You know how
sometimes people
in our lives
with whom we’re not terribly close,
(which includes nearly everyone)
like work colleagues for instance,
will, quite inadvertently, say or do something
that must obviously be a personal trigger
instantly teleporting you back across time and space
into that room you’ve been running from
and trapped in your whole life
and your anxiety level skyrockets
but unfortunately and thankfully,
you’ve developed
the keen survivalist talent of hiding your fears
so well the trigger-happy,
soon-to-be ex-colleague/friend,
blissfully and unknowingly continues
dancing with stilettos on your heart,
believing you to be interested
because you are, actually, looking right at them
while looking right past them
while the psychologically bound Pavlovian dog
part of your psyche forever unfairly associates
the person’s face, voice, and scent
with that room
and everything in it you want
to keep getting away from
but the meeting isn’t nearly over,
the problem isn’t nearly solved,
the delivery to the client is looming,
and you catch not nearly enough words
to further any of these noble petty
causes, delaying escape
and lengthening exposure
radiating from otherwise good, rational people
who have their own damn shit and
with whom you have no desire to share any of this
so these people become rather impatient with you
for not hearing them,
causing the inevitable second wave
comprising the winning package of
guilt and shame and self-flagellation
because you fear it’s pretty much all about
that ugly part of you
that you keep putting back on
despite intellectually knowing that
the ugly is what was done
not who you are,
so you find new “friends”
to keep out
while they dance on your heart?
Written by Eric Booth. Eric lives in Washingon, D.C. His blog is Life Was So Simple Before I Died. Photo courtesy of Cat Shore.
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