When I fight, an entire hurricane comes through me.
Destroying and flooding, creating chaos and taking lives. I am unapologetic of these emotions. My sister tells me that I should never let “a man” invalidate my emotions.
Yet, I feel some shame. I think it comes from you, not playing the game I want to play. I start feeling a bit silly attempting to play hide and seek all alone.
What I want, is a fight. I want the both of us at each others’ throat, and ready for war.
I want you to get mad at me, for something. Anything.
Tell me I’m being selfish and too demanding. Tell me I’m over-reacting.
Gusts of emotions carry the entire storm, giving it the momentum to go from a small storm to a Categorical. Tears are pouring down like torrential rain.
I try to drag you into the storm, so that there’s a storm in you too, now. And I guess maybe I wouldn’t feel so alone then. So I speak myself sick. Explaining over and over again. Analogies, stories, examples. I try everything to get you to fall into this storm with me. So that I can know I’m not alone a complete downpour.
And then, there’s you. Still silent and bewildered at what I can create out of your nothing and my everything together.
You stand at the center of it all. I whiz around and around. Angry that you’ve somehow managed to not become affected. I am angrier still that I can’t even arouse a fraction of the emotion I am experiencing.
I continue until I get so dizzy, I have to stop. And see that you have been standing there all along. Watching me go in circles and waiting for me to calm my self enough for you to grab me. And pull me back into this Earth. With you.
Maybe you already know that there’s no space for words when there’s a hurricane. Maybe all you do, is everything you can do, to stand still. And wait for the storm to pass. Maybe, there’s nothing more you can do, but watch the emotions build- and watch me suffer as I carry them. And then watch me drop them, exhausted.
With each new hurricane, I am certain this one will cause so much damage – it will be impossible for us to live here. We will have to abandon this place and search for another. Our home is gone. And we cannot rebuild another together.
He says enough of the right words that I can’t use the unsaid ones against him. Though I know he doesn’t mean the spoken words. A meek “I’m sorry” spoken by a toddler that has simply learned to know what to say, but not why.
And it always just feels so empty.
To the both of us.