“That’s all you ever think about. Can’t you get over it?”
This is said to me by people who obviously don’t understand that I do not let them inside my head. I don’t let them see what scares the utter shit out of me. I don’t let them see what’s really and truly bothering me. I talk about what I talk about because it’s easier to understand. It’s easier for me that people see that than see further inside. What bothers me? What is it I’m afraid of? What gives me actual nightmares? What is it that I’m suppressing?
It’s not my romantic life, I can tell you that. Not in the sense that these people who do not know me think. I am not one romance novel short of a goddamned series. I am actually torn the fuck up over a lot of other things. But, for people who look, I am actually sharing everything there is to know about me. Pretty much. There are some things I will never discuss because they’re irrelevant and what’s the point of digging up that crap? To prove to people that this is not all I am?
My therapist is a gem. She’s a goddamned diamond among all the fucking coal. She can look right through me without any kind of difficulty. I haven’t even been seeing her for very long and this heifer has me pegged.
What really bothers me about this Sam shit? That I could not save him. That’s what bothers me about that. No matter how I rage or cry or write or pretend. That’s the bottom line. I wanted to save him and I couldn’t. It’s easy to talk about because it’s right here on the surface. It’s a fucking distraction right now. Yes, it’s depressing, but inside my head is a mess. I’d rather have that depressing shit take over for a while, thankyouverymuch. Because the other shit is crippling me. The Sam shit is easy because there’s nothing to be done – nothing more to hurt me. Easy peasy.
What about Lucifer? He got into my head and twisted shit I didn’t even know could be twisted. He used my self against me. That shit bothers me. Because I thought I knew myself better. That’s actually something I’ve been pretty up front about, but folks think I’m fooling myself. No, that’s actually what bothers me. I need to understand myself. Lucifer is also a distraction. He’s an easy topic, really. I was up in the clouds with my thinking and he slammed me the fuck back to Earth.
This all makes me laugh because of how Sam’s fucktarded friend really tried to hurt my feelings. Sam had no idea and I told him everything. He had no idea because he didn’t care to listen. Always listen, if nothing else. There is always more to the story. Not just for me. For everyone. I don’t like to come out and say what my weaknesses are, because that makes me weak. Derp. But I’ll give you all the ammunition to use against me1 if you pay attention. My sister doesn’t get that. She doesn’t see the nuance. Neither of these two people can get a grasp on thinking that is actually a lot deeper than craptastic gossip. There is nothing below the surface – nothing hidden. I talk too much. I give up too much information.
Not true. I give up just enough that people think it’s all of it. I guess, in my way, I make it nearly impossible to get to know me. I pull away, hide, produce multiple red herrings, contradict myself… Getting close to me requires a herculean effort. Am I worth it? Fuck if I know. The only people that have ever really tried are strangers on the internet.
“You are not her. You will never be her.”
“Yes. I already am.”
“But you’re not. It’s already too late to be her.”
“It’s never too late.”
“You have surpassed her.”
“I will die like her.”
“You couldn’t save her.”
“I know. It’s not my fault. I know.”
“Jen, you couldn’t save him either.”
“I let him die.”
“No. It’s time to forgive yourself. You couldn’t save either of them.”
“But you can save yourself.”
This is a real conversation. I didn’t have to say what was bothering me. I was talking about the ex when this started. And then she started talking back at me.
Want to know what’s really bothering me? Start there. Want to hurt me? Start there.
Everything else is just an easy distraction.
Today marks the 15th anniversary of the day I found out my son was sick. He died July 23, 2003.
- Or with which to actually get to know me. [↩]