CAPTAIN'S BLOG
I am not looking forward to christmas.
Just another day of battling memories of her. It's tiring, fighting the memories and the feelings. Trying to understand, only to ultimately conclude that I am missing the pieces I need to truly understand. All I can do is guess. I understand that she found my story alarming, but I don't understand why I only got that one brief, panicked moment to explain myself. Obviously there was a lot of learning for me to do about myself, and I understand that she didn't want to be around for it, as it is not her job to educate me about morality. But it still hurts that she never gave me the chance to learn and grow. I thought I had shown to her that I was capable of such things, but looking back I can see how she may not have seen that. The way I reacted to her decision to do sex work was foolish and absurd. I don't know what I was thinking - obviously, I was consumed by fear. I was afraid someone would take her away from me and I would never who. Instead now I worry that she'll die and I'll simply never know. And of course, a breakup like this always feels like a death to me. She's out there somewhere, but I never see her. The intensity of my fear at the time made me consider leaving her, but after my feelings subsided I realized I was being foolish. For one thing, for trying to influence her by threatening our relationship. I immediately regretted what I said but it was all I could think about - as if doing so would do anything except sow distrust. Knowing I did that makes me feel like I was insane. And maybe I was a little insane. I was very in love with her. It had been a very long time since my New Relationship Energy lasted that long. If it was even that - I don't know if it was healthy or not. I guess it wasn't - I did after all start this paragraph accusing myself of some level of not being myself. She made me feel alive, and anxious. She made me feel loved, and seen. Seeing her looking into my eyes still makes me cry in the drop of a hat. I never thought something would overtake thinking of my dog when I find myself disconnected from my emotions. It is nice to feel. I never really explained to her why I reacted the way I did - I just apologized what I hoped was enough. I was too embarrassed to admit to her that I said it because I was afraid of losing her - I didn't want to seem desperate, even though it was no doubt too late for that. I did tell her that I supported and understood her reasons for wanting to do sex work though. She assured me she would be careful, and I believe her. I do think that perhaps she doesn't deserve to put herself through what that life can entail - but I would never blame her for trying to make her goals come to fruition. Her determination is definitely something I found very inspiring. I still remember Carmel calling her my young teacher. What a nice idea that was. And I guess in a way she was. Thanks to the focusing effect of the emotional turmoil, I've been thinking about my life and how the things that have happened in my life have affected me. Am I really such a bad person that I deserved to be abandoned after a single 5 minute conversation? How saved am I given that nothing happened? Is what happened to me to blame, or am I? I believe that free will is an illusion, but is that enough? If I could have done things differently, I would have. Whatever she thinks about being lonely, I was very alone for a very long time. That experience changed me, it made me vulnerable and I was taken advantage of. I didn't know that what happened to me was wrong until much later in my life, and it set my boundaries wide. It only occurs to me now that I was actually in danger at that time. He was my friend and I trusted him, and I thought he was showing me something cool. It was a secret we shared and I liked that. It made me feel special, loved, and trusted. But I still would get panic attacks when staying the night at friends houses, years later. I still get nervous spending the night at someone else's house, but not like back then. I didn't even understand why. I would get to a different friends' house, and it would be time to sleep, and I would be gripped with anxiety, burning in my chest. In a panic, I remember running through a baseball friends' house, looking at all the crosses on the wall and the angels on the tables, and finding no comfort in them. I called my mother, begging her to take me home, but unable to tell her why other than "please come, I can't sleep here, please come get me right now." (I'm too emotionally drained to proofread this. I'm sorry.)
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AuthorChristina Hitchens is a trans female writer living in BC, Canada. She loves computers, animals, and a good argument. Archives
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