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#350 - ode to s.m.
01.22.04 @ 6:19 pm

Every day is hard. I tried really hard not to start bawling when she said that, but I couldn't keep it all in. Not all of it.

I had been on the verge of tears for awhile as we spoke, unable to figure out how such a simple conversation had begun to exact so much emotion from me. Almost everything she said had some pull inside me.

I had started to go silent, fighting my emotions and tears, and she just kept talking. She had no idea the effect of her words on me. It seemed she kept changing subjects with every other line, but every subject, every line was hitting me hard. Were we sending secret signals to each other? Was I somehow covertly letting her know how to break down my walls, the walls I hadn't even realized I had erected so securely.

It had always been so easy to spill my secrets with anyone, once they asked. Perfect strangers, acquaintances, my therapist. But here was someone who had re-entered my life against all reason, maybe even against all the odds of coincidence. Someone who could understand me as much as my husband, if not better. If I would only open up to her. And I wasn't. Not really. I wasn't sure why.

But she said 4 words and the tears spilled down my cheeks as we waited outside the restaurant. I put my head on her shoulder, tentatively, and started to babble. "No one else understands. No one else realizes how hard it is every day. Every day is a struggle."

Today is one of those days, just like any other, where the struggle has become too hard. Two weeks ago Friday, it was really bad. I drove downtown after work to meet my husband's business associates for dinner, and thought about strong liquor. Thought about all those people who can go out on a Friday night, get drunk, dance the night away, and all the problems of their work week just dissolve.

I wished I was one of them.

I wished again tonight. Wished for the courage to down the better half of a bottle of something. To overcome my fear of becoming an alcoholic in one bottle, so I could drown my sorrows just once. Just once would make it ok, right?

Earlier at work, I thought about sleep, oblivion, death. I thought if some lunatic were to attack me right at that moment, I might fall onto my knees and weep with relief. I instantly took back this thought. Furtively darted my eyes back and forth across the expanse of my own head, hoping no one in there noticed the thought. "Nope, not me! I don't wish for death! Honest!!"

I thought of Lestat, how he could lure the willing to his side, call to those who sought death without really knowing it. Was I one of those people now? No, no, no. I got superstitiously nervous, as if God or The Devil, or Lestat himself could have been listening in just then. Wouldn't Fate enjoy that turn of events, to do me in just because I accepted the idea in a moment of weakness?

No, no, no! I assured myself, God, The Devil, Lestat, and Fate.

So I thought about calling her. She told me I could always call her. But what kind of friend would I be if I only call when I'm torn in two?

When we get together, we usually sit around and talk before going off to do whatever we've planned. She is so obviously a therapist, the way she asks me pointed questions about myself, what's going on in my life, and then key follow-up questions as well. Usually I let her go on like this for the better part of an hour before I realize what's happened. I don't mind talking to her, I just feel bad for using her as therapy, for not asking enough questions in return about her.

But still, we hadn't had a break through like the one on the porch of the restaurant before.

I sat there silently realizing how many things I was still keeping from her.

Well, mainly one thing. She told me she had been raped, told me so honestly about it. All I can think about lately is my father. My family. What could have happened to me to make me like this. What DID happen that I can't remember. I know it's there. I just don't know what it is. Or whom. Every year, every month, every day, I lean more and more towards my father.

But I change the subject when he comes up, because of my suspicions of him.

And she talked about her experiences so openly, so easily. When I was a fool and used the word "easily", she told me it wasn't easy. Idiot. I cringed at my own stupidity. Of course it wasn't easy. What was wrong with me.

But she did it. She opened up. No masks.

She wears no masks. Mine is so permanent, I'm always so distracted looking around for hers. What could she be hiding under there?

I fear that no matter what I do, I won't ever be able to do right by her.

She's gone from being my enemy to... A godsend. And for an atheist, that's a big deal.

And I don't know how to reconcile that. I don't know how to deal with her. I want to cleave to her like a babe. But I'm afraid. Afraid of what she'll think. Afraid I'll never let go.

I'm still so broken and bitter after all these years. How did I miss that?

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