urbansheep@gmail.com › Теги: going through hell

“Everyone can survive this. You will have to let go of some of your power. Yes, your therapist is right: You did hand your power over to him. But it's not that simple. It never is. Handing your power over to him gave you the exalted status of the abused. It gave you the keys to the martyr's fortress from which you hurl javelins in the dark. They seem to fall from the sky. But they're from you. I don't blame you for this. What choice did you have? I know this well. I did not discover what a martyr I was until quite late in life. But once I realized it, it made many other things clear. I want to suffer. It gives me license. I know this now. You will have to give up part of your martyr's cloak. Not all of it. We don't give up all of any of our archetypes. But we must hush them from time to time, when one takes over, or when they all clamor at once. I know you haven't made a spectacle of being a martyr but it is there on the edges, offering to enclose all your sorrows in its dark embrace. The martyr is the wounded soul but wields great power. This is how it wields its power: by suffering. It lies in wait for lachrymose moments; it sees an opening on center stage to cry in the spotlights. It's glorious and warm there, crying in the spotlight. It is exquisite. It is almost as good as parental love -- but then, who would know what that's really like?” - × × ×

#going_through_hell - × × ×

“Clark and I met on the Thursday before Labor Day, August 30, 2007. I don’t know exactly when we first said I love you, but the first email exchange containing the phrase, which he casually includes before signing off, is dated October 3 of that year. Nearly four years later, I sometimes type his email address in the search box in my Gmail. Hundreds of results pop up, and I’ll pick a few at random to read. The ease of our everyday interactions is what kills me. The way we spoke to each other about what I’d bring home for dinner or whether it was a PBR or a Grolsch kind of night. In nearly every conversation, there is something that releases the pressure from my chest by forcing a giant laugh.” - × × ×

#going_through_hell - × × ×