Daily Archives: September 3, 2009

Hurt Locker

“The rush of battle is a potent and often lethal addiction, for war is a drug.”

I thought it would be easier somehow. It’s been years since you came back. Those days were a lifetime ago and you’ve never spoken of them since, then we don’t speak of much these days. But even then, back when that place was your life I made a conscious decision not to talk to you of your reality. That was my purpose then, to take you away from the choice you had made. One that I had never understood; I still wonder if you did.

The images on screen act as too potent reminders and I can imagine you there. Those same bathroom blocks where you would have brushed your teeth each night. Running water. Small comforts. Makeshift rooms with walls covered of anything that tried to remind you of what was waiting for you when you returned. Almost like college. Pieces of plywood propped up against windows. Little protection from what could attack from outside. Bottles of water I imagine that must be replenished every few hours. You need to keep hydrated. It’s the desert afterall.

I prayed for you every night you were in, and even for some nights after. Prayed that you would be kept safe. Prayed that you wouldn’t do anything stupid. Prayed that you wouldn’t get hurt. I never told you, you would’ve told me I was over-reacting, and you could have been right. I’ve never been able to not worry about you. Some of the people you let into your life, there’s little wonder. Perhaps that was where I went wrong.

I kept on waiting for you to make a mistake. Expecting it. Already braced for when it would come, for when you needed me. Always trying to hear what it is you weren’t saying, what you were hiding from me because you knew how I would react. Of course you would, because that’s all you ever knew of me. That person who always worried, who always showed up when you asked, who never knew how to say ‘no’ to you. No perhaps about it, I’m certain now. My own personal hurt locker, because that’s all I ever allowed you to be.

We both got out, eventually.

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Heightened

Feeling so much more of everything. Channeling the characters I have come to know through the pages, I imagine myself invincible. Able to leap tall buildings and run at incredible speeds. I move differently. Positioning myself between those I need to protect and the perceived danger, the need to defend is overwhelming, as though I could in any way stop it. Standing still, statue like, watching each movement. Contemplating the next move.

I find myself strangely thankful I am not extraordinary when I feel myself this way. How I’d over-react at the slightest provocation. Fly halfway round the world just to make sure they were safe. Smash my fist through a wall when the mark was overstepped. Self-combust as I tried to hold the anger in. I cause myself enough trouble without the super powers.

I’m worrying too much about things I cannot control. I feel myself slipping back though there are hands holding on to me to make sure that I don’t. I find myself searching for that one voice who I know could save me completely, and I resent myself for making them that. For placing that burden on them when they have already done so much, for allowing this part of me to surface again.

Still, that one sure action I know would signify I’d lost too much. Still I resist that. Still that something keeps me in check. I know not to do that. No matter how much I feel, no matter how much I wonder. Shivers. I still get those shivers. There are just some things you can never return to.

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