Running is a release, an icepack, but writing straightens out the tangle my mind. This is me. I can be honest here. Em, Punahou c/o 2012
Turned into a weapon, splayed out and dissected, naked, this stands as a testament to what happened. I cannot yet let go. Harvard c/o 2016
I’m strong enough now to accept the truth. I am going to show how much I loved him and how much he still means to me, despite the hate and the pain. I understand that she is not on my side. She loves me but she takes out the part of me she doesn’t like. I’ve had enough being pulled apart—the sister and the one who hates him, the failing, selfish, useless drum major and Em, Galinda and unworthy-to-have-a-name. So I’m going to start by putting them back together. Her character will choose him and still love me and he will be the funny and intense advisor I loved and the evil Priest. They are both these things. And I love her ultimately through the pain. And I will never let him back into my life though I love him still.
Time to rewrite.
His anger was real as they looked out over the track. “You cannot do that.” Was it luck or did he know?
“okay.” She wouldn’t have anyway (would I have? I don’t think so. I wouldn’t. But…I think back and…I’m not sure about it anymore) but now she knows she won’t. He knows what makes her tick even when she tries to hide. This time, though, she didn’t want to. The one argument she cannot counter he called into play.
“You just shove your problems onto all your friends, only ten times worse.” That was it—that’s what she needed. She won’t hurt them.
As she types, she realizes that for the first time in the past four days she’s not curled up under blankets, sweating. She can’t let herself fall asleep—feeling safe enough for that, safe enough not to dream, is a long ways off still, but at least she’s not wrapped up in herself, in sheets, trying to hold together the pieces of herself.
Laughter jumped from the friends around her, close enough to touch, but she couldn’t reach. A plastic ziplock held in the shattered pieces, a dusty pile, and held out the others. Eyes pass over the page, muscles clench, refocus. Focus is gone as hurt wraps about her, sealing off thoughts, holding her hands to her sides. Can’t think, can’t speak, can’t touch, can’t move. The fourth day. Deal with it. Shrug it off—you always have. Not this time. It won’t go away. Hidden for short stretches, it never leaves, hovering just around the corner. How does one ask for help? Just sit next to someone. Hope that they’ll notice? Hope that they won’t? Nish…upset about physics. Yeah, physics. Just be next to them. Touch is strange. Just sit shoulder to shoulder with Ezra. Little better. Just—someone. Touch is someone cares; touch is safe.
Touch can be held onto and be trusted as real.
An hour of belief makes a difference. tangible. —look: my fingers aren’t trembling now.
Drifting eyelids trembling lip so close to sleep jerk back no—no. Why now fear, fear? New sensation, not butterflies this time tight chest coiled in fear full breath eludes capture eyes know
I’m already inside your head
knowledge is power power monger she armed the monster of her nightmares.
Maybe she’s not good, but she’s better.
He listened…”I don’t need a hero; I need a friend.” She said what she needed and someone listened. And showed that he listened through actions. And now she feels better. That’s what it’s supposed to be like with friends and…family. Give my father lessons.
I figured out why I can’t stop watching Lie To Me: Cal and Emily Lightman. She means the world to him—more than anything in his life. He paid his ex-wife for her part of the business so that she could stay in DC. He paid her so that she wouldn’t leave with Emily. So that Emily could stay with him. He snoops. He asks questions and bugs her until he knows. He talks to Emily. He let her know about his mom. He tells her about what happens at work but worries about scaring or hurting her. She asks him what he’s thinking or how he’s feeling and he answers. When she messes up he knows and he gets angry. Because he is scared—scared of the unknown. The only time he loses control of his emotions is where she is concerned. He loves her. She is the most important thing to him.
And I will never have that. I can pretend that I’m not mad and just deal with all of his shit. I can go through this pattern where I tell him what’s wrong, he gets angry, he apologizes and fixes it and it happens again. I can be done with him for months—how long will it be this time? But I will never have that. I can patch it with superglue or scotch tape or just let it lie broken on the floor, but it will never be whole. Ever. Stop hoping. Accept. Learn to live with it.
The last 2 minutes and 44 seconds of Season 2, Episode 2 replayed. And again. I want that. I want that love. I want that Dad.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BL2OX-94Jb0 At the end when they’re talking and he puts his arm around her, laughs, and kisses her head. I want that more than anything.
But all I’ve got is an indignant, “well, I certainly won’t propose before June!” Gheeze, Emily, why are you so pushy and entitled and angry? Deal with it. She matters more than you do.
His arm around me. Want me.
I AM SCARED. Do you understand that? I AM SO FUCKING SCARED. I won’t make you say anything—I don’t want to scare you, I don’t want you to have to be involved. Before I continue you need to know that I am glad that you said “no” since you’re not comfortable. It is not at all what I want to make you do anything. I…no, getting you involved is not what I want here. I just want you to know that I am scared. This is terrifying. Do you understand that? You have no idea what’s happening in my life! I MISS YOU. I see him every day—every morning I walk into that room that used to be my safehouse—I went there that night my mom kicked my dad out (you were there. Do you remember that? You held me even though you hardly knew me). It used to be to where I could escape—my people, my place, my place to hide and be loved and get away from what hurt me. But now I walk there every morning—For four more months. I will go there every single morning and hear his voice. I AM SO SCARED. I don’t know if he knows yet! I do not know if he looks at me and sees the kid who is challenging him—to the deans, the department head. I don’t know if he still sees me—the “mistake” who fled as soon as she could—stopped doing any work, stopped being at the band room—left as soon as the season ended. Or if you see a kid who may be fucking it allll up for you. I don’t know if you want to kill me. I don’t know what you’ve imagined doing to me in your head. I don’t know if there’s any sliver of truth of that dream I’ve had on repeat—that one where you come into my house and grab the 10” knife I used just tonight to chop mushrooms and come after me. That one where I back away screaming and crawl into Grocki’s lap but all he does is sit there with his hands behind his head and laugh as he looks down on me in contempt. I curl up in his lap and scream at you to leave me alone and you just remind me, “I’m already inside your head.”
I don’t know if you realize what your words did. I don’t know if you know how much power you had over me. I don’t know if you understand that I had thought about suicide. Thought about jumping or…even…just a little slip—from the top of that waterfall at Manoa Falls. Thought real hard as I stood looking over the edge and out. Endorphins might have saved me. And I don’t know if you know that it was my 183 marchers who made me keep going—because I wasn’t worthless as long as I had those people to help. I could help them. I was still useful. I had a reason to be there. I wasn’t a “useless, selfish mistake” as long as I could help them somehow.
And boy, I don’t want you to be part of this. Not in any way because it is terrible. No one dealt with it like I did, thank God. I am not religious, but I am thanking God that no one else dealt with what I did. But I want to make it so that what he did do to them, no one has to deal with ever again. And no one will ever be in my position. I don’t want you to have to be part of any of this. But I want you with me. Because I am
scared terrified. Because you listened and talked to me and told me how you felt. Because you understood and believed me and agreed. Because when you held me I felt safe.
Wizard, I hear your voice and my skin crawls. I feel my stomach tighten and my toes curl. I have been scared before but I’ve never been scared like this.
I need to stop dreaming
or get rid of that kitchen knife.
Defying Gravity - Kerry Ellis
Ahhhh! Still gives me goosebumps. That podium, my hands moving to the music which you all—my band—creates, making eye contact with Alex, then Croix, then back to Alex as I mouth the words she plays—together—the crowd’s cheers just behind my back? Happiest place in the universe. So incredibly, thrillingly, perfectly happy.