Today’s prompt involves telling about a time when I couldn’t quite get my words right or images to express what I wanted to express. What do I think the barrier was? For me, even though I have an enormous vocabulary, my words often times do not come out right because you guessed it, I’m awkward. Its like my very existence just doesn’t quite fit so my words consume the space in ways that don’t fit.
Every time I have ever been in an argument, my words are like daggers aiming for the deepest cut so that the other person has no response and the argument can end. I only perfected this because it was done to me so many times over the years. My Mom was the queen of the passive aggressive, super sarcastic argument and I had to build a repertoire in order to buffer the cuts. Do I enjoy arguing? No, but if someone engages with me when I am sending out the signals that give them a warning to not engage, I will go there. That’s probably why I don’t like to argue. I don’t really see the need for it. It only causes hurt to both parties. Because at the end of an argument, the winner is just showing that they hurt more. Because as the saying goes, hurt people, hurt people.
Every time that I was engaged in sexual assault against my will when my spirit left my body(aka disassociation) and my no’s went silent because they were so violently ignored, my words failed. When I tried to explain to people what had happened to me and I was asked a series of questions such as “Why?” “Why didn’t you tell?” “Why did you wait so long to tell?” Those are times when words fail. Because it is hard for people who have never been sexually assaulted to truly understand the pain, fear, and utter loathing that someone who has had that experience has felt. Words fail.
Every time I got wasted in order to engage in that lonely desperate dance of a one night stand, words failed because my drink of choice erased all of the words. The feelings consumed the very essence of words because life itself gets turned on its head. Words are erased until the morning after when they come back with a rush and vengeance to blame, ridicule, shame, and then they form these connections with the brain to convince that this experience will never happen again, until it does. Again and again and again and again and again. Until the mind, body, and spirit connect and remember what life was like before. Whatever semblance of life that was had before I jumped on that roller coaster of destruction.
Hope springs into the picture and emboldens words to say, no thank you. I have a renewed respect for myself, I don’t deserve to be treated in a manner that takes my words away. So I pick my head up, I change my focus, and I live. Sure I have my moments where I am envious and jealous of those who have those picture perfect lives and romances. So I dream. I dream of a love that can transcend all of the pain and hurt and destruction that has caused my heart to beat bolder. A love that I have to first show to myself each and every moment of the day. Because sometimes self love is the best love. Atleast I know that I won’t hurt me.
No matter how desperate I may feel inside, I don’t have to let that desperation over take me. I don’t have to let desperate thoughts turn into desperate actions. I can rewind the tape to remember where that left me. So for the moment, I focus on the good. I focus on the challenges set before me and slowly let the worry go. Is it sad that I am single, sure but it would be even sadder if I were in a one sided loveless relationship. So I choose to look on the bright side. Today, my bright side is me. If the real Superman never comes, I won’t complain because I will be off being my own superhero.