The Hand That Feeds

Its been a while since I last posted. Things have been pretty good actually. We've progressed a lot on the 'my home is your home' front, and the move-in is going fairly well. We've our first anniversary coming up, the Muse and I, and so the year in review has been looked at carefully- it appears all systems are go.

Now in saying that, things are still... tumultuous. I can't say that i mind, steady is kind of boring, and boring is its own little hell. So its not always easy to say how well things are, so much as it is to say that things are progressing.

The Muse has been asking in her way about the Second Sight, and I'm not sure how to explain that one other than to say that people who live together often think of things in the same way. She knows I know certain things, I can tell certain things about her about others without being told. As for myself, I never really sorted out the Sight- I am by most measures a kind of natural scientist, and do not explicitly beleive in the supernatural.

What I do beleive in is that people are capable of seeing and remembering far more information than the stuff that passes through thier concious mind, and that they can often perceive minute details that they can use and associate feelings with that they wouldn't really be able to 'put a finger on' if asked about directly.

For me, this occurs in an internal visualization of people, a set of colors and feelings about someone that is displayed 'inside' of them. The colors, their vibrancy and consistancy, the way they stretch out along the seen image of a person is almost always present. I called it the 'glow' in my youth, the 'aura' in my new agey college days, the 'shine' in early adulthood. The colors of a person, whether it be some sort of synaethasia, or simply the remembrance of emotions in my mind, help guide and enlighten me towards the specific traits held within people.

It's not always accurate. To describe it as a 'sense' would be the closest thing - it can be fooled, blinded and misdirected. It does not understand detail, or politics, it does not know things that I would not know already as a person through detailed observation. It is very much like an observational shorthand, as if my mind processes certain physical details very quickly and displays them on an internal overlay, as if to shortcut actually thinking about the observations taking place.

They say baseball players in the zone can see 'colors' on a fast pitch, telling them where and how to swing. Even so, the knowing of a thing and the doing of a thing are two different creatures entirely. Sometimes I see and swing, sometimes I swing and miss. Sometimes, I have no clue as to what should be done and fall prey to my emotions instead. It would be during these times where I make most of my mistakes.

Yesterday, the Muse and I had a kind of fight. I don't think it would be the typical kind of fight - I don't really show the symptoms of anger, I dont yell, I don't get red-faced, I don't 'get' anything but cold and calculating. I can and have done those things, don't get me wrong, but they are highly unlikely. I am a creature of control, and even in anger stick to that control.

I spent the first part of the morning preparing a spot for the Muse. She has a lot of stuff, finding spaces for it all is challanging, and I've had to give up a lot of my stuff to make room. She was out avoiding my child, as she nearly always does- I'm not sure she's aware she does this, but I know she does; they seem like little things, little reasons, but always at the same time and in the same way. You can fake a lot of things, but not priorities- over time the truth is telling, always.

So my young one goes back to her mothers, and sure enough on the dot the Muse calls to tell me she's coming home (funny how that always happens just so) and I offer to pick her up at the train station. I like driving with her, spending even a few minutes on the way there and back; I long for her company and cutting the time apart short is usually a pleasure.

But she's in a mood, having neglected herself over the course of a day. She hasn't eaten, though she certainly could have at any time, and she's been circling in anger over something she doesn't even know, rubbed raw on something. Spiraling down into her own little world. She doesn't bother to stop it, though she certainly could at any time, it just doesn't occur to her to exercise her will in this area. It is as if she has chosen to be a victim of her own thoughts, given over control to something that hurts, for whatever reason. Perhaps a sense of power- she is a different person when she's angry.

To me, the difference is between looking at something in color, and looking at the same picture in black and white. When she is closed like this, there is nothing that can be done. I haven't seen this kind of change in anyone else, is it a personality disorder? Is there someone else, lurking inside her? I think there may be, I can see her come out from time to time, always in anger, when the spirit of the Muse leaves and this animalistic thing steps forward.

I say animal though it thinks it is a person, because it has no free will. It does not think, or consider, it responds on instinct. Its concern is only for the self, it only sees what it is conditioned to see. It acts according to pre-learned concepts, it takes nothing new, it learns nothing new. An animated biological machine. Souless.

I know these things because I can do these things. Disconnect my heart from my body, to do what needs doing. To seal off hurt or despair or overwhelming emotion. To close off self-analysis, to function in the heat of malfunction. It's a simple thing to learn really, all you need to do is be hurt by someone you love. Over and over and over again until disconnection is the only thing left that can save yourself from yourself. It is a hiding place, a refuge, a protective response by one part of the mind to serve as a shield for another.

Anger can be sacrificed, it is a self-generating emotion, built to be hurt and hit and take damage like no other emotion can. It can eat itself to survive, growing in its own consumption, and naturally blocks out all other feelings and connections- hurt, despair, sadness- but it is a double edged sword, and in blocking out other things also serves to stop ordinarily positive connections; compassion, patience, and empathy.

It is the weapon of choice when those 'positive' connections can be used against you. When compassion enables another to take emotional advantage, when patience enables tolerance for terrible behaivior, when empathy and understanding only returns hatred, disgust, or fear. Anger is in fact neutral; simply a tool that can be directed anywhere. It is a knife that cuts; the eye of an attacker, the tumors of the ill, the victim for thier money or their life. Anger weilded by a clumsy hand will always do more damage than good, anger held by a sharpened mind can be helpful or utterly devastating.

In the Muse, this way of thinking, this alternate personality, is a tangible thing within the Sight. It is an absence of color, a lack of personal radiation. I beleive I will call this thing Persephone, after the Greek myth who was kidnapped and held in hell. Persephone was starved, and so hungry she ate six pomegranate seeds, and in so doing, sealed her fate to return. This is the Muse, held in hell, and forced to return on occasion because at one point, she had to do what was needed to survive.

I often ask myself which one is which. Is the Muse held within the shell, or the shell within the Muse? Or are both contained within each other, the yin and yang of survival, polarized yet coexisting. I love the Muse, dearly, deeply. The Beast within me loves Persephone, who in being an animal, loves in his own distinctivly animalistic way. Do animals love? Is there something resonant beyond emotional being that can connect two creatures together?

The Muse and I delight in each other as human beings, but the others... When they meet, it is never in passion, but anger and distaste. They hurt, they rip, they claw. To disconnected to emotionally engage, but both an intricate part of the people they are attached to. And so they meet, they spar, they nurse their wounds. Because the people who hold them suffer the consequences of what the animals inside of us inflict.

So I pick up the Muse from the train station, and immediately see Persephone peeking around the edges. She hasn't stepped forward, shes just in the background, hovering, one hairsbreadth away. I ask if anything happened, the Muse says no. I ask if she's hungry, and she says she hasn't eaten all day. Occasionally, she can be sated if she's had something to eat. I don't know what the link is there, but hunger brings out survival, and she's less likely to switch out on a full stomach. So off we go to our friendly neighborhood restaurant.

Sometimes the Muse is just well, moody. Just like everybody else, really, and you can change a mood just like anybody else. Lighten it up, discuss something fun or interesting, all the little things that re-engage a person back into the world. But this time, something has gone wrong. Persephone is twisting every little thing to become more angry. The Muse doesn't even know she's doing it, but the animal is feeding inside of her. She starts to make sniping comments, insulting me directly. Accusing me of being dishonest in my intentions, questioning my motives, calling me a liar. This becomes like the depression spirals she used to get on medication, but again its different, this one is anger, not sadness.

A few more questions, a few more topics. A simple test to prove its not a normal mood, it is in fact something deeper, perhaps chemical, happening in her mind. Broken synapses, pathways that should lead somewhere but don't, being misdirected and used by the something inside of her. Persephone is growing by the second, tires of the game, and the Muse complies, telling me to be quiet.

The food arrives, but its too late. I'm not actually hungry, I've already eaten, like normal people do throughout the day. I've ordered to be polite. I put my arm around her waist, willing to wait it out, and she shrugs it off. She glares at me. A smoldering fire with no place to go.

There is nothing I can say that will help. It has already been decided that anything out of my mouth will be used against me. She doesn't want to be touched (which is extremly unusual for the Muse, but normal for Persephone, who, still in the background, is somehow calling all the shots) and so I am to do what?

Sit down, shut up, and foot the bill like a good boy? Pay someone for the 'privelige' of being treated unkindly? I'm already angry at her insults, and I don't want to play 'who's packing the bigger animal' in a room full of people. This is what I came for? Too much. She wants the ride, she wants the food, and she wants a whipping boy to make her feel better. An argument to finish off the building rage and bring out the animal so she can let it all go. Like it's her right. As if I am compelled to sit there and take it like a good little victim, be all bruised and banged up by her will because I am incapable of doing anything else. Because I, as a good person am obligated.

I offered the ride. I offered the meal. I offered my companionship. But my compassion is being used to take emotional advantage of me. My patience is being used against me to excuse terrible behaivor, and my understanding and empathy towards someone I love is returning nothing but distaste and disgust. And I have protections of my own. Hardwired, through years of abuse, just like hers.

Disconnection.

There is a difference between telling someone to go fuck themselves, and actually fucking someone over. One is a statement, and the other puts one into a bad situation.

In the case of a meal, non-payment is a bad situation. I decided it would be best to pay for the meal. One, because that is the classy thing to do, two, because being nice to someone who is being an asshole to you puts sand in their gears on a whole 'nother level, and three because in the language of wealth and wealthy families, money on the table says that you are above conflict in regards to the meal. The meal was to your satisfaction, the company was not.

This is the upper-class equivilant of flipping someone two birds on both hands while screaming in their face about what a fucking asshole they've been. The timing is unmistakable, the statement clear. One can speak with their body as much as with their mouths, take one from me and I always have another.

I sort of expected it to be left on the table as a tip. No self respecting person would ever actually touch that money if they could help it. That's the fourth burn, because although its right there, and the obligation has been covered, you cant actually make use of it. It mocks the recipient, because you couldn't be in that situation without an unspoken obligation taking place; you would have to have taken something or someone for granted for the gesture to have an impact, and the measure of the impact is a direct statement towards their guilt. The madder they get the guiltier they are, and the guiltier they are the madder they get.

If you were completely innocent, you'd just think buddy was being nice about it, that these things happen, and use it to pay for your meal. It only effects the guilty, and only to the measure of their guilt. Justice in a single serving.

And I left, taking my vehicle with me. Now to be clear, I knew that buses were still running, and she would have at least cash or her pass to get home, ensuring that she had her bag and her wallet etc. I don't think I'd have done such a thing at night, but then, I didn't really expect her to come home that night either. I figured she'd stay at a friends, and maybe (or maybe not) call in the morning. At the time I didn't care. I'm not about to be with someone who treats me like that on a consistant basis, and if she didn't see the error of her ways, then that behaivior would continue. So if she thought about it and decided she was still in the right, then its best to just let her go.

Cold. Very cold. Thinking about relationships under a disconnect is a bad plan. God forbid you should act rashly on something, and then be forced to pick up the pieces when you chill out and get your emotions back. After I chilled out for a bit and got my emotions back, I decided there was probably a better, more humane way to handle the situation. But too late, what's done is done.

As it turns out, she came home not long after. Just to grab a few items and leave, I think. Persephone in full form. I figured as much. She had been banging at the walls for hours, and I really do think she just needed time out in the open. I apologized for being a dick, but explained that it was a reaction to the way she had been treating me. I think she saw the light- the Muse began peeking, hoping.

If you force a consideration, she has to switch. An animal cannot consider things. It can go over options, lay out a course of action, respond on an instinctive level- but cannot excercise its free will, the decisions one makes that relate to connections with other people. Considering the connections forces the mind to be able to understand what those connections, what those emotions actually mean, and an animal cannot understand them. So the Muse returns, emotion sets in, apologies are taken and recieved. Persephone is tired, her six seeds spent, and the Muse is allowed to exist without further interference. Exhausted, physically and mentally, she sleeps.

Sometimes you can put out a fire. Sometimes you can't. All you can do is make it burn so brightly that it consumes itself and goes out.

I love her both ways and always, harshly and gently. Many things done, many things learned. Next time, it will be easier. Tumultuous, but progressing. Everything changes.