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bitchy_merlinfrom Res100 training:
Like a needle to North
I watch the shift of muscle under his t-shirt. Every move he makes is magnetic; my eyes are drawn to him like a needle to North and each glimpse I catch of him feels like a brilliant suckerpunch to the chest. How long can I stand this sweet agony? My heart beats and my hands tremble and I wonder how he cannot feel my gaze upon him like the rat-a-tat-tat of drumbeats, a spray of bullets skittering across his back. (I only ever see him from the back.)
from Nuts & Bolts:
Beautiful Lies
"Touch someone who...[inspired you/impressed you/made you feel welcome/made you laugh, etc]"
I actually received taps and hoarded each one jealously, a bright jewel glimmering in the darkness of my mind. For a few blessed moments, I was worthy. The smile fades, though. Whom did I actually inspire? Who really wants to know me? No, reality returns. And it is harsher than before for now I know what joy is. Now I plumb the depths of darkness. And all the happiness, the warmth, anything good I felt during the game - I know it was just a game. I know it's all just beautiful lies.
(During the debriefing: "How did this make you feel?" Sonja asked. "Worthwhile," I replied.)
(Do I possess inspiring leadership skills? Someone pretended to think so.) For one blessed, precious moment, I believed I could be worth womeone's time and effort. For one moment, I was touched, I believed I could be whole, accepted, ok. No. No. The heart-shattering pain of reality returns. Always.
You think I am making this up. You think I am being theatrical. Yes. Yes. Perhaps this is true, but let me say just this: pain is what I deserve. I miss feeling human.
Like a needle to North
I watch the shift of muscle under his t-shirt. Every move he makes is magnetic; my eyes are drawn to him like a needle to North and each glimpse I catch of him feels like a brilliant suckerpunch to the chest. How long can I stand this sweet agony? My heart beats and my hands tremble and I wonder how he cannot feel my gaze upon him like the rat-a-tat-tat of drumbeats, a spray of bullets skittering across his back. (I only ever see him from the back.)
from Nuts & Bolts:
Beautiful Lies
"Touch someone who...[inspired you/impressed you/made you feel welcome/made you laugh, etc]"
I actually received taps and hoarded each one jealously, a bright jewel glimmering in the darkness of my mind. For a few blessed moments, I was worthy. The smile fades, though. Whom did I actually inspire? Who really wants to know me? No, reality returns. And it is harsher than before for now I know what joy is. Now I plumb the depths of darkness. And all the happiness, the warmth, anything good I felt during the game - I know it was just a game. I know it's all just beautiful lies.
(During the debriefing: "How did this make you feel?" Sonja asked. "Worthwhile," I replied.)
(Do I possess inspiring leadership skills? Someone pretended to think so.) For one blessed, precious moment, I believed I could be worth womeone's time and effort. For one moment, I was touched, I believed I could be whole, accepted, ok. No. No. The heart-shattering pain of reality returns. Always.
You think I am making this up. You think I am being theatrical. Yes. Yes. Perhaps this is true, but let me say just this: pain is what I deserve. I miss feeling human.
