Kate Bush ~ Wuthering Heights
Ooh, it gets dark, it gets lonely
On the other side from you
I pine a lot, I find the lot falls through without you
When in the midst of the storm, it’s easy to become embroiled in the darker emotions, those which seek to bring one down, to trick the mind and whisper to you a story of make believe so bedecked with shiny things, that the magpie becomes entranced, deflected from the truth.
When thinking of those moments, one remembers many feelings, of remorse, of resentment, of shame, of suffering the silence, the fear that one’s self worth was truly reduced to nothing more than being an object.
The difficulty lies in conveying that it wasn’t He who was responsible for igniting those feelings, or atleast wasn’t responsible for the their origin, their inception, their nurturing during some very bleak years.
But it cannot be ignored that those feelings were brought to the fore.
The question is, could that eventuality have been foreseen, or was it simply that neither of us knew just how deep those feelings still go, and how easily they resurface in certain circumstances.
Maybe I need to look, albeit through trembling fingers, at elements of the past that still linger.
If you want it, you’re a whore, if you don’t, you’re frigid, each truth earning it’s own set of consequences.
This isn’t a ghost I willingly carry with me, it isn’t one I wish to hold close. But it’s there nonetheless, self worth entirely measured in sexual availability, a truth always twisted in order to subjugate and render compliant.
When one overlays the blueprints from then, and now, there should be, there IS no correlation, no two elements are the same, there’s no remarkable feature which still remains. But the shadows do still cast their gloom, and it’s within that gloom that I found myself floundering.
When, that night, the teasing stopped, the suddenness threw me off balance.
Ha! look at you, you whore, all wet and wanting. You’re a fucking idiot if you ever thought He’d want you.When I realised that my hand was still wrapped round His hard cock, I was appalled at how blatant my desire was displayed.
When the lights went out, and sleep declined to find me, all I knew, all I felt, was shame.
When going through the motions the next morning in a daze, all I felt was fear. I didn’t want to have to wake Him, fear of having to humiliate myself by explaining that yes, I was disappointed that there was no familiar conclusion to the previous evenings events.
When I took Him His drink, as I always do, I couldn’t look at Him, His silence told me all I needed to know.
You’re right to be ashamed, you weren’t even worth a quick fuck to finish off the night.
All those thoughts, all those feelings eclipsed the reality that actually, none of that was true, He didn’t think any of those things, or feel any disgust towards me.
Remembering those moments is incredibly painful, I resent having to face that it would appear that I haven’t yet managed to put them behind me, I resent that I haven’t been able to conquer them, I resent that they still hold way too much power over me.