What rejection? It wouldn’t dare enter this sterile world I’ve created. Not when I’m wearing a big condom around my head. That’ll protect me: I’m safe from anthrax; exiled Saudi princes; the man behind me walking through an airport without his shoes on; bacteria; maybe it will even pixillate my residence on Google Earth. I’m not sure about that one, but damn, it ought to work against garden-variety rejection.
I’ve disqualified myself from rejection. Before anyone has the chance to reject me I just wipe myself away. I don’t care so much, really—so clever. When rejection sneaks up on me from behind, I whirl around, chase it up the hall, slam the door shut and RUN in the opposite direction.
Rejection: He didn’t love me any more. He even made me stop loving him. Loss, emptiness and, ahh…. relief—rejection’s silver lining. Relief that finally the old dead stinking rotten thing I was clinging to finally broke apart into brittle chunks of dust in my hand. It was disgusting. My clothes became soiled with the mildew and rot and I was left sneezing stinking particles, but finally I was rid of the old thing, years after I should have plunked it into the garbage and have done with it. Rejection/relief entwined.
Rejection: Not rejection in so many words, mind you. Rather, the glower of disapproval, the glottal of discomfort, shoulder of rigidity, eye of annoyance and four quarts unavailability. Add tears and you’ve got a pretty commonplace heartbreak soup. I detected rejection in every sigh, every lack of enthusiasm, every depressive response. You know, a lot of it was just him; it really wasn’t all about me.
Rejection: I smelled it in the air like a gas leak. Once it’s in your nose it’s everywhere. Sometimes I was looking in the mirror. That’s projection–a clever cousin. Criticism, projection or mischaracterization—whatever it was—eventually it blighted every plant in the garden. Words, feelings, interpretations all seemed to come from this incompatible place. I couldn’t breathe.
Rejection: You are so wonderful. In the bright rich light of your love, I become more and more wonderful too. Strains and gouges heal. I fill back into myself. I’m becoming a swan. What? You wanted a duckling? I’m too big? too flamboyant? too loud? I laugh too much?
No, my beloved, I’m just the right size. I cannot contort myself to make you a world you could not make for yourself. I’ll take rejection, thank you.
Rejection: Who isn’t haunted by the roaches that creep through the brain’s kitchen at 4 a.m.? I couldn’t see and create myself when no one else even bothered to see me. So I signed up for some expensive coursework. You can’t cram for exams at the School of Hard Knocks. They grade on attendance and participation. You have to show up over and over and over again. Rejecting rejection–Magna Cum Laude.