The story is complicated, and I’m not sure I even want to make it make sense for you (yes you, random clickhole casualty). I wasn’t even going to touch this name, I’ve spent years avoiding this name despite how incredibly common it is.
I can’t even go about figuring out how to fix things… I always fill my personal relationships with more than they can hold. It seems great, it seems like there’s enough room, but then as I’m putting stuff in I see that suddenly, the meniscus bursts open on the top and rivulets pour like tears down every side of the glass.
I rip myself apart basically, write about my dreams, then check keyword analysis to find out how similar all days are, and see if I can see what makes days different and analyze my vocabulary and sentence structure for clues as to how I truly feel and why. Then I check my work email.
I then remembered that I’m no longer afraid of spiders, and decided to push forward (in my waking state probably not a good idea.) The panic of claustrophobia set in, and then I remembered that I was actually asleep and should probably just wake up.
Is this exercise losing it’s impact? I don’t think so, I think it’s exactly the opposite. I think that I’m out of practice here because I haven’t been back. Because I’ve been waking up in one bed or another, because I’ve been ashamed at my actual progress, because I’ve continued seeing the same men that I hate even though I know that they are not worth dying for, the money is not worth dying for, it’s not worth killing everyone I love for, and even in good times it was killing me, and I’m going back into the meat grinder for a a second run through.
I feel worst for my family. They know me, and they know that I am a hypocrite. And they know that I am a huge risk factor for them every single time they see me. But they love me, so they do. That fear must be painful. I wish they would believe a lie to just to make all that go away, but I know that doesn’t work, because it doesn’t work on me when they do it.
I just scrolled back to re-read, I shouldn’t do that. I’m using the small coffee cup, to take it easy on myself for not pouring out quite so much today, coffee or conversation. I picked it subconsciously, I guess.
There’s something that I have to do, and then something that we have to do, before we can ever speak again. Not that we’ll ever speak again after it, but if we do it should be by choice and not by some loose ended legal obligation.
Last night, rather than stay in bed with him, I took off and came home, to do things that I usually do late at night. I did regret that I wasn’t going to sleep next to him, his comfortable body, his comfortable mattress (omg, wtf is this weird used up dish sponge I’ve been sleeping on), waking up next to him, the way his body is so warm, his arm heavy enough to hold me down but he has no desire to actually pin me, like so many others.
I was crying, but there was legit something in my eye this time. My ex used to always remark about how often things fell in my eyes, and I remember in my dream at some point there was a toddler wearing goggles under his glasses, and squirting vinegar in my eyes. Wtf, I can’t remember whose kid it was, but he was Black, and it felt like it was my ex’s house (I said that, but I see that I mean my ex’s parents house) but the layout felt like my most recently deceased Uncle’s house.
I remember looking at my ex, eating ribs with his hands, and thinking about how hot he was. The way his collarbones flex when he swallows. The skin at the base of his neck, like porcelain, or more accurately, the surface of a perfectly still puddle of milk. Opaque, but yet the eye can see the depth. Then he swallows, then it moves. So beautiful, skin like a living cotton sheet. I love sleeping there. The boy is the same, at that one spot… and I took the whole man because of that. Beyond that, they are not the same at all. And beyond that, let’s be honest, I don’t really like either of them.