I know what you want. I know what
you wanted. I don’t even begin to wish that I could be that person or do those
things. I tried once. Remember? No, you don’t, do you? Because there was never
a time that I was enough, that I was what you wanted me to be. You’ve told me many
times and in many languages, that I am inadequate. I am inadequate, but only
relative to you. Because it’s not about me. Who I am will never be enough for
you because who you are, well, that person isn’t enough for you. The void that
keeps you empty, there’s nothing that you ever find to fill that. Not even by
swallowing me whole, can you fill that space.
You are a tangled collage that
makes you cruel. From the beginning, it was about you, everything was a
reflection of you, a reflection on you, and so, it had to be the way you wanted
it. Not just as a reflection, but as a mask, or armor, a wall that you could
you stand behind and hope people would admire what they saw. Smile, wave, and
say goodnight, because the boutonniere has wilted and the corsage is drying up.
We’ve lost that fresh pressed, creaseless appearance, and now, we have to
retreat.
Lock the doors and hang the no
solicitors sign, keep the shades drawn, because in here, well, we don’t want
you to see what’s in here. What would the neighbors think? Crap! What if the
neighbors are better than we are? That’s my fault too, because I’m not what she
is, am I? Although, I’ll let you in on a secret: I saw her crying in her car
once. I never told you, because I knew you’d be relieved to know that the
neighbors aren’t better than we are, and I found that grotesque. The
competition is horrible to me. I don’t want to play anymore.
I’m done now. I can’t pretend any
longer. I’ve been done for a while, but I gutted up and did what was required
of me. Now, I can’t do it anymore. If you don’t like what you see now, if you
don’t think I reflect positively on you, then write me off, but let me go. Here’s
the thing: I know you wrote me off years ago, you just wouldn’t let me go. Every
“why can’t you” was another write off when you wished away a part of me hoping
to replace it with someone else. The list of people from who you would have
cobbled together a Frankenstein version of me is endless; there are always new
candidates. Anyone is better than what you got.
You wrote me off for what I was –
it wasn’t good enough. You wrote me off for I wasn’t – better, stronger,
faster, stoic, and male. There’s no becoming less in your eyes. There’s no
becoming more, either. You see me with contempt, and yet, you insist that you
love me. That you will always love me, in a pathetic, pitying way. I am your
ugly, three-legged dog that you alternately despise, then feel guilty for
despising. If this is your love, there is nothing I want less.
Because what I want...is to be
valued. I want for the people in my life to say, “You are enough as you are.” I
don’t want people tell me what I need, what I should do, and how I should make
my way through the world. There’s always something missing from those
statements. Those “you should” statements never end with the truth. The truth
is, “you should” ends with “to make me comfortable with you.” You should change
you so I can be comfortable with you, because who you really are, makes me
uncomfortable. You don’t fit in my vision of how my world should be. You don’t
make me feel good about myself.
When I go forward on my own, I don’t
think you’ll be able to be part of my life. I anticipate that you will find it
uncomfortable, maybe even frightening, because the world in which you live is
such a narrowly explored, narrowly defined place. I won’t live there ever
again. I spent too long there already.
You say you’re worried for me, now.
You fear that I won’t be okay. You worry I will suffer. Ironically, you don’t
see the suffering I’ve already done trying to fit myself into the box in which
you are contained. There was never room for me in there. Don’t worry: I don’t
blame you…
I blame myself. I have a plethora
of “I should” for my purposes, but I can wrap all of them into one: I should
have been stronger much, much sooner. There’s a lot of catching up I need to do
now. I’m starting my lists, thinking ahead, and working on my goals.
Concentrating on what I have to look forward to helps me not to look back with
regret too often.
I wonder how I will be when I don’t feel anxiety like a rat gnawing my stomach. Will I feel
lost? Will I know what to do with myself? I’ve pulled so far into myself, I’m
so curled within the nautilus, it may be days before I can ease out and
straighten my spine. However long it takes, I will slip free of the shell and
taste the world around me.
The saddest part about this is that
you are not wholly terrible. You are not evil incarnate, or the worst, most
vile creature to walk the planet. You’re human, you’re flawed; I am, too. Flaws
are inevitable; acceptance is essential. If you had just accepted your own
flaws, then you could have accepted mine. We could have worked past those flaws
and become greater. Instead, the struggle became controlling and concealing the
flaws. All the energy that was devoted to creating illusion, if it had only been
directed to becoming better. That if only is the saddest I know.
A part of me is mourning these
losses. My failure is sharp. My inclination to stay in the box, to stay safe,
to please you, is something I am reminded of daily. Although, I am also
reminded daily of how wrong this is for me, how this box will never fit. I know
that I will never be what you want, and so, I’m asking you, please just let me
go without making it harder. I will do the same for you.
No comments:
Post a Comment