Get your own
 diary at DiaryLand.com! contact me older entries newest entry

6:46 p.m. - Tuesday, Jul. 06, 2010
Something's Missing
I'm retracting. Don't know why. Sensory overload. Too many things coming at me from too many angles. Fight or flight kicking in. And running fast as I can.

"Let's just be quiet," I said.

He set the timer for 15 minutes, closed his eyes and let me sit with him there in silence.

Panic setting in, I rushed home to hide away. Buried my arms underneath the pillow my head was resting on. Stared out the window . . .wondering what to do next.

And there I remained for two hours. No revelations. Just quiet.

Here's a slash to the arm for being self-pitying.

And a burn to the thigh for being self-loathing.

And once more, with feeling . . .

I was jealous when she told me about the program she was starting for those college-bound teens. Thirty years of protecting other people's kids. And she's fucking good at it, too. Why didn't she ask me about what happened when my friend's mom called and told her what was going on? Why didn't she tell me it wasn't my fault? And why didn't she question why I was so quiet? So shy, all my teachers said . . .And when I started gaining the weight . . .and later, spending all my time with that guy . . .and dying my hair . . .and STILL thinking about what happened. And when I transferred to a hundred different schools. She just ignored it all. As if that meant it wasn't happening. As if that meant I didn't have a problem. When he killed himsef, she gave me a gift certificate for a manicure. And I knew that was her way of saying, "I love you." But she has to be strong. Too strong to be emotional. And I'm her, you know? I'm HER. And I love her. But what do I want now?

I want to be fucking hugged like you fucking mean it.

I want to be protected. I want to feel like I'm worth something to you. I mean something to you. What I have to say is interesting and important.

And I want to give and receive tenderness. And I want to know how to support others in the face of uncomfortable or unpleasant events.

And for the love of all the gods that were and all the gods that will be . . .all I really want - is to be able to SAY something. Be heard. Be understood.

And just live and breathe. Just fucking live and fucking breathe.

And all of this just spins silently in the pit of my stomach. Making me sick.

"We could talk about anything that came up . . .or we could set the timer for another ten minutes?"

"No," I said . . .even though I really wanted more time. "No, that's good enough." Bite your tongue, little girl. Just run.

previous - next

about me - read my profile! read other Diar
yLand diaries! recommend my diary to a friend! Get
 your own fun + free diary at DiaryLand.com!