Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Paradise by the dashboard light.
Long ago and far away, I received this email. In that place and time, I was a different person. I was happy and content. I was looking into a future and I was joyous. I was foolish.
Tonight as I was cleaning out my inbox, I opened it and started to read. I got about half way through and started to feel anxious and yet something tempered my anxiety. I think that the best word to describe the balance was vindication. This is from no one you know, so please people, stop trying to ascribe my blogging to you or someone you know. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, if this were about you (or by you) you would already know.
I think that what made me stop and take notice was the title of my previous post and the end of the email. I wonder if one of my habits is to make wishes. I wonder if I am stuck in some unrealistic fantasy where wishes come true. I wonder if I am losing myself into a rabbit hole.
I once felt crazy. A “He” made me crazy. Or, I let him make me feel crazy, and inadequate. I thought I imagined and created what was not. He left me and I plunged into a steaming pool of doubt and sloe gin. I blindly clung to anyone and anything that brushed against me in the hopes that somehow I would find salvation or eternal damnation. I didn’t care whether I survived or perished, as long as I had no role in the decision. I backed away from life and fell into a train of men. I welcomed the inner slut and made her the outer being.
Eventually, a different “He” put me back together and like humpty dumpty I sat on a wall. Still fragile, still sore, the scars running jagged over my soul and when a new “He” came a knocking I was comfortable with my Keloided scars. I wore them as proud badges. I flashed them, along with my tits.
When it ended, I had new and different scars, not better or worse, just different. But this time, I know I am not crazy. I kept the email. I have his words. I did not invent or create something to suit my needs. He came to me.
You make my head swim. You make my heart ache. You make me ball my fists tight and you make me loose them in order to reach out to where you aren’t.
I am not sure how to respond. I don’t know that I have a thought that is appropriate. I know my reaction today wasn’t appropriate. Regardless of any fantasy I have convinced myself of, I realize you’re (lines omitted).
(Paragraphs omitted-some things, not many things, are sacred)
And that you have no voice. That my baby is in a room and has no voice, or pleasure. Only service. I rage. Not at you. At him. At the situation.
I want to teach you that there is more. That there is better. That you deserve love and tenderness and (omitted).You deserve a voice.
You say you wish a lot in your sweet note to me. The problem is that you wish for all the wrong things:
“After I sent the email last night I wished I hadn’t. I wish I could take back my words from last night. I wish I could take back my words from today. I wish you didn’t know anything that I shared today.” When I read this, it sounds like you are saying “I wish I wasn’t honest with you. I wish I put up the facade and wasn’t real or true. I wish you were still in the dark and we were all sex and surface.”
Is that what you really wish? Is that what you really want? Do you really want to hide and be disingenuous with me? Why would you want to be that way with me? Have I said or done something to make you want to be false?
I have some wishes too. I wish you saw yourself as I see you. I wish you were strong enough to say no when you don’t want something. I wish you thought enough of yourself to know that grinning and bearing it shouldn’t be part of a relationship. I wish you didn’t regret being real with me.
(Lines Omitted) I know you are trying to escape and there is comfort and safety in the (omitted). But it didn’t hide it tonight. Because you know you deserve more than that. I feel you reach out for me and I am not there. I feel you as you toss awake in your bed, thoughts of what will happen in the morning. Thoughts of this e-mail.
I know I am failing you. I’m sorry.
I’m not sorry. Not now, not any more.
It was long ago, it was far away, it was so much better than it is today.
Archived from days of yore • (5) Comments • Permalink