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I Love You
Jul. 20th, 2006 08:09 pmMy childhood home contained a staircase which frightened everybody. It wasn't dangerous; there were no trick steps or difficult corners, no banister-less drops or shaky chances of collapse. Nevertheless, there was something about the shape of the space which triggered the animal brain, some quirk of shadow or acoustics that left a premonition of sudden, violent death. People avoided the stairs when they could, and went in groups when they couldn't - the whole family tramping downstairs together.
Fear doesn't come naturally to me. Worry, yes, and nervousness, and sadness, but fear never seems to follow from the thought before it. It feels like nothing so much as a bad sector, writing gibberish data over good. Left alone, it could annihilate the best parts of me, so I don't leave it alone. I walk through bad sections of town, alone, late at night; fight those more powerful than me; tell secrets to anyone who asks; ask favors of people I can't bear to lose. My first experiences with sex were because I feared it, and sook it out. In the case of the stairs, I camped there for hours at a time, reading or doing homework - even lived in the downstairs room that everyone avoided.
College was fairly useless to me. I discovered a few concepts that I might have taken longer to find, and had many pleasant conversations with professors, but I didn't leave knowing any more about what I wanted, or needed; who I was; what I could do. I was no more confident, no more informed, or fearless, or ready to find a job. I didn't attend my graduation; I'm not still in contact with a single fellow student.
Now I think I understand what I was supposed to feel, and the divorce seems like a nexus. I'm no longer afraid of debt, broken contracts, or admitting I made the wrong choice. I feel both harder and softer - tempered, but more sympathetic. What I have now feels like a gift - like something I always wanted but never believed.
Fear doesn't come naturally to me. Worry, yes, and nervousness, and sadness, but fear never seems to follow from the thought before it. It feels like nothing so much as a bad sector, writing gibberish data over good. Left alone, it could annihilate the best parts of me, so I don't leave it alone. I walk through bad sections of town, alone, late at night; fight those more powerful than me; tell secrets to anyone who asks; ask favors of people I can't bear to lose. My first experiences with sex were because I feared it, and sook it out. In the case of the stairs, I camped there for hours at a time, reading or doing homework - even lived in the downstairs room that everyone avoided.
College was fairly useless to me. I discovered a few concepts that I might have taken longer to find, and had many pleasant conversations with professors, but I didn't leave knowing any more about what I wanted, or needed; who I was; what I could do. I was no more confident, no more informed, or fearless, or ready to find a job. I didn't attend my graduation; I'm not still in contact with a single fellow student.
Now I think I understand what I was supposed to feel, and the divorce seems like a nexus. I'm no longer afraid of debt, broken contracts, or admitting I made the wrong choice. I feel both harder and softer - tempered, but more sympathetic. What I have now feels like a gift - like something I always wanted but never believed.
