I'm Set Free

I feel it in my throat. Or, uh, my stomach.
At the backs of my eyes—burning—sickness—knives twisting in.
She smiles.
She looks at me.
Her eyes get this light—a glow—shinning.
I know she loves me, I fucking do. There’s been times in the past where I’ve misinterpreted people—misjudged them—projected distorted images onto their covering of skin. I’m an unreliable narrator. There’s no reason anyone should believe me.
But she loves me.
I’m sure of it.
Her eyes turn to planets when she looks at me. She wakes up in the middle of the night to send me messages. She stays with me longer than she plans—always. She kisses me and it all fits together—the universe—sunlight—crucifixion—terror.
But then she pulls away—runs away.
I’m holding her and then she’s gone.
Some thick, solid, well-constructed barrier comes up and she laughs and says something random.
She asks herself whether it’s better to love—to feel all the pain and fear and ecstasy and unknowing—or if it’s better to exist light and uncommitted—lying out on a raft above the water’s surface—absorbing the sun’s warmth—never too hot, never too cold.
She asks me the same thing.
I tell her I don’t have a choice.
She tells me I always do.
I think she’s wrong.
Maybe I should be able to just exist on the surface—not get involved—remain detached and whatever. Maybe that’d be easier. But that’s not me. I’ve tried, man, I’ve fucking tried. But I just feel everything so intensely. I plunge down to the bottom of the ocean and the pressure crushes me till I can hardly breathe. The pain rips me wide open. The pleasure lifts me up to where the air thins out.
Is it worth it?
Hell, like I say, it’s the way I am. I’m not interested in anything else. I want to tear off my lover’s skin and taste the veins and tendons and muscle tissue underneath. I want to love every scar and marking. I want to breathe together, back and forth between our stained lungs. I want to give her my eyes to see herself with. I want to know her completely—completely.
But there’s a lot of pain that comes with that—a lot of fucking pain. A lot of fear, a lot of doubt, a lot of vulnerability. To open yourself up to the possibility of getting hurt, that’s like the hardest fucking thing ever.
And, of course, I’ve gotten high over it in the past. That’s the danger for me. When the pain gets too acute, the fear too overwhelming, I usually end up running back to the fucking needle.
So this whole falling in love thing is fucking terrifying.
Terrifying and totally dangerous.
But it’s also life—I mean, living. It is depth and reality. I get absolutely no satisfaction out of some meaningless affair. I’m only interested in souls touching—however much pain that can involve.
Of course, for me, I gotta negotiate this shit fucking carefully. I gotta have a lot of support around me.
I also gotta remember that whatever pain there is will pass.
If she runs away tomorrow, never to see me again, the worst that can happen is a couple days of sickness and whatever—sadness—depression.
I swear to fucking God, the fear of the depression is always so much worse then the reality. I think most of us spend our whole lives running from those negative feelings. But they’re really not so bad. They’re really not. It’s the fear that fucks you up.
Still, I realize that not everyone is willing to take that risk of getting vulnerable.
The girl, well, she goes back and forth.
I mean, “living is easy with eyes closed.”
So maybe it is better to keep them closed.
Well, if you’re able to.
And I don’t blame her for not wanting to feel.
I spent a good part of my life running from that shit.
But that depression—that darkness—it’s there. Running from it doesn’t take it away. Actually, more and more, I feel like the only way to deal with that shit is to really embrace it—take it on.
Feel it.
To avoid anything in life that brings those feelings to the surface, that’s not living. That’s caving to the fear. That’s doing what I’ve always done in the past.
Get drunk not to feel it.
Get high.
Sleep with people I don’t really care about.
Move constantly so I never for a second have to sit with my insides.
That’s what I do.
Hell, that’s what a lot of us do.
It’s sad, really.
Sad and such a goddamn waste of time.
But I can’t see that shit until I, uh, can—you know? Nothing anyone said ever helped. I just had to come to understand that my feelings weren’t gonna fucking kill me. They can be totally painful, but they can also be so fucking beautiful.
So I guess I just have to wait—wait to see what she does with the fear. Wait to see if she’ll face herself.
And if she won’t, well, fuck, I love her, but I need someone who can stay vulnerable with me—and with the world.
So I guess I might just have to wait to find that, too.
I’ll tell you what, the difference for me today is that I’ve started to have some patience—and I think I see the truth just a little more clearly.
What’s that Velvet Underground song?
I’m beginning to see the light.
Exactly.
Change can be so slow—but it’s fucking happening.
And I don’t need to run from myself today.
Or place all my value in her hands.
I am whole within myself.
. And I’m starting to have conviction in the things I value.
It still goes up and down, of course—but even that’s some kinda progress.
I try and fail, try and fail, try and fail—until it starts to change.
That’s the most I can hope for.
But that’s okay.
It’s okay.