Alone
March 30th 2009 01:40
Its what I want to be.
You could argue, Im alone now. The house is, assuredly empty. But days are not lonely, days are like those indrawn breaths - theyre waiting, they are drawing, always towards their close. And at that close, home they come. The boyfriend, the family. You'd think. That'd be good. Fun.
I dread it. I see those moments drawing ever closer, powerless to stop it. I feel like running, screaming, from the house, so I dont have to suffer their return - yet I dont leave. This is my house. In a fashion. Its where I want to be. I cant suffer them, but Ive got no where to go.
No matter what I do during the day, it'll never be enough for the matriach. I can do this dishes, wipe them and put them away, have the benches clean and sparking. I can sweep up, clean the bathroom, the kitchen, do all the washing and even put myself and and do her jobs. Soon enough, she'll be pounding up the hallway where Im desperately meditating, throwing useless questions at me. Questions that she could have answered herself without wasting the steps to charge so insolently down the hallway, without wasting the breath to throw them at me. Its like she needs to hear the sound of her voice. And mine. So lonely. Even in crowds of people. As if I could fix it, or change it, when its frozen in her bones? As if it should even be my problem, my concern, with me all grown up and not needing her at all. Its like she has these hooks in my skin, these claws that drag and draw on me, so painfully. I dont care about the tearing when I pull away, if only I could get away. But I havnt yet.
And the boyfriend. He abused me over the weekend for the house being a 'sty'. Hmm. Considering Im the one that cleans it every day, Id have to disagree. He decided to clean it himself. When he was happily done and patting himself on the back, I came and checked it out. As I suspected. Dust still in piles all over the place. Toilet not cleaned - his nice yellow marking line right down the edge of the bowl. Bath not done, sinks not clean.
So when he gets home, he wants clean clothes, dinner, clean house, so he can hurry up and get on his computer and ignore me. Talk to people elsewhere in the world. His guts growing, he's got worse cellulite than me, his pale skin looks like he never goes out side, and it just keeps getting worse. And he expects me to be sexually attracted. Gets right up mre if Im not super turned on 24 hours of the day. Tells me, somethings wrong with me.
Its not like I have it hard. I dont. I just want to be alone. Left alone.
When I was a teenager, matriach left me alone all the time. I didnt have a boyfriend. 6 days out of 7 she'd be away. I remember, so clearly, being afraid the first few times. The unbelievable teror of knowing I had no one to back me up when I went to investigate that strange noise. Burrowing into bed and praying for company. Asking girlfriends to come over and share the silence with me.
But slowly, it changed. Im not sure exactly how. But it just got to be the way things were. And I was not lonely. I revelled so deeply in my own company. The time I spent alone was never long enpugh.
And now I never am.
Along with my greatest dreams, there is this other one, basically the same place, but scaled down, made smaller. And in that dream is the seperation of me and all humans. Even those under the skin right now that profess 'love' when 'love' to be means letting someone be. It means letting them be free, letting them grow. Not shoving and slamming and pushing and squishing until you force them into whatever goddamn box looks pretty to you. Thats not love. its slavery.
You know, I onve said to matriach - "when are you going to cut the coprd and let me be?" she said, "Hmmph. What about me? What about my wings? When do I get to fly?"
I looked at her in complete disbelief. I could not believe my mother had just said such a thing to my face. Shes much more than twice my age, she could, at any time, have flown, had her own life, indeed, she went and had one before I was ready to be left to mine. The unbelievable depth of her hypocrisy and the fact I must alwaysbe the bigger person to malwe her feel betteris starting to mae me feel utterly ill.
And the boyfriend.....Do I love him? Why yes, I do, but I dont know if Im really caoable of loving anyone properly. Not selflessly. Im a bit sociopathic that way. I want them when I want them, and then they can get the fuck out and leavbe me to myself. Thats how I want it. I keep telling him I cant give him what he needs.
I got told last week Id know about the job on friday. Its now monday. My nerves are shot. I need the job. As usual, Im stitching up those sky castles - that if I get enough money together, I can just vanish, without a trace, easily, swiftly, when they arent looking. believe me, it wont be hard.
You could argue, Im alone now. The house is, assuredly empty. But days are not lonely, days are like those indrawn breaths - theyre waiting, they are drawing, always towards their close. And at that close, home they come. The boyfriend, the family. You'd think. That'd be good. Fun.
I dread it. I see those moments drawing ever closer, powerless to stop it. I feel like running, screaming, from the house, so I dont have to suffer their return - yet I dont leave. This is my house. In a fashion. Its where I want to be. I cant suffer them, but Ive got no where to go.
No matter what I do during the day, it'll never be enough for the matriach. I can do this dishes, wipe them and put them away, have the benches clean and sparking. I can sweep up, clean the bathroom, the kitchen, do all the washing and even put myself and and do her jobs. Soon enough, she'll be pounding up the hallway where Im desperately meditating, throwing useless questions at me. Questions that she could have answered herself without wasting the steps to charge so insolently down the hallway, without wasting the breath to throw them at me. Its like she needs to hear the sound of her voice. And mine. So lonely. Even in crowds of people. As if I could fix it, or change it, when its frozen in her bones? As if it should even be my problem, my concern, with me all grown up and not needing her at all. Its like she has these hooks in my skin, these claws that drag and draw on me, so painfully. I dont care about the tearing when I pull away, if only I could get away. But I havnt yet.
And the boyfriend. He abused me over the weekend for the house being a 'sty'. Hmm. Considering Im the one that cleans it every day, Id have to disagree. He decided to clean it himself. When he was happily done and patting himself on the back, I came and checked it out. As I suspected. Dust still in piles all over the place. Toilet not cleaned - his nice yellow marking line right down the edge of the bowl. Bath not done, sinks not clean.
So when he gets home, he wants clean clothes, dinner, clean house, so he can hurry up and get on his computer and ignore me. Talk to people elsewhere in the world. His guts growing, he's got worse cellulite than me, his pale skin looks like he never goes out side, and it just keeps getting worse. And he expects me to be sexually attracted. Gets right up mre if Im not super turned on 24 hours of the day. Tells me, somethings wrong with me.
Its not like I have it hard. I dont. I just want to be alone. Left alone.
When I was a teenager, matriach left me alone all the time. I didnt have a boyfriend. 6 days out of 7 she'd be away. I remember, so clearly, being afraid the first few times. The unbelievable teror of knowing I had no one to back me up when I went to investigate that strange noise. Burrowing into bed and praying for company. Asking girlfriends to come over and share the silence with me.
But slowly, it changed. Im not sure exactly how. But it just got to be the way things were. And I was not lonely. I revelled so deeply in my own company. The time I spent alone was never long enpugh.
And now I never am.
Along with my greatest dreams, there is this other one, basically the same place, but scaled down, made smaller. And in that dream is the seperation of me and all humans. Even those under the skin right now that profess 'love' when 'love' to be means letting someone be. It means letting them be free, letting them grow. Not shoving and slamming and pushing and squishing until you force them into whatever goddamn box looks pretty to you. Thats not love. its slavery.
You know, I onve said to matriach - "when are you going to cut the coprd and let me be?" she said, "Hmmph. What about me? What about my wings? When do I get to fly?"
I looked at her in complete disbelief. I could not believe my mother had just said such a thing to my face. Shes much more than twice my age, she could, at any time, have flown, had her own life, indeed, she went and had one before I was ready to be left to mine. The unbelievable depth of her hypocrisy and the fact I must alwaysbe the bigger person to malwe her feel betteris starting to mae me feel utterly ill.
And the boyfriend.....Do I love him? Why yes, I do, but I dont know if Im really caoable of loving anyone properly. Not selflessly. Im a bit sociopathic that way. I want them when I want them, and then they can get the fuck out and leavbe me to myself. Thats how I want it. I keep telling him I cant give him what he needs.
I got told last week Id know about the job on friday. Its now monday. My nerves are shot. I need the job. As usual, Im stitching up those sky castles - that if I get enough money together, I can just vanish, without a trace, easily, swiftly, when they arent looking. believe me, it wont be hard.
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