Misery

Responding to “The Buried Yes” by Minnie Bruce Pratt.

If this is disjointed, filled with strange or abrupt transitions, so be it. I don't care about that.

(page 409) “Now she and I dance one dance, no spark with her except the thrill of asking for that dance by choice, not by default.”

Today I'm dancing with myself. I keep having images of child-me curled up in a corner. Most of the time, I see child-me backstage, and I proceed to have her leap and bound, nearly flying, in the spotlight. It's how I manage to replace my mask, no matter what's bothering me.

But last night, when I didn't have to deal with anyone else, when I didn't need my mask, mommy-me hugged child-me close, murmuring that everything is going to be all right. Everything is going to be fine. Lean on me and rest; I'll carry you while you're tired.

It's been a long time since I went dancing with anyone else, and I kind of miss it. But right now, I don't have the defenses. When I've gone dancing, I've danced for myself. I'm usually the one who asks, the one wades out onto the floor alone, not caring for anything but the music. Do I look good? Do I look stupid? I don't care. The point is the music, feeling it, letting it flow through me. I ask both people I truly want to dance with and random standers-by. Next time around, I need to give myself permission to ask women too.

(page 409) “I don’t know how to articulate what I can see, an enticing vista, what it might be like to talk among ourselves without always having to answer the men, or reassure them.”

The last time I started having an interesting conversation with another woman in a taxi-cab, the male cab driver felt completely free to butt in. It offended me to the point that I doubt I'll use that cab company again. It completely derailed the conversation.

Right now, I'm spending so much time maintaining the masks I need to wear to function in this world, that I don't have the energy to reassure anyone else. I can respond as reassuring mommy to my children, but that's about it.

My vision last night was of free falling into a cloudbank. At first I didn't have a parachute, but then I had a bright pink one. I knew it'd deploy before I got hurt. I knew that it would lift me high once again, that I wouldn't crash land. I can't see rock bottom, but I have faith that I'll land safely.

I'm not sure how I got in the sky. I guess it really doesn't matter. Maybe I followed the butterflies. Maybe I jumped out of the tower. I don't know.

(page 411) “Later a NOW member reprimands me: it’s unnecessary to push lesbians on the audience. A year before she had been upset when she learned I was a lesbian; she was offended that I had not trusted her enough to tell her. She’d said abruptly, ‘Being afraid to tell me is your problem, not mine.’”

I've been debating coming out to those less close to me as depressed, but haven't yet. My husband openly worries about me. It's not helpful. I'm big enough, strong enough, stubborn enough to hold on to myself. I can't deal with the worries of others right now. I have to function with all my worries, while mothering my children and fulfilling work responsibilities.

At the same time, I understand where the worry comes from. Will I be strong enough if I have suicidal ideations or urges? Will I, like my mother's brother whom I never met, take my own life, not thinking of my children in the next room? But I am a MOTHER, and I overcame many many urges to drive off bridges or cut myself while growing up. I learned the trick of holding on just another second, just another minute, just another hour, just another day.

I don't want to see that worry on anyone else's face. I will get through this, because I'm too damned stubborn not to.

I've realized that people who think that they're easy to talk to or who think that anyone's fear of talking about certain subjects is completely unjustified are delusional. Communication takes community. Communication takes trust. Rather than be offended that the trust isn't there, what would be helpful is to question the bigger picture. Why would someone hesitate to trust, just in general? Is there a pattern of failed trusts? Have you, intentionally or not, betrayed a trust already?

The woman in the quote above, claiming that the lack of trust was not her problem, was not worthy of trust.

(page 411) “I say, ‘We don’t know you; we don’t want to talk to you.’ Put barbed wire up between me and the intrusive hand that fondles, that rips, that pats and then slaps. Wrap my body in barbed wire when I go out in public, unwind it at night to be with my lover, both of us drinking to numb the pain that tracks across our arms, our breasts, our thighs. When we fight, sometimes she mocks me. ‘You are so queer.’ I wonder what kind of woman I would be past these boundaries. Maybe someone naked in a silk robe. The contours of my body shift as fluid as the fabric, skin flexible as silk. How much of a man would I be, how much of a woman? Who would I lie naked with, slipping off the robe of my skin?”

I wear air. I wear aloofness. I wear broken glass. I wear the promise of not putting up with it.

I don't want to be approached or talked to most of the time, especially when I'm in the midst of my customer service job.

And when I'm out enjoying myself, it doesn't necessarily mean I want to talk to random people, especially men. It's my choice if I respond to you, and I may very well not.

But when I do want to be approached, I wear velvet. But it's not always the same velvet. Sometimes it's thick and heavy, reinforced with bone. Sometimes its clingy and warm. Sometimes it wraps around you and pulls you closer. Sometimes it pushes you away.