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Fated to Chaos. I Chose Wisdom.

In Chinese astrology, it is said that a snake born in winter inherently will have a stormy life and tempestuous personality.

I am that snake.

The December baby, 2 weeks late.

Born during chaos.

Raised in storms

in which we yelled just to be heard over the crashes of thunder,

cracks of lightning,

the din of our titanic, suffocated emotions.

My childhood was loud, stressful.

And colored midnight blue

by icy hearts that knew not how to love.

On that January night when I yelled,

tears and rage raining out of me,

pouring down onto the apartment floor,

“I DON’T WANT TO FIGHT!”

it was like Chinese to you.

Did not register.

Or you just didn’t care.

A fellow hurt soul,

with a father even worse than mine

who taught you to fight, to beat the ones you love

he blinded you!

He blinded you to my compassion, my empathy, my own past and my own pain.

And Goddamnit, we ALL needed to feel

every

fucking

stab of the knife

of your childhood

we all needed to pay the hefty bill of daddy’s hatred.

Especially me. The one you wanted to marry.

The one whom you loved above ALL else

with such a wild “passion”

that left red welts,

black bruises,

newfound alcoholism,

a deep red scar down the left side…

Lest I ever forget!

lest I ever forget your fucking

selfish,

destructive,

manic,

controlling,

“love”.

A special type of love

different from all others;

endlessly demanding

tirelessly sex hungry

but OH so noble!

So deserving of praise and recognition from EVERYONE

from me, my family, the neighbors,

your ex boyfriend

the unknown hottie from across the street.

From the trees, the rocks

from the gods and goddesses themselves!

They must know how caring and angelic you are.

An angel!

An angel that, after knocking me to the floor,

straddled and locked me in place.

and swiftly executed the coup de grâce,

pressing down on my esophagus, constricting my air. Choking me.

and smiling.

Smiling in endless ecstasy

that I finally couldn’t breathe.

With what meager strength I had, I demanded “Why don’t you just KILL me?!”

and you left. And I was arrested.

That was seven month ago. I survived; I am still breathing, still living yet…

yet still hurt. Still angry. Still confused. Still bearing the scars.

I am still, day by day, unpacking our so-called love and what it really was; I believe it was Fate. I remember the feeling of you on the day we met, how magnetic you were. How I was instantly and completely taken by you when I barely knew you, yet felt that I needed to know you, be around you, be with you. It was exciting, it was scary; it was a force I could not- did not want- to extricate myself from. And it all happened so fast, I remember thinking “this isn’t normal…” but, what is normal anyway? So I went along. I went along, telling myself it’s love, this is love even when you hit me. Even when you yelled and I yelled back. Even when I refused to have sex with you. Even when I fought back, tried to call the police and you kicked the phone from my hand. Even when you apologized and I came back, despite all of my person saying “No, stop!” That I ignored reality and came back makes me think there was a purpose for us meeting.

From everything and everyone we learn, we experience more of life, we ultimately pull back the veil just that much further to really see our true selves. I believe that both of us, within the other saw the most hated, reviled and vulnerable aspects of ourselves. Consciously, we wanted to fix each other, perhaps to avoid fixing ourselves. Subconsciously, we wanted to rip each other’s faces off, and I am glad it ended for us when it did.

It is bold, but I dare to say that I am almost grateful for our episode because it gave me wisdom I did not have before. It further revealed to me my own demons and my own hurt inner child as well as the consequences of ignoring the dark waters of trauma. It also showed me that I, and even you, deserve better. We deserve a love that is kind, nurturing and understanding. We deserve to be heard. We deserve to be respected. And while I am still angry, still hurt, still prone to an occasional pity party of “Why me?!” I am also wiser. I am alive. I am growing in each day, in each sunrise and I have become my own healer. No one can magically wash away my pain, wash away the abuse. It is a part of me, and always will be. But I am not its victim, nor its perpetuator.

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