who is helping?
Friday, March 26th, 2010I storm into the Jungle.
“Front and center,” I call out. “Now.”
The Aspects arrive: Jade, Anne, Harley, Tabitha, Demi, Night, Esther. They all watch me silently. They’ve formed a half circle in front of me, and they all look uncomfortable, and some of them look scared.
I’m so angry and frustrated that I shift from being myself to being the white Huntress. But I leave the white glass hunting knife in the sheath on my thigh.
I am pacing and I can’t take their silence. I shift and close and Esther, and smack her across the face. Then I take her shoulders and shake her hard.
“This is your fault!” I yell. “Stop it. Just stop it now.” I let her go and she drops to her knees in the dust in tears.
Esther is sobbing, and has one hand over her cheek and the other over the rest of her face. The others keep watching me. I am crying. I take my knife from its sheath and spin to throw it behind me, out into the thick jungle.
Night begins to sing.
Her voice is low and the song is wordless, but it is beautiful. Her song is heartache. It is misery so sweet and sacred that it reminds me that emotion is not bad or good. Just an indicator of what you want and don’t want.
I want to take Night in my arms and cuddle her. But she is not the one that needs love right now. I go over to Esther and sit cross-legged next to her. Her sobs are muffled to not interfere with the music, but each one still shakes her delicate frame. I pull her into my lap and hold her close. She leans into me with more trust than I deserve.
“Help,” I say to the others. “I don’t know what to do or what I want anymore.”
Night stops singing. They all move and shift now. Esther isn’t crying anymore.
“Screw everyone else,” Anne advises. “Do whatever you want. Perfection only looks good on statues.”
Harley raises an eyebrow. “She has a point. A crude one, but…well. You never did like the idea of making something ugly to make something beautiful. You have to throw a bunch of really ugly pots before you learn the skill to make pretty ones.”
“If I know what’s best for me,” I say tiredly, “then why does everyone all seek to tell me that my way isn’t the way that’s best for me?”
“What if they aren’t?” Jade asks.
“You mean,” –each word is become more and more of an effort to say–”what if they are just expressing their points of view to be helpful but not trying to change my mind?”
Jade nodded. “What if.”
“Then why express them at all? Who is that helping?”
“To be fair,” Tabitha points out, “you did mention it to them. Inviting their input.”
“If I don’t mention and share things, then I am being closed and apparently hurting people with my aloofness,” I growl. “When will people be f*ing satified?”
“Never,” Harley says with crisp precision.
“When will I be satisfied?”
The silence is hurtful, and full of things I know and can’t deal with. I will be satisfied when I choose to be. I am painfully weary of self-examination, of struggling with issues, of learning so many important things about life and not even being able to see happy. Wisdom has not made me wiser.