Nov. 11th, 2013

underthewillows: (Default)
So. Ahem. This popped up on my Tumblr dash and I sort of, maybe, a bit, went off on it.

Obligatory disclaimers: Don't know the person what wrote this. Don't know nothing 'bout nothing. Just fed-up to the back teeth with smarmy self-justification in the name of 'romance' *loud spitting noise here*

What if, in another universe, you are not a dickhead? (And yes, even if you're a girl, you can still be a dickhead).

Never, in any universe of the multiverse, in any conceiveable or inconceiveable universe, will I love where I do not will to love.

Never will I “imagine a universe where we’re happy”. This is the universe we get to be happy in; if we’re not, then we’re not.

There is no “deserve”. There is no “meant to be”. There is our yes, our no. My yes, my no. Your yes, your no.

And if you say “Yes” while I say “No”, then that is the way it is. If you say "No" while I say "Yes", then that is the way it is. There is what happened. There is now. There is what will come next. There are no fifty billion other places where you did not fuck it up.

Tell me to imagine countless universes together where we might have been, then tell me those universes are the ones where we were, and I will tell you “No” and “No” again, and once again “No”.

Because what you tell me is not “Maybe I screwed up this time.” Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t, maybe it was my fault, maybe it was both our faults, maybe it wasn’t anyone’s fault in particular, it just did not work.

But that is not what you are saying. What you are saying is that in this universe, our universe, our one universe, you don't “deserve” me and that I am guilty, I am to blame, it is my fault. I'm just too good for you, you had to resent me. I make you feel bad for not being good enough, so really, isn't it all my fault you couldn't stay?

After all, you are the one saying “yes, if only”, are you not? So what if in this universe you’re a jerk, in a gazillion other universes you condescended to say “yes”, not “no”.

So all I can do against your feeling of ownership is say my “No” again and again and again.

Because why, by the Seven Gates of that realm Ereškigal rules, do you imagine a multiverse where my only answer is "Yes"? Do I never say "No" in any of these other universes? Is there no world where my pride, my coldness, my distance, my desire do not break us apart? Where I do not take off without a word to anyone, like a migratory bird driven by the desperation of instinct? Where I refuse love and children?

How nice for you.

Because in no conceiveable or inconceiveable universe of the multiverse do you or anyone “deserve” me or anyone else.

I don’t need the consolatory pat on the head of “Sorry, champ, win some, lose some”. I don’t need you to patronise me. In this universe, you didn’t want love/home/family/me. Fine. Don’t insult me by saying “It’s not you, it’s me”.

If you can’t or don’t want this, that’s your choice. But choose this or reject this, it’s not about “deserving”. I’m not a saint. I’m not a martyr. I’m not a prize. Don’t talk down to me about how humble and meek you are, Uriah Heep.

Because in this universe, our one universe, you’re not humble. You’re proud of your flaws - oh, look how special you are, your suffering is such you can’t be ordinary like the mundanes who settle down with a lover and a child! Oh, how sensitive you are, that you know my life is ruined (but why is it ruined? Just because you don't love me? How fragile do you think my life is, that that would ruin it?) when you reject me! Oh, how you make it all okay by telling me somewhere else you are “good” enough to “deserve” me because I’m such a trophy to be won.

Go to Japan if you want to: who's stopping you? I'll go to Greece, or Atlantis, or Khazad-dûm.

And if Japan isn't what you wanted, that's the way it is. Don't console yourself at my expense that hey, you can dream about second chances.

Because you don't want a second chance. You want me to say "I'm letting you off the hook for being a selfish jerk".

Sorry. I own my anger as you own your resentment. Mine is the cold, slow, grinding anger of the Ice Age that turned mountains to rubble, increment by unstoppable, unceasing increment. My grudges last as long as granite. Match your security fence, that you can "turn on and off", against my battlements? My barriers have no off-switch.

You talk of coldness? I'll match the glacier in my heart against anyone's. My heart is a cold grey stone from the bottom of a river over which the sloe-black water has flowed.

You speak of pride? I have the pride of a dragon. I have the pride that caused the greatest of all created beings to fall in a ruin of thunderstorm and meteor strike so that the land rushed away appalled from the impact site.

How dare you think that this cotton-candy bribe for a crying toddler will slake my appetite?

No, you don’t deserve me. You can never deserve me. And simply saying “yes” isn’t deserving. (A "yes" that is "yes, if I could have my own way in everything and you fit in with me" is not even a "yes". A "yes" that is "yes, elsewhere in impossibilities but not here, because I am too much else for here" is your contempt, not your love).

I am myself; I am my own. This is my universe. Go to your own, if you don’t like it.
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