2004-07-24 - 12:23 a.m.
Do you know that moment where you can feel the bile rising up in your throat and you have to decide whether to try to fight it down or run away fast to somewhere so you can minimise the messiness of you spewing your guts out, so to speak?
This has been my last hour.
The trip home was funny. It turned out to be exactly like a dream I had, except the dream was in daylight and I was in dark. And instead of a baby, I had groceries. But the underlying principles were the same.
Except I did find a bus that could take me home. I stood inside, and watched my reflection blur into the passing scenery. Tears welled up in my eyes, and they were welcome. They longed to carve tracks down my cheeks and make a path out into the world, but they knew better. Because I have told them that there is no place for them there. They almost never try anymore.
It was a nice reminder. But I don't know that they'll be back again.
So I made some vows to myself. I won't fight becoming the girl with the hard eyes, brittle smile, selected-emotions-for-show. I won't. I just maim myself by trying.
Instead I have marked out a piece, a piece of myself. When it becomes necessary I will cut it out and throw it overboard, into the deepest lake I can find. And I will go onwards, and I will be what is needed. I will survive, because I will know that that piece is out there; dormant, but alive. And maybe one day I'll find my way back to reclaim it...
But maybe I won't. I'll learn to be content in the knowledge that it is still somewhere, even if unfound.
I will continue my head games. Sometimes I will do things that are markedly self-destructive. I may have already done one tonight. But it's my prerogative, and I have learned that I respond far too well to fear and pain to let them go.
And the final vow. I will actively avoid dragging anyone down with me, to the best of my abilities. I will bottle things up and send them away, where they will be burdensome to no one. When my bed is made I will lie in it. I might not sleep in it, but that won't concern me.
If you had to cut off a limb to survive, you'd do it. It's distinctly unappealing, but so be it, I guess.
This has been my last hour.
The trip home was funny. It turned out to be exactly like a dream I had, except the dream was in daylight and I was in dark. And instead of a baby, I had groceries. But the underlying principles were the same.
Except I did find a bus that could take me home. I stood inside, and watched my reflection blur into the passing scenery. Tears welled up in my eyes, and they were welcome. They longed to carve tracks down my cheeks and make a path out into the world, but they knew better. Because I have told them that there is no place for them there. They almost never try anymore.
It was a nice reminder. But I don't know that they'll be back again.
So I made some vows to myself. I won't fight becoming the girl with the hard eyes, brittle smile, selected-emotions-for-show. I won't. I just maim myself by trying.
Instead I have marked out a piece, a piece of myself. When it becomes necessary I will cut it out and throw it overboard, into the deepest lake I can find. And I will go onwards, and I will be what is needed. I will survive, because I will know that that piece is out there; dormant, but alive. And maybe one day I'll find my way back to reclaim it...
But maybe I won't. I'll learn to be content in the knowledge that it is still somewhere, even if unfound.
I will continue my head games. Sometimes I will do things that are markedly self-destructive. I may have already done one tonight. But it's my prerogative, and I have learned that I respond far too well to fear and pain to let them go.
And the final vow. I will actively avoid dragging anyone down with me, to the best of my abilities. I will bottle things up and send them away, where they will be burdensome to no one. When my bed is made I will lie in it. I might not sleep in it, but that won't concern me.
If you had to cut off a limb to survive, you'd do it. It's distinctly unappealing, but so be it, I guess.
