Chords.

 Something nudged at me to look you up today. You'd done it recently too, liked a couple of my posts. I saw you'd posted about a new love. I waited for an ache, a moment. There was nothing. I waited a long while to make sure. 

I remember how hard it was now, loving you. You weren't out. I was. I was older, more established. You less so. Fire and ice, day and night, yin and yang. True opposites. I wanted you to be proud, claim me as yours- not as property, but as your person. You were so afraid back then. It looks like you're less so now.

It's easy to see why we didn't work out now. Of course that's what time does, doesn't it? Spreads out like threads, making it easier to distinguish one thing from another. Tug on a chord, and track down a memory. Follow it, and if you've grown at all you'll see the subtle differences. 

I like to think we learned from each other. All the anger and hurt is gone from me now. It's crazy to think I met you six years ago...

Then why am I writing about this? You were the last woman I loved. I ponder often if that will always be the case. Others tried to win my regard, and I just wasn't ready for what they had to offer, nor wanting of them. I know I won't be the last for you. That doesn't make me sad though. Just a wondering. 

I wonder if you look back on our time with fondness now. If you see the good rising above the bad, especially with everything that happened in the end. If being with me helped you in any way, maybe taught you a thing or two. Maybe not, I'm not going to reach out and ask. I doubt we could be friends. 

I think one of the things I realize the most is how much I've changed. You were the last person I tried to wrap myself around. The last I tried to do everything for. Trying to fix in you what was broken in me. 

The scars still show, of course. From you and the ones who came before. My partner sees them- the battle scars that define my insecurities and past heartbreaks. Will they just give me lip service, like you did? Pour honey into my ear, and tell me what I want to hear rather than what they truly want? Will they not understand my queerness, my blackness, my hopes and dreams like the ones before? Will they ask for all of me, and not give back in return? 

I don't think so. I'm a different human now. They are too. Now I wonder how much of myself I actually gave to you, because this isn't the woman you claimed to love either. I'm sure you'd recognize bits and pieces, but the truth is- I don't entirely recognize myself. I like me, love me more. 

I hope you find her, who brings out the best in you. Yourself.

I wonder if I'd want to be friends with her too. No, not more than friends. That time is long gone. 

Maybe, maybe not. A happy fantasy maybe. Do we ever fully cut the chords of the people we gave ourselves to? I think that's another time question. I'm still younger than I think I am. Maybe that's an old lady question. 

I think I'm done tugging this chord. Cheers to endings, and beginnings. 

Less and less words.

 This is the longest we've gone since I've known you. You're not one with words, but you spoke more than we do now. 

And I hate it.

I know this was my call- I know what I want, what I hope. It doesn't make it any easier. 

It feels like a gamble, one I could lose big on. You could too, come to that. 

Gamble on me. Bother me. Choose me. Earn me. 

Or don't.

I'm gambling on you.

But let's be clear. No more grey. No more guessing. 

For all the missing, I'm less anxious. Not sure what that means either. 

This is where I can't be afraid of my dreams. Are you a part of them?

2020 piece of mind.

 Protecting my peace has come in forms I couldn't foresee. As a planner, it was downright frustrating.  In a year of challenges to everyone I know, we had to learn, adapt, decide.

For me, that was recognizing I am more than my job. I am me. Just me. 

Recognizing relationships that no longer serve- ones lacking empathy, and don't have my respect. 

Recalibrating my dreams to what I want, standing here and now. Not my past, or possible future self. 

Appreciating I'm flawed as I'm built, and loving the flaws that help me remain imperfect. They give me something to strive for. 

Reaffirming my reality is full of uncertainty. To hold the important ones close, to tell them, show them I love them. 

Crying is a superpower- emotional intelligence and awareness are gifts. 

After it all, I'm proud of who I've become, where I am. Even more excited about what comes next.

Finally, that Peter Pan has nothing on me. I plan to continue to cause good trouble. Good, memorable trouble. 

"She was already the sun and the moon, all by herself." -Up close and personal

A helpless romantic.

     I'm a helpless romantic. I know people usually say hopeless, but no- I mean helpless. As in I cannot for the life of me help my damn self. I have been all my life. In love with love- the idea, the act, the falling, the songs, the films. So here I am again, subjecting myself to another show about love. In particular, Modern Love on prime. I can't help but cry my little eyes out. 

    I've had all kinds of love- unrequited, fireworks, even the kind that just simmers. I've broken hearts, and had mine absolutely shattered.Yet here I am, bawling my eyes out watching these differing stories unfold. I can relate to many of them, others I can only empathize. Of course in moments like these, I can't help reflect on my loves, and trysts.

    The first girl I kissed, and slept with. The ones I snuck off and kissed because I wasn't ready to tell everyone I was a flaming queer who preferred the ladies. 

     The time I actually at one time was a borderline child bride, (alright I'm exaggerating. I was all of twenty one). Still, that's the longest relationship I've had to date. Wrapped within the same story is the high school sweetheart who was also an alcoholic, who happened to step out on me as well. How I allowed that to take up space through being twenty six... the amount of learning of good, and absolutely poor habits that came out of that one. Woof.  

    Or the gallivanting I did afterward. The rediscovery of my love for women, my putting that on a shelf for the guy who looked good on paper, and I almost moved across the country for. I was such a mess after my marriage, I let that one think everything he said and did was gold. Anyone who thinks silent treatments are a good idea to punish their partner can just fuck right off. Then when we were faced with the idea we could become parents, he ran for the hills. With finality,  and complete certainty. 

    The real heartbreak after that one because I almost gave away the damn farm, to more cavorting again to distract myself from the fact I realized I wanted to be a mum. To meeting her. 

    Oh man, she really almost ruined me. She may or may not deserve for more to be said, but really she was the final straw before I realized I couldn't just love them harder to get them to love me back. Maybe I should pack it in, get some therapy, and sort out myself.

To more trysts- the first lady after getting my heart properly stomped on, another one who said I love you too damn soon, to a guy who did the same. Between the people who do that, or the ones who continually try to get into my pants even years after we fooled around... still not sure if I should wear those moments as badges of honor, or wonder what I'm putting into the ether. I can't decide if it's flattering to still be considered fuckable. Being a woman is weird. 

To now- having an unnamed lead who may or may not remain unnamed. Ah well, I did say I was a helpless romantic. Fucking helpless.

Watching, reading, and listening to every kind of love story, looking at mine and wondering what any of it means, or if it means anything at all. 

Wondering if I'll always be helpless. If its still me taking myself out at the knees by choice, or the universe reminding me I don't control shit.

Back to these stories though- reminding me I'm not the only one. 

    

empathy.

"we're good right?"

 I respond in a manner complimentary to you.


You leave, and I'm torn.


Because you see, this isn't just a discussion. This isn't just a differing of opinion. I haven't had too much to drink, and you're not wrong. This is a constant state for me. This is living, and dying in my skin.

But the instant violation I feel. The having to tamp down on my emotions, because somehow emotions negates everything I'm thinking and feeling...you don't understand this is triggering for me, and I don't know how to help you to understand. You'll never stand in my shoes, nor me yours.

Just because you don't get it. Just because you cannot fathom my fear, my distrust, my entire existence... why does that cancel out all I am thinking? I'm feeling? Because in the moment I can't quote statistics for you? Because the overwhelming feeling to double over, to make myself small, to retreat... it's less real, because you do not understand it? Empathy.

And you don't see it.

I'm left in a painful place. A place I always have to live in. Don't express too much. Don't open up, because I do in moments of an extra drink, a vulnerable place- and it doesn't count. It never counts. Don't you see, I feel safer here. the loosening of my tongue... but you don't want that. Keep it an even keel.


So I self soothe when you leave. I excuse. While I'm torn apart.

All whilst you sleep. Because I told you we're good. And I'm not.

Behind the smile is bleeding.

How do I tell them?

I'm the one who slays the dragons. I'm the one who quells the fears. The fixer. The planner.

What happens when my capacity lessens?

I'm not good at it, you see. Being other than all those things.

Maybe it's fear of being let down. Maybe it's trust. Maybe they won't stay once I tell them. How do I tell them?

I'm a wreck more regularly now than ever. I'm doling out my anxieties in chewable bites, because I don't want it to be indigestible to others. I'm good at finding sunshine in the cracks. A gift, or a curse.

People can't seem to imagine I have an in between. My gray doesn't feel allowed. "But she's so happy..." I can be happy. I have my glimmers. I have this too.

What if they can't handle it? People are starting to see it though. I'm bleeding, and I can't stop it. I'm not alone.

They all have enough on their plate though- I feel so selfish ruminating on me and mine, and they don't ask. They don't ask. So I don't tell. They don't know the rule of three. Ask three times. The truth is in the third.

Falling back on acting skills honed over a lifetime.

Waking from nightmares. Crippling anxiety attacks. Crying in corners with my fist in my mouth- even I'm unprepared for the emotion being released.

I've protested all my life. In my mothers arms, then walking, running. Being the voice my father couldn't be. Screaming from rooftops, carrying signs. Being spit on, hearing slurs. Knowing I could die for this. Being in a place now I barely have the capacity to go out.

Can you imagine the warfare someone must feel to ask for basic common decency? What a privilege it is to not have the supreme court of a nation to decide you are valid- and you have rights too? Don't be mistaken- the women's vote, the civil rights act, the freedom to marry... things others took for granted. A past gone assumption for a few. Yet I wait for when my rights will be torn away.

I have never doubted in all my days my life is considered less valid. My country tells me so.

Don't tell me otherwise. In today's climate, it would make you a liar.

It doesn't help when people tell me they're worried. You think I'm not? I don't want to carry the burden of your worries- I'm tired enough. So I don't. Keep them to yourself. Stop telling me you're worried.

I'm tired. So tired.

 Losing people close to me, to a preventable illness. What if my father has another stroke from all the stress? When will I touch my mother again? As if it wasn't enough, watching society catch up to something I've known all along- I'm a second class citizen in a world I have to work twice as hard for half as much, and this is an epiphany for all of them. Then they keep piling up. The possibility of losing a business I've built all by myself... This is my reality.

I don't want a pity party. I don't want to bleed so people can see. Rationally I understand it's not weakness, but how is it not? To break in all the places that can break.

"Find solace in others". I'm not entirely sure I want your solace. They want to tell me we have these things in common- do we? They tell me they understand- do they?

I'm far from special- but imagine people who can't understand- socioeconomically, or by skin color, or gender, how I feel...

No- you fucking don't. It's okay, just don't pander to me. Please.

My nightmares are not yours. My fears, my torments. My coping mechanisms. Even as they break.

Goddamn it, don't you see? How can I ask you to hold space? You could be gone tomorrow. So could I.

How do you comfort the planner? The fixer? The slayer of dragons? How do they quell my fears?

a breath away.

How do I create it?

Space between our bodies? Separate myself from you?

I struggle to make space, to push you away.

What is it you want from me? I wish you'd just say it.

But I know you won't. You never really do. Just talk in lazy circles.

I swear I want to break away, I want you out of my head.

Then you say the word, and I'm lost again.

Goddamn it.


I don't like my thoughts being entangled, but yours are not.

How do I create it?

Space from you?

Of lesser value.

What if I'm next? What if I know someone who is?

Staring in the mirror, assessing my value.

A woman.

A black woman.

A queer woman.

Another step, step, and step. Down, down, and down.


It's not enough to be light-skinned, or thought of as pretty. Educated, or eloquent. This week reminded me I'm still less. My body is seen as less. My life is seen as less. My value is seen as less.

Now I've hit a breaking point.

Encouraged since childhood not to seek it from outside of myself- be my own champion, my own advocate. My first love, and cheering section.

This is the first time in my life I can't hear it. The inner voice telling me it'll be alright. I've been down before, but this is different.

Will it ever matter how hard I work, or how much I dream? Will it ever matter how hard I fight, or how loudly I scream?

Will anyone know if something happens to me? My life isn't really mine. The reminders lined up like headstones.

What if I'm next? What if I know someone who is?

"Sick and tired of being sick and tired."

I'm exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally spent.

I can't watch another viral video, see one more body violated. Watch another slew of condolence posts, in memoriam, then calls to action.

Then the intermittent silence. We cycle again. Most of us just waiting for the next, knowing it will be forgotten as quickly as the last. Some will hit us harder, others we'll shake our heads but be unsurprised. This is our normal.

I'm expected to go about my day, try to function as if it's just like any other. It isn't normal to have a constant warfare command the use of all your senses. Daily micro-aggressions, very oftentimes followed by more. Over, and over, and over.

I'm far from alright. I'm almost always far from alright.

Don't try to take this feeling away from me, by comparing my experience to those who might be less fortunate elsewhere. Don't diminish my legitimate fears, when people who look like me, are like me, are related to me, are not valued. Are violated. Are murdered. Are then torn down in death, because a system touted to keep us safe is a system used to keep us down. Stay small. Be less than. Know your fucking place.

"Work twice as hard for half as much." "Keep your head down." "Don't make a scene." "White people are looking at you." "Know your limits." "This is how you stay safe from..." "Don't make eye contact." "Keep your hands visible." "Know your place." Know your place.

We're taught to fear. We live double lives, and by double standards. We dream big, just to be reminded daily our dreams will only come true if they are the service of those who don't look like us. Read that again.

Tell me it isn't true- then ask yourself why you feel the need to say it? Why you need to point out what, "they must have done wrong" why you need to point out, "well look at them looting". Look at your language. Us. Them. You distance to make yourself feel better. I distance full well knowing my value differs from yours.

You can turn off the TV. You can hide your social media feeds. You can set yourself apart. You can choose to stay quiet. You can choose. You. Can. Choose. I can't. We can't.

If you aren't as tired, as heartbroken, as violated, as fed up- ask yourself why not? And ask yourself, really ask yourself- if you even fucking care?

This isn't the job of people like me to educate you. You should want to learn. You should want to change. You should understand your privilege isn't a slight, it's a truth. It's not your brother being slowly executed in the streets, chased down like an animal, beaten in full view of others. So many murders...

There were white freedom riders too. Remember that.

I'm tired of challenging your lack of humanity, your lack or courage. And I'm allowed to be tired. This isn't just a black problem. I don't know what else you need to see, to hear, to read, to wake up and realize that.

And now I'll go back to my high functioning way of life. Back to carrying the burdens of everyday life, all while having another level of functioning below the surface, a constant survival mode.  I say high functioning because I live fully aware in truth, I control nothing. I could have all my rights taken away, my life taken away in a way you possibly will never understand. Yet I still smile, dance, go to school, fall in love, dream, cry, scream, hope. Always so many levels.

And you'll click off here.

badminton.

I lean into their chest, tracing circles there, and we begin our seemingly monthly verbal badminton match- both of us going back and forth, digging deeper into thoughts and truths, me quenching my thirst with questions I've had brewing since the last.

I feel insecurities burgeoning up, ones they haven't given me reason to feel. Yet there they are. The narratives I allow to take me out at the knees- my belief in false promises from the people before, my putting trust in them, not believing I myself am deserving of... all of it. Not smart enough, pretty enough. It's the only reason I can explain why I've done this dance over and over with the ones before you. Am I seeing in them what really is? Or what I want to see? My biggest fears of them all, the last two.

Niki- focus. Listen to what they're saying. Laying out their reasons for why they feel as they do, why they're reticent. Giving another glimpse of their past, how they view whats happening here. Laying themselves bare- don't you dare make this moment about you.

I remind myself what they're saying isn't about me. They think and feel as they do because of people and moments predating me. My questions flow freely, they answer and answer, both of us not hesitating. Even if they might not like the question, and I might not like the answer. Some of their answers even come without prompting.

You're not the only person who has been hurt in this room.

Then they circle back to me. Circling around words I wish they would say. Believe them, they haven't given me reason not to trust.

What do I want? The fantasy? To be wildly pursued? To have them not want a moment without me? To make me theirs, saying the key words and phrases we're taught to expect- or how do you know it's real? Do I want to be swept up, carried away? To be enthralled, and them also? I've never been here. I've falsely had all of the above.

Most of how I've done things fails to streamline with societal tradition, and yet I fall back on these archetypes to tell me if this is real. So why then do I feel the most authentic with them? Look past your false logic, girl. Never, not once have I easily fallen into things- and yet I feel all the unease and friction thus far for us has been manufactured within the confines of my own mind. There I go, putting the onus all on my shoulders again.

I fixate on a lack of reciprocity, emotionally. Inequity in current feelings, because of course everything is fifty fifty... my eyes roll far back into my head when I type this last line.

Refocus- so much progress is coming out of this conversation. I reiterate what's important to me. They divulge more of themselves, and I finally realize I'm not the only one constructing differing narratives in my head. They just don't feel the need to down a glass or two of Cabernet Sauvignon to get there. Ah well, maybe we both do. Need the wine, I mean.

The next morning they say if I wasn't important, they wouldn't spend time with me in the first place. For whatever reason, it clicks. I am important. Something quiets in my mind, even just for a little while.

Trust the quiet, Niki.

Thoughts from a small business owner... and someone trying not to lose it in general amidst Corona.

People have asked me often how I’m doing. So I’ll give you a wee glimpse of the inner workings of my mind currently-

OMG AM I GONNA MAKE IT OUT OF THIS?! Seriously- can’t pay my bills, might lose my business, might lose all the things...

5 minutes later... lemme just make sure I’ve filled out every possible loan and grant there is... (rabbit holes for several hours). Do this every day, because that isn’t the definition of insanity.

Every morning- check my bank account for my stimulus check. No dice. Check the California Unemployment website to see if they’ve set it up for sole proprietors yet, (part of the stimulus package passed last month is supposed to cover people like me) swing and a miss.

“But Niki- why don’t you just go out and try to find a job in the interim?” 1. Don’t be rude. 2. You think I haven’t tried? 3. Have you heard of flattening the curve?!

You’re also reminding a control freak she’s completely out of her depth, and has no control. But thanks for acting like I can’t think myself out of a brown paper bag. I’m social distancing- I haven’t lost my ability to critically think.

Was so proud of getting rid of all my side hustles- now trying to figure out side hustles I can do from home. For the foreseeable future. Oh wait- I don’t have a PC to do half these online gigs. My Apple doesn’t cut it. Mer.

I’m also trained for group activities, aka sports. So, yea. My entire education is geared around athletes and physical assessment. Certified Athletic trainer, massage therapist, yoga instructor... (rubs face in frustration, then remembers that’s illegal).

Offloading as many things as I can to help lighten the load- pause a membership here, get rid of this and that. Only a couple hundred dollar difference, but makes me feel like I'm doing something.

Don't let myself borrow trouble about my friends and family working on the front lines. Just sending all the love. Lingering in my periphery is the fear I'll know someone who gets sick. Oddly not as freaked if I get sick. Looking into doing an advance directive after my cousin and I talk about it, just in case. Update my medical ID on my cell phone. Maybe I just can't process it all. Feeling shitty I let my EMT lapse. Wish I could help. 

Currently off from school, so trying to mentally rest, but also DO ALL THE THINGS I HAVEN'T GOT DONE BECAUSE OF SCHOOL. Missing my classmates, wondering when we’ll occupy the same space. Then again, we’re training to put needles in people... it might be a minute.

Go on social media and get lost for hours? Why not? I follow the BBC, CBC, The Guardian, The Hill, The New York Times, The Boston Globe, The Washington Post, The Wall Street Journal, LA Times, San Diego local news, CNN... just to realize we’re all in the same boat. Who wants a drink? Maybe a sandwich? I’m always hungry.

Watch a bunch of politicians put their needs before the people- get all up in a huff, then make sure to register to vote through the mail. Wait, the USPS might go under? What the... go buy stamps with the little money I have in my bank account. Every little bit helps.

Watch the upteenth animal video to get a warm fuzzy feeling. Now back to reading how the entire world has lost its marbles.

Marie Kondo everything? Quadruple check. Have a million texts threads, Marco polos, FaceTimes, and Zoom hangouts? You bet. Even meet friends to stand six feet apart and run errands together, just to have human interaction. Masks and all. Would love to give them a hug goodbye, but that's no longer a thing. Definitely took casual touch for granted. Air hug and laugh, because that's where we are.

Start funny new habits like an overly ambitious facial regime. Also trying to learn to paint my nails. Terrible at it. But at least that's an hour spent doing something. Also rebraided my hair, and now look like a mermaid. Now I miss water, and the beach. Stupid wandering thought process...

Call and text my parents regularly, and tell them off about going outside. Because of course, they aren’t high functioning adults either. Mum just laughs, and padre ignores me. All in a loving way.

Rudely awoken more than once by one of my best friends who refuses to pay attention to do not disturb. Talk to her more than I've talked to her in years, and we talk all the time. We both own small businesses, so we vent and cry together about feeling powerless. Then remind each other we're bad asses, and we're gonna make it. Always get off the phone realizing I'm a lucky broad to have her, even if she can't respect my sleep cycle. 

Do a drive by birthday for my nephew, got to see a bunch of my families faces for the first time in weeks. It's the longest I've gone without seeing a family member in person. Wish I could touch my nieces and nephews- missing the hell out of those little punks. Sniffle all the way home after, and mentally promise to see them more often when this is over. Ponder driving two and a half hours just to see my parents faces.

How about work on my continuing education for all my certifications? Doing that too, since I’ve got a lot of time... now I can’t turn them in to half the people I’m supposed to- they’ve been laid off too. Gotta wait until we’re back to normal to submit for completion. Haha nOrMaL. 

Working out? Oh yea. For hours. Probs why I’m sore from my hairline to my toe nails...

Sometimes go outside and just stand in the sun. Just cause.

How about my mental health? Doing telehealth appointments with my therapist once a month. Made her laugh on the last one. We both agreed one of the best things about telehealth is we both weren’t obligated to wear a bra. Still wore shirts of course, (don’t be weird). Silver linings. Might have to up my appointments. Have them scheduled through August, since why not?

“But Niki- you’re artistic, why don’t you do art?” Why don’t you leave me alone KAREN maybe I’m not inspired to be artistic right now?!

Streamed all the things on Hulu, HBO, Netflix, and Disney+? I’ve even done the MCU marathon... real talk- I cried like a baby.

Oversleep. Undersleep. Have wild dreams. Pissed at some of the cameos in them, (why does my brain INSIST on letting people like childhood bullies, or exes make appearances?! Rude. I did slay a dragon in one though. That was spiffy. Also had kids in another. Trippy stuff). Take a nap. Maybe two. Whatever. Who cares?

The point of all this? I know a lot of you are well meaning when trying to give me "productive" things to do. I've been social distancing for a month. Believe me, I've thought about it, read about it, or done it. If you want to share a spiffy new show, cocktail, movie, or meme? Go right ahead. Maybe you’ll relate to some of this. Maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll think I’m bitching- I don’t care, this isn’t your blog. Just processing, and finding humor to be my favorite salve through all of this. Since sheer terror is already taken...

5am heartaches.

It's selfish, but unsurprising- of course I'm taking it personally. 

You've always been honest, it's true. For someone with so few spoken words, you used them to the best of your abilities. 

It's not that you went unheard, or even misunderstood. It's difficult seeing it through your eyes- my heart and mind don't function in the same way. I promise I've tried though. 

So now what do I do? Cut and run? Feels a bit cowardly. Cutting off my nose, despite my face. Stay and...? What is it I'd be waiting for? You can't answer that now. Neither can I. I wonder if you even want to. 

I asked if there was a 9% chance- you laughed because you got the joke, but didn't actually answer.

I imagine we all want to believe we're worth fighting for- pushing through our own mental barriers and discomforts to meet someone where they are. I can tell you're worth it. I wonder if you know that.

 It's difficult to not have a go at myself- if I was more substantial-  smarter, prettier, thinner, more thoughtful, then maybe... 

So what's the next move? I keep hearing a monologue Charlotte Bronte wrote in Jane Eyre play in the back of my mind- it's a bit on the dramatic side, but what the hell- I'm feeling overwrought as it is-

“I have a strange feeling with regard to you. As if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly knotted to a similar string in you. And if you were to leave I'm afraid that cord of communion would snap. And I have a notion that I'd take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, you'd forget me.”

You'd forget me.

Why do I feel connected to you in this way? My measures are not yours- for me it's been time, investment. Though you said I was important... I can't explain myself. I'm just going by how I feel. Surpassed logic awhile back.

I'm so tired. I don't want to chase, plead my case, convince anyone of anything. All I know is I feel like the cord is being stretched- I imagine it's up to me whether to cut it, or not. But not today.

tethers.

What if I put it all down? All the tethers.

What if it wasn't me who made the calls, or sent the texts?

I ponder this often.

It's so a part of my nature, to use my words to let others know I care. That I love them.

Bring us all together, so we know people are the most important thing.

I don't want to be the glue.

I want less responsibility.

But what if I treated the people the way I feel? Stopped responding. Left them on unread.

Maybe it's time. Take the onus off my shoulders. Be less. Expect less.



It's not a cry for attention. It's a deeply sunken exhaustion.

Maybe it will pass today, or tomorrow. I don't know.

I don't want to always pull the tethers.

disjointed.

If I don't write it down, it can't be real. Same if I don't tell anyone.

But sometimes I get scared.

I'm not the one people check up on. I'm not asked how I'm doing. To be fair to them, I avoid it by asking all the questions. By smiling.

It just comes out of no where.

This time I was driving in the car. I was awash with feelings I wasn't fully sure how to handle. Now my thoughts are completely disjointed.

The kind you feel like you can't tell anyone. The kind that hide in the corners, creep out when least expected.

I cried all the way home.

I'm noticing an up and down, up and down theme. Is it becoming an annual gut punch?

Now I'm alone.

For someone who often craves exactly that, I don't want to be. These are the moments I feel the most alone.

I can't call anyone, I just can't.


I sat here for a long time before I began to even type.

I don't have anything else to say.

pre-conditioning.

I catch myself thanking you for things I possibly shouldn't. Simple acts of kindness, gestures anyone who cares for another person should expect. This doesn't take away from when you take it further, and go beyond. Of course I'm thankful for those moments- far more so.

It's the basic ones that give me pause. It means I've allowed for less.

I have to own my part, I'm not a victim here. It started with a lack of self esteem, self worth. An allowance for less than I've ever deserved.

If I built them up, I'd somehow build up all I was missing in myself.

Now I'm healthier than I was before, and yet- I'm far too surprised by things you do. I'm not sure if I imagine you're taken aback looks at times, or if my mind reshapes the moments.

How many times did I let someone take advantage of what I have to give? How many times did I take far less than I deserved, thinking I should take what I could get?

I deserve the world, and to want to help enhance someone else's.

I have to take the time to remember that, time and time again.

Talk about a simple act of kindness for myself.

re-conditioning.

permission.

Break my heart. I'm giving you permission.

To say the things I fear, the things I hope... maybe even the things I dream.

I don't want to be frightened. I can't live with the idea I didn't take the leap, be open to the risk.


And even though I feel that pain in my chest- the one quickly followed by placing my hand there, to try and soothe what I'm feeling- I know I'm making the right choice.


The let go has happened- even as a type, and the tears stream freely, I just know. I know.


The cataclysmic shift wasn't when I realized I fell in love with you. I only just realized it's because I finally let go. Knowing you can hurt me, and I can hurt you. Knowing if this doesn't work, it isn't because I failed somehow. I've been true.

And so I love you freely.

Even as my breath catches, and I tremble, there's been release.


So go on ahead, break my heart. I'm giving you permission.

olive u.

"Don't say anything."

I just wanted it to sit there, at least for a little while. Selfishly, I needed the weight of my words to hang in the air- for me to hear myself say it. You respected that, only repeating my words back to me for clarity.

I got here without an external push. Without an expectation I should say it back, because someone else said it, rather than allowing for me to get there on my own. I got here my way.

I had an inkling, even a wondering I was feeling this way. Then new years happened, and it all shifted. It really was just that, a shift rather than a thunderclap, or whatever other literary way one would say it. You came into focus, like adjusting a camera lens. Once I felt that, I noticed more and more all of the little things I was appreciating about you- and the ones that drove me batty, but were just as much a part of you. Isn't it defined like that? Wanting all of someone, not just the pretty bits?

Going back to last night- what a jumble of emotion and thought once it was said- a sense of bravery, and terror. Relief and apprehension.

The decompression was real. I don't throw those words around lightly. I don't say them to just anyone, and the important people in my life know... when I say it, I mean it. It's not just a feeling in my stomach, a notion, or infatuation. A proper cry in the shower set me right afterward, as well as rinsed the days make-up off my face. Winning all around.

Now the lesson beaten into my head over and over rears its ugly head- I control nothing but my own actions from here. I can't take the words back, and I don't want to. I understand we react differently, may or may not feel my words are weighted. There very well may not be reciprocity. I finally understand what it must have felt like for everyone else, saying it first. Woof. Frank did say it was a kick in the head...

I also think I understand more than I ever did what these words mean. You are perfectly imperfect. A creature similar me, with a past filled with stories, dings in your armor, successes and failures. You have so much to give, and you've had quite a bit taken. Still working to face forward.

The things I know as I write this- you enhance my happiness, and challenge me. Hold space for me as no one else has, and respect all of my idiosyncrasies. You've cared for me at a time I've never felt more physically insecure, and emotionally confident.

I'm not sure if or when I'll say it again. Trying to go by how it feels. I'm just glad you don't feel the pressure I always did. I'm glad it was you I said it to.

Turns out I still have those rose- glasses from my younger years. Thanks for the reminder.