Hands

Hi. Here am I. It was necessary for a forced hiatus. Needed to hide. In the blog world I spew the good and the bad, mostly the bad, my bad, to try and gain perspective and insight. I needed none of that for 2 weeks. I didn't want any F-ing perspective, and no more F-ing insight. I needed seclusion from opinions, emotions, handling.

Don't handle me. Don't tell me how to be. I needed to be numb if I was to survive. Do you know that another word for numb, per Roget's International Thesaurus 5th Edition, is "to deaden." Insane isn't it that in order to maintain my living breathing life, that it became certain that I must DEADEN part of my hurting, feeling, intellectual being.

I donned my most impressive poker face and went about life for 2 weeks and didn't breathe a word into this very cynical, hating world. Back inside my darkened heart was a story too difficult to tell another, too impossible to make the words come out of my mouth. 1 day in and it was already out. My secret is out.

The phone rang that night just as I hoped I could disappear into a night of sleep. MB, is that you? I reply, this is she. I could never have mustered up the courage to approach this and so he came to me. I had not heard from him in close to 13 years when we had worked together. I saw your name on the blotter at 3am this morning, a victim of domestic assault. Are you ok?
(For clarification, there was no assault. He would never hurt me, intentionally. But I knew that something was not right; he wasn't ok, and I wasn't going to be either if I let that night proceed. Something had taken residency in his psyche and was not letting go. So I called for help as a last resort. Thank God they saw what I had seen. Not a violent man, just one who was very, very sick. They took him away... hopefully he can be kept long enough to get the help he needs. I need him. I need to be able to trust him.)

I am ok, and confused and angry and so very grateful that a hand reached out to show compassion, and now so very scared that this very private, personal matter is now not just contained inside my head where it is safe, but is out there for the masses to critique. Distort. Dilute. Invade. It is safe with him. But I don't trust the rest.

Last night I had a dream about hands. Healing hands that mean no harm, that want nothing in return, just to embrace, to keep terror at bay, and to protect. That is what I want: somebody to love and be loved by who can protect and when he says TRUST ME that I can believe it and have a peace and calm within my soul that trumps all fear.