Today I Woke Up and Bled Brown Blood
reflections on venus retro
March 20, 2017 ~ Demetra Szatkowski
I hand you my pain one piece at a time
sometimes all at once
messy unsure convolutedness
And you make sense of it
and hand myself back to me
Venus in my first house. Venus in my house of self. Venus saying, who are you, how do you relate to yourself, how do you see yourself, how do you let others see you.
Today I woke up and bled brown blood.
Today I woke up and realized I do not know how to be happy.
Today I realized that I fucking adore when there are problems
because then I need to solve them.
What would I do in my life, if I weren’t constantly fixing what was wrong?
This morning I looked at my underwear and realized it was mid-cycle and googled and connected dots and decided I probably no definitely had cancer because I ignored an abnormal pap smear a long time ago and never went back
and it is Sunday so I cannot call
I became jealous because there were men who cheated on me
I felt hurt because there were men who didn’t care and
I reacted as if you were them because my body could not remember the difference
I hand these things to you
In October I met a man who showed me that I was just as valuable as everyone older than me, everyone I admired, everyone I thought I could never match. He showed me that I am powerful. He showed me that connections exist that transcend both time and physical-ness. That reality isn’t just what I can see.
Really he showed me there are infinite possibilities.
Drinks and hours of speaking, of remembering
Twice, I came. He held me and I thought about magic
And then I never saw him again
Because at some point reality hit and a switch flipped with a fierceness that scared me and I thought no, world, some connections are meant for only one night. Some connections serve their purpose
He texted me today, Venus retrograde.
I didn’t respond because I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to talk to him at all
The thought exists among some, that who we are is not a thing
That there is no need to worry about my idea of myself, because ‘myself’ is not something that can be pinned down.
That this thing, this thing-that-is-not-a-thing, is always,
Sometimes I feel like the world is crashing down all around me. Sometimes I lay in bed miserable and drowning in blackness and I am hungry but don’t want to feed myself and am tired but cannot sleep. Sometimes I worry that everybody I love will die and sometimes my body gets hurt or grows disease or my skin breaks out. Sometimes I feel sad and ugly and insecure and sure that nothing will ever fully work out the way I want it to and I become tired of the whole world.
My unconscious says: these things are easier. They are better because I am protected; when things go wrong I will be prepared.
I always knew that would happen, I will say, and then I will fix it and feel good about myself, because I am good at fixing things.
If I had nothing to obsess over I might have to discover if I am good at other things. I would not have any excuse for failure. And if I am purely joyful I might not be ready when everything is taken away from me.
Silky strands of hair spiral down my back
I feel your mouth touch my head
I am wrapped in you
You have all of me.
And I don’t know how to hold so much pure happiness all at once
so I cry instead
and you pull me closer
I hand it all to you