Just a Dollar Bill

There was a ring made out of a dollar bill sitting on the table this afternoon and it was starting to fall apart. After deciding to put it back in my wallet, I took it apart and attempted to flatten out the creases. For some reason, the reality that I would not be able to make the bill look as nice as it had before I folded it struck me as slightly tragic… and all of a sudden, I felt like the dollar bill.

Before my last relationship, I was a nice, fairly new dollar bill with just a folded corner or two. I was naïve and hopeful. When I was in the relationship, I was all folded up and feeling special because I was in the shape of a ring; I was wanted; I was valuable.

I was so happy to be a ring that I didn’t notice all the folds that had been made; all the ways that I had compromised to make him happy; slowly choosing to change my own preferences so that they more closely met up with his. I thought I was being healthy and cooperative within my relationship, but most of those folds represented pieces of myself that I had pushed away.

Though I began the process of tearing the ring apart years ago as I searched for the pieces of myself that had been cast aside, it is only now that I discover how impossible it is to truly smooth out the creases. Their indentation remains.

I may be a dollar bill again, but though my worth is unchanged, I’m not the same as I once was. The creases make me timid because they now know what it feels like to be folded the wrong way, and they are sensitive to and wary of people who sound similar to the previous crease-maker.

Sometimes I wonder if there really is someone who will know the right folds to make, and will respect the creases that I warn him about.

I’m tired of being just a dollar bill.

The Wound

I have a wound. It happened a long time ago... I don't even remember when... or how... or why. Just a nudge and I was bruised inside. The nudgings continued by those around me and soon the wound began to grow... I was slowly internally bleeding... I felt the pain but it was so minor and so constant that I counted it as normal and ignored it.

Soon I found that my pain, though dull, could be masked by the giddy feelings of a crush or the attentions of a guy... even just a friend... so I started dating one of those friends. Things went well and then he nudged me and the pain came rushing back... again I started dating a friend and I learned to rationalize the severity of my pain so well that I didn't even know that's what I was doing everytime I was nudged by him.

Soon, I wasn't myself anymore... how can you really be yourself when you're so completely blinded by the pain that you can't even see yourself anymore? And then, only with the help of my personal nurse, I pushed him away... I didn't even really understand all the reasons why at the time, but I did it... and he pushed back. He pushed and stabbed and the wound broke open before I realized that I needed to be further away from him to be safe. I couldn't believe it... I just couldn't believe that my insides were exposed and I was in pain... soo much pain.

So I called for the doctor and he let the shock wear off and then gave me morphine to dull the pain. He insisted at the time that it would be too much of a strain on my body to operate at that moment... but in time, I would need extensive surgery to repair the damage. All he could do in the mean time was to keep my blood supply regular and help me rest as the scales came off my eyes and I began to see myself again.

I've walked around with an IV of painkillers for over a year, now, and every once in a while the pain comes rushing back... it even happened just this past week: I was just hanging out with my friends and all of a sudden, one of them said something that transported me right back to it all, and I almost went into shock all over again.

But the doctor tells me I'm strong enough, now, and its time to operate or I won't continue to heal. But everytime he hands me the release form, I tell him about my theory for my own treatment and recovery. And I ignore him as he shakes his head and walks away again... knowing that everyday I push it all back in where I can't see it, wrap a bandage around it so that it won't come out again, and walk out of the hospital trying to go on with my life like everyone around me...

Because I'm hoping that surgery isn't necessary... that there's another way... another person that will help my body heal itself. And I'm scared. I'm scared that the pain of the surgery will be too much for me... that it will be worse than when it all erupted in the first place, and I don't want to re-live any of that pain...

But as I walk around attempting to lead a normal life, all it takes is a memory to nudge me and I'm lost in the pain again, so I yell to the doctor for help.

The doctor will come back again and again in response to my cries. I'll start talking about my wound and I'll get all worked up and yell and cry about why this happened... and how someone could have done this to me... and how unfair it is that I'm still in so much pain. And then the doctor will offer me the consent forms again, explaining in a comforting voice that the surgery, though painful, is the only thing that will help me heal...

So what will I say to him this time?