• Who Doesn’t Hear Whom?

    by  • June 21, 2015 • * Safe for Work *, To You • 0 Comments

    I don’t hear you, so you say.

    She doesn’t hear me, you tell your therapist. Your therapist, who can’t help me hear you, because your therapist doesn’t hear any truth about me.

    She doesn’t hear me, you tell your real friends. Your real friends, who can’t help me hear you, because they only hear what gets them what they want of you.

    She doesn’t hear me, you tell total strangers. She doesn’t hear me, you tell your co-workers. She doesn’t hear me, you tell your mother. She doesn’t hear me, you tell your muse. She doesn’t hear me, you tell L.I.N.S.

    She doesn’t hear me, you tell your favorite misanthrope. Your favorite misanthrope, who won’t help me hear you, because only he wants you all to himself to make you sound like he tells you to.

    She doesn’t hear me, you tell yourself. You don’t hear yourself.

    To be sure, there have been far too many times when you have been too right, when I didn’t hear you, because I didn’t want to. Over and over and over I refused to hear the crude lies you were telling everyone else about me, even after I had to hear them spread to my family and friends, even after I had to hear you repeat them yourself to my face. I wanted to believe you wouldn’t say such things, so I didn’t let myself hear.

    And over and over I refused to hear you telling me to leave you alone, to stop bothering you, to never even let on to anyone that I had ever loved you, until you nearly had to beat it into me that you wanted me gone, dead and gone. I wanted to believe you wouldn’t quit on me, so I didn’t let myself hear.

    And I refused to hear you talking to anyone who would listen about what a waste of your time I am and how happy you are to be rid of me and how worthless a piece of shit I am and how not only that, but I don’t ever hear you. I wanted to believe I would never have to hear that you think of me as nothing more than a mistake. So I didn’t let myself hear.

    Oh, but there were many times I have heard you loud and clear. Like, when I came under attack for standing up for you, come to find out that you couldn’t return the favor and stand up for me, because you had been behind the attack. I heard your silence, quite clearly.

    And like, when my children were crudely insulted while you stood by laughing, not so surprising since you had instigated the insults. I heard your laughter, unmistakably so.

    And remember, I have looked you in the eye, and I heard the name you have for me echo into every sound I have ever heard.

    Is there supposed to be something your heart wants to say to me over all the attacks and insults your tongue has blurted out, beyond all the silences and demands against me, something I’m supposed to have heard that you think I need to drill a hole through my ears to be able to figure out differently than all the dirt I have heard? Like those pleasing words I did once hear you reheasing on me? Yeah, I heard all that too. Plus, what you were telling everyone else about it behind my back.

    Here’s a suggestion. Next time you want to tell someone that I don’t hear you, say out loud what you think it is I’m not hearing, record that on your phone or computer, then play it back to yourself as many times as you think I’ve not heard it. Maybe you’ll hear yourself, for a change.

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