I should be asleep. I have to be up early to put on my face. My battle face. The face I wear when I have to defend my existence to people who don’t know me. I want to put that face away, permanently.
I have nothing to replace her with, that face. I cannot be vulnerable. I stopped that about six years ago. Vulnerability is a liability and I’ve taken some hard L’s in recent history.
I cannot be happy. I can find moments of joy which I cling to and they fuel me to the next moment. I never know when those moments will happen though so I grip hard.
I cannot be sad. When you are sad people try to make you less sad. At times it is because they genuinely care about you. Other times it is a matter of your making them uncomfortable and we resist that feeling.
Instead of sleep I chose to clean. I am doing laundry and watching Agents of Shield. I am sipping cranberry tea and failing at what I least wanted to do.
I had an encounter today. It was one of those moments where I extended my claws just to see if they were still sharp.
They were, as they are often in the vacuum left….after.
That encounter today reminded me of another one over a decade ago. It was in an elevator and brief but I wrote about it. I sent an email to him and told him of the experience. While I no longer have what I wrote I have his response. It awakened a part of me I’ve been keeping buried. I’ve lost the ability to let that version of me walk beyond the walls. She isn’t safe out there and he isn’t there to protect her any longer and keep her safe. Instead I do the heavy lifting wondering is phase 5 is ever going to happen.
The things we came back from to have those moments of joy I thought impossible. My little may not come out to play but she still believes in the impossible. It is what keeps her alive. She’s such a significant part of me I don’t know what happens if she is never allowed again to love.
But back to the encounter.
A friend has a saying that I like:
“Her aggression ends where mine begins.”
To most of the outside world I am that aggressor. The Kid is drawn to it, and while I do allow her to stretch her claws now and then……I often find that she’s met with confusion and/or fear. There’s a myth out there, an urban legend that men are always ready to go.
Sure, when presented with an opportunity they may dive in, but they aren’t always ready to go. At times they hesitate for a reason known only to them at the moment. I could speculate but I’d be here all night and at some point…eventually …. I have to sleep. I have to get into that bed and succumb to the silence and pray to a god I do not believe in that I don’t dream.
I have to pray that I don’t dream about Tuesday:
“Perhaps on Tuesday you will dress like a slut and behave like a whore. Perhaps on Tuesday you will beg like a dog and howl like a bitch. Perhaps on Tuesday you will tear my clothes off and wrestle with me, win or loose you’ll enjoy the naked slapping and oily sliding sounds. Perhaps on Tuesday I will find you shaved and wet and crotchless and aching for a plug in your back door.”