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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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The Demon Who Wants You to Look More Closely
i suppose i should explain: when this diary became public--that is, read by those other than complete strangers who in no way care about or know who i really am--i pulled back a great number or more recent entries that had to do with max and me and our getting divorced. the truth is that the details of my leaving max weren't exactly as i told most people they were. i was pretty honest with those closest to me, but there were details that i put in here that most people, even those closest to me, didn't know. and that i don't want them to know. i did tell one person the truth and was later branded a liar by this person, who had not the ability not to judge me for whatever reason. (i was called a liar, i think, because the life i had lived with max had been all about keeping secrets and making things look very normal on the outside.) it was stupid for me to have trusted this person, stupid for me to have told my secrets to this person. i thought that my comrade was on the outside enough to be objective--but, no, that's already a lie. i really told because i wanted sympathy. so i skewed the story, as do we all when we are vying for sympathy. i told the truth, but i told it slant, to paraphrase emily dickinson. so i rarely tell anyone the truth about what happened anymore. i decided, when i left max, that i would stand up and take all the blame and responsibility. our vibe had always been that i, sublingua, was the overbearing shrew and that he, max, was the patient and loving husband. we had grown into that particular bit of play-acting over the years willingly, or at least not unwillingly, so don't feel too sympathetic if you are inclined to sympathy. i used to have an incredible temper. i know that everyone says something like that at some time, but it's true. i used to use depression in part to cover up rage. i once broke max's nose during a fight. i twice smashed in the windshield of his car with a crowbar because i was angry at him. i once spent a furious afternoon snapping his record collection in half in front of him because he had made me angry. i once poured a can of paint all over his books. i was not a good person. that potential still lurks inside me. i still want sometimes to call on bitter hateful sublingua, especially when people make me angry. i still feel her rattling her chains like the old ghost i have tried to turn her into. but i fight it. i am committed to good sublingua. she is the one who tries kindness out on strangers as though it were some novel concept. she is the one who tries not to make decisions from anger, from fear, from bitterness. she is the one who is able to tell people that she cares about them, that she loves them, respect them, admires them. sometimes though she gets pushed aside by bitter hateful sublingua. like last night and this morning. (i won't chronicle the events of these times. i'm embarrassed to do thiis, but i will say that this morning i failed in my committment to good sublingua.)
i'm not the woman anyone thinks i am. there is more there--and less too, if you look closely enough.
More lies:
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