I’m sitting here with tears leaking down my cheeks. One at a time, as I type. It’s helpful when one finally spills over, because it allows me a few seconds to see the screen before it becomes blurry again.

JMB is playing at Brandt’s tonight, but I didn’t go. Instead I worked and then came home and stained more of the deck. I had no one to go with me, and felt stupid going alone. Plus Brandt’s is expensive. So now I sit, listening to Javi sing.

I had a dream last night. It was pretty unpleasant. I dreamt about Max. I have no idea where it came from, what sparked it, but there it was. The previous verse of “OK” reminds me of him. It sounds like something he would have said to me. “Is pity gonna make you change?” When I hear something that reminds me of him, I smile. Then I sigh wistfully. Then I get angry at myself. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Tonight’s leaking isn’t about the dream. It’s more that the past week’s dissociated wounds are finally catching up with me. Perhaps it wasn’t all as easy as I thought it was. Maybe the stress from all corners of my life is starting to press down harder than I’d imagined. Perhaps my body needs some sort of release, so I’m listening to Javi, and leaking.

In the dream I was surrounded by people. I’m always surrounded by people in my dreams now. I happened to meet someone who knew him. We got to know each other a bit, and I asked her to call him and ask if he still hated me. It was so desperately important to know. So she agreed. And their conversation went on and on. I had no idea what they were saying, even though she was nearby. I was filled with anxiety. I hoped he’d changed, that he could see the truth. That he’d softened and grown and maybe understood.

When she set her phone down, her eyes were filled with distrust. She was ice cold. She couldn’t believe I’d asked her to call. She expounded on what an awful person I am, and wondered how I could have done “all of that.” She pointed at me and told me I was horrible. Then she walked away. That was that.

There’s a sample in JMB’s song “OK,” at this point actually, where a voice says, “What do you want from me?” over and over. I understand.

It’s good, but it’s hard. I mean, hard. Life at this point is the emotional equivalent of breaking a bone to reset it - hoping it will heal correctly this time. And rebreaking it, and rebreaking it, and rebreaking it. Learning what correct healing feels like. Everywhere. Like the break moves from arm, to leg, to ankle, to wrist. Break, break, break. Set, set, set.

I suppose that, all at once, it’s more than I can deal with. So I leak.

One foot in front of the other, for a while,

michelle