Archive for November, 2011

I’m not like you.

Posted: November 28, 2011 in hidden admonishment

If you had children, he would have left you for someone the age of them now.
Younger than me.
Hi.
You remember me.
You watched me grow up.

I’m not an ageist…although I won’t dip below the legal boundaries since branching above them
and I have my qualms with anybody that can’t perform without medical assistance.

He insinuated once that I was stupid for being a fan of The Simpsons.
He also flat out said that I didn’t deserve the nice things my parents struggled to give me
after my first car accident.

Do you remember that?

I never forgave him for that.
Both of you are shitty people for that, by the way.
Saying that shit. Getting mad.
I forgave you, because you actually thought enough to ask me if I was okay before throwing your fit.
I’ve been glad that you never had your own children from that day on.

He’s not family to me anymore.
I won’t even acknowledge him since the day he answered his cellphone at my grandpa’s funeral service.
He answered his goddamned cell phone in the middle of the fucking service.
He derided you afterward when we went to eat in front of your family after we buried your father.
Why was I the only one that told him to shut up?

What the fuck is wrong with you?

You gave me advice once about relationships.
You gave me a book that you hadn’t read, but I read it.
It was written for teenagers that have low self-esteem.
I was 21 when you gave it to me.

I left for a lot of reasons.
I left because he made fun of how I lived, where I lived, what I wore, and how I looked.
He let his family ridicule me.
He was in substantial debt to me.
He lied about his age, his income, his job, his family, his legal obligations…

The main reason I could finally see it, though…
I didn’t want to end up like you.
That’s the only reason I could see it for myself, and it still took a lot of help

from someone who will never love me.

If your marriage was still intact, I might still be confused about my own decisions.
You’re much better off without him.
I want you to find the strength to realize that before you die.

A lot of things about life are harder alone, but they’re not worse.
It’s not going to be in a book
and the Jehovah’s Witnesses you invite in aren’t going to save you.

You lost your career
your parents
and your husband left.

I am just your brother’s daughter.

I’ve wanted to talk to you for a long time, but I just don’t know how.
I’m sorry.

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A question of taste.

Posted: November 27, 2011 in transliteration

Invitation declined.

My world does not incorporate large
flawed
engagement rings.

I can see the flaw with my eyes unassisted.
I’m not a snob, but you push your snobbery on me.
Slobbering.
A significantly smaller stone is of higher monetary value
when polished and cut to a flawless display.
I’m sorry that I know this.

I’m sorry that I’ve seen this.
I’m sorry that I understand this.

I’m even sorry that I’ve read about South African diamond mines at length
because I have a fascination with:
minerals
caverns
monopolies
propaganda
and
chemistry.

Don’t worry.
I really don’t care.
Just don’t show me your engagement ring anymore.

I don’t take cruises.
My family does own lakeshore property
but it’s not ocean front, and it’s not a Great Lake
and they don’t want to own it, but inheritance has entrapped them a bit.

My life decisions do not incorporate plastic surgery consultations.
I don’t have any use for Black Friday shopping deals
or Christmas
or New Year’s.

My credit is better than yours
and my education is higher.

You’d never guess it to look at me, and I make a point not to say it
because I’m not better than you
but I do hate you and your $30 lunch invitation
that I can’t afford to accept

and never would anyway.

Posted: November 24, 2011 in hidden admonishment

There is a stranger asleep on the couch.
I pet his dog, and the stranger stirs awake as I load the washing machine.
My muscles tense.
It is noon on Thanksgiving day, and I am alone in this house with a stranger and his dog while I do the laundry.

Later, I will try to knock on a foreign door without throwing up, because my employers pity me.
Compassion or pity; both are sickening.
I cry, because I am grateful; and I cry, because I don’t want people to intervene anymore.

They were conspiring to have an intervention and let it slip.
I’ve been through too many interventions for them to register anymore.
Both formal and informal.

It’s not that people don’t want to help me.
Even you.
Even you said you cared.
You stayed longer than what was comfortable for you.
You tried to love me.

I know that.

The problem is that knowing doesn’t change a fucking thing.
It hurts a little more to know
and I want to know, so I must want it to hurt.

Isolation Chamber

Posted: November 22, 2011 in hidden admonishment

Having room in my head for your concept of God doesn’t mean I subscribe to your line of logic.
It just means I don’t think you’re stupid for needing to believe in something.

I would like to believe in something.

I don’t believe in your book, and not that it’s relevant, but…most of it is very boring.
I don’t need an argument for differentiating facts and fairytales from
any
direction.
I don’t, and I’m sick of it. I’m not twelve, and the argument is a waste of my fucking time.

Time and time again, you prove to be a fucking waste.

Radioactive isotopes decaying into an everyday occurrence of alchemy is fascinating.
Using that to document “pre” history is…clever.
The clusterfuck of three monotheistic religions in reduction to a condescendingly arbitrary set of 1967 borders…is equally fascinating.

I vote for a loser every time, not because I’m baselessly vilifying and party to a populist counterculture, underdog imperative, but simply because I don’t play the game properly.

I’m sorry that I hurt you.
I wasn’t sorry at the time.

It’s easier on everybody if it’s the other way around.
You’re supposed to hurt me.
Except, comparatively, essentially nothing hurts anymore.
It’s easier on all involved, because I’m not a pure sadist.
Entirely too much shit has happened from a lower point of view.

I can’t look up to you.
I won’t look down on you.

But all you do is waste my fucking time when approaching this eye to eye.

I carry too much anger, and I’m so quickly provoked.
We’re flirting with something too dangerous.

I can’t let down a certain level of self-restraint, so I need you to shut up and go away.
What do you want from me?

Become a real person.

Posted: November 17, 2011 in transliteration

This is where I sleep.
This is my personal space.
I am inviting you to look at my best kept secret; the closest physical representation available

of my mind

breaking.

I haven’t painted in almost four years.
My writing is gone.
You took it.
I told you it was the only comfort I had.
You.
You were the only comfort I had, and you pushed me away
as sick
and delusional.

Of course, I fucking know I’m sick!
Jesus Fuck.
Only the most unperceptive could miss what I can’t hide.

I never hid this from you.

Look at this.

Look at me.

Look.

I’m still a human being.
I know I don’t matter, and I know that I’m sick.
Was I really that greedy?
You saw me.

You saw me.

I’m so quiet.
I so rarely even seek attention.
I almost never show this.

I trusted you, and I know that’s my fault.
I know it’s not on you.
None of this is on you…but you saw me.

You saw me and deliberately turned away.

I’m not going to get better this time.
I don’t want to.

Posted: November 16, 2011 in hidden admonishment

It wasn’t fiction.
That’s the difference between us.
I’m not a writer.

It doesn’t matter anymore.
Do you know how often I have to tell myself?

Dancer or Cocktail Waitress

Posted: November 16, 2011 in proselytizaytion

They wanted me to play the guessing game with them all night
but I just don’t care.
It makes no difference to me.

She’s neither of those things now.

I waited three months on an idea that I didn’t come up with
but I guess you changed your mind.
Saight.
It will be a long time before I consider the option again.

Probably for the best.

“Good girl.”
You say it to me like I’m a dog.
Even if you liked dogs
which you don’t…

They wanted me to admit myself to a hospital,
“Just say you’re going to kill yourself.”
How about I just kill myself.

Problem solved.

Sometimes, I still get into this little piteous rut
wherein I’m convinced no one will ever love me.

Good.

Most of the time, it doesn’t hurt.

I wake up repeatedly as someone else.
It’s not my fault.
Something oscillates and shifts.
My whole grasp on the world sways
and completely changes.

You see the same person as you did yesterday
but I see…
through entirely new weights and measures
placed upon the same things.

I know things are the same.
I know.
I know that I am the same.
I know.

But…how I process the information…
resets.

I don’t care if she was a dancer or a waitress
ten days ago or five minutes from now.
She ceases to exist for me outside of the context in which I know her
and goes dormant when we’re not engaged.

Who she is and what she does beyond our contained
interactions
remain irrelevant.

How will I cope when I look up one day and realize that she’s a stranger?