[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in
[ << Previous 20 ]
[ << Previous 20 ]
|Monday, January 5th, 2015|
It's been a while since I've had a night to myself. A night where the only spoken words I uttered were lullabies of love in rhythm with the drumming of my toes to my slumbering girl's snores and on pace with my gentle strokes along my baby boy's back. A night where I felt like I was getting away with something by having popcorn for dinner and letting my wet hair dry in unruly waves rioting over my shoulders. I used to spend these nights with a bottle of wine and a movie to watch that I knew would end with blurry eyes and smudgy glasses, usually one that has won many Sundance Film Festival awards and has only actors that are minor celebrities at best. And tonight I did exactly that, but I found myself slightly thrown.
With so much repetitious familiarity it was disorienting to find myself a stranger to my once expected mindset. The checklist was all marked accordingly: alcohol, smothered by my babies, a touching movie with a stylized love story, a theme of getting older and life presenting a different less glamorous path than was promised by our bedtime stories and over-protective parents. Except there was one obvious change. You.
These past two months have been the happiest of my life, without exception. I know it would in the most classic of ways have defeated the purpose if you could have known me before I met you, but I was a lost romantic on the search for a love that I was dangerously close to believing was all a lie and a scam invented by cleverly gifted lyricists and lighting directors of chick flicks. For agonizing years of my life I longed for a love to come and sweep me off my feet, I tortured myself with day dreams and ripped my heart to its edges so that I could bleed the last of my hope into secret prayers and diary entries. I was devastatingly lonely but at the same time resilient, and for as much in this last year as I swore I was giving up, and trust me I tried with every fiber of determined cynical cultivation, I knew I never came close to completely losing my faith. I knew because something finally convinced me. You.
Being with you is like living a fantasy, it's like every day dream I ever cooked up came true. It's like you're reading a script I wrote when I first believed in love, and I'm hearing myself chanting the lines on cue like I'm watching from the starry eyed audience. I am in love with you the way teenagers love for the first time, which is both what I've been yearning for and what terrifies me. I have no more barriers to you, no more guard up to protect what I know can be so gingerly and catastrophically broken. But I am diving head first, I am giving you everything, I believe in love enough once again to fully commit to it, and I believe in it this much because of one thing and one thing only. You.
And so as I watched my movie, so carefully chosen for the love story and life lesson oh so applicable to the tortured state of the late twenty something, I felt different than my previous nights of self indulgence and self pity. I watched the romance unfold, and instead of a dreamy jealousy for the dashing young protagonist making grand gestures to his roundabout true love I could only think about how you would have made those gestures better, how you would have said something in the right moment that was funnier, and how you would have taken my face in your hands and kissed my lips gentler, with more passion, and with more earnest tenderness. I noticed this the other night too, with every man around me no matter where I am now, I find myself comparing him to you and without a shred of surprise noticing that he falls short of you in every way. And from a lifetime of seeing men around me as potential lovers, of longing for one of them to come close, I find my heart is finally at peace. At peace with one thing. You.
You must have stolen my wit as this has no form of brevity, but in my long winded way I wanted to say this. I used to spend these nights heart sick and crimson eyed and tonight there was only a ghost of that sad girl stirring. Two months seem to be no time at all, but my heart feels like it has known you forever. By habit I felt like tonight should have lead to sorrow but instead it led to this. I still feel at times like I imagined you, that I willed you into my life because nothing could be this perfect, could feel this right. I am waiting for the tragedy I have come to expect to remove you from me, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but for now I am willing to silence my fear. This life is too short to not spend every moment deliriously happy if you can, and there has only been one thing that has ever given me reason to believe that I just might be able to. You.
Thank you, for loving me.
|Tuesday, November 11th, 2014|
Three years ago today I carved a memorial on my wrist to the ones I loved who had taken their own lives, and today it burns anew with the addition of a recent member. I feel older, wiser. I am beginning to believe wisdom is just sadness taking heavy residency in the eyes. The world slowly reveals itself to us as the years pass, it peels away its layers and we sink lower as we sigh in the face of it. I am happy now, oh yes, but that happiness grows from a depth in my sunken heart and whispers with a richness that youth cannot understand. The world is vast, this life gargantuan, but my quiet days are satisfyingly simple and today, now more than ever I am thankful for that. I could travel this earth and see its wonders, taste of the many pleasures from foreign cultures and learn of histories buried in ancient lands. But here is where my family lives, where my friends, my chosen family, live, where my
history lives. I moved back home because I was ready to establish roots, turns out they have always been here waiting for me.
I was going to say but today is not about me, it is about them. But I realized they are not here anymore, they took themselves away from me and left me alone. So maybe it is about me, remembering them.
Mr. Cau, Paul, who my mother babysat in Alabama, whose parents were my grandparents best friends, and who taught me biology junior year of high school. His passion for teaching was inspirational. It was his first year, somehow I was stuck in a class of only freshmen, and his love for his calling was unmistakable. At least by me, unfortunately the freshmen were ruthless in their immaturity and disrespect of a new teacher. But we found our connection, our interlocking past, and I often stayed after class to talk to him. He was sweet, kind, gentle. He created games to help us learn, he let us stay after class to dissect a shark one day because we were curious, it was the coolest thing I did in high school. But he was sick, he had hypothyroidism, and this disease often leads to depression. He was absent a lot, we had quite a few subs, then one day he disappeared. I'll never forget the ignorant principal talking to a frightened group of children, saying "I just know in my heart he is ok, he will come back." He may have already been dead at that point. They later found him, I don't know if I made it up or if someone told me that he shot himself in a field. Either way that is my image in my head when I think of him, of his last moments. He was my first.
Mr. Jones, Dr. Jones, David, was my high school band director. He was actually the assistant but we all connected with him more. We loved him, but had a funny way of showing it. I think now we may have walked all over him, we gave him hell and headaches, always playing pranks and chanting "Dr. Jones knows where the hose is at!" A private joke that made us laugh every time, now I wonder if he loved or hated us. I'm sure it was the former, we spent a lot of time confiding in him as well and rising to greatness with his guidance. It was a special connection, he was a mentor to so many of us and those after us. I saw him a few more times after I graduated high school, then I heard he moved on to directing a college band. Then almost five years ago I received a test message while I was at work, he had killed himself. I don't know why, I know he suffered many hardships in his life, but even though I had lost touch with him and the gap was large the pain was acute and the hurt still lingers. He was the second one that shocked my soul. His birthday is 11/11. I always remembered because we always did a Veteran's Day parade and it would fall on or around his birthday. Today would have been his birthday.
Wes, Weezie, my greatest love and my most shattering heartbreak. It's too soon still, there's so much history written already about him. He is the third tally, his cuts the deepest. He hung himself in his shed.
The moment is always the same, I feel dizzy, like a bell just struck and vibrating with soundless noise. Then the gasping sobs come, the acute shocking devastation and disbelief. Then the longest ache, the one that never leaves, the flowing of tears till my eyes dry out and the shallow wounds that reopen with the slightest prob. That never leaves, it always lurks below the scars. And today, always on 11/11, they remain ripped open and exposed.
Three years ago today I began my tally, I never expected to be adding to it. I write this in sorrow that I may not forget, that I may honor their sacrifice with my life continuing on. Yes it is painful, but it is affirming. I will not let them down, I will seize this day and all days hence. It is my carpe diem, it is my never forget, it is my scars to bear. Happy birthday Mr. Jones, you and the others are always with my, I wear my heart on my wrist, today is your day.
|Sunday, September 21st, 2014|
|the death I cannot name
My lips idled loosely over murmured lyrics matching vaguely noticed songs from the radio as I drove distracted down the road. My head and hands clicked in automatic piloting. Turn here...now stop...slow down...check the rear view. It seemed these days a part of me was always somewhere distant, like a hollow glare that never left my eyes or a heaviness that barely ghosted my smile. While my attention should have been focused on speed limits and traffic lights I felt my gaze sliding upward towards the falling sky; I disappeared into the approaching twilight that whispered over the clouds the muted oranges of a young fall sunset.
I came to a red light, easing my car to a full stop. A flutter caught my attention to the right, and as I turned my focus caught in my mind as my breath caught in my throat. About thirty buzzards were hopping and snarling around a cracked carcass wasting on the side of the road. There were so many of them I couldn't even discern what the animal had been before the last breath was ripped from its lungs by hungry beaks. Hungry beaks. I chuckled a dark, humorless laugh. Suddenly they didn't seem too different from us, from me. I was on my way to feed my own hungry beak, I was on my way to my own family dinner where we would crowd around a dinner table and share a meal just like these thirty relatives scuttling on the side of the road over their rotting prize.
Then I began to ponder. Buzzards have been made into such base villains, such abhorrent scoundrels. Cloaked in inky black with hunched shoulders and fierce beady eyes, shuffling sideways on their talon toes. But truly they should be praised for the work they do. They bring meaning to otherwise meaningless death. Any time a deer or raccoon or squirrel meets his untimely end by a car they swoop in and turn the end into a new beginning. A death into a meal, a meal into another day, another day to live on in this relentless life. Death is such an absolute, so irreversible, so utterly final. It is hard to look past such a force and find a glimmer of anything hopeful. But they do. They have made a meal on the eviscerated silver underbelly of death's dark lining.
I wish it was that easy for us. My knuckles turned white on the steering wheel as my heart twisted with the now familiar ache, reduced to echoes of the first blow but still rippling through me with lashes of sorrow. We are not buzzards, it's not so cut and dry as death and dinners. When death falls this close to you everything small blurs and the only sounds are claps of thunder, the only colors are black and white, and the only substance that retains taste contains alcohol. Death for us is never easy, but at least it is usually understood. Usually.
When my grandpa got very sick at the end his death was welcomed and his funeral became a celebration. My grandpa was a great, adored, and honorable man. We remembered the best days of his life, and his gravestone was crowded by teary but smiling faces. His death was understood.
I see death every day in beloved family pets. I help it come to them. Even when a young animal reaches the point where they can no longer fight a cancer or disease and the end is not coming swiftly enough, we know we have done right by them by easing them into death. Their passing is attended by teary but relieved faces. Their death is understood.
Yet there is another kind of death we will never understand. And its end is never met with smiling or relieved faces. Just faces of twisted torment, confusion, and regret. It is the kind of death brought on by the hand of the one dying, and once in death they guard forever all of the answers the living crave but will never receive.
I have known this kind of death too many times over. My past teachers, my past mentors, my past friends, my past lovers. I have slept in the building where it has happened while it was happening, I have been promised he will return while he really lay dead in a field, I have listened to the voicemail, I have read the text. It haunts my open eyes and paints the back of my eyelids with relentless reminders. I have carved a memorial on my wrist that has since turned into tally marks. I have lived this death too many times over.
I felt my chest rise and rise with overly intentional breaths, quickening with a practiced panic that cued my eyes to blurring. I rattled my head to clear my decline and forced myself to settle. I was nearing my parents' street, the street that held the house I once called home. In a few minutes I would face them.
Suddenly my chest deflated with a leveling epiphany. In a few minutes I would face them. I would face them and they would hug me and we would smile and we would fill our hungry beaks but we would do it together. I would be reminded that I am never alone, I would be reminded of the love of family and the joy of being with them, I would be reminded I know my own form of silver underbelly.
So often in life this love is taken for granted, but with a shared tragedy love is revived and brought forth anew. It is given a fresh start where once it had gone stale, it is reborn stronger with the break of another that once held its sacred tie. Old grudges evaporate in an instant, past enemies become brothers, and conversations that were dropped over distance or time are lifted up again and continued as if never broken.
I could not make it to his memorial, I don't even know if I would have gone if I could. But I heard stories, and I saw pictures, and I talked late into the night with friends who were there. Dozens appeared with glimmering candles outside the house he once called home, taking turns holding each other and creating new ways to say "it's going to be ok." And then at the actual funeral more still appeared, there to honor his memory and the magic that was him. There was pink and unicorns and sparkles everywhere. His unique strangeness held true until well past his end. Travelers from across the state to across the country came making a pilgrimage of closure to respect the hold he had on us all, but every journey ended in the same place, and every one was welcomed.
I began to examine my own life and what it, what I was worth. It all felt so fragile again, as if the decades I spent putting distance between now and my delicate newborn beginning meant nothing. We grow to feel so safe, as if we have all the time in the world to do what we say we are going to do when really it could all end tomorrow. I began to see waste for what it was, I began to see how much more living I could be doing.
Suddenly my true friends revealed themselves in an early morning hug, a simple text, an unquestioning shoulder for me to cry on. I became overwhelmed with sorrow swirled about with pure loyalty from the ones who proved themselves keepers of pieces of my soul. And in this is the true horrid, shining, devastating silver underbelly of suicide.
It takes such an unanswered death to make us remember why we choose to be alive.
I choose life for the ones who choose me, and for the family members who don't choose me but love me absolutely anyway. I choose life for the beauty I see every day in the whispered oranges of sunset, for the passion I swoon to in the music I hear, for the animals I help be it beginning life or ending it. I choose life because the tears I shed for him are tears of a fighter and not a quitter, and I will live every day here on out despite the choice he made, and in honor of it. I choose life for the nights I spend filling my hungry beak with my family, and in hope of one day filling the beaks of my own tiny fledglings too.
I would give all the lessons learned and all the connections reforged to turn back time and give his life one more chance, but I know now more than ever we can never go back on what has already passed. So I take away the biggest lesson, spoken by his brother on the day of his funeral. Be sweet. Be sweet and don't say mean things and don't hate strangers and love everyone every day. He spent his life giving his whole heart away, never saying a bad word against anyone. Be sweet like him, and he will never die. He will live on forever in this way.
Finally I turn onto the street I know holds my parents' house at the end of the road. My heart has grown from edgy to eager, and I am reminded. Although my mind wanders distant I am blessed, so very blessed to have friends who hold the map of the way back. Although my eyes are hollow wells I am grateful, so very grateful to have family to fill them. And although my smile is the shadow of a ghost I believe, believe in myself to find the sun to scare away the darkness and beam again with corporeal truth.
I turned into the driveway and put the car into park. I wiped my eyes and expected to find tears but instead pulled away dry fingertips. I gathered my things and headed towards the door, very aware of how hungry my beak actually was. But my idle lips were smiling.
|Monday, January 13th, 2014|
I was at that Kroger yesterday. I walked into the produce section like I always do, past the flowers on my left and the greeting cards on the right, and directly in front of me was the avocados. There was one that had fallen and was lying on the floor, and as I picked it up and placed it back where it belonged my fingers lingered and my breath caught in my throat. I had almost forgotten about meeting you, that ridiculous feeling, a complete stranger stealing that breath for no reason. And I almost never check these anymore, I can't afford to believe in fairy tales, but then I broke down and I looked and I saw what you wrote. Maybe it's not the same you, maybe you think I'm crazy, maybe I truly am, but I couldn't not reply. I couldn't let you think I didn't see. I hope that you are happy, that you love what you do, that you are loved by those around you, and that you don't care that I am a little nuts. Thank you for the wishing and blessing and new year dreaming. I hope some day I remember how to believe in fairy tales, and I hope you are living yours.
|Monday, September 3rd, 2012|
Here is my letter to you, words written to eyes never seeing. Words breathed on the down swing of sighs, the shadows of whispers, the hallucinations of rumors. You don't know me, you won't love me, you think you do but it can't be like this. This romance, a triumph of illustrated fairy tales, this happy ending framing the elaborate laugh track sitcom of chance. It can't be you, it's too obvious. You think you're ready, you think you know me, but we're victims of the same fatal flaw. It's like looking in a mirror of shimmering delusion, my counterpart in disappointment. It's cruel how similar we are, thinking that the other might be this long lost long awaited solution to our aching hearts. Cry out to the world, beg its blocked ears for the justice we have long demanded and little deserved.
A week later, and turns out I was right. Turns out I'm always right.
|Saturday, August 11th, 2012|
|when words fail
I need a drink of something beautiful. A cocktail of inspired loveliness, a glass of brimming breathlessness, a shot of pure aesthetic bliss. My heart has grown hollow and is choking on fading echoes of hope and guilt and panic and pain. I don't know what to do, I don't know how to make this awful feeling stop. My breaths are fraying like rags on the gasps of my inhales and shimmering like rippled reflections on the shaking of my exhales. It doesn't have to make sense, there's no necessary coherence, no tradition of wordplay in poetry. I want that piercing strike of the violin to stroke my soul, I need the fine hairs of the bow to tickle my lips as they drag their seduction over me. I read and reread all these words, from fresh to fading, falling backwards through time like I can erase all the bad back until the times when I believed it would all be ok. I've never been this terrified for myself. And it comes at a time when it all seems it might finally be ok. I actually went crazy, I snapped for real and finally lost my grasp on what was real. Maybe it's just a matter of time. Will I miss me when I'm gone? I'm reeling from embarrassment and guilt and horror and naked fear. What do they really think of me? Do they believe I am who I am or I am who I am when I get to that state? What have I done that I'll never remember? I wish I could change the world and rid this lifestyle of its tantalizing desire. And yet I know I'll get over it and in a few weeks it will happen again. Mark my words it will be the death of me or someone I love. Or even a stranger, tragedy marks us all the same. Does anyone in this fucking world know what they hell they are doing? Cause I sure as hell don't. I want to go home but if home is where the heart is then I'm screwed because my heart is shattered and shamed and hiding and now I'll never find it or home again. I just want to leave, want to run, want to make it all stop but anywhere I run to will be the same. I want someone to hug me and make me feel better and tell me it will all be ok, but there's no one at all to help. My friends are all to far to want to help me without obligation or regret. I can't tell my family because I can't tell them how bad I am or my mother will have a breakdown worse than mine and my dad will lose the last bit of respect he's holding out for me. And now there's him but he's too new to care, to fresh to burden, to unstable to startle away. He doesn't know me at all, perhaps when he really will he'll run like so many others. I thought I could write myself down, soothe myself with the twisting of these words, maybe prick my heart back to giddiness over this new flirtation. But it's spiraled me lower, frightened me more, drained me of my last flicker of resolve. Snap me down to my base and when there's nothing left perhaps I'll sit down, sigh, close my eyes and release. When it's just me, and the noise and the pain and the regret and the fear subside well then, perhaps then I'll be able to get up, dust myself off, and move along. So ok, this is me, shutting out the world, wrapping myself up in the arms of the truth of my utter aloneness, shielding my heart and standing up. I'll brush myself off, kiss the silence goodnight, and walk away into the blackness. Tomorrow is always another day. Take 9,411...roughly.
It's funny, I remember crystal clearly the moment when driving home from my brother's wedding I was deliriously happy for him and for life and the world and my future. I remember thinking I've never felt so happy and good and that I hoped nothing bad would come and take it's place in the name of karmic balance. I should have knocked on wood. Stupid me.
|Friday, March 23rd, 2012|
My stinging eyes fill again, so sick of the usual banter. Frustrated with the monotony of the tireless parade of tears. They swell and leak and swirl a sticky trail down these worn and finished cheeks. But it should be joyous. My heart cliches, my breath snags a painful twinge on the backflow of my cheers of joy. The shuddering sobs come creeping in the shadows of celebration, begging to triumph in the remnants of the cheers of the elated lovers. Why can't I settle into this happiness? Why can't I lend my congratulations without a sneer to the star led lovers pledging their hearts to one another? My begrudging fingers slink their doubt and beg to lend words of seemingly and empty and echoing and forced and limited into this rant of the heart broken and heart desperate and heart doubting. This, my only consolation, might seem to finally short of being enough. I flip through old albums of photos, chanting this one is married, this one is married, this one has a baby, this one is married, this one is dead, this one is engaged, this one is married. Then I see me. And what do I say now. This one is what.
WHY DO I CRY WHEN THOSE CLOSEST TO ME GET MARRIED?
My fairy tales are being murdered in front of me, my princesses are slitting their throats in the zenith of my dreams, my happy endings are crumbling stage props flaking and fading with the withering budget this world is bleeding from them. My bright colors are flickers of reflections, my solid goals are handcuffed in a shameful reality of scandles, and I am left with a sniffling nose and smeared glasses as I try to shuffle my disappointment into order. And now what. And now what. What indeed.
|Wednesday, January 18th, 2012|
I've avoided this blank page for weeks now. I've felt the itch, hidden my twitching with a muted longing, writhed internally while outwardly mouthing my daily words to a stoic reality. What do you want me to say? What could I possibly say? I tell everyone I am happy, I giggle and blush and twirl strands of hair around my finger as I sigh his excellence to expecting ears. It's true too, maybe in the cruelest realization, not all of it is an act. Each day I slip more out of the actor and more into the character than I ever thought I knew how to. At first I panicked because intimacy has always tripped me up at the beginning. Then when things continued to improve I panicked because I thought any day now I would fall into my old ways and a mundane trivial flaw of his would send me running back to my hills of solitary confinement and forced loneliness. And now comes the biggest panic of all, I am panicking because what if I fall now and he leaves me behind? I can't take another heartbreak, I just can't, it's been over a year now and it's still too soon. Hearts are the hardest to break and the longest to heal, and I can't fathom the thought of mine enduring and surviving what it already has. He is different though, he is not as crazy as me. Ha, he doesn't even suspect my insanity but I am beginning to believe that if he knew he wouldn't care because he can't reach me there. But maybe I am wrong. Is it horrible that I am as intrigued by his damaged parts as I am by his fabulous qualities? I have been drawn towards the damaged, seduced by the unstable, and shuddered with the shakiest of souls and still he seems too normal to pass my scrutiny. Am I holding out? Am I postponing? I feel like sabotaging the whole thing and at the same time I see all the right moves to play just as easily as winning a chess game against an oblivious amateur. Oh how I long for him to prove me wrong, to put me in my place, to chastise my arrogance and chide my foolish pride. I feel like a child throwing a tantrum, and then I feel like a sell out washing away my dreams in a pale bleach. Life is a balance beam, a see saw, Justice's scale. Tip one side and sway down the other, footing is impossible for the unclear of heart. Heart. My heart. I am terrified, I am sobbing my horror, I am raking my claws against my resolve, and I do this all with a plastered smile. How do we come back from this torture? How do we heal from this pain when it really matters? Has nothing really tested me since now? I suppose not or I would be more healed. I don't want heal though. I don't want to ever forget. Because forgetting is erasing the lesson, and here it is. Love is not kind, love is not patient, love is impossible and love is irresistible and it takes more than a fairy tale. I've failed the fairy tale and suffered the cynical life, and now I'm ready to just sigh it all away and live. Live up to the pain, live up to the pleasure, live up to the come what may and give it a whirl. Come hell or high water, come one and come all, I am starting this all over again. Let's just hope I'm strong to live through round two.
|Wednesday, October 12th, 2011|
|converted to cynicism
Blurred vision and shuddering weights. The sound ripples around me, and I stalk the world through these smudged lenses. The caress of his gentle nose is the only thing grounding me to the moment, to the anchor of tomorrow. I had a dream that I doused the place in flames then I fuck it up today like a fool. Like striking a match at a gas station, dragging the crimson tip along the lips of fate, taunting and teasing and daring the unthinkable. As if I needed more help I'm practically asking for more anguish, begging for a harder road. It's about to be so much easier, I'm about to be able to sigh that sweet sigh of comfortability, but I can't sit still long enough to make it there. I can't wait patiently, I can't do anything patiently, I have to make it near unbearable with catastrophe. Have to make it interesting. Can't get bored. But I decided something today. I've decided I like my pride. I like this plummeting feeling of failure, I like this gnawing intolerable unease. I beat myself up more than anyone could ever approach, and I like it. It means I value what I am, or better what I can be. I know what I should be and I let myself down when I fall short. It's so easy, I knew I should have checked and checked twice. But I thought it was paranoia, turns out it was instinct. I am such a fuck up, because I have been better than this and I know it. I'm not the worst person, I don't commit the worst mistakes, but for me they're unacceptable and unchanging. I let myself down. So many people have let me down recently though. And it's no fault of theirs, but it's more of a fault of my expectations of them. I was so blessed and privileged growing up to have such wonderful people around me that when I reached this part of life and everyone around me became of normal caliber I was disappointed and threw tantrums like a child. But soon I'll be 25 and refusing to admit I'm an adult is increasingly more absurd. I have found my own two feet, I have begun a shaky walk and time is coming near to run and run hard. I thought life would play out so easily, I thought love was inevitable. I think now it's ok if I'm alone, completely alone. I think those who are afraid of being alone are too scared of themselves. So I'll learn to love myself and being with me and I always have Scoot. He needs me for sure, turns out no one else does. Except my family. My brother lets me down a lot, but I think if I really needed him he would come through. I hope, but I know my parents always will be there. It's not that my friends haven't been there for me, it's just that I know they are no longer obligated to me. They are obligated to boyfriends, or husbands, and that's how it should be right? We're supposed to find that one other in the world that is the be all end all and when it comes down to it they are always first, right? I really can't argue, makes sense to me. So I don't begrudge, I grow up. I don't complain, I love them still, I just stand alone. And I stand fucking proud and tall. And when I fall, like today, I fall hard, and I fall on myself. I'm growing stronger, and it feels exhilarating. I'll learn to be careful about trusting another again, if I trust at all, and I won't expect too much anymore for those with others to account to. If it happens to me, probably not, I'm sure I'll act the same. I guess I'll be lying to say I'm not bitter, but I won't let them know. Won't let it show. Won't rain on their parade, that's not fair. I'm happy for them, that's not a lie at all, but I'm sad to lose my best friends to their husbands and girlfriends and boyfriends. I hope when everyone looks up from their busy lives and loves one day they aren't too shocked at what they see in me. If they see it at all, but by then it won't matter. It's already too late to make me believe again. Maybe cutting myself off is a terrible idea, but then again when have I EVER been known to make good decisions...
|Thursday, September 29th, 2011|
Color me shocked I'm drunk again. This whole week started amazing, I woke up early to go to the gym, I felt energized and alive and motivated. Still that fire simmers just below my desire, like the wavering embers of a late night smoke weaving in and out of belief. Whose game am I taunting this time? This beauty, this delirium, this desire...I want to run out into the street and swoon with the silk of moonlight on my gooseflesh, I want to bury my arms and my shivering under mountains of wool. Everything suffocates me with outstanding magnitude. It pierces my very soul, stirs my essence to shout and shudder and whisper my submission without condition. My gift is so slight, so muted, so variant on the desperation of each night's mood. Tonight was particularly demanding. I stacked my resolve alongside my rigid pose, held my breath and my tongue and endured the torture I imagined as my loneliness rediscovered crept upon my shaky new found stability. But I've been so happy...I wanted to shout to no god in particular. Something must be done, some heart must be woken, some lust must be sated, some lips must be met in wanting. There is so much I have to give in a thousand different mediums that it explodes within me without a means to direct it. This heat grew within me until the smoldering wouldn't be doused with wine or beer after beer after beer. The more I sated it the more it illicited a fixation without naming. I hear a voice cry out in song or see a color mixed in creative defiance or I see a movement placed in intentional grace on display and I am speechless with the agony of talent. It's like a condition, a disease, an affliction of the desperate. Unable to sit still, unable to witness the world without heartache, without a wounding of the fragility of our artful souls. Are we pretentious or merely leaders of the distracted towards the glorious instances of this life ordinarily unworshipped by the busy? I almost have nothing left to lose. Nothing left to tarnish. My soul is pristine in its profanity. I've crossed so many lines that in my exposure to all embarrassment I am made free. Free to mistake and misstep and misjudge the path I should have been on for years and have wasted. I've erased expectation and now I'm simply and purely me. Without watchful eyes or judgement I soldier on. I had begun to question my drive, my reason for being, and now I just don't care. I am in a wonderful program, I have a brilliant future, and I am applying for a loan to be able to stand on my feet without the day to day worry of juggling class and work and life. Do I sound grown up yet? Maybe. But I'm far from it. I will count my money and sell my shit and work night and day when I should be studying and come Halloween weekend, my birthday, I WILLL have a moogfest pass and I WILL do what I want and live my dream. Alone or not, I have a goal. Fuck the world, fuck this path, fuck impressing you or anyone else, I will survive, I will prevail, my life will win, I will be happy, and whether these words and my life is any different no one will ever guess. It all seems so silly, so childish, so mundane. I sound like the average American, unhappy with this life and wondering what else could be. Countdown to November 11, 2011. It will be 11 11 11. Never forget that date, no matter what. I'll play along till then, and then I'll play some more. If you're not happy then no one is. We'll see come the end. For now soldier on, smile on, play on. The world is a stage, and the audience can't wait till you fuck up your lines.
|Monday, September 19th, 2011|
I am faltering, hesitating, stalling. Should I speak of it? any of it, all of it.
I am remembering a love of learning. I can name most of the bones in the body and I now know how a thought in our head to move our fingers results in a wave. It's incredible.
I met a boy. He is fine, we had a great night, he kissed me like I haven't been kissed in a while, it was nice. I don't know at what point I thought I'd be dating a 35 year old but it's easier than it seems. I met him with tears in my eyes though.
Because then there was him.
I saw him for the first time since February. He walked in and a cold sweat settled on me. I lost my breath, forgot how to listen, stumbled to my feet, and kicked back tears. I got the side hug and an awkward moment next to him. But at least I got my twister board back. huh. And then he texted me, and added me on facebook again. So silly, but now it's back on. His number is hidden in my phone, but it's there, and I can follow his daily thoughts once more. Poison, addiction, pathetic. It's like asking an alcoholic to bartend. He told me it was good to see my smile and hear my laugh again. I wonder if I mean anything near what he meant to me? I wonder if he still thinks of me and misses being together? I wonder if he'll call me, if he'll see me again, if he'll try.
Winter is coming. These gray days lay whispers of the coming snows and the memory of summer heat waves are simmering down. Slowly shorts are moving to the bottom of the drawer and flip flops are fading to socks. I'm terrified. I'm so nervous for this season to return. I barely survived last winter, and although my pain is more of a constant ache than a debilitating agony I'm worried. But I have school now and a job I love and a great place to live with roommates who are awesome. I'll go home and be with my family for Christmas, really things should be fine. But I'm still anxious. It's like I'm walking a tightrope over a yawning cavern, and if the wire freezes I know I'll slip. Let's hope it's a warm winter.
My birthday is coming soon. I can't wait. I am really looking forward to being 25. In fact I already kinda consider myself that age. I've already switched it in my head and if anyone was to ask me I'd probably automatically answer with 25. I don't know why I'm so thrilled, I guess it feels real somehow, that I'll finally be an adult. Adult. I wonder if that word will ever feel natural applied to me. I hope not.
Last night I had an awful dream. Some kind of angel of death told me I was dying, and that I would be dead by the end of the day. I think someone cooked me a bad meal and I guess I got poisoned. But I had the whole day to spend before I died, and the only thing I did was go around and hug my friends and told them how much I loved them. I couldn't tell them though that I was dying, but I had to tell them anyway that I loved them. I remember Maggie, and Zach, and Amanda specifically. Actually there was a bunch of others, all from high school really, not any from college or now. But it was tragically sad, and beautiful. I got to hug my friends, and remember how much they mean to me. I miss you guys. I miss a lot of things. But I love you. I love you lots.
I'm pretty sure I have more to say, but I'll save it for later. Always time for later.
|Thursday, September 15th, 2011|
Sometimes I feel like I'm disappearing. Who am I acting for anymore? When did my audience loose interest? My dialogue is overrun with cliches, my backdrops are crumbling, and my costume is tearing. Paint is chipping, makeup is smearing, and the lights are slowly burning out. I don't look forward to tomorrow, I'd rather it stay away but somehow reasoning won't come to me. Is anyone really happy anymore? I think probably not, unless they are in denial. But who am I to take that away from them, let the ignorant love their bliss. This isn't despair, this isn't depression, this is just indifference. I'll go to work, I'll go to class, I'll play my part. I just lost sight of why, and until it matters I'll play along.
I've lost sight of permanence too. Why save money, why put off getting more tattoos, why not get drunk every night? At least then I felt something, I reveled in the insane abandon, the whirlwind of senses and the flooding of freedom and invincibility. It always ends though, every time, washing up in the shallows of regret. But that feeling, oh the oh so sweetness drenching me, the deep breath full of life, the lengthening of time and the beauty unquestioned so dramatically owned. I miss kissing strangers, I miss being held. Just for a night, only regretted tomorrow. And tomorrow never comes, it never comes today. I could scream, maybe later when I have the energy. Another thing procrastinated, I'll care...maybe later.
So much, so much lost so much hated so much unfair so much love unattainable so much love unbelievable so much to learn so much to lose so much so much so much so much.
I am going to get another tattoo, I am going to go to the entire weekend of Moogfest, I am going to buy new tires for my car, and new jeans and clothes, I am going to buy a new dress for Maggie's wedding, we are going to get a new couch for the living room, I am going to pay for my tuition, I am going to pay my medical bill, I am going to keep up my contract with my new smart phone and pay the bill on time every month, I am going to keep my apartment clean, I am going to eat better exercise and loose weight, and I am going to fall in love.
Isn't life hilarious? The things we believe we can do...fucking hilarious.
|Tuesday, July 19th, 2011|
I am sitting here, on the brink of my world, wondering at the life of it all. The crickets are ringing into the blossoming night and the occasional shouts and laughter of happy people rise up like peaks in the backdrop of the nighttime symphony cresting the air. My best friend rustles beneath my chair, chasing stray leaves and errant bugs wandering by on their path to death. He is guarding me and he is guarding my sanity, my fragile heart, licking it healed with sandpaper gentleness. I love him, and recently I have been gathering love close with the greed of a jewel thief on a mission. It's faint but I am straining less and less to catch the echoes of our once shared summer magic. I close my eyes and rest my chin on the horizon, sliding my hair down along my back as I kiss the grey clouds peppering the twilight. It's the muted heat of a scorching day relenting, it's the chorus of fireworks and baseballs and nighttime crawlers, it's the breathless anticipation of adventure and thrill on the bareback of every sunrise. My life is growing clearer divisions. I used to drown in a whirlpool of grey, wracked by the torture of making the right decisions in an ecstasy of temptation. But I am beginning to see where the path lies, the one less taken and the one less regretted, and at the fork I pause longer and more often choose correctly. It's a slow transformation, but I am recognizing more and more the people I need to surround myself with to make it right. I miss yoga, I need it in my life, I still think about the blissful ache of settling into the pain. Twist yourself into submission, feel the deep strain of your muscles moving with grace, and then hit that pose and slither slowly into the hardest pain. Lean into the hurt, sink into the agony, and feel it mold you into a better being. My mind strays into familiar yet rusty patterns that excite me the giddiness of the girl I once was and once was happy being. I sit here alone but not lonely. Not anymore. I test my wounds to see if they're healed, and though they still throb pink around the edges the deepest injury is gone. It's like my happiness was drained from me until I was empty and now I am nearing my fullest once more. It's only a matter of time before my cup runneth over and my life is what I want again. Summer, good friends in good people, school, Scoot. This familiar life is back again, now I just need to not fuck it up like always. Good luck to me.
|Wednesday, June 8th, 2011|
My self is being torn from seam to seam. Like peeling apart the fraying ends, I've been striping away my resolve and what I thought I knew. I'm just spitting out words like the backwash I've held in for far too long. Just the feel of my stretching fingers is enough to excite me like I've desired since the last night I spent with him when I still believed we'd be ok. I miss losing myself in that passion...but that's another concern to work out in a different medium.
I wrote that weeks ago, and when I signed on today I restored it from a saved draft. I'm not entirely sure what I was going to write tonight, but whatever it was that just changed it. I've been feeding hormones into my body to prevent a baby I can't have because the act of possibly creating it hasn't happened to me in a long, long time. Or in other words I've been very lonely and that damn pill made me near suicidal. It's been a strange road and an awful feeling. Not so much that I wanted to end my life, but that I wouldn't mind it if a truck ran me off the road and secretly I wished it would. I just knew deep deep down that there was no happiness left to me and there was no point in trying for a better tomorrow. No worries, the feeling is gone now mostly. I quit the damn thing and for the first week it was like soaring into a manic phase on a bipolar see saw. An emotional swing straining at the chains on a rise. I literally had a bounce to my step, my feet were lighter and skipped a beat when I walked. I laughed often and loudly, like before, and my energy was stronger than it has been since the breakup (it's stupid that that's such a milestone). Anyways I was healed in a soulful way that made the sun brighter and the air fresher and my heart fonder of my little man who saves me from a loveless life with a daily lazy smile every morning. Pearly pink ears and tickling whiskers, what would I do without him? But today I woke up a mess again. The old feeling was back, but weaker and detached like it wasn't my misery pumping my lungs into panicked breathing but rather something distant and disowned. I knew what the cause WAS and I'm wondering if traces still linger in my blood, but I sat back and watched myself boil and dwell in that aching once more. Situations would escalate me into unreasonable anger unbefitting the situation and I pondered myself like I was another person. Where does this anger come from? Where does this abject self loathing and depression originate? Why do I feel like everyone hates me and I am worthless and a waste of talent and unhappy? I can't seem to gather my feet beneath me, and I'm only to blame when each night I seem to wander further and further down a road I never knew I'd know so intimately for so long. Music helps, music always helps, and drinking hurts, but drinking always happens. I used to think I let everyone down, I used to think I was ruined without a will to change and be better. But now that I'm more myself again I still feel ruined and like I let everyone down but at least there's a spark of a will to change and be better now. I'm rambling and I want to cry, but again that detached feeling assesses the tears welling and tells them to settle. It's a curiosity, like getting to know someone who reacts in odd ways to things. I want to punch a hole in the wall, to wring my ears until they bleed, but then I giggle and think what a silly notion. Just perk up. I know I sound crazy, and half the time I feel like my hold on reality is slipping slightly. My dreams have always been vivid and intense but recently I wake up and it takes me a good few minutes to distinguish between the dreaming and the waking. Sometimes those good few minutes last all day. Maybe I am going crazy. Split personality? Bi-polar? Depression? Nervous breakdown? Looking back one would never predict that from me, but then again it's always the ones you never suspect. I wish I could fall backwards into this insanity and embrace it with love. What a wonder, loving one's insanity. I've been reading more, it makes me happy and calm but really doesn't help much in regaining my sturdy reality. Funny, never had that problem before. This town is taking me down with it, I've strayed into Never Never Land and I may never never grow up and return. Oh well, I'm still trying because I have an appointment with my doctor Tuesday, so I guess there's that for me. Not a lost boy yet. But right now I'm four beers deep and about to be two bowls in...good times good night and good riddance to us all ;)
|Saturday, March 26th, 2011|
My smiles drag wide as I spin myself further and further underground, sliding down into the cozy grooves. I just deleted note after note, tearing them along the well loved creases. I'm tired and these hands don't even look like mine. But the pain is mine. How do I climb out of this hole? I'm in no mood to go to a party, or a new job, or a new home, or a wedding. Or a wedding. It's one mistake after another, one regret after another, one memory forgotten after another. I spend my time working, and after work I drink, and after drinking I sleep. I sleep, then I drink, then I sleep and work then drink then work then work then drink then drink then drink. This is my life. This is my lie. This is me. Meeting molly in the bar, then dancing with her, then swinging with her, then staying up all night talking and wanting more with her. She makes my life incredible and at the same time she ruins me. Still you must spend a night with her, your world will change forever :) But molly didn't come to play tonight. Just me and the old favorite. I think I would have been better off following my brother's path rather than my sisters'. His influence at least leaves me in charge and thoughtful and conscious of making the right decision and I always remember what I've done. My sisters' path leaves me whorish and sloppy and poor and with gaps and holes in my that patchy memory I maintain. I think I shall get fat and wear only sweatpants and occasionally surface and go to a show with molly rather than continue to try to succeed out at bar with the tutoring of my sisters. I need to stop waking up at random houses of girls and guys and sneaking out and calling cabs to take me back to my car downtown. I need to stop indeed. Oh god that song came on. It was his favorite of the band we shared. I hate him still. Hate him. Hate hate hate hate hate. This much hate? From me? I never hate. I love loving. It's love that does it though. Love will ruin you to the point of hatred. Painful, unforgettable, unconquerable memories from this curse called love. I think I'll give up indeed and get fat and never try again. This is all bullshit, and no one is ever happy. Humans are cruel. I give up.
|Thursday, March 24th, 2011|
|i'm hurricane drunk
Can keep me protected
Nothing in between me and the rain
And you can't save me now,
I'm in the grip of a hurricane
I'm gonna blow myself away.
I'm going out,
I'm gonna drink myself to death
And in the crowd
I see you with someone else,
I brace myself,
Cause I know it's going to hurt,
But I like to think at least things can't get any worse.
I don't want shelter,
Nothing to keep me from the storm,
And you can't hold me down,
'Cause I belong to the hurricane,
It's gonna blow us all away.
I'm going out,
I'm gonna drink myself to death
And in the crowd
I see you with someone else,
I brace myself,
Cause I know it's going to hurt,
But I like to think at least things can't get any worse.
I hope that you see me,
Cause I'm staring at you,
But when you look over,
You look right through,
Then you lean and kiss her on the head,
And I never felt so alive, and so.. dead.
I'm going out,
I'm gonna drink myself to death
And in the crowd
I see you with someone else,
I brace myself,
Cause I know it's going to hurt,
I'm going out
I'm going out
I'm gonna drink myself to death
And in the crowd
I see you with someone else,
I brace myself,
Cause I know it's going to hurt,
I'm going out.
|Thursday, January 13th, 2011|
I really should have known better than to go see a crazy movie today alone. Why do I realize every time I find a shred of happy feeling that it always fades within a few days? Do you think my breaks of happiness are getting longer? Perhaps they are. I felt great the last few days. Then today I got home and I grabbed the salt shaker. I clutched it for a long while, rolling it between my white knuckles, then finally I poured it all over my barely healed wound. Then I rubbed it in. Rubbed it raw again. Fuck him fuck him fuck him. He ruined my life. I hate it and I say it wasn't him and I know I definitely don't want him back. But I didn't even feel this bad before him. And now I started my class. I'm working two jobs. I haven't had a drink in 11 days. And I can't seem to care. I just want to cry. I wish I could cry but I'll be damned if I come into work on his birthday and see him with eyes puffy from crying myself to sleep. I brought this on myself. I looked. I knew I shouldn't but I did. I saw it. Saw it all. He's a fucking idiot for giving me up. I'm a fucking idiot for being mad at him for letting me go. I would have bent over backwards and beyond for him, and I did, and it ruined me. Now what does he have left. An ugly bitch, really ugly, with her own life who's 12 years older than me with three kids and a bunch of tattoes. Sickening. Petty. Who cares. The one thing I've craved my whole life drives me mad in terror of losing it. And then he said I never had it to begin with. It's no longer him. It's nothing. It's everything. I feel crazy and I don't know who to talk to anymore and I don't want to talk about it and I just want to get away forever and give up and live over again. That or watch tv till my brain rots out. Or drink myself into a hurricane. I ate the rest of my chocolate. I can't drink away the pain, and I'm about to tear apart my home in search of something else sweeter to bring on the sickness to dull the pain. I'll twist my ear and punch the wall and brand myself all over again just to stop feeling this bad. I think everyone has their own black swan. Everyone battles this black side of themselves when things fall apart. My legs are breaking backwards, my skin is prickling up, my inky wings are growing. I'm taking flight tonight.
|Saturday, January 8th, 2011|
|it will take two months to heal
I suddenly feel like I've never understood anyone's pain before. I am starting to brush upon the realization of why people act the way they do when things fall apart. All the years before when I've been in rough places and cried the night through and felt my soul ache I know now was nothing compared to what can be felt. I am thinking back to years when my close friends went through hard times, to now when those same friends and others are still going through hard times, and finally I have joined them in true hopelessness. Hope. That is what's different. I have always seen the world in rose colored hues, always felt the brighter days just on the brink of tomorrow. I used to know that I'll be ok and that my friends are always there and that I was never alone and good prevails over all. I used to be a dreamer.
I used to be a fool.
People used to talk about having my head in the clouds, I was flattered, and people used to say how one should be grounded, I felt that was the deepest insult imaginable. I was so proud to be the dreamer, and I know they brighten the world but at what cost to themselves? I have been hurt. Oh it's nothing new to the world, this baby heartbreak, but this hopeless pain is new to me. My perfect world, my priveleged life, flaking away to the truth. He told me I didn't smile enough and everyone yelled "impossible!" I think in some way everyone wanted me to be that flawless dreamer, that hopefull romantic. Maybe some need that girl to exsist. I'm sorry that I can't be that hero though, I've been tainted just like the rest. I cannot be the last hope. Nor should anyone want me to be.
Ignorance was bliss. Witness the death of my closed blinded eyes. And like the baby's they are opening slowly, taking in the light of reality, blinking against the pain. She told me it would get worse before it got better. This is the worse part. Better is soon to come.
I spent months calling my friends and family and crying to them, begging them to make me feel better. And please don't think I'm not grateful, I truly deeply and forever am. But the days kept coming and suddenly my friends moved on and my family didn't notice anymore. I began to resent happiness and phone calls didn't fix anything, a week on a holiday with my family only made it worse. I was alone and one my favorite times of year, christmas, came and went with my bitter heart flaming angrier every day. My dreams are haunted more and more by christmases that could have happened and natural disaters depicting my mental state. Last night there was a hurricane.
I gave up drinking. At least until February, hopefully forever. This is when the true soul searching begins. The snow is helping. I am stuck in my apartment again cause when I tried to leave I spun out and hit the curb. No worries, no lasting damage. The snow helps, and now this pain.
This delicious pain, the searing fire licking along my ear. Tattooes are nothing compared to this, I suddenly know why people pierce their entire faces now. It hurts oh so good.
I walked in alone, no friend to hold my hand. I waited for my turn and watched spongebob squarepants on the tv. He called me back and sat me on the table, no sugar coating or asking me if I was ready. Very few words, he cleaned my ear and marked it. He laid me back and told me to turn my head to the opposite wall. A red, exremely wrinkled cloth hung on the wall, and I studied every wrinkle intently. I think later when I remember the day that red wrinkled cloth will the strongest memory I have. I felt his hands on my ear and he told me, take a deep breath. I inhaled and then that sickly thud and crunch. I hissed out my breath. As in many many other situations I was so thankful for my yoga lessons. I breathed deep into the pain and felt my shoulders sink into the table. Deep breath again, a second puncture, and release. Just like that. I smiled at the wrinkled red cloth and wrapped my wicked excitment around the throbbing ache. He cleaned it and told me to sit up. He handed me the mirror and it was done. Sleek and subtle it hugs my ear. I love it.
I punched a wall the other day. Not hard, but just to see. It felt great, my knuckles blossomed red and my heart's pain submitted slightly to the surface ache. I imagined it would not be the last time or the most severe until today. My heart has been given blinders. When it sways to the side or tries to look back and sinks back into darkness I have a new pain to settle its wanderlust. All I need to do is focus and I'm right back there, craddling the sharp sting in a grateful sigh. He told me it would take two months to heal. I have two precious months to heal my heart until my blinders are no longer necessary. I have been given a great gift today, and I gave it to myself.
There is no wit tonight because this soul knows no brevity. I have overused analogies or spun out conflicting ones. I don't care. My fingers are flying and I'm giving them freedom. Because it feels good, and to feel good these days is a cherished thing. If you're still with me worries, if you're not then good this whole entry was for me anyway. But now Scoot is scratching at my side for a good cuddle and I'm inclined to oblige him. But I will say lastly today I feel every bit of my 24 years. I'm learning what it is to be an adult on my own, and I'm realizing that I can stand alone. I still know my friends will come whenever I beckon, but I'm finally learning the art of dealing with my life on my own. So I'll balance my pains, and as one deepens I'll lean on the other and not your patient but I'm sure overindulged ears. And with dried blood and a sleepy cat I think I'll go to bed and pray for dreams free of fire and floods. Not happy but finally ok...two months begin.
|Friday, January 7th, 2011|
|day four and counting...my account of sobriety
I had scheduled a breakdown tonight, and I'm a little upset that I'm no longer in a state to have one. I have a day off tomorrow and I had planned on screaming and crying and beating the night away but now I'm too excited and happy to do so. I've been on the verge of crying for days and really needed to get it out, but I have found a better way to spend my day off than resting my swollen eyes. I am going to get my ear pierced again! I know that sounds silly, but wait till you see it. I've been wanting a new tattoo and an industrial piercing for months and months now. Well...tattoo down, and piercing tomorrow! Can't wait can't wait can't wait! Bummer though I was really looking forward to a good cry. Perhaps I'll have another day off soon and I'll be depressed again by then. I just can't help but think how I told him I had this plan. I've followed through with part one, the tattoo, and now part two. I kinda think he never believed me, and while this is completely for me I can't wait to see him and prove I keep my word when I say I'm going to do something. And why am I doing this? Cause I fucking want to! I'm sure I'll get asked that a lot from now on. But why? What's the point? Does it hurt? And I'll just shrug, and say I did it cause I wanted to, and I think it's hot. I haven't been able to sleep. I keep dreaming of Christmas, and him, and his kids, and how they fall in love with me, and her, and how he leaves me for her this time, and that I'm pregnant. But I don't want any of that, still my dreams haunt me. I never fully sleep and between Scoot and horrible thoughts and the tears I deny I walk around in a daze constantly because my dreams haunt me and I can't sleep. Scoot simultaneously keeps me up all night and is the only thing keeping me together when I have bad dreams. My knight in shining white armor, savior of my sanity. I've never been in such a dark place I think. I'm nowhere near rock bottom, I realized that tonight, but I've never been so depressed in my life. They want me to smile more and this is what it takes, if they want to fire me because of what it takes then fuck you very much consider this my two weeks. And we're going to buy fish. I'm going to name mine Ted because I'm obsessed with How I Met Your Mother and I'm in love with Ted. See, all is not lost. I still connect and fall in love with a character on a show who's a sappy romantic. My heart isn't completely broken. Not yet. But it is wiser, and more cynical, and appropriately guarded. How very ridiculous, and the little lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright. But my wings still beat and I still have a heart yearning for a thorn. I just need to realize I'll prick that thorn when the time is right and the rose is ready on the right tree. You can't rush love, and happiness, my ultmiate goal, is not dependent on it. How wierd, this new obsession of mine and love. Huh, I meant to write happiness and I wrote love. Here I am trying to convince myself I'm only searching for happiness and it's a new obsession and my mind automatically writes love. Practice makes perfect, you can't understand a revelation overnight. I'm so wired, I've had a lot of coffee cause I'm not drinking alcohol. I had planned on staying up all night screaming and crying and puching things (I've recently discovered how good it feels to punch a wall) but now I think I'll crawl in bed with Scoot and finish a movie. My bed is so comfortably big and empty and soft. Although I do miss a good warm body bigger than a 13 pound fluffball I do also enjoy freedom over the lights and bedtime movies. Scoot never complains about my choices, he just stretches out beside me, settles in spooning mode, and rests his soft cheek on my arm. You know, life's not so unbearable these days after all. And just when I thought I'd earned a breakdown...such a shame.
|Tuesday, January 4th, 2011|
|fight to be happy
I can't stop toying with my scars from the summer, but I vehemently refuse to wish to go back. Someone told me there is a saying, buddhist I think, that is let go of that which wounds you. Beautiful. I'll hold to that. My happiness at the moment feels so thin and fragile, but at least it's there. I have decided not to drink any alcohol until February. And with a true friend to be there with me and hold me accountable I'm giddy and thrilled about it. I have been trying to return to the high school girl I so admired, and I think the main missing link might be here. She never drank, and for a month neither will I. It's day two, and though I believe I might still be in the honeymoon phase about it I already feel happier, feel more energetic, I want to read and explore and write and exercise and clean. I was told I don't smile enough. Me. This is me. ME. Absurd, I am the happy optimistic dreamer who finds beauty in every turn of this daily life. Or I was. I don't want to change but the inspiration is gone. But maybe it's just buried a little, covered in dust and snow and winter twilight. I won't prod this slight reprieve too much lest it gets snatched away again, but I have hopes for future strength. Last night was so wonderful. I had dinner with a friend who I hadn't seen in a while and as he drank wine I sipped water and smiled. Even though we went to the restaurant where his girlfriend waited on us it was so nice to spend a liesurely meal over good food and deep and varied conversation. I know it wasn't a real date but it was so so nice to spend time with someone one on one and just talk all night about everything from movies to musicals to bad decisions to childhood dreams and the definition of art. Then we met up with his girlfriend at a bar when she was done and we contiued to talk and share our views and thoughts and desires. They drank martinis and beer...I had coffee. I just desperately need time to find my footing and reassess the girl who is me and what I want and need and can tolerate and believe in. And I can't wait :)
I am going home again soon, in a couple of weeks, and Bevin is coming with me! I can't wait, we'll go to Merridee's and walk around the square and swing at Walnut Grove and explore downtown Nashville and hopefully see old friends who I miss dearly. Life is good again, finally I'm relaxing into 2011 and I see myself rising to the expectations I had for it.
This is my fucking year dammit, and I am going to fight for it until it ends or it ends me.