Stumbling

inkskinned:

i said yes to him, maybe more than i should have. yes was easier than arguing about it. this was a quiet sorrow. our relationship wasn’t that bad. but i would close my eyes and leave my body and say to my bones: turn over. you don’t need to like it, you just need to do it.
i think about this a lot. where i learned it from. i have the same mantra at the gym. i have the same mantra over salad. i have the same mantra at 3 AM while doing homework: it doesn’t have to feel good, but it does have to happen.
where did i learn it from, that life is a thing to be endured and not celebrated. that each moment is either a bad space or bracing for the next wound. to hop from catcall to grope to spiked drink without batting an eye - this is just something to live through, turn over. to minimize my space in trains, to maximize his needs, his desires, all without complaining. to say yes when it is unearned.
my keychain has a whistle on it. this is not uncommon. most of us have been prepared for The Emergency since we were old enough to be told what to wear. did i think that the emergency had to look and act a certain way for it to actually be an emergency. did i think that, under the threat of something worse, the silver of this violence was something smoother. this isn’t The Emergency. this is the yes, and i did say yes.
worse things happened to me. they deserved a loud whistle and a bright red light. this is not worse. i don’t have to like it, because what i do like, i will be mocked for. i just have to deal with it, and i must do so prettily, without pouting, without complaint. how do i phrase this to my therapist. at the time it was just easier. at the time it was just how things worked between us. i have been a good girl all my life. i have always been quiet and thoughtful and ready to drop my own needs at a moment’s notice. this was just another version of being good. i was keeping us together. i was helping out. i was just doing what was expected of me, and i can’t regret that now.
but what do i get? at the end of all this, what happens to me? why does asking that feel selfish and nasty?