Leave your weapon on the table
Wrapped in burlap, barely able
Don’t get angry, don’t discourage
Take a shot of liquid courage
Leave a light on if you’re able
‘Cause we both know you’re unstable
Call a doctor, say a prayer
Choose a god you think is fair
‘Cause my monsters are real, and they’re trained how to kill
And there’s no comin’ back and they just laugh at how I feel
And these monsters can fly, and they’ll never say die
And there’s no goin’ back, if I get trapped I’ll never heal
Yeah, my monsters are real
~Shinedown
I think my writing, here in my blog, is a fair and accurate representation of who I really am. Something I’ve noticed, is how one dimensional the videos I post, on YouTube, seem to be. It’s me. It’s just a tiny glimpse of the version I’m willing to set up a camera, and share with the world. I don’t hold much back, in writing. It’s where the most honest and raw parts of me can be expressed. My husband’s super encouraging, and he tells me to keep posting. He’s the first one to watch any video I make. He’s the only person I’ve given complete access to all my writing. One day, when he and I were talking, I asked him if my videos really felt like me? I told him, it surprises me how much “softer” I see myself, in them, than I think I am in real life. He just laughed and said, eh, sometimes.
I strive to be kind, friendly, and honest. Deep down, I know that I want to be authentic and approachable. The truth is, I don’t always want to be perceived as “approachable”, though. Sometimes, the guards responsible for protecting my peace can be a little bit “prickly”. Sometimes, I’m just not willing to entertain somebody else’s bullshit, either. I’m not very good at “turning the other cheek”. Particularly not when I’ve already reached my tolerance thresholds, for bullshit. That’s not a good time to push my boundaries, and I’ve got no problem defending myself or my family.
Life isn’t fair. It’s not just. Karma’s merely a hope we cling to, when these things prove true. There are no guarantees. No certainties, no matter how many fences we build to keep ourselves safe. Evil comes for, and then corrupts us all. The only way to fight, that I’ve found, is to become a monster yourself. It seems, doing what we feel’s right, often requires us to bring out the very things we work so hard to hide from the world. The parts of ourselves that we typically wouldn’t want others to see. Those parts become the very things which are capable of saving us. The challenge is knowing when to let those monsters out of the hidden places we keep them, and then putting them back into those cages. This has become my personal struggle. I set one of my monsters loose, last week, and I’m not quite sure I’ve gotten it back into its cage. There’s still remnants of the anger, that brought it out. I’m keenly aware that this anger needs resolving, in order to fully restore that beast to its place within me. What does one do, with anger that’s got no place left to go? I won’t dump it on those who don’t deserve to feel that wrath. I can’t point it towards those who do. So? Where does it belong, and what if I’m not capable of stuffing it all down?
I fight so hard, to keep my demons contained. I truly do. Every so often, an unfortunate fool insists on calling its name while it’s already frothing at the mouth, hungry for blood. The most recent fool? Some stupid bitch my husband used to know. Yep, those angry monsters are definitely still out, because I hear them roaring as I mention this. She knew what the fuck she was doing, and I’ll not be convinced otherwise. I don’t mean to sound conceited, but she knows who the hell I am. She knows damn well who my parents are, especially my dad. Everyone does. Anyone who’s even peripherally aware of my existence knows the turmoil my family and I’ve existed with. What made this most obvious, was the unnatural way she brought this up, and then continued to poke at me with it. Like, seriously? I’m positive, she’d no clue what she unleashed, in her arrogant prodding.
I asked Adam, just how exactly would he feel, shoe on his foot? If some guy, from my past, approached. If this guy, (whose dick I sucked once, and then who never stopped chasing after me, btw), did this to him? I told him, and he knows it’s the truth, if one of my (so called) “friends” approached us, and proceeded to nag him repeatedly over such a painful situation, I’d have told them to shut the fuck up. Maybe not in so many words, but I’d absolutely tell them they needed to “drop it”. This crazy bitch wouldn’t shut the fuck up about my mom. Asking me way too many specific questions, clearly intended to upset me, and in the midst of an already incredibly difficult time for us. We were at the dinner, following our niece’s freaking funeral. Seriously? Who, except someone prodding at my inner demons, would ever do this? I think I handled myself as best anybody could, in this instance. I shut her persistent, unnecessary questioning, down. This woman then had the nerve to continue poking at me. Mentioning houses for sale, near her, and telling my husband that’s where he “belongs”. Bitch, are you so for real??? I could’ve torn her head off, but I didn’t go for the “kill”. I stayed composed, and simply stood my ground. What frustrated me, was that my husband allowed me to fight that battle alone. I wasn’t friendly. I wasn’t welcoming. Still, I held back the worst of things I was perfectly capable of saying and doing to her, inside that moment. Not because I give a shit about her feelings, but because we were not at the place, or in the time, to handle that business. I suppose maturity contained the fury I could’ve unleashed. Unfortunately, that fury was only hidden. It wasn’t released, or removed. Only reserved, for another time. It’s a fire that’s burned within me, since. I’ve found myself battling with it, because now it wants to lash out at my husband. In all honesty, he probably deserves some of it, but I love him. I don’t want to hurt him. I know him, better than anyone else in this world. I understand the internal pressure and pain he dealt with, there. Still, I can’t help feeling abandoned, and that hurt makes me livid. It presents a serious challenge, as I try so hard not to let my hurt pour out onto him. It wouldn’t solve anything. Sure, it might feel like a release, for a brief moment, but then I’d be left with regrets. Then, I’d have allowed myself to become the very monster I’ve fought to keep contained. I know, letting it take over would mean relinquishing control over every other piece of myself. All the good, the kind, gentle, sweet, and loving parts of me would be taken over by this one little sliver of hateful vengeance I’ve hung onto. I must control it, because I’ve put way too much effort into building up the better versions of me.
I can’t express how very difficult it’s been, for me to fully place my faith and trust in my husband’s hands. Not that I believe he’d be unfaithful, but because I’m afraid of being let down. I’m afraid to let go of my desire for control. I can’t destroy all the monsters, within me. Those monsters are the strength I draw from, when I’m all I’ve got. So, sometimes they rear their ugly heads, and it ain’t sweet. I’m not always this soft spoken, gentle woman. I’m willing and able to fight for myself and those I care about, and I don’t hesitate. In fact, I think these monsters sound just like barking dogs, begging to be let off their leashes. So long as I can keep charge of them, they’re a necessary weapon. Part of me hopes to quiet them, while another part needs to hear their viscous growls, because it makes me feel safe. As much as I do crave allowing my husband to hold those snarling monsters, so that I could relax into the softer versions of myself, that’s a giant ask. I’m not entirely convinced he’s fully capable of the kind of protection I need, to be able to do that. Whether it’s fear, complacency, or plain ignorance, he remains unaware of some of the dangers that I can plainly see lurking around certain corners, just waiting to pounce. It feels too much like weakness, giving over that kind of power. My last line of defense, and I don’t know how I’ll survive without it. I aim to keep the shiny and bright parts of myself forward facing, but can’t let go of the darker ones I still cling to, just in case I have to let them loose.
Every last ounce of my anger, is born from one of two things, if not both. Fear, and hurt. Fear of being let down, abandoned, or the hurt from being let down, left standing alone. That’s it. These are the only things I need assurances from. Are these unrealistic expectations? Am I demanding impossible standards, here? I do understand, we disappoint those we love. We’re imperfect beings, and we sometimes fall short. Maybe I’m too sensitive? Perhaps I’m too much? All I ever wanted, from anyone I’ve loved, is to feel secure, safe, wanted, welcome, and to have my love requited. That’s all.
