The Floors

I walk down the hallway of my mind. It always looks like the hallway from Living Hope, on the first floor of the main building. I know Mom’s old office is behind me, and Karl’s old office just past that, before it opens into the Fellowship Hall. Ahead of me, just to my left, is the bathroom Steph preferred between class and service. Further on the right is Pastor Stan’s office, then classrooms on either side, and the library at the end on the right. The back door opens up to the side field, where I had my first real kisses at age twelve. Where I met Jesus, to be all country music about it.

But I’m not at Living Hope. I’m in my head. And those doors don’t lead to classrooms.

I hear my heels clicking against the floor, and my silver messenger bag is heavy at my side. I can feel the weight of my orange Bible, hear water sloshing inside a bottle. I approach the first door on my left. I lift my hand, and watch the glow from another world flicker between my fingers.

She’s sitting alone in her room, push pins held tight between her teeth. There’s a small paring knife in her hand, and she’s holding it to her budding breast. A training bra can’t be far behind.

Behind me a man enters, angry and eager. Surprised, then defensive, the girl throws the knife toward his chest. It goes straight through without affect. He sits across from her and watches. He’s always watching.

Maybe that’s why I loved the idea of an all-knowing God. Then someone else would be watching me, too. I couldn’t get rid of Jim, but at least I wouldn’t be the only one in the room fearing/worshipping a dead guy who kept appearing to only me. And I wanted a dad. I wanted anyone to be able to magically provide, because the way my mother seemed to provide terrified me, and my father traded at too high a cost. Magic fish and bread for me, thanks.

I knew so little, and I thought I had it all figured. I think that is why kids seem older sometimes; because we’re all repeating the same process over and over. We try, learn we know nothing, then we learn, we feel like we know, we see how little we know, we adjust, and try something new, where it starts all over.

I wonder if maybe we all have a specific, pre-destined set of “life lessons” to learn, and life can deal them out in any order. So maybe I learned healing from abuse earlier than most women, but I learned basic body feels way later than most. I still learned both. Does the order really matter?

Well, sometimes it does.

What the fuck am I talking about?

I think that if people want to better understand poly dynamics, they should watch MLP s05e07.

It’s a night of being in my head. Again. So was last night. Maybe it’s the price of going back to therapy. Maybe it’s the aftermath of seeing my friends at the party, and being less able to hide away now. (Which is good.) Maybe it’s that I’m exercising again, and remembering pills better. Whatever it is, my head is crowded and lonely, loud and eerily silent in spaces, and not my favorite place to be right now. I keep thinking and hoping that if I write it down, it’ll flow away from me and get lost in the cat-tubes of Internet. So far it just leads to weird second guessing about every thought that comes on screen.

I hate reading my writing. It kills it for me, every time. How can I write blind, though?! Ugh.

Not wanting to read my own work and not being able to tell hunger from nausea are the most annoying things about me. Well, this week, anyway.

Matt gave me good advice tonight. The longer we go out, the more I find to love about him. Tonight, he made me feel like it’d be ok to get older and change where I want my life to go.

I think we’ll be ok, even without Niki. I don’t know if I’ll be ok without Niki, but I probably will be. If I survived Jim, I can survive a break up, even if it hurts and sucks and I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

Jared will be in town in just five days, and I will be able to hollow away from the world and fall away into safety and my kind of normal. lol I am so fucking spoiled, and it’s perfect. For someone who never wanted to play the princess, I sure did figure a way to damn near make it reality. Or the Queen, anyway. lol

Eoin and I reconnected well, too. I can see now how much stress he’d been shouldered with, and I think things are going to calm down all around. And because I think that, they probably will.

I need sleep. It’s finally becoming possible, I think. If blogging is what makes me feel able to crash, ya’ll better get ready for a shit ton of blogs. Insomnia has been reminding me that I am her bitch, and Lordisa knows I am. Maybe it’s that blessed blueberry indica, or maybe it’s Matt snores between gerbil wheel squeals that are lulling me under, but I relent. Beautiful, glorious sleep, take me, please!

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