Feelings & Shit

PAIN

You ever had your heart broken so bad that you wish you could be outside yourself so you wouldn’t have to feel that pain?  You ever do something so stupid to escape, like drink a cup full of gin to take you out of yourself? You’re not even a gin drinker and the damn gin only ends up fucking your stomach up so bad that you’re in the fetal position and now you’ve added pain on top of pain?

I cannot be the only one.

Some pains hit so hard that they steal your breath. All you want to do is escape. You don’t necessarily mean to hurt yourself more than whatever it is that seemingly crushed your soul, but sometimes pain on top of pain is part of the healing process. I mean however else are you going to remember to not make the same choices? There has to be some kind of physical scar to remind you that type of repeated circumstance is not for you. Unless… you’re into that sort of thing.

I for one am not! I don’t like pain.  As a child my parents didn’t really need to beat me. All it took was one glare of disappointment to set me straight but it didn’t stay the whooping. My parents beat my tail for them! It’s what was taught to them and they feel that worked. I was the kid that you really could talk to, but nooo here comes the belt (extension cord, switch, shoe, fly swatter) anyway. I remember my dad used to have this green wooden paddle with a hole in it so that it could cut the air and not slow down on impact. Ha! I fixed him. That thing mysteriously disappeared one day never to be found again.

I remember the last time my mother smacked me in my face. I deserved it. I had a problem with rolling my eyes. Still do. It’s like a reflex. The last time my mom caught me rolling my eyes though was Halloween night, in 8^th grade. I was so excited about coming home with my loot. I remember the outfit that I had on and everything! I was a vampire. (They’re my favorite creature.) I had this gray and white crushed velvet rose sweater on and gray corduroy pants. I was at the bottom of the steps by the kitchen that led upstairs to our bedrooms. My mom was on the next to the last step. I was taller than her at this point. She shared in my excitement about my candy, and had the nerve to proceed to tell me to clean my room before I could sort through my candy for needles and razors. I was pissed!  Mom started walking up the steps and I started my eyes rolling. I mean it was epic! I turned my head all the way to my left shoulder, shut my eyes and turned all the way to my right shoulder. By the time I brought my head back to the middle and opened my eyes to look up the steps my mother was standing right in my face on that next to the last step. Aw shit! POW! Right in the face. That woman could and still does walk the halls like a damn apparition. Enty-who, that’s the last time I ever got caught rolling my eyes. Pain is a helluva teacher.

Heartache though, that’s an entirely different animal. You ever get back with someone thinking it’s going to be entirely different because you’ve both grown and experienced life and you think you know better but they only fuck your ass up worse than the first time? (Sorry for the run-on sentence. There will be more.) With this person you can’t help it. It’s something about the energy, the chemistry, that damned vibration you feel when they touch you. When things are good, they’re phucking awesome! They make you feel like that pain you went through was such a distant memory. That pain was just a faint whisper that you can barely hear. “Watch out! This man muscle/lady love comes with consequences!”

Huh? Did you hear something? Must’ve been the wind. Full steam ahead!

Like, got damn! Why does this person have so much power over me and my decision-making skills? Everything they say seems and feels like a good idea.  This bama got me out here calling out slick from work, standing up my friends for planned engagements, and going incognegro. Like, I will chance sneaking you into my home while the kids are sleep. I will temporarily lose my mind and allow you to make me your side piece.

WTF! For real though, what the phuck?

Them consequences hit different though when it all falls down.  You can’t play victim.  On some level you knew what you were doing. Your ass willingly signed up for it.  Put your big girl/boy draws or briefs on.  No early out to avoid the crash and burn.  When that pain catches up with you take it like a soldier and work through that PTSD (Post Traumatic Sex Disorder).  Sometimes it’s food. Sometimes it’s alcohol. Sometimes it’s pouring yourself into work or study; becoming a gym rat or even whoring yourself out to try and cover up the absence of their essence.  But eventually you work through it. Hopefully not to forget the trauma in case you bump into them after you’ve made it through.  Lawd please don’t start the cycle anew!

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