Kelly Mastros

Lacy Underthings.

I would like to sit down to write about some stretch of time that has been relatively uneventful, or some trip I took, or something that belongs in a photo album. I am not doing that. That is not what I do here. I hunt down the pain here, with every intention of destroying it. I can say from all that has played out before my eyes that I still feel, deeply, compassionately, empathetically, and I feel ferocious in being entitled to my feelings. My feelings don’t make me act irrationally, they are just feelings and they come and go. I know I survived for the reason to be here. I don’t need to feel guilt about surviving, and I don’t need to feel guilt about feeling.
I am here to be, and to be happy I think. I have always believed that happiness is a birthright for every living thing. Even me.

I feel so much squandered fragility. Seeing a history of a time past when in a delicate state I put myself into something like the hands of a medieval blacksmith, or offered myself like an exquisite entree to be consumed leaving only skin and bones behind. How I undervalued my worth because of a belief I held. One that was enforced by the only female figure available with which to identify. She enforced the belief that rape is sex, not an act of violence against another human being. I grew to see that she envied me because I received sexual attention, although it was not sexual attention. It was rape and molestation. For a long time I have confused these two very different things because in the microculture of my family of origin, being raped was having sex. Sex is voluntary. I never really believed that before. I believed that perhaps it could be enjoyable, but for the most part, sex was an expectation placed on all women. Therefore, it had to be done. I realize most of my intimate relations involve some “lost time” because I was dissociating. There is a Swiss lace quality to my memory regarding sex and intimate encounters because I checked out. I checked out because I believed that rape and sex were somehow interchangeable, and if I didn’t want to be raped I better just have sex, like a preemptive strike.
While these conclusions have broken through the dense fucking dome that is my conscious, alpha wave mind, I have experienced massive physical disruptions. Basically my body has purged about everything I have put in it and I have had to eat food that is very simple to digest, and replenish myself physically. I’ve been trying to ignore signs of needing a bit of TLC, like my dizziness and lack of physical balance. My beloved, however, is keen to my ways and sees my slip ups. I know I want him to at the end of the day, because it feels unlike anything I have known to have someone care so much that they FUCKING NOTICE. Gifts and compliments are lovely, and damn do I love a lipstick, but nothing equates to feeling like if I fall down, he will help me. I think I have finally learned it is okay to let him. He loves me, and people that love each other do not do violent things to each other. They express love for each other. They help each other, too.



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