Bent Words

Bent Words

June 25, 2004

Ya know, I'm not alright. I haven't been feeling well lately and I'm not so sure what to attribute it to. I haven't been sleeping - perhaps it's merely that. I feel left behind, left out and unmissed.

I pulled into the parking lot at work today and saw his wife's car sitting there. I could only stare. I couldn't breathe, think or concentrate fully. I wondered if she was in the car, in the building or at the warehouse. I couldn't move. The questions whirling through my mind as to why she would be here today when he is not. I finally came to my senses, looked around me and realize that his van was no longer in the lot. She had come for the van. She just picked up the van, Laura - I could hear myself saying it out loud. But why couldn't that be all that it was? Why did it have to represent so much more?

How did she get the keys to the van? Does she have a spare key or did he drop by on his way to Brainerd to give them to her? Is that why he was late? Am I going to run into her later? Would she talk to me? I remember her license plate four years ago when she used to stop into work all the time. Her license place - hpymrs. Happy Mrs. Is she happy now? Is he happy now? How unfair to be so frightened and to have to recall so many memories before walking into work, where emotions of the outside world are supposed to be left behind. So how was it for me years ago when she would pop in all the time. When she would drop by, ignorant of me. Her long, brown, curly hair, her jacket, the scent and the misery she left behind. I remember. I remember telling him that I could not handle her presence like that in my place of work. I remember him getting angry at me - but what was I supposed to do? Seeing the wife of the man I love at my place of work - where I am supposed to leave all outside emotions behind. Increasing my angst, forcing the knowledge that he would come 'home' to me and she did not know.

How could I not see his indecision than? How could I be led on then by such thin wires of hope? How could I have gotten myself into this horrible mess where I cannot sleep, breathe or move because of a simple fear? How could I beg for so much and give all I have to someone who's never been giving of me? How could I go out tonight with the rest of the world when I feel so loathsome inside? How can I still feel this way? How could he not call and leave me to guess? I know that one - because he is occupied, Laura. And when the darling master is occupied, little room is left over for such petty persons as yourself. The light is on in his world and so why should he fear dark? No, he will call when the lonely night grows dim, when all else fails, when sleep cannot be found and when tears brim over the edge, when his adequacy is questionable, when the rest of the world cannot hear him and if pride does not stand in his charming way.

So how does it feel to be only THAT to the world? The entertainment during downtime, the 'better than nothing' when one is so bored, the brief breath of fresh air when someone needs something new, the last resort when all else fails, the character sought out as long as all is well and happy, the reasurring touch than cannot recieve. And I cannot receive it well. I withdraw at its presence, cringe at the thought and change paths at its sight. How much more acceptable, the hand of empathy, when it is not 'needed,' not called for, not wanted nor relied upon. I appreciate its kindness while walking away from its reliance.

I - I am the hand that provides protection, affection and assurance. Leave yours at your side. I know nothing else, yet there's so much of me that needs to be fixed! My God there's so much of me that turns away at the slightest hint of affection. If affection it can be called. How would I know - unless affection between the sexes is so differently defined. Compassion to one, sex to the other.

So you want to give? Than give something to me. Stop for a moment and just make me think that I'm worth it. I won't take up too much of your time and you could quite possibly be saving a fucking life. Show me that and than I'll be on my way again. I need a jump start - I know I need a jump start to begin my life again. To act upon those things that I so desperately want to act upon but cannot for fear of working for nothing. Give me a moment of strength to make me GO again. I can be all alone, I can make it just fine - but not while all of this crap still lies inside of me, so deep inside. That's all I've done my whole rediculous life - trying to save others from their self-destruction and now I only wish for some of the same in return. Now, when I so desperately need it with all of my heart. No, I cannot admit it all of the time. I cannot even break down! I cannot cry for my Grandfather, weep for my losses or listen to three sad songs in a row - I might bring someone down, I might be in the way, I might not be understood and I let him make me that way. I let him make me feel that I should only be happy, only intrude upon his life when sunshine fills my heart, only relate my life to him when smiles are my dominating feature. Give me a shoulder, a tissue, a place to let it out. Give me a day, an hour, a moment to say what I was going to say at my Grandfather's funeral, but instead said nothing as I was looking for him to arrive. As I was hoping to have someone to lean on when the words choked my throat, as I was becoming weak on my feet, hopeless in my heart, only trying to make it better for the many faces surrounding my soul. Let me sit in the grass before the church and pour out my soul. Do not be emabarassed or toss me aside, just let me cry, wail, laugh and cheer. No one has to understand it, not even you, just let it be. For once let what must be, BE. You adore how elated I can be but despise the hint of sorrow - well one cannot truly become so elated without knowing true sorrow as well. That is me. Don't like it? Than walk away.

I understand more than I care to impart, see more than I care to reveal and hope for more than I dare to admit. I cry because I could not imagine ever forgetting. I tell stories in detail because they fill me with purpose. I laugh so very loud because I do everything big and I'm sometimes too bold, sometimes too niave, and often rather selfish without saying a word. Since I've known him, I've acquired jealousy, pessimism, brevity, the art of procrastination, how easily one can hide within themselves, utter frustration and increased amounts of self-consiousness. I've found myself flirting more than ever just to be noticed in any stupid way possible and I actually worry about what others think - even the people who don't give a damn.

And where do I put all of this??! All of these words needed to come out and I can harldy believe the rapidity of their exclamation. I found tears that needed to be shed and pride that needed to be relented. I apologize for practising such little self control - to you, my one reader, if I still have even that.

Written at 11:00 p.m.