The Underneath

"Most mistakes in life are made in a spirit of over-confidence. While we must be careful not to let doubt drive us to distraction, we must also check (and double-check) the assumptions we are making. People who claim to be 100 per cent certain of anything should be treated with circumspection. They would be more convincing, and safer, to say that they are 95 or 99 per cent clear. What is it that you now have ‘absolutely no doubt’ about? And why are you so determined not to allow for the slightest chance of error?"
Another morning, another attempt not to throw up for several hours. Why does stress make me want to puke so much?
Some things, I’m not sure that anyone will or can ever understand. I try, it’s not as though I keep all of these feelings bottled. (And to be clear, I don’t "uncork" for the attention). Sometimes I think it is that I speak that nobody listens. But I’ve tried the reverse, wherein I keep silent, and I am met with prying minds that "want to know". There is no place where I can divulge "some" without also omitting some. So I am either completely walled, a liar, or too open. I am forever damned, when it comes to the truth. These last two months have been the hardest I have lived through in a long time. They were more than I swore I would ever be willing to live with ever again. My whole life has been an uphill battle. I always lose. I try to perry and stay away from the blade- offense instead of defence. But it always lands square in the center of my chest. I am never free of it. I sadly tend to travel through life from one stab wound to another, getting royally fucked over by everything and everyone in the process. What a journey.
When I wake up alone in the morning, I wonder what I’m still doing here. When he leaves, it takes all of my will power to stay put, to not follow. And I wonder why I don’t, why this good-for-nothing job is a heavier anchor than he is. But I suppose I stay for him. Because something is better than nothing… on both counts. Because I’d rather barely get by than not get by at all. I wonder why I am such a threat, and why everyone else is such a threat to me. I never get to be happy in life without paying an enormous price for it.
I didn’t mean to fall in love with John. It happened. I showed up in his life and he was just the right person at the right time. That said, it took him being the right person, and it took me being ready to fall in love again. The odds were against us. It wouldn’t- it couldn’t have been just anyone. I was so terrified of him for so long, and sometimes I still am. Because other people he has known insist on keeping their doors open- their wounds unstitched. They insist on bleeding all over me so that I know they’re there– still causing pain… and mostly pain that I didn’t cause and is not mine to bear. But these people have no regard or consideration of me, or what it took me to even allow myself to be in a position to be victimized by them. And sometimes I don’t know if I’m being brave, or stupid for just taking it. There is a reason that I have spent most of my life with a cold, closed heart, full of doubt and disbelief. People like these have etched it into me my entire life that I am simply not worthy of experiencing joy as an emotion. One woman even told me once that I was a sin against God for simply being alive— and that it was a continued blasphemy that I be allowed to live. Sometimes, I am unsure she was wrong.
I am not like them– the pretty girls. They don’t understand me, and I will never understand them. Sometimes I wish that I had the ability, the luxury of that kind of ignorance, the ease of that existence. I don’t look like them with their average female height and their slender bodies. I have never gained a single thing in my life because of how I look. I have looked attractive, in some ways– but never the way they do. I’ve looked pretty from a distance, or pretty to look at and nothing more. In my inner vanity, I have often dreamed of being the kind of woman that a man dreams about when he closes his eyes at night. I have never been that. I have been awkward and excessively tall my entire life. People have called me things like "Weed" and "Amazon" and "Strong" my entire life– words that belong to giant, ungraceful women that men tend to fear. I have never been delicate. I have never been slender. I have never been slim. I haven’t even really been curvy. And that isn’t wrong. As an adult I have never found myself in a position where men were comfortable enough around me to be unguarded, or typical. Men always watch what they say, and assume that I am all business and no fun. I’m "one of the guys". I’ve been someone to consider but never someone to realize. Sometimes I wonder what it’s like, to be on the other side of the fence. To be the kind of woman who can make the man she’s with feel strong, instead of inferior… to make a man feel like one. It’s a lonely place to be feared. I wish I could do and be and give him everything.
I have separated myself, in the last 60 days, from believing that anything I will ever do in life will be easy, simple, or free. It will always be dirty, difficult and come with a price. So I drag these open doors with me wherever I go, and deal one at a time with the things that come through them and with the things I learn. I try to be the better person and rise above, to accept people, to try and find a way to make peace, make a friend or make things right. I try my hardest to please as much as I can by giving people what they want as long as it doesn’t cost me too much. But it always costs me. I am always underneath, gasping for air. And for that… I am sorry.

~ by Kд§$ị (ИovΔ) on 03/30/2009.

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