hermie

shark swimming

/ thehourofthedead / Leave a comment

A few days ago, I was at the beach, leaping over waves. It’s my absolute favorite thing to do, maybe of all time- I run into the crest of a wave and leap over it at the last second so I fly off the back of it and plunge into the water. When it crests early or I mistime my leap, I have to duck under the foam so it doesn’t punch saltwater all the way into the back of my throat.

One of the times I went under and came back up, there was a three foot shark swimming approximately two or three feet away from me in the water. Close enough that I could see the black/white tip of its dorsal fin. Close enough that I saw its entire body flicking through the waves.

The lifeguard temporarily pulled all of us out of the water right after that, but the event stuck with me. It certainly felt like I was being sent a message.

As I had been packing to move, I’d found an iteration of this entire story that used Will, the teenager who “lived” in my childhood home, as the narrator. Will is the perfect person to be the narrator, because he successfully bridges both sides- first as a bitter, furious kid who is trapped in the grey area between worlds, and then as the betrayed and horrified man who discovers that “Alex” is a fraud, and he has been pulled into more than he ever bargained for.

I worry about Will, even now, but I can feel that he is lost to me and does not want to be found. He was so blindsided by who Alex really was, and the mess he was thrust into, and I hardly blame him for his hurt. We went from a cute little foursome who cackled over card games and laughed raucously over the Ouija board to a gross little cave of evil and surreptitious sex and sin-soaked abuse.

I still shudder when I think of living in that place, somewhere I was essentially kept as a hostage- or, to be more clear, as a spiritual battery- for four years. I know the key to so much of my healing lies in that place. I know that I have to face and confront what is going on with me internally in order to be able to move forward, to ever have any hope of a “normal” relationship with someone. I am so deeply traumatized and broken by events so strange I don’t even dare describe them to anyone.

I don’t have any specific spiritual practices, just that I listen to the Universe. I am- at all times- trying to do what it asks me to do. Even when after the other night, after an entire day of mulling over that period of time, I was told that I should go see Alex.

Which. …..okay. Sure.

I met him on the edge of the sand at the beach house. I’d never let him inside again- not after I finally took it back from all of the violence. That was actually the last time I saw him, the winter solstice of 2019.

That time, his neck was broken and his head hung limp on his shoulder, popping up like a puppet when he spoke. He was not just full demon, but something beyond that. Skeletal. Ghoulish. Devoured.

This time, he was more of a fully formed person, and much more human than he’s been in quite some time, but there is still so much visible darkness all over him. I think I saw him as he “truly” is. This is how he presents on the Other Side, for the most part. To be honest- it’s not much different than how he looked in his last life. I used to call them his “demon teeth” long before I ever saw who he really is.

His entire eye, even the pupils, are wholly black. In fact, even the area around his eyes is an ashen color, as if he hasn’t slept for centuries. His features were extremely sharp even in his life, and are even more pronounced now. Cheekbones like origami folds, a nose like the curve of a dagger, jaw like the edge of a cliff.

And those fucking teeth. There’s so many of them that his mouth appears to be swollen, like a kid with a bad overbite, hanging out from the underside of his lips. Greyblack, as if they are rotten, but they are also razor-sharp, glistening. Waiting.

Just saying his name with intention brought him here, just as easily as ever, and he could see through my eyes as I brushed my teeth and got ready to see him.

“Well look at you,” he said softly. His voice was a strange blend of the freshly baked bread softness he had in his life and that grinding gears/wounded animal demon voice that shreds straight to the base of my soul. “Quite an apartment you have here.” His eyes grazed across things as if he was stroking them with an open palm. “Good for you, Krissy. Fucking fancy. You’re a long way from Pennsylvania. Quite literally.”

“Yes. I am.”

I briefly stepped into the living room to grab my phone charger, and my son was sitting on the floor playing video games. I felt Alex’s shock as he registered the time that has passed.

“He just turned fifteen,” I said, watching Alex watch my son. The way you’d watch a strange dog with a child.

“Fifteen,” he breathed. “Wow.”

I quickly went back to my room, because I don’t even want him to look at my son, to be honest. Nothing good can be gained from those black eyes soaking in my son’s form. He doesn’t deserve to even look at him, to be honest.

I settled and placed myself fully on the beach, examining his dark features. I was surprised that I didn’t feel afraid of him- just a kind of dismayed curiosity. And strangely- a sort of deep love and affection for this creature who has caused me so much loss and catastrophe.

My God, I still love him. I still love this monster.

We stood side by side on the sand, watching the waves crash in front of us.

“So,” I said flatly. “What are you… up to? Are you and Hermie still…”

He tipped his head slightly and shrugged a little. “I mean. She’s really trying to help me, and we…” He smiled a little to himself, just the vaguest shake of his malformed head. “We really got each other good in this lifetime. We both thought we had the upper hand.”

I was disgusted by him referring to my life as some kind of strategic play, some type of game. “What were you thinking, Alex?” My voice was cold. “I mean, I go back and read these journals and my God- I was a fucking baby. I was so naïve, and I trusted you so much. I don’t understand what the point of any of it was. What did you hope to gain?”

He sighed. “I know you’ll never believe me, but I really did want to prove that I could be good. At first. I really felt like this was my moment to show you what a truly kind and pure man I was capable of being.” His shoulders drooped. “But then I got lost in the fantasy of having a life with you. And then I… got lost.” He turned to look at me with his whole face, as if displaying it as his example.

“I’m still really fucked up, Alex,” I said, my face not showing a slice of sympathy. “Like. I can’t let people touch me. I haven’t been in a relationship in years and years and years.” I let intense flashes of him roaring over me, all teeth and blood, wash over both of us. A flash of me wrestling my last physical partner off of me. A flash of me sobbing with my face pressed against the bathroom wall.

He nodded slowly, turning his face back to the sea. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

He looked back at me briefly, the vortex of those onyx eyes pulling me into their hold. “Yes. I really am.”

“Okay, but like-” I held up my hands. “What am I supposed to do with that? How am I supposed to fix that? I’ve spent years and years trying to find a way out of this fear and I can’t seem to get my hands around it. Like I met someone that I-” I cut myself off instantly, immediately angry that I’d said too much. I don’t want him to know anything about me now. I don’t want him to have any idea of what my life is like.

I could feel him begin to sift through my thoughts, pulling up an image of a person that I’m currently vaguely interested in. I immediately waved my hand and swept him completely out of my brain, giving him a hard, angry look. He smirked and shrugged, as if to say, What do you expect?

Some things never change.

“This isn’t an invitation for you to be… involved in my life. I don’t want you involved in my life. At all. And I want you to stay away from my son, too.”

He turned to look at me with a face that is all too familiar to me- one that lands somewhere between a smirk and a scowl, his mouth disgusted and his eyebrows smug. “I really have no intention of interfering with your life ever again,” he said. His eyes were like a midnight new moon- somehow both empty and full. Like a burning hole. “And you don’t have to believe that-“

“I don’t.”

“-but I mean it.” His features softened to the degree they were capable of, and his hand lifted as if he was about to reach out for me before he thought better of it.

“Look at the damage I have already done. Krissy, there is no repairing some of this, and you know that.” His eyebrows lowered with a remorse I wanted to believe. “I ruined you for anyone else. On purpose. And now…” He held up his empty palms. His fingers ended with blood-caked claws, so dark they too looked black. “I don’t… I don’t have the answers. There are no answers. And I think you know that. You wouldn’t be here right now if you didn’t.”

I sighed and we both looked back out at the horizon.

“So,” I said softly. “While I have you here, let’s talk about a few people. I just wanted some… clarity.”

“Okay.”

“What about my ex-husband? Does he…”

Alex sneered, and then chuckled nastily. His eyes flickered with a raven flame as he gave me a leering look. “Oh, come on. Is it necessary to have that conversation? You and I know what it was- and you were perfectly okay with using him. We are both complicit, and you know that. Now, of course, he was abusing you too, just in a different way.” He turned and raised an eyebrow at me, his mouth pulling to one side with an arrogant joy. “Talk about toxic, wow.”

He chuckled to himself and waved his hands, dismissing the entire conversation. “Look- you finally managed to get away from that, right? So let’s… not.”

“Okay. And what about Jim?”

He took a deep breath and all the supercilious humor in his face faded. His entire form even drooped a little. “Oh, man. Fuck. Yeah, that whole thing was… super uncool. He is a really good dude, for real, and …” He shook his head slowly. “I feel really bad about what we did to him.”

I arched an eyebrow at him. “We?”

His face slowly turned back towards me and his black eyes scoured me with disdain. “Yeah. We. As in, like, allllllll of us. And what you continue to do to him, as a matter of fact.” He held up a clawed hand. “Well I mean, not you, but her.”

“Wait wait- I thought she was done with him? Is she…”

He laughed a little bitterly, and his eyes went back to the waves. “Oh, no one ever really knows what she’s up to. I mean for fuck’s sake, you had to split into two different ‘people’ just to be able to survive and sustain all of this.” He turned back to me with his entire face twisted into confusion and bewilderment. “Do you understand how fucked up that is? You have to refer to yourself in third person?”

He held up a finger and wagged it at me. “Don’t ever let her convince you she’s not as much trouble as I am. She is.” He leaned in a little. “You are.”

My mouth twisted, and I turned my face away from his. “And what about [my oldest friend, who is Alex’s oldest enemy]?”

Alex snarled suddenly, viciously, and I took a half-step back. His teeth immediately grew out of his mouth another three or four inches, until they hung like charcoal icicles off of his chin. His eyes got blacker, which hardly seemed possible. They became so black that the skin around his eyes became even darker, spreading like a rash all the way to his temples, down his cheeks, into his hairline.

Then he caught himself. His teeth pulled back and the darkness of his skin receded, and he gave himself a quick shake, as if he was resetting. I watched this with the same sensation I’d had watching that shark swim only a few feet from me- a helpless terror, while also knowing I was not in any real danger.

But I could have been.

“Oh, let’s not go there,” he hissed. “Please.” He turned to scour my face again, searching for how much I know. “He is not who you think he is and you know that, right?”

I shrugged. “I know.”

“I mean, he is … that guy, but…” He scowled with disgust, unimpressed. “Who fucking cares? That’s just one lifetime. It doesn’t change any of the other shit he’s done. And if you think how he’s behaved with you is any fucking better…” He laughed a single bark of defiance. “Ha! Yeah fucking right. Look at how the fuck he’s behaved in just this lifetime and tell me he’s not a mess of a person.” He scowled again, deeper, angrier. “Please. Ha! All he got was a cool storyline.”

“Did he, though?” I asked softly, and the fury on Alex’s face receded.

His face slowly turned back to mine and the darkness in his eyes seemed to sparkle. “Yeah,” he admitted, giving me a semi-sheepish grin. “Okay. That’s fair.”

I started to fall asleep as we were talking, and woke up to find his face very close to mine, as if he was leaning in to kiss me. I pulled my entire body away, even my living body, and gave him a baffled, disgusted look.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I asked. “Like I mean- are. you. fucking. kidding. me.”

He laughed a little, holding up his palms. “Oh, come on. I mean. All right, all right.”

“I have to go,” I said. “And I want you to go, too. Please do not take this as an invitation for you to be a part of my life or to start-“

He waved both of his hands at me dismissively. “Oh my god, stop stop stop. Look.” He waved his arm around the beach. “You can’t see, but you are being very closely watched, even right now. You are never alone. No one will ever let you be alone again.”

He leaned in a little, conspiratorially. “And part of that, my love, is because you are in just as much trouble as I am, and we are under close surveillance.” Then he leaned back again, smug, proud, always happy to remind me of my darkness. “But let’s be really real- I couldn’t get to you if I wanted to. But I don’t want to. I cannot stress that enough. I have enough to answer for, to repay.”

He flashed an image of my new apartment into my head. “You have created a beautiful life from total destruction. That is a marvel. What I did to you, what you survived?” He shook his head a little, then turned to look at me with as much softness as his monstrous face could allow. “You amaze me. You truly are a phoenix. If I couldn’t destroy you, there’s nothing you can’t survive. Conquer.”

And then he was gone.

Is this the closure I wanted and needed? Is this the conversation that needed to happen? I don’t know.

It is a long walk in the darkness with the darkness, my friends.

hey jealousy

/ thehourofthedead / Leave a comment

Even with the dead, things wax and wane.

I will go weeks, sometimes months, and things will feel- not quite distant, not exactly that, but perhaps misaligned. The pieces don’t quite click together. The joining is not seamless. Meditation is blurry, hollow. I miss words, I can’t feel touch, the landscapes are stilted and cartoonish.

It used to terrify me when it would happen years ago, especially after times of intensity like the winter solstice and Easter Sunday. I had lost something. I was being punished. I had gone too far, been too needy, asked too much, violated some series of rules I could only learn through error. The kind of Universe trapdoor trick that anyone who is deep into spiritual work is all too familiar with.

….whoops! what did you learn?

But now I accept it as part of all things, the push and pull, the feast and the famine. It is always good to be wholly aware of what you have. And to be fair, it is good for me to have to live without the dead from time to time, as I can get wrapped too far into that world and lose sight of my current living life.

And certainly, even dead people deserve a break from me. Maybe especially them.

Moving to a new city, one I have dreamt about living in for many years, one that I broke down sobbing just being inside of for ten minutes, one that constantly shocks and amazes me with its perfection, a literal dream manifestation, has also opened me to a series of subterranean layers in my heart. Now that I am not just surviving, there is a chance I may get to fully live.

But I am aware that is entirely up to me.

For example, I still haven’t done anything with the horrifying reaction I had to my brief attempt at menstrual cups. Earlier this month, I contemplated giving it another attempt, always under the “surely it wasn’t that serious” guise I had to use each time previous. But then I pictured my cheek smashed against my bathroom wall, sobbing “wait wait wait wait” to myself without even realizing it, and my entire mind slammed shut like a vault door.

If it never really happened, the trauma isn’t really real. If I don’t deal with it, I can pretend I am healed.

Right? Right? Say that’s right. Because otherwise, I don’t know how to hold what really happened to me. I can barely even let my mind see it, even fifteen years later. Those eyes. Those teeth. That voice. The blood. And that very specific spike of pain that made my body instantly collapse in on itself.

I feel so betrayed. Get over it. Get over it. Grow up.

I haven’t been with anyone sexually in almost three years, and that was also easy to explain for a long time. I lived in a town (well, two towns, really) that collectively boasted maybe two dozen teeth, nary a full set in sight. Everyone else was married or racist or backwater. Miles and miles of RealCamo and Trump signs, as far as the despairing eye could see.

Not to mention that the last person that I was with was someone more than a decade younger than me (oops), who left me so emotionally upended that I’ve actually stopped wearing one of my bathing suits. He unraveled so much of my personal self-confidence about my body with just a handful of ugly, careless comments.

Add to that, of course, the fact that one of our interactions caused him to bluntly ask me the next day, “So, have you been raped before?”

I just thought… you know? I’m good by myself. My body is something that will only be violated or is a horrible shock of disgust to someone. It’s better if I keep it away from everyone. Including, to a large degree, myself.

…ha, says the Universe. Ha ha ha ha ha.

One of my first jarring realizations when I started acclimating to this city was how attractive everyone is. Literally almost everyone is some level of well brewed DNA, and I am in awe. At the very least, few people here are made with swampwater and heroin and family trees that never fork. The literal sight of one person’s face caused a long closed door inside my body swing wide open.

Hello! Hi! Good morning! It is heady springtime in the dark parts of our soul!

And certainly, unquestionably, that is a blessing, right? We all seek and crave intimacy with others. We deserve to be understood at a core level by someone else. We all should have the chance for a partner.

Right?

But I instantly recoiled against that initial firing of nerves- the thrill of lust, the electric pulse of desire that shot through the most primal parts of my body. The ache to be touched, to graze against someone’s skin, to smell them.

no no no no no no no no wait wait wait wait

In addition to that (because of that?) my intensity with the dead has surged in volume. Specifically, and as always, with Jim. He’s always around, please don’t misunderstand, literally always just the shape of his name away from me at all times. But in the last few weeks, he has been closer than he’s been in awhile.

The other night we were in bed together, and there was an intensity about him that caused me to pull back and smirk coyly at him.

“Oh my gosh,” I whispered against his mouth. “Is someone jealous?”

He pulled back a little farther, a sheepish tug at his lips. “I just… didn’t want you to forget that you do have something pretty great with someone already.”

And he’s right, of course. There a shade of something that grazes against, but isn’t quite guilt when it comes to my relationship with him. It is one of the most profound, supportive, fulfilling, empowering, and uplifting relationships I’ve ever had in my entire life, and maybe in all of my lives. I am crazy in love with him, and I have been for many years now. Especially and most specifically since 2016, when I moved down to North Carolina entirely alone, without friends or family, and subsequently lost everything and had to start all over.

It was Jim, always Jim, who was there for me, who kept me alive, who kept me from spiraling entirely out of my body when I had to look for a new job without even knowing the names of the streets yet. The amount of times he sat next to me as I hyperventilated and whispered, “You’re okay, you’re okay. Breathe. It’s going to be all right. I’m right here, and I promise I am protecting you. I am going to keep you safe.”

And he did.

He still does now. And every single day for the rest of my life.

To never really be able to tell anyone about what I have with him always feels like a form of betrayal, especially because he has been so viciously mistreated by Hermie (Her/Me, my Entire Self) in the past.

For those of you who don’t recall, I lost Jim for several years (2009-2013) when he discovered that while he was protecting me from “Alex,” and seeing the depth of sickness and damage left in his wake, Hermie was still actively involved with him and utterly unrepentant about it. Jim also promised to not fall in love with me and then did, and put distance between us as we had always agreed that he should. He and Hermie were also involved on some level- the degree to which I am still not fully aware- when he discovered that she was also very much involved with Alex. During the same time that the beach house was haunted with scenes of my desecration.

So anyway, Jim told me he was going back to earth (which never actually happened), and we would unfortunately never speak again. It was one of the truly darkest and most despairing times in my entire life. Jim was gutted, in total heart-rendered agony at what was a failure of his promise to always protect me, and also utterly ruined by Hermie treating him like a puppet. A muppet. A pawn. A toy. Then he suddenly and abruptly returned when I got divorced and moved out on my own in the summer of 2013, and has never left my side since.

So he has already put up with a great deal from me all around, let’s be clear.

But I’m not honestly sure I’ve ever seen him that sort of ferociously intense, that kind of, “It’ll be good but it’ll never be like this,” sort of energy. I get that from my oldest friend from time to time, but Jim is always so steady, so calm, so unbothered. It was a tiny delight to see him off-kilter, if I’m being honest.

“You’re so cool about [my oldest friend] and all the ways he … interferes and interjects, and even just the general exclusionary energy that he and I have together,” I said. “I can’t help but be surprised that someone I literally just met has made you this jealous.”

He smirked and waved a careless hand. “Look. That thing with the three of you (me, my oldest friend, and Alex) is…” he sighed. “I don’t get it, but I get it. I… accept it now. It’s just part of the deal when it comes to loving you.”

He shrugged a little, and then he cut his eyes at me from the corner of his gaze. “But… I don’t know. Just… seeing how you looked at this other guy, seeing that part of you light up, I just…” His eyes darted away. “I mean, yeah. I can’t help but feel a little…”

I scooted in closer, trying to get his eyes to come back to me, a creeping grin spreading across my cheeks. “A little how, Jimmy? A little how?”

His summer thunderstorm eyes floated back to mine, and he would have been blushing if he had any blood. “Jealous. You’ve said it before, and you’re right. I am grateful for this, I am, and I am truly honored to have this bond with you and to protect you in what is a truly violent time, one where you are in constant danger. But we don’t have anything… visible. Not even here. We were also thrust into something really intense really quickly, almost overnight, and I just kind of wish we had had the chance to get to know each other differently.”

Now he turned completely towards me, cupping my cheek in his palm with soft, gentle eyes. “Please don’t misunderstand. I want you to be happy. You deserve to have intimacy with someone. You are an incredible person, and you deserve to be loved completely by someone. You deserve to have a partner after so many years of theft and violation and betrayal. So much has been taken from you, and to be able to get it back would be a real victory.” His eyelids lowered a bit, hooding his expression. “But part of me cannot help but wish that it was me that you were looking at with such new, raw hunger.”

I know that moving to this place where my dreams have literally come true is a whole new world for me. I know that I will now be expected to process and deal with many layers of trauma and loss and violation and abandonment and isolation that I had to pack away in the name of survival.

There is no time for an existential crisis when you are barely hanging on by a thread, after all.

But I continue to think about myself in third person as I see myself sobbing, cheek pancaked into the bathroom wall. Shivering violently with unearthed terror at the bottom of the bathtub as the shower still hammers my back with hot water. There is something pitch black inside of me that I am terrified of, and just admitting that it exists means that the reason I am so afraid is very real… and is still very much out there, waiting for me to let my guard down for a second.

Did I ever tell anyone that while packing I found one of my demon sketches and tore it in half? I didn’t throw it away, because I can’t do that (yet), but just that small act of destruction felt profound. I felt like I tore something in the air as well.

No one has to believe me for it to be real. No one has to see it for it to have ruined something that doesn’t even have a word to describe it. I know what happened… and oh my god, do I wish I didn’t.

scream for help, I wish you would

Do I have the bravery to finally open this door and walk inside? Do I have the strength to make this room a home again? How? Where do I even start? Can you fall into the abyss of primal terror and heal?

No one would blame me if I chose to stay closed for the rest of my life. I have been through so much. I have tentatively peeked out into the world time and again and had machetes slashed through my organs through the sliver in the door. I have pleaded with people, please be careful, it is so much for me to trust you, and had them instantly crumple my spirit in their palm.

No one would blame me, but I would blame myself.

If I am here against my will already, if I am certain I don’t intend to come back for a long time, if I feel like I am being punished by the Universe for Hermie’s many vile misdeeds, if I know I will have so much I will have to answer for once I am Home, then I must be committed to constantly working for wholeness.

For forgiveness.

Today is the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. After this, the darkness gobbles up the day minute by minute, until it is midnight before dinner. Can I find a way to light this room before darkness is all I can hold? What does it look like to open a door that has rusted hinges that shriek and squeal at just the thought of use? Is there hope that someone could see inside this room wallpapered with scar tissue and not be horrified at what remains?

Is there anything that remains?

Could it be possible that I could be loved?

Could it be possible that I will allow myself to be seen?

Could I really be fully alive one day?

Lord, hear our prayer.

trigger warning

/ thehourofthedead / Leave a comment

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.

enabler

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Two nights ago, I spent the night with my oldest friend at the beach house. It was one of those times where I honestly wished I was able to write down our conversation in the moment, because I really got so much out of what we were talking about, and I only remember the things we discuss when I’m there. As soon as I am fully “awake” again, it all slips away.

The hardest lesson to learn in meditation- once you get past just learning how to go to the Silence and allow your thoughts become a stream- is how to accept visuals as they come to you. I’m not sure that everyone who is deep in the mystic world has the same elaborate second life that I do, but I don’t see why you couldn’t if you wanted to.

Then again, most people are not as actively pursued as I am. Most people do not have this much interference. Most people have dead lovers who stay dead, and don’t try to bleed into your current living life.

Anyway, he and I were in bed together and suddenly, I became Hermie (my Entire Self, the person I primarily present as on The Other Side). I think some part of our conversation triggered this transition, but I can’t recall what led up to it, except for the moment when I suddenly blended into her.

She’s beautiful like the freshly polished edge of a knife. Like the ripple of muscle across a panther’s back as it paces. Like the delicate fracture on the side of a building after an earthquake. Like the vivid depth inside the shade of newly spilled blood.

I am her, and I’m afraid of her.

He pulled back suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at the sudden appearance of her face. “What is this?”

She reached up to lay her hand on his cheek. “I just wanted to see you. I wanted to see how you looked at her. How you used to look at me.” Her thumb stroked across his cheek, her hand sliding around the back of his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers.

He kissed her back for a moment, then pulled away again, his eyes scouring hers. “What’s going on, though? What did he do? Are you in trouble? Did something happen? What is…”

“No! It’s nothing,” she insisted, reaching up to pull him close again. “I just wanted to see you.” Her eyes burned into his for a heavy, desperate moment before she leaned her lips up to his again.

The moment their mouths even briefly brushed together, she started inexplicably sobbing. So did I, in fact. The weight of it was so abruptly enormous that I was crying before I even realized it. It was like a brief thunderstorm, bone deep sobs that shook my entire body for about thirty seconds, then it passed back to blue skies, pulling hands, an aching mouth.

Instead of being sympathetic, my oldest friend appeared even more suspicious. He stared at her, me, her/me with his mouth drawn in a mix of empathy and exhaustion. But he stopped asking questions, and it wasn’t much longer afterwards that I fell asleep wound tight around all my pillows, crushing them against me as if I might mine warmth from their centers.

Yesterday morning, especially after binging all of Euphoria, I realized that he looks at me like I’m an addict. Like he expects me to ask him for money. Sell him on a hustle. Weave him a desperate fable. The exhaustion of my constant, unpredictable swings of behavior was easily visible in his eyes.

But certainly, if I am an addict, he is my enabler. The quiet defeat when he looks at me sometimes tells me I have wrung him dry more than once. Everything about me is a strategic move, it seems, and lately I worry genuinely that I have never loved anyone since I’ve existed. Not the kind of love other people talk about.

I really worry about it a lot, actually.

Even in this life, loving me is like trying to hold smoke. Like trying to catch a feral cat. I’m not someone you go to for softness or gentle encouragement. In fact, as soon as I feel like someone cares about me, I get extremely uncomfortable, anxious, suffocated. My eyes start searching for the exit. Oh no, you don’t want this. No… really.

And the harder part is seeing in the eyes of people who have known me longest that I am not entirely wrong to feel that way.

My two favorite words that people often use to describe me are “honest” and “loyal.” That is an enormous compliment to me, but I am also aware, as I have been for many years, that honesty is not a trait that most people value, and loyalty isn’t really the same as love.

The kind of healing I need to do in this life is a sort of ancestral healing, in the sense of my soul being its own ancestor. I have layers of my own personal identity that I desperately need to heal, especially if I am serious about not coming back here again.

There is something about my Entire Self that is treacherous, manipulative, duplicitous, and I have to find a way to repair some of this damage. If I can. Which is why this entire lifetime has been about being made smaller, conquered, disrespected, discarded. Why what I’ve needed to learn is humility, grace, asking for help.

Well. …I’m still learning.

solstice celebrations

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I saw my oldest friend a few nights ago for the first time in awhile, which was a relief. He has seemed to be avoiding me for the last few weeks, so it was good to finally be able to clarify some things face-to-face. Even if, to be honest- he still really avoided giving me a real answer to anything.

This time, he and I sat on opposite diagonal corners of the fully made bed at my beach house, which was both new and awkward. Our palms were resting flat on the on the smooth white comforter, both of us subtly trying to reach for the other without making it seem obvious. The flickering candle next to me in real life matched the setting sun at the beach house, lighting up his silhouette with fire behind my eyelids as I turned to look at him.

“So,” I said, my voice slightly bruised. “Where have you been?”

His mouth pulled to one side, and his golden brown eyes briefly flashed with defiance. “Well- and I know this is hard to believe- but I have other responsibilities, people who need my support and guidance and compassion, and also extremely difficult work I have to do for myself.” His voice is somehow both soft and strong, the sound of a summer breeze that carries the threat of a potential thunderstorm. It makes my blood light up with summer sparklers, even when he’s scolding me. Maybe especially then.

He gave me a look that had a tiny slice of that very energy. “You’re not the only person going into the solstice, you know.”

I gave him a hard side-eye. “Okay, but your distance with me kind of seemed to coincide with when Hermie told me that she treats you like a fuckboy. I was just kind of wondering if they were related at all.”

His mouth pulled again, harder. This time, his nostrils flared out as well. “No. They’re not.” His voice was flat and blunt, but then he sighed deeply, conceding a little of the granite in his body language.

“Listen. This is why it is going to be so hard for you to come Home,” he said, his eyes burning into mine. “There is very much a duality at play right now. Do you choose this life, what you have learned, this new perspective?” His eyes shifted away briefly, almost imperceptibly, before flicking back with more intensity than before. “Me? Jim?”

Then he shrugged a little, his entire body once again conceding to the possibility. “Or do you choose… him, and your crusade to save him? Which, to be fair, if you can accomplish it, would be a massive achievement for the entire Universe. But.”

He shook his head a little, laughing to himself. “What he has done to you already? What you have- what she has- allowed him to do to you just to prove that he is a vile and wretched being?” He shrugged again, a kind of angry admiration. “I can’t understand that. You are so much bolder than I could ever be.”

I held my palms to the sky. “But I don’t understand either. How could it even be a choice? It makes no sense.”

He exhaled through his nose, turning to look out at the surf. “I mean, she’s not wrong about me, you know? I have made a lot of mistakes, especially with you.” He turned back to look at me, his eyes swimming with electric fire. “Especially because of him, how you have always protected and defended him.”

“So what happens if I do choose him?” I whispered. “What happens then?”

He smiled wistfully, and his eyes went back to the sea. “It wouldn’t be the first time, my love. We’ll all find a way to move on.” He shrugged, returning his defeated gaze to me. “We all love you enough that we are willing to accept whatever amount of reciprocal love you are willing to…” His mouth twisted a little, his hand gesturing with a sarcastic benevolence. “…bestow upon us.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, okay. Please.”

He finally reached across the bed to slide his fingers between mine. It felt like plugging a cord into an outlet, an energy that is always somehow both brand new and ancient. Our eyes locked, and we just stared at each other for a long time, saying nothing and saying everything.

When he looks at me like that, I know better than to try to argue.

“But like… why did you leave me?” I asked quietly, searching his unbearably familiar face. “You were around so much last month, honestly to the degree that I felt like we were going to get into trouble, and then…?” I held my palms out to him in despair. “You just totally abandoned me.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry. There is just so much happening right now, and I’m stretched very thin. It’s the solstice for all of us. It is the Grand Conjunction for all of us. It is 2020 for all of us. Do you think only the living are struggling with this disaster of a year?” He laughed a little, his eyes going smoky amber. “We are all being pushed to our limits.”

Then he tipped his face to me again, and we gazed deeply at each other, searching the other’s face. For what, I’m not sure. Just looking at him for too long makes me feel impossibly nervous, excited, almost as if just sitting next to him is something forbidden. As we looked at each other, the air shooting lightning, he slid slowly across the bed until our hips kissed. My mouth is all he could seem to see.

“I am so in love with you,” he said softly, then immediately scowled with disgust and embarrassment. It was as if his words were aromatically repellent, and he began trying to scoot away to try to escape it. Escape himself.

I grabbed him around the waist, pulling him back to me. “Wait, wait. Say it again.” I coquettishly tipped my cheek towards my shoulder as I batted my eyes, reaching out to grab both his hands.

He laughed the all-teeth, head tipped back laugh that makes all my nerve endings sing with light. Then he reached over and his knuckles grazed across my jaw, his fingers curling around my ear. As his fingertips slid into my hair, sending tiny explosions through my brain, he said, “I am so in love with you. It makes me worry that I shouldn’t be here.” He pulled his hand back and peered into my face. Eyes like a lion, a falcon. “I don’t want to distract you from the life you’re living.”

“What life?” I scowled. “Please.”

“Stop it.” He grabbed my chin gently to pull my eyes back to his. Then he proceeded to pour out truth to me, things I agreed not to write publicly, things that I honestly wouldn’t even dream of sharing, because it all feels exceptionally foolish. To the point of delusion.

When I expressed this to him, he said, “You’ll listen to every other thing I say, but when I tell you about who you really are, suddenly you must not have any real ability to hear?” He smiled. “Okay. Let it just be your imagination, then. Let it be who you wish that you were, the person you would like to be. Let it be the dream that propels you into a new reality.”

It feels impossible to carry both of my lives at the same time anymore. It feels harder and harder to pretend. It also feels deeply terrifying to lean more fully into who I actually am. This blog is the most honest thing I’ve ever done, and the most visibility I’ve ever given to my actual reality. I don’t have to be ashamed here. I don’t have to lie. No one is watching. I’m free to just flourish in this strange, beautiful, divine Light.

Happy (almost)solstice, ya’ll.

May we all see ourselves with clarity, and may we also be able to speak upon it with bravery. xx