the case of love temporarily lost

Posted: August 4, 2010 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , ,

i had had ocd for almost 60 years and i didnt know it. that island thing is true, you experience shit all by your lone self and there is no breaking it in for you. especially not the mental shit.  repetitious games have been my companion since early, early on. the small memories are  very vivid. i can see places, people and smells, faces, for as long as i can remember . and i remember where i lived and father carrying me facing back down the hallway to soothe me. i was 8 months old. you are not much,  at 8 months of age but you are something enough to remember because there was shit to make me remember. Laying down with a bottle in my hands. i was expected to feed myself. there were no pictures for me to remember myself. there were just incredibly strong memories of me and my surrounds. dark spaces behind couches were good for me.  later on i would count things over an over, because that would keep me from falling off the window. so i tasted the cement and hoped to die. i was barely 6 and i already knew that tongue kissing cement wouldn’t kill you.  falling off the window would.  so i watched the boys fingering each others anuses and i enjoyed it. i wanted to see and think whatever would keep my mind off the plunge. the fatal final plunge that would crush my head onto the tiled stairs.  each boy as he slid down the railing kept me alive for one more minute. it was pure magic. as i waited for the next goosing i got to live another minute. winter was almost unbearable because you couldn’t be at the window and the boys wouldn’t slide down the railing. so my death would come much closer to me. so i started fearing the roaches, the dark, the mice, the bats, men and women alike, the fumes, the sounds and all that wasn’t  inside my head.  i didnt know then that the only thing that made me afraid was inside the fucking head.   in my incredible intelligent little sick head, i decided to be brave. and brave i would live or die. i didn’t care any more. well, i did but it didn’t matter  because the brave die really well.  they are not crushed on tiled stairs, the brave die for a reason, they fight, they lose their life maybe, but they did not lose themselves.  brave i lived,  brave i read, brave i thought, brave i cried, brave i masturbated, brave i silenced, brave i kept my words to my small self, brave i combed my hair, brave i took showers, brave i hoped i was a woman, brave i discovered every day that a man i was not, brave i heard mother’s voice, brave i listened to my sister, brave i called on my portuguese teacher with whom i was desperately in love. she saw me and showed me her house. she had a very small bed – actually twin beds in a spotless bedroom. it was spartan. smelled of bleach and sunny room. and she talked to me with so much love that I got cured from my love for her. she could truly love the lonely brave child it was only much later that i found out that love is fucking brave and mine was just a case of love temporarily lost among fucked up people.

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