March 2014

March 17th, 2014

I cannot bear
to go under the knife
have you extracted from my body
and begin to heal.

Your absence would abscess
sear with the agony of neglect
and fester inside me, the ache of no longer being chosen.

Suck the air from my lungs
gnaw at my kidneys
make your bed in my stomach,
just
stay with me
take your pleasure in me
make your home in me.

Claw around, leaving blood in your wake
even out of me if you must
but leave me worthy with your destruction
and not your abandonment
End me at your momentary whim
but do not leave me in a world where I have nothing more to give you.

March 31st, 2014

To the pain

Emotional traumas from my past have left me so averse to pain that my attempts to avoid it have been desperate and erratic. I feared I was not strong enough to bear any additional disappointment: to try and fail, to lose love, to trust another person and come to regret that decision. I was terrified I would be broken.

And so, when I felt the slightest discomfort involving other people I immediately recast my feelings for them (which introduced the vulnerability) into a problem to solve. I did not question the threat: the discomfort I felt was sufficient evidence of an attack. Even a small incompatibility or irritation caused this reaction, and I did not even take time to assess the magnitude of the injury I suffered before shifting my energy into fortifying my defenses. Or mounting an offense of my own in return.

I immediately asked, how can I avoid feeling this way in the future? What can I do differently? The answers I’d grown used to giving gave me temporary relief at a terrible long-term cost: “I can care less. I can become less invested. I can lash out at these people to let them know this is not ok. I can disappear from their lives and then they’ll never be able to hurt me again.”

It was like tearing down a house because I didn’t like the color of paint in the kitchen. It was thinking that it’s always possible—better—to start over, rebuild from scratch, and choose higher-quality materials the next time to get closer to perfection. It was being unwilling to work with what I have. It was failing to acknowledge the grays instead of calling them black or white. It was ungenerous. Judgmental. Hypocritical. (For don’t I know better than anyone else the extent of my flaws, and hope that someone would accept me nonetheless?) But I maintained the illusion that people should mesh with me in every aspect I value, and if they didn’t, that they were too dangerous to keep around, or to keep close.

I’ve caused so much damage to others, thinking this way. I’ve lost relationships I valued so much, and should have valued more. I ignored perspective and justified all my actions as a necessary form of self-protection. This was wrong. Thinking this way is wrong.

I am not so easily broken. I am strong. I have been very comfortable for a long time, and I have become very strong. I am not a delicate flower, cringing from the sunlight and expecting anyone who notices me to bring with them a heavy boot. I haven’t been that person for a long time. I can’t use self-protection to excuse what became my cruelty. I just got mean.

Today I will try something different. Today my heart cries out in anguish and my brain says “I will protect you, here’s what we’ll do....” This time, I say no. NO. Today, I will just feel it. I will not try to fix it with an old answer. I am not allowing myself the temporary relief that sets me up to repeat the same mistakes. My feelings will not be the basis for a troubleshooting exercise. The old answers won’t work this time. They haven’t worked for a while.

Don’t reframe it, craft a narrative to understand what happened, make a plan for the future, or try to analyze the feeling. Sit with it. No more hypothesizing. No logic, no analytics. Sit with it.

I sit with this pain and acknowledge it as a part of me. I will not disown it or minimize it. I will not rush to distract myself. I will not pretend it doesn’t matter, or that I can’t take it. I can feel it, and I do. It’s miserable, but it’s real. It’s mine and it is me, just as being strong—and sometimes malicious—has been me. I ache, I am damaged. I hurt. I’ll sit with it.

I don’t know where to go from here, and that’s okay. At least I’ll be here with myself, honest and whole, and not hurrying away to a new destination that will turn into the same places I’ve already been. For a little while, I’ll sit with it.