I HATE TEXTING SPECIAL PEOPLE AND FEELING HAPPY AND NICE AND GOOD BUT THEN WHEN THEY DON’T TEXT ME ANYMORE I JUST KINDA FEEL LIKE
In trying to explain myself and my own personal oddities, I love to use metaphor. And when it comes to relationships, I often find I compare myself to a dog, metaphorically speaking. Let me qualify that statement, since I know that seems self-demeaning but I don’t really mean it in that sense. For one, I have a lot of respect for dogs. I would put them on par with humans if not above them in some ways. I think the relational between a dog and his or her human is one based on equality and love and trust. And honestly, I can’t really think of a more accurate way to describe myself when I’m really in love with someone. I’m just so happy to see them; I want to spend time with them, play with them, and just exist in their presence. I’m loyal to a fault and I feel a strong sense of belonging to that person. So, given everything that’s happened in this past year, the dog metaphor continues to work- I’m a stray now.
I’m homeless 3 times over. At first, I missed the feel of the collar around my neck. I felt scared and alone and unprotected. I’d never been a stray before. But once I got over the initial shock and the bad days of adjustment, I started to embrace this wildness inside of me, became more the wolf than the dog, day by day. And now, anytime a man approaches me, metaphorical collar obviously in hand, or not, I feel this strong sense of revulsion and fear and anger, like this deep internal growl. Keep that away from me. I won’t go through it again. I don’t trust you. And that feeling frightens me. Because, honestly, I want a home again. More than anything, I want to feel that sense of belonging and happiness and love and trust. But I can’t endure the idea of thinking I’ve found that only to be cast out again. So I get angry. I won’t let anyone near me. How am I ever going to find a home if I want to bite the hand of every friendly stranger who reaches down to pat my head? What if I’m a wild thing forever. What if I’m a stray for life?
When you’re young, thunderstorms seem scary. Like the sky is angry at you. But now that I’m older, something about its roar soothes me; it’s comforting to know that even nature needs to scream sometimes.