Posted by Susan47 on January 1, 2006, at 15:59:43
I remember his first letter said something about no trust, there was a lack of trust or something. Or maybe I just read that into it. I don't know, I've shredded everything he ever sent, it was all bad anyway, every letter of rejection was another cut to add to my inventory of wounds. It was okay though, it was all okay because I expected and welcomed every rejection, it was proof that I wasn't invisible. Like the child that will take any attention no matter how negative, as long as they're acknowledged; tell me I'm here, tell me that I matter to you, love me the way I love you or don't love me at all? It was so confusing. I don't know. It got so that I took pleasure in being perverse. Really. Pleasure. It was pleasure. It was a pleasure to be sickening to him, to turn him off, to think that I was making him vomiting me out in bad dreams and nightmares was so bad, though. I was hurting myself and I wanted to stop and I really Really wanted him to stop me, but he wouldn't, not without turning me away. I imagined him thinking about me and getting the shakes and chills. It was horrible, I felt like poison, all this poison was in me and needing to come out, and he was the only possible receptacle, but he should've been a sieve, not a receptacle ... guilt drove me to feel so terribly sorry for him, and love him so much, and hate myself more for doing this thing that I was doing, which was turning to his answering machine, which I hoped was recording everything and making it into something, something I could never hope to make sense of.
It doesn't matter. We didn't trust each other.
I still wonder sometimes, I just wonder so much what it would have been like to trust each other. It's like a broken record that keeps being played in the same groove, over and over again, the same phrase repeats itself again and again and it comes out in nightmares and strange dreams about broken houses and cobwebs and libraries of unread books...
poster:Susan47
thread:594008
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/psycho/20051229/msgs/594008.html