Lately, I have been detached from a lot of what makes me... well, me. Physically, I'm here. mentally, even. But the emotional side of me has more or less packed up and taken a long-needed vacation to Disney World. I've been distant and closed off. And while I know it is rather unfair of me, I have not wanted to fix that. Why am I taking such an unhealthy action?
Hurts less. Like, a shitload less. There's zero risk of being hurt again. See, to talk (add a new four letter words to that list of dirty ones) involves trust. That is something I have been very low on. Don't get me wrong, I still trust – just not in the same... intense way I once did (and, truth be told, even then there were aspects I kept inside). No one new gets unconditional trust. Won't happen. Hell, even some people who have been around a while have been demoted in that area. And you all know the source of this. If not, take a gander at The Night Angels Cried. I'll wait.
Okay, caught up now? Good. Cause I just flipped over a corner. Damn life stuffs.
I met up with “friend” again. There was more of the talking, apologizing and attempts at understanding and (gulp) semi-trusting. Really, I'm working on it. Course, considering I can't even seem to consider forgiving, it'll be a long road that may end at a cliff's edge. And there lies the sudden twist I never saw coming. There we were, chatting away, when I got another not-so-tender flash of Angel. And I felt a tinge of... sad.
Flashback time everyone. After what happened (remember THE NIGHT...), I pretty much buried any and all emotion pertaining to Angel's death. It was the only thing I could do because I didn't want to trust anyone enough to talk. Logically, I knew I could have... even that I should have, but I didn't want to take that chance. When one person inside that inner-circle (considered family even) shows you that yes, they do shoot horses, what chance is there that the others will to? Reality: zero. But in my head, it was a guarantee. So, instead of talking, I just did a lot of fucking. No need to trust a lay; the intimacy of the act not only creates a false trust but each one brought me physically close to another living, breathing human being. Close enough for me. I also pushed all of it into writing (Stormfront: The Three - The Death Dealer was written with a combination pissed the fuck off anger and fuck shit I miss you sad). With this, I was able to keep the unhappiness surrounding Angel's untimely end and “friend” and his backstabbing ways. In the end, I shut down. Except for anger and lust. And really, who needs more than that?
Do I know how to mind-fuck myself or what?
Back to now: As I sit listening to “friend” apologize, I was brought back to thoughts of Angel. Again. Mind you, I've been thinking about him a lot lately, but this was the first time someone else was there. Tinge came up, tinge got shoved back down. A few times. Why of all the fucking people I know do I suddenly get the urge to talk to him? Maybe... Maybe its the apologies (not that I have accepted them yet – still not entirely sure I even believe them). Maybe, just hearing the words is lessening the anger and allowing the things that need to come out find breathing room?
Maybe that diamond hard heart of mine does have a flaw somewhere. Hey, it could happen. There's no reason that the squishy person inside can't come out and say hi. But really? There? Then? Him? Moving forward is a bitch. And I reacted as such, though not in the typicalmake 'em cry way. But I was angry – with myself – for thinking I could lean on him. That's just retarded. Right? He done fucked up and is trying to make that up to me and while the effort is noted,. he is a long ass way from trust and forgiveness.
Then why the hell did I think talk. Stupid emotion feeling brain. You can suppress the shit out of those pesky mother fuckers, but they are more resilient than Joan Rivers' cosmetically preserved face. Always got to pop up at the worst moments. Shit. Fuck. Shit.
So after working overtime keeping those little shits in check, mostly, it was time to go. Like last time, I was offered (and accepted) a ride home. And when we got to my door, I asked if he was heading straight home. Obviously, he said yes. And when he asked why... I didn't actually tell him its because for some unknown reason I wanted to talk about Angel for a few hours and felt the urge to talk specifically to him. Like a flipped switch, I backtracked away from that idea the moment I realized he would not understand what the simple question I posed actually hinted at. I just said good night and got out of the car.
Had he understood what was going on without an explanation, I'd be talking about this right now instead of writing it. But because he didn't, I'm safe. From opening up. From being vulnerable. From admitting that there's a hole inside that wants to erupt suppressed emotion like a geyser.
Man, did I dodge a bullet. For a minute there, I thought I was actually going to share. And what's even scarier... to trust.