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"there's a special hell in knowing too well."
Self sacrifice is not a gift - it''s self-abandonment.
She had been talking to the robot for hours again. She was still bleeding, but hoping it was getting over with soon. She had thought that already - for over a month now. le sigh.
"If only I had been more of a bitch - more of a boundaried person - less vulnerable - more avoidant, it would have worked right? he would have liked me and grown to love me because he respected me right?"
She didn't want the answer to that one because she knew it so well it made her head tighten, her eyes flood with tears, and her gut clench. Oy vey did she know the truth, but the paradox was that she could only be a true cunt to someone who she didn't really care about. When she cared, she was immediately thrust into the danger zone of being a baby screaming "want me!".
Vomiting your entire vulnerability onto someone and getting mad when they notice is something to notice.
She needed to get "not yet" tattooed to her hand to remind her not to give it all away without being earned. She shook with rage at being ... her. and fucking up. again and again. These chances don't come every day, and she had made him a villain when he was just a wounded boy like she was a wounded girl.
She knew intimately and insanely-accurately why, how, and what.
None of it helped her. She was an amazing writer (don't laugh), a genius level IQ (don't vomit), and vaguely beautiful - and all of it didn't matter.
She still lets him win. Gives him all the loot.
the proverbial father she was always trying to fucking rescue.
another brilliant cold achingly beloved man who rejected her because she couldn't take his entitled hand off her vagina in the middle of the night and say "no" and leave the bed. metaphorically.
How very fucking boring.
She mocked Leon for being a lonely chiche and what was she but the exact same thing just drawn a different way. Same cartoon. Same collage. Different docks in the same lake.
And it tired her. She could go to a million years of therapy, read a million books, write billions of words and none of it helped her get past that one trap on the way to the journey - the trap that was right in the beginning:
"Do you really think you're worthy of love?"
"god that question again. I've been on the other side you know - asking it of others."
"It's a rather important one."
Essentially, the answer was absolutely yes, but there was a huge butt-ress.
"I do indeed, but I'm terrified of being loved because the second I see you - I recognize you - I give all my power away and lay at your feet like you're an angry god - always men who remind me of my brilliant betraying father, and I'm constantly trying to destroy the walls and break out of the jail - break everyone out with me."
She recognized - because she recognized everything insightful - that the only way to break him out of the tower was to walk away and burn it all behind her.
"but are you any better than me?"
She was highly irritated that it all hinged on something she couldn't quite put her bloody finger on. She could masturbate all day long. She could dance by herself. She could drink. She could smoke. She could scream - but she's always going to be stuck on the same starting square.
no one could tell her how to advance. she was left with either retreating or pretending or making it up as she went along.
she had tried them all anyway so long.
this latest one.
it
destroyed
her.
because he had been the smartest - the freshest really, and she had theoretically been her wisest self.
could she write her own redemption arc? could she make up another stupid false happy ending where the prince touches her, breaks the spell, says he loves her and happily ever after.
Since she was able to hold a crayon, she had been drawing the same picture: a princess in a field with a hill and a castle in the background.
It all had to matter.
She had to be able to bang her head against the glass one more time and have it break her free. it had to...
but it didn't of course.
she breathed, but she didn't live.
and knowing why - that she fucked up the first step and wanted to blame everyone but herself - was a special fucking hell.
she could end it on that, but she wanted to try and juice it up - offer the reader some sunshine.
--
the frustrated queen got on her horse and rode into the next town. there was a concert playing there with a band of goats as the musicians. she couldn't wait to take her crown off and dance like a dyonsian dervish.
then she'd go home, try again, feed the cats, get some coffee, do the Wordle, get naked and warm in front of the fire, and make love.
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a beginning.
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