The Dark Place

If I told you the truth, would you turn away? Would you stare at me in wonder, in horror, take me to the hospitol? Do they have a hospitol for things like this?
If I told you the truth, would you think it was me? That I must have had something to do with it, for it to hurt so bad? That I might have participated somehow? Must have brought something to the table? The world is full of victims who do just that, like it’s a lifestyle choice. There’s something in it for some of them, something to gain, though I can’t tell you what it is. I never wanted to be one of them, or drag that cross around. I wanted to be someone who made choices. Always choices.
Yes, I did do something; I did bring something to the table, did make a choice. I’ll try to tell you what it was, even if I can’t tell you everything. I’ll be honest in the ways I can be, while I may be guarding myself now. What I did is easy enough to tell, easy enough to admit, though I’d rather not. To you, I’ll tell it.

I was honest. I bared my soul. I did not keep secrets. I exposed my soft underbelly. I left the windows to my soul open wide and did not apply make up to my scars.
I didn’t call my fears another name, but said “Here. Here are the soft spots, please never put pressure here for they hurt.” I was fearless, in my fears. I was brutal in their exposure, for no one can say they did not know, did not see them. I showed them, took a picture to be sure.
I was there for the viewing, patient, lest it frightened or was something never before seen, like seeing the melted skin of a burn survivor for the very first time. I took the time to explain.
It’s not everyone who needs that much information. Most people have no need. You didn’t. But now things have changed, and everything’s inflamed, infected, and scraped raw, and I know you don’t understand why.

I never really concealed these marks on me, on my soul. I never wore them like a crown either, or like a badge of honor. I don’t deny they are a part of me, but there is more to me than just what I have survived. You see the more in me, you see who I hope to become, who I am today, not just the wounds and the pictures of who I once was. You, maybe more than most, know I do not want that, for myself, for anyone I love. You know I do not want to BE that. I am not what someone else has done to me; not even as a survivor of that. I am the me you know, a whole person apart from another’s actions.

But here I am, and it’s a dark place where I have no voice. I can’t find the me you know, even while I know you still see me. I can’t hear my own truth, can’t see my own face, without a scream choking mute in my throat, a ghost from a life gone to me.
I know you’ll let me take my time. I know you don’t have to know everything; the fight I’m in will take time and isn’t the kind of thing that needs pushing. I haven’t lost myself, I’m only misplaced. I’m just a little too far into the weeds, but it’s not the first time. I’ll start walking again, soon. Won’t I?

I know I made myself a target. I didn’t mean to, only meant to be honest. I framed it up so nicely, neatly, said “hurt me HERE.” I didn’t need to point out the ways to my breakdown in such a handy way. The shame of that will take me a while to mend, because I know the truth of it. The truth of it is I did it for fear that my scars would hurt another I thought to protect, and for the need to feel safe, finally.
I know I am not her, the girl that was hurt, the one with the scream in her throat and the ghost in the mirror; she’s a part of me but she’s ok now. I don’t have to protect her anymore. She’s been safe for a long time and I will always have her safe in my arms. I can let go of her hurt and rage and shame. She doesn’t have to suffer anymore and either do I.
I will never let HER go, to be alone and lost; she is mine. But I will let go fighting for her to not be hurt one more time; she cannot be hurt again. She is safe now.

Still, here I am, in the dark place where I have no voice. I can’t find the me you know, even while I know you still see me.
I know you’ll let me take my time. I haven’t lost myself, I’m only a little misplaced. I’ll start walking again, soon.
Won’t I?

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Stealing Peace

I sit in the dirt, watching the water. Bass flicker in the murkiness there; he points them out here and there, softly tossing a pebble to trick them nearer so I can see. What else is there to do when you’ve lost your mind? The fish don’t know, they keep doing what they do and don’t have a thought for me and my mind. They only avoid sudden movement, of which I am careful.
An ancient backpacker’s mat appears from the truck and I’m given a place to sit there. I have to make an appearance later and shouldn’t look like I’ve lain in the mud. I don’t care if I do.
I go searching for a cigarette and when I return there is a pillow on the mat. A pillow with a wildlife motif. A man’s pillow, placed exactly where my head will lay.
I close my eyes there and wonder, wonder at the small things that I will survive on today. The drive with hot tears behind my sunglasses and the hand that tucks my hair behind my ear; the friend, the water, the pillow. The quiet parade of objects that emerge from the truck to ponder. A small Norweigan flag, mine now. An English flask, beautifully engraved, run over and smashed completely flat; useless but for it’s loveliness and curious state.
A gravy boat. It perches on my belly for a while until it confuses me. Why am I lying in a road by a lake with a gravy boat? And then I remember, it’s something I would do; it should be funny.
A small bottle of lotion.
A magic bag of tricks.
Found treasures and remedies for dry and untended skin. Skin that doesn’t feel like mine, that doesn’t fit.

We’d eaten chile rellenos, seated high over the street where the people walked; people with places to go and money to spend, lives happening. The sun was shining, maybe birds were singing. It’s how I see the picture, but I don’t remember and wouldn’t hear. I ate and was surprised that I could. It feels so wrong to eat, like eating on somebody’s grave, which is ridiculous. Who’s grave? Mine?
Nobody died. I have to eat.
I am ravenous, and I eat over the grave, the one no one but me knows I am sitting on or in. His long legs brush mine, a comfort, safe. His blue green eyes look at me, never deeper than what I can stand. The most they do is turn dark once.
We look like any couple, maybe slightly more interesting, better looking than some. People that don’t quite know think we are, because they know there’s something, just what they can’t figure.
He is beautiful, but he is not mine, and I am not his. He is the impossible friend, who couldn’t know the broken girl I am, who’s never seen my world, who doesn’t know darkness, who needs nothing from me. He is the impossible friend who I would love if the universe was different. But he is just a friend. The friend who brought me to the water this day so I could think, or not think.

I turn the music up. It seems so trite, lyrics that meant something a lifetime ago, now just a feeling that doesn’t make sense, nothing more. I am nothing but feeling and confusion; it seems fitting, none of the words making sense. And then the Norah Jones I’d given him gives me a lullaby and finally something feels right. I sleep the half trance of temporary peace. This moment, it’s all I have.
I ask him to drop me off and I don’t bother to retrieve my own vehicle. I know I will have to walk for blocks later, and it will be night, but I don’t care. I have borrowed time and now there isn’t anymore. I’ll worry about it later. For right now, I can’t give back one stolen moment of peace.
There’s nothing to be said when I leave, only his eyes dark once more, and my quiet thank you, and then I’m gone, carrying my stolen peace in a bag with a Norweigan flag to say it’s so.
I hang it over the calender in my office and sit in the dark, watching people through the window again. The calender says May. I don’t know when this started, what day my self slipped under the door and ran away. I don’t mark things on calenders and I’d rather forget. But I look there all the same, trying to figure it out. Which day did this happen? Which day did I realize I couldn’t get away from it? Which day did someone tell me “You have got to get your mind together”? When did I stop being able to get my mind together anyway? Have I gotten it back together at all?
I play with things on my desk. The tiny pewter tray with the viking ship. The pocketknife I forget to leave in my pocket and always need then. A rubber band, so useful. Nothing looks familiar, does the trick of making me make sense to me. It’s just stuff.
I go back to my closed eyes and see ripples on the water, see a pebble falling into depth, see a small fish making it’s way. I only know this, this moment of stolen peace.

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Beaten

“No one beat you up. I don’t see any bruises.” His blue green eyes look at me steady. “Why can’t you tell me?”
We stand outside, like any other time, only my world is upside down and it’s all different. I am me, but I am not.
“Were you raped?”
I am silent, for a long time. Chain smoke, stare at the ground. “No.” I wasn’t, right?
No, I know I was not.
“Why can’t you tell me what’s wrong? What happened?”

I can’t tell. Or if I do, it will never be the whole truth. No one really knows how it is with me, how I feel my soul ripping out through my skin and my mind is flying away a thousand miles an hour. How my heart thumps so hard I can hear it, or then it’s just hollow, cored out. How I feel shamed, awed that I could ever feel such embarrasment that I would literally hide under a rock if I could.
Instead I go each day where I need to go and I face people that don’t know and they wonder what’s wrong. I’ve taken to sitting in my office with the lights off, watching people from my chair where they only see me there if they know to look. I stay there until I can’t. I get some illusion of safety there, of separation, and I can’t bear to get closer. I interact when I have to, and then go to my place I came from and cry. It hurts my skin to talk to people.

“I know a place where there’s no one, a beautiful place. It’s very remote, and there are a lot of trees and a beautiful valley. No one would ever hear you. You could scream. I’ll take you if you want to go.”
I imagine this. Try to see it as a comfort, a safety. I try to see him being there, keeping me safe. I don’t know if I can feel safe again, anywhere. With anyone. It’s so far away, or so far behind me.

I want to say it wasn’t that bad, that I’ll get over it. I want to say I’m stronger than this. But I don’t know how to be. I don’t have any marks on me. How can it be this bad? “No one beat you up.”
There are so many ways to violate a person, if you know how.

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You See Now…

You see now. I didn’t know it would be like this. Who in their right mind would have ever taken it on had they known?

I didn’t know the thing would follow me here. I thought I was safe from its nose, always sniffing the wind and watching for movement, any movement. I hid in plain sight and moved slowly, so as not to call attention. After awhile, it had been so long I assumed I was forgotten. Wouldn’t you have? Years went by and the signs all pointed to the same thing-I was safe. No longer a hunted thing, of no particular interest to the one who watched.

What would you have done? I couldn’t stop living forever.

Man, was I wrong. Of course I was wrong. These things don’t forget, they never just quit. That would be like losing and one thing’s for sure, winning is everything. I’d given up the idea of that long ago, had settled for survival, but then I’d gotten tired of that and reached for something more.

I guess I forgot myself and who I’d been. I bought into the idea that freedom was my birthright, once I’d had a good taste of it myself. And you know, it is. But dance with the Devil just once, and you might have a hard time ever convincing him and his ilk that you are your own, ever again. They wait.

I’d danced to that darkness once, alone I thought, but of course I was not alone when my eyes opened in that dark. The thing was right there beside me, his hand sliding up my dress. It reminds me now of the one time I fell asleep at the wheel and eyes open, drove clear off the road. I guess I’d have to say I wasn’t really asleep, but in a kind of hypnosis. Leaving the road, I willed myself back at the last moment, but found it hard to resist the sweet slide to oblivion. Like the overwhelming urge to sleep, the drift insisted that I just let go.

The dance was the same-a demand to let go and just drift where it took me. Kind of hard to explain now, but if you know what I mean then there’s no need anyway. Once you’ve felt it you need no description. The only sane reaction is to jerk yourself away before being swallowed by a tree or embankment or the devastation of a car wreck. Sometimes there’s no going back fast enough, and it’s too late. Me, I’d just get the willies whenever I thought about how close I’d come.

Ah, but enough of my mixed up analogies. The point is, I got away with my life and after the heart-pounding stopped I was really careful for a while. A long while, in fact. Eventually I got braver and took some risks. I wasn’t such a secret. I let the world in. I bought a business and one day had a business card and then I was on TV and everybody knew my name. Well, I know it wasn’t everyone, so what could the harm be? No one was watching anymore, right?

Besides, the name wasn’t quite the same name then, and who watched the local news channel but local people?

It started with the one I called Cowboy. He materialized beside me in the quiet part of the day, and left me the sound of spurs though he wore no boots. Afterwards, I went about my business, focused on the work, and tried not to think about it too much.

A month or so later, when I’d nearly forgotten, I found myself in conversation with a young man who wore mirrored shades like that other. A different guy altogether, so I’d thought. At some point I realized he’d just stopped talking altogether and was staring deep into my eyes. I felt a lurch in my stomach and a chill when I knew I’d stared right back. Not out of any kind of man-woman thing on my part, but like a rabbit stays still when finally cornered, staring at certain death. The young man breathed in time with me, then smiled wide and showed a pointed tooth. I almost fell backward and wanted to run but could not.

“You have a nice day now, Ma’am” was all he said then, not breaking eye contact, and slowly backed up before turning away and showing me that he walked on hooves.

Was I imagining this? Had my mind finally broken? I most certainly had done some damage to myself somewhere, what with the life I’d once led. Maybe I’d finally lost my grasp on reality.

But I knew it wasn’t true. Things were insane, this was insane, but it was real. I was going to have to deal with it; somehow I was going to have to find a way to not go crazy.

I did what I did the first time. I went back to work. I smiled, made money, looked like I was supposed to look. I looked good. At least good enough to look like I belonged where I was.

Summer came. I’d always liked summer best. Everything’s more relaxed and I’m not cold all the time. I like driving, and I like to put the window down. I didn’t miss the bad weather. I’d been out looking for treasures and trying to keep cool, and my guard was down, like before.

He wasn’t there when I pulled into that gas station. And I know the sound of a Harley Davidson as well as I know anything. But then he was there, astride the big hog, across the drive from me. He was next to the gas pump, though I knew he wouldn’t get any gas. And he was grinning.

His voice came across silky smooth and honeyed in my ear, while he still sat grinning across from me without saying a word.

“Nice day.”

“Yes” I smiled. Why was I smiling? I knew it was wrong, but I was scared so I smiled. Girls are dumb that way.

“Why don’t you get out of that truck and come have a seat? We’ll go for a ride.” The warmth dripped off him in waves.

“No thank you” I whispered. The sound of his voice filled my head. His lips hadn’t moved but for the smile. I looked towards the highway and stared, cold all over though it was at least 100 degrees. Maybe I could just drive away and not get stopped for taking the gas nozzle with me. It was taking forever.

Now he was in my face, still on the silent bike. His face was in my window. How had he gotten so close?

“Just get on.” Grinning. A tiny fleck of saliva at the corner of his smile.

I don’t know if I said no, if I whispered it, screamed it, or only thought it. It didn’t matter; he could hear me and he could smell my fear. Still his smile could melt butter.

“No. NO.”

This time I’d said it aloud and I wasn’t smiling; I’d said it strong.

 He tilted his head like a beguiling child might, all charm and wistfulness, even looked a little hurt, and said “Well Honey, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Yeah, I do” my mind spoke. And like that, he was in my ear again, only this time it hurt, each word like a blow; “Get. On. The fucking bike.” I turned towards the right, the passenger side, the side my ear was hurting on, and he said there from the seat, “Last chance.”

I didn’t know what it meant, what last chance I drove away from, but I watched him ride off away from me too, heard the bike’s roar, at the same time he spoke from the passenger seat. A tail brushed the gearshift and I flailed at it in terror, a live snaking thing that didn’t belong there. And then there was nothing there at all, no one beside me now. And no one was watching and no one had seen a thing. I could hear the bike circling the block and wondered if he would come back for me. I knew no one would think a thing if he came back and cornered me, not in this neighborhood. But I also knew he didn’t have the need; he’d made his point. He’d find me.

So, you see. I would never have started this had I known it would come. I really did believe I was safe. I’d survived the dance and got really strong but I never guessed at what didn’t get undone. And I knew I had to stop waiting, it was crazy to keep waiting when that shit had all stopped for so long. It was time to start living again. What I didn’t know was that IT waits, and can outwait me.

I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I really wish I could pretend it wasn’t happening, but I’d be lying. Maybe if we stood together I’d have a chance, but I wouldn’t blame you if you split. Knowing what I know, I would.

Then again, you haven’t left me yet. Maybe it’ll get tired of chasing me after all. And maybe, just maybe, Ill be stronger than I think.

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My Bat

I must confess

You give a chill

To flutter by my head

Your inky form

Causes a thrill

Of shudders in my bed

 

I will admit

You have a way

Of mesmerizing me

With jerky flight

I’m hypnotized

By something I can’t see

 

I can’t deny

I long to know

What calls you to my side

Your circled flight

Can only show

You find yourself yet shy

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Twist

“I’m doing this for you.”

                              –Last words of a sociopath

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On the Inside

I saw you on the inside

From where I used to live

I saw you where you hide

From my perfect fit

I saw the secrets in your heart

The ones you’re loath to show

I always saw most everything

You didn’t let me know

 

I kept the faith we both did pledge

I never gave a clue

From way back then I always knew

I could see right through

I gave you every chance there is

To just be something more

I watched you when you made your choice

To take the lowest road

 

You saw me on the inside

From where you used to live

You saw me where I cried

Nothing left to fit

You saw the secrets of my heart

The ones you loathed to hold

You always wanted everything

I didn’t let you know

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Faller

There was a man

Who lived in a wood

Of ghosts who whispered and knew

They spoke to all

The buried truths

Of those left roughly hewn

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Injustice

What are you going to do? Arrest me? I’ve been myself for this long now, how could you think I would stop? And I never could stand injustice.

It’s been said that when I believe in something, I’m like a dog with a bone. Not the most flattering analogy, but likely true. In fact, I believe it was you that said it first.

Try and get it away from me. Go ahead.

Then there was also your description of me as “relentless”. Why would I change my ways now? I’m just getting started.

What are you going to do? Write something about me? I’ve got my own stories. And mine are all true.

 

Gotcha.

 

        

 

 

 

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In Your Hands

[So Long; Epilogue]

 

You’re studying

Matching words and dates

Looking for a way

To make it all make sense

 

You’re combing

Catching links and cues

Chasing after trails

That lead me back to you

 

That’s my book

In your hands

That’s the story

You can’t understand

That’s my book

On your shelf

That’s my story

You’ve kept for yourself

 

And I’m just letting you

Now I’m just letting you

 

You’re reading

The pages of my soul

Charting the past

By what you don’t know

 

You’re writing

The chapter of you

Making your mark

With what you can’t prove

 

That’s my book

In your hands

That’s my story

You can’t understand

That’s my book

That you stole

That’s my story

You’ve bought and sold

 

And I’m just letting you

Now I’m just letting

You go

 

Why did it come to this?

What will you do when the line doesn’t fit?

 

You’re reading

The pages of my soul

Mapping the past

You think is your own

 

You’re keeping

The words you can’t hold

Finding the last

Verse that you wrote

 

And I’m letting you

I’m just letting it

Go

 

I’m just a book

On a shelf

I’m just a story

You want for yourself

I’m just a book

In your hands

I’m just words

You can’t understand

 

And I’m just letting

Them go

I’m just letting go

I’m just letting you

Go

I’m just letting

You know

I’m just letting you

Now I’m just letting go

 

 [So Long]

http://oracleofthepearl.wordpress.com/2009/03/12/so-long/

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