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.


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