FEARS

A FEMME FATALE tries to achieve her hidden purpose by using feminine wiles such as beauty, charm, and sexual allure. The phrase is French for "deadly woman."

I could be accused of hating men.
I could.
In fact, someone the other day said just don’t turn into a “man” hater. As if men have done nothing, for which to be hated.
I am not going to go into a tirade on that, because in general I love men, and I was just taken by that comment, and the more important thing to realize is that hatred and anger, are just fear in disguise.
Anyway, in the last few months I have changed dramatically, physically and emotionally; having lost a lot of weight.
Kinda, just being more creative, has opened my eyes to other things besides my own existence, you know?
Anyway, the other night I hung out with my friends and found they were so happy to see how different I looked, and this lovely girl I had the biggest crush on gave me so many compliments I was useless to anyone else!
But my real reason for posting, is the hurt I felt just before I went into the pub.
I had forgotten why I carried so much weight--which was invisibility although extraordinarily painful--is also useful, when you are afraid.
I walked in, and got all these “cattle” calls from boys. I pretended to be cool about it, but just before I opened the door to the bar, I almost ran into the car to leave.

When I was a child and unable to protect myself, someone hurt me--and made me feel small. So small, and so irrelevant--he choked away my breath and voice; so, I simply stopped using it.
I didn’t want anyone to see me, and so I hid.


And now, here I am and I want to be seen, but at the same time; I want to scream don’t hurt me!
Please, don’t hurt me!
And stop, and it’s not okay, when you do that--stooop!!!
Please, I can’t take it, and maybe someone can, but it’s not me--and I swear if you keep coming for me I will loose all hope for life.

But I am in a new place, and so open and so small I don’t have protection from their eyes, and so I become a little girl again--I work so hard at not being afraid--but god just breathing is so hard.

So I begin to “re-wire” and focus on other things, and sometimes it’s okay.
But see, I like this place, because you hold my hand.

After this thing happened to me, my sister at that time also very young, 9 years old-but she held my hand. She didn’t know what to do, or what would make her funny laughing loud mouth sister stop cold and fall into her hands, but she just held my hand.

In the dark, on an old bed in a quiet room.
Just the two of us, and the villain was gone for a little while.


And here now in this new place, I have hope and make strides. It's not the first time for me to admit this, but it feels like breaking new ground --even with old words-- it's new ground and I am happy for the blessing!