Insanity's Faithless Vixen

We are in the waiting room of your pain.  We are all made up by your brain.  

They’ve got it backwards. The ones that are hardly touched— they believe that they are here to claim to the Earth, but the Earth will never cease to claim them when it is their time to go. What we take must be given back. This is the ancient way of the land. By subtly or by force, we all belong to her.

Being disabled is hot dog water. It’s dog shit. I wouldn’t beat someone down in a dark alley with it. But there’s a prevailing sense that you can’t be honest about it, at least not completely. You’re expected to put a positive spin on it, or else people might think you hate yourself. Or that you’re too negative, or that you’re ungrateful. Because, you guessed it, “it could always be worse.” But there’s a reason I don’t tell kids that there are starving kids in Africa when they refuse to eat their food, or when they throw it away without so much as the second thought. Because telling them there are starving kids in Africa is not only reductive of a continent, it won’t change the fact that if they don’t like it, they’re not going to eat it. Nor will it change the fact that if they’re not hungry, they often times won’t see the value in food being present. If you’ve never known a certain kind of struggling, you’re only ever going to be able to look it in the eye once it punches you in the throat. And that’s just how it is. There are things that you will never understand no matter how hard you try, unless you’ve been there.

I think it also comes from the fact that they feel intimidated by me, because even though they would never admit it, they know I’m smarter than them. So they try to make me feel lesser than by basically implying that I’m being a jerk. But the funny thing is that the men in my life, who actually respect me, have never baselessly accused me of condescension or lecturing. If I am being a little condescending or whatever, they can back it up with evidence as to why they feel that way. However, most of the men who accuse me of this behavior, when I ask them, “how am I doing that?” Their response is just a blanket statement of: “You just are.” and I’m just sitting there like, No. I’m not. If the conversation isn’t going the way that you want it to, or you’re uncomfortable with the subject matter, you just start gaslighting and exposing what a misogynist you are. In reality, the problem is that you don’t respect women. And if you feel that woman is smarter than you you immediately start beating her down, because you think all women should be beneath you.

And it made me feel better. When you’re a woman, especially when you’re in your 30s, people are just so hard on you about everything. If you don’t have this, it’s your fault. If you don’t have that, it’s your fault. And for someone to just come in and say, “it’s not your fault.” It feels nice. it feels nice to have someone tell you, “it’s okay to be single because you’re not settling for less than you deserve. And I support you in that. Because I also don’t want you to settle.” It kind of reminds me of when I watched that comedy special on Netflix, and the comedian said something to the effect of, “There are roughly 6 billion people in this world, and you owe it to yourself to find someone who loves you 1000%.”

You’re fine. You did fine and you have no reason to feel bad about yourself.

I watch Icarus weep in the swaying armchair. The same one that held my mother’s bones when she couldn’t bear to sit up anymore…and I see the flesh decay into the fabric again and again, vibrant with grotesque color.  I hold myself close to the heat, huddling next to the fire not for warmth—but for color. If I practice becoming in the dark, I won’t end the same way all things have. It will be different this time. It has to be.

And just hoping one day it helps someone feel better about how they feel.

And even though it’s been years, every time I hear someone use a shitty metaphor about burning bridges I get a little mad. Maybe I’m still just a little angry at myself for always feeling lost in the loss of it all.

Because I would much rather spend that money on a fancy dress than a set of keys no one will ever see but me. At least in a dress I’ll get compliments, and that will make me feel better about the fact that my life is decaying. And about the fact that I seem to lose things without even trying to. The dress will make me feel better. Better than if one morning I wake up and my car doesn’t start because I don’t have a key, and I am cursing from the drivers seat, but then I’ll run out of words to use. So I’ll borrow words from other languages to more accurately express how I feel…except for the fact that those borrowed words don’t make me feel any better. Because I don’t have any emotional attachment to them. It is never going to sound as good as “fuck” feels. That’s why your native tongue…your first language, always fits more comfortably in your mouth. Because you’ve attached all these growing memories to it. It’s been years now, and I still remember the first time my parents ever said they were disappointed in me without so much as raising their voices. I still remember when I was in high school and my senior English teacher was reading the first draft of an essay I had to turn in for credit. He looked at me after he set the paper on his desk and he said, “it’s good, but it comes off as sarcastic at times.” And I said, “Really? I don’t see it.” And then he said, “that’s because being sarcastic is such an innate part of your personality that you don’t always realize when you are doing it. It happens to the best of us.” Ever since then I’ve tried to be more aware of how I come off to people when I say certain things. Over the years I’ve realized that in the end I don’t care that much about car keys. I care about how the world is and what words mean because things hurt too often…even if it’s just a little. And if we could all just watch our mouths and cultivate some empathy we’d be better off. The car keys are utilitarian, the dress is armor. But if I look pretty I am not sure if people are more or less likely to hurt me.