Sometimes I worry…
When we are “talking” there are fits and starts…long pauses…backspace out…rethinking…because I worry.
I worry that you won’t understand because there’s no tone of voice or facial expression in a typed word.
I worry that you will, someplace in some corner of your mind, think I disapprove of you. That somehow, my jokes, feeble as they may be at times, will make you think I see your “reputation” that I care not the tiniest bit about.
I worry that a joke or comment about buying a skirt, you remember that one, hunh? That comment, so completely out of character for me, will make you think that I see you as just a body, a “booty call”, and not who you are. That you think in some way I am visualizing you in “the act” and that makes you some kind of imaginary porn star.
I worry about MY motives. I worry that my jokes are to make me less concerned. That by joking I make it easier to be not *looking for a word that expresses care for the psyche and squishy parts* as *use word I was looking for* much as I do because I’m making light of you. That I use joking to keep ME from being worried or concerned. I am. Every time.
I am a bit of a prude. Not as a matter of judgment or care for reputation or who I associate with or what happens to MY name but, to yours. I worry that some of the things you do will cause you grief in some future place. That you will look back with regret. I know what you’ve told me of the guilt you sometimes have. I know that feeling. It sneaks up in the dark when you least expect it. It makes you, read me, want to say “fuck it, you ain’t seen nothin yet” and go FAR off the deep end just because…
I worry because, to me, some of the “games” you play seem dangerous. Note the phrase “to me”. That the risks you take will get you harmed or dead. That there’s a tiny line between thrill and “demons released” and that, once out, they will not stop until they’ve fed on a victim…and that victim is you. You see, I trust that to you it’s play and release but, to the person USING you, they are real demons that will do real damage. There is never a spot where I will not worry about that. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not next week.
Look, I know that you think you’re not some China Doll to be wrapped in tissue and kept in a box on a shelf to be jealously guarded, only brought out for special occasions or to be shown to guests. That doesn’t keep me from wanting to, though. I KNOW that you have to live your life…and I don’t want to stop you but, that doesn’t keep me from being scared FOR you.
I worry that the things you say about yourself are because you think you are those things. When you say “booty call” or a mutter about your “reputation” I hope that isn’t all you think you are. Truth be told, baring my soul, was I not married, I’d drive up there so that and go out with you knowing that those are what you think exist, and possibly do, to go where people that think those about you and show off how proud to be “on your arm” I would be. I’d love to go up there and have them think “doesn’t he know?” and be thinking back, “fuck y’all I do know what you think, so what?” If all they see is reputation don’t buy into it…and I worry that you do. That you slight yourself.
I also worry that writing blogs about you makes you revictimized. That I am “using” you. That you have to relive the events. Yeah, I know that it helps to process, it does my demons, too. Doesn’t stop me from worrying. I worry that when I think about things that somehow, in my skewed logic, I am seeing those actions take place like some kind of audience that you do not need. That in some way, I am a participant in those actions. *I know I’m not and my worry is irrational but, emotions are irrational sometimes*
Yeah, I also worry that I use too many words. *sigh* That they lose their impact. That the “squishy words” have been used, by me, too many times or the concerns that I tell you get lost in the repetition. I know I say a lot. A friend used to tell me “I want to know what time it is, not how to build a watch”…and I still tell how to build the watch…that really is a point, that overtalking makes you think that it’s just so I can see myself talk and not that I care. If you saw the lost sleep, the random head shakes during the day, the muttered “damn it”‘s under my breath, you’d realize that NEVER will your impact, even in the brief time since we’ve been talking, is beyond what you or I realize…
Anyway, yeah, I worry, all the time. Yes, it’s what I do. No, I don’t worry for everyone, in fact, for very few. I don’t worry as much for the other 3 you know because they don’t need it. Maybe I am wrong, maybe you don’t need it either but, till my subconscious knows it and convinces my conscious, I’ll still be worried. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be true to me…or you…
In the end, I don’t know that you believe it but, you’ve implied in a thread where you said “you find a Miller” that you were lucky for finding me…and you don’t realize that you honor me by letting me into your world. NQD says “that’s cute” when you tell him you love him and really doesn’t have a clue how hard those words are for you, how scared you are of them. I do. I am in awe of the fact that we even have the quote “squishy words” that mean what they do. Just that phrase means more to me than you telling him you love him because he doesn’t know…and if he doesn’t figure it out, I know you, you won’t even try to clarify. Yeah, thanks for inviting me in and letting me worry. Till the end of my days, I will. Someone should, not out of obligation but, because they want to care for you. That is me.