Sunday, March 22, 2009

Fear and Trembling

Tomorrow, I cut the umbilical cord (curled with my teeth against my knees/scratching at my consciousness/like a bitch/with flees--Ani D). I come out of a six month long coma. Actually, a twenty something year coma. I have to both give my dad the letter, which will break his heart, and break up with R, which will break her heart. Tomorrow, I also go back to classes in which I shot myself in the foot and will have to tell my professor(s) that for three weeks I was tired. Not sick, just physically tired. For no good reason except, well, being female.

UGH, the curse. 

However, the good news is that everything will be out in the open after tomorrow.

The years I hid my anger at my dad will be uncovered and exposed; along with it, I'm sure, broken pieces of my heart that were scattered. At least with time. Part of the problem, it's been said, for those who have been molested, is the secrecy; the shame at being an "accomplice", yes; but also, the stress of keeping it together. Being the "good little girl". Not making waves. Not hurting somebody at one's own expense.

This type of deception, self-destructive compliance, has been the problem for me. Even though I was never molested. I was hurt badly and was forced to hide the pain and stuff the pain and try to forget about the pain. So much now, half the time, I'll start crying for no reason with no clue why. It seems crazy on the outside, and I want to tell people, (god forbid anyone else is around) there is a good reason for this. Or, it was good at one time. Every shadow is cast by something...

Giving dad the note will be the first step toward open and honest relationships, and the expulsion of this freaking shame; (which will hopefully help me in classes, what with the holy terror I feel with my professors.) Also, clearing away the months of wild ambivalence about loving R will help this as well.

Coming clean. To quote, well, you know who, "the truth will set you free."

Before now, it has been a struggle to believe this itself is true, and life has been mired in compromise, enmeshed in compromise. And, compromise is worse than death. In the Bible, Jesus talks about not being ashamed of Him. In a weird way, I think this was for our sake more than His honor. Because being strong and standing up for what you believe is always more liberating; certainly more liberating than capitulating to things one knows in her soul are wrong. Hiding. Lying. Running away. 

The marks of the slow murder of the soul. I should know. 

Right now, I'm scared shitless.

I'm terrified, honestly, at having to face this stuff; this incredibly real stuff, instead of being able to retreat into hiding or fantasy. The Vyvase isn't helping the situation right now, is making me shaky and nervous. 

Last night, Tommie came by and at first, it was really cool. We talked about Marx, Lenin, Trotsky, Mao and even Jim Jones. But then, my dad and he started talking, and the poor guy got lectured to death, I'm not sure if dad overheard us discussing communism, Tommie's new paramour, though it certainly felt like it with his intensity. Karen Horney would say my dad's insistence was "arbitrary rightness." Then, my mother, Tommie and I had a shot of Goldshlager (and I hadn't eaten). This was my first mistake, because then, my mouth started going faster than the mental filter could shut me the freak up. The second mistake was inviting him to hang out at Wesleyan sometime.

I sense a problem brewing. Tommie stayed until nine, even though his girlfriend kept calling him to come over. Instead, he stayed, saying that he didn't feel like going anywhere and we talked Trotsky and Hinduism. He repeatedly said me he was so happy to see me, hugged me many times, and at one point, cried in my arms(!). Like the old days. He says he and his girlfriend fight a lot, and were at the verge of a break up at one point. And, there were "looks", looking too long, too often. Looks too intimate between friends. 

This morning, I woke up feeling dirty, and, honestly, a little used. Like he needed me to be something I can't; like he needed someone to act as confidant when he should have talked to his girlfriend instead, should have cried in her arms. Maybe even that he's interested again. My inner light is screaming: RUN! DANGER! DANGER!

I'm not even out of this relationship, though he doesn't know about this one. (One which will undoubtedly have a scathingly bitter end.) If he even so much as flirts with, I will buy mace, I swear. 

In good news, however, I messaged some guy on Okcupid who has potential. He's a Christian, but on the liberal side; he likes music and Kierkegaard, and is sometimes "completely broken by the moon." That line alone, coupled with his apparently strong faith, was enough to seriously pique my interest. When he wrote back, he sounded really happy to hear from me. Even if we only become friends, it would be really cool to get to know him. At the very least, it would be cool to talk religion, music, and Kierkegaard. At the very most...


Actually, lately, I've broken a feminist no-no and prayed to find a guy. All the anger has come to a head, the rejection, mistrust. Now, clear it's not "men" but "man", a very specific man, I've decided to dig my heart out of storage. 

I asked God for a good, Christian. One who is preferably indie enough to appreciate subculture but is also grounded in faith; someone kind, compassionate, smart, etc... This one, well, has potential. 

Prayer has to work better than other things since, the tortured longing thing hasn't been working. And, the attempted Julieteeism with that other musician went terribly bad, I mean, the guy was terrified of the wheelchair, as evidenced by excessive kindness. Online, hopefully, the wheels will be less distracting. I just messaged him again, three or four days late, under duress. I scared myself, thinking I'd procrastinate and never reply.

I REFUSE to pass up this risk, to hide out of fear. It's time to try. With everything. And trust that in the end, all shall will be well.

"A trusting life won't topple."

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