Addendum 2017: I find myself once again finding comfort in these words. The trauma I have endured lately reminds me of this piece. Because I refuse to be silent this time. If people are going to hurt me, they should know as a writer I will use that hurt and turn it into art. I've changed a few things, but kept the essence of the piece. I could use a few fuses tossed my way if you got them to spare.
Addendum 2013: I sometimes need to read old posts I've written, to remind me where I am or where I've been. I also...get all editor on my shit too when this happens. Hence why this has now popped up in my feed when I wrote it like 2 years ago. Feel free to comment, because honestly, it's still relevant. I think it's the best metaphor I have come up with for the struggles I have with mental and physical illness.
Note: I wrote this originally when I was living apart from Bear.
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Yesterday I was feeling more low than I have felt in years. My husband, being the wise man he is, told me this very appropriate metaphor to explain how I, and probably most people, deal with tragedy in their lives.
Each of us lives in their own house. Our houses are our bodies. Our souls live in the house. We have lots of things hooked up to the wall jacks that take power. TV's, fridges, computers, etc. All these things are plugged into a main power source, the fuse box, that keeps the house warm and things going with energy.
Outside the house is a terrible snow storm. Call it the looming shadow of Death if you will. Because death is always with us. We may ignore it, we may have nicely warmed up houses with all the energy we could possibly need to power our "devices", but it's still there. It will always be there.
Now, call the devices things like work, children, friends, family, whatever. Anything that demands your energy. Even if the demand is wonderful. Hell, everyone loves having a TV right? Watching shows and movies is fun! But still, your time, your focus, your energy is put into that device while you have it plugged in.
So what happens when things go wrong? Why is it some people can handle stress better than others? Why is it some people endure more than they should, or fall apart in sometimes spectacular ways?
Some people are lucky. When their house was built it was on the right property (support), for the right price (financial stability), in the right neighborhood (family), etc. They just got it made. They barely have an issue, and if they do, they can't usually handle it well, because it's not normal. So if they have an issue, a fuse blows in their fuse box. It's cold for a while. Remember, it never stops storming outside. It may be beautiful to look at sometimes, or terrifying to face, but it's there. And it will take you and your house down when it's time.
So if a person who is fairly stable and secure looses a fuse they may handle it well the first time, or that may make them freak out. They may be terrified of the storm. They have a few choices on how to deal with it, as we all do when the fuses go out.
1) We endure. We huddle under the blankets and just go numb. It hurts for the first little while, because cold sucks, but eventually you become so numb you feel nothing anymore. Sadly, lots of people do this one. This is when you see a soulless look in someone's eyes, or you hear them say, " No big deal" when their husband is beating them senseless, you get the idea. I myself have done this, but very little. I don't endure this state well. I'm not built for it.
2) You decide to take action. Fuses are not gonna come to you overnight. You may have to mail them in, (because you cant leave the house) or wait for someone to come to your door. The thing is, you can go to other people's houses, as long as you don't leave yours. (Just pretend that makes sense. On a spiritual level it does, not a rational one. If our houses are our bodies, and our souls live in the house then yes, like turtles, we carry our home with us.) So someone may give you a fuse. But if these things don't happen, your only option now is pennies. You put pennies, which is a temp fix but it works, into the fuse box. Your fuse has blown because too much was plugged into the circuit. You have been overloaded with emotion, stress, whatever. Even good things can blow a fuse if they are intense enough. Trust me, I've blown more than I can count.
3) This is the option that is the most painful, but sometimes all people can see. Sometimes, it's all that is left. Because a Fuse Box isn't about rationality. It's about stability. It's about the mental functions of a being. It's the heart of the matter. So sometimes, when all you see is a broken fuse box that pennies can't fix anymore, and huddling under blankets isn't helping, and no one brought you a fuse and you have no money to mail in some, well...
You choose to go outside.
This is suicide folks. Because eventually the house will burn down, or your house will be so beyond repair and you wait inside for winter to take you. But if you choose to go outside, well, you've chosen your death. I am not condoning suicide here. I'm not saying it's a great choice. But sometimes, for the people in the house that's breaking down, it's all that they can see. If your mental fuse box is so damaged, and your blanket is a thin sheet...
You might choose to just face death.
So now that I explained the metaphor to you, let me explain the state of my house. How it's been, and how it is now:
My house was built on a grave yard, in a "bad side of town" where drug dealers, pimps and thieves run rampant. My house floods, and was made with shitty materials. I have ghosts that haunt me. My house's fuse box is wired funny, and the fuses have been blowing (and I mean all of them) my entire life. People try to break in and steal my shit. I don't have much, but they try to anyhow. They try to break in and when they cant just take the shit, they sit in my living room and play with my Xbox, get drunk, trash the place and leave. They use my energy to power my stuff, but I don't get to touch it. Sometimes I snap once the fuse box has taken too much, and I kick their sorry asses out, or I beat them to a pulp.
Even though they were gone, the fuse box has never fully recovered. I was always low on fuses and I chose to keep putting pennies in. I didn't want to be a numb zombie. I wanted to feel, but the problem is I feel too much. So lots of energy is expelled all the time to keep myself open to emotion and the slim chance of happiness and friendship/family. And with the faulty wiring in my house, the way people abused my space, the way I am always low on fuses (I never seem to have enough money to buy my own, everything costs something), it's not easy to heat my house or run appliances. Sometimes I have to unplug everything. Sometimes, I get mercies and people come over to my house (once I let them in, I find it hard to trust now) and offer a fuse. I don't ask were it comes from. I just take it as a gift it is and thank them. My hope is the gift is given without strings. (Sometimes it's not and that hurts too) I'll even let them use my Xbox once the fuse is in, because why not share the precious energy they have given me? I am all about offering whatever small graces I can to those who are good to me, as long as my kindness isn't abused.
This is how I live my life. Sometimes I try to fix the wiring in my fuse box, but I am not an electrician. I can read books all I want and go to all the counselors in the world, but in the end, my Fuse Box is what it is. Some things might be re-wired, or I might have a period of all fuses lit, but in the end I am different. My experiences and my soul is just different. My needs are just different. I will never be like the other houses around me, or the people who lovingly visit.
And right now, my Fuse Box is on the fritz. Someone I thought was a friend turned out to be an invader and used my Xbox without asking me, while I have too many things plugged into the circuit sucking my energy. It's not a right to be in my space, it's a privilege. Just as it is if I am allowed into yours. But because I let her in once, she figured it was an open invite, when it's not. She didn't consider my house has some rules set in because I need to protect myself. Like for example: Every damn time I want people to ask to be let in, because I have been abused. Pretend your a vampire if it helps you remember. And I have that right. It's my life and my house. Don't just assume you get a free pass to my inner world. Only Bear does. And he fucking earned it.
So now I am left with a mess to clean and a broken fuse box. I'm staring at all the fuses blown, all the pennies in there trying to keep it together going, "I haven't been this fucked up since I left home the first time." And I am staring at the door. Very intently. I am my mother's child, as much as I hate it. Her specter is always with me, even on the days I ignore it. I have similar instabilities I probably inherited from her that I fight constantly throughout my life. Right now, I am staring at the door. I see the storm outside, and for this moment, it's a siren song. "Just end it. End the pain. Come to me. I will blanket you in my embrace. No one will ever hurt you again. Peace is here in the white."
I stare at my fuse box, the one I've tried so very hard to fix, and cry.
I stare at my thin little sheet, the one that does shit-all for me but it was all I could afford to deliver in, and cry.
I need more fuses than I can afford. I can't get them on my own.
These are my interpretations of Bear's words, but the essence is the same. And after he explained this to me, he said to me in the most heart wrenching voice I have ever head him use, "Please Baby, I beg you, don't go outside."
sighs
Words cannot convey the pain I feel, or the love I have for that man. He gave me a fuse in that moment. A small one, but it was enough. Enough to put it in my fucked up Fuse Box to carry on for a little bit longer. Enough to turn away from the door.
I'm not better. Not by a long shot. And though I have turned away, the winter outside still calls to me. My mother's face in her coffin is haunting me like a vivid mirage.
Maybe one day, my fuse box will stop exploding. Maybe one day, I'll have enough fuses, and I can share my house with my husband. He's already got a key, and pretty much makes himself at home here anyhow.
Maybe one day. Just not today.
