Take Another Look











{February 7, 2010}   ?

I’m supposed to tell them everything. This should be good. But I’m walking in there signing over my life on a stranger’s hand. I feel like I’m going to Vegas and planting all my money on a table. The number seems to matter, but there weren’t many tables left, so I just put my life where I could. Later I’ll probably wonder about the only other spot that opened up after I’d put my life on the chosen table. One difference is that in this game the house isn’t really rigged. It’s sort of a mystery in any case. Maybe I need to feel it out, see how they respond to unadulterated honesty. But I  don’t know how to fish around to see if they can handle what I need. They must  take care of my needs and part of me finds it distasteful. I could do their job. I’m sure a lot of people say that, but I could. I don’t need all the degrees. I wish I spoke another language fluently in another world. I wish I could know if what I was doing was right or not. I had a revelation the other night that Jack Burdough is sort of a sex addict. I feel bad now, I feel as though I fueled his addiction. I just loved the intimacy between us. I thought we shared something. Take the Ouija board out, which way does it point? Which matters more, the means or the ends? I guess it  depends on how cynical one is. I’ll give away one thing though, which is that I’m fresh out of juice. Also, I’m tired of talking about this stuff. The risk is that when I talk, I’ll start re-living personal experiences, and the damage that could do is as black as homicide. How tired am I of the identity theft?  Can I start the story there? The question is not about beginnings but about not being able to let go of losses. Moving on by returning over and over to the scene of the crime, trying to find something I missed. And occasionally, I let myself think, there is an out. But these days I feel I’m in too deep for an out. I’m so out of control I can’t take control by taking away my own life that way. I want to see every note she writes. I want too badly to be in other peoples minds. Why can’t I accept my own situation and leave it at that? Because there were too many wrong turns? Because I still feel too emotional about  all of my motions? I want more than forgiveness now. I want what they stole from me. So I entered their psyches, and what did it do? Was I terrified? I don’t know if I am more terrified now that I know the blank indifference they are capable of or less terrified. If she gives me the wrong diagnosis, I don’t know how I will take that loss. I can’t see myself handling much more being taken from me. All I have are my own reserves, and I want more. I wanted people around me that cared. I don’t have that. I have people who wish I was more interested in money. They don’t say so openly, but they make anti-Semitic comments. Did I take it the wrong way, I wonder? I give all liars the benefit of the doubt, I really try to. I try not to wonder too long, but I wonder. How sudden his mothers insanity turned. Why she didn’t remember the dinner date. Why he would falsify that. Why he was fleeing but is no longer fleeing. What excuses he came up with to get rid of me. To have me get rid of what I most cared for. Did I? What is left now. Oh, the pit, the feeling of the pit is excruciating, the thought that it was all an act. I was only lied to. The bile rises and I have nobody to turn to except Parker, who gave me an abyss to stare into. See how quickly the winds have turned, I began writing this in one state, and am now in another. My mind out-racing itself, pouring so much into every encounter that I can’t know. I feel blinded by their indecisiveness, and I feel taken in by the way the put a gag in my mouth to keep me from lashing out anymore. As if to shut me up. I can’t make up my mind. Did they do it to take the pain away or because they needed to keep me from causing any damage to their precious lie? But turn the rubric cube anyway you like, they still changed their colors, the chameleon. My beliefs change as often as they change. I shouldn’t judge but I do.

I suddenly feel terrified by the way I have nobody to turn to anymore.   At first I sought comfort in it, as if the other person was only a stain, but I am scared. They refuse to share responsibility and just push me away, and it wasn’t ever my dignity that hurt. It was everything I gave them that they trashed. I thought I was over this, we’ve been over this, why return again, why sift through the remains again? Because so little was answered for. And I don’t question my own expectations, because as they said, they were very little. I still love, but my love is a missing face on a milk carton.

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