“The black widow, who had dispatched a lover or two, was sought out for her wisdom. The young spider asked her, “Did you keep his harmful secret under the threat of danger, or did you spin a web so confusing that he didn’t know if you were friend or foe? Did you release him from the web and your presence or will you give another the venom in which to finish him?” The black widow was quiet and then said, “All of the above.”
―Donna Lynn Hope
I can’t sleep. Again. My mind is racing. As always.
I’ve been working non-stop lately. I both love and hate it.
Things. . . are becoming too. . . complicated for my liking. Long story short, I really almost broke the boundaries in place between friends. I had the almost perfect night. It was scary and exhilarating. I felt as if I had shed almost every confine that I could think of, except the basic ones. I felt as if I had become what is commonly known as the Id in Freudian psychoanalytic theory. I was all desires and wants, no thought of consequences. I was also drunk off my ass.
Now. . . . I can’t help but feel cut open and vulnerable. I feel as if I had bared my soul that night and left it out for all to see. I feel naked, seen. I always felt that I was always lurking in the shadows, in the periphery, wanting yet detesting the atttention of others. Well, I got it. But now I want the eyes to look away. But what’s been seen can’t be unseen.
I feel as if a certain friendship is at risk. How is that even in such a drunken state, I knew in my heart of hearts that I was in love with Batman? Nothing happened that night except I talked too much, opened up a little too much.
I don’t know what I want. I crave freedom and peace as if they were drugs. How I wish that I could buy them. I’d go broke for just a moment of both. I had that that night. Reality came crashing in the next day. Now, I can’t get that night out of my head. I was more me that I’ve ever been. Isn’t that what we all want, to discover and be ourselves? But at what price? With everything in life, there is a price.
I discovered something else about myself that I’m ashamed to admit. I feel like a black widow with a specific preference. I prefer men with issues, damage, baggage. Superman is a perfect example of my specific preference. I’ll even admit that what initially atttacted me to him was that he resembled Batman in some regard. I was looking for a substitute Batman. I received so much more than that in return.
Now, I guess I’m just looking for someone to keep my lonley thoughts at bay. That someone, however, could never be my bestfriend. Once that friendship is destroyed, there’s no going back from that. Somethings, some connections, you don’t destroy, risk, or put in jeopardy. I did that and I can’t forgive myself for it, even if said friend could. I don’t want him to be another fly in my web.
“What these men do not know about me, though… is a black widow dangling by herself on a single thread… is a deadly thing. A really dangerous thing.”