Denial Isn't In Egypt

I’m used to denying my anger. No, I’m not mad, I’ll say. Sometimes, I’ll believe it. Sometimes, I’ll cut off any feelings just to remain numb and I’ll forget to attach them again. Yes, I’m very excited, I’ll say, hollowly. It’s not convincing enough. But I just can’t feel right now. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry… I apologize a lot for things that aren’t my fault, things that I cannot control or participate in. Saying I’m sorry has become some kind of defense mechanism that allows me to reside behind a wall of stoicism.

It’s been my habit for years. When you leave me alone, that means I can hide. That means I won’t be singled out, held up as either a shining example or a piss-poor excuse for a human being. I’ll be safe. At least for now. And I’ve learned to be agreeable and cooperative. Which way would you like me to do this? How long would you like me to do this? When should I start doing something else? When is my deadline?

When you raise your voice or your hand to me, I’ll understand. You’re under a lot of stress. You’re tired. You have a lot to do in a short amount of time. You didn’t sleep well. You have a lot on your mind. You didn’t realize. You didn’t mean it. You’re just trying to get it done and get it done right. I make excuses for you. You don’t even need to explain. And afterwards, you’ll apologize and I’ll deny that I even noticed. All because I don’t want to be alone, I just want to be left alone.

I hate it. I hate needing you to keep me from being alone. I hate how ingrained my behavior has become so that I can’t hardly control it. You control it. I’ve become subservient to you. From one person to another to another and so it goes. It’s a pattern. I cannot seem to break it. Instead, I sabotage myself. Now that I’m a reformed cutter, smoker, drug-taker, alcohol abuser, overeater… what’s left to stop other than the behavior? Avoidance isn’t the cure because I have to go home. Where can I go when I’m not at home anywhere?

There will be a day when I’ll explode, when I can’t take it anymore. I’ll leave without an explanation, float away, free of all ties only to form more as equally binding as the last because it’s all I know. I’ll tell myself that this time will be different. This time, I’ll be with someone who will leave me alone without leaving. This time, I’ll be with someone who can love me without making me feel as though it’s conditional, as if any disagreements on my part will result in abandonment or worse, a progressive descent into disrespect and contempt. This time, I won’t have to pretend that I’m not pissed off or sad or angry or hurt. This time, I’ll be free. This time, I’ll feel.