THINK

Pinprick than anything above.

I had gotten away from my abuser. I had. But there was so much residual, messy interaction still covering my life, like a film of grease that won’t let the pan come clean so that you make a healthy meal in it.  Scrub, scrub, scrub…wipe a finger across the surface…sigh… I couldn’t get away clean. We had a son together. A beautiful little giggling creature…that, God help me, I never fully enjoyed. Because I was always looking over my shoulder. Always lowering myself to ask for some sort of financial help. Help that never came. I was always frustrated. I was always angry at myself. I was always angry at him.  I loved my child. More than anything I had ever known or experienced. He was the most incredible, amazing entity that energy had ever clustered together to create. And he was mine. He was mine to care for and love and raise. And at that time I felt like I was failing. The love I felt for him was in direct proportion to how little I liked myself. It was immeasurable. But I was trying. In every second, I was trying to better.  But when he died… When I was holding his tiny, cold, blue body in my arms…praying with every cell in my body, trying to warm him up and erase what was happening…refusing to accept he was gone… When he died, my resolve, my fight, my understanding of how the world works all shattered into a zillion pieces and there was no way to put them back in any order. My shattering was utterly complete. But, you see, all these shattered, splintered pieces still resided inside a shell of a body. And so no one could see how broken I truly was. People can understand grief. They expect it. But they also expect healing and wisdom and moving on. Insanity isn’t on the radar. And so it is wildly overlooked and rationalized. So I was alone in it. I was lost inside myself, not understanding anything and not knowing how to express that. I was alone.  I’ve never known desperation they way I experienced it at that time. I can’t even tell you exactly what I was desperate for. It was so many things. But one of them was a need for someone, anyone, to feel a sliver of what I was feeling…and to understand how badly I needed help.  It was in this that I went back to my baby’s father. He was the only one who was grieving the loss of our son. In that I mean he was the only one who had lost a son that was specifically my son. People all around me were grieving. But it was not their child. It was his. And when he broke down in front of me, I saw my own pain. And I reached out and held it in my arms the way I wanted so desperately for someone to reach out to me. And for a tiny blip it was a comfort. A real feeling of relief… But it did not last. Because he hadn’t become a better person. And his pain was not the same as my pain. Not at all. And I got hurt again worse than anytime before.  It was a very long time before I was able to forgive myself for going back to him and to put down the heavy shame I was carrying about it.  This is why I have so much patience for other people who don’t know how to get out of their situations in all the varying degrees of severity. Sometimes it’s obvious why it would be so difficult, but sometimes it is not. And people who see it from the outside tend to get so frustrated and fed up, feeling the answer to the problem is so simple. But it is not. And the reasons victims go back isn’t simple either. It’s been nearly 13 years since my relationship ended for good and I still have revelations about everything. I’m still healing. And that’s okay. I have forgiven myself for much because I can finally understand so much. It took a while. It’s not about weakness or stupidity. It’s not, “you must like it then” or any of the other cruel things people can say.  It’s simply misunderstood. And it’s because of that that I told my story, full disclosure. It’s why I speak about it still and it’s why I have so much patience for those in the midst of their abuse and for those who watch on and can’t understand.  If anything is going to get better there has to be a bridge of understanding between these two entities. And if I can be a part of that, I will do it. I will do everyday.  If I can be for anyone, what I never had, then I know one day soon I will make peace with all that I went through. The tiniest bit of patience and understanding can save a life, can make a difference. And in the end that’s everything. 

I’ve come to terms with so much and though I’m not quite through I can see things so differently now. The truth is, I felt safe with you. I felt like you would you die before you’d let anyone hurt me. The truth is that I loved you and your faults and I felt like I was the only one who could really see you. The truth is that I loved you but I mourned where my life was going when we were together. The truth is I would have stayed if things had not gone the way that they did. The truth is that I still trip over my convictions trying to convince the world that I’ve let it all go. Because the truth is that I haven’t. I still dream of you. It used to be nightmares, but now I often awaken with a throbbing in my heart. A feeling of loss. Because the truth is that you hurt me so deeply in my soul that I broke. Because the truth is that though you’d die defending me from anything outside, you were the cause of every bruise, every sob, every space of time that held me in a depression so complete that talking and colors faded away. The truth is that I loved you and resented you. I needed you and hated you. I wanted you all the time and I couldn’t stand the sight of you. You loved me more than anyone and so I let you into the core of me. You needed that, I knew. And for a moment in time you slept there like a baby and I nurtured you. But it was from that place inside of me, so deep, that you grew thorns. You thrashed and screamed and shredded me to pieces from the inside. The truth of it all is that it doesn’t make sense. My feelings don’t add up. But it is also true that each one of those feelings is real. Because that is what abuse does. It’s a mindfuck. It’s not black and white, villian and angel, domination and fear. It’s a tangled up mess of frustration and desperation mixed with passion and beautiful things. It feels like Love and Hate at the same time. It feels more real than anything else could ever be. It feels like the blood running through your veins and how…tell me how…do you separate yourself from that? How do you drain yourself of blood and what’s real when that’s what your life is made of? It’s hard. And it hurts like being flayed alive. But the truth is, it can be done. For in truth it’s all just a grand illusion…that you can’t see…because you sold your vision to Pain for what you thought was Love. And that is why all the revelations come in layers…over years… I can see things so differently now. It’s been years. There were so many things I didn’t know how to face because I needed things to add up. But abuse is a mindfuck and things won’t ever really add up. The truth is I loved you. I felt so safe with you, so loved. Yet the truth is also that you were the most dangerous predator of all and I locked myself in your cage willingly and naive. Because the truth, I think, is that you loved me too. But things changed. And you changed and I changed and none of it was okay. And the love that started it all warped and got damaged and we ignored it for routine. And called it life. You did horrible things. And I truly don’t think you care in a genuine way. And I know that by the end, what we had was a tragic mess of shredded souls and grief and a world without color. It was desperate and needy and angry and mean. The Love had left us, alone with in our chaos…silently sobbing for all that was lost. And still I get stirred up and upset to think of all you’ve done and how you still think it’s just fine to say hi…tell me I’m beautiful… And I want to lash out, but I hate that I care and I wish I just felt nothing. I tried to be that person, but it didn’t work because I didn’t know how to let myself face the truth. The truth is I loved you and I felt safe with you and because I didn’t know better to make better choices I ended up in such a tragedy that my soul died and I had to grow a new one from scratch. That’s the truth. I still have feelings about everything. I can’t go numb about it all the way I want to. I have to face that.   I’ve come to terms with so much and though I’m not quite through I can see things so differently now.   I loved you and that’s okay. These things I feel are legit and I think if I can allow them, then maybe the healing will have a path to completion. And I won’t fall into a pit of darkness…because you think it’s okay to say hi…

The demon orchid - WTF fun fact

he broke the mirror just to spite me in service to the bull and Saturn turned just slightly left relinquishing the pull I shook my heads to find my face and remember who I’d been before my tongue was split in two for consuming doubled sin it’s birds and cages…butterflies a key that has no lock checkered floors and Baphomet cowed by electroshock you can say enlightened or illumed but neither one is here one is fear, the other free but neither one is clear it’s possible I’m human still but for sure I was a child drugged and beaten and programmed to believe that I was wild the yellow road leads to a hole where dear white rabbit hops a looking glass reflecting Oz and the journey never stops some will chant, others whisper some are cloaked and some are not it’s a nightmare that you beg to end but the blood will always clot there’s addictions in the killing rooms  there are aliens at CERN they do the dance of death you see when the demons write each term it’s a calling to see energy  and know your chakras to the letter but it’s a lifetime fight to gain control when the enemy knows better. 12/7/16 6:12pm