“The Other”.

I guess in all fairness, she lived here long before I did; this was her vessel for even longer than it has belonged to me (I pirated this shell a little over a decade ago now), she functioned within this skin for over two decades prior to my arrival. She primed the solid physique that I carry today, fed the body meals, and somehow managed to get it to where I came into the picture alive…well, barely alive – but alive all the same.

She was a weakling; a cowed and youthfully blind creature, a dreamer, a believer in good, a hopeful and ever-willing dumbass, a self-detrimental junkie and a self-absorbed human being…she was “the other”.

women killed…and she nearly got me killed that decade or so ago…because of the miserable and unbelievable situation she had found herself in in place far from home, friends or family. She went on ahead and had a baby with the man (her husband) who was beating her to a pulp regularly; a man whom she had come to be learn first hand: suffered from increasingly unpredictable physically/sexually violent tendencies towards her. This is an element of domestic abuse that becomes quite the double edged dagger later down the road; but in the beginning of such a notion, the draw is undoubtedly that of human closeness, tenderness and fondness for the DV victim…”the other” was eventually alienated beyond words. The baby linked “the other” to the real world just enough to keep her on head on somewhat forward-facing; the baby also created an entirely new element of fear within her day to day life. She began to care less and less about herself as a result, her safety became irrelevant in her own mind.1072960“The other” got her throat opened in her front yard one day at the hands of that same man; yes, the one who she had married and had children with – the one who she knew she had to get away from before such a thing took place…the one who’s sickness continues to rot away at my existence through the offspring we share. I don’t relate to her choices, that young girl who was slashed that day; I never have…

Since the moment that I picked up her nearly dead carcass and breathed my own air into its essence, she has remained an enigma of sorts to me with her pathways taken and where they led her. I pity her. I dislike her. I cry sometimes for her when I’m alone.

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2 thoughts on ““The Other”.

  1. I am indifferent… about these silly ‘like’ buttons… when sometimes they should say something else. I feel very strongly about this post… but … possibly too strongly to voice it here. Not that I disagree, just because this is one of those situations where I battle to understand… but I will explain better in private. I don’t like when people I love don’t like themselves… I get it, but I don’t like it. BUt HOW much I don’t like it is something I need to work on… I don’t even know if that makes sense. The mother bear in me gets… ‘angry’ … that you don’t like that person – when someone else did that, to that person… you, I mean. My beautiful, intelligent J. You, know..? Anyhoo..

    Liked by 1 person

    • I get it S…I guess the things I dislike so much are those that have changed drastically since then…and I struggle to understand those things just as you struggle to understand this one…
      my beautiful, hardheaded and divinely spirited S.

      Liked by 1 person

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