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But I'M NOT BITTER...
The Goddess of battle, strife, and destruction explains it all for you

Crushed

by

 

July 19, 2007

 

An update:Life continues to be lived and the attendant tragedies and triumphs continue apace.I cannot help but be bewildered by the contrast in my work and personal life:at work, I blossom.Even in the midst of this mire, I feel I am contributing and I am constantly stimulated by the dayís events.I get to put my armour on and I take no prisoners.I live for the battle.

 

But once work is over and I get home, everything changes.†† It goes from light speed to zero the minute I cross the threshold, and although Iím not sure, I think I find comfort in this.I thinkitís just that I run out of steam -- I exert so much of myself in my 9 to 5 that there is little left for the hours I have left and all I can do is decompress in the most benign fashion possible -- it beats having grand mals, though they, annoyingly, continue.(My theory -- and Iím sticking to it -- too many brains.)

 

I fear that I live all my life out loud and in the quiet moments, I do not exist --like someone has forgotten to colour me in.†† Itís not a bad fate in the aggregate -- but Iím beginning to feel like a machine constructed for a particular purpose, a machine that has no function when exhaling.That all that happens between the end of work and the beginning of work is the routine maintenance the ensures continued performance at the start of the next day.

 

And at 4 a.m. every day, I get up, drink gallons of coffee, read law and listen to the Smashing Pumpkins at full volume.

 

Do I regret this?

 

No.It is a benediction.

 

Do I think my life is wasted?

 

No.I am blessed.

 

Do I feel cheated?

 

Strangely: no.

 

Do I need more?

 

Apparently not.

 

Am I significant?

 

No.That concept is laughable.

 

Does anybody care?

 

No.People donít even remember my name.

 

Am I making a difference?

 

Apparently not.Clearly not.

 

But hereís the epiphany:I have never been so at home in my own head or my own skin -- never so sure of my own purpose than I am right this minute.

 

The realization that it is likely that the next man to put his hands on my body will in all likelihood be a coroner doesnít disturb me.†† Before (according to my best friend Helen) men shunned me because I was ďscaryĒ.Now I can apparently turn them to stone at a glance -- but you know what?It doesnít bother me.I am entire and complete in my own head.††

 

It is freeing on such a visceral level.I feel so tuned in and so apart, and maybe thatís what freedom is.

 

I will have one mistress here and no master.

 

As for the rest of it, for the moments in between, Iím making it up as I go along.

 

It feels incidental.

 

I cannot allow myself to think about what Iíve relinquished to get here.That part is unbearable.

 

Iím told that life exists in those moments when everyone else is drawing breath -- where connection, family, vulnerability, minutiae have dominion-- and maybe thatís true for people who define life in those terms.

 

Iím told Iím too intense, isolated, difficult, dogmatic, strident, too resolute.Too weird.

 

But amidst these inconvenient truths, Iím finding myself.

 

My friend (the honest man Iíve referenced in previous columns), tells me that Iím kidding myself: that I hate being single and that this warrior persona is simply one of my masks.(And how I resent him for seeing so clearly, how glad I am that he is but a footnote in my life.)

 

Although I respect his opinion, this time I think heís wrong, despite his detached and benevolent observations.

 

(And oh, how I scare him too.He has the luxury of seeing me from a distance: close scrutiny would overwhelm him.But his honesty soothes me, and there is so little else that consoles me these days.I attach no particular importance to it: I canít afford to.I wind myself up these nights only in what I remember of the day, the ubiquitous tumbleweeds of cat fur, and the consoling words of a kind friend.It more than suffices.)

 

And for me, at this moment, in this life:Iím home.

 

This is me.

 

Life is good and richly lived besides.

 

Iíve never been happier.

 

Till next time,

 

Morrigan

 

 

 



Copyright© the Morrigan & Heartless Bitches International (heartless-bitches.com) 2007
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