Not all of my most impactful, most vivid moments have been bright and shining. I love, love so it primarily becomes my focus, but what love story comes without obstacles to overcome? Those moments where shit hits the fan and everything falls apart are equally as important to the success of a story as the moments full of triumph. The lows that we hit give an indication to just how great of heights we can reach. They’re important to acknowledge even when they don’t look the best.
Toxic
I’ve been sitting through enough pointless arguing at this point that every single word is blurring together. I wish I could say it sounded like that Charlie Brown “Wah wa wa wah wa wa” that everyone is familiar with but it’s more like walking into a factory and loud hums and clangs coming from at least a dozen different machines at once. Your mind tries to tune them all out but inevitably some sounds sneak through.
I’ve gotten good at shutting down my senses so I let myself start going blank. My eyes wander for a moment until they pick a spot across the room to fixate on, everything in my periphreal fades to fuzz. I let the thoughts drain from my mind, emotion going with it, leaving my face void of expression. I take a gulp, swallowing all of the saliva that has accumulated in my mouth as I’ve been afraid to make any movements, and then I allow my throat to close back up stifling any words that may dare try to escape. I am trying as hard as I can to shut down my hearing, but it’s proving to be the most challenging.
Maybe it has something to do with the fact that no matter how many times I’ve told you to stop or that I’m not going to have this conversation anymore, your voice gets louder and louder as you go on about it, trying to pull a reaction from me.
I think I’ve got all sense shut out and then I feel touch on my leg. Touch. How the f*** did you get over here? I could have sworn you were just on the other side of the room. Touch. I snap.
GET AWAY FROM ME.
I throw myself up and out of the chair, streamlining for the kitchen, for the window. I need air. I need to breathe. I’m going to suffocate here in this one bedroom apartment with you. The kitchen, eight damn steps from the bedroom. Eight. You follow.
I want to tear you down with my words, but I won’t. I want to tell you that your mother was right when she said nasty things about you, but I’m sure I’ll regret it. You’ve let me close enough that I know every word that would hurt the most and I want to use them but I won’t.
My fist collides with the counter and I scream. The scream started before the collision – anger, not pain. I don’t want to admit it but the second you tell me you’re scared, those words fuel my second punch.
The bruises came from the cabinet, no doubt. I deserve them, without question. Externally, I’m starting to show signs of the wear and tear holding my words back is having on me. When I scream louder and you shriek, I know you’re hurting.
I know this is sick. I feel honest to god satisfaction in this moment and in this moment it is clearer than ever that we need to get away from each other. Now.
Much love, until next time.
Madeline May I... 