Madeline sat and held her grandmother’s hand, tears slowing gliding down her face as the old woman ranted about the evil wolves roaming the hallways. The dementia came and went, the dark visions of monsters seeming to get worse each time. Sometimes Mama Evie would give quiet warnings, like the time she urgently whispered to Madeline that they must protect the children at all costs when the village was invaded, looking around wildly to ensure none of the monsters heard her. Other times were like today with her grandmother shouting at her about vile creatures appearing and wailing about the coming destruction of the world.
The nurse came in, syringe already in hand, followed closely by the doctor
”Her screaming is starting to bother the other patients” the doctor said gently. “We’re going to give her something to calm her down.”
Madeline nodded mutely as the doctor made a note in the chart, then left. The nurse approached her grandmother. Mama Evie, seeing the syringe, started to thrash.
“No!” Mama Evie shouted. “Don’t! They’re coming! We’re not safe!”
The nurse made soothing sounds and inserted the syringe into the IV port.
Mama Evie looked at Madeline beseechingly, pleading with her. ”No, my little Maddy, please …”
“Wait!” Madeline cried, “She’s lucid again.”
But it was too late. The nurse re-capped the syringe, having already injected the drug. Slowly, Mama Evie’s featured slackened and her arms fell to her sides.
”Don’t worry, this is really for the best,” the nurse murmured, patting Madeline on the arm and walking out.
Madeline allowed herself a few more moments of weeping before slashing at her eyes with her sleeves and telling herself harshly to let it go. She practised a few of the breathing exercises her therapist had taught her and, once she was calm again, reached out to take her grandmother’s hand once more.
A few hours later, she was woken by her grandmother’s harsh whisper. ”Madeline! Wake up, Maddy! You have to get me away from here. They’re coming, Madeline, and we can’t be here when they arrive!”
Madeline shook her head and said firmly, “You’re safe here, Mama Evie. Nothing is coming to get you.”
Mama Evie rolled her eyes and gave Madeline a pitying look. “No, foolish girl, they’re not coming to get me. They’re coming for us all. We have to get out of here so we can prepare.”
Mama Evie held the button that moved her bed into a sitting position and started to push off the thin sheets. As she swung her legs over the side of the bed, Madeline leapt up from her chair.
“No, Mama Evie, you mustn’t!” Madeline tried to push her grandmother’s legs back up and on to the bed but the old woman refused to budge.
”I’m getting out of here. It isn’t safe. They keeping pumping me full of drugs to stop the visions and without them we’ll never survive. Don’t just stand there, Maddy, help me!”
Luckily, just at that moment an orderly was walking by their room and saw her grandmother stand shakily against Madeline’s protests. He went to the nurse’s station and soon three hospital personnel were in the room. One gave Mama Evie a sedative while the other two got her back in bed and wrapped her arms and legs in restraints.
“Is that really necessary?” Madeline asked.
”Doctor’s orders,” said one of them briskly as they filed out of the room.
I went to your class last night and it was magical. Not just the topic but the entire package. Yes, part of it was that you and they were there and hot and teasing and got me all flustered and lip-bitingly anxiously excited. Part of it was being in that space after so long away and realising that I made the right choice when I decided on a break, and that my pain was soothed rather than deepened at the knowledge that I am not welcome to proceed along the path I thought would be mine. A huge part of it was the conceptualising of magic as a reframing for the stuff we do that has the most value.
The best bit though – that was the witchy GQ of you and the delightful honesty of them. When you built them a boner and finally managed to embarrass them, it was beautiful because there is obvious joy between you and you shared it with the class so generously. I felt safe and comforted basking in that joy. I enjoyed the so-called humiliation afterward more than you can know. I babbled for a good hour and a half, with my cheeks flushed and fuzzy, high as the proverbial kite.
When I woke up this morning I had so much residual energy and jazz-handedness that I would swear the daily post prompt was “Magical” and I was thrilled to write on that theme. Well, thrilled to think about writing and you and them and other wonderfully magical friends in my life. Apparently the word is “identical” so the old adage of seeing what we want to see held true 🙂
Thank you. Thank you for the magic. Thank you for the comfort and safety. Thank you for holding space. Thank you for the flirting. Thank you for the deviousness and glee. Thank you.
“Ooooooh-ooooh-hooo, witchy GQ
See how high they fly-ay-ay
Ooooooh-ooooh-hooo, witchy GQ
They got the moon in their eye-ay-ay-ays”
In other news … the YA series name thing at the top of this post popped up in my feed as I was noodling and I adore it. A kitchen of amethyst and rain sounds pretty fucking magical to me!
I’ve heard it said that love and hate are but too sides of the same coin. I remember once you told me that you weren’t overly worried about any negative feelings I might harbour toward you – that it was my indifference you feared. Well. I hate that I’m not indifferent. I don’t know how to get there. I want so badly to get there.
My life comes and goes around me. Things move on. Everything has changed and yet stayed the same. I’m so frustrated by the problematic individuals in my life that my therapist asked me to write a set of criteria / commandments that I want to govern the friends I make – and she, of course, asked me to track how well I can live by them as what use is a standard one can’t hold oneself to?
You don’t fit. You don’t qualify. You wouldn’t be able to meet these rules. I doubt I could honestly say that you are able to pass even one. Yet I long for you in the darkest recesses of my heart. I don’t talk about it. I’m not willing to suffer the scorn and reprimands, however well meant, of those around me.
Most days I manage to suppress the longing. I go whole weeks without even thinking of you. Then there you are, in front of me as though the universe just can’t get enough of that sick, twisting knife of the perverse.
I hate that you don’t care, that you likely never did. I hate that I probably don’t ever flit across your mind. I hate that I’m not indifferent. But I’m not.
I envy her. I didn’t before. Hell before I giddily relished my position as superior to hers – it wouldn’t have been possible for me to envy her. I feel foolish thinking of it now. Pitying her for the meagre scraps she was forced to accept… for the fact that she couldn’t know all of you.
Hindsight being what it is – I can’t help but look back and want to slap my younger self. I KNEW better. My gut screamed at me about it but, oh, how desperately my heart refused to hear.
It’s so painful to have figured out the moment it changed, to have made the connection between those deep undercurrents and to know – with every fibre of my being – that nothing would have convinced me to make a different choice at the time.
That’s a sign that all the subterfuge works I guess. We’re supposed to want it and I did. Oh, how I wanted it. If I’d known that it was linked to you, that it would be the point of no return in our relationship … but that’s a useless hypothetical. There’s no way I’d have understood the connection at the time and no one would’ve clued me in because they wanted me to make that choice. I know they meant well, most of them any way, but that still sucks.
It hurts so much that your decisions were based on my answer that night … and that you weren’t honest with me about it. I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not like I can point to a moment between us where you were honest and up front. Yet somehow you see me as the villain.
Gods, I envy her and her blissful ignorance.
“One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand”
A problematic person once made an analogy about how the universe communicates that really resonated at the time but then they were exposed as problematic and I let go of that knowledge for a bit.
I also applied the analogy in a very specific way and contendedly moved on without questioning my read.
Funny how assumptions work – even when we think we’re on guard against them.
The basic analogy is that if you’re not on the best path toward your best self, the universe will send you nudges in the hopes you’ll realise your error and make the necessary change. These nudges start small and then escalate. If you insist on staying the (inappropriate) course, things will get progressively worse.
When the universe hits you with a 2×4, that’s an escalation. When the universe derails your train with a Mack truck – another escalation, and one that has worrisome prospects if one blithely continues along one’s way.
One of my nearest and dearest said something to me today about how it seems like I got hit by a semi cuz of the life stopping consequences of a certain situation and mentioned a 2×4 in the same conversation and – if you’ll excuse the pun – it hit me that not only was she right, so was the asshole six months ago. I just applied the idea to the wrong end of the stick.
So, okay universe. I hear you. I’m catching on. I’m making the change.
People keep talking about the dumpster fire that was 2017 and here’s to throwing that – and them – into the fire and letting go.
“God help you if you are a Phoenix, and you dare to rise up from the ash”
Well, I said a few days ago that 2018 would be the year of the Phoenix and here’s to reaffirming that. I’m daring. It’s happening.
Thanks to the universe for ACTUAL integrity (as opposed to the snake oil variety being sold) and knowing one’s value. Thanks to the universe for Felix, for friends that are friends, and for recognition of the “nudges” that have been sent my way.
I’m starting to get why JK named her good luck potion after happiness ❤
Felix is starting to become a force to be reckoned with in my life and I couldn’t be happier about it, especially since he came at me out of left field.
2018 may end up being the year of the Felix as well as the Fénix 😉
“I’m not a king, no, not a hero, not a fool,
I’m not perfect, I’m flesh and bones,
And I’m exactly what you need.”
If only our wants were aligned with our needs. If only you loved yourself enough to insist on getting your needs met. If only …
It’s the night before the annual making of resolutions. I could be out revelling. I’m not. I can’t be around happy people right now – even if the happiness is somewhat forced and contrived.
I’m not happy.
I have happy moments. I have a pretty spectacular life when it comes down to it. I have worked hard to get where I am and my current life is the result of immense growth and change – especially in 2017. It was a rollercoaster year.
I should be happy … or so the voice in my head tells me …
It’s not even an asshole voice, as so many of them are. It truly wants what is best for me. It genuinely strives for my best interests.
I just can’t. I’m just not.
I resolve that 2018 will be alright. That I will be alright. I don’t know what that looks like. I don’t know how to get there. I’m terrified of the not knowing. I’m already exhausted at the prospect.
I want to wish you happiness. I want to wish you the best. But I’m selfish. I know I can’t make those things contingent on other outcomes … but if I’m honest those other outcomes are what I really want.
I resolve to learn more. To be a better love. Better able to handle your absence.
I resolve to let you go on to your next iteration. I don’t know how and I resolve to accept that I will never know.
I love you. I’m holding out my hand to you. I’m still here. Abandoned.
I resolve. I’m resolved.
TFW your whole face hurts from a day spent crying … when the word crying seems too soft and gentle to encompass the body-wracking sobs and heaving hiccup-y coughs, the type of ugly cry where you literally can’t breathe because your nasal passages have all swollen shut, your lungs robbed of air as it gets swallowed into the vacuum of the cavernous abyss where your heart used to reside … your eyes feel like they’ve spent quality time with their new friend sandpaper, your eyelids are puffy and yet that somehow makes them harder to close … that frontal headache that you can’t determine the source of – seeing as there are so many options … when you feel like you *should* desperately want a drink and just can’t fucking be bothered cuz you’re too exhausted to do anything desperately …
Anywho – that feeling was my day today.
I haven’t felt this broken in quite some time. I thought the gaping rift left by your death had knitted together sufficiently that it couldn’t be blown back open … but I was wrong. Boy howdy, was I ever.
I dreamt about you this week. You and I were existing in a future context. We were waking up together, limbs heavy and intertwined, the intoxication of you pervading my senses – and she was yelling. At us – at you mostly, let’s be honest – and I think she may even have slapped you as she kicked you out of my bed (and our room), the better to focus her yelling on me once you’d gone, no doubt.
She would’ve been right … she generally is, especially about my self destructive desires.
Regardless, it took me a few moments of chuckling to myself at our shenanigans for it to hit me. This future moment will never be. We won’t wake up together in Vegas, ever. We certainly won’t have an Elvis wedding neither of us was quite drunk enough to justify (and yet both of us agreed to). My ring looked good on your finger, cheap and fake and rushed as it prolly was. Would we have regretted it? Would we have hurried to get it annulled or shrugged and moved on; the silly slip of paper not making much difference in the grand scheme(s) of our lives?
I haven’t been without the bone-deep knowledge of your death simmering on the back burner of my soul for fucking AGES. I hate you a lot right now. How the fuck could you do this to me? Why the fuck does this still feel so raw?
In other news, he still isn’t speaking to me. Can’t even stand to be in the same room. It’s pathetic and childish and cowardly … and it hurts every time. Every. Single. Time. *sigh* Someday this too shall pass.
She’s feeling calmer and getting some catharsis. I should be happy for her and – mostly – I am. I’m glad to have her in my life and that she hasn’t jumped on the bandwagon of writing me off. That said, I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge my jealousy. She has always been more important, someone precious with a relationship worth safeguarding and repairing.
I wonder what is happening with him. I’m guessing he still refuses to acknowledge his heavy handed part in this. It’s absurd how rabidly he insisted that his actions were to protect them from me and my wicked ways, my nefarious intentions, my evil conspiracy to ruin whatever it is he so carefully guards. I would never have been in a position to know the deep dark secrets (that really aren’t, let’s face it) without him. In his frenzy to block and later destroy me, he flailed so wildly that he left me painted a la Pollack in knowledge I neither needed nor wanted. I’m still finding fucking dots and streaks in odd places. He’s such an empty human and so transparently hypocritical that the mind boggles. Maybe it helps him feel like a deity or channel his divinity? (That’s for you PLP.)
And how is she these days? The “closeness” forged through shared experience turned out to be a bigger sham than the so-called sacrifices. Wouldn’t you know those lambs have become fat fuzzy sheep out to pasture. With friends like these …
Shes gonna be furious about this. The easter egg shells sure make pretty mosaics when they get smunched though.