Friday, April 15, 2011

Of Eggshells and Anger

Oh my dear secret blog, it has been a while hasn't it? 

It's not that I've nothing to say. It's that I'm weary of repeating myself. The status quo of the addiction dance has lost it's charm. 

Kyd seems to be doing alright inasmuch as he's not in jail, he's alive, and he seems to be reasonably clean. I say reasonably because I'm under no delusion that when he goes out on weekends that there aren't substances in the mix of song and dance. He's found music again with a renewed fervor and passion bordering on obsession. That's how he rolls. Nothing is halfway. But there is at least redemption in creativity so I'm as hopeful as a war veteran can be that peace will reign forever and ever. 

That is to say, my anxiety is tucked away and I get some sleep at night. 

As for Roi and I, we have settled into a tense but already familiar pattern of him walking on eggshells, and I, the angry viper lying wait in the grass for the opportunity to strike. This is a shift of balance of sorts, but none less toxic. I gain strength through anger, and he withers under the force of it. 

If I were somehow on the outside observing I suppose I would feel empathy for the creature, but having been on the receiving end of his habitual deception I am decidedly unsympathetic. He continues to minimize the importance of trust to me specifically, and among humans generally, though he is the first to fly into spastic indignation should he be double-crossed. Should anyone deviate ever so slightly from what they promise he is tragically ironically offended. Yet the connection still is not made in his own mind. 

It is a foul illness. One I thought I could defeat, and has done nothing for me but to leave me truculent and sour. I meditated yesterday for the first time in so many months, and only when the tension around my eyes and mouth suddenly loosened did I realize my face has been a clenched knuckle of anger for just as long.

What's more, I've found myself unabashedly flirting with the attentions of other men, something that I'm not prone to even when single. I tend to the conservative in my flirtations, but now the attention of admirers leads me to encourage more and I bask in it, drinking it in and still thirsty for more, chiding them on to reveal the depths of their affections.

In short, the ties of this relationship have never been more frayed and fragile. My anger at his betrayals has never been so icy, so calculated and focused, never so much like this lazer that burns from my very core and with perfect aim. I feel an android with only one directive coded - methodically destroy at all costs.

I find joy, but never in his presence. 

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