We are the sum total of all our life’s encounters. The good news is that our life’s artwork is not complete until our journey ends. We can always add more to our mural which can transform the entirety of the composition. We are a continuous work in process.
Half of the time I long to be fierce, I long to wake up every day with the vitality and life that you swore that you’d permanently possess. The other half of the time, I’m too tired to get out of bed. I’m too paralyzed with fear to walk across the room.
For the first time in my life I had parents who loved and cared for me, rather than beating and neglecting me. I also gained an older sister and three older brothers, who I would look up to and admire for the rest of my life!
I have my own list of past and recent sins. Some of them I committed against myself and my own wellbeing. Some I have apologized and forgiven myself for. Others, the ones I still dream about at night, I have not.
When the fire in your gut is ablaze with anger, let yourself feel it. Let your blood boil, and then act after you have allowed it run its course. Give yourself permission to be sad. Cry when you feel it, whether you are alone, in front of someone you love, or even in public. There is no reason to be ashamed for feeling intensely.
The meat of my palm is sore, and my green painted nails are chipped. I think about the violence I’m capable just with my hands, small and brittle, and know it isn’t much. I’m happy to know that it isn’t much.
I’ll admit it: when she’s out of sight, my mind is relieved to be void of her, the way it feels so good to have a splinter removed. I don’t mean just the relief of the actual removal of the splinter, but the way it feels to know there once used to be a searing, throbbing pain in a part of my body that just isn’t there anymore. The relief of emptiness.
I've stared the monster that lives in my head straight in its eyes, and I've learned to be friends with her. I, even some times, find myself lost in that emptiness, with a sense of appreciation and humor, over that the fact that I'm still standing after everything.
When you go to the bathroom after sex and start crying, you aren’t getting love from this. One time you may like to dress up or play out a fantasy but you don’t have to do it the next time. You are under no obligation to perform for your partner. Making love, having sex, fucking, is a joint endeavor. It isn’t about one person. If you have to close your eyes and think of something else or someone else every time to have an orgasm, you have a problem in your relationship.
For me— a straight woman who had never been the target of an attack like that —the saddest thing about the whole thing was the sudden visceral understanding that my gay friends… people I love… have to deal with this sort of thing all the time.
