I will not let you be narcissus seeds, I promise.

rrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
sometimes it feels like the whole world, ever word, every bit wants to come down on my head and poop on it.
sometimes it feels slimy like chicken egg, and sometimes it makes me laugh because it is ridiculous.  sometimes there is so much hate I laugh.

dear narcissus,
you do not deserve to talk to my husband you do not deserve to talk to me you do not deserve your daughters.  what is the opposite of "dear"?

loathed narcissus,
you do not deserve his time you do not deserve his breath you do not deserve our love you do not deserve our children.

pained narcissus,
you have fallen and fallen and you like it down there.  you like the muck and the cold.  you like being hungry all the time.  you like what you take as sympathy.  you suck everyone dry.

abhorrent, false narcissus,
you you you you you.

each petal is a head and I am tearing it off.  I do not want to care what the outcome is.  I do not want to think "he loves me (not)".  I do not want to smell you anymore.

I have little molecules, little seeds in my belly and I can feel them sometimes.  they do not speak and they do not feel the way I feel.  the way people feel.  they are seeds.  but I feel that I need to protect them.  I need to protect me not just for me but for the seeds.  they comfort me and that makes me feel dirty.  I am afraid I am using the seeds the same way grown ups used me when I was small.  for comfort, for love.  at least they do not have sex organs so I cannot use them that way.

I am afraid I will leave my body completely, that a force that is evil and cold will take it over, with all the little seeds, and hurt little sprouts.  I am afraid I made myself go away so that I don't know I hurt people.  I am afraid I am like my parents.  amaranth says I am afraid of this because I still think my parents weren't in their bodies when they hurt me.  rather, I think that they weren't themselves.  that they didn't mean it.

yesterday I spent some time with a friends' daughter.  she was so sweet and cute and adorable.  us three young women were delighted.  I was putting her in her car seat, and it was the first time I had held her, and I was terrified.  I didn't want the baby to know I was terrified, and I was so zoned out, my vision was blurry.
my vision was so blurry that I hit the baby's head on the car door.

I was deeply ashamed.  the baby was alright (I mean, I did hurt her, but she cried and we cooed and she forgave me, and reached her little arms up to be held again, and I said "no baby remember last time?" but she insisted and I held her and was so so careful).  I was so angry.  not at the child!  of course not.  not even at myself (though that was a hard battle to fight in my head.  I didn't want to sink into utter depression, not around a child.  I feel like it's my duty to keep on as much of a smile as I can around a child.  that doesn't mean fake it... oh well, it's hard to explain.  maybe you'll understand).  I was so pissed at my dad for raising me that way.  he was so scared of molesting me that (he did) he was always zoned out.  just gone.  he didn't hear me calling him half the time.  and I got injured a lot too; he was always accidentally shutting doors on my hands, or bumping my head when he would carry me. 

why didn't he do something about it?  why didn't he heal so he could-- oh it doesn't matter.  what matters is that I heal so I don't bump any baby heads on doors any more.

because I know I won't molest children, I am aware of the danger of being a sex abuse survivor and so I won't.  and I won't ever hit a child, I was hit as a child and I would never do that.  but can I guarantee I won't be so out of my body with fear that I neglect children?  no.  I can't guarantee that.  and until I can, I won't have children.

and you shouldn't either, mean people I see on the street.  mean people who used to be in my life.  mean people who raised my friends (though I love my friends, and I'm glad you started their "seeds," even if you are terrible gardeners).  even nice people.  superficially nice people, I discover more and more, can harbour vitriol towards themselves that shows when they have babies.

so please don't, people.  please love yourself first.  and please stop yelling at me because I love myself first.