September 7, 2010

the luxury of selfpreservation


When it comes it will not be in a tear-at-the-dotted-lines single serving packet. It won't be an army enclosed in individual blister packs. There will be no free refills and certainly no refunds. You won't know it's happened until you've essentially lost your mind and all the other things that have chosen to cling to it for as long as you've been fooling yourself that you've had it all along.

Because all this time, the entire time you've been waiting and building and wanting, you have forgotten how to relay the messages between the heart and mind. You've been a partial courier, just dropping key words and planting red flags. It's not fair, manipulative even. It's downright lazy.

If ever I was into self-sabotage I would just continue to exist the way that I do. I've never been one to buy into more than what I can afford, but my thrifty attitude towards emotional rationing has probably reached maximum capacity. My pockets are white flags. I've been reticent and haughty. Mysterious and aloof. The whole time just trying to figure out if I was ever going to get back what I never invested in the first place.


L comes around a lot more lately. I'm not sure if it's because he actually has nothing better to do or wants to spend time with me because my company is some sort of life-affirming experience. I encourage it only because I think we've finally come full circle where I don't have to worry that I'll ever get curious about him again.
At a certain point I realize that this has happened, this cyclic completion, and I say something I probably shouldn't have. I'm two root beer floats in (as per usual because it's GODDAMN FRIDAY NIGHT and I don't give a WHAT) and I probably should not have had that second because dairy and sugar are making me equal parts sleepy and expansive.

"Everything is shit," I say, lying on my bed. I don't really mean it, and make sure to use extra mock exaggeration.

"Don't say that. Not it's not!" he retorts with a hopeful tone that can best be described as incompetent.

"LIFE IS STUPID!" I'm goading him on. Making him cheer me up. He doesn't and I am not surprised.

"Yeah. Life is pretty dumb."

He has that look of blank confusion that indicates the gears in his head are turning but maybe they don't all meet properly. I use to wonder what that look meant and now that I think I understand it, the only satisfaction to be gleaned from that accomplishment is that now I know to be sad when I see it. It use to infuriate me and I'd lash out with resentful confusion. I'm not trying to be a brat but when you've known a person for 4 years and in the middle of that, sometime along the way that person has utterly destroyed everything that you thought you knew about your own capacity for empathy and genuine affection and emotional integrity, sometimes every now and again I want to twist the knife.
But I don't because that's mean. Meaner than kicking a dog. I am trying not to be so mean.

"You're always so grumpy," he says, making a sour face. "That's you!"

"I'm grumpy because lately everything breaks my stupid fucking heart," I reply with probably too much vehemence. These outbursts of uncomfortable and alienating truths are becoming a reoccurring theme in my efforts to be more sincere. They rarely come out right nor are perceived in the way I intended. And I don't bother to elaborate because let's face it, heart break is pretty damn boring.
I shrink at the sound of my own voice and change the subject. There's no catharsis in opening up to people. Not even people who have seen my insides, having wretched them directly from the source-- my guts. Especially not those folks.

Catharsis isn't really the type of thing that ought to be rationed anyway. Would you release the hounds at a mosquito? Not likely. It isn't in the nature of catharsis to heed such an obvious invitation anyway.
I can wait. I can't tell you how I feel about you any more than I can't make up my own mind about how I feel about you. I can't let you get to me the way I wish you would. I can't stay here and I can't stop thinking about It.  But I can wait.

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