I’ve started three posts titled “Normalcy” in the past few days, as I try to get back there, to feeling “normal” again. Whatever that means. In this instance I guess it means getting back to a place where this other thing doesn’t sit inside my head, constantly poking at me, constantly scraping me raw. Maybe I’m almost there. It’s not constant anymore, at least.
But it does blindside me, still. In the middle of an otherwise happy work thing, for instance.
Yesterday morning was good. I had spent an evening without thinking of it once, and the morning in a happy post-fucked haze. And then–wham. There it was, and there I was in the middle of an office celebration running out of the room, choking back tears, hiding so that the rest of my coworkers don’t think I am mental. Ad rescued me, coming to pick me up for lunch, taking me away for awhile until I could regain control, something he never could have done with his other job.
God I am sick of crying in public.
But, I got through it. And on to the other side. Back to “normal.”
I do have other things to write about. Things I’ve been thinking about, things I want to talk about, in regards to being poly, to this life I live, to relationships. But every time I sit down to write…I am silenced by this other thing inside of me; it swallows the other words that live there like a black malevolence eating me away from the inside out.