When the Circus Leaves Town

two-trapeze-artists-underwood-archives

I’m sorry I don’t want to fuck. You’re a good man, and I love you. I remember when we began—I’d come over in the evenings to watch a rental movie, and we wouldn’t even make it half way through, because kissing always steered us toward the bedroom. We’d stay up until four in the morning, then report to work at our respective jobs on three hours sleep, hungover on beer, and circus sex. Circus sex, I remember fondly.

We were married in 2013, after four years of award winning circus sex; and around that time, I began to complain of wide spread physical pain and fatigue, migraines, and anxiety, in addition to a slew of other inexplicable ailments.

December 31, 2014: I’ll never forget the alarm in your eyes as you watched me crumble to the floor in sudden agony, on my way back to the living room from the kitchen. Thank fuck I was drunk, or else the fall would have hurt a lot more upon impact. We both wondered aloud about the number of things that could have caused me such stunning pain…but it was New Year’s Eve, and we were fucking blotto, so as soon as I insisted that I was fine, we continued on like it was the end of the world.

I’d been working at the hospital since 2012, and I was well-liked across all departments. I always have prided myself on my ability to make genuine friends, because genuine friends are so hard to come by. If not for the relationships I had built, maybe I wouldn’t have landed in the E.R. three times in one month while on the clock; it was because of those men and women who cared about me that I was sat in a wheelchair, removed from my department, and pushed down to the E.R. in great haste.

In 2014, at the age of 36, I was diagnosed with several herniated lumbar discs, spinal stenosis, and arthritis. In 2015, I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, and severe bilateral arthritis of the hips. I had a total right hip replacement in February, 2017—my left hip is quickly deteriorating, and will soon require surgery.

Due to my chronic pain, I finally had to quit work mid-2015. I’m lucky you like me, sincerely. You’re a goddamned saint, standing tall by my side. Because I’ve not been easy to live with these past few years, and the hit against our income has certainly caused significant hardship. I’m happy to say that the lack of money has not impacted our friendship, and the harmony of our household. I am sad to say that my illnesses have forced the circus out of town. You must be gentle in bed…and gentle is nice, but I do miss our days of acrobatics. When I’m in the mood, that is. Medication, physical agony, and my lack of self-esteem has hampered my libido.

And now, my mother is dead. Yet another reason I don’t feel sexy; it’s difficult to get in the mood when I’m consumed with the absence of her—the woman who grew me inside of her body, and pushed me out through her vagina. Her vagina! How can I think of fucking when I’m occupied by thoughts of my dead mother’s vagina? How can I think of fucking when I’m consumed by the memory of her face, her voice, her smile, and her scent? Every second of quiet, I hear her voice—she says one thing or another that I’ve heard a thousand times. Mostly. There are some things I hear that she’d only said to me once, when I was young.

One thing I awkwardly remember is when she was talking to me about sex—I was sixteen years old—she said, “Once you have it, you will always need it.”

I guess my mother didn’t consider my emotions—how I’d feel after she’d stopped breathing. She was only explaining her own behavior. Because my mother never lacked a lay, believe me. She was one of those women who always had a lineup of men willing to spill their own blood to experience one night in her bed.

Don’t misread me. I’m not proud of my mother’s promiscuity. In fact, it was a source of major embarrassment during our trailer park days at Contaminated Manor. My mother had garnered quite the reputation for dating men with money. That’s not entirely impressive, considering the men with “money” also lived inside, or near the trailer park, which was a cesspool of lice and booze.

The circus has left town; I’m sorry I don’t want to fuck as often as you’d like, but thankful for your patience and understanding. I don’t have to over-explain anything to you. You’re my best friend, and when I settle into your arms—hear your heart beating against your chest—I know your heart beats for only me.

 

image: Fine Art America

27 thoughts on “When the Circus Leaves Town

  1. Your honesty is beautiful and I envy that candour…but I’m so sorry you’re in pain, in all the ways that you do hurt. I love the sound of Jim, I’ve told you this. I love that he loves you the way he does. ❤

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Jim is the kindest man. I’ve never trusted a man so fully–but there is something so special about my husband. And he adores his mother, so that’s another plus. He has the utmost respect for women. He never questions me–my reasons for my reasoning–he trusts me as much as I trust him. ❤

      Liked by 2 people

  2. Men who love their mum are always keepers. Despite not seeing my boy for so long, I have no doubt that he loves me, and that’s why he can love her so completely.

    The way that YOU love your family is what endears me to you too. You’re special too, K.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Oh Kindra! This moved me to tears! I knew about your fibromyalgia, I didn’t realise about all of the other. I have had one herniated disc and that was enough! I really feel for you. And I am so happy you and Jim have each other. It sounds very much you deserve each other! ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I read this with the feeling of being an uncomfortable spectator. I appreciate that it is up to the individual reader to choose to enter writers’ blogs, and that also they can choose to leave any time they wish, but it is necessary to experience the discomfort before making the decision to leave. I chose to read this in its entirety despite the disease it put me at. I then closed my tablet and slept. Now here I am in the morning re-reading and commenting on your words, the honesty and purity of which has accentuated the visceral reaction that I experienced last night when I first encountered them. This is the very response I understand to be the goal of my own limited attempts at writing. As such, Kindra, I’m pleased to say I have discovered another writer in you that stands as a benchmark against which I will gauge my writing. The purity of your words; the very thing I found initially uncomfortable, is the very essence I will one day, hopefully, manage to emulate. Thank you for having the strength to share words such as these. I am still afraid of, and therefore governed by, the very aspects of my life that I know I can benefit from facing head on, and with the tacit support of writers such as yourself I know this is a hurdle I will eventually conquer.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Shaun, it is comments like yours here that reaffirm my commitment to bare honest writing. Thank you so much for reading this difficult piece, and taking the time to construct such a thoughtful response. First and foremost, I write for myself, as is it therapeutic, and what is a very close second is the desire to forge connections with others. Keep on writing and telling your truths. I’m sending you love and good vibes.

      ❤ Kindra

      Liked by 1 person

  5. Kindra, reading this post was like going on a rollercoaster ride–you’re not sure what’s coming next but when you finish it is exhilarating. Thank you for your brilliant honesty and truth. You’re amazing!

    Like

  6. Kindra– there is so much of your story that I didn’t know before I read this. I am filled with sadness, awe, love and respect (sometimes simultaneously) as I experience this through your brutally honest writing.
    I know a little bit of what it is like to constantly be engaged in a war with the basilisk of chronic pain and chronic illness while maintaining a sense of humor and your humanity– you are truly one the fiercest warriors I know and an an incredible inspiration.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Christine, you dear heart with a blazing fire inside! Thank you. Thank you for your kindness, your inspiration, dedication, truth, friendship…

    I love you endlessly. ❤

    Like

    1. You are so kind. Thank you for reading, and leaving such a thoughtful comment. I’m happy to know that my words and experiences can touch others. It makes us all feel less alone. Peace and good vibes to you. ❤

      Liked by 1 person

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