It’s a compulsion. I can’t seem to control it. I’m so often in control--I’ve trained myself hard to hide vulnerability. They’ll use it against me. Tears show weakness, their victory. It’s always been a game of strength. The first to break loses. He who yells loudest wins, regardless of the words. Hide your fear and pain with volume and fight back.
When I lose control, I lose everything. It breaks the dam and floods through me, making me lightheaded and blind. I separate from myself entirely, drifting back in slowly once the violence of my reaction has worn itself out.
Control is gone where it comes to you. I’ve never had that before. My every reaction to you is amplified. I can’t not touch you. I can’t not kiss you. I can’t not feel my brain swim in my head and my stomach drop when you speak thoughtless words that cut me. I can’t not reach out, even knowing how sharp you are, and touch the blade. It calms the itchy portion of my head that knows better. Digging at a scab, nails on a mosquito bite, morphine in the blood. I lash out, I have to touch you somehow. I want to be in your head as you are in mine, setting all rationality on fire.
How unfair that I am burning to ashes without you. How tragic that even your cruelest words calm the burning for an instant. Brief respite.
I disconnect, and I am sad for myself. Doesn’t she deserve love and gentleness? She is tired and trying to hide it. She told you as much, do you remember? She wanted to pause and breathe. She wanted to be held for a moment so she could rest. Exhaustion is weak. Fear is weak. But you dropped her, you pulled away when she was her most raw, and she lost her footing.
I will be gentle to her. I will give her the love she needs. Rise, girl. I will protect you.
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