Would it be better if you left?
one of the hard parts of ______ is that i can’t look at what happened without shame. i probably should have left, right? no, i know i should have left. god. i’m so fucking stupid.
the thing is. i chose wrong more than once. when you have been _____ed, you are told that you are attracted to the pattern that has already wounded you. coyote, you mistake the snare for a tree swing. you love it, don’t you? you feel comfortable with the burning, because you understand it better than peace.
the first time it happens, others are sympathetic. sometimes the second time too - you were young, you didn’t know _____ could shift and wear different clothes. you didn’t know gender has nothing to do with it. you didn’t know that ____ers can wear foxskin and sheepwool equally. they have no singular shape; shadow puppets on the cave wall, joyful and cackling.
but you can’t mess up too much. you can’t keep choosing the wrong person - after a certain point, aren’t you the problem? didn’t you learn your lesson? why spend all that time and money on therapy if you never really meant to listen?
here’s something i just learned: you can make the same mistake twice. you can make it as many times as you need to. you can hit rock bottom over and over and over and over. in that space, you see yourself in the mirror - are you there again? are you slipping? my therapist tells me not all experiences are lessons. sometimes, people are just cruel.
i knew something had gone rotten and i sat on my hands. if i stayed very-still, i could get away with it. i used to drive over to her house with a specific playlist, my brain in a mantra - today we’ll have a good day and i’ll behave and we won’t get into an argument. i promised myself i would just never bring up any of the eggshell conversations and i would remember to not talk too much and i would control all of my reactions. i would be so wonderful as to never stir her ire. she would love me again, full and entire.
the first ______ relationship i was in happened four years before i even met her. it ended up being a major plot in my book. my father read a draft the other day. he wrinkled his nose while eating a grape. “raquel, i want to feel sad for your experience, but you did stay. how am i, the audience, supposed to feel bad for a choice that you repeatedly made?”
what a good question. i’m still looking for the answer down a well. i’m still looking for the answer in lighterfluid. i’m worried the answer has already been spoken and i just can’t look at the letters or shape. i’m worried that the answer is already painted directly into my DNA.
i’m worried that the answer is pink and soft and obvious. you are fundamentally broken in a permanent way.

Mar 16th
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