My friends are heading home for the week.
They're getting into planes, trains, automobiles and at stations mothers or fathers will pick them up, bring them home, laughing in the car ride, laughing over dinner, cuddling on the couch in front of a good movie.
I'm taking a train, but to a friend. And it's strange how this feels.
To be honest right now, I do not miss my family. IThis makes me feel horrible. My mother is sick, my father is worried about her. My family is already frayed. So that is why I do not tell them what A. did to me. But just trying to work through this, that is enough to make our already strained ties worse. I am angry at my parents, too. This anger terrifies me. It is so much bigger than I am. When I feel it fully, I feel like I cannot live with it. Not that I will kill myself, but simply that there is not enough room in this body for myself and for this anger. It is consuming, blistering, lashing out at anyone and everyone. It is a lighlty sleeping monster. Even now, thinking about it, I can feel it start to stir. It slowly blinks it's reptilian eyes, starts to uncurl its dangerous tail. It stretches out it's back - the clanking of its scales is deafening.
How can I possibly bring this anger home with me? It will burn the house down with its heat. It is strange to love someone and feel this depth of anger towards them at the same time. I am filled with furious question.
How could they not have known?
How could they not have stopped it?
Why did they turn their eyes and let this happen?
They ask me regularly and often, do you have a boyfriend? Any prospects? Anyone? Anyone? The question not asked is, "are you a lesbian?" And that if the answer is yes, then that is not ok.
Of course. That is the only possibility. Not that I don't know how to love a man, how to even get close to that point. That emotional intimacy terrifies me, because strangers can never hurt you as much as the people who are supposed to love you can.
I want to through it all in all of their faces - the blurry faced blow jobs, the alcohol induced mistakes, the bite marks and hickeys, the red ass cheeks from poorly conceived spankings, the men I have let sleep over only to get more from them in the morning, the men I have kicked out of my bed because I got what I needed from them, my constant musings over how much I hate my body.
This. I want to say to them, This is my life. In all its messy glory. This, you had something to do with this. How dare you condescendingly, pityingly question me about my lack of a lover?
I will see M. this weekend. He is kind, and funny, and smart. And I think, maybe. Maybe I can do this. So maybe while I lose my family, at least now, I can find love in another.
I wish I could warn him, but not scare him away. This will be messy. This will be hard. I will get scared. I may, once, cry as his body pushes ecstatically against mine, and this is not his fault.
But to test the waters of love and find my love for my family again? These cannot happen at the same time. And M. seems so much easier right now. Maybe this is cowardly, but I am tired of apologizing.