Month: February 2017

Raped. By you. Again. My fault cuz I can’t keep my mouth shut, oh ya and, because I don’t have any personal boundaries. This was one of the bad ones. Not one of those times when I say I don’t want to have sex but you completely ignore my voice, my right to say no, and you grope me until I am so uncomfortable that I feel like I have no other choice but to cave and give you what you want in case it gets ugly. It wasn’t one of those times when I just have to accept that it’s my obligation, my wifely duty, to feed the savage inside of you. This was one of those times when you took what you wanted with immediate force; violent, bruising, brutal force. It wasn’t just sleazy, it was criminal. But that’s okay. I can handle it. I’m resilient and I have a special type of light inside of me that God only gives to abused women. It’s true. Even the cops know that, I’m sure they write it in all their reports. Duh.

So, as a woman of light, I have to leave my husband. But because I’m a woman of light I have to try 50 bazillion times to leave before I actually leave. It’s a thing in the light bible. And, whatever, that’s easy for me because I’m wicked smart, and full of compassion, and I’m wise, and cool, and funny and fun, and blessed with good genes and blond hair and a shit ton of Roman Catholic guilt. It’s my mission to suffer for a long time. Duh. I got this.

But, I’ll make it out eventually. The beacon won’t let me rest but will guide me endlessly across the sea until I break on the sand. I’ll foam and froth and sputter in the tide. I’ll get pissed drunk in the hopes of being able to like you for a second or two. I’ll call 911 for help and then lie to their faces later to protect you. I’ll only call them when I’m afraid that something might happen but never once you’ve actually hurt me because that’s just shameful and pointless. So I’ll stand out in the freezing, pouring rain in my socks waiting for them to arrive and then I’ll act like those fools are the boss of me because, after all, it is my fault that I’ve chosen you as a partner. They’ve seen the likes of me before. And you are so gifted at saying the right thing. And I am so bad at white knuckling it. I’m terrible at lying… to you, and to myself, but to them… I am just another drunk domestic, and that shit flies. I am a liar. I am powerless. Case closed. Fade to black.

But, I’ll make it out. Because of the lighthouse. Because of the surf. Because of the fire on the beach. Because of the crazy. I will have to crawl but I DO NOT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THAT. My only port of call is the warmth of the rocks around that fire and those embers which are disappearing into the night sky. I am clawing my way across this shore and I’ll swill out your poison and drink instead to grace and absolution when I get there because I am so bloody grateful that it was me. That I was the one blessed with the ability to rise and that, finally, I could be the one who disappears from our nightmare. I have been wrought of faith and beaten with desire. I have employed you as a propeller and fought the pain of your brace, only to improve my own posture. I am on sacred ground now, purified through your crucifixion, while you are damned. Condemned to the next dark, dank, muddy, cold cell. But, that’s easy for you. It’s hard being the lucky one, the one aglow, because I can’t hide. I have to show up calm, strong, and clear to light the way. I have no choice but to feel all the unhinged, deep, twisty, sweet feels. While you just remain vacant. So. Damned. Vacant.

I release you with love. I pray only good things for you. My wish is that you find a connection that’s meaningful to you, and for you to know peace and comfort. But, don’t you dare mistake my forgiveness for weakness. My wall is high and the guard has orders to cut you if you ever show your face around here again.

Nighty night wild man, you poor wretched beast. Sweet pipe dreams.

My stomach lifts and pushes up into my chest. Then it swoops down a giant tickle and ends in a pit of numb. Lift, swoop, numb. Up the hills, over the hills, down the hills. My car is moving quickly along this empty rural road. The clouds sway overhead, maybe trying to influence my direction, but I am just driving. Not away, not towards, just driving. It’s a summer evening. The sky is gray. The road is slick from an afternoon rain. The windshield is fogging up in the corners. There is a chill in my body. My heart is gray. I want to know when this length of time will be over. I wonder if I will ever feel a weakness tugging at my knees again, if I will hear my heart beating wildly once more, if I will soon taste the salt of a lover’s skin. I feel lost and sad. Happiness is a glass of beer, or a piece of chocolate, a thing that can be consumed. It is a warm pair of socks at night, an empty house with no one to bother me. Happiness doesn’t happen to me anymore the way it happens for others, it doesn’t come in the shape of a smile or the sharing of a kiss. There isn’t a man to catch my hand in his anymore. There are no strong shoulders. There is no familiar voice telling me it will be okay. Loneliness is a dwelling. Isolation surrounds me and houses me like any jail cell or grave site has ever held anyone. I don’t try to make it go away anymore. I don’t cry because of its presence. I have accepted the embrace of solitude. Love is gone and I am alone.

I roll the car window down and a blast of cool air presses into the side of my face and down the length of my neck. Immediately I begin forcing my thoughts out into the countryside. I imagine thousands of little parcels, each wrapped beautifully, but bloodied and bruised on the inside, soaring out the window and being squashed in the headlights of oncoming traffic. I imagine the gift of love recoiling inside of me, too timid to come forward, afraid that it will be ambushed. I imagine all my affections vanishing as shadows emerge from the thick of the woods and twist the life out of them. I live with fear as my friend and my protector. I am afraid of falling in love because I am powerless in love. Once I have found it, I will do anything for that feeling of height, of flying, of being on top of the world. I am frightened that I will give myself away just to feel that high, so I have rooted myself in the comforts of earth at my feet and I won’t look to the sky anymore.

I shift down to fourth gear as my car slows to round a curve in the road. I think of the night in the parking lot when he taught me to drive this car. I am thinking of him. I remember the flowers he would bring home for me. I remember how he would pull my body close to his in our bed and kiss my shoulders before sleep. I remember how we loved each other. I remember thinking that I was trapped in that love. I felt like I was too young to need someone so desperately, and I needed that man like I needed blood in my veins. I believed so religiously and so openly that I would live and die with him, that when we reached the limits of our love, I became obsessed with my loss. I possessed ugliness in my soul. I wanted other people to hurt like I did. I destroyed my dignity in my attempts to feel less pain. I drank until the world spun around me. I used drugs until my feelings became tolerable. I had sex with men who repulsed me. I got down on my knees and begged him to come back to me.

I glance in the rear view mirror and I see the bends in the road behind me. The dotted yellow line is disappearing into a blur. I breathe a deep breath. I want to welcome the fear of butterflies in my belly again. I want to feel the exciting uncertainty of a new man. I want to trust myself. I don’t want to float through life, anesthetized to its beauty or its hideousness. I want my heart to be soft and candy colour pink. I want it to be crusty from the wounds that cut me. I want to breathe one man’s air, live in one man’s gut, and fuel one man’s dream. I want to drive away from that man, feeling drunk from our encounter, and tortured by our separation. I want to give the whistles and giggles room to expand. I want to spend my days with honesty and peace. I want to spend my thoughts on faith.

I turn my car and pass through the black gates. I let the driveway lined with trees lead me up to the house. Casey and Molly jump at me as I step out of the car. I lean down to pet them both and then follow the dogs through the side door. I get a beer from the fridge and I head to my bedroom on the second floor. I shut myself in the room and turn on the CD, leaving the volume down low. I gather my hair on top of my head with a hair tie. I strip off the clothes that are clinging to my body. My pajamas are big and comfortable. I fish a warm pair of socks out of the wardrobe. I curl up on the duvet. I reach for my book. I open to page 289. I hold it in my hands. I hold on.