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I will build a throne.

In an empty vague place again. Damn it. Last night was so nice, except when it wasn't. Trying to add to the conversation, "That place destroyed my soul," and the Couch Potato's comment, "Well that's your soul's fault." Stupid kid doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about. Except for the part where maybe he does, and I don't know what's my own damn fault. You either defeat your demons or they defeat you.

Like I said - vague empty place. Everywhere all at once. I want to talk about Hips, and the sense of distance from uptown Athens, and the idea that I might know how to write 'What it's like to be a woman in Athens' and then all of the jumbling sense that it's hard to distinguish the difference between being a person in Athens from being a woman in Athens from being a me in Athens. What if my thoughts are just plain wrong?

*whine* What if nobody likes me and they all make fun of me and I'm wrong about everything I think and feel and everybody else really does know better than I do?

Jesus Christ. Also I want to talk about the police officer I saw today who made me think about sending an anonymous basket of cookies to the OUPD, with a note that says, 'Thanks. You won't remember me, but thank you. You believed, and that has made all the difference.' Or something silly like that. I just want that one man to know that, despite the fact that he ultimately didn't have the power to help, he still did help.

Also I want it to go away, but like I told Batman last night (yes, I'm calling my husband Batman, damn it) it never goes away. And that's another thing I want to write about. My sister's been through something similar - not in that the event was similar, but the scar it left. She will never lose the pain of having to put her dog, her life-long companion, to sleep. Batman will never lose the pain of Alise. And I will never lose the pain of this.

It's heartening, in a way. I told Batman I want to change the life of one kid, just one... to make a difference. And he said, It will tear you apart, because his experience with trying to make a difference in the lives of kids has left him deeply wounded. But... maybe the tears will be greater, but I don't really care. I'm not afraid because I've already been torn apart. I already have ghosts. And for the most part, I can still live happily, though they haunt. I'm not going to let my fear of being torn apart or hurt or broken or wounded prevent me from doing the things I crave to do. What I've lived through has taught me it's never worth it to be anything less than vibrantly, painfully happy.

There's something frightening about having followers, and commenters leaving lovely comments on my posts. Thank you for that - it does mean a lot. The vague 'you' who was cruel and judgmental from my first entries has become a gentle, well-meaning 'you,' and that, in turn, has quieted some of the cruel and judgmental aspects of my own thought-processes. Kind of. But it's still scary, because immediately after reading that, I wanted to write a post dedicated to what I thought would make you like me more.

The truth is, this is all I am. I can't get into the heart of things because they're terrible. Maybe constructing a personal narrative should be like ripping off a band aid - quickly, get it over with. But I have made so many mistakes in trying to do that before. You know what's worse than what happened, three stupid years ago, in another life? Worse than that one evening? It's the way I handled it. It's the way I told the story without understanding what it meant. It's the way I tried to play with the story like it didn't mean anything. It wasn't real.

A solid image: The roommate (I still can't think of a good nickname for him) and I were raking leaves outside one of the rentals today, and we sneak around to the shadows so I can light up a cigarette and he can light up a chillum. The apartment is a boxy brick building at the bottom of a hill, pockmarked with wrist-thick trees. Yesterday, there was a solid floor of leaves covering the hill, at least half a foot thick. Today, the hill is cleared but for a long pile at its foot. The leaves are not fall leaves, but dull and grey, rotting into compost. There's a pristine brown fence at the top of the hill, marking the yard of some cute little house in a cute little town. There's a tree with bare branches, another one of those wrist-thick trees with two or three spindly fingers. It's not budding yet, but it's warm outside. The sky is blue, the clouds are fluffy. There's only the slightest hint of chill in the air.

I'm looking at the tree, and the sky, and feeling the spring time crop up around me, and I laugh. I look at the roommate and say, My parents didn't want me to stay, but staying is the best decision I've ever made.

Six blocks away and three years ago, all I could do was cry, and snarl at myself for eating, and sit with my legs dangling over a wall while I contemplated how badly it would hurt to let myself drop.

It never leaves.

I'm content these days... I've moved on, for all intents and purposes. But it's still always there.

Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
orgine
Apr. 1st, 2013 03:11 pm (UTC)
What kind of things were you thinking of doing in order to change a childs life?
ladychai
Apr. 1st, 2013 09:34 pm (UTC)
Really am not sure, as I don't want to ever actually have kids. I just want to be a positive influence somehow, or have the means to provide opportunities to my nieces and nephews. I've heard enough stories of troubled kids - and have been one myself, in a way - that I know how much help a single person can be just by listening, or providing key information or advice, or something like that. It's a very vague wish at the moment.
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

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