my biggest fear
an essay about death
I’ve died a lot this year.
was it me? was it who I thought I was? do I know what the difference is?
the burning away of the false self is the burning away of illusions.
to see truth is to die, too.
to know truth is to die, too.
and all of it, a little death.
“what are you willing to die for?” she asked.
with one hand on my heart, I said, “this.”
it was night time, and we were together.
just me & her. her & me.
we were lovers, but more than that, we were friends.
we would never have been lovers if we hadn’t been friends.
whenever I touched her, I felt her love for me. reciprocally.
I kissed her naked body all over under the moonlight. she writhed beneath me.
then abruptly, she sat up, almost haughty. taut collarbones, tight stomach, sweet breasts.
“what in you needs to die for you to be able to truly live?”
I sat back on my haunches and considered her question. “I don’t know,” I said.
”find out,” she replied. “surrender.”
so, I did.
I like doing what she told me to do.
it felt… right.
it felt… nice.
I liked switching my brain off.
I liked being able to just melt into her arms.
I felt I belonged there.
it anchored me.
there comes a time in every woman’s life when she must discover who she is beyond her conditioned identity.
and on that day, I lost her.
she turned cold to me.
her sweet breasts dried up & shrivelled into raisins.
her sing-song voice dropped an octave or two & became distant.
it was almost as if whenever she talked to me, she was looking away from me.
it was almost as if she couldn’t bear to look at me anymore.
I loved her, I missed her, I wanted her… and yet, I had to face the truth: she didn’t want me.
there was something distinct for me about this realisation.
something primal, important. guttural.
there was nothing I could to save this.
there was nothing I could do to save us.
we were already dead.
she was already gone.
and in her place, there was emptiness.
and in the place where we were, there was empty space.
I had to surrender to that.
I had to feel that.
I had to make love to that.
and initially, I didn’t know how to do that.
I was used to a woman’s warm body, presence, touch & words.
you can’t fuck emptiness.
that’s the first thing I learned.
you can’t penetrate something that is defined by its lack of form.
you can only allow it to enter you.
I wanted to understand what that could be like, but I had no frame of reference for it.
so, I let it happen.
and that’s what it felt like— letting it happen.
silently letting it in. taking it. being taken by it. but in a way that felt less like being penetrated & more like a welcoming.
I welcomed the emptiness within & around me.
I welcomed the emptiness in her.
it quietly broke my heart.
and it also felt truthful & alive in a way I deeply needed.
the visceral presence of truth felt like home.
there’s another relationship I’m reckoning with right now.
another dynamic I’m dancing with.
and with that, another death.
and it concerns the power I’ve given away for love.or the hope of it.
or the illusion of it.
or the desire for it.
play with the above as applicable.
this piece has become something other to itself.
it’s pure creative writing, and it’s not just pure creative writing.
it’s truth. it’s whole.
maybe that’s what I wanted all along, and it feels vulnerable.
it feels like dancing with death to put the two together.
it also feels… confusing. strange. arresting. even for me.
I don’t know where I end & you begin.
and maybe that’s the way I’ve felt about you, too.
especially when things are like this.
I don’t know what’s mine & what’s yours.
I don’t know what’s fear (false evidence appearing real) & what’s real.
and maybe it’s okay if all of it is real, even if it almost certainly isn’t.
that’s the basis I’m operating under here.
that’s what I’m [here] with.
I have felt so deeply uncared for by you that in many ways it’s felt as if I’ve been waiting for the final blow.
just tell me I don’t matter to you. tell me you’ve changed your mind. tell me to go.
or tell me that you’ve changed.
change so much that you want to live without me.
change so much that there is nothing to tie us together anymore.
leave. become someone else. become who I wanted you to be. leave me behind as a memory.
that’s all this feels like right now, anyway.
I feel so angry. I feel so betrayed. and I also feel a quiet peace. a quiet acceptance. a quiet… everything.
in your absence, I feel like I’m waiting for you to leave for the final time. and if you do this, this time, I’ll be done too.
and maybe it will feel like freedom.
the biggest fear I’ve had with you is that I will be used & discarded by you.
and perhaps I already was. perhaps this has already happened.
perhaps I am simply living out my worst fears.
if this is true, I can hold that too.
and that, to me, is strength.
these words scare me.
I understand that words are spells, so I haven’t wanted to write them.
and, I’ve watched myself contorting around the block this has created for me.
I’ve watched myself not wanting or being willing to acknowledge the depth of my hurt.
I’ve watched myself resisting & avoiding the truth of my heart. I can’t do that anymore.
the wounded feminine attempts to prove herself for love. she acts in ways that try to earn love. she believes that love can be earned. she believes that whether or not she receives love is a byproduct of her goodness.
she doesn’t see that some things are nothing to do with her.
she uses control (or the illusion of control) to feel safe.
I don’t want to control you anymore.
I don’t want to try to control you anymore.
I don’t want to think about controlling you anymore.
I don’t want anything that isn’t freely given.
so, you must be free to go. in your entirety; in its entirety. done.
I must be free to not matter to you anymore.
and let’s be honest— I already feel it in the ways that matter most.
that’s why all of this has been so painful to me.
I still love you.
I still treat you with love, because that’s important to me.
I am still myself. I’m the most myself I’ve ever been.
I’m still learning what that means.
I’m learning about how much (or how little) I knew about love, and it feels beautiful— if a little destabilising.
I was so young. so naive. so innocent. and I thought I knew it all.
but isn’t that what it means to be young? and isn’t that beautiful?
I kind of love that this is a piece of pure creative writing now.
it feels right; it feels symbolically resonant. and, it feels true.
god, I am so lucky.
god, I am so grateful.
god, my life is so beautiful.
maybe believing in god was all I needed to do