Selfish

I meant to write something about fear a long time ago. Back when BE gave me that beautiful book of that beautiful Maya Angelou poem. But I never did. I got side-tracked. I think I got good side-tracked. I think I got LG sidetracked. Either way, here it is. My intention then was to write about the three times in my life I've been afraid. Was it three? The first time being when I was raped. I don't think I had ever felt fear until then. And the fear wasn't during. The fear came after. The fear came when he was lying asleep on one side of me and Brooklyn was passed out on the other side of me; Brooklyn who I had kicked and punched to no avail, Brooklyn who didn't rescue me when I needed to be rescued. And I never need to be rescued. We were in the basement of Brooklyn's parents' house and I ran upstairs to the main floor and then I ran up further, to the second floor and got into Brooklyn's childhood bed, the bottom bunk and tried to sleep. I couldn't sleep. My heart wouldn't stop pounding. Whenever I closed my eyes I felt hot breath on my face and heard his voice and felt his body and worse, heard him coming up the stairs. I wanted Brooklyn to rescue me. I called the basement line from the upstairs phone in Brooklyn's old room saying something like, "I left; come and get me when you wake up." I didn't want to say where I was yet I wanted him to come upstairs and sleep with me, hold me, keep me safe, comfort me, tell me I was okay even though I wasn't. Eventually he did come upstairs concerned and curious as to why I was there and not downstairs with them. I just asked if he was still in the house. He was. So I didn't say anything then. I was too scared.

The second time was 9/11. I am not going to tell that story and not for the reasons you probably think.

The third time was the blind date I went on with 'Kiss-It Nick,' (you finally got a real name out of me) to separate him from all of my other Nicks, well not my Nicks but the other Nicks I know. It was a blind date set up by a girl I met in Mexico last year. She had worked with him in London and he moved to their New York office. We started out on email. He gave such great email that I called AC and S between emails to exclaim at how good his were and to assure my banterous replies were on par with his. I had never had to do that before. I was way impressed and way excited meet him in person. It was the first time I had ever gone on a blind date and been excited about it. It was the first time I had been excited in general being weeks after my grandmother died and the day after a Thanksgiving where I felt no thanks. The email was incredible foreplay. I agonized over what to wear and ultimately spent $300 on a new outfit (that I promptly returned after the date, those clothes were bad karma). Fast forward to the date. We met for drinks. I arrived early, another first as I am notoriously late. As soon as he walked in I knew I would never could never sleep with him. But I decided to have fun anyway and make the best of a situation which I knew would never go beyond that night. We drank a lot. Whenever I go out with a guy I invariably drink him drink for drink and didn't disappoint that night. We went to Bond Street for dinner and had a blast. Conversation was hilarious and he couldn't have been more fun. The food was amazing and the drinks kept coming. In the elevator going down to pick up our coats and leave Bond Street he kissed me. I let him. I figured it was the least I could do. He suggested getting some more drinks at 60 Thompson. Okay. Why not. At a certain point, I knew I needed to go home. He agreed home was a good idea. Only as soon as we got outside he wanted us to go to his home. Knowing that was not even a remote possibility despite his urgings and bragging about how great he would make me feel and what he wanted to do to me and how long he could do it for, I hailed a cab. He picked me up and put me into an alley against a wall. One hand went straight between the buttons of my coat under the waistband of my skirt under my tights and you know the rest. The other hand was keeping me against wall. Then he took his hand from under my skirt and licked his fingers. He told me how good I tasted and reiterated what he wanted to do and good he was at it. I shuddered. I couldn't move and knew that he was drunk and sharp movements and a lot of screaming wouldn't get me far. The cabbie who I prayed would exit the cab in outrage and rip Kiss-It Nick off me finally left. I eventually talked myself into freedom and we were back on the street, walking towards the Chase bank ATM on Prince Street. He said he needed money. Once we got in there, he took off his pants and told me to, "Kiss It!" Hence his name. I took my chance and made a run for it. I got in a cab and went to my sister's house. First I got in bed with her. Then I got into RC's bed; he was in Nashville for Thanksgiving. Again I wanted to feel safe. I didn't tell my sister what happened until months later. I was sick of people feeling sorry for me. I was sick of being the one that all the bad things happen to. I was happy that my sister finally could finally think that my life was turning around. So I went to RC's bed to cry and be scared and feel safe in his room in his smell around his stuff. He had scooped me up out of the apartment I shared with Illinois and taken me away to safety that fateful November night a year before. Maybe just being in his bed would make me feel safe this November night.

I am not a fearful person. I am kind of a daredevil. I run in bad neighborhoods. I dove off the high diving board before I could really swim. I snuck out of my parents' house as a teenager regularly to smoke weed at 1:00am on school nights; one time even driving around in a stolen car. Not that I am the biggest badass or anything but I don't scare easily. I am more of a 'bring it on,' kind of person. I know I know, reader I know; I have become a big cry-baby in recent months being sick and everything. It really, really cramps my style and the whole mortality thing is just mind-blowing in a bad way.

So my life has become smaller and more controlled and I have been careful and aware and safe and here I am with all of these self-imposed rules that I never had before. I realize that they are because I am once again scared. I am scared even now that I appear to be somewhat stable. I am scared that if I stop being so vigilant and careful that I will go back to where I was.

The problem is that it's a slippery slope (the lawyer terminology sneaks in sometimes; I hate it too) and being vigilant has spread to every area of my being, not just making sure I take my drugs and check in with myself regarding being hydrated or tired etc. It is sneaking in to me being vigilant with myself emotionally. I am very clear on the fact that I like my life the way it is, exactly the way it is. Sans boyfriend. And I know why. I don't want to deal with the crap that a boyfriend brings. I don't want to compromise my emotional state. I don't want to be vulnerable. I am vulnerable enough. I don't want someone to once again destroy me when I've rebuild when the new version is bigger and better and stronger than the old and I want to keep it that way. I am scared I will get swept away again. And I want my feet to remain planted.

The last night I spent with 31 was August 5, which was my last night before I knew I was sick and he never asks how I am or has acknowledged that I was/am sick. It's weird that not only am I not offended that he didn't keep up with me and want to make sure I was/am okay but I am relieved. Even if he had put himself out there just as a friend (we have been friends since I was 21), I'd have fallen in love with him. He probably sensed that and didn't want it. And I surely didn't want to fall in love on top of what was already going on in my body. It's like that Seinfeld episode when George shows up at this woman's brother's/father's/uncle's (?) funeral so he can become the boyfriend and endear himself to her and her family. That shit really works. I was thrilled when LG told me he was in love with someone else so would only be able to do something casual with me. It kept things safe. It put walls around what I could feel. It gave me no room to fall in love. Perfect. My life and my progress would not be all for naught. Victory. No risk in losing any of me to either of them. So where that leaves me is an untenable place. I want dinner and sex from a guy. I got the emotional stuff handled, friends and family take care of me; I take care of me. This is the worst kind of fear because it isn't reactionary or directly traceable to something specific. Who could rescue me from this? It's infiltrated me. I am infected. I am diseased in every way one could be diseased. Emerald city. Briana's reality show. Trazedone infused dreams. Working all nighters and not knowing what day it is. Going to the wrong agency this morning and then going to the right one and getting off on the wrong floor. Exchanging emails with three taurus boys simultaneously for a couple of hours this evening. (Taurus men are my nemesis). Being me is a full time job that I have finally mastered. Being with me is probably like working for minimum wage with no benefits. But I can do it. So why fix it if it ain't broke by bringing someone else into the mix who will surely just mess everything up?