I wanted to have a “very serious discussion” I wanted to “have a talk” about what wasn’t okay. I wanted to say “this is not okay” and he held up the prize of “i have a splinter” but it wasn’t a splinter. It was an infection. Or a nosebleed. It was an iron deficiency. It was an excuse. It was a “i woke up with a sore throat.” and my very thought out “discussion” in my head got sidetracked by this straw man.
and my friend said, (how ashamed even now to say I let this happen to me by a partner)my writing should not be this and that or this and that. I didn’t understand this or that or the way things were because abc and xyz. but this was me. and my stories. there is this thing, where the person you love has an illness that believes everyone is their enemy and everyone is beneath them and everyone is their enemy. and you end up being their enemy and their worst critic and their worst friend all while still being their lover. buzzwords were used: controlling the narrative, “common feminist psycho-babble”. not the person I fell for who promised times that never came. the person I feel for didn’t talk about death and suicide end to end, at my expense, over my harm. over my recovery. over my too real and too soon familiarity with suicide. it took time to get out of that space where my mind was being fucked up. in such a smart and clever way.
nothing is sacred you said-with me. Everything turns into writing. that’s because they are my stories too. Today I sliced my finger open cleaning up outside. I didn’t use it as an excuse to abuse anyone. I didn’t use it to deflect manipulation techniques. I know I’m poison to friends and you said that is why we are alike. You said “imagine a bullet in the head of your son” and there is a way to stop loving someone in an instant. but still love them. there is a way to turn away from everything in an instant. there is a way.