Wednesday, October 14, 2009

the thin line

A thin red line is all that separates the living from the dead. Hope from despair. Love from hate.

Sometimes, the line is blurred, furred, like your tongue in the morning after drinking too much. Sometimes, it's sharp and bright and all too clear.

The most vehement Christians are often the ones with the most doubt. I know that when I still claimed religion I fought so hard to show how good I was, when all I wanted was to be "bad". I went out of my way to try to "save" people because I was trying to figure out faith and I thought I'd finally feel like a whole Christian if I saved enough other people. I don't know what I was thinking. All I know is that the fever finally broke and I saw clearly that I could not live the life I wanted to live, be the person I was, and be religious too... not without hypocrisy which negates the religiosity. I wanted to be whole and one, as myself, honest.

I found myself over the years though, hiding parts of myself more and more... not being honest... again... because people didn't want the real, undiluted me. I learned to lie by not saying things.

And now, I lie by doing the opposite of what I want sometimes... by saying the opposite of what I mean... and it's not all the time... it's just... I can't even explain it... I'm tired of being hurt... and being honest gets you hurt. Telling someone you love them is the scariest and hardest thing to do... and when they tell you they hate you... and act like it... well... what are you supposed to do? You can't just keep saying you love them... you can't just keep throwing yourself against a wall... you can't keep letting them tear you apart on accident... you just have to start telling yourself that you don't love them anymore... and fight everything in you until it's true.

I am not zen. I will never be a Buddhist... or spiritually enlightened I guess. Faith escapes me... like water through my fingers... like a reflection in a mirror you can never touch.

I am full of fire and light and energy and pain. I am still so hurt... so angry... so broken.

The only person in this life who gets all of my undiluted love is James, my son. And I protect him from my pain. I don't want him to know the depths of my sadness. He is the best and truest thing I ever did. He is the most amazing little person. When he hurts, I hurt. When he smiles and laughs, it salves my wounds. It keeps me going. He is the reason I can get up in the morning. He is why I am still here.

There are all these strange pieces of me that got broken when I found out that I was pregnant. There's the piece that wants to do right and what is best. The piece that is fiercely possessive. The piece that wants to run and play. The piece that never wanted to grow up. The piece that would sacrifice anything for someone else's happiness. The piece that is wracked with guilt. The sexual libertine. The addictive personality. The depressive. The logic bound cynic. The dreamer. The piece that creates. The piece that writes like this. So many little pieces.

I've been trying to get myself back together, but it's hard. There are all the main pieces still there: the sarcastic, darkly humorous girl, the girl who never got touched enough in the right ways, the girl who can't sleep, the girl who loves with her whole self... that girl came back... I never thought I'd see her again. But there are parts of me that are fighting with the others, to be heard and expressed.

Sometimes, when my son wakes up in the night and cries out, I go to him and pet him until he falls back to sleep in his crib. Sometimes though, if he just can't seem to get himself back down, I scoop him up and bring him to my bed with me. The other morning after a rough night for us both, I woke up to his tiny hands all over my face gently touching. When I opened my eyes, he smiled at me and made little noises. It was sweetness embodied. Those are the things I never want to forget. It was at least as good as, if not better than, getting VIP access to a show. I've come to realize that I lived my life up to this point, for those moments. I just didn't know it before.

And so, at times, I am fulfilled. The boy is the sun around which I orbit. What else could I need?

But at times, I am a bird trapped in a golden cage beating my wings against the beautiful bars. I need to be OUT. I need to go be with people. I need to be touched. I need to not be responsible. I need to be loud. I need to shine.

It's the Me versus the Mommy.

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