Monthly Archives: April 2010

No, really, I’m fine

“I’m really sorry”

“It’s n-”

“And DON’T say it’s not your fault.”

There was a time in which I kept to myself completely. I built up a brick wall all around myself, and though I’ve been working on breaking that wall down with select people, there are still remnants around everywhere. I tend to not notice them, or at least not worry about them, at most times, until I’m talking with a friend and they call me out on it or I do it without thinking and then wonder why I just did that or said that.

One that most people know about is the fact that my immediate reaction when someone says, “I’m sorry” I respond by saying, “It’s not your fault.” This exchange began when I would tell someone something about my life that was in some way hard to handle. When they would say they were sorry, I would immediately regret the fact that I shared something with them that may make them think my life isn’t perfect or that there are times where I’m not totally okay. I would shrug my shoulders, tell them it wasn’t their fault, and attempt a conversation change after waiting the appropriate amount of silence for a response, but quickly enough so that no questions were asked. Now, even when I’ve just told someone about a deep problem that obviously took a lot of trust for me to share, I still have the tendency to tell them it’s not their fault, shrug may or may not be included. After all, it’s another way for me to ensure that I’m not burdening anyone with my problems, because now they know that they can be free of any possible heartache that this knowledge may have caused them.

Another knee-jerk response I have is in answer to the question, “Are you okay?” An immediate “yes” or “I’m just tired” will almost always be heard, even to the person I trust most in the world, unless I take time to process the question and remind myself that it’s safe to say “no.” It should be noted that this is an honest answer sometimes. I can seem upset when I’m tired, and that’s where the response began. It was believable because it can be true. However, it is not always the case, and I find that this is one that I have the tendency to add a fake smile or immediately perk up and say something funny. And, once again, I can do this even with those I trust, because it’s just immediate. Luckily, most of them can tell the difference even between upset and tired, and therefore none of them let my act go unnoticed.

I could go on with a lot of things I’ve noticed about myself. One of my friends told me a few months ago that I bs everyone. When I told him that wasn’t true, that I don’t bs EVERYONE, he assured me that it was and I had to sit down and really think about it. It’s true, but not for a lack of trying. Walls take a lot to be broken down when the tools you have are small, and I’m working on it, but it’s still easier to hide. After all, vulnerability is hard. And with that, I think I’ll end with a Lewis quote:

“To love at all is to become vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully around with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safely in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless space, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.”

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I don’t do this very often…

So, I’m working on writing a screenplay, and the basic plot is going to be about all three sides of an affair. It’s a movie my sister and I have often discussed making. Well, as of right now, none of the screenplay is written. I’m working on creating my characters and getting to know them a bit better. I’m doing this by writing little pieces from their points of view. Here are a couple paragraphs that I wrote as the mistress. I rarely ever publicize what I write, but I’m feeling brave today. Let me know what you think:

I had never found lying in bed half as exhilarating as the moments when he laid next to me. That’s the one thing people will never understand. It’s a bed: a simple object in which I slept. Yet when he was in it, it was a vessel, and yet a world all it’s own. With him there, I was never bothered by the little noises that happened around me. Not even the night where the sink in the kitchen wouldn’t stop dripping, an audible version of Chinese water torture, but to me it was music. And the room, the bed, that leaky faucet, it was mine…not some sleazy hotel room. That’s how it was easy.

People can blame my upbringing or my self-esteem. They can say I’m some dumb slut that can’t find my own man. However, something no one can ever fully realize, ever get, is that I never felt as though I was stealing anything. He had freely walked in and could walk out on his own just as easily. But instead he chose to come to my apartment, my home. Not a place outside, not somewhere in hiding, but right to my front door. How beautiful that was; how marvelous that I meant enough to him to be intimate.

There was something about him she just never understood, but there was something about him she just couldn’t let go.