On "Safe"

This entry has been particularly difficult to write. I keep rolling "safe" around in my mind and I sense an overriding fear. My hackles go up and I prepare for a fight. I should have been safe at home. Instead, I was terrified. I was terrified of what would happen when I went to bed. I was terrified of what insignificant thing would set my dad off. I was terrified that I would eat too much, leaving nothing for anyone else. I was terrified that I would eat too little, leaving those closest to me to deal with my blood sugar crashes. I was terrified that Mom would have another panic attack. I was terrified that I would actually kill myself. I was terrified of what was happening to my friends when they were where they, too, should be safe.

I fear the comfort of safety, the tranquility, the vulnerability. I felt safe in his arms, and several after him. They hurt me, until I decided that I would hurt them first. It wasn't conscious, and I pelted myself with guilt for it. But, it is what happened.

I hid behind technicalities, "they weren't clear enough," "I was out of my mind," "I was drunk." I let myself believe these excuses, while hating myself for the acts, and lashing out when those that I loved called me on them. I never allowed myself closure, never let myself reconcile my actions with my feelings. And, it was always when I started to feel safe. When it became clear that someone might actually love me, accept me for my shattered, scattered self. In my wake, destruction. And chips on shoulders, and self-loathing, and disdain.

Safe is the place of pain. Safe reminds me of all of the betrayals and weaknesses and failings. Safe is a gilded cage of negative reinforcement. I've never been safe.

Even now, in my healthiest relationship, I fear it. I try, but I can't allow myself to feel...safe. I hurt people, those that I hold closest to my heart, when I feel safe, protected, adored. I have to prove my monstrosity, find some way to beat out the hurt that I know will inevitably come.

And yet, I dwell on the pain that I cause. Even here, now, the pain that I have experienced feels inconsequential to the pain that I have given. By telling my mother about what was happening in her home, under her watch, I started the rift that enveloped my family. Each of my lovers throughout my life has felt the stings and barbs of my fear. Never strong enough to accept their appreciation, to accept the safe harbor from a cruel world. I always lash out, always hurt, and the gentlest are the ones who suffer most.

In my wake, destruction.