“You’ll die alone.”
“You can’t just walk away like that.”
“You can’t do it on your own.”
“You do everything by yourself.”
“You don’t stick it out.”
“You decided, on your own, that this relationship was over. No consultation?”
At my worst, these are the things people say of me. I usually don’t want to show up with my heart open to yet another relationship, and have to wait for them to get to where I was the moment I showed up.
I’d reason, If you really wanted me around, then when I drift away, you’d reach for me. You wouldn’t let me go. You wouldn’t LET me go. You wouldn’t let ME go. You wouldn’t let me GO.
I’d probably lose interest in objectifying you at some point. And see all the reasons why you’re the one pushing me away. Maybe this is all the power I never had. To believe that I’m just useful to you..that everything is perfunctory..that there is no sentiment you bear for me. When I’m no longer useful, you will no longer be vulnerable, because that has expired. I have the power to be suspicious of you when I want to, turning your motives on and off.
When it’s time for me to run away and hide, you’re cold (switch). When it’s time for me to come out and talk, you’re hot (switch). I never had this power with my mother. She was always cold, and I was born hot. So, I had to feign coldness and shelve my thoughts behind the interrogations that our conversations were. This chapter was resignation. Accepting the fact that my inner self was not welcome here. There was always so much going on…the message: “too much.”
I bring an entire childhood to the table. You’re not just dealing with how I feel, you’re dealing with how I felt. Rejected. T says I’m normal, and of course I don’t believe her. What could be normal about feeling like my vulnerability, my feelings are an intense and overbearing burden to everyone? So, instead, I either share too much or too little, until the trickle dries up completely and you’ve been rejected, before you could reject me..because that’s where you’re going with this, not so? I never want anyone to see me like ‘this’..spiraling outward in the cold air of their warm embrace.
I’ve only gotten more mysterious about it, but it’s really the same dismissal, over and over. I reject you. Is what I sense real at all, or is it just retched pain? Vomiting Janessa at 4, at 6, at 8, at 12…
I feel it’d be noble of me to accept that she was right when she said that “I’ll die alone.” Isn’t that why I’m in the sick house? How could she bring up the very source of my pain as a parting gift? Except, I don’t believe her, and I’m leaving. It’ll be easier for us both if we don’t speak. The words in between are too painful, and you’ll reject mine and reject me..anyway.
I can’t blame it all on myself. The pain… the pain is to blame too. It’s done to me what I repeatedly do to you. This is all the power I never had. I’ll switch off before you grow cold, imagining that it doesn’t make a difference either way, whether I’m here or not. I’m neither warm nor cold. I’m just indifferent.
Janessa ‘Janberry’ Mc Kell. © 10 Oct 2017. 12.19am.