A few weeks ago or so, I saw a stream of images that were unbelievably violent. Disgusting. Art school concept horror shock value gore. After watching the images rotate three, four, five times, I realized that it was me.

…well. Whatever was left of me, at least.

I tried to dismiss it, but I spun straight into a raw panic attack. The style that had the instant potential to be a Big One- hyperventilation, a loss of vision and hearing, pounding pulse, pinhole narrow throat that cannot swallow. So afraid that I start to drool into my hands.

But I caught it and killed it. Honestly, with lies, the kinds of lies you sometimes have to speak to keep from getting caught in the maelstrom.

This isn’t real, I’m not really seeing this. This isn’t real, this never happened. This isn’t real, I don’t believe it.

About a week after I saw this mess, I went to meditation and it was more of the same. Old things, things I thought I’d finally gotten rid of, smeared all over the beach house in a way they’ve not been in almost a year. In a way I was sure I’d finally defeated. Absolutely vile, graphic in a way that feels excessive, violence to surreal, cartoonish levels. Putrid.

“What is this?” I shouted at my friends, who stood solemnly in the frame of the doorway. “I don’t fucking want to look at this shit anymore! Why do I have to keep seeing this?”

But I know why. I know why.

I haven’t had any sort of sexual contact with anyone in over two years, and I haven’t had a good, satisfying intimate interaction with a living person in almost five.

FIVE. YEARS.

And to be honest, mostly I am okay with that. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with choosing that for myself, so long as it’s a choice and not a wound.

But it’s also not entirely true either. The previous post is a story about spending the night with someone I have loved for centuries, after all.

Part of the reason that I don’t seek out relationships with living people is because I have such secure, loving relationships with the dead. It is pretty ideal for me, if I’m being honest- they are only a shout of their name from coming to me. Sometimes that’s all I need. I cry out and they answer, and I instantly feel better.

When I try to apologize they say, “You’re never alone,” and they mean it. But I also still have my space, my time, my silence.

Even if it’s all a fantasy, a delusion, a sickness… is there anything wrong with it if it keeps me alive? And more than that- can it be wrong if it brings me comfort and joy?

How could I let someone “real” into this world? Can my life be full and empty at the same time? Is it wrong to be so fulfilled by doing so little? Is my kind of love enough?

Is any of this the same as having “real life” love? Can I accept real life love when I can barely sustain friendships without trying to sabotage or abandon them? Is opening up my entire heart and soul to someone really something that I want for myself? Is my solitude a product of grace or fear?

Every single person I have ever given my trust to in my life has betrayed me. Every single person I have offered something precious to has used it as a tool to violate me. It is hard to continue to give anything to people when it has only meant it will be a weapon held to your throat. Or. Worse.

Have you ever heard yourself choke on your own blood? Have you ever had to watch yourself gurgle for air from a face that barely exists?

And she’s still with him. Even right now. He’s the reason no one trusts her, me, her/me. I can’t understand any of this, and it’s me. For fuck’s sake, what am I supposed to do with that?

This week is the first time I have had more than two days off, totally alone. There is a lot I have to face. I am a little concerned at where I really am mentally and emotionally once my work persona melts away.

Last night, I had a dream that a pack of wild dogs were threatening me, but I wouldn’t back down.

One of them ran at me, then past me, leaping onto a recliner just behind me. As I walked carefully by it to get out of the room, terrified of being bitten, the dog flipped onto its back and gave me a big doggy smile.

Okay. I’m trying. I get it.

I’ll get there.