Afraid

I’m afraid for you.

How many chances will you give?  How many chances before you lose all hope, all sense of yourself? How many chances before you find yourself trapped where you don’t want to be, and don’t know how to get out? How many chances?

Like a broken record, you spin, skipping at the same part every time, jumping back to the same place. It’s a vicious, beautiful cycle. It’s addictive, the promise of change, the glimmer of hope. The thought that maybe, this time, when they say “I’ll get better,” they mean it.

I’m afraid for you.

You know you’re unhappy, you’ve said so yourself. Do you remain with the cycle, with the decline of your own happiness, because of comfort? Because you’re used to it, you know how to handle it, you’ll just deal with it the way you always do? Or is it because of fear? The haunting, horrifying idea that no one will ever love you the way this person does, that you don’t deserve better, that there’s no one else out there who wants you?

Why not fight for your happiness? Why not take the time to realize this is your life, not someone else’s? You own your happiness. No one can tell you what makes you happy. Perhaps this is why you stay– despite how you act, despite what you say, you’re happy in this never ending cycle of arguing and drama.

I’m afraid for you.

People always say they’re going to change, they’ll try to get better. We love them, and we believe them. They hurt us, but we want to believe them. They’re lying. Give it a day, a week, a month, and old habits will return. Like a broken record, you’ll hit that same mark, and skip right back to the start.

As your friend, I want to see you happy. If that means trying– again— to fix things, I want you to try. Again.

As your sister, I have to say: You’re an idiot. And I’m afraid for you.

 

En Morceaux

In the darkness, everything twists and turns
Your words, like satin sheets, fall softly over me
Winding around me in passion and love
Your hands slide over my body like a lover
You hold me in your arms, and you love me

When the light is cast over you, everything shifts and changes
Your words, like thorny bramble, block me out
Cutting me as I try to push my way in
Your face goes blank as a slate
You become cold and distant, and I ache

The darkness, like my trust, is blind
I pour my heart into your hand
I give you power
You give me words I want to hear
Your heart stays locked away
I can’t discern reality from fantasy

Raising a lantern in the darkness, I can see
Your words are snakes coiling around me
Your eyes are guarded
I see you, and I feel something break inside me
My heart, my trust, my soul
Betrayal slices through me, hot and vicious

I throw down the lantern, and it shatters into pieces
As the flames rise around me, casting their flickering light,
I see my reflection in your eyes

And I cry.

Un Coupe de Foudre

You say you won’t talk to people for a few days and yet you reach out to me. You apologize for becoming distant but your name comes up on my messages over and over. You start the conversations, sometimes you keep them going when they die. Sometimes you even follow up after a lull. You ask me about me when you’re grieving, when you should be showered with devotion and attention and comfort and love. Suddenly you’re sincere instead of sarcastic, but the teasing still shows up too. I don’t understand and yet underneath it, you’re still you. I’m so confused, so curious as to why me, why did you single me out, what did I do or say to make you want my attention? What kind of distraction do I offer you that others can’t? Why, so close to my leaving, do you suddenly give me reasons to both hate and adore you?

I can’t understand it, I can’t comprehend it, and all I know is that somehow you decided to trust me, and I want to be there, to help, to hold, to love. I’m so confused and so upset and so very, very much in love with you, for no reason at all, even though I shouldn’t be, and I can’t stop the rush of joy when I see your name on my phone, in my messages or on my Facebook. I miss your face at work and wish I could be around to hold you to me and tell you that you are so strong and so brave and so loved. I wish I could give you my everything, and I wish, as wrong as it is, as much as I absolutely do not deserve it, that for one shining moments you would say the words I can’t seem to say to you. 

Evil

You’re not evil. I’ve looked into the eyes of evil. I’ve heard it’s voice, and in my dreams I still hear it. I have felt its hands on my body and its breath on my face. I’ve known evil intimately, and you just don’t make the cut. 

Evil is what shaped me, honed me into the mess I am now, too afraid to commit to one person, too overwhelmed when my feelings for someone run deep. That’s why I am the way I am. 

I’ve always been the other woman, the one someone left someone else for. I have always flirted with unavailable people because they were safe, they couldn’t really be with me, and therefore they couldn’t really know me and know how messed up I am. And every time they’ve left their s/o for me. Every time I’ve dated someone I’ve been a rebound. I never bothered looking for available people, because in my PTSD riddled, disaster of a mind, that was somehow too dangerous. 

And maybe, just maybe that’s why my feelings for you run so very deep– maybe it’s why, instead of outraged and disgusted and angry, the only thing I feel is a kind of detached confusion, and an impossible amount of pity. You were safe because you were taken, and then you took my feelings for you, my flirting, my teasing, and created something I couldn’t resist– someone who was taken and was with me anyway. 

I am programmed for polyamory. I’ve never understood how a monogamous relationship works. I learned that being with more than one person at a time was normal, preferable even, to being chained to just one person. Evil did that to me. 

So no, you’re not evil. You’ve never looked at a child and made the conscious decision to harm that child irreparably, to ruin their life just because the boundary between a sexually active and consenting adult and an actual, literal child got somehow blurred. 

What you are, darling, is cruel. You can talk about how you’re getting the hang of this dating thing, all the while consciously sleeping with someone else, and that is cruel. Not to me– I went into this knowing full well you were taken, and that’s my own fault, and it’s completely messed up and wrong. But it is cruel to the person you’ve cheated on. If she ever finds out– and we always do– she’ll spend the rest of her life going to sleep at night wondering why she wasn’t good enough for you. 

And, darling, it’s cruel to you. It’s cruel to yourself to say that you can work on a relationship when you’re obviously not happy in it. It’s cruel to pretend to be happy and continually undermine yourself, just because you’re too scared to push either of us away. Cruel to do things that, five years from now, you’ll have to look back on in shame, wondering how you could mess everything up so badly, how you could make such an enormous and dreadful mistake. 

You will never be evil. Miserable, selfish, and disappointingly cruel. But not evil.