I feel the toxicity. Poison.
I woke up with Trent Reznor's words running over and over: "I used to be so big and strong. I used to know my right from wrong. I used to never be afraid. I used to be somebody... I was up above it, now I'm down in it."
I'm starting to understand that I have become used to expecting the worst treatment from the men I choose to love. I'm used to being the hurt one, the victim. WHich is totally fucked up and not a part of my life I think I've realized before. Even though I worked so hard to hide it, to project this image of strength and resilience, unattached to him. Even while projecting this facade, however convincing it may have been to others and to myself even, in our relationship, I was the hurt one. And he fucking knew how much and how often he hurt me and yet made no effort to stop it. And I was so fucking trapped and couldn't leave. Even when I tried to leave I couldn't stay gone because our bond was more permanent due to circumstance. And I never once felt like I could trust him at any point over the years.
And as the brilliant Tom Waits sang, "I did my time, in the jail of your arms". I did my fucking time and I finally started to feel good and like love could be possible again. That a partnership could be real and in my life and that it wouldn't look like a prison.
I'm not used to being the one who would do the hurting. And here it happened. The poison bubbled up and over and it scalded you. And my regret is burning me.
I missed you so fucking much today, A. The ache has its own heartbeat.
Showing posts with label Pain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pain. Show all posts
Monday, July 27, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
A New You, the Old Me
This is the first post on this blog in 2009, and the first post in which the "you" I am writing to is a different "you" than the one I was writing to before. It has been so long since I have written and in a way I am forcing myself to do this now.
I was so awful to you the night before last. The words I chose to use were the ones I knew would wound the deepest. Why would I strike so hard at the one who has been so dear to me? Why would I act in such a stupid way, a way that would guarantee me winding up alone once again? How could I be such a wretch?
And its these fucking questions that are the reason I'm forcing myself to write this week. Because writing has saved my life - or at least my heart- so many times before and I feel so lost right now. And to try to understand this ugliness inside me so that with hope and vigilance, I can make a real promise to you that it won't happen again.
In a moment of sadness and weakness I admitted my horridness to my mother earlier today. I didn't go into detail other than to say that I was a complete asshole to you, said terrible, undeserved things and that I wished that I could turn back time and take it all back. And then she of course told my father. And hearing the two of them talk to me about what I did to you- the two most frequent victims of the vile words spit by my teenaged tongue - I couldn't lie or minimize the damage I had done. They know me better than that.
My father reminded me that I have always fixated on things that I fear - like vampires and sharks - giving them more meaning and power than they deserve. And he said that I am fixating on my ex and the anniversary of his departure in the same way. I interrupted him quickly and told him that his advice wasn't helpful, but here hours later I think he was on to something. But its not the ex that I am fixated on- it is the carcrash that was me when he left. It is the incredible pain and loss I experienced from time to time on this blog.
So I think my brain is fucking with me. And this certainly wouldn't be the first time I realized that I have walls up that I wasn't even aware of. So the question remains, how do I let these walls down so I can see things truly and honestly? How do I trust? How can I possibly risk loving, which means perhaps losing, again?
I have a lot of love to give. And yet instead it has been injury that has been flung from my body onto yours.
I was so awful to you the night before last. The words I chose to use were the ones I knew would wound the deepest. Why would I strike so hard at the one who has been so dear to me? Why would I act in such a stupid way, a way that would guarantee me winding up alone once again? How could I be such a wretch?
And its these fucking questions that are the reason I'm forcing myself to write this week. Because writing has saved my life - or at least my heart- so many times before and I feel so lost right now. And to try to understand this ugliness inside me so that with hope and vigilance, I can make a real promise to you that it won't happen again.
In a moment of sadness and weakness I admitted my horridness to my mother earlier today. I didn't go into detail other than to say that I was a complete asshole to you, said terrible, undeserved things and that I wished that I could turn back time and take it all back. And then she of course told my father. And hearing the two of them talk to me about what I did to you- the two most frequent victims of the vile words spit by my teenaged tongue - I couldn't lie or minimize the damage I had done. They know me better than that.
My father reminded me that I have always fixated on things that I fear - like vampires and sharks - giving them more meaning and power than they deserve. And he said that I am fixating on my ex and the anniversary of his departure in the same way. I interrupted him quickly and told him that his advice wasn't helpful, but here hours later I think he was on to something. But its not the ex that I am fixated on- it is the carcrash that was me when he left. It is the incredible pain and loss I experienced from time to time on this blog.
So I think my brain is fucking with me. And this certainly wouldn't be the first time I realized that I have walls up that I wasn't even aware of. So the question remains, how do I let these walls down so I can see things truly and honestly? How do I trust? How can I possibly risk loving, which means perhaps losing, again?
I have a lot of love to give. And yet instead it has been injury that has been flung from my body onto yours.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Grief + Liberation
I read this line from Christopher Moore's A Dirty Job:
"There's a fine edge to new grief, it severs nerves, disconnects reality- there's mercy in a sharp blade. Only with time, as the edge wears, does the real ache begin."
As ridiculous as Moore can be, this quote expresses in better terms than I can where I am at right now. After you left I rode on adrenaline and shock for awhile. Now that you are gone the grief has settled in. Into my brain, my shoulders, my heart and my eyes to be precise.
You took the ground out from under me when you left. I realized a few weeks ago that I had no ground, I had lost my footing. This the first time I'm typing these words- they have gone over and over in my head but I haven't had the courage to type them. So I'm hoping you can imagine how hard it feels for my to say these words to you while you are looking at me -albeit on a stupidass webcam from a million miles away. I just couldn't let you see me hysterical yet again. I don't feel comfortable with you like that anymore. Time and distance change things, you know.
And I have to be honest that I have been avoiding you. As ridiculous a thing that may seem to be for someone on a different continent, it's true. It's really hard to talk to you sometimes. It's hard for me to see you seeming as chaotic as you were here but still superficially living. And I know I am totally judging and I may be wrong. But I see you still passively living, and life is floating on by. I hope I'm wrong. But its hard to perceive you this way, particularly as the distance grows further and our connection diminishes and you progressively lose the language we speak in, I feel like I have no way to shake you, wake you up a little.
How terribly arrogant of me, huh? It's true. I am spending a lot of time in my head so I have plenty of time to formulate this psychobabble. And I speak from a vulnerable place myself so what right do I have to cast stones? Because of our history, our bond I just need to tell you what's happening, however much in my head. I am sad. I am sadder than I can ever remember being. Tears remain in my eyes all the time. They have for almost 5 months now- something I've never experienced before in my life. Honestly, I think the migraines might be from me having to work so hard to keep from crying all the time- like the pressure is too much.
But the silver lining is that for the first time in almost 5 years, I am not worried. I spent 4 and a half long years with you, worried all the time. Worried about what would happen next, if things would go right or wrong on big and small levels, if you would sleep with a friend of mine again, worried about what information you were withholding from me, worried about when you were going to leave me. And then it happened, you did leave. Which deep down I always knew you would. And I'm not blaming, I'm explaining, perhaps something you already knew. And it is an extremely strange experience to feel both this pain, this sadness, and this liberation, this freedom from my worries all at once. And that is what I've been wanting to talk to you about, to tell you about. To let you know how I am doing.
"There's a fine edge to new grief, it severs nerves, disconnects reality- there's mercy in a sharp blade. Only with time, as the edge wears, does the real ache begin."
As ridiculous as Moore can be, this quote expresses in better terms than I can where I am at right now. After you left I rode on adrenaline and shock for awhile. Now that you are gone the grief has settled in. Into my brain, my shoulders, my heart and my eyes to be precise.
You took the ground out from under me when you left. I realized a few weeks ago that I had no ground, I had lost my footing. This the first time I'm typing these words- they have gone over and over in my head but I haven't had the courage to type them. So I'm hoping you can imagine how hard it feels for my to say these words to you while you are looking at me -albeit on a stupidass webcam from a million miles away. I just couldn't let you see me hysterical yet again. I don't feel comfortable with you like that anymore. Time and distance change things, you know.
And I have to be honest that I have been avoiding you. As ridiculous a thing that may seem to be for someone on a different continent, it's true. It's really hard to talk to you sometimes. It's hard for me to see you seeming as chaotic as you were here but still superficially living. And I know I am totally judging and I may be wrong. But I see you still passively living, and life is floating on by. I hope I'm wrong. But its hard to perceive you this way, particularly as the distance grows further and our connection diminishes and you progressively lose the language we speak in, I feel like I have no way to shake you, wake you up a little.
How terribly arrogant of me, huh? It's true. I am spending a lot of time in my head so I have plenty of time to formulate this psychobabble. And I speak from a vulnerable place myself so what right do I have to cast stones? Because of our history, our bond I just need to tell you what's happening, however much in my head. I am sad. I am sadder than I can ever remember being. Tears remain in my eyes all the time. They have for almost 5 months now- something I've never experienced before in my life. Honestly, I think the migraines might be from me having to work so hard to keep from crying all the time- like the pressure is too much.
But the silver lining is that for the first time in almost 5 years, I am not worried. I spent 4 and a half long years with you, worried all the time. Worried about what would happen next, if things would go right or wrong on big and small levels, if you would sleep with a friend of mine again, worried about what information you were withholding from me, worried about when you were going to leave me. And then it happened, you did leave. Which deep down I always knew you would. And I'm not blaming, I'm explaining, perhaps something you already knew. And it is an extremely strange experience to feel both this pain, this sadness, and this liberation, this freedom from my worries all at once. And that is what I've been wanting to talk to you about, to tell you about. To let you know how I am doing.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Pain
This pain is a cancer.
That line was the skipping record in my brain as I drove away from the airport that awful early July morning of goodbye, leaving my love behind.
The pain felt like a tumor – it was a lump in my throat, my chest that impeded my breathing and left me teetering on the edge of explosion. It felt like a deep, raw wound that would fester and grow and consume me if I didn’t pay it proper attention and care.
Grieving, anguished, sorrowful, brokenhearted, wallowing.
Today the pain feels like a hangover that won’t go away. The kind of hangover you get when you have saturated your body, your blood, your brain with alcohol. The first day you want to die. You cry for your mother and your crimes as you crawl back and forth from the bathroom. Moving beyond that is simply not an option. The second day you’re not as damaged but you are fragile, vulnerable, cautious, aching. I feel like midnight between these days. But there’s no 3rd day relief in sight.
And its a pain that exhausts. And you don't want to feel it and you try to push it down, to think of other things, to avoid it for a few minutes.
But you've already established that this pain is a cancer, and if ignored or even just temporarily set aside, it will boil up uncontrolled. Like 7am on the first hangover day after only getting 2 hours of sleep, you remember you're just at the beginning of the awful part. And there's no option but to let it run its course.
So you hang on for dear life and cry freely. And you know that each tear wept releases a bit of the cancer from inside you. And the same goes for every word you're brave enough to write.
That line was the skipping record in my brain as I drove away from the airport that awful early July morning of goodbye, leaving my love behind.
The pain felt like a tumor – it was a lump in my throat, my chest that impeded my breathing and left me teetering on the edge of explosion. It felt like a deep, raw wound that would fester and grow and consume me if I didn’t pay it proper attention and care.
Grieving, anguished, sorrowful, brokenhearted, wallowing.
Today the pain feels like a hangover that won’t go away. The kind of hangover you get when you have saturated your body, your blood, your brain with alcohol. The first day you want to die. You cry for your mother and your crimes as you crawl back and forth from the bathroom. Moving beyond that is simply not an option. The second day you’re not as damaged but you are fragile, vulnerable, cautious, aching. I feel like midnight between these days. But there’s no 3rd day relief in sight.
And its a pain that exhausts. And you don't want to feel it and you try to push it down, to think of other things, to avoid it for a few minutes.
But you've already established that this pain is a cancer, and if ignored or even just temporarily set aside, it will boil up uncontrolled. Like 7am on the first hangover day after only getting 2 hours of sleep, you remember you're just at the beginning of the awful part. And there's no option but to let it run its course.
So you hang on for dear life and cry freely. And you know that each tear wept releases a bit of the cancer from inside you. And the same goes for every word you're brave enough to write.
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