Sometimes I wake up with all the pain of loss in my heart
My mind rushing to consciousness through a gauntlet of each person I’ve loved who have died or left or are so distant that any hope of us remains in the realm of dreams that never were
I wake in this tearing agony as if my dreams were filled with my loves and waking is the cutting blade ripping me open
I wake like this and go to work
Where people don’t know the wonderful people who I’ve carved myself up, open to
Where explaining even a tenth of what I feel would earn at best pity and most likely contempt
And as weary as I grow of this pain, those who care must read my torment and have nothing else to say. All the words have been said. All the sympathy given. And we are all left hollow and we are all stuck on the fringes of understanding. Each of us a world alone.
I stay away, awake as long as I can. The torment of staying away from sleep and the comforts of not thinking. Stay awake to keep from that moment of wake
Still, in dreams we are together. Different me’s, different you’s; watching their lives unfold
Happy that somewhere we are found
Until that moment when again, all is lost
Caresses my skin
Frenzy clicks and clatters
Torn out by the root
Drift and tumble
Each ungentle touch breaking me
Moving me further
Each shift a step forward
Flight in the maelstrom
Discarded by the road
No further than sight
Hells offer us safety that heavens do not
Life is a ongoing study in the loss of innocence and joy as one peace or another is cut away or slowly ripped out of us. In a hell we know the parameters. There will be horror, there will be pain, there will be fear. And very occasionally, there will be rest. And we will find the steel to endure in those seconds and minutes of peace.
In a heaven, having experienced both loss and being self aware, there is always the wait for the moment when it is ripped away. For the loss of love, joy, and safety.
It becomes that we choose to endure the hell. Because the thought of one more lost heaven destroys us more thoroughly than this endurance of durance vile.
If I knew how to talk about what I want maybe I’d be in a different place
If I knew what I was willing to sacrifice for what I want
Maybe I’d be there
I am sometimes afraid that, despite jumping off the cliff so many times, this last time is the one that I should have done
Safety and you
But leaving everything behind, trapped in the lense of my own making
I can only blame myself
Because who else can bare the burden
Crying for no reason
I wonder at the wounds I’ve inflicted
Following my heart so often
Except, it seems, when it matters
She sits miles away from my touch
Though I see her smile
Hear her infectious laugh
A chortle combined with giggle
Smiles erupt across my face
Approach to stand so close
Feel our mingled body heat
But a touch in this place
Must be surreptitious
My ache grows
Day by day
Even a simple brushing of the fingertips
I understand those upper class Victorian novels now
That pent up frustration of a held hand
Have I met you you say in bravado
Smoldering, I respond, I don’t know
More and more each day I think
Even in the drop of parting
The fecund stink of fresh turndown earth
Sweet summer grass spouts green stalks
The soft bud peaks in the still gray of dawn
Fresh air and the slice of cold wind
Lost amidst the summer waves
Warmth of day grows
Bones ache with tired
Brain fills with lies that sound like truth
Sleep the only refuge from hopes blade
The heat envelopes
The night closes in
Stars breathe life to darkness
And the moon
I’m starting to feel hopeful again.
Which means at some point I’ll stick my hand in the fire
Because that’s what I do
I leap before I know there is solid ground
Maybe that makes me brave
But right now I have hope
No direction but hope
No horizon but hope
No safety but hope
Even though I know better
Even though I know how treacherous hope is
I feel myself light with it
I’m sure any day now
I’ll crash back to earth
What can I say?
I’m a fiend for cracking my chest open
And daring wonderful people to take a bite
A bit morbid
But hey, if you can match my darkness
We might have a chance
I watched you walk away a hundred times in my mind. Steeling myself to the inevitable moment when you were gone for good. You said you were leaving. Moving on from this place of broken promises and going to a brighter future. And though I was sad, I understood. You were tied to another and what we have is but ephemeral kisses of the might have been. Had things been different. Had you chosen another Path, one we’d walk together.
But now, you’ve chosen to remain amidst reassurance that things will be different. But they won’t be. Liars lie. Emotional abusers abuse. That won’t change. Unless you’ve chosen paths I’ve advocated and you won’t because they are all dark alleys you wouldn’t travel, nor even loose me down.
So, you’ll stay, so close and ever distant. Because staying is easier than going. Because comfortable is easier than more and scary.
I’ve let you go. But my heart, foolish thing, only thinks that now at least, there may be a chance. But I know, it’s not to be. Much as I wish it otherwise. Love is bastard. Always complicated. Always just beyond reach.
I find myself constantly wishing that I could do more for the people I love. That the bits that I do, the bits I am allowed to do, are not enough. I want to swoop in and help out. Even if that’s just being there.
I can’t decide if that’s egocentric bullshit or some impulse to be the hero or if it comes from genuine compassion. It may come from a place of profound pain. And by helping them, I get to feel connected for a few minutes or hours.
This may be the tragedy of self inspection and healing. Every time there is a plateau and you think you are good, there is another yawning pit from which demons claw out. They may be polite or you may realize that you want nothing more than to start crying and you don’t know why. Only that it’s easier to do that than to be hurt.
I want to help, to fix, because I am broken.
Hopelessly cliche, I am aware.
I’m not looking for a person to fix. Or who will fix me. But I can’t help but feel that their is a person shaped hole in my heart, and if it were filled, this… All of this life and wondering and pain, would be a bit easier.
I miss caring for someone and being cared for in return. I miss giving an order and having carried it out. I miss the joy on my their face when I say, “Good Girl.” I miss the life. The life as I learned it. The submission and compliance. Punishment and reward. Rules made to show care, to demonstrate love, to make each moment better. Never to hold back, always to foster growth. I miss these things, but mostly I miss being loved. I miss loving someone full bore with my slightly crazy heart and being loved in return by theirs.
I miss the lifestyle because it’s the only world I’ve known where love is the most important thing. Where communication rises to the level of my need. Where such is internally enforced by the cultural norms of the lifestyle. Maybe this is my experience because I’m the common denominator, I know that others have experienced abuse, that this lifestyle draws abusers and takers.
I’m not that. I have no way to convince you. You would need to trust me. I have no real point here. I’m 15 days out and I guess I just miss my Morgan. We weren’t perfect, but we had love. I miss her. I miss who I was with her. I miss…