Tangled Web

Deceptions of a transgender guy

Mouth sewn shut

That of which we do not speak

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Trigger warning: self harm.

Back story: For a large part of my life, a companion has been appearing in my mind, guiding me through stressful times. I could describe him, for it is unmistakably a male figure, as an angel, as he has wings of a kind. But an angel, he made clear, he definitely is not. 

My companion looks at me with his soft caramel eyes, concern-filled. His hands are folded as if in prayer.
“The scabs barely have time to heal before you start worrying them again. You are like a vulture, pecking, pecking, pecking into a rotting carcass.

I sit still opposite him, unable to defend myself. I stare at my fingers… red… clammy. Blood red.

The scabs I have worried loose, burn, throb, ooze. They are open flesh. I blot my fingers on a white tissue and the maroon turns tomato red. Later the swatches will turn brown, I know. Eroded copper.

I touch my tongue to my fingers. It tastes like nothing else. Who said blood tastes like copper? Why would anyone lick copper?

He: “Why do you do it?”

Me: “I don’t know. Maybe because I am rotting on the inside.”

He takes my bloodied hand into his, long fingers enfolding mine. “That is not what I said.” His touch is tender, his voice even more so. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

Me: “Of course it hurts. It hurts like hell!”

He: “Is that why you do it? To feel the hurt, the pain?”

Me: “I don’t know.”

He: “Is it the blood? Do you like seeing, feeling, blood on your fingers?”

Me: I shrug. “I guess I do, otherwise I would not find a perverse satisfaction in it, would I?”

He: “How does it make you feel?”

Me: “Are you a shrink now?”

He smiles patiently, gently.

Me: “I told you, I don’t know.”

He: “But you must feel something.”

Me: “Yes,  I do. I guess the point is that I feel. I feel something. I feel the pain. I feel in control.”

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Author: Kris

Hi! I'm Kris. I live in South Africa with my life partner of 27+ years, whom I call B or Madam in my posts. We have a Pug dog child, Remi, also known as Pooch, who has graced and enriched our lives for the past 12 years.

10 thoughts on “That of which we do not speak

  1. Oh Kris. Hugs from over here too.

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  2. I hope you find peace and give that companion of yours the boot 🙂

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  3. And the horrible truth beneath the illusion of control, is that pain is our body saying ‘stop hurting me.’ … Big HUGS.

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