about 8 years ago, i was deliriously mad. i was a stranger in familiar territory, having moved to another city to be with my then boyfriend. i broke up with him a little over a year after i had moved, and that suddenly shoved me outside of myself. i hated that place - but what i hated most about it was the person that i became while i was there. desperate, hungry, naive, pathetic. i witnessed the shameful depths of myself, i think, while i was there.
but i also witnessed the disparity of other people, as well. former friends who loved me only because i was part of my boyfriend's life. other friends who came out of the woodwork to prove that they loved me once i left john. strangers who tried to seduce me with talk of houseboats on the lake. tried. the revulsion welled up. men who thought that whispering that i "looked fucking great" into my neck would coax me. my ex-boyfriend who found sadistic pleasure in telling me how great his life was while i was cracking apart. no sympathy, no compassion. people whose characters burst in so many different directions so suddenly that i couldn't keep up. sincerity, lust, spiritual depth, arrogance. but i was bouncingspinningsinking too. i hated myself.
i think what i hated the most was the knowledge of how low i had touched. the depths of my shame and what i would tolerate. what i was certain to tolerate again and again, had i not been rescued.
no, i can't go back there.
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