to make a "logical" decision around who I accept as the current tenant of my heartspace, I am unable to reach out to the one who draws my soul out of my body when she kisses me. I do not call, text, facebook her anymore. Today is day one. I am not sure how she feels and I refuse to ask in this retrograde mercury time period, because I know three things...
a) I would do almost anything for her.
b) I want to be with someone who will do almost anything for me.
c) She does not want to do anything that she doesn't want to do.
I have done many things to win the affection and attention of the ones I've desired, and in stretching out of my comfort zone I have strained my integrity. I have bitten my tongue and suspended judgment until I could barely stand myself I was so full of toxicity. This girl is one of the dangerous ones who inspires behaviors I do not wish to exibit. She is broken and I will cut myself deeply on her jagged emotional landscape. I love her and I fucking hate that I do.
At least she is giving me the easiest escape. She doesn't even attempt to maintain my affections. I might be worthless to her. I always tell people "rejection is God's protection" and I believe that is the truth, but it doesn't mean the rejection doesn't feel like a demotion in value. I vibrate at a certain frequency where I believe I cannot share space with those who cannot share the same energy. I keep trying though. I am losing respect for myself in the process of attempting not to contact her and then doing it anyway. It is disgusting.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Unfoldment
"It is all unfolding, exactly as it should" is the affirmative sentence I wanted to use to remind myself of divine order. I typed this as my facebook status this morning and then went unsuspecting into the world, where I saw the one I think of every day and wonder how she could have left me and what she's doing now and why she seemed to fuck me up so badly in the process of her departure from the life we co-created. It wasn't the lesbian American dream by any means, but we had an apartment furnished with little oddities and we listened to MGMT and Depeche Mode and we made love and walked our little free adopted chihuahuas and we laughed and laughed and danced and sang stupid songs and we coined ridiculous terms of endearment for one another. We talked about what our lives would look like when our wrinkled hands would still entwine as we fell asleep together night after night for years to come. We had an intuitive bond and she would always know if something was going on in my mind that didn't include her. I needed her back against the front of me to fall asleep at night.
It was there and then it went bad and then it was gone. And then, somehow, things managed to completely break into the ugliest configuration of shrapnel, and every now and then one of us would initiate some fucked up communication that would cause more bloodletting. Somehow it was meant to be that we just cause more distance in the act of trying to claw our way back into ourselves, wild eyes, teeth clenched, insides rearranged so that the love was suddenly underneath all the fear of sameness, the continuation of discontentment and perpetuated simplicity for two complicated souls. It came down to fuck you's and I hate you and stay the fuck away from me.
And she did, until tonight. I saw her awkward stride and the silhouette of her bad hair and I almost kept driving, but I had asked my friend to be the "voice of the universal wisdom" and asked her to answer my silent question, which was "should I go in" and she said "YES" so I acted in trust and out of spite and sick fascination and territoriality and residual ache in the place she used to live in me. I went in, and I shook and I kept pushing my hair to the side and trying to fold myself into smallness while avoided her shape. Until I got tired of trying not to look, so instead I choose the opposite tact and I stared. Directly at her, uncomfortably. I stared at her breasts the way her shirt was pulling too tightly in some areas and her bad skin and I looked right into her eyes and searched for not only what she was thinking or feeling but what I was experiencing in my own soul-churn. I stared until I found the predominant emotion, which was a familiarity, a love, a knowing that it was never truly as ugly as we made it out to be, but we had to make it so because it needed to end for us to grow.
I walked into her, arms outstretched, and she hugged me back and it was hard, but we did it. Animosity doesn't look good on me and I can't stay in self-righteous anger. I loved you knowing you weren't perfect, and I still do.
It was there and then it went bad and then it was gone. And then, somehow, things managed to completely break into the ugliest configuration of shrapnel, and every now and then one of us would initiate some fucked up communication that would cause more bloodletting. Somehow it was meant to be that we just cause more distance in the act of trying to claw our way back into ourselves, wild eyes, teeth clenched, insides rearranged so that the love was suddenly underneath all the fear of sameness, the continuation of discontentment and perpetuated simplicity for two complicated souls. It came down to fuck you's and I hate you and stay the fuck away from me.
And she did, until tonight. I saw her awkward stride and the silhouette of her bad hair and I almost kept driving, but I had asked my friend to be the "voice of the universal wisdom" and asked her to answer my silent question, which was "should I go in" and she said "YES" so I acted in trust and out of spite and sick fascination and territoriality and residual ache in the place she used to live in me. I went in, and I shook and I kept pushing my hair to the side and trying to fold myself into smallness while avoided her shape. Until I got tired of trying not to look, so instead I choose the opposite tact and I stared. Directly at her, uncomfortably. I stared at her breasts the way her shirt was pulling too tightly in some areas and her bad skin and I looked right into her eyes and searched for not only what she was thinking or feeling but what I was experiencing in my own soul-churn. I stared until I found the predominant emotion, which was a familiarity, a love, a knowing that it was never truly as ugly as we made it out to be, but we had to make it so because it needed to end for us to grow.
I walked into her, arms outstretched, and she hugged me back and it was hard, but we did it. Animosity doesn't look good on me and I can't stay in self-righteous anger. I loved you knowing you weren't perfect, and I still do.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Confrontation
isn't always a terrible thing, but it is often moderately to severely uncomfortable. Being confronted with myself, my behavior, my sickness, my lies, it seems can only happen when someone else is in front of me, acting as my mirror. "Look at what you've done" is the whisper in my mind, even if you are just saying "Hello".
I am a "til the wheels fall off" type. I exhaust myself on the high of whatever it is I get high on, until I couldn't possibly avail myself of more. Insanity, surrender, or death are my choices. I've flirted with death while embodying the crazy, but ultimately I hope to surrender. My drugs are gone, I can't drink anymore because it doesn't look good on me, but the sex and love I keep chasing to the outskirts of reason. I create triangles and paint myself into a corner with trying to fit into where I think it is you'd like me to be, all the while wondering why I am still lacking in self esteem after all these years of being told I am beautiful and wonderful and nice and calming and comforting. Even my biggest critic, the one who gave me life, said, "look in the mirror, you don't need to settle for these losers". The most frightening thing is, I don't want the winners. I have a fucking inferiority complex and the ones who don't scare the shit out of me. There is a feeling I get in my chest when I get close to the ones that are broken, as though my very soul is being pulled outside of my physical body to meet them in their emptiness. I wonder if I were intact myself if could be pulled out in such a way.
I don't neeeeeeeeeeeeeed anything. I meet my own needs. How valuable is your touch, anyway? I take care of myself, I live pretty well, I take care of my responsibilities. I don't need you to complete me, impregnate me, support me, validate me...do I?
I am a "til the wheels fall off" type. I exhaust myself on the high of whatever it is I get high on, until I couldn't possibly avail myself of more. Insanity, surrender, or death are my choices. I've flirted with death while embodying the crazy, but ultimately I hope to surrender. My drugs are gone, I can't drink anymore because it doesn't look good on me, but the sex and love I keep chasing to the outskirts of reason. I create triangles and paint myself into a corner with trying to fit into where I think it is you'd like me to be, all the while wondering why I am still lacking in self esteem after all these years of being told I am beautiful and wonderful and nice and calming and comforting. Even my biggest critic, the one who gave me life, said, "look in the mirror, you don't need to settle for these losers". The most frightening thing is, I don't want the winners. I have a fucking inferiority complex and the ones who don't scare the shit out of me. There is a feeling I get in my chest when I get close to the ones that are broken, as though my very soul is being pulled outside of my physical body to meet them in their emptiness. I wonder if I were intact myself if could be pulled out in such a way.
I don't neeeeeeeeeeeeeed anything. I meet my own needs. How valuable is your touch, anyway? I take care of myself, I live pretty well, I take care of my responsibilities. I don't need you to complete me, impregnate me, support me, validate me...do I?
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
I'm tired
of the cycle that I have known for so many years, the one that involves me loving who I shouldn't and then hurting when they don't get better and give me what I always knew they had the ability to, deep down, as though they were just keeping it hidden away from those who tried to love them that didn't do it right. I will win this honor. I will be the ONE who has the right amount of patience, tolerance, understanding, empathy, compassion, and care. I will learn how to lick your wounds until you come in my mouth and when you see my face as you are flooded with oxytosin, you will cry because you are finally feeling safe and warm and loved and wanted. I will love you better. I will make you well. I will then feel accomplished because maybe I even saved your life, your spirit, your sanity! I have probably given you hope where you had none left at all, considering how many other girls have fucked you over. I will love you right. I will ever-so-gently show you the way of normalcy.
And you know, I am particularly qualified for this job because it was my responsibility to save my mom from herself. Yes, through all the boyfriends that drank and cheated and made her cry, I was always there. I felt her pain as she pushed me away and wouldn't accept my hugs because I wasn't the one she wanted the love from. I couldn't help her pay the bills and I wasn't the one who made her feel validated, but now I can do these things for YOU, increasing my worth in your eyes! Yes, I am great in bed and generous too. I know anger and hurt and sadness and all of the manifestations that will erupt from you will not be about me, I will look at you, saddened that you have to feel it at all, and stroke your hair and love you through my eyes and you will stop and realize it isn't necessary. You will start to make a living because you see that it is worth trying when you have a girl who loves you right.
I, on the other hand, will implode with self-loathing because I am so stupid to try and love you based on what you have said to me, done to me, not done for me. I will be so worried about how you are doing that I can't possibly even know how I am doing. I would most certainly feel better if you were better, my Love. Why won't you try harder to care about your own life simply because I care about you and I am a girl who deserves a good partner. Can't you try a little harder?
No, you can't and neither could the last one. The one before that was very self-sufficient but she bored the hell out of me. The one before her didn't see how valuable I was because she didn't need me and didn't tell me she wanted me, so I left before she had a chance to go first. It has been heartbreak after heartbreak, and I look in the mirror at my aging skin and hope that you will be the one who gets it before I have to use my fading sex appeal to seduce someone else into falling in need with me.
I am arrogant. I get that. I am codependent and sick and scared that I won't be able to disentangle from this web of lies we've told ourselves and each other. I want to let you go, with love. I think I will.
And you know, I am particularly qualified for this job because it was my responsibility to save my mom from herself. Yes, through all the boyfriends that drank and cheated and made her cry, I was always there. I felt her pain as she pushed me away and wouldn't accept my hugs because I wasn't the one she wanted the love from. I couldn't help her pay the bills and I wasn't the one who made her feel validated, but now I can do these things for YOU, increasing my worth in your eyes! Yes, I am great in bed and generous too. I know anger and hurt and sadness and all of the manifestations that will erupt from you will not be about me, I will look at you, saddened that you have to feel it at all, and stroke your hair and love you through my eyes and you will stop and realize it isn't necessary. You will start to make a living because you see that it is worth trying when you have a girl who loves you right.
I, on the other hand, will implode with self-loathing because I am so stupid to try and love you based on what you have said to me, done to me, not done for me. I will be so worried about how you are doing that I can't possibly even know how I am doing. I would most certainly feel better if you were better, my Love. Why won't you try harder to care about your own life simply because I care about you and I am a girl who deserves a good partner. Can't you try a little harder?
No, you can't and neither could the last one. The one before that was very self-sufficient but she bored the hell out of me. The one before her didn't see how valuable I was because she didn't need me and didn't tell me she wanted me, so I left before she had a chance to go first. It has been heartbreak after heartbreak, and I look in the mirror at my aging skin and hope that you will be the one who gets it before I have to use my fading sex appeal to seduce someone else into falling in need with me.
I am arrogant. I get that. I am codependent and sick and scared that I won't be able to disentangle from this web of lies we've told ourselves and each other. I want to let you go, with love. I think I will.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
"Just Sex"
I have realized now that when I give you my body, the damage that is the result of our collision is more than a flesh wound. My soul is intact, my spirit, however, grows ill with the cheap representation of my self, and when you look into my eyes you still see my pain, my joy, my love that I can’t help but to feel in the moment we connect. You see it, and I can’t help how you respond to it. And you can’t really help it either. This is more than a game, this is me, sick and sad, trying to get my perceived needs met through you, your energy is everything and nothing I can have, and I indulge until I am nauseated. I give myself to you in ways that are unfair in that I know I have no intention of letting you keep what I offer. I want you to offer more than I want what you give, because somehow that feels like I am worth more than I remember. I replace your socks on your feet so they don’t get cold.
I have given myself away, over and over again to so many hands and hearts. I make myself between your thighs and I know what to do because I have learned how to please you before we ever met. You don’t know the damage I have done to myself. To you I am a novelty, a toy, an experiment. Perhaps you think I can be salvaged and saved and that your kindness will gradually melt away the hardness in me. You are not the first who has had this idea…in fact, I have considered this possibility myself. Maybe You are my salvation. You can save me. You can dust me off and rinse me clean and wring me out and I will smile sweetly and brightly and call you Honey and we can cuddle and watch HGTV and I will cook dinner for your parents and my mouth that you’ve fucked with your silicone cock will cease to produce four-letter words except for when we fuck, of course…and then you won’t mind a little of my filth resurfacing. You are trying to get inside me, I sense this violation and I allow enough of it to take some of the fault. It feels reassuring when you touch me like you love me, like I matter, like you are paying respects to me with your tongue and your fingers. You have learned how to touch me and we have grown too appreciative, despite intentions. And now the lines are blurry and my black and white is cloudy grey and I am sad because this Isn’t what we are both trying to make it. We both knew it never would be, we knew and we came here anyway. What damage can be done? How can it be gauged? Who will bear the pain and where with it manifest? These are questions that will remain questions until I stop calling you back, stop sharing my most precious, beautiful, sacred moments with you, who could never know or understand or accept me in the daylight. Our arrangement cannot be experienced in the presence of the sun. Yet that is where I want to live.
I have given myself away, over and over again to so many hands and hearts. I make myself between your thighs and I know what to do because I have learned how to please you before we ever met. You don’t know the damage I have done to myself. To you I am a novelty, a toy, an experiment. Perhaps you think I can be salvaged and saved and that your kindness will gradually melt away the hardness in me. You are not the first who has had this idea…in fact, I have considered this possibility myself. Maybe You are my salvation. You can save me. You can dust me off and rinse me clean and wring me out and I will smile sweetly and brightly and call you Honey and we can cuddle and watch HGTV and I will cook dinner for your parents and my mouth that you’ve fucked with your silicone cock will cease to produce four-letter words except for when we fuck, of course…and then you won’t mind a little of my filth resurfacing. You are trying to get inside me, I sense this violation and I allow enough of it to take some of the fault. It feels reassuring when you touch me like you love me, like I matter, like you are paying respects to me with your tongue and your fingers. You have learned how to touch me and we have grown too appreciative, despite intentions. And now the lines are blurry and my black and white is cloudy grey and I am sad because this Isn’t what we are both trying to make it. We both knew it never would be, we knew and we came here anyway. What damage can be done? How can it be gauged? Who will bear the pain and where with it manifest? These are questions that will remain questions until I stop calling you back, stop sharing my most precious, beautiful, sacred moments with you, who could never know or understand or accept me in the daylight. Our arrangement cannot be experienced in the presence of the sun. Yet that is where I want to live.
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