Pillars

What do you do when you’re stuck between the pillars of Silence and Memory?

It’s an honest question.

Me?

I…have to pull them down. I can’t…I…won’t…

 

Goddammit.

 

I  am doing everything in my power not to be the…person I was this time last year.

“These chains never leave me.
I keep dragging them around.”

I am so fucking tired.

Trying…trying.

And then I look at my hands as they push me up off the floor, scarred. mottled, small fingers that people make fun of FUCK you, The ring…

Om…

I AM

“Taking the pills just to pass the time.”

Benadryl is my fallback. And by fallback I mean it’s my go to to try and sleep.

And weening…myself off them means my temper is higher…but…I need to be gentle…to me and those who still acknowledge my existence and so…

…And thus…

I AM

And now…in an illusion that is true I am stuck between two pillars, chained up like Samson…between Silence and Memory.

And maybe not tonight.

“And I’m calling for my mother as I pull the pillars down.”

I AM

12 years.

More than but…from her death? Mebbe 13.

When she gave up and I knew…and….didn’t even try to persuade her to go to Chemo…

*yank*

And…and…

gnnh

And she faded….and I let her…And picked her off the floor when I’d not been there for two days…

*yank*

And she became emaciated, like a Holocaust victim (fuck you….you don’t know what Dachau did to my soul…and she didn’t want to leave …and I…failed…again)…and I changed her diapers and….

Was in the bathroom…and there was a silence. Was wringing out the washcloth that I was going to clean her with when the silence overcame me.

*Yank*

Walked out….closed her eyes…and her mouth…..

grrrnh

Called 911 and then my friends and 911 showed first…asked if she had a DNR…

She did. I remember signing it. But…she never told me where she put it.

So…

They were duty bound to try and revive her.

I remember…I remember the lead EMT’s eyes…He…knew…but he had to…and then the “Whhhhhhhrrrroshfuzzzzzz….Whhhhhhrrrrrrrshfuzzzzz.”

*YAnk*

And calling funeral parlors and…my head hurts…and then people around me, and some laughter, and the picking out an outfit…

And sobbing in Penny’s arms as Sheryl Crow played…

 

Hurts…

Hurts…still..so..much…but Hurt was so familiar by that point that I pulled it around me like a blanket of Earth herself….Trying to wall me off from everything and just sit with my Hurt…

Didn’t work

Touching foreheads with Deb…

And blathering at St. Jean’s saying that I wasn’t the daughter I could’ve…should’ve been.

*YANK*

I can’t. Do this anymore.

 

I AM

 

I am imperfect. I have a rage inside of me that makes Vesuvius look like a precious princess pussy.

And I know it.

 

*YANK YANK GODDMAN YOU FUCK YOU I AM NOT YOU YANK*

…the pillars fall…my muscles and tendons and sinews straining and a primal cry of agony/grief/anger/joy/acceptance escapes my lips and my lungs like breath held too long and it is loud and painful but all can do at this point is howl my guts out because I am so fucking tired of hurting…

…and goddamit…

Fuck knows what this will do to me…and still…I am not Sampson. I didn’t have to have my hair cut for this….

And…when the dust finally settles…

I Am.

Raw. Vulnerable. Walls breached and broken.  A walking, talking open wound…holding my hand out and unclenching my fists and trying to breathe…sucking in great lungfulls of air because I’ve been drowning for far too long…

I am…all the things I have tried to guard myself against so I wouldn’t get hurt. And I’m terrified.

But…

Still and all…

 

I Am.

“It’s a different kind of danger…”

 

And so, I start again.

Advertisements

Thoughts?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s