You gotta sink, gotta sink, gotta sink to swim…
I promised myself once that I wouldn’t let them see me cry anymore, that I could learn to be stronger. These things I do to distract myself from crying are becoming more obsessive compulsive than I might have hoped. Realistically, it’s safer for me to cry, however it’s easier not to.
The thing is, I haven’t honestly though about it in months… Not since I left, really. It’s easy to talk about it without really thinking of what has happened. Like Andy said, it’s easiest to hide a lie in the most obvious truths. The lie is that it hurts, I guess, and it still hurts, and it will always hurt… The lie is that as much as I like to think I’m learning how to cope with this, I’m not. That would be like learning how to "cope" with your wisdom teeth cutting the inside of your mouth for months and months because no one has made you go to the dentist… And, to be frank, that’s just dumb.
This memory still rubs me raw, still chafes me ’til I bleed. Memories of being powerless and stupid can do that, though. The more I tell myself I’m letting go, the more I’m just hiding my head in the sand. The more I say I’ve learned to deal with it, the more I mean I’ve gotten better at keeping my eyes closed so I can’t hear the screaming. Yeah, it’s about that ineffective.
What have I done to cope? I’ve written poetry. Lots of poetry. Pages and pages of poetry that I assumed would somehow make things easier. Poetry hasn’t fixed a thing. I’ve talked to authority figures and caused problems for everyone, including myself. I’ve started keeping a journal to track myself. I’ve tried to explain to many people who I thought at the time cared what kind of mind games I’ve been subjected to… I’ve moved across the country to get away from all of the constant reminders. I’ve blocked phone numbers, and email addresses, and threatened with a restraining order. I’ve talked to psychologists. I’ve been medicated. I’ve tried all sorts of coping mechanism, most of them physically unhealthy. I’ve dealt with anorexia, bulimia, self-mutillation, suicide attempts, abusive relationships…
The thing is, I feel like I’ve tried everything and it hasn’t been enough. Like maybe the only way to deal with this is just locking those doors and throwing away the key. With all of it, it’s all a bunch of symptoms of one greater problem and all of those symptoms are addictive. I want them like you wouldn’t believe. It’s so much easier to give into chaos than to fight for order.
It’s like riding your bike next to a semi-truck… You know you have to fight against the gravitational force pulling you torward the noise and then silence that rests beneath the wheels.. but some part of you knows it would be easier to just let go.
I don’t really like to be down like this… This completely negative worldview. I honestly do believe that life is beautiful, and I honestly know that I am an incredibly blessed person. I know that this life has to be lived in its entirety though, and parts of it just plain hurt. I just neeed to figure out how I’m supposed to get past that.
It’s Cinco de Mayo, and I’m starting work at La Luna. That’s right. A mexican bar and restaurant. Oh.My.Goodness.
Memories are potent things, guys… Oftentimes more powerful than the initial experience, because right then they’re without greater context.
It’s good to know I still have the ability to scare the shit out of myself.
Ashamed, eternally scrubbing infernal wax,
Melted rivulets infinitely dripping down my back
But I don’t know how to explain that
In the face of your inevitable pseudo-intellect.(She Falls Softly)