When someone can enter your life and show you the beauty inside splattered eggs against the ground and sees the fire within your eyes, you have to expect a certain level of madness to follow. Is that a horrible thing? What is madness? Is it something that sets the wild aside from the tightly woven? I suppose the root of madness is judged by nothing more or less than the view point of the eyes in a position to oppose your emotions, thoughts, dreams or actions. When we connect with a like soul, we do not see their madness within and if we do, we embrace it. It is only those that carry a different madness that we consider truly mad.
Not horribly long ago, but not terribly recently either, “a friend” stalked me out to call me crazy. Now, call me crazy but you have to be slightly crazy to prowl on someone and pounce to openly announce their madness. I wanted to be offended, but as I was warned of her being a total wrecking ball of sanity by others, I could not help but to giggle. I have a rather cute giggle. Ask around. I’ve also heard that fire in my eyes sparkle when I laugh. Maybe a sign of madness, for those that consider happiness to be madness. Some people wish to be miserable, you know?
All in all, maybe the madness inside, I was delighted to hear this friend had the need to attack me. For you see, this queen was holding my heart captive by holding the one that owns it. To know she needed to growl reassured my assumptions that she could likely see me each time she looked into his eyes. How very maddening that must be. To spend each day with someone knowing they were aching for the them they were with others that were banished for fear of heads rolling. To see a soul burn dreams to keep the peace. To know that the way life once was, will never be again, replaced by nothing more than an illusion of what illusion of trust and happiness once existed.
I had the view of strangers as well as those that knew her nodding along in understanding that this person was simply, totally, unmistakingly- mad. But, my own madness shown, and I began to question the authenticity of my own emotion questioned by the queen of hearts. As per her advice, you know what I did? You got it. I went to a professional. If anyone was going to call me crazy, it was damn sure going to be someone certified to do just that- if I were to take them seriously, anyway. So I did just that. I have done it and done it and done it and done it. And I will keep doing it, too. I do it rather well. Most things I do rather well. I do not sew, nor bake. Because I do not do either well. Beyond that, I amaze myself sometimes in my much muchness.
So after much digging, chatting, opening up in total emotional nudity, I was made to separate emotion from fact. You see, emotions have a way of creating illusions in your mind, your heart and your path. If this was the case, I surely wanted to know. I backed up as I told the story, when emotions muddied the facts. I reworded events in a way that erased the emotional pull and only allowed the black and white of it all. The black and white of it all was truly a hard pill to swallow. My eyes were opened to the possible core of my need to feel safe and submissive, how I was only submissive in one aspect, the rest of me is a total dominant force, which I held solid on when it came to my wants and needs until the end, when it mattered, and I curled up like a sub, how I have a history of impatience and where the need to make things happen a..s.a.p. spawned from, how I cover pain with comedy to make people laugh before they can see me as weak in any aspect of life, and how I truly, deeply, allowed my walls to be torn down completely to only one man since the passing of the man that raised me as his own and kept me safe from the world. There was no doubt of my love. No question. But I had to ask, I had to know. Was I insane? I asked, bluntly, out of the two women in this story, was I the one holding on to illusions? If I improperly held on, I wanted to know so I could try and figure out why I could not let go.
But no. Only the facts, that black and white shows not only no closure for me, but for many. Not typical. Not the norm, not what one would consider, of grounded mind. Throw in emotions, and it turns out, professionally seen, I make a rather good bit of sense, and- for the first time in my history, I was executing a huge amount of patience, which also shows the depth of how solid what I had before me really was. BUT, but – always one of those, it seems, an assy but. I rushed. I had everything from my dreams, I had fate in my lap, and in my own maddening fears and timelines, I rushed what was everything I thought never existed. I wasn’t waiting for it, because I never thought it could breathe beyond the pages of a story-book. But as I also learned, what I considered as my missing piece, was also an entire puzzle trying to figure out the insides, as if the border had always been there, but those tricky pieces on the inside were still trying to find their spots. I was also something he never thought existed in reality, but there I was, and his life plan was locked in, no doubts, he was happy in the well planned mediocre life…until me. Until knowing I existed and in knowing me, he discovered the puzzle of himself held more pieces than he ever imagined, and not only did he not have time to process that fact, he especially had little time to take all the new pieces of him he found in me and connect them smoothly. So very likely, had I not been impatient me, things would not be as they are right now. I would not be just a longing in someone’s heart that reflects through their eyes. I have to swallow my own blame for that. It is thick and bitter and there is no chaser to make it go down easier. But now what? Where do I go evaluating this? My certified sanity. My unknown future. My dominant side pulling me to defend what I see as mine. My weak heart thudding after you take the comedy away that covers the #ache.
This is where the madness of my own self kicks in. What do I have to wait for? Have I spoken to him? Do I know if the wait is worth it? Is there a plan? Does my story plot end here or is there a happily ever after around the corner. Well, as I drape on my Cheshire smile, I say this: I have everything and nothing to wait for or to hold me back from waiting. I hear his voice. Maybe it is a lullaby- maybe it is more or less. What is better than a lullaby? is anything more soothing? Would I speak of it if there were? Would I open the door to all with my eggs in one basket or would I leave the world to wonder just as much as I have in the past? Would I smile and type away sadness to secure the confusion just as I would weep and speak as if my heart is spoken for and solid? In every story ending there is happiness wrapped in the sadness of completion. The chase ending, the questions answered, the sinister scorned, the everybody-is-where-they-want-to-be syndrome. As a writer, I know this is no end. But where we are in the plot, as it thickens, well, you will just have to wait and see. Enjoy the madness. It is better than silence.
Welcome to my Wonderland. Would you like some tea?