Drown, you say.
I tell my mother today that it was only yesterday that I understood what “let go” means since I began hearing it 12 years ago. In rehab, it’s followed by “Let God”. And I would always say “Fuck that shit.” I needed to be in control because if I weren’t I would have spent everyday killing myself. And when I lost control 12 years ago, there I was killing myself everyday. That was Hell. I lived it. And I didn’t want to return to it.
As for God
I killed God. I killed the one I loved the most. He said, “Really now?” when he found out that I was once a very devout catholic. Oh yes, I laughed, so devout that you’d find me in church almost every afternoon, praying. That first Thursday of the month for confessions. That first Friday mass. That First Saturday of Obligation. And all the Sundays. Everyday was a Sunday.
And What Did I Pray For
I prayed everyday for all my loved ones, I said to my sister the other day when we talked about prayers being read in Fatima when our other sister was in
When Did You Want To Die
At 6 years old. Since then. Still, there was hope. And faith in God that it would all be all right. I died just before I turned 21.
And You’ve Been Dead Since
He says, “What do you call that again--- That thing that you---” and points to his own heart and mimes the shock.
I say, “That. Electric Shock? Uhmm… What the hell do you call that again…” With the paddles…
He says, “Yeah, that.”
I ask, “Why?”
He nods, smiles, “Let’s go…Let’s get your heart shocked…Because it’s dead. You don’t have a fucking heart.”
I laugh, “My, my, when the fuck did you figure that out? Because nobody really could.”
He smiles, “A long time ago, Babe. You’re dead… A zombie…”
I do not say, “Nah…Perhaps an automaton.”
I smile, “It’s not dead.”
He mimes a minute regular heartbeat with his forefinger and thumb, “Not even enough for circulation.”
I once had written that I felt it cut out of me a long time ago.
And maybe…I was the one that did the cutting.
Saturation, Babe, he says.
“Your mind, Babe, I wouldn’t even want or dare to take a crack at it. That’s where they all made a mistake. Nobody can fuck with your mind. Everything’s a mental exercise with you after all…But your heart…You have to let your heart feel…Just feel… Let go… You cannot control everything…”
And so there it was--- I have not allowed myself to feel the past year. Perhaps for a long time. Unnatural, inhuman, and admirable, they said. Biting me right in the ass now.
I smile, “Will you be my heart?”
He smiles, “No, you gotta have your own.”
One Deep Red Cut
It was not so much as I want to kill myself. It was hate at myself. It was pain--- here in my heart--- that I did not want to feel so the pulse bled instead. I know knives. And so there is a cut that’s deep and it would be one’s choice to get it sewn together or not.
He said, “Hi Babe…” and kissed that red line and kissed it again, like kissing a child’s wound to make it better. He hissed. It had hurt to see him more hurt.
Never again, Never again.
Bit and Lost it
So one night I lost my bag. No, I walked out on my bag. Then ran from it. Then walked. Then ran. Then walked. Away. Nothing left--- no wallet, ID’s, passport, phones, journal, books, flash drives with everything from work since jobs began, music player… Too tired to make a list.
And it all doesn’t matter. I don’t feel like it’s a disaster. I simply let go. And I feel like such a newborn. And this morning once I woke up and saw my Mother I cried.
I cry as I smile, “Mommy, I’m allowing myself to feel. It hurts.”
No comments:
Post a Comment