am i safe here?

And what do I know about belonging? I asked him, the one with silver hair. I can’t look ahead so instead I look down at the carpet through gray foggy eyes. A simple subject at first, yet the more I ponder it, it seems to become convoluted beyond approach. I surmise that it’s related to a feeling of safety. When do you feel safe? A byline I also can’t speak to. So, I go forth and, in the days to come I began to think that many of the things and spaces that I belong to are ones of discomfort but nonetheless I belong to them. I will start with the mind and body connection. Unfortunately, as of late, I don’t know I belong to either, at least not by choice. Neither is safe. In fact, they are in a constant war with one another. I live in a constant mental dichotomy of sanity and the other. When my tongue is unforgiving, and rage ensues and hypersexuality is conflated with romance – oh. How fun. Yet, in this dichotomy to whom do I belong? In regards to my body, it feels like I’ve lived a century but it only exists in stolen glances of others. It betrays me every night and again every morning. Hunger becomes a whisper, a soft negotiation and then a promise. Am I safe here? No, but I belong here.

My contradictions are not to be mistaken for lies. Each contradiction spoken is true and I’m bound to all of them. They make sense to me and in fact the more my ideas oppose one another, the more I understand them. To my unknown lover they begin as alluring, fetching even. As time goes on and the more convicted I become, they grow tired and unamused. In their eyes I am undecisive, inconsistent and even childish.  Please, it’s my demon, I tell them. I relinquish the need and more importantly the desire to be understood by them. Maybe we can just laugh and drink and walk and laugh some more. My contradictions may be the only thing that makes sense to me and that has become enough. I understand me and that relationship should be held to the highest accountability. I think I’ll rest here for a while and enjoy that. Am I safe here? I’m not sure but I belong here.

My reflection and my fracture. My father. I watched from a distance, around a corner or hiding in a closet. Why was I never comfortable around him? Unpredictable rage and then subtle console were guidelines to be enforced, not suggested. In years to come, we are more alike than not. Turns out, I am my father’s daughter. Mental affliction that doesn’t choose but rather just consumes anything in its path was our birthright. I think we both have yelled too loud and too soon, and disappeared when it was convenient for us and devastating to others. Our lives were built upon unstable ground and those who loved us just learned as they went along. One week we are bright, the next we are invisible and this is how our lives will carry on. The difference between the two of us is that I reveal too much too soon and you will never reveal enough. I wish we could have shared secrets but that just wasn’t meant for us and I have to learn to let that lie. I inherited your laugh, your pain but beyond that has yet to be seen. Am I safe here? I never was, but I belong here.