i was chatting with a “friend”
not talking… or texting…or skyping
just “chatting” in that little blue and white box
i had “known” her
maybe,
more than a year…
and,
i wondered to me myself:
“all these silly questions”
“why does she keep asking?”
….”when i am writhing….
“twisting…”
…”crying…”
….”in this…
…ever growing
…truly aggravating,
physically defeating,
almost screaming,
unrelenting… pain…..”
…“how did you find me?”
i wonder.
….”what does your name mean?”
i ponder .
…“why do you like me?”
i gasp.
…“do you like me?”
i flutter.
…“i am getting weird.“
i stutter.
…”i am not high.”
i bleat.
but,
pain is tweaking me,
twisting me
it’s literally torqueing me
half
to
death
…..at least it feels that way
———–it feels like that to me—at least….
…this pain
burning
inside me
…this pain
…………ripping
…………tearing
…………searing
…………………rushing
through my bones
slicing
through my flesh
from tingling
and
numbness
to cramping
and
zapping
and
stabbing
and
stinging
and
burning
and
screaming
relentlessly driving
shocks
to
waves
of
clawing
crawling
curdling
crushing
creeping
bites
this pain is bleeding
every
shard
of life
from my haunted little frame
“was i born to be this way?”
i wonder
“did i do this all to me, all by my little self?”
i taunt
“or, did i get some help?”
“genetics? yes.”
“anorexic exercise and ballet?”
…”way too much ballet”
“YES!”i scream
“and…
physical,
and
psychological,
and sexual abuse?”
…pause
“yes,” i mutter softly”
“sorry,”
my internet companion replies,
her heart aching,
as
she
hears
my
unrelenting
cries
trembling,
i type…
“….(crying)…”
“**hugs**”
she replies….
but,
sadly…..
i can barely see….
literally…
i can’t…
“see”
….the words dangle in front of me, disrupting me,
dancing between
a pretty polonaise…
and…..
that terrifying tangle of tango after tango after
darting across my dimming,
blurring,
ever pixelating my super high-resolution lcd display
yes
i know this is only the awful side effect of ever increasing doses
of an expensive, non-narcotic nerve pain medication
(which… sorta… kinda… sometimes… works…)
but….
this blurry vision angers me
so, so, so, so, so, so very much……….
………..i can barely read all that’s on my screen
and………………………………………………………..
“ssssssssssssssssaaaaaadddddddddd”
“so sad”
i type
trance-like
barely connecting the pixels on the screen
with my swollen little hands
“yes?” she asks
“what happened?” she probes
each question
another dagger
each question
another torrential outpouring of ever more triggering emotions
each question
quarrelling
quaking
quarrying
querying
corrosively burrowing deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper
……….carving
their little blades
ever deeper beneath my skin
cutting the deep into the swinew……….
……….the tissue
the very marrow of my existence
breaking down my little bird bones
violating……….
the silence inside my genomic structure
………..enflaming
all the slights
the fights
the festering wounds beneath
perhaps masked by
the severity
the intractability
the intransigence
of
……………………..“the pain”
is really a mask
“the pain” is simply…
…a…. trance…
her probing, however kind-hearted
is
tearing me
a
part
so….
i
tell her…
about
“the rapists”
“breaking my little, itty-bitty bird bones”
“from the inside”
“until i cried and cried and cried….”
i tell her
……“i wished i’d died… but i couldn’t hide
………..“i couldn’t hide”
“………..not from him…
……………………………or her
………………………………..(who allowed him to do to me what he would not dare do to her)
“or,” i wonder….
“may be .. maybe”
……”he did to to her what he did to me ?”
“is that….
………………a
possibility?”
……….“IS IT?”
“maybe
maybe
maybe
………….that’s why she never cried”
i moan inside….
“at least
on her
tawdry little barren
outside……”
“NO!”
i type
“no”…………
“the pain
i feel
or…. feel
i feel….”
“i relive it
all………
each time…..
……..it hurts”
i’m sobbing as i write to her…
my friend…
my confidante…
………………………………………..“sorry
…………………………………………………..so
…………………………………………………….sorry…..”
my hands are throbbing….
eyes……………….
so…. blurry………..
“it just hurts,” i say….
“the pain”
“the shame”
“the shame”
“the pain”
“no…….
……………one”
“no………………………….
………………………………..one”
i feel………
………………so……………………alone
“no one…………………………. to share
………………………………………………………my pain”
even though, this amazing womyn, hangs on every word……
i feel…… nothing but…….. the pain
………………………………………..as i swirl slowly
down
the
drain
……………………
this………
………………………is
writing
through
pain……………………………..
…………………………..for all those who have EVER been there with me….
………..across oceans and time zones and pixels and wireless…
to hold me…as i write….
most often… through…. pain.
February 11, 2013 at 1:36 am
© 2012-2013 by ariana sexton-hughes, all rights reserved