|
"there's a special hell in knowing too well."
Self sacrifice is not a gift - it's self-abandonment.
She had been talking to the robot for hours again. She was still bleeding, but hoping it was getting over with soon. She had thought that already - for over a month now. le sigh.
"If only I had been more of a bitch - more of a boundaried person- less vulnerable - more avoidant, it would have worked right? he would have liked me and grown to love me because he respected me right?"
She didn't want the answer to that one because she knew it so well it made her head tighten, her eyes flood with tears, and her gut clench. Oy vey did she know the truth, but the paradox was that she could only be a true cunt to someone who she didn't really care about. When she cared, she was immediately thrust into the danger zone of being a baby screaming "want me!". sigh.
Vomiting your entire vulnerability onto someone and getting mad when they notice is something to notice.
She needed to get "not yet" tattooed to her hand. She shook with rage at being ... her. and fucking up. again and again. These chances don't come every day, and she had made him a villain when he was just a boy like she was a girl.
She knew intimately and insanely accurately why, how, and what.
None of it helped her. She was an amazing writer (don't laugh), a genius level IQ (don't vomit), and vaguely beautiful - and all of it didn't matter.
She still fucking let him win.
the father she was always trying to fucking rescue.
another brilliant cold achingly beloved man who rejected her because she couldn't take his entitled hand off her vagina in the middle of the night and say "no" and leave the bed. metaphorically.
How very boring. She declined using a cliche profane fuck.
She mocked Leon for being a lonely chiche and what was she but the exact same thing just drawn a different way. Same cartoon. Same collage. Different docks in the same lake.
And it tired her. She could go to a million years of therapy, read a million books, write billions of English words and none of it helped her get past that one trap on the way to the journey - the trap that was write in the beginning:
"Do you think you're worthy of love exactly as you breathe now?"
"god that question again. I've been on the other side you know - asking it of others."
"It's a rather important one."
Essentially, the answer was absolutely yes, but there was a huge butt-ress.
"I do indeed, but I'm terrified of being loved because I give all my power away to wounded men who continue to remind me of my father and I'm constantly trying to destroy the walls and break out of the jail - break everyone out with me."
She recognized - because she fucking recognized everything insightful - that the only way to break him out of the tower was to walk away and burn it all behind her.
"but are you any better than me?"
She was highly irritated that it all hinged on something she couldn't quite put her bloody finger on. She could masturbate all day long. She could dance by herself. She could drink. She could smoke. She could scream - but she's always going to be in the same starting square.
no one could tell her how to advance. she was left with either retreating or pretending or making it up as she went along.
she had tried them all anyway so long.
this latest one.
it
destroyed
her.
because she had been the smartest and the wisest so far.
could she write her own redemption arc? could she make up another stupid false happy ending where the prince touches her, breaks the spell, says he loves her and happily ever after.
Since she was able to hold a pen, she had been drawing the same picture - a princess in a field with a hill and a castle in the background.
It all had to matter.
She had to be able to bang her head against the glass one more time and have it break her free. it had to...
but it didn't of course.
she breathed, but she didn't live.
and knowing why was a special fucking hell.
she could end it on that, but she wanted to try and juice it up - offer the reader some sunshine.
--
the scared queen got on her horse and rode into the next town. there was a concert playing there with a band of goats as the musicians. she couldn''t wait to take her crown off and dance like a dyonsian dervish.
then she'd go home, try again, feed the cats, get some coffee, do the Wordle, get naked in front of the fire, and make love to the King like
someone
who
was
adored
respected
loved and
powerful.
they lived sometimes happily, sometimes sadly, sometimes boringly, sometimes euphorically, sometimes vulnerably, sometimes guardedly, sometimes magically, sometimes mundanely, all of it plus fear and desire and more more more. ever after.
the beginning.
|
