I attempt to shrink responsibility of my actions by saying “It’s just the jet leg.” I thought I had normalized to the time zone after a few days. But once 9pm reared its ugly head, I transformed. I try to convince him I haven’t always been this nasty, that it’s just the exhaustion. There is no dynamic to worry about. Even though I know that’s not true. But I didn’t want to face it. In that moment, I desperately hoped he’d agree and this conversation would be closed. Not because I’m someone who can’t take accountability. Not because I’m someone set in my ways, with no room to budge. But because I didn’t want to admit that I have internalized my mother’s worst trait. I’ve become what I hate. I’ve become what I fear. I’ve become what has placed trauma deep into the crevices of my bones.
But, unlike all of my mother’s lovers, Jonnie stood tall and told me that is hasn’t just been since I’ve returned from Greece. And that this is indeed a worrisome dynamic.
With a flick of my tongue, always without warning, I spew venom from my lips. My lips that, usually, are whispering loving affirmations. My lips that, usually, are landing delicate kisses across his body. My venom sends him spiraling, quickly trying to asses if it was him who did my undoing, or if it was all my handiwork.
I am continuing my mother’s work. Passing the hurt on to the person I love most. The confusion. How can this person who so fiercely loves me one moment make me feel worthless the next? Rationalizing the venom because I know she loves me so. I don’t want to be like her. I don’t want to demean the people I hold so close. But it feels so innate. It feels so unavoidable.
“I’m really good at being mean,” I tell him. The words released from my twenty-six year old mouth, but it was six year old me who shouted it from the depths of my being. As we held back tears. All throughout my life, my mother instilled in me that I was filled with spite, that I was mean, and hurtful. And I still fear that’s true. Even when I see love pouring out of me.
“But you’re better at being sweet, and kind, and loving,” Jonnie affirmed as he pulled me in.
My inner child loosened her jaw, unclenched her fists and her breath eased ever so slightly.
“I’ll be better.” I confirmed to Jonnie as much as myself.
“You don’t deserve this.” I said to myself just as much to Jonnie.
September 6, 2024