Feeding the beast that feeds on me June 17, 2012

I keep wanting to put away this book and never write in it again. At least until the feelings I feel dissipate.

But I know I can’t. This is what is going on in my life and if I don’t document it, I will regret it later.

I’ll miss important details.

Yesterday I found myself pining over someone I really don’t care for, but for some reason can’t escape.

In some ways, she’s stalking me. If I post something on my blog, I know she’ll read it, even if she won’t respond.

She’s learned how to respond by not responding, and I know I need to be careful about what I say or do or post since each thing can be read the wrong way or interpreted in ways I never intended.

Maybe that’s why I posted the picture of her on the roof top several weeks ago, just to elicit a reaction, although the reaction was far more lethal than even I expected, a promise to ruin my life if I ever did such a thing again.

Since then, I’ve tried to stay generic, posting things that express my feelings but in conventional ways, sometimes metaphors of the past that somehow replicate what is happening today, but not so directly as to inspire reprisals.

Or become evidence in phony claim.

I only look at her blogs because she is still a remarkable poet, and the rage she has against me as inspired some great – if also painful poems.

A close friend offered to read the poems for me, and then relay their meaning to me in a kinder way.

But she is so clever that each poem is wrapped in multiple meanings, and what my friend sees may not in fact be at all what she means in the poem, duality mixed with metaphor even I struggle something to decode, perhaps sometimes getting in wrong, or almost right, but at least I see the raw text regardless of how raw it rubs me.

I just need to keep from showing my own vulnerability in my posts, so that if something she writes makes me bleed, I need to tie off the wound and live without grimacing.

It’s important not to feed the beast that feeds on me.

 

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