Shhh. My brain is busy.

I am currently hiding in my bedroom.

Why you might ask? Because I'm peopled out. It happens.

I may or may not have lied to my friends today, because I couldn't even fathom socializing.

So I lied, took myself to dinner, caught up with one of my favorite bartenders at one of my favorite restaurants, (she always remembers my order, which I know isn't really a thing. But I feel so damn special anyway), then sang off-key to Hoobastank and the Subways whilst driving around town... because I didn't want to be around anyone.

Afterwards I came home, and made a bee-line for my bedroom.

I can't always get away from the cacophony of sound between my ears. Then the thought of being around anyone while I'm...well...overthinking- sounds awful. So I run. Listen to not so great music. Well, I think the music is fantastic, but whatever.

Someone I know recently referred to themselves as high strung, because they said the wheels are always turning in their head. I actually woke up next to said person the other morning, pondering things like... well, so much fucking randomness. Things that were so far from pertinent.

So you know, I'm coping by uh... proper amounts of healthy avoidance.

Anyone else feel like they want, or need to run away? But since joining the circus isn't a thing anymore, you can't really run. You just find ways to avoid your life, within your life.

Like hiding in my bedroom. Blogging to no one in particular. Most likely sounding like a psycho hose beast... BECAUSE I'M CURRENTLY TALKING TO MYSELF WHILE TYPING THIS. OUT LOUD.

I don't have a pretty ending to this, except I'm going to finish this episode of Dollface, Then burrow under my covers, and hope my brain resets tomorrow. All the mers.

a constant craving.

I crave your touch.

A newer sensation, as I would never had said I was one for wanting to be touched. Occasionally, maybe fleetingly before. They say never say never.

Is it because it's your primary language? Your words are rarer morsels, but your touch given more often. I'm not sure. I don't want to chase the thought either. Maybe one day I'll know.

My aversion has always been there. Touch was something taken from me at times when I didn't want to give it. I haven't felt that with you. If anything, I notice it more when you don't touch me. Odd thing, that.

When I submit to you, it's my choice. I'm not callously throwing myself at someone who won't appreciate what they're being given- a part of me. You're not taking more than you ought.

I look into your eyes in the more intimate moments, and get lost. My aversion to eye contact having fallen away, which hasn't been the case before. I've told you a bit about that. I haven't told you I always kept them closed in moments like those. Always.

The boops on the nose, the nuzzling. The kisses that deepen, and the kisses that don't. All of it.

a constant craving.

safety.

You nuzzled into my braids, and I was undone. Its one of my favorite kinds of touch- encircled in your arms, you holding me close. My muscles relaxed, the remaining tension from a long travel day lost, seeping out of my body. My curvature meeting yours. 

I closed my eyes, and let out a long sigh... I knew I was safe there. 

Do you know? Do you know you're safe here- with me?

You say these things. Little things. About your inabilities. To emote, to let someone in. Maybe to feel to a fuller capacity. Alarm bells ring in my ears- listen to what they are telling you. The absence of "feeling" is the presence of pain. 

I still don't want to fix you. Truly. 

I do want to hold space for you. Maybe even give you an inkling of what you've given me- 

hope. 

I'm beginning to dismiss time- its arbitrary to me now. I do feel like I'm getting to know you. Our shared experiences allowing for more insights into you. That being said, a line from Cinderella plays in the back of my head, "Am I making believe I see in you a (man) too perfect to be really true?" Perfect is a false construct, but I know why this phrase plays over and over in my brain. My mistake before has been to fall for potential. It's a reminder to ask myself- is that what's happening here?

I don't believe so. It goes back to the little things. The thoughtful gestures, touch. You're growing vocabulary with me. I feel, as well as see your efforts towards me. They aren't grand, obnoxious or overblown.  but I wouldn't want them to be. Things are being earned here. Trust- in both yourself, and me. 

I'm growing braver in my expression- not to force your hand, or create undue influence. I hope you know that. I trust you. It was there from the beginning. There was something innate here. I don't expect you to be the same. I'm constantly reminded I'm built just off of center. 

Maybe if I'm luckily, you are too. 

proper courting

Maybe it's maturity. Maybe it's the cataloging of my experiences. What does it say about me- How much I'm surprised by feeling this way?

I have to give myself permission for the mistakes of my past. Allowing for one suitor, and then another, and another to not live up to what I wanted, very possibly needed. Letting the people I loved, or thought I loved to treat me as less than- ever. To fetishize me, pigeonhole me. Not support me in my dreams, the way I supported them in theirs. Giving myself away, for a chance at someone I was afraid I might never have. Instead breaking my own heart over and over again.

How is it someone I haven't known long makes me feel safe? Safe to feel, safe to express myself. To sit in my sadness, and not try to fix me. Because I'm not broken. Neither are they. Their quiet support, their nonjudgemental demeanor- part of me is sad I'm so surprised. Surprised they exist.

This isn't me putting them on a pedestal. Far from it, actually. I think it's seeing clearly- both them and me. Standing in my truth, and not feeling afraid. It's simple- saying what they mean. Meaning what they say. Not pouring honey in my ear, to no ones benefit. Listening to me. Taking in stride my curiosity, an inquisitiveness born from wanting to know them better. Showing me their flaws, and commiserating with me over mine. Asking me questions- no one asks me questions. Partly my fault, but still. They don't let me avoid them.

I'm thankful for each tryst, each quiet moment laying on the couch, or cuddling up next to them. Waking up to them making fun of my sleep noises, because I know it isn't born from malice. Them looking at me through one eye, because they aren't awake yet either.

I didn't know. I didn't know what proper courting was. I didn't know I could feel so free, to just sit in this skin. Built as I'm built. To feel wanted this way. I hope they know, it's mutual.

It's a lung qi kind of feeling.

I cried as I went over my notes.

Tears running down my face, as I repeatedly wrote out page after page in short hand, to help myself memorize it all. I don't remember things the way I used to. Beethoven playing in the background, drowning out unwanted sounds.

I was asked today why I felt such a strong need to go back to school again. I had my cookie cutter answers ready. The ones people expect to hear. Just adding more tools to my practice, life long student, making sure I have job security. Of course I'm loving it. These answers only contain a grain of truth.

The deeper truth is twofold- I know I need to be able to stand on my own two feet. I can never, nor should I expect anyone to take care of me. If anything has been reinforced over and over for me is- no one will come in riding on their snow white steed to sweep me off my feet, and take care of me. Not emotionally, not financially. So I build myself up again and again, finding more and more ways to shore up an almost unwanted independence. In truth, it's not even that I want to be saved. Maybe knowing there's someone who just wants to. Who wants to "save"me, but will never really need to.

Secondly, I don't think there will be a day I trust my own intelligence. I will never be smart enough. Enough, enough. So I strive for more and more information to force into my brain. Maybe, just maybe I can know enough to feel like I'm not lagging behind in some way.

So I cry while I study. I hit my pillow exhausted at night, oftentimes not to sleep well. Fitfully turning over and over in my sleep. I've been told I twist and turn, making small noises with every movement.

It's not for lack of interest in the information. Of course I'm picking things I find fascinating. Things hopefully stimulating enough that I can lie to myself a bit- you're doing this just because you're passionate. That of course is such a small percentage of what drives me.

I imagine this won't be the last time I cry through my studies. Here's hoping for different reasons.

The longest goodbye.

Part of me wants badly to hate you.

I realize now, you chose. Of all your opportunity, you chose not to act. Once I understood, once I opened up to you...

No matter now. As much as I mourn what was lost, I'm thankful. As much as what's happened since scares me, it's because of you. You opened the door.

Possibilities. Things I couldn't have imagined for myself...Things and people I thought were beyond my reach.

I thought I wanted so badly for it to be you, to build and love around you. I wasn't honoring myself. Respecting myself. Hearing my needs play out.

The truth is- a suitable partner wouldn't have let me- they wouldn't have let me give all of myself away. They wouldn't have waited, for all the time you did. You know I don't believe in bad timing, but you did.

Sometimes I wonder where you are, how you are. But this missing is in the periphery- I'd allowed you to break my heart too often. That's my fault.

I am not an idea. I was always clear about what I wanted. You knew. You knew.

You were more than an idea for me. I wonder if you know that? Not just a safety net. Not a just in case.

It's a true goodbye now. The kind you can't take back. The kind grand gestures can't erase, and good memories can't wash away. That's all you are now- a memory. Years worth of what ifs, culminating into a never could be.

Goodbye. Good luck. I hope for your sake, I was worth the losing. It took me far too long to realize-you were losing far more than I was.

Securely insecure

"Your demeanor changed..."

In recent years I've worked to go back to how I was when I was little, allowing for my thoughts and feelings to be writ plainly on my face. I coached my features in the between years to do the opposite, which in turn forced thoughts and feelings inward. "Conceal it, don't feel it." Who knew a goddamn Disney song could call me out exactly as I needed to be. That all being said, it's difficult now when someone sees or senses I'm off kilter. As if my body betrayed me, doing something I taught it to do.

When they said those words to me I was struggling not to be reactionary, hiding behind the mechanical movements of my hands. Not looking them in the eye- they caught that too. I was afraid I'd betray myself further. My body language had already turned protective.

When they pulled me close afterward, I struggled to stay present. To be there with them in the moment, not chasing the rabbit elsewhere. The let go happened gradually, me leaning into and concentrating on them more so than anything else. It's something I've been greatly comforted by, the connection we have there.

 I'd inadvertently tapped into a fissure I naively hoped had been worked past. I led them into a narrative they didn't help co-write, but unwillingly played the role opposite of mine. One where all my deepest fears and leftover emotional scars boiled over into feeling. Not feeling wanted, or good enough. Deep set thoughts, attached to everything from rejection because of my skin color by someone I thought I'd loved, my own doubts in whether I'm deserving of any kind of love, and finally to a belated realization I don't think I've ever had someone truly fight for me to be theirs. Someone I've wanted in equal measure.

They haven't once communicated any of these things to me. I rationally knew that. We all know of course, rational thought doesn't always conquer the insecurities we've stock piled over time.

I woke up the next morning frustrated with myself, working hard to hide my face so they couldn't see the processing happening there. When they kissed me, I felt an earnestness- a want to communicate with them, without my words. I was okay, better than the night before.

Through sodden eyes I drove away from them, allowing the space growing between our bodies to process why things came to a head for me the night before.

 I don't want to hurry things. Really, I don't. It's a mistake I've made in the past. One they told me they have too. We're both still healing from our past, and trying to put ourselves first.

I'm equally glad I didn't shoot from the hip and tell them all my thoughts as they came to me so clearly unfiltered, and frustrated because for the first time I've known them I wasn't honest. I know I don't have to tell them everything. But I want to.

I don't want to make another mistake I often have- set expectations and assumptions, instead of openly communicating with the other person. I'm struggling seeking reassurance, in a place filled with gray. They have economized theirs words, it's true. But I don't want to fill the spaces of their silence with the kinds of thoughts that will without a doubt end the story here. Never giving it a chance to seek its potential- whatever that may be.

They don't give me the nervous feeling in my stomach others have. Their flaws are as attractive as their attributes, someone just as comfortable in their skin as they aren't. Last night was the first time I'd projected onto them, otherwise I haven't tried to fill in the blanks. Just spent time, asked questions, and listened.

They are captivating and fascinating to me. For the first time I can remember- I don't want to fix them. Another mistake I've often made, pouring myself into someone else until they're filled up and whole, and I have nothing left. I might be wrong, but I think I've surprised them as much as they've surprised me.

I don't want to borrow trouble, as much as I don't want to leap forward. How do I do it? How can I find comfort here, without all the classical bullshit we've been taught to expect? They don't want to make promises they can't keep, and I don't want them to. I don't want to either. Something I'm sure will continue to occupy my musings, for now at least. Being securely insecure.