“My Light is Rising” Fiction. Based on a True Misunderstanding.

“You’ve only seen my night self and haven’t seen who I am when the dawn rises.”

by K.E.A.

“My Light is Rising”

Fiction. Based on a True Misunderstanding.

by Jin

This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

Maybe those words will speak to you when mine couldn’t. You always went on about what an amazing writer I am and yet for all that, I never did seem to get my point across. I would talk round and round in circles, and your eyes, maybe some of the time they followed the pattern in a cursory way, but oftentimes they just stared straight ahead, glazed, unseeing. The way mine would glaze over when you talked about jazz fusion. Those great big beautiful blue eyes.

Remember that tandem bike ride we took in the park? At the end you said, “That was fun!” And looked quite pleased, refreshed, like oh, thank god, we can have fun together! But the whole time I was cursing you in my mind shut up shut up I don’t want to hear about Debussy or Ravel or some obscure score and how Scriabin died from a pimple, didn’t I hear enough of that in school? Dear god why am I here, why am I with you why can’t I just enjoy our time together why don’t I like you?

You are a wonderful listener. You sit there with your clear blue eyes, staring into my soul, making me squirm and flush. “Tell me everything,” you’d say. That was in the good times, of course. But when it came to the moment when it really mattered, you couldn’t hear me. You had formed your own judgements and refused to listen.

And all I could hear in my head was this unspoken word crazy—don’t you understand this is not who I am? That this is not who we are, even? That I can’t fucking help it?

“You’ve only seen my night self and haven’t seen who I am when the dawn rises.”

Or at least, that’s the only part of me that you choose to see now. “I’m afraid you’re crazy.” Scrawled on that piece of paper that we later burned, and what did it come to? Nothing. The words may as well be etched below my left eyebrow. Right below, where the vein pulses, the migraines hit. Written in that tiny, playfully imperceptible script I used as a child, carefully concealed just beneath my unplucked eyebrow hairs. As if my child self had written it there to taunt me. I’m afraid you’re crazy. I suppose I didn’t have to ask.

You’re a tattler. And I feel bad for you. You just don’t know what to do with those hard emotions. No one does, really. Maybe what you fear in me, you fear it because you see it in yourself.

I feared your judgment. Your impassive face, clear blue eyes, sitting in Waldo’s chair, legs crossed, arms spread, peering down at me, and me on my knees, sobbing desperately into your lap. Was it that image that made you wonder? Was it when I would throw things, “in anger?” Apparently, emotion expressed was terrifying to you. If anything, that is something I do well. What you don’t realize is that in doing so, I am healing.

I am a supremely emotional being. I am the queen of anger, of anxiety, of depression, and even of insanity, because anything I do, anything I feel, I must take it to the extreme. Don’t you understand that about me by now?

In giving up, it truly felt as though you were giving up on me. It told me implicitly, real or imagined, that you didn’t believe anymore. Not in me, not in you, not in us. In fact, you used those words. I was asking you to wait. Wait, wait, this isn’t me, I’m changing, I’m searching, I’m finding, I’m losing, I’m moving forward and backwards and everywhere in-between, I don’t know which way’s up but let me assure you that the very last thing I’m doing is standing still.

In stepping away, you showed disgust. A loss of hope. The believe that I’d never change. I’d never “get better.” Imagine the hurt that comes from having the person you love most in the world lose hope in you? I had not yet found hope in myself! My hope was you! My hope was in the way I could tilt your head just ever so slightly to make your eyes level with each other. “There. Now is that better?”

And now, what I mean to say is that you didn’t believe in my light rising. But you don’t have to.

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