To pull, or break.

 I strum it, the tether between us.

Taught, but still there.

But I'm leaning away, allowing my toes to lift from the ground.

Will you pull me back? 

emotional cutting.

 It's like my brain can't let me be. It chose today to run through all of it. 

"Youth" by Daughter plays in the background as it all starts. 

The memories flood behind my eyelids, causing that tell tale prickling sensation. As if one isn't enough, I'm now reliving them all. Emotionally cutting all the while.

Remembering standing in the shower with her, telling her to be careful with that other girl. I just knew. I knew. Or the time I served him divorce papers, feeling nothing really ease. It had to end. 

When I stood across the bedroom from her after her tumultuous entrance, and realizing in that moment she was the other woman. At a loss of words, rooted to the spot- facing one another. Her frantic energy filling the small space, my energy fleeing the scene. The time I had to break her heart at the beginning of our trip, knowing the next seven days would be brutal. 

"Falling" by the Civil Wars starts to play, causing me to wonder as I type if my playlist is conspiring against me, adding to the tumult. 

The betrayals continue bubbling to the surface. I can't seem to make them stop. Now I'm typing faster and faster, going along with how my heart is racing. 

Or when he told me they waited until I went to work at my second job at night. Her calling to make sure I was working late each time. When I told him we could never work- he scared me too much. 

"Cellophane" by FKA Twigs plays next.

When he dropped my things off, and I hid in the house because I knew if I saw him I'd go back on everything I said. Then finding his note and really almost breaking. Or when he had to hold her back, her screaming all the while- and I belatedly realize I'm the other woman in this scenario. Feeling immense guilt, empathizing with how she might feel. 

"Best of you" by the Foo Fighters plays.

Is this coming from an insecure place? A catalogue of perceived failure? A one two punch of love and loss. We never really know the end of things until its right there, and we can't go back. The last kiss, the last touch. 

"What becomes of the brokenhearted" by Jimmy Ruffin plays. Now I know this is a full on conspiracy. Or I'm only catching the songs about heart break. 

Have I learned from any of this? What did I learn? I can't take my part in any of it back. Am I any better? Or just a fool, allowing for foolish things. A dupe. A heartbreaker. 

My typing slows, so does my breathing. "Cloud Atlas Sextet" plays. Making me feel like the instruments know exactly how I'm feeling. A melancholy. Bit of whimsy too. 

I stop the music. Worried Bonnie Raitt's "I can't make you love me" might play next, and that terrifies me. Wonder if Rob would appreciate the inadvertent playlist... maybe if I add, "Can't make this over" by Pixie Lott too. "Landslide" feels too on the nose anyway. 

All my loves.

 I'm currently 37 years old. This is very pertinent to the following story telling.

You see- I like so many of us thought I was supposed to meet my someone early on. For example, my parents knew each other since middle school. They got together right after high school. They've now been married for over 40 years. 40 years. It's a beautiful accomplishment. Their lives are endlessly intertwined, and their legacy is my brother, my foster sisters, and myself. 

Instead I have been able to love more than once. I feel like this should be championed more than an early forever love, but I'll leave my soap box here for the moment. The sorts of love we read about and watch, base our hopes and dreams on. Being the self appointed watcher of all the romantic movies, I know what I'm talking about. I've only belatedly realized how much of a privilege that actually is. Whenever I finally have kids, and possibly publish my memoirs, (ha) I will be able to describe so many kinds of feelings. 

Here's the thing- I did start similar to my parents. I met someone when I was 16 years old. What I didn't know was that I was meant to have more than one kind of love, adventure, and one or two trysts and damn good flirtations along the way. 

The high School Sweetheart- We were involved for 10 years. Married when I was all of 21. Divorced when I was 26. When I think about it, it feels like it was another life. In fact, it really was. They were my first true love. I've tried to dismiss it over the years, but we loved one another with all the capacity we had for such young people. We did everything "right". Dated for 5 years before we were married. Moved in before to see if we could handle one another. Married, and tried. I think we both did try as best we could. 

Sadly infidelity, immaturity, and addiction ended that relationship. We met up a few years after the divorce, and made amends. They're remarried now, with children. The truth is- we grew apart. I had big aspirations and dreams. They wanted a smaller, simpler life than I was prepared to live. Even though mistakes were made, I don't think love was our problem. 

So check off the first romantic trope- young love. Even though I was the one to call it, I was heartbroken. Crying over separating our shared Scrubs DVDs and Harry Potter books on tape, remembering what was. Filled with thoughts of was this it? At 26. Poor thing. I was a wee babe. Next up-

A few rebounds- A couple of girls, a couple of guys. Someone who didn't identify as either. I'd had experiences before my ex, (the way I lost my virginity feels like it was written as one of those ridiculous storylines like Dawson's Creek, The OC, or OTH. Still- I'm not gonna spill the beans in this story). 

The college throwback. They check in, we catch up on one another's lives. A decade old flirtation. Honestly still the tallest person I've ever been involved with, especially for all 5'4" of me. They can still bring a smile to my face, because they tether me to those years. They actually texted the other day. They're married with a young one now. 

Another was honest to god one of the best lays of my life. I wouldn't tell them that, because their ego is still far too large. They don't need me to though- they know. One of my favorite things about them. I didn't even know our first date was actually a date. I also wasn't sure how I felt about dating someone who had a Wikipedia. That being said, we've stayed in touch as well. They checked up on me awhile back, after my last break up. They're one of the good ones. Big character, bigger heart. 

I think my fav, (most ridiculous) though was my first truly dramatic relationship- public disagreements, drunkenness, flowers, and a reference to the boombox scene in Say Anything. One of the best ways to my heart obviously is a damn good pop culture reference. Still catch up with them randomly too. They're over the moon happy now. I swear sometimes I feel like Good Luck Chuck...

The crush- I had crushed on this one since the beginning of high school. They were older, far cooler. Didn't have a clue who I was. We met up after high school at a wedding for other people we went to high school with, I was one of my best friends dates. We flirted, I remembered I was married, checked myself and left.

We reconnected while I was separated. Cue my first toxic relationship. Like the time me and another girl they were talking to were at the same party... They had their issues, and I wanted to feel desired. I hadn't been cared for or touched in a long time. 

We didn't bring anything good out of one another. I'm not sure we ever could. They are smart and sweet, but together- so many problems. The first time we ended had everything to do with their drinking, and my enabling. The second time, I found out belatedly they weren't single. They ended up marrying the other person. The third time I was inebriated, and opened the door again. I promptly closed it when I realized I was being incredibly selfish. 

We still communicate, for me in a platonic way. I can't say how smart or healthy it is. They represent a time and a place. A someone I no longer am. I allow it to bring out the worst parts of me, and I haven't the faintest foggiest why they still speak to me. Unrequited love? Misplaced caring for a memory? 

I wish we did bring out the better bits of us, but time and time again we've done nothing but the opposite. I did always like their attention though. I hate the part of myself that still craves it. 

The What if? They were the other competitor for my affections when I got together with my high school sweetheart. At least, that's how I remember it. Who knows.

 I was home for Thanksgiving, still awaiting for my divorce to be finalized, (seriously California- why 6 months?!). I messaged them on Facebook on a whim, and we ended up having a completely unrealistic love story for the next couple of years. Messaging for months while they were overseas, it stopping after they got cold feet. Grand gestures and plane rides to see one another once things were rekindled. Here began the trend of people saying they loved me before I was ready, (one I didn't know how to handle). Combined with my first long distance relationship. We were an absolute recipe for disaster. 

They were supposed to be everything I wanted on paper. Instead I felt nothing but insecure. Didn't help they made constant references about my weight. So gross to think about now.  Truthfully, I think they were the insecure one, projecting onto me. It was also the relationship that forced me to realize I was queer as fuck, and wanted kids. At the ripe old age of 28. Holy shit. I almost moved across the country for that one! Ugh.

The plus side obviously includes the queerness and kiddo dreams. The loss of that relationship was the catalyst for me starting my own business, since you know- I quit my job to move away with that winner winner chicken dinner. Left behind a job with kids I loved so much... who would end up growing up and coming back into my life later.

They made me second guess building my life around someone, a lesson I was going to need to relearn. I've been hard headed since I can remember. 

The best friend love- They saved me. That's not an overstatement. 

We met at a bar back home, and all I wanted to do was take them to bed. Ah well, honesty is the best policy right? They knew this too. I didn't hide it. Luckily I kept it in my pants, and we stayed in touch.

After subsequent break ups, we leaned on each other for a good long while. That bled a bit into getting in the way of a couple of our relationships, but it was worth it. I still miss the cuddles, the movies, their coke bottle glasses and the mouth guard they wore at night and only around me at the time. 

The cradle robber, the trails and the tank-  Ok, if you know me then you know these stories. If you don't... let's just say these three changed my opinions about BMX, donuts, let me live my Titanic fantasies, and the lengths someone will go to sleep with me. Aka a tank. Yes, an actual tank. Inside jokes about glitter and cookies came from this era. Thank you. My ego will forever appreciate you. 

The lightning bolt- I met them at work. After a year of building myself back up, and losing myself in the beds of others. That whole, " The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else" helps minimally to actually heal. Therapy on the other hand, far more fitting. 

Anyway, I was building up my career, making bigger and bigger moves. I fell for a scrappy someone who looked at me like no one else had. Even though there were early alarm bells, I ignored them. Like them alluding to the fact they were actually in a relationship when we met. They left me in a similar fashion, but that wouldn't be for another 4 years. I was willing to throw out so many thoughts and feelings, principles and preconceived notions to gamble on a feeling- passion. 

I was entranced. I fell hard, fell early, and was an absolute wreck when we ended. 

The first time we kissed, I'd actually ditched another date earlier that night just to be with them. We uhauled, we planned, (I planned) a life together. So many hiccups, so many red flags. Their jealousy for one. Tears, and making up over and over. I built my life around them. They were charismatic, narcissistic, and I was a fool thinking my dreams would ever hold a candle to theirs. They lived on a world stage, and I endlessly supported that. To my own detriment. 

We fought and made up in an electric way- a way I still crave. Ick. Double ick. 

I loved them in a way I had never loved. I think they loved me as best they could, and ended it when they couldn't live up to my expectations. Or didn't want to rise to the occasion. 

A year after our breakup, they asked to meet and apologized. They said all the things one hopes a person who broke our hearts would say. If I hadn't been in a relationship at the time, I imagine we would have tried to see if something was still there. Instead I told my closest friends, who took the time to brow beat me with all the reasons we broke up- especially their betrayal. 

They still reach out randomly. I always have mixed feelings when they do. I wonder why, and if they hope for anything. Sometimes I wish I met them when they were more mature. Maybe I'd feel like less of a stepping stone. 

The unrequited love- We'd known one another since taking Chemistry together, freshman year of college. I'm positive I annoyed the hell out of them.

We met up again our senior year, I was assigned to their rugby team. We rekindled the friendship, and they became one of my greatest friends. There was always an underlying something, but we always just missed one another. 

Fast forward to the lightening bolt break up- they were so wonderful. Funnily enough, they bought me a vibrator to cheer me up... that's a damn good friend. 

Then they told me they wanted more. We had joked and flirted for years, but then they opened the door. They were off at training, so we kept things alive via text. Then they disappeared. Turns out, my dreams were too big for them. They knew all I wanted, and it was intimidating. To be fair, I came in hot. 

We haven't spoken a word since. it's been 3 years. I know there was a bit of an overlap- they met someone else. They live with them now. So much for that one. All I have left is a tattoo to remind me of them. Worth it though.

That time I was the dick- I dated far too soon after the lightening bolt. I met someone a few months after, and it ended just as soon as it started. This story comes after that. We met by chance, they didn't hide how they felt, and I went along with it. 

They were ready to step into my life in a way I wasn't completely prepared for. I thought I'd done a good job communicating my boundaries. They thought I could be the one. 

They made a big gesture by saying they loved me. I responded with, "Oh shit. Really?"

The craziest bit? We actually kept talking for a few months, but after a truly disastrous road trip to several national parks, I called it. I regret not doing it sooner. I couldn't have saved them a lot of heartache, and learning my own capacity to hurt someone. 

Schrodinger's Cat- We met on a dating app in early January of that year. I've never felt my age more while I write that sentence. We matched, we bantered in a way I hadn't in ages, and we went on our first date. They fed well into my need for communication, and I think I reminded them they were a spiffy human worth caring for. 

Instant attraction, instant connection. We didn't want that first night to night to end, so we stayed out until the wee hours. They walked me to my door, and neither of us seemed to have the gall to make a move. Right before they turned to walk to their car, I blurted out the science behind Schrodinger's cat. If you don't get the reference, google it. 

They got it, and jumped me like a puma. Oofta. 

We spent almost every free moment we had for the next several months together, which unsurprisingly caused that relationship to end rather quickly. They didn't have a friend group here beyond me, which was bothersome. 

I'm left with a beautiful photo of a California poppy in my office, memories of good sex, another too early I love you, and seeing their blue eyes in a particular actor every time I watch Stranger things. 

They were coming out of something big when we met, and from what I can tell have met a lovely lass far better suited than I was. 

I'm eternally grateful for the above stated things, and being with them when I met up with lightening bolt for their apology tour. They were the end of an era, and the beginning of something new. 

A little bit country- None of your business, since it's still ongoing. Smooches and all of that. 

So there you have it, the Reader's Digest version of 21 years of love. I've crammed a great deal of experience into that time. I've heard birds sing, felt my toes curl, cried in a heap on the floor, planned more than one wedding, made and lost a lot of dreams... and I would not change a damn thing. 

I'm glad I didn't meet "the one" when I was young, or I would have missed out on all these people. They all left me with something, and I like to think I'm a good memory. At least I hope I am. I still dream about meeting someone, raising a family, driving them crazy into our older years. 

Excited to see what the next 21 years hold. 

Chapter one- Hi I'm Niki. I think.

 I have mixed feelings about aging. On one hand, I enjoying knowing a lot more shit. About myself. About who am, how I identify. What's important to me. 

On the other hand- why the fuck can't we Benjamin Button? Do I really have fat rolls now when I move in certain ways? Was the cellulite, or that wrinkle there too... this is ludicrous. Don't even get me started on my slowing metabolism, or inability to process alcohols or most foods. The audacity of the human body.

Do men think this shit too, or is this just what aging as a woman feels like? An unmarried, childless woman. So you know, lots to unload there.

One who fought hard to become highly educated in a male dominated profession, (aka most professions) has had several long term relationships- you know that have obviously crashed and burned respectively all in a row. Hey! Throw an early marriage and divorce in there, just for a pinch of interesting. Am I just clarifying I'm not a spinster? Whatever, this is my story.

So what comes next for me? I haven't the faintest foggiest. I'm currently working on a doctorate, dreaming randomly of kids, but still longing for adventure. What that adventure looks like- traveling, maybe lovers? Hell if I know. I'm only 37. 

Yes, I just flip-flopped from feeling old to being young. It's a woman's prerogative. The most unhealthy people in my family live to be in their 80's anyway. I have so much more time to make life altering and possibly poor decisions. 

I am in a relationship, but I don't want that to be the focal point of this introduction. I feel like it's the first question people ask women my age- as if it's not my own uterus yelling to the high heavens. Listen fam, I don't need any help being reminded I'm a ticking time bomb, and men have all the time in the world.

I guess I want to talk more about, well- me. I'm a caretaker type who has spent the majority of my life allowing others to be the center of my universe. I have a gift for attracting narcissists for example... I'm getting off topic again. Me, dammit. 

So I wanted to begin writing some short stories. Vignettes really, of my life and what it's become thus far.

A life filled with a lot of choices I thought were right, that amounted to bupkis. A lot of "wrong" choices that have defined and enriched my existence. Partners who were female, male, trans. A life filled with some big dreams, and my getting over trying to fit into the tiniest of boxes. 

So hi- my name is Niki. I have things to say. Maybe just on this wee little blog. Or other people will read it, and it will become the backdrop for a feature film! A broad can dream. There aren 't enough female lead stories out there anyway...

Still black, still mad.

 How do you write about this feeling? 

The violation played out across television screens and social media, in the constant heightened state I live in, we live in. 

You just can't describe this kind of tired. Some would label it as a victim mentality. I'd have to disagree. There's something about always being here. Never having a choice. My cards being dealt even before I was born. Founded on antiquated ideas of differences because of skin. 

I vacillate between extreme bouts of anger, depression, and survivors guilt. I want to light the world on fire, walk in every march, scream at every cop.... and roll up in a ball and cry. Me and mine having what happens to us played out in a political arena. It's such bullshit. This isn't right or left fodder. This is our lives. My fucking life. 

I hold onto the triumphs- how much we as a people have overcome, how times have changed, though it feels only incrementally. But it feels like there's something just beneath my skin. When will the other shoe drop? Sadly this is a learned reaction. Heaven forbid I can appreciate those moments. 

Am I writing this from a place of anger? Of course. Will it pass...

I dream of being less mad, but not less black. 

In the weeds.

I just remember feeling less. Not realizing it in the moment, but knowing it in the aftermath.

When I was younger it was referred to as moodiness. The older I got I said things like I was going through a phase. I wasn't educated enough, didn't know what I was going through. I just understood there was a difference whenever I came out of it. 

I call it by it's name- depression. 

Now I'm older, and I just got out of the weeds again. I wake up with energy, look forward to the day. My brain is less foggy, and I have energy. Those close to me began to comment on my disposition, on my losing weight again. It always fluctuates either up or down when I'm in it. 

On the bad days, I feel like I'm drowning. Or I remember someone referring to feeling like butter being spread over too much bread. Too thin- not enough to go around. 

No one knows how dark my thoughts go because I don't talk about it. I can see now though, how people can think that choice will solve it all. I didn't understand, was judgmental for the longest time. I don't feel that way any longer. I've learned mechanisms to get past those days. Don't isolate. Don't drink. Distract. It'll pass. Breathe. Breathe again. Feel that? Smaller steps, smaller bites, smaller thoughts. You got through another day. Now do it again. 

I look back on the worst of the days in a kind of wonderment. How did it get there? If I had the answers, I'd never get there again. I'm still learning the best ways for me to ask for help. How to distance myself from those who don't enhance my happiness. Letting go of the toxic, the attachments that don't do me a service. 

I never know when it's coming, I just know when I'm standing on the other side. It's best this way, I think. Can't dwell when I don't know where I'm standing. 

37.

 The sunset years of my thirties are nothing like I expected.

Put aside a global pandemic- none of us saw that coming, of course. It's just wild how differently our lives can turn out than we planned. 

I thought I'd have a forever partner by now, be a mother. Maybe a proper home, and a pup too. Instead I'm working on a doctorate, own a business, and continue my ability to long term date. My self talk reminds me this is my life. I need to stand in it presently, work towards what I want. Not compare to others. 

That's the easy bit- telling myself not to. At this point beyond comparison to others, I'm comparing to my own dreams. 

I don't feel like a failure. I did when I was younger. Divorced at twenty-six, just finishing my undergrad. Again when I was single on my thirtieth birthday, growing a fledgling business, flourishing in my career working with elite athletes. Once more after a disastrous breakup at thirty-four, finally deciding therapy might show the mistakes and thought processes I was repeating. Realizing I needed to take less of the fault onto myself, and be honest about what I want and need. 

Looking back I see a theme- my thoughts of failure attached to my personal relationships, rather than my professional shortcomings. Or the friendships I've lost along the way.

I feel loved and appreciated by those I hold dear. I'm still working on not living in a future just in my imaginings, but in a present filled with hope and possibility. 

I don't know if I feel old, but I know I no longer feel young. I know I'm not content, not disappointed either. 

This is my life. I'm living in it currently. I think now what I ponder the most is if this is the pinnacle, or if there's more? Too soon to tell, I think. Stay tuned. 

"It's the quiet ones you've got to watch."

 Sometimes I don't know how to handle a quieter kind of love. I think it makes me... anxious. Maybe? Ugh.

We've had it packaged to us- love should be this overwhelming, head over heels, challenging, enraging, steamy, sexy, volatile thing. Who else watched Scandal? Or any romantic movie made since the beginning of movies??? All angsty and hold the boom box over your head, run through the airport, scream in the rain kinds of love. So many mers. 

They don't overwhelm me, they don't push me in all the unhealthy ways I'm used to. Don't get me wrong- it's very challenging. I mean, we shouldn't work- politically, dissimilar backgrounds, ethnicities... for fucks sake. I'm all words, they're all touch. I'm challenged, angered, assuaged, and heard. Not in raptures though, and I don't know how to handle it. 

How do you explain it? They give me butterflies, this is true. I miss them when they aren't there. Ah hell- I catch myself staring at them. Lawd, I'm gross. Is it a different kind of rapture? I look forward to seeing them cuddling them, sleeping with them... but it's not... toxic? Is that what I'm missing? What does that say? What in the actual f...

Hell if I know. I want to dissect it of course. This is how adults love? Without constant drama, angry make up sex, or or... drama? Yes I said drama twice. I'm way too used to drama it seems. 

Man, this is really not something I want to assess. That's a lie, of course I do. 

Love doesn't have to hurt. It doesn't have to overwhelm the senses, or knock us for a six. I don't know what to make of this sort of love though. A caring based in attraction, that built in a friendly way as well as more. I've never had that. Is this deeper? Different? 

It's a quiet kind of love. Can't say I'm mad at it. 

To the first boy I kissed

I remember the first time I saw you. You used to use all kinds of product in your hair. Do you remember? You parted it down the middle, it was a hard part too. We were about the same height, and you hadn't figured out your sense of style yet. Neither had I. Lots of plain shirts and jeans. Your smile stayed the same though, even when we got older. It had a little quirk on the one side- you only showed your teeth when you laughed. It did carry more sadness though, more tension and experience around its edges as the years passed. 

You were the shiny new toy back in the day. You'd just moved to our school. The handsome newcomer everyone noticed- and you asked me to be your girlfriend. We were in the 6th grade.

I think we dated for a few days, maybe a week. All sweet little pecks (my first kisses with the opposite sex), and holding hands in the halls. I was the one who called it off, for some overly dramatic reason or another. Nothing like middle school days. We were learning, or at least trying to learn what we thought adulting was.

We were twelve then. I'm thirty-six now. I heard you passed away a few days ago. A friend texted me with the news, and we talked a bit about you. 

I know you struggled when we got older. The world seemed to rest heavily on your shoulders, but you still had that smile, in all your photos. The parted hair replaced with what seemed to be a permanent baseball cap. You still had those dark eyes... and now you're gone.

I wish we could have been friends as we got older, and not just social media acquaintances. We did talk a bit online a few years back just to catch up, and I remember leaving it on a good note. I'm thankful for that. I'm thankful for you being the first boy I kissed, and for the memories of you. Even when you didn't like me in high school- I'll never get to ask you why that was. It doesn't matter now of course. 

I hope you're happy wherever you are. That it's peaceful there. Know that smile of yours will stay with me always. So will the little boy with the harshly parted hair- he left an impression a grown woman still remembers.