This mess
I like to tie things up in a pretty little bow.
I like to make them shiny and beautiful and clean (except for my house, oh God don’t look at my house).
But the truth, the truth is, I am a fucking mess. I wake in the morning and pull each fiber of myself out of my bed. Each day, the invasive and blinding-bright Arizona sun is an assault. Each day I wait for the insult, the attack, the final blow that ends it all. Each day I rail against it.
When I walked into his office, I was petrified. Petrified of the things that brought me there, a year ago. I remember what I wore, how I sat, how imposing he looked to me. How his smile was kind, but still shrewd. How the things that happened to me, as well as the shitty actions I had taken of my own volition, landed me in a therapist’s office. In fear of losing my relationships, in fear of losing my family, in fear of losing my life, in fear of losing my mind.
Chewing my nails and hiding my chipped nail polish. Looking out the window, at the floor, at the awful decor. Sweating, my fat ass into the blue leather couch, so totally and ridiculously inappropriate for July in the heat like it was. Scared of the truth, scared of the ugliness that lay underneath the ugly surface.
While I have abandoned certain things, there is more that I cast into shadow. I still try to wrap it up in shiny paper. There is not one damned thing pretty about it. There is nothing glamorous. There is nothing that can make what happened to me ok. There is nothing, was nothing transcendent about that experience. I am selfish, I didn’t want that to happen to me. I don’t want that to happen to you, I don’t want anyone else to ever have to go through it. But fucking hell, if similar things don’t happen every damned day.
Damned if I don’t dream about it every night. I am tired.
Headaches. Weight, diabetes, some things I always feel that are of my own doing, I watch myself lose the fight. I watch myself turn into my father in steady inches and rail against that too. I fear failure in school or maybe success so I avoid putting my heart into it. To do what I need to do, to do what needs to be done. Why? Can’t tell you, but I sit in the midst of the opportunity of education and feel fucking stupid.
Stupid.
I shy away from saying all the things that I think and theorize, because I don’t feel like I have the gravitas to back it up. I sell pants for a living and dream of writing books. Books. As if I am worthy to read, as if I have something to fucking say. So, I was raped, so what? Does that make me special? Does it mean my story is worth telling?
I. Keep. Fucking. Up.
But here I paint my pain in words and imagine them to float. Effortlessly, sparkling into some kind of tornado wind. I fully expect some giant shard of my undoing to be wedged into the trunk of a tree. I am just so sorry for so much and feeling so torn apart, while trying to glue it all back together.
I am this mess.
November 5th, 2008 at 12:03 am
You are precious. You are special. You are important.
And woman, I’d be FIRST IN LINE at the bookstore to buy your book. Not for love alone, but for the fact that your story is just as important as mine, as important as anyone’s. There is no relative merit scale for human life, for human experience.
You are a rare thing. You are yourself in a world of not-yous. And that, my friend, is a rare bird indeed. There is only one Flutter. And she is a-fucking-mazing.
Also? Goddammit? The LAST words I would EVER think to use for you would be “stupid” or “fuckup.” So knock those words out of your self-description vocabulary.
November 5th, 2008 at 12:43 am
I also think Flutter is -fucking-mazing.
Sister, if only I could come over and together we can talk. I struggle to find the words to say I know all about feeling like a failure and as in my good moments I know it is not true of me I know in all my moments it is not true of you. Yet I know how difficult it is to believe that your soul shines like the sun dancing in the heart of the first spring raindrop when the fierceness of the sun is making your eyes long for a shady cool spot.
I also remember that the sun seemed to hurt the most when I was working at the bank and each day was a struggle to get in my car and go there. So together with praying that you and blessed cool soothing rain find each other I pray that you find a job that nurtures you and reminds you every day that you are a-fucking-mazing.
November 5th, 2008 at 12:56 am
You know what I think about all of this. Of COURSE people will want to read what you write. Melanie said it all.
Turn off that other voice, the one that is saying things to you that you would never allow someone to say to a friend. Think of my girl…you’d kick the ass of anyone who talked to her like that, right? Maybe that’s a good standard to follow for you.
I say that, knowing how hard it is to turn off those voices. Just don’t stop trying.
You are beautiful and talented and I’ll keep saying it until you hear it.
November 5th, 2008 at 4:11 am
Flutter, you are a talented woman. You write like no other and you have so much worth saying. Your writing is poetry and honestly? It doesn’t really matter what the content is (not to diminish the importance of YOUR story, because it IS important), you could write about anything and make it beautiful. You have talent and no one who is deserving of talent has ever gone through life without doubting their ability and their worth.
It doesn’t need to be glamorous, it needs to be real and honest and true.
You will get through this girl, it might not feel like it now but you will. You are stronger than I think you realise.
November 5th, 2008 at 4:48 am
honey, i don’t think there’s one of us out here that doesn’t feel like this, frequently.
i love you and i believe in you and the LAST way i’d ever describe you is as a mess.
you and i sister, we’ve GOT to stop throwing ourselves under the bus. too many people are ready to shove us under there without our help, why do we have to make it effortless?
i hope it’s not minimizing your story my dear friend, i just want you to know that i believe in you and know that you are much more than you say.
much love. xoxo
November 5th, 2008 at 5:30 am
All of this is totally understandable you know this right? But, I believe that you just writing it, you getting up every day, you having love, you selling pants, even just trying at school. Just getting to his office. All of those things makes you less of a mess than you think you are.
No one deserves what happened to you. No one should have to live with that pain and memory. you were violated to the core.
But yet you fight and rail on. That makes you pretty damned strong to my mind.
November 5th, 2008 at 5:57 am
you are not your father. you never will be. i know that you fear it, but it is only a nightmare in the dark, a fear that will never come to pass.
you are flutter. you are CHRISTINE damn it. you are alive and worthy and beautiful and if the only reason you have to get up each day is Clay or, hell, another christine a million miles away, please do it my love.
i have no idea how fucking hard this all is for you. i will never presume to know what it feels like in your shoes, your skin. i wish this horrible pain never came to land on your shoulders. i know it may be hard to believe that a woman so far away who has never physically held your hand can hurt for you, but i do. i want to take it away and hear your laugh, your song.
maybe i can’t take the hurt for you but i am assure you of this: you are LOVED. can you feel it? can you feel me loving you?
because i do.
we all do.
xoxo
November 5th, 2008 at 6:16 am
I wish we could take your pain away with our love, our hugs and our prayers. All I can say is … you are not obligated to be polite to your inner voice. Sometimes we have to tell our insecurities to SHUTTHEFUCKUP and GOAWAY!
We love your sensitivity and your passion. You are articulate, witty, intelligent…inspiring us in so many ways. You are beautiful – inside & outside.
Love and peace,
November 5th, 2008 at 6:25 am
Can we say cosmic coincidence? I dreamed last night. I was in the bookstore buying Jen Lancaster’s newest book. As I was walking up to the register, there on the FEATURED table (round, right in the front,middle of the store) was your book. YOUR BOOK. And I was so excited to buy it, I wasn’t even mad that you hadn’t sent me a signed copy.
My dreams are known to come true.
PS-before you publish, run your cover by me. The one in the store could’ve used a little more oomph.
November 5th, 2008 at 7:36 am
i get the sense that you don’t have control of the focus knob of your own viewing device of yourself. it zooms in on your less great places, it blurs the great ones. i wish you’d see what a great person you are lady.
November 5th, 2008 at 8:46 am
You’re not the mess you think you are. If you were, you wouldn’t be working so hard to take control of yourself and your life. Which you are.
And I would read your book.
November 5th, 2008 at 9:14 am
I wrote today about “guilt glue” holding things together – weird huh? Also linked to you in that post.
flutter I’d give a whole lot of -something- to make you believe and see what your readers believe and see. I would read your book. I am reading your book. You are SO special, but not because of what happened to you. That is not the reason.
November 5th, 2008 at 9:41 am
You are not your father, and if you’re a mess it’s a beautiful one. You’re right, women are raped every day. But most women don’t possess the skills to put their experiences into universal, transcendent truths that skip and twirl on the page. Don’t ever discount your unique gift.
November 5th, 2008 at 10:10 am
Hell,
It’s so hard to let go of the desire to be perfect. As if we were perfect nothing could hurt us and all would be right. Knowing that perfection is a myth, knowing that we are really wonderful, wanting outside affirmation because we don’t trust the loving voice inside us, because if we listen to the loving voice then we might slack off a little, and then where would we be.
Yeah, I hear you. I think we need to muster some energy and do something crazy fun, something unexpected, something we’ve been holding back. What’s that for you Flutter fly?
November 5th, 2008 at 11:07 am
Quentin Tarantino got his start working at a video store.
Such amazing wisdom spews out once noon has passed! Forgive my irreverence, I’m looped on cold medicine.
November 5th, 2008 at 11:30 am
Among many other things, you were given the gift of writing. Write the book, babe.
November 5th, 2008 at 11:43 am
Dear Flutter… even if no one else on this planet ever sees it, WRITE THE BOOK. Just sit down and let it spew. Don’t edit, don’t second guess, just get it down. And once it’s down, put it away for at least three months. Let it breathe. Let yourself breathe. It’s out, it’s down – forget about it. And when you’re ready, take it out of that drawer and look again. THAT’S when you clean it up, add or take away. Then you can decide what to do with it. Share it or burn it. Or do both. It’s your story. Do with it what you will.
I think you may find that doing it that way is incredibly empowering. And once it’s out, it’s not as scary.
November 5th, 2008 at 11:58 am
You are a mess, a beautiful, talented, creative, sensitive, inspiring mess.
I’d totally buy your book.
November 5th, 2008 at 2:53 pm
We’re all a mess. Your ability to use words to release some of those dark and hurtfull moments is an assest. You have a tool that a lot of people don’t. You use it on this blog. Write the book…one word at a time. You can do it. Why not you? What’s so special about the tens of thousands of other people that write books? Nothing. They did it and you can too. One. Step. At. A. Time.
November 5th, 2008 at 3:27 pm
WTF woman…. You, me , them we all have our shit and are a mess in our own way… Take comfort in knowing you are not alone and you will come out on the other side… I have been there not raped by my father but a family friend and I made it out on the other side and you will too. You write with incredible heart and grace and putting it out there is part of the healing process. Baby steps sweet one – Baby steps….
November 5th, 2008 at 3:28 pm
You may be a mess. You may be fucked up.
You are special and your story is worth telling.
We’re here because it’s worth reading.
November 5th, 2008 at 3:47 pm
Stories matter, Flutter. Yours matters, even though it feels ugly and damaged and torn. Don’t give up on it. Don’t give up on you.
November 5th, 2008 at 4:09 pm
I don’t know your personal history, but can certainly relate getting to “that place”. Hoping that it gets better.
November 5th, 2008 at 4:13 pm
I keep going round and round too. So sure that I’ve made progress, only to find myself back in the same spot. Again. I don’t know why you were raped and I don’t think anything good has to come out of it. It happened and I am not minimizing what happened to you in any way sweetie, but why are you continuing to let it destroy your life? You can’t change what happened. It wasn’t your fault. It was awful, beyond awful. Horrific. But what you have now is today. Today doesn’t have to suck.
I don’t really know but I hate to see you suffering, at your hand. I want you to know and believe that you’re okay. That you were okay and that you’ve always been okay. You just didn’t know, or couldn’t see. But you’re okay. It’s true. You are okay. Sending a hug.
November 5th, 2008 at 5:24 pm
“Headaches. Weight, diabetes, some things I always feel that are of my own doing, I watch myself lose the fight.”
We are so similar in this abyss we sit on the edge of. I could have said those very words this morning. And I said something similar. So rather than going into my therapists office and keeping my appointment, I called and canceled,undressed and slept most of the morning away.
Some days the abyss is cool and calming. Today was one of those days.
November 5th, 2008 at 5:27 pm
I am so damn proud you said the words aloud. You were raped. I was too. And, we do not deserve the demons that it brings. Just so you know, I would pay for every single word you wrote. And believe you can write books. Oh, how I believe.
November 5th, 2008 at 5:31 pm
Are you worthy to read? Are you kidding me? You have an amazing talent! Who hasn’t messed up in their lives….and most haven’t faced half the sh*t you have!
You are special….but not because of your experiences….but because of the woman you are….your gift of writing……your thoughtful words you share with others…with me!
You kick ass………warts and all!
November 5th, 2008 at 6:59 pm
I think of you lately as I push squishy smelly feet into shoes. Is this so wrong?
At least you don’t have to zip up their pants. Right? RIGHT?
You want to write books. You will. You are.
November 5th, 2008 at 8:23 pm
This hit me in so many places tonight, having felt these same things — that I don’t have much to say at this moment.
Having been molested at age 5, and again later — all I can say right now is that I hear you, and I share the pain and shattered self that leaves a permanent crater in your soul after being physically violated. You build around it, but it’s always there…the hope is that you find ways to shrink it, lessen its power.
You’re a precious creature.
November 5th, 2008 at 9:13 pm
Sweetie, you DO have something to say. Your story is important and your voice is powerful. There are people out there that need to hear your story. It’s really hard sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you are not incredibly valuable. Keep on fighting. And writing.
November 5th, 2008 at 9:52 pm
i know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but i think neat is boring. life is messy and we take it one day at a time.
November 5th, 2008 at 10:39 pm
I see you keep up the fight to make sense of the senseless. I admire that, but i see that you are tired.
I stopped trying. I can’t say if it’s better or worse. But i know i’m not as tired.
November 5th, 2008 at 10:59 pm
oh, i just want to give you a big hug.
November 6th, 2008 at 5:46 am
Life is messy, people themselves are messy and imperfect and it’s these admissions of imperfection that are the frayed and stained ties that bind us. You are not alone. We are all damaged and sloppy and just doing the best we can.
November 6th, 2008 at 11:17 am
People read you now – of course they’ll want to read you in print! Look at JK Rowling – she was an out of work single mom when she wrote HP – do you think she knew she was going to be that big?
Life is messy – that’s what under the bed is for. Oh and the closet – god don’t open the closet in my room!!
November 6th, 2008 at 12:23 pm
We love you! Keep writing. Like toys said, if we’re reading now you’ll surely have a greater audience with a book. But I want a signed copy! What you are doing is hard work and it will pay off. And I agree with many others: wipe failure and fuck up off your slate. How about replacing them with beautiful, talented, strong, courageous, skilled, and friend.
November 6th, 2008 at 1:54 pm
You know, I’ve been popping in at your blog for well over a year now and I would never call you a mess.
I think you’re pretty great and WAY too hard on yourself.
November 6th, 2008 at 2:04 pm
if you don’t tell your stories, who will?
grab handfuls of your mess, smear it on the page, see what sticks.
and then tie that with the prettiest fucking bow you can find.
November 6th, 2008 at 5:00 pm
I think most writers are beautifully messy.
You are a most lovely mess, indeed.
November 6th, 2008 at 9:41 pm
Call if you want to talk. I offered Liv that one day and she laughed at me and never called. Since I can’t handle two fuck ups at once, I”m off the hook if only you call back. 8053047050. Call now if you want. I”m walking.
November 6th, 2008 at 10:24 pm
Your rare talent for honesty; your ability with words; the passion you imbue into every post–those are the things that make your story worth telling, that make you special.
You actually don’t make it look all shiny and happy. I appreciate that no end.
November 7th, 2008 at 7:54 am
You’re in my head again, flutter. My mess has rendered me temporarily mute. I have no words to express what I’m feeling right now. Im so grateful your words are here. Here for me to take in and say “Yes! that’s it!”.
Thank you. Even though I’ve been quiet, I’ve been here reading. Cheering you on. I know you can get to the place you need to go. I have faith in you.
November 7th, 2008 at 3:12 pm
I just, and I mean JUST, published a post about how I start therapy for the first time tomorrow morning, and this is the first post I have read since publishing it. The Universe sometimes has excellent timing.
No matter what kind of pain other people have experienced, you have not. You only have your own measures constructed over the lifetime of your experience. Your pain is yours.
November 7th, 2008 at 3:53 pm
Flutter, your pain is described beautifully. You are a treasure. Your words are helping people and you don’t even know it. Bless you
November 8th, 2008 at 12:15 am
I’m sorry you are in such pain so often.
These many posts you’ve written. They could create a memoir of sorts when you’re ready, no? There’s a book.
November 9th, 2008 at 7:46 pm
I fully expect some giant shard of my undoing to be wedged into the trunk of a tree….beautiful.
November 9th, 2008 at 7:47 pm
Your writing is so heart wrenching….hugs to you dear Flutter…xoxoxo
November 14th, 2008 at 8:50 pm
I’d buy pants from you and I love to read you.
you are awesome.
not stupid, I say bc that is how I always feel, and we are not stupid.
our stories are interesting. our lives are our own.
that makes them worthwhile.