Oms and Resistance

He resists me as I resist him, a periodic struggle of two separate wills. Yet my desire still is to gravitate toward him as if we were ironically on opposite poles. When we are, we cling together like we were made to be that way. When we are moving forward, it’s magnetic and powerful. I feel this energy when we’re close, like we’re spinning and everything else is still. I try to break away, just so I can gain some proper ground, but I find myself still dizzy from the heat of it all; it’s almost too much to bear.

I try to meditate, to calm my soul and my mind. Om, the mantra, the beat of my heart in my ears. It brings me back to the tantra, and how it feels like I’m giving a part of me and my energy, yet still gaining some in return. I’ve never felt that, where I get back what I receive. I’m STILL not sure that’s the case but I feel like it is. The polar-opposite of that feeling is an awful feeling, like the day I said no to a connection that I couldn’t deny. Something that strong must surely be bad for me. Why not simply stick to what I know? I thought it was safe, but I was wrong.

No one else truly understands why I do the things that I do, they only speculate, while I guard my most tender parts of me in order not to break. He’s the only place I do feel safe. Lying there, in his arms, I feel like nothing else could ever harm me. I think that’s what they mean by women looking for men that are like their fathers. It’s not an Elektra thing, it’s that feeling of calm. It’s where that big, strong man can chase all your demons away, were they to ever decide to come for you.

So why put any pressure on it and cause resistance? I know that I’ve gone the self-destructive path more times than not and I know that it doesn’t lead to growth. No matter where it goes, my heart will be changed. I’d rather be present for the moment and be grateful that I have experienced it for once in my life. I can walk away but I’m drawn back, that nagging whisper in my heart, urging me to return. I hate it. I adore it. It makes me nauseous and giddy at the same time.

It makes me almost angry to feel this vulnerable but also light as a feather. I feel the weight, of every burden, lift as we breathe. I feel our movement, our hearts as drums, thumping out a rhythm that only we can hear. It’s frightening to feel that, and I didn’t know how to say what I’ve written but only know how to show how it makes me feel. A part of me doesn’t even want to post this, and the other part wants to hold it close, like a keepsake. I was just fine. I thought I was just fine. I wasn’t. I’m not.

Author: jessicaambateman

I am a survivor of childhood abuse on the verge of speaking out. I have waited my whole life to have the luxury of spilling my guts and blogging is going to become part of that journey.

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