mid-night purging

This one is an act of vulnerability as it’s really just drafts and late night free-writes as I stumble through trying to shed some old shit, triggered by liking someone. True to my nature, my liking this person waxes and wanes like the moon, so while it comes across as somewhat neurotic and manic, it’s really just capturing the different shades I experience in liking someone. I’m only going to very minimally edit this from its original draft to preserve the act of being vulnerable in a way that is incredibly uncomfortable for me… you’re welcome …

2.???.17 (some time in the middle of the night, when I should have been sleeping next to you…)

(Bob Dylan – to fall in love with you) 

It suddenly all makes sense. so damn painful in how obvious it all is… I haven’t let anyone sleep over, stay in my house, come so close – too close, because that’s where I stumble and get mute. When I can physically have someone within reach but I don’t know how to connect and reach back. so I move around my own home – tiptoeing like a goddamn mouse because if he woke and looked at me, he’d see there’s something wrong with me, and of course I’d be unwilling explain anything. Really I’m just too damn frightened and anticipating rejection, confused eyes looking back at me as I stumble in my inability to explain what’s wrong with me. This is all the same damn shit I’ve been doing since I was 5, tiptoeing in my own damn house, down those front steps as I watched him stumble not quietly enough as he packed his bags and tried to sneak out of my home, out of our lives. everyone slept in their beds, all within reach but no one noticed I couldn’t sleep … that my mind was a landmine and every time a soft, sweet dream started tugging at me, my mind exploded, shaking free from it’s grip. I lingered wearily on the couch for hours on end, filling the space where dreams were trying to occupy with shitty reruns of Geraldo and Cops….


(Lumineers; Bob Dylan, Rhye – Open…; Bukowski poems, Nalina paintings…)

I’m scared and sad and have no fucking clue how to tell this person whom I’m really falling for what’s going on with me as we tiptoe towards/into each other. I really like him… I think. And when I add ‘I think’ to that last sentence, I have no idea if that’s accurate, because a piece of me, not sure if it’s a big piece or small or just a piece, feels like I really do like him… a lot, almost too much; and some other piece, equally unclear of the size or relevance, wonders if I’m making this up? Or am I protecting myself because he’s gonna hurt me, or I’m protecting him because I’m gonna hurt him…??? I mean it’s all possible and frankly it’s all probably true to some extent, but I don’t know what to do … so damned paralyzed in this hellish fear spot that I feel like I’m going insane … again… like I am suddenly 12 and sitting high as fuck, tripping my goddamned ass off, staring in a freakish manner at my best friends wondering if they can see how much I’m falling apart, and not because I’m 12 and all sorts of drugged out already, but because with the drugs I no longer have the strange tenuous grip that I had had for awhile. That with these drugs that make you see things, they will suddenly see into me and I’ll have no more masks or hiding spots. That’s how I feel right now… that when I actually let someone start to look at me, see me… even just a little, he’s going to be able to see how fucked up I really am, how closed off and shut down and unrepairable I am, how fraudulent all this ‘work’ I’ve claimed to have done is… because if it was genuine, legit, healing, I wouldn’t be spiraling while paralyzed like this, would I? I wouldn’t feel like all the different fucked up versions of me crashing around inside of me like a goddamned orchestra lead by some angry fucking chimpanzee that thinks sign language is really absurd for a chimpanzee to be expected to learn and use effectively, especially to conduct a fucking orchestra. That’s how I feel right now… and when the old lady calls me a pussy for not being too warm and points out how my anxiety is seeping out of me, spilling onto her carpet in her room at an hour I should be at home, on a beautiful day I should be outside, I really know no other way to describe what’s happening


(bonnie prince billy – the way)

 I did not fall in love with you. I didn’t. I fell for you, but almost like a stone skipping across the lake, then falling to floor like all the other stones. That’s how it was with you – you tossed me around, skimming calm lake waters – I had a fake mythical experience of pretending gravity did not apply to me. So when I fell quickly and landed with a thud on the cold lake floor, surrounded by so many other pretty smooth stones, I was slightly stunned but also not. Because it wasn’t love, and while I could see falling in love, I don’t think I ever imagined I’d be staying on top of the calm lake surface.


© 2017 erin hoffman – all rights reserved


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