some of this is hard to put here. but i vowed to do so. weeds as well as flowers. bah. me and my frakking insistence on keeping vows. 🙁
dunno if you’ve been following events or not, but i finally accept that there is no good deed i will be permitted to do for heath. insulted and condemned at every turn, no good deed going unpunished. in the end, i choose simply to let it be. i can’t take any more and the hurt for my inability to soothe his distrust and paranoia is more than i can any longer bear.
he has never truly understood. and i cannot lend any aid to understanding. not when every word is judged evil and filled with ill intent. not when he is so very eager to believe the worst.
i continue to scrytch, albeit it at distance. i follow the archives and place my contributions on the blog. maybe some day, i will once more be a stranger and no longer one who triggers sputum and bile merely by name.
i work now on applying the same practice to michael as i have this night to heath. both are regular parts of my efforts, and both, regardless their refusal to accept it, are loved here.
i cannot adeqately describe the sadness that is felt in this moment. not for what i want and cannot have, but for the sheer insanity that, for all the three of us are kind, loving, and giving people, this horrible cauldron of distrust, hatred, and aversion is all we choose to nourish.
and i weep because at last, i too, am angry and awash in acid. i have likened it to the presence of two minds… the bhain sidhe and the bodhisattva.
the bhain sidhe has broken free at long last and her wails are perilous and sharper than any word i have ever given him. i break all contact with him at last because for all he thinks i have been harsh, he simply does not know the truth of what this terrible thing can do. i would rather never as much as whisper to him again than have him know the bhain sidhe as more than a distant shadow.
and every day, and every night, the bodhisattva chants, meditates, and practices… hoping against hope to find the means by which to banish utterly the fell thing… and in the meantime, working to transmute the evil she shrieks before it can touch others.
it all sounds so dramatic. it isn’t. it’s ugly. i do not know how to choose better in the face of his constant condemnation, constant conviction of me. i have given him every soft and tender thing i ever held. he has used it as toilet paper.
the hurt of the bhain sidhe is ego, i know. i try so hard to shed it. but he has fed her too well.
i am afraid.
the pain of the bodhisattva is for his pain. and michael’s. and for being so horribly unskillful that no benefit made be given.
it is, of course, all my fault. i wish i could be someone to whom they both could be tender, caring, loving. i wish i could be someone like you, or the others here, who have known these things of them.
but i am not. nor will i ever be.
this is why the bhain sidhe keens.
and why the boshisattva weeps.
but none of this is real. but it is all too real.
i wish i could wake from this nightmare.