Sometimes my head is a very scary place to be.


I haven't been so compelled to write that it wouldn't let me do literally anything else, for quite some time. I'd much rather still be sleeping.

Unfortunately (Fortunately?) something broke in me last night. That dam that holds in all the roiling mass of... nightmares? screaming? inner demons? Anyway, yep, that broke after threatening to all week. I hate it when I go from outwardly functional to not being able to turn off the waterworks for hours. David just sat there, alternately holding me and letting me fidget-pace around, streaming frighteningly-quiet tears and sobs, unable to stop the word-vomit of every little thing I usually keep in.

If I'm honest, I haven't been in a safe place to actually let go or process what's actually going on in here since about 2008. It's now abundantly clear that this man loves every bit of me, even the fears and darknesses I haven't even told my therapist about yet. Even the Jerry Springer-level family drama that has been unfolding behind the scenes in my town of origin. Even the traumas that come screaming out after over half a decade of folding it up and shoving it under layers of whatever distractions I can find, because we mustn't be real about how broken we are -- Gotta survive capitalism and all.

I couldn't go to my own grandfather's funeral in 2012 because I was poor, I'd just started a new job, and they'd fire me if I missed work for the funeral,. Twelve dollars an hour was not worth these years of guilt. That's not even close to the worst I've sunk to survive. We do so many things not because we choose to, but because it's the least-bad option among many bad options.

I'm in the absolute safest possible place to let some of this happen. Surprisingly, I've grown quite fond of being around. Three years ago, I couldn't really see myself living past 35. Now, I like being here enough to literally have parts of myself cut out because, even if I wanted to have any kids, carrying a pregnancy to term would likely be a death sentence. I'm surprised as hell to enjoy living so much that I'm unwilling to risk being forced to do something that might kill me.

I love this life enough to admit that it sometimes hurts more than I can even express.

My head hurts, my knees have decided to chime in, and I don't know what my jaw was doing in my sleep, but it feels like it may fall off. My eyes can barely focus on this screen, but I couldn't lie in the dark and listen to David's snoring mingle with the internal screaming that happens sometimes.

The screaming has pitched back down to the usual internal whispering monologue. It's saying mean things, but it's been meaner. I'm able, again, tell that voice it's lying and it can eat shit.

I've managed to turn the noise back down. Mostly what I hear now is my own breathing, and several dozen birds cheering on the new day.

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