I took my old self down to the jail. Not now me. Not the invented me I walk around in. The me under that. I went ahead and had a full reversion. Seriously. Full reverse sweaty palmed terror driven self destructive nineteen year old me.
Because. I thought about him. And I thought about me. I thought about what I thought he was. What he thinks he is. What I think I was. What I think he thinks I am. I thought about the last ten to eleven years. Tried to imagine back to the time and place I was before and figure out what’s different if anything. And I thought and I thought and I thought in circles and triangles and spirals and the thing is…. You can’t un think or out think or think around a feeling. I could not get rid of the feelings. And I got a letter. And another letter. And I had to see him. Because I still don’t know anything. Or I can’t tell if I do.
Because if I’m the same I want to know it. So I can do something about it.
And if I’m different. I want to know it.
And I want to know which parts of the different are improvements and which are really just me still full fetal arms over head frozen reflex crazy girl.
And the people say “why? Why would you go see him?” because they’re thinking about what he deserves.
But what about what I deserve? What about who I am? What about who I am regardless of what anyone does? At what point has a person gone so far that I can no longer treat them the way I would like to treat fellow human beings? Is there some line they cross and then I become them? At what point do I say my heart is just not that big. How do you decide if someone was just fucked up and you got in the crossfire or if they actually really truly used you and abused you and will continue to as long as you let them and as long as they can slide it in under the guise of pity or kindness or basic human rights?
Consider a person in your life that screwed you in ways you’re still figuring out. Screwed you so horribly that after eleven years you’re only just realizing how far they bent you over. Consider that they found you a fucked up mess… KNEW that and then ripped the hole wider. Consider that they told you it was your fault. That you were damaged. That you were fucked up and if you could just quit being so fucked up and trust them it would be fine. Better than fine. That they would be fine and you would be fine. That it would be all the things they obliterated the possibility of for what turned out essentially to be a con. Consider that you believed that. Not all of you. Just enough. Enough to keep the hole and the fear and the choking sad.
Consider them sitting behind plexiglass looking at a life sentence.
Well. I did. Consider it. And seriously. There’s never going to be a safer way to see this person.
So I did. And I’m glad I did. And I felt better right after. And then I thought some more. And I thought myself right back where I started.
And I still know nothing. I sat on a stool bolted to the floor and I leaned over sideways to speak into a telephone and I stared at the man on the other side and I know nothing.
And he said “I love you. I have always loved you. And I can do that if you like it or not.”
And I pulled up every horrible thing he ever did to me or those I care about and I held them over the hole hoping not to let the scary awful terrible truth get in.
That he probably does. He probably does love me. He probably always has.
And someplace between all his fucked up and all my fucked up.... it mattered not one bit.
May 27, 2010
