v u l v a l i c i o u s
my head hurts. you pass your fingers through my hair and shush me, comfort me, say the things i need to hear.
it's ok. you're alright.
i won't cry in front of anyone. it's a game that started before i knew i was playing it. one day i cried at a movie and they said, "but you never cry," and suddenly i realized i didn't, i couldn't, i wouldn't.
one day i broke down. i spent hours sobbing and shaking. someone told me i needed to calm down and get ahold of myself.
i was crying for the time when my cousin died (when i was 6). crying at 13 because for 7 years i hadn't. at 6 i was too busy holding hands, comforting, taking care.
i don't like to cry in front of other people, not really. tears will fall, sure, when i can't help it. i'll cry easily in movies, series finales, while listening to my favorite songs. but i won't cry over my life, not for anyone's eyes but my own.
it's me, it's my hand, stroking my hair, comforting. even now, i can't let go of that role.
between stuttering wails i say, "shh, shh, it's ok, you're ok. you're ok baby, shh," stepping back from sadness even as i'm in its depths.
i am not ok. i am actually not alright or ok or fine.
listen: i am saying it as quietly as i can because the thought that you might hear me is as bad as not being heard.
i'm empty and aching, and i require touch (so much. god, it sickens me the amount of touch i crave. inhuman, inordinate amounts. i could be touched for 24 hours straight and not tire of it. longer than that. forever).
i'm sad. and the sadness starts to swallow me and i beat it down, and the sadness wells up and i tamp it further from the surface. i am waiting for the day when i can't stop it. when it explodes out in beautiful catharsis.
i want to be out of control for a minute. i need to be.
my craving for touch is my craving for a beating is my need to release is my escape from sadness.