Friday, 26 August 2011

Remember me, not my shame

They laid my shame bare. He confided in his dad, which I'd encouraged, but I didn't realise his dad would tell his mom everything, nor that his mom would then confront me. Did she tell anyone else? I've no idea. I'm not even privy to what was said at any point in the exchange. They want me to take part in this 'program' run by the religious organisation that they work for.

I feel like they've wallpapered their house with pages from my diary, like my heart and mind have been stripped naked and hung up to dry like photographs in a developer's darkroom, the last scraps of my identity prepared for scrutiny and alteration.

Never think for a moment that you are entitled to ownership of your thoughts. Someone is always waiting to snatch them from you and toss them to a friend, and you will be the piggy in the middle, stripped naked and condemned to eternally fall short.

I lie in bed, my frenzied frightened thoughts quelled for the moment by a handful of little pills, and imagine a cold, sharp blade on my flesh. I hear the scratch of metal on skin, feel the familiar, calming warmth spread over my body like a balm, the fist around my heart loosening. It's the freedom of a Saturday morning, the reassuring arrival of spring after the tempestuous storms of winter. Perhaps today the fantasy alone will be enough.


Run said...

Yeah, the fact that once I have said it, I can't take it back is a little intimidating. I sort of just want to get it out of the way and in the open rather than keeping it hidden for another 12 years.

Anonymous said...

You're a really beautiful writer; I'm following you now. It is terrifying; of course, that's what I like about writing-- how permanent and tangible it can be.