Selva Oscura (6/365)

It is going to take the whole year.

It is not going to happen overnight.

But if I keep going like this, it will happen.

I haven’t fallen off, nor given up.  I’ve bypassed treats, held my focus, kept walking.

There’s nerves around these posts for some reason.  I’ve paused for some reason, just like I’ve been angry today at my sister and mother – my mother who is awaiting news post a mammogram and doesn’t really have anything to do with the anger, and am trying to find out what that reason is.  Which, as we all know, is the best use of the written word.  To figure out why the fuck your head is no longer connected to the rest of you and maybe release the vise grip that reason has on you.

I’m mad, I think, at J.  But it’s so intermingled with being mad at myself for not speaking up about it, not finding myself remotely able to speak up about it, that I can’t unpack it and make demands about it.  It just is this third or fourth idea.  The first two are the thoughts of who we are as ourselves, the third is who we are together, and now, now it’s who we are not.   And we’re not together? But? It’s such a vast, near-Biblical sense of Purgatory.   Of me asking and being shut down for things that were once so readily given.  Of time having worked us over when I was confused and I am still confused.  I don’t want to ask him to move here.  I don’t want to say I will help him with everything he ever needs.  I don’t want to say I’m willing to rattle my already punch-drunk world to make my feelings clear enough that we can both take this seriously enough that I’d understand I need to say those other things or the third thought dies.

And then we have a laugh and a concerted moment of caring and I cry less than I want to but more than I should and I think about the last year, a year that my writing dried up, my thought processes deteriorated, my ability to question what was happening to me diminished because I was petrified that the truth is that I need him to do things for himself that he doesn’t and he needs the same for me and some of the sincerely held beliefs are at odds with my own.  Some of the essential things I of which I know he doesn’t.

And if you can’t speak honestly, then, what do you have?

I just know from knowing the tricks that are in his head, the faith he’s placed in me, the heart he’s given both literal and figurative and that half of my trouble is being halfway there.  Of holding back at critical junctures.  And the break I want won’t actually fix the root of the matter.  I don’t live a life that is fully accessible to outsiders.  The change I’ve felt in that regard is solely due to J.  He’s pushed, gently, and…

to be continued…

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