I’ve developed this compulsion of obsessively searching through my hair and snipping individual split ends. The practice in itself isn’t harmful, but (as anything) when driven to excess it can be detrimental. I spent hours obsessing over my strands, eyes transfixed, unable to pull myself away, while R worked on his laptop. After an hour, he warned me, firmly but full of gentle nurturing.
"You’ve been doing that for a long time, sweetheart. You should do something else. Didn’t you want to sew?"
I nodded in agreement, and we continued for a while. When his attention drifted away from our conversation and he noted that I’d been performing the compulsion for two hours, he commanded me to stop. I placed my scissors down for a moment to do something else, and when I reached for them again they were gone. I glared at him.
"You took my scissors!"
"I told you to stop. You didn’t listen." The gentle, nurturing tone had vanished from his voice now, though he was not cruel. But he’d issued his command.
"But. Ughhh. Noooo…" I whined, hopelessly running my hands through my hair. Frustrated with my defeat but ultimately knowing he’s right.
"If you develop a habit of trimming your split ends when you’re anxious, you’ll start seeing them when they aren’t there and then you’ll be upset that you’ve cut half of your hair off. Find something constructive to do."
You are the perfect balance. I have tried and failed with many a partner to find this fluidity. You are gentle, empathetic, nurturing, protective. Your voice can be reassuring and loving, and in the previous partners who have shown me these traits, they have crumbled into dust like fragile porcelain under the illnesses weight. My sweet sickly Simon is overbearing, controlling and demanding, and those who submit to him are consumed twice over and regurgitated again until they are nothing but bile and blackness. You possess the naturally aggressive, dominating, and just an ounce controlling nature to bind me up and blindfold me when his howling sounds the loudest. You deserve, where many of your predecessors did not, to be protected from my monster’s bite. You are far too strong to be eaten alive, and when you see him looking through my eyes, you know what to ask of me when all I can see or feel or taste is empty. Simon is biting, gnawing, hacking, burning. And you ask for kindness and gentleness and connection, to be close to the part of me that is not diseased by doubt. Without even trying, you soothe the endless questioning in my head. Your needs for connection and affection soothe his doubt and drag me back, and I am yours, all yours.
“I celebrate the day that you changed my history of life and death
You are my liberty
I celebrate the day
That you changed my history of
Life and death
Will always lead you into love and regret
But you have answers
And I have the key for the door to Bernadette.”