been hurt, recently and often and I feel sick about it.
“I hurt him and now I hurt for him” I told her, “It’s my way. “
All of this is my way, sadly. Thought I could break it, break through something. And I broke him.
He didn’t deserve it.
He saw it coming, had essays and memes ready to go.
I don’t even know what happened exactly. I am trying to figure it out as I write this.
I am bearing witness to the fallout. Everybody is watching it happen and I am sitting here unable to speak. Beyond “Can’t help it, the girl can’t help it. Oh no…” Little Richard
I hate doing what’s been done to me. Doesn’t excuse me. I did the fucking thing.
I am not sure if I am spoiled, broken or delusional. Probably a little from each column with my own magical fucked up psychic self that can see the What but not the Why.
I rarely think I am right, even when fate is screaming in my ear as I struggle to drive and argue at the same time. Pulling over when I couldn’t take the fighting in my head. Then just submitting to it, trying to get enough quiet to figure out what the fuck was happening.
But he wrote rebuttals before I said the words.
It’s possible he saw it coming, I spoke openly of others in front of him, warned him I wasn’t coming in clean. I didn’t realize how dirty I am. I should have known, I think I just got used to my own filth, seemed normal, until it wasn’t. Now my soul feels filthy and blood stained, again, it’s not my blood.
This is so surreal.
Maybe I just walked from the best thing that ever happened to me. Time will tell. Everything will become clear, and maybe I will come clean again or find someone whose filth and fury matches my own.
What I cannot deny that voice, screaming in my head that said ‘no’ loud enough that I almost crashed the rental car. I have ignored her before and it went as bad as it could go before I left the places not meant for me.
Maybe I did shield him and it remains to be seen.
Maybe, the kissing cousin of Hope.
The ship called Hope still floats.