30 January 2011

Sorrow

Someone sent me a thing Ann Landers said -- about people who drown their sorrows forgetting that sorrow knows how to swim.

It made me laugh.

Yeah, I know. It wasn't meant to. But I'm a bitchin' swimmer. Way better than sorrow ever hoped to be. Way better.

No, seriously. I am.

I get suffering. I've been there:

4th grade: All the way home (I was a walker), some jackass and his buddy making machine gun sounds at me, because they found out my family was German. (I had no idea what the hell they were doing or why, but for the very first time, I understood that being German wasn't the awesomest thing ever.)

7th grade: Gym class. Er...I don't actually need to go into detail, right?

9th grade: Another jackass, a different jackass from the 4th grade jackass (I assume), this one spit on me. Other jackasses called me names for no reason (well, other than I wasn't tall and blond and beautiful) or felt free to call out insults about what I was wearing or had done to my hair or... whatever the wrong thing of the day was that day.

College: Yeah, I know. The bad shit is supposed to go away in college. And some of it did. Except for the part about my grandfather and two friends dying in the space of just a few months.

Today, I thank the jackasses and the bad shit; they taught me to swim, after all. They taught me that no matter how deep the wounds, no matter how much water is forced into my lungs, in the end -- I'm still gonna float.

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15 January 2011

Dissolution

I suppose I should have seen this coming.

I'm a loner. Always have been. Unlike most people, it isn't actually possible for me to have more than one or two good friends at a time. I just can't manage it. I need to be alone, because it makes me quite insane, if I am forced not to be.

So that's the good part of divorce. I will get the alone time on a regular basis, whether I need it that week or not.

The rest of it, at this point, however, is a big ball of pain and failure.

The failure, in the end, is the worst part for me. I don't fail at things. Ever. And to have failed at this -- arguably one of the most important bits of one's life -- is inexcusable, abominable, and so completely, fucking frustrating, that I don't even have the words really.

The pain, on the other hand, I can deal with.

If you've ever read Dune, you'll remember the "litany agaist fear". I don't remember the exact words (and I can't find my fucking book to look it up), but it amounts to this: I will stand and face my fear. I will allow it to pass through me. And once it has passed through me and gone -- only I will remain.

Pain works the same way.

The days it finds me, it is awful. As bad as death. In some ways, it is even worse. It is death without the "closure", without the comfort that, "at least, he/she no longer suffers".

As with fear, one must let it do its worst.

Scream. Cry. Excoriate yourself. Let it devour you.

When it thinks it has exhausted you and won, it will saunter off, humming, triumphant, oblivious to the respite it gives you when it leaves.

Yes, it will come back. Yes, you will suffer again. Perhaps even worse than the last time (turns out pain hates failure even more than I do). Let it do its worst. Again. Then laugh when it leaves. Actually, laugh while it's still got its hooks in you (it probably won't make you feel better immediately, but pain really hates being laughed at and will tend to stalk off to sulk sooner when you laugh in its face, even if you do so a bit hysterically).

Eventually, pain gives up. And only you will remain.


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