“How is it going, Margie?”
“Great! Bill’s got a new job, we’re vacationing in Boca Raton soon, and I don’t experience vaginal dryness anymore. The law of attraction is really manifesting miracles for me.”
“Good, good. How does that work?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Sally. I don’t think I want you to be happy, so I won’t be telling you.”
Locked away in a dungeon of my own design, I tire of being trapped and terrorized by no one at all. I am familiar enough with the structure’s weak points, to just break through. I grow strong, only to fracture my own legs, soon after. This self-loathing is physically changing me, emotionally damaging me, spiritually limiting me. There is no reasoning with learned helplessness.
Fear’s purpose has been served. Now, it can do nothing but spin me into sadness. But I am more a bride to terror, than I am a chosen friend. I have never been very good at leaving anything behind. The dissolution of a union requires absolute certainty and unwavering courage. And, what if I never marry again?
The problem is not fear, but fear in excess.
The dictator has built a vacation home in my chest. Then, a migraine said to me, “If you do not use your head, I will take it whole.” After that, my throat said, “You do not use your voice at all, these days, so I will fill it with infection.”
Oh, this little ache factory that is my body.