The problem with fierce conversations–when you go for the truth instead of pleasing someone–is that there is this pressure and ache in the chest.  What is it about the truth of a situation that seems so hurtful–inside and then spewing outside?

I guess it’s that there is that core fear of being unloved, disrespected.  Along with the hysterical lie that telling the truth is rude.  There certainly is a fine line between “You look like shit” to “You look tired.”  Or saying “I just don’t like you any more, go away,” and a more strung out carefully trod excruciating talk about how different the both of you are, distance, loss of affection, yada yada, yada.

I guess it’s those old cultural rules again.  If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.  Be pleasant. etc.  They all seem to support the very hallmarks of dysfunction: Don’t feel.  Don’t talk.  And don’t talk about your feelings.

Thank goodness, godness, grace and the angels that I can speak my feelings to you, to Her, to the clicking keys.  Like the prayer says: “In the mirroring light of my love, you are revealed.”  Me to me, She to me, Me to Her, to you, to Me and back again to the endless Divine.