Category Archives: Long and Twisty Diary Entries

Well, it’s 3am again, like it always seems to be.

I had a good hour of sleep so far tonight.  I’m on the couch again tonight.  This is becoming more and more of a staple in my life.  I’ve never been “banished” to the couch so to speak, but oftentimes feel the pang of obligation to sleep there instead of the comfy bed.  It is my punishment for being an awful girlfriend–for being a shitty person.

Sure, she knew what she was getting into with me.  Everyone claims that they can handle my perceived “quirks” and “idiosyncrasies.”  I can only guess that they truly believe (at the time) that they have the qualities necessary to handle me–that they can “tame” the crazy.

The relationships, whether they be completely platonic or otherwise, all start this way with that fresh unabashed optimism.  This enthusiasm will quickly begin to fade–with only the most patient of comrades continuing to stay by my side, continue to hold my hand– granting me that semblance of normalcy.  It seems sometimes that they do this because of a deeply rooted superman complex of wanting to “save” me.  Or perhaps a few are incredibly altruistic and selfless–with no ulterior motives of bettering themselves.

I truly don’t know.  I doubt everyone.  I trust few.  I’m rather paranoid.  I fail to see my positive attributes.  When I look in the mirror I can’t help but  cringe and turn away.  I suppose I occasionally will see flashes of my former self in these reflections.  I recognize what I could be.  I glance upwards and see the eyes as deep and tumultuous as the ocean.  I pierce the retina with my pensive stare–peeling back the layers, catching sight of the dulled optimism and incurable despondency that has taken up permanent residence in this sapphire quicksand.

I don’t see the beauty in the now broken shards scattered across the tiled floor.  I don’t possess the ability to separate the good from the bad.  I don’t recognize talent, intelligence, worthiness or good looks.  There is always this ominous cloud heavy with the perceived failures of the day obscuring my view of what to everyone else is a clear reality.  But, I’ve never been one to base my opinions on heresy.  “Because I say so” is never going to work with me.

I do,however, trust my girlfriend.  When she tells me  that she loves me, I do not for one second question her intentions.  When she looks at me in that certain way and mouths, “You’re beautiful,”  I know she means it.  She is far and away my biggest fan.  She is the only person who “gets” me.  Others have claimed to understand in the past, but even my own parents don’t truly care enough to get to me in the way that Mal does.  It’s impossible to grasp the nature of the beast until you sleep next to it for months.

I can tell her patience is shot to shit.  We go to bed angry a lot these days, only to wake up with a new perspective on how special what we have is the next morning.   We are so similar in so many ways, but sometimes we JUST.DON’T.GET.EACHOTHER.  On the flip side, we are literally together 24/7, and the times we do get under each other’s skin–it’s because we are never granted a moment apart.  We are human afterall.

But, recently things have been slightly more tense.  The love is still there.  The love is still overflowing– bursting every seam lining our hearts.  We care about each other more than I ever thought was possible.  But, things are starting to shift.  The foundation is undoubtedly shaking and shifting–moving this way and that, trying desperately to resettle on steady ground.  I suppose it’s one of those turning points in the relationship.  We can go one of two ways–and cannot ignore the elephants in the room any longer.

Her job might keep her away for 2/3 of each month for an indefinite amount of time.  Now I am horrible at enduring any sort of separation–whether it be perceived or real.  This is by my own recognition… She could be going to dinner with friends, two hours away from me… tops….  and it would be almost unbearable if I did not have some distraction to keep me from focusing on the darkness attempting to take over the logic and reasoning part of my brain.   My mind immediately begins to imagine the worst: abandonment, infidelity, rejection, inadequacy, etc.  Stuff that literally makes no sense.  I completely make up these elaborate scenarios that are absolutely ridiculous.  But, that’s what I do.   Two hours or two weeks–the outcome is the same in Sunnyland.  I freak out. I am incapable of trusting she who I trust most.

Imagine that I spend two or three weeks a month in that perpetually fucked up state of being.  Is that a way to live?  Am I just forcing a square peg through a round hole?  Paralyzed with the fear of being alone …am I holding on tightly to a relationship doomed to fail?  I don’t know.  What I know is that I adore her.  But, the pain I go through the minute I drop her off at the airport each time is near unbearable.  I will immediately search for ways to pass the days to come.

It’s difficult for me.  I am used to being attached to her hip. I’m the shy kid at daycare that refuses to detach from their mother’s leg.  I cling.  But, so does she.  We feel stronger and more able to tackle the challenges of the world as a pair.  When separated I bleed profusely, coagulation never coming–quickly growing pale in the face and weak in both heart and mind.

These are the periods where I find myself searching for another person to connect with–someone or something to occupy my time.  I finally stumbled headfirst into the most unexpected of friendships.  I refuse to go into it here, but what I initially believed would be a perfect outlet during my periods of loneliness–has turned into something more than that.  The lines are beginning to blur–and as things are typically so clear cut with me– BLACK/WHITE.  I am struggling mightily to keep order.

I have been nothing but honest with Mal about the ins and outs of this “crush.”  I am going to tell the truth even when it hurts.  I don’t know if this is more beneficial to myself or her, but it’s what I do. Black or white.  Lies or truths.  I can’t do a little of both.  I’m a freak like that.  So, I opt for the path of righteousness…or whatever.  I opened up to her, informed her that I had feelings for someone else, that I would never leave her for anyone, and that my relationships with others are often extremely intense at the beginning…. I get crushes.  I get infatuated.  She knows this.  She always knew this.  But, it still hurt her.  And that in turn hurt me.  Sigh.

It’s just that I cannot devote myself to more than one person at a time.  I’m a passionate girl.  I give one hundred percent to those I correspond with.  I do not half-ass important friendships.  It’s extremely complicated even for me to comprehend.  But, I have started to sink deeper and deeper into an entanglement of confusion.  I’m hurting everyone.  ME.  I am making the love of my short life insecure–this beautiful, delicate, sensitive, AMAZING creature who should never doubt herself for one minute…. I am somehow affecting her psyche.  FML.

I’m apparently more selfish than I thought.  I’m no better than Veruca Salt–”I want the world, I want the whole world.”  I’m a silent control freak.  I enjoy being in charge of my destiny and abhor (and reject) the idea of being caught off guard.  I believe this is why I am so damn pessimistic all the time–I’m always expecting the worst so that I can’t be disappointed.  I have become a pro at reading people–always anticipating the future far off in advance.

But, I’m growing tired.  I’m exhausted.  I know Mal is exhausted.  Fighting does not suit me well.  I prefer contentment.  I enjoy the warmth of another body beside me in bed.  I love feeling her gaze from across the room–her sincerity and honest to god adoration warms my heart.  She sees me for who I could be, but even more importantly she sees me for who I already am and she’s damn proud of that person.

And that makes all the difference.

—————–

Randoms:

  • I did not watch the Super Bowl tonight.  I believe that is the first time ever I was not either subjected to the spectacle or glued to the tv by my own passion for sports.  There are more important things these days.
  • I can’t say I was pleased with the outcome though.  Everyone knows I hate Louisiana.
  • We saw “Precious” in theaters today.  Mal loved it.  I barely made it through.  It’s a good enough movie and Monique does such an amazing job (scary good, actually)–but it’s depressing as hell.  Mal tried to argue that it had an uplifting ending.  Pfft!  Lies!  People…. children live this life EVERY DAY and that fact is never going to change no matter what I do to fix it.  It is horrible and it made me feel like a piece of shit for having a good life.  Still preferable to “When in Rome” or “Dear John.”  No thanks.
  • We have caught the interior design bug.  We can’t do much with our limited budget, but we thought (incorrectly) that we could afford to change out the hardware in our kitchen cabinets.  Well, if we somehow did not have 28 effing pieces to replace than perhaps we could have afforded it.  We have a tiny kitchen.  WTF?  How is there 28 drawers and cabinets?  Crazy shit.  The sexy modern/contemporary looking pulls were about 4 bucks EACH.  Yeah, no.
  • I recently got my labret pierced.  My parents will kill me, I’m sure of it.  Luckily, they don’t really support me all that much anymore.  And they will love me regardless.  I’m their kid and the piercing is only temporary!
  • However, tattoos are not.  I plan on getting this:

http://www.artsartisans.com/c/images/tree%20of%20life%20%20elliottmetal.jpg
along with the quote: “…miles to go before I sleep” in newspaper/typewriter font underneath it.  This will adorn my upper bicep/lower right shoulder.  The quote is part of a longer Robert Frost poem.  “The woods are lovely, dark and deep and I have miles to go before I sleep…miles to go before I sleep.”  I always loved it.  Still do.

  • I went with the piercing because I like to think long and hard before committing to something permanent.  Commitment phobe + impulsive =constant turmoil over whether or not to get this done.
  • You might have noticed the addition of “Dissected” to the header of this blog (HAHA, I’m pretending people read this silly diatribe).  This was Mallory’s stroke of genius.  She loved that the initials of it equated BPD… Borderline Personality Disorder.  She’s awesome. :D
  • We went to a fabric store today.  That was an experience.  It made me feel extremely inadequate.  I wish I could make clothes and/or other things too!  So jealous of people with mad skills like that.  We saw the following fabric available at Joanne’s!  If we could make shiz we could save bookoos I’m sure.  That duvet cover is sold at Urban Outfitters for a lot.

  • Orajel is a godsend.  I’ve been dealing with a killer wisdom tooth infection and pain does not begin to describe what I’ve been feeling!  Amazing how teeth can incapacitate us sometimes.
  • Netflix is uhmazing.  This is still true six years after I tried it for the first time.
  • They closed a Blockbuster in our city recently–and it has since turned into a “Blockbuster Outlet.”  I am still perplexed by this.
  • How is Albertson’s still open?  I went there the other day and my jaw completely dropped to the floor (toothache relation???) when I saw how much they charge for cereal.  Shit mayne!  It was like six bucks for a box of Special K.  I am pretty sure they were referring to the cereal…
  • I am going to miss this house and my roommates when May rolls around–but even more than that I am going to miss Coco.  He’s my roommate’s dog, but he is pretty damn special to me.
  • The idea of moving from College Station continues to give me hives.  Change freaks me out.  But, I can’t stay here.  Everyone is too young.  I’m getting older.  It’s not conducive to growing up.
  • Everyone should have Sirius Radio.
  • I fell asleep with wet hair (smelling like peppermints and woke up to find it parted the wrong way.  I don’t think I like it.
  • I truly hate Vampire Weekend.
  • I miss my family a lot tonight.

http://jamblichus.files.wordpress.com/2009/10/night-stars.jpg?w=501&h=334

Liquid Courage

This is not going to be a long entry.  I can feel my eyes starting to blear–each blink burning more and more–my retinas begging me to rest, begging me to discontinue use if only for a moment.

I’m tired.  Or at least my body is successfully convincing  my brain that that be the case.  I feel hollow.  I am devoid of energy–the weighty cloak of lethargy enveloping my soul and encasing my limbs.  I seem to be atrophying.  Every muscle aches with phantom pains.  The desire to outstretch–to shake off the cobwebs and reach for the stars continues to exist.  I’m not without a dream–I’m not without the will to improve my mind and body.  But, the act, the physical act of movement as trivial as taking a step in the direction of the door–paralyzes me.

Believe me–I have worked through every possible ailment in order to attribute these symptoms to something real–something I can point to and place the blame upon.  But, no matter how hard I search, I continue to come up short.

If the answer is not lying in a well-worn edition of Gray’s Anatomy or one of the pages of WebMD then where is my scapegoat?  What is the source of this general malaise?  Why do my eyelids hang heavy?  Why do my tendons scream out when I attempt to engage in any activity whatsoever?

I’ve deduced that the culprit is nothing physical.  I’m in fairly good health.  When I finally succeed at deceiving my brain into yanking my ass out of a bed and onto a treadmill I excel.  I’m a natural athlete.  A run around the block at a quick pace is a cake-walk.  Bench presses, squats, crunches–all a breeze.  All accomplished without an inkling of aching or soreness.

No, the true reason for this ambling through life appears to be entirely conjured up in my head.  I’ve grown to loathe my sarlacc pit of a mind.  I devour knowledge–I crave it.  I need stimulation to live and breathe.  But, I’m getting none.  I am in this stagnant pond attempting to reach the other side, but despite my greatest efforts I am only sinking deeper into the black water around me.  Why?

No clue.

Well, I suppose if a gun, cold and unforgiving, was pressed against my temple, I would be able to pinpoint several isolated instances in my past that have led to this apparent immobility and inactivity.  I can take educated guesses–as I have had nothing but copious amounts of time to pour over all of the facts, truths and pieces of evidence available. I refuse to detail these seemingly trivial moments from my past that have come to so devastatingly shape my future–only because the average reader would fail to understand how an event so completely minute could lead to the downfall of an almost prodigal talent– how something that most would brush off their shoulder and label as insignificant went on to infiltrate every vein, every fiber and every vessel within my fragile shell.  The most diminutive of instances could tarnish and corrupt the golden bright path that had been prematurely laid in front of me.

Sigh.

But, reality is something tough to ignore.  I can’t rewind through the past four years and alter the twists and turns my life has taken.  It is what it is, ya know?  The only solution is to address the problem and fucking fix it already.  It’s this cycle of inaction.  It’s seeing the finish line ahead of me, but being able to come up with no feasible way of reaching it.

All of the ways I have attempted to patch up old wounds and mask the issues at hand have proved fruitless.  I have found love.  I have found support.  I have even found jobs that would be perfect avenues for achieving stability and providing me with a solid enough foundation to normalize–if just for a moment.  So, now I know.  I can’t do this alone, but I have worn out my welcome with such frequency that I have no one left to turn to.

I can hardly face my parents without the pangs of guilt crippling me on the spot.  I am the child they wish they had never conceived.  I am the big mistake who ended up being more trouble than I was worth.  I am able to see that they may love me, but they sure don’t like me too much.  And I can’t blame them.  It would appear from the outside looking in that I have made choice after choice–fully cognizant of the repercussions of each of them–with the worst intentions in mind.  That every action existed just to take advantage of their generosity and responsibility as my parent.  But, that would be to oversimplify a very complex matter.  This is not a situation that can be so easily wrapped up in a big red bow–I’m not a simple case.  I’m more complicated than I can ever iterate to someone.   So, to generalize would be to slight and diminish everything I have been through.  I do understand, however.  I’m not an easy pill to swallow, and sometimes I wish they had not had me either.

Things are especially dour in recent days.  I am head over heels–crazily in love with the most beautiful soul on earth.  She has been my rock.  She has been the person I turn to each time I need reassurance or a shoulder on which to rest my weary head.  She is always there.  But, I feel that I do not deserve her kindness or generosity.  I believe in my heart of hearts that despite the depth to which I KNOW she loves me, that she would be best in the arms of someone more capable of providing for her.  I am a live wire.  Being with me is tough.  She has the patience of a saint and I am eternally grateful for the extension of support she has gifted me.  But, my love and admiration is not enough to make a relationship work.  I have to be a better person–more dependable, more stable, more willing to make sacrifices in order to give us the best chance at having a happy life.

I need to get better to keep her.  She won’t leave me.  That much I know.  She loves me to the same extent that I do her.  But, I refuse to sit there and watch her hoist the world upon her bantam shoulders.  She is young.  I cannot rest my feet upon her back as she works her ass off to support us both.  It’s not fair.  I view this as temporary, but in the meantime it is giving me significant amounts of grief and making me feel even more insubstantial as a human being.

God.  I’m lonely. I’m self-loathing. I’m hideous.  But, I still manage to find humor in every day events that provide me periods of respite from the darkness.  All in all, I’m not unhappy.  But, I do wish I could find some friends.  I may take a while to get to know–but I know that I have a lot to offer.  I WANT TO ADD MORE PEOPLE TO MY WOLF PACK!

Longer than I thought. Hmph.

http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2138/2448920369_400d577ee0.jpg

Time Time Ticking On Me

What a week…

It’s been a monumental one for me.  Unlike in the past, I have begun to learn the art of  treasuring time–savoring it like the precious commodity it truly is.  I can feel each ticking of the wall clock reverberating deep within the core of my brittle bones–signifying one less moment I will have in this world. It’s foreboding.  It’s ominous.  And yeah it’s morbid and morose, but is it not true?    We only have so many tick-tocks left before we are expunged from this earth forever. 

We are on borrowed time, so to speak.  And it’s what we choose to do with those seconds that will go on to dictate the quality of our existence.   Prior to recent weeks, I spent the bulk of my days dawdling about.  I was more than a little unsure of which way to turn, unsure as to which direction to follow–my internal compass needing significant alterations in determining my coordinates.  I can honestly say that in the past, I tended to view time as more of an enemy than an ally.  I harbored nothing but deeply seeded hostility for clocks and the iron-clad grip with which they controlled our entire lives–drunk off of the power they wielded over me.   I was constantly at its mercy–pleading with it to speed up it’s gears–to catapult light into dark so that I could lay each wasted day to rest at my bidding.  I did not wish to die, but only to accelerate the process of getting to whatever place or time it was that my life stopped sucking.  I was ready. 

But, you can’t will change to manifest itself into an alternate avenue.  You can’t mentally persuade Father Time to wave his magical wand and fast forward through the boring parts and into something new, sparkly and marvelous.  You are his bitch for all practical purposes until fate finally grows tired of that cryptic cat and mouse game and instead opts to relinquish its suffocating grip from around your neck.  But, the exact coordinates continue to remain enigmatic to you–the when and where continue to elude your consciousness. 

So, you just drift along somewhat aimlessly, clocking in at a simplistic mind-numbing 9-5, a cog in the system, just another number, another nameless faceless insignificant entity trained to view themselves as an intrinsic part of something bigger… something more important.  You do what society has conditioned you to believe is “right,”– and so you buy into it as you struggle desperately to obtain a semblance of happiness–a taste of the American dream.

And then on a not-so-special day–everything changes. 

You are completely knocked off of your well-worn path, forcefully grabbed by the hands of fate, tossed into the wind and then all of the sudden find yourself at the feet of your future.  You stand up, dust yourself off, shake off the disruption and the debris that formed in transition and finally get up the gumption to stare into the eyes of she who will alter your life forever. 

And that’s where I am.

Well, figuratively that is… literally I am sitting in bed, back against the wall, fan whirring in my right ear, tegan and sara infiltrating the other with their catchy beats and scathing lyrics, lights dimmed to a lulling degree.  I’m sitting in a room that was once mine–in a house that was once mine, but I now feel like the stranger here–a visitor merely passing through.  It’s an ephemeral state of mind, however, for I know that it will pass.  I know that it will.  You see this room is now hers–it’s filled with her things, her stylistic flourishes pepper the walls and each square foot bears her mark, eliminating any trace of my previous dormancy here.  My memories of this house include my ex-girlfriend.  I remember this as my room.  I remember cooking my first meal for her in the kitchen–chicken, garlic mashed potatoes and green beans, of watching Moulin Rouge! while in bed, of the time our kitten got stuck inside the couch…and of long talks, arguments and romance.  These memories haunt me. But, I’m getting better.  With each passing day these memories dull and blur as they become nothing more than ticks on a timeline, as blips on a radar of a two year epoch of my life that I now wish I could just erase from my mind- Eternal Sunshine style.   The scars have stopped burning with each mention of my name– my heart has stopped searing, and now  I’m lying to rest this “weight upon my chest and ghost upon my back.”  

I’m moving on.  I have moved on.

But, it is a process.  I did not have the typical period of bereavement.  I went from one relationship to another with no break in between.  In many ways it has been a life saver to not have to deal with such heartbreak and sorrow on my own, but on the other hand I’ve just been delaying the inevitable.  It never even felt real until I had to pick up my things from my ex’s house.  Talk about a dose of reality.  I had not stepped one of my supah gay converse all-starred feet back in that city since June–the weekend after I was unfaithful to her for the first time.  True, our relationship was held together by frayed string at that point–and I am pushing it when I say that we were even a real couple–only a shadow of our former selves… but to her it was a crushing blow to both her ego and our potentiality as future partners.   It should have been a nail in the coffin, but that is neither here nor there.

Being back in San Antonio was an eerie experience…it was never my home, it was merely a transitory location to where I moved some of my things  on a temporary basis–all for the sake of Emily and I’s relationship.  She would never have considered relocating for me, but I’m nomadic at heart so I took it as a chance to experience a different lifestyle for a while.   It’s a kinda shitty place to live.  It’s hot, it’s dry, there is absolutely nothing scenic about it in the slightest and the only positive element was Sea World–and I never went there…not even once. 

But, it was a necessary step revisiting the city where I had so many shared moments between Em and myself… I had to get my belongings from her house.  I had to make the dissolution of our relationship official.  She had previously made it very (VERY) clear she had no desire to see me ever again–so she informed me that a friend would be letting me into the garage to gather my things.  What she neglected to tell me was that this “friend” was also a girlfriend–or so it would appear.  She comes strutting out in Em’s clothes, from Em’s house, with only Em’s car in the driveway…smokin’ a cigarette and watching me with an eagle eye as I hurriedly stuffed my shit in Mal’s little Nissan wanting desperately to high tail it out of there as quickly as humanly possible.  But, all the while trying to make small talk with the new (less pretty)replacement me.  

And then we were done.  We closed the trunk of the car and drove off, me slightly yearning for the past…a nostalgia for the comfort and simplicity of a 1.5 year long relationship looming just below the surface of the skin, but knowing full well that years of unhappiness would have followed had I made that choice… had I made the decision to stay with Em.  I knew that this was the last time I would ever drive down Potranco….the last time I’d ever soar down 410 towards I-35.  This was it.  Final answer.  Chapter closed.  And with that knowledge I turned to my gal, grabbed her arm, clasped our fingers tightly together, kissed her, looked into her brilliant green eyes, tears streaming down my face…a salted mixture of despair and delight… and knowing that hers would be the only hand I would be holding for the remainder of my life.

Yeah, yeah, yeah I may be jumping the gun.  Why the rush, right?  Well, the truth is.. I’m hardly rushing.  I’ve been chasing after this girl for months, allowing myself to fall for her more and more everyday, learning everything about her and growing to indubitably love and admire who she is as a person.  These emotions I’ve conjured up are anything but hasty.  I may be a capricious kid, but I’m not irrational and impulsive when it comes to my heart and my soul.   I’m almost spookily omnipotent when it comes to determining the value of a relationship–friendship or otherwise.  I can analyze it to the point of exhaustion–thus allowing me to make an almost immediate call on whether or not someone is worth my time, effort and loyalty.  I can do this fairly prematurely.   When someone has a heart as weak and shoddily patched up as mine–you learn to preserve it at all costs.  You learn little techniques such as this to protect yourself out of sheer necessity.  But, sometimes you ignore what your instincts try to tell you.  My gutteral instincts inform me of danger ahead, of steering clear of what appears right in front of me, that things that seem too good to be true probably are. 

Fuck instincts.

I’m taking a risk on this one.  I’m taking a risk on this girl….for her…for me…because I know what could be. What SHOULD be.  I don’t know what truly resides deep within the confines of her brain.  I do not know if her heart truly beats in syncopation with my own.  I don’t know if each breath she takes throughout the day is taken for me.  I do not have knowledge of her having feelings for me that penetrate deep into her cartilage.  I don’t know if she sees the future as I do.  All I know is what I feel and what I perceive.  I will never leave this woman.  I say that not out of an obligation to her–not because I’m afraid of hurting her…but because I love her in ways that I never even knew were possible.  I love her that much already.  I wake up in the night searching for her hand beneath the sheets.   It seems mundane.  But, for me that’s a big deal.  I’m someone who craves time alone.  I’m someone who would typically prefer to sleep on a couch instead of in the arms of another.  I feel smothered in those instances.  Traditionally I would get unbearably uncomfortable sharing a bed with someone else– but now a night alone is a night I stay awake longing for her touch.  It’s scary.

A part of me believes that I am losing control of my rationality–that I’m allowing myself to get so wrapped up in this, throwing caution to the wind, lowering my guard to an unsafe degree.  My armor has so many chinks this time.  I’m letting her get into my head.  I’ve shown her all my insides.  I’ve shown her the darkness.  I’ve told her my weaknesses, my flaws, my fears…and yet she still stands by my side.   I am a simple girl.  I want to love and be loved.  I don’t need it.  I don’t need to be in a relationship.  I think that is the biggest misconception about me–that I am needy.  Fuck that.  People don’t take the time to understand me.  I can be independent.  But, if I am involved with someone, I’m all in–no holds barred, no limits…I’m all theirs.  And I expect certain things in return–so sue me.  I expect decency, patience and sensitivity.  I don’t believe it to be too much to ask. 

So, here I am.  Head over heels.  Probably in over my head.  I have been burned more times than I can count by her.  I have heard warnings of her tendency to break hearts SOS’d to me more times than I can count.  It’s whatever.  It’s my battle to fight.  I can make my own mistakes.  Each day I wake up is now the best day of my life.  I’m enthusiastic about something for the first time in years.  She fills me with hope and makes me feel special.  I don’t know what else to say.  I’m lucky.  I might be stupid, but I’m lucky.  I’m lucky to have even spent a day by her side.  I’m honored to be able to hold a place in her life at all.  I can’t ask for the world, but I know that I deserve some happiness.  I know that.  And this is it.  I know that I can learn and grow from just being near her–her brilliance and playful nature instilling in me a thirst and desire to grab the bull by the horns so to speak.   I feel fearless with her.  I feel as though no obstacle is insurmountable. 

She may tire of me.  I may be a fling for her.  I may be a disposable toy whose sole purpose is to boost her confidence.  I could be used.  But, I’m opting to maintain some optimism.  I will never leave her.  And until she leave me…. my life.is.awesome.  And there is now not enough time in the day to spend with her and let her know how love should be.

Afraid of Crossing Lines. Afraid of Flying Blind. Afraid of Inquiring Minds. Afraid of Being Left Behind

There’s a lot of miscommunication goin’ down recently.  I guess it’s mainly due to my complete lack of communication in general that leads to this confusion.  Whoops.  My bad.  My typical defense–when in doubt, I turn inwards, avoid contact with others, and keep mi boca SHUT , zipped,  a-closed.  Yessirreee.  That is my way of dealing.  Sure, it’s not the greatest tactic.   But, it staves off dealing with uncomfortable situations and awkwardness for a couple minutes longer than if I otherwise stated what was on ze mind.  Faulty logic?  So?  Nadie es perfecto.

So, while this may prevent any immediate confrontation–one can rest assured knowing that each form of inaction I partake in will come back to bite me in the ass in the future.  It’s just inevitable.   How so, you ask?  Well the how is not so important as knowing the outcome–which will be my drowning in loneliness.

I push everyone away.  It probably seems to many on the outside of my little self-contained world that I spend hours upon hours holed up in my dank dark room about how I can destroy the little people’s dreams on that particular day.  Pinky and the Brain style ya know?

Silly Sunny: “Gee, Brain, what do you want to do tonight?”
Sunny’s Brain: “The same thing we do every night—try to make everyone hate me!”

Oh, you know that’s how it goes down.  I even get the accents goin’ on.  It’s pretty intense all that plottin’ and contrivin.’   Sigh.

Yeah, but it’s not like that at all.  In fact, most of my thinktime is spent worrying about ridiculously petty things–shit that for the normal person goes in one ear and out the other.  But, I will sit there and analyze a situation until it reaches far past the realm of normal and enters into the extremely desolated and arid outskirts of batshitcrazonia populated only by the creme de la creme of nutterbutters.  I would fit so snugly into that crop of crazies, for reals.

But, that is neither here nor there.  I am a decent person.  I am not a trouble maker.  I am not a black-hearted beast of burden.  I do not want to hurt people.  I do not have a malicious bone in my body.  I don’t.  The only time I hurt people is out of what I feel to be necessity.  Necessity for maintaining what little sanity I have left in tact.  Honestly.  Scout’s honor.

It’s not selfishness, but what it is.. IS  self-preservation.  And I don’t believe that that in and of itself is so criminal.  When you are as destroyed and crippled internally as I am, you do whatever it takes to just keep living–to keep waking up in the morning with some semblance of a positive outlook for the future.   It ain’t easy being me sometimes believe it or not.  If it were I would not feel an absolute need to scribble down these dysfunctional thoughts on this stupid blog.  I would just be out there living and thriving instead of analyzing and critiquing a single moment from a single day.

But, here I am.

I’ve had a week of contrasts–of absolute ecstatically ecstatic highs and purgatory-esque lowly lows.   I fail to compute how I can be so loved by some and so loathed by others…how people who know me equally well can review my attributes and weaknesses so completely differently.   It makes for a very confusing self-image.  That’s for dayum sure.   Am I a wonderfully amazing human being with an interesting brain ripe for picking and learning from?  Or am I among the most useless, harmful, deceptive, greedy worst people on this already shitty earth?

I don’t even know anymore.  I’m choosing to side mostly with the former.  I’m not ready to admit defeat just yet.  I’m instead opting to blame misinterpretation for any other confusions that may arise.  Because as self-critical and self-loathing as I am, I have not once ever truly believed myself to be a bad person.  In fact, I have an almost narcissistic boastful view of my heart’s contents.  I think I am actually an extremely amazing person when it comes to caring so deeply about others well-being.   I’m the kind of gal who would jump in front of a bus to save a child.  I’m the person who would sacrifice my own life to better someone elses.   I have such a mentality ingrained upon my soul–it’s not part of some hero complex I have.  I shy away from attention.  I don’t want to have any praise bestowed upon me.  I just have the desire to do good.

So…why would someone like this have so many people waving torches outside my straw house?

“You separate from my body

You need consistence from somebody

Oh, I deserve this anguish on my house”

The answer, of course, is because of my inability to behave like a civilized adult human sometimes.  When I recoil so dramatically and noticeably into my cave–I hurt others.  I do it when I’m counted on the most.  And it’s not out of any intricately selfish desires to see others mourn my absence… it’s because of a fear of the unknown.  It is a fear of being judged, a fear of being seen, a fear of mingling with strangers, a fear of having to perform, a fear of having to impress, a fear of having to look or act a certain way, a fear of being confronted about my lifestyle, a  fear of just existing in that moment with others to witness my potential (and perhaps inevitable) meltdown under pressure.

It’s really a self-fulfilling prophecy.  The amalgam of anxiety, worry, stress and fear that festers and ferments inside my gut will typically go on to dictate the bulk of my experiences.  I get so worked up about something that there is usually no hope of anything going well afterwards.  I’m a headcase.  It’s just a fact.

I am hated by many right now.  My family loathes my existence.  And I do understand it.  I do.  They see me as a parasitic organism–one who benefits solely at the expense of the host.  They believe me to be taking and taking, draining them of life and blood, while I sit here growing bloated off of their givings.  I thrive while they wither away.  And that the give-and-take aspect of this symbiotic relationship long since dissipated into nothingness.  In other words I’m not pulling enough of my own weight to make this partnership worth it any longer.

I don’t make my presence known at family events.  This is basically my sole failure as a daughter–as a sister.  I’m not sure how this is perceived in their eyes.  Do they feel me to be a selfish monster?  Do they think that my opting to sit home alone with the television as my only company a better option for me?  Do they think it is a slap in their face?  That I am making a blatant statement of my discontent or dislike of them?  Sigh.  Even though they know, in their hearts, that it is nothing like that at all.

My body, my soul, my heart, my spirit all want to be there.  It’s my brain that makes it impossible.  I know what is right.  I always know what the right thing to do is.  I’m a very moralistic person.  I may not believe in God, but I have a better core sense of morals and internal compass than almost everyone else I know.  Trust me.   So, I know what I should be doing.  But, I am physically rendered incapable of doing so by my disorder.  Whatever.  Call it a cop-out.  I don’t care what people call it.  It is the fucking truth.

It’s the same reason I dropped out of school.  I would drive to campus every day, park in my regular spot outside of the Rec Center, wait ten minutes, start bawling my eyes out while listening to Brandi Carlile on the stereo, open the car door, close the car door, and then go home and punish myself for letting my brain win…yet again.   I wanted so badly to go to school.  I knew the importance of obtaining that degree.  I knew how intrinsic that damn piece of paper was to my future success.  I knew how much my parents had sacrificed in order to put me through four years of school.  I knew I was throwing away a lot with these “decisions,” but I did not have a choice.  I never did.

None of this is easy for me.  None of these actions are taken with a light heart.  Fuck that.  It’s so simple to blame me as a person… me as a living breathing entity for choosing my own path.  It is easy.  I get it.  It’s a lot more difficult to put ten minutes worth of analyzation and understanding into deducing a more plausible and accurate train of thought.  So, it’s no surprise that this is how I am viewed by others.  But, they are all wrong.  I take responsibility when necessary.  I am the first to apologize for my shortcomings.  However, I am also quick to point the finger back at those spitting out their rancorous venom and ask them to walk a mile in my shoes and see if they still feel that way.

Because this life aint easy and it sure as shit isn’t fun.  I gain nothing from any of these circumstances or events.  All I do is lose.  I lose my friends, I lose my family, and I lose a part of myself every fucking day.   So, blame away.  Go ahead.  But,  don’t try to pretend you understand my motives or my reasonings.   And just let me try and be happy for five fucking minutes.

The end.

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Most Dangerous Game

Love is the most dangerous game.  General Zaroff’s got nothing on me.  He hunts big game.  He hunts the occasional person.  He hunts for sport.  He hunts for the thrill.  It’s nothing like hunting hearts.  It’s nothing like patiently waiting on the sidelines, a constant throbbing pain reverberating inside your hollow chest, watching…waiting as the person you love gives herself to what feels like everyone else but you.  To believe with every fucking fiber of your being that you have found that one person you were meant for, that one person you have spent your entire life dreaming about, and to know that to her you are invisible.  To her you are no one.

I put my god damned heart right there on the line.  I had hoped to reel her in.  I had hoped that just like in the movies that the monologue I had recited over and over in my mind for weeks would be enough.  I spilled the contents of my soul onto the floor below.  I hand fed her everything  that I had kept inside for so long.  I voiced my discontent.  I vocalized my devotion.  I exhausted all of my resources.  I tried to show her what I could give her. It wasn’t enough. And then I gave up.

I realized the more I pushed this, the more I’d push her away and out of my life, and I was unprepared to accept that as my fate.  I was unwilling to say goodbye.  I knew from that point on that my feelings would never change.   I could never walk away.  She didn’t even know it, but I had given her a piece of myself.  And I could never get it back.  And I knew that the more I got to know her, the closer I grew to her, the more I allowed our friendship to  naturally develop–that these emotions would only grow stronger.  I knew this.  I knew all of this.

I will always think with my heart before I allow my mind any say in my decision making.  And my heart knew what the brain refused to accept.  Sentimentality versus rationality.  Losing her would have been comparable to losing a limb–an affliction that would plague my existence for the duration of my time here on earth.  The phantom pains, the altered sense of perception and identity, the crippling effects, the stigmas, the disabilities, the hardships, the difficulties, the sense of losing a part of oneself.  This would be my path.  This would be my destiny.  I knew that keeping her as a friend would destroy me inside.  I knew that I might never recover.

But, so it was meant to be.  I was willing to take that risk.  I was ready to sacrifice my own happiness just to experience a single second of what it was like to be her everything.  It would have been prudent for me to have moved on.  It would have been easier.  It would have perhaps been the right decision for me personally.  But, it was not a possibility.  I lost all control of my life the day I met her.  And that was OK.  I had no choice.  I never had a choice.

Maybe neither did she.

And then on one not-so special morning I awoke from a night of fitful sleep.  I awoke from a night of tortured dreams–reluctantly peeling open my eyes to the unwelcoming light of day– all the while knowing that this day like all the ones preceding existed solely as a way to pass the time until the next one comes.  I expected nothing but loneliness and yet much to my dismay awoke to a new chapter of life.  To come to anticipate nothing but despair and yet to experience elation is something I find difficult to fully explain to you.  Contradictions that dictate my movements, my actions, my every maneuver–they have peppered my daily existence for years.  To awake to the face of the girl you  have always wanted but never in a million years thought you would get to have–to see her standing there, to see the smile you picture every single fucking night before you finally fall asleep, to hear the voice of the girl who broke your heart so many times without ever knowing it at all… to know that from this point on nothing would ever be the same.  It’s something to remember.  It’s special.  It is.

You don’t know what’s that like.  And quite frankly, I’m finding it hard to believe it myself.  A flower sits upstairs in a vase.  A flower that to me symbolizes more than what it should.  It’s a representation of the start of something new–of hope, of dreams, of promise. It has yet to wither.  It has yet to drop it’s petals upon the marble vanity below.  I stare at every time I pass that room.  I can’t explain any of this.  Where words typically act as my only ability to communicate my emotions and innermost thoughts–they fail me now.  Maybe there just aren’t any words in the dictionary capable of conveying the magnitude of this situation.  I don’t know what to say.  I don’t know how to respond.  I don’t know what to do.  Except enjoy it.

To finally enjoy that sensation of feeling someone else’s love and devotion.  To sense that connection.  To experience it. To hold that love and let it sit there in your hands…watching it expand and contract…watching it exist, pumping the blood that runs through her veins–and knowing that it beats  because of you.   I don’t know where this will go or what to expect.  I don’t even know what to do with this.  My hands are covered with blood.  My body is so warm, but these chills have no chance at going away.  That smile once painted upon my face out of some deeply buried desperation and guilt– there only to assuage the fears and nerves of those around me has now been carved out with an exacto knife–permanently etched across my visage.   I can’t ever shake it off.  It’s real happiness.  It’s real joy.  It’s real love.  It’s utterly and completely undeniable.

I see now why people can so easily fall upon the crutch of religion.  It’s a way to explain the unexplainable.  Just as we, as human beings, often search out a scapegoat to blame for things we are incapable of dealing otherwise dealing with–religion serves as our go-to in situations that make no sense in any real context–those which defy logic.  When we seek comfort we turn to religion.  And even me–an atheist by all definitions of the word–find myself struggling with the dilemma of not knowing who to thank for all that is happening to me.  Who do I thank for bringing this incredible creature into my life?  I don’t know who to devote myself to for granting me this opportunity.  But, hell, if God existed I would express my most deepest of gratitude for not resting on the day that she was born.

So, yeah, you see the cynicism oozing out of my pores.  I’m losing my rough edges.  I’m losing my hard nose.  I’m still a realist at heart.  I’m still a neurotic female version of Woody Allen.  I’m still waiting for the world to crash down around me.  But, I refuse to carry an umbrella.  I refuse to expect the worse.  I’m going to walk with my head held high, pushing these thoughts of devastation to the furthest corner of my mind, allowing cobwebs to consume them–and instead I’m opting to focus on that which inspires me to move forward–on she whose hand I hold and reach for in the dark.

This could backfire on me.  I’m risking a lot.  I have burned bridges that will never be mended.  I have destroyed friendships that were indescribably important to me. I have lost the respect of many in pursuing this relationship.  But, they don’t understand.  And how could they?  I’m the type of person that refuses to put my chips on the table unless I’ve got four aces in my hand.  I’m not going all in unless I know that this is the right decision.  And I am jumping in head first.  I always knew what I could offer her if given the chance.  I never wanted to hurt anyone.  I never meant to put anyone in a position where there emotions were toyed with or their dreams crushed.  I just didn’t have a choice.  This is fate.  I don’t know how else to explain it.  And I don’t try.  I can’t.

But, I wouldn’t want it any other way.  And I won’t rest until I can wake up beside her every morning.

Until then.  Until then, I’ll just wait.  And enjoy every moment I have with her.  This is what life is all about.

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Acquainted with the Night

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain – and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

Rarely am I affected only slightly by something.  I am a woman of extremes.  If I’m happy I’m fucking fantastic.  If I’m sad I’m cursing the world.   If I’m mad I’m punching holes in walls.  If I’m hurt I feel I’ll never recover.  Gray is my favorite color, but only in terms of interior decor.  Gray does not exist in my head.  Or in my life at all.  Black. White.  Contrasts.

I’ve always been a literal minded person.  Even as a kid my mom said that I would listen to every word thrown my way– and would pick each single syllable apart and analyze it in the most linear method possible.  And perhaps it was endearing for a child to question how darkness could be heavy–but as an adult it’s far less adorable and far more uh shitty and annoying.

Since I’ve grown and matured I have become more developed in the category of literal versus figurative.  If someone tells me it’s raining cats and dogs out there–I’m not going to go run to the window to confirm their statement as fact.   I’m fairly advanced when it comes to metaphors and similes and the use of figurative language.  I truly am.

But, that’s only in an English as an area of study kinda way.

In life I’m still as literal minded as ever.  And it has become incredibly detrimental to my relationships: personal and professional.  It’s literally the worst.

The only time I really feel as though I understand everything going on in the world is when I’m outside–when I’m out in nature.  When I’m surrounded by nothing but that which is real, that which is only as it appears, that which is inherent, intrinsic and natural to this earth.

If there is ever a time where I’m feeling overwhelmed with life (ALL THE GODDAMNED TIME!), if I’m feeling stifled by societal conventions or rules and regiments, if I’m unsure as to how to handle a certain situation, if I feel that I’m losing control over certain areas of my existence–all I have to do is  step outside.  I breathe the air in.  I close my ears to the external influences and plug in to the sounds of the earth.  I close my eyes to shut out the disruption of faces and open them to the stars in the sky, the reflection in the river beside me.  And then I relax.

At that moment in time–nothing else fucking matters.  I completely lose sight of what was previously plaguing my every step, my every move, and suddenly feel nothing but peace.  It is my heaven.  It is my blissful state.  It is my sole survival mechanism.  It is my hand to hold to my chest when everyone else turns their back.  It is my shoulder to lean on when I cannot bear the weight of the tears for one more second.  It is the voice of reason when all logic defies me.  When I cannot be held, I know that I can be cradled by the winds gentle breeze, by the soft murmur of forest life.

It’s hard to explain.  Unless you’ve been there.  Unless you have stared down the barrel of a gun.  Unless you have felt death breathe warmly along the nape of your neck.   Unless you have toed the fucking  line of no return.  If you have not been there, then you won’t understand.  You can’t.  When you get that desperate, that willing to throw everything away, reluctantly accepting your fate…  and then somehow…somehow find yourself pulled back over the ledge by some semblance of hope–by some new found acceptance that life will.get.better.   You don’t forget what instilled that unfamiliar outlook inside your soul.  You will never forget it.  Nor should you.

For many people it would be a single memory of happiness.  It will be the smell of sugar cookies wafting through your grandma’s kitchen, the way your parents could not contain their ecstasy when you made the winning shot in your basketball game, the first time your girlfriend told you that she loved you… a single memory.  A moment of remembrance that can go on to alter your perception of the present.   If you can recall an episode where bliss was experienced–you can begin to swallow and digest the concept that it could easily happen again.  And thus stimulate change in your life.

But, for me… For me it was a walk through the woods.  It was a stroll through the forest that I had traversed through every single day of my youth.  Its trails worn with wear had remained in tact miraculously over the years.   I could navigate through the dense boscage with nothing but my memory to guide me.   A floodgate of flashbacks and recollections opened up inside my brain–shocking my system, placing me instantly back in that eleven year old mindset.  One of childlike wonder and awe.  One where every single day was a new adventure.  When a burlap sack could instantaneously transform into a ballgown or a cardboard box could just as easily become a rocket ship… A time when imagination covered every inch of my existence with a thin layer of shine, sheen, glitter and glamor.   Feelings of depression or unhappiness were foreign to this sprite-like imp of a kid.  She was full of spirit, full of untapped potential, full of the desire to learn and blossom.  She was unfettered by outsiders.  Unaware of societies restrictions or standards.  She didn’t know that life would ever be difficult.  She couldn’t wait to grow up, have a family, be in love and flourish into adulthood.

And then I grew up.   Complications developed.  My views and perceptions shifted significantly.  One knock after another.  Problems I had as a kid compounded and multiplied until they became debilitating.  I failed to prosper.  I failed to develop.  I failed to reach the goals and dreams I had in my youth.  I wanted out.  I wanted an easy way out.  I felt that I had utilized all of my resources–therapy, friends, school, jobs, books, pets, family, athletics, passions, hobbies, etc.  Nothing helped.  Cutting did not help.  Being skinny and intelligent did not help.  Excelling in school did not help.  NOTHING could abate it.  The light in my world drained until I was enveloped by darkness.

But, the walk through the woods that winter day reinvigorated me.  It reminded me what I was and what I could be–the beauty of the world encircling  me.  My breath swirled in front of me like a wisp of smoke, my skin taut and frigid,  fingers chilled to the bone, ears burning with each gust of wind.  I took long strides, concentrating on the crunch of dead leaves beneath my feet.  My eyes rarely averting to the sky above–instead choosing to focus on my ultimate destination:  an area of the woods that I used to refer to as the meadow.  And it was here that I remembered how life should and could be.

It is a small section of the forest.  The winter grass grew calf high, green, plentiful,  immediately injecting vibrancy and life into my veins.   The fallen tree offered the perfect place for sitting and reflecting.   The trees above were situated in such a way that they appeared to be forming a barrier around me, preventing me from leaving this most sacred of spots.  They wanted to keep me there, allow me a respite from the outside world, hoping that with time I would see everything in a different light.  Red berries, green ferns, gray skies and brown leaves–colors that I will never forget, colors that will never run together in my river of memories.    I cried a lot as I sat there.  It was literally my last stop.  My last chance to feel that desire to try again.

And what I was provided with by my surroundings that day–less than a half-mile from my home–was enough to last me a lifetime.

Ever since that day I’ve never considered suicide again.  I changed my thought process during those minutes that I spent in the woods.  I learned to seek out the good and to push out the negative.   To force myself to remember that nothing is ever as bad as you think.  And despite all the issues I face daily, I will never sink so far below the surface again.  I will never drown.  It’s just a fact.  I underwent a transformation.  A beautiful one.

All it took was a stroll through the forest.  A walk upon the dirt, the fallen foliage, the broken sticks and scurrying insects–paths trodden with footprints of deer and man alike.   Wild and civil.  Contrasts. The sun, the sky, the clouds, the moon, the stars.  The sound of gently trickling water.  The crevices, the gnarled trunks of century old oaks, the beds of creeks long run dry, and the sound of silence filling my ears with that which I had ignored for so long.

So, yeah, I have a strong connection with nature.  I feel it in my bones.  I crave it when I’m denied access to it.  To me it is perfect.  To me…it is heaven.

And on nights like tonight.  A stroll through the darkness is necessary to make it til tomorrow.  It may be scary.  It may be frightful.  It might even be a bit dangerous.  But, it’s soothing to the soul.  And nothing else feels more right.

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Good Day, Good Company and Goodwill

It’s hard living four hours from the person who owns  half of your heart.  Long distance relationships are TEH ABSOLUTE WORST.  There is no positive element to this kind of set up.  But, it develops out of a perceived necessity.  When in reality it’s always a choice.  We always have a choice in the matter.

I thought I didn’t.  I thought, well, I just don’t have any more money to dedicate to the San Antonio project.  But, in actuality I just had severe reservations about committing myself to the first person I had ever been in a relationship with.  It’s a scary proposition.  I was nervous.  I am twenty-three and always late to the party.  I didn’t start dating, really, until March of 2008 and that was with Em.  I was her first girlfriend.  And she was mine.

Adorable, right?  Heh.

With the cuteness comes the part where I freak out by the idea of being tied down to one area, one life, one partner for.ev.er.  I’ve never been able to commit to anything other than being noncommittal.  When there is no gun to my head, I like to have freedom of choice.

One of my favorite song lyrics right now is, “Say it’s over.  Say I’m dreaming. Say I’m better than you left me. Say you’re sorry I can take it.  Say you’ll wait.  Say you won’t.  Say you LOVE me say you don’t.  I can make my own mistakes.  Let it bend before it breaks.”

It’s beautiful.  And poignant.  And it rings so true and so close to the heart.  I get that.  It’s tragic and sad, but at the same time is so real and honest.

I have to fuck everything up before I learn to do it right.  I’m learning.  I’m just a kid.  I’m twenty-three, but I’m a young twenty-three.  I lost so many days, weeks and months to being stuck inside the labyrinth of my mind.   And it’s not a fun maze–it’s more like the one in the Shining–where a deranged Jack Nicholson is chasing me around with a fucking ax.    It’s not great.

But, I finally unzipped my little brain locker and climbed out.  I’m a really good climber–as an aside.  Ask Em.  She threw the frisbee on the roof today of the garage–and I scaled that wood fence and up onto the shingles in .01 seconds.  I grabbed that pink Petsmart disc and then proceeded to leap recklessly off of the roof to the grassy ground below.  I am just a kid at heart. I’m playful.  I’m foolish.  I’m unreasonable, irrational and as stubborn as a fucking donkey ox mule. I just am.  But, I also retain that child like innocence and sense of wonderment, awe and devotion that really makes me a special person.  Not necessarily a good one, but a special one.  I’m unique.  Bad or good, it is what it is.

At any rate, I had a royal freakout when the time came for Em and I to move in together this summer.  I saw an opportunity to bolt and I grabbed that chance.  I had my fun.  I realized that that fun wasn’t that fun after all.  I realized that stability, security and comfort was actually a hell of a lot better than it seemed before.

I know I love her now.   I know I’m ready now.

It’s weekends like this one that remind me of why it’s worth it.  Why it’s worth any and all “sacrifices.”  Why it’s worth fighting for every damn day.  Why it’s worth moving my ass away from all of my friends, family and dreams to a town that I hate.

We just have a connection to one another that can only be understood from within.  The level of comfortableness and compatibility we have with each other is enviable.  I never feel awkward, nervous or anxious around her.  We are peaceful and amiable when in the others company.  Tonight we were at Jason’s Deli with the parents and I just couldn’t peel my damn eyes off of her visage.   I don’t even try to avert my stare anymore when she catches me.  It’s not quite eye-fucking.  It’s more like admiring her for the beautiful soul she possesses and the person that she is.  She honestly wants nothing but the best for me and those she loves.

And what more could you ask for?

I have only told five people in my life that I love them.  My dad, my mom, my sister, my best friend and Em.  Five.  It’s a big fucking deal with me.  I don’t rush to say those words.  I have to think about them, contemplate the immense significance of it…because if they mean nothing than the world is truly a messed up place.

Love is the foundation of everything for me.  Without it I’d have no reason to get up every morning.  It is the center of my little universe.  And I have said I love you without hesitation and without remorse a trigazillbillion today.  I look into her amazing brown eyes and spill my heart to her wanting ears.

She needs to hear this from me.  And I’m glad I’m able to provide her with that which she wants so.much.

If you read this, doll.  I love you.  And thank you for everything.

Oh and as for Goodwill.  Sigh.  We adore the shit fuck out of that place.  Not all Goodwills are created equal.  Not even close.  The ones in San Antonio are usually pretty shady/shitty and not of the quality of the location in Town Lake (Austin) or here.  We gots some richie riches here.  I will stumble upon Lacoste, True Religion, Lucky Brand, J Crew, all the time!  It’s a gold mine!  It just seems like they never have any 2′s or 4.  It pisses me off.

But, today we unearthed a bounty of wealth!  I even saw a Lacrosse stick there!  Unfortunately there was only one there and that just wouldn’t do.  I’m trying to get Em’s baby-dyke ass into sports.

But! And there is a but!  We did score lotsa cool sheet.  Em got this really rad canvas belt with a lion on it.  We have the tendency to name things.  My car..his name is Murray.  My tat is named Stanley.  The dinosaur on her BustedTees shirt is named Melvin.  And this new lion… we are weighing the options between Gina and Dr. Dre.  It’s a science, ok.

So, anyways… Em also got a thingy-ma-bob to hold these index cards of potential client information for her car and a Celtic themed tile of some sort.  It’s a piece of decor I’m not a HUGE fan of, but she loves it.  So, I lubs it too, natch!

AND!  I finally found a kick-ass pair of black jeans, a cool graphic tee, a sweet blazer and the best find of all was this rusty metal figure of three trees in a row with a twin set almost directly behind the first row.  It’s hard to explain.  I’ll get a picture up tomorrow.

We are both woodsy people.  We dig the outdoors.  We spent over an hour lost in the woods together with just the pups and some mosquito repellant today.  And these little trees–a variant of pine trees- are so rawkin!  But, we came home and my dad really loved them.  And he offered us 2 dollars more than what we paid.  And I can’t deny him anything.  I love my dad!

So, we gave them away. Sniff.

That’s it for now.  UT game is on.  Peace interwebz.

.

Giving up the Ghost

“He who fights too long against dragons becomes a dragon himself; and if you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze into you.”

Today my hair is bangin’.  It’s the first day in, like, two weeks that I’ve put any effort whatsoever into my appearance.  I actually changed shirts, put on makeup (!!!), tweezed my eyebrows, and got the Chi out and fiddle faddled with my hair a bit.  I don’t know what inspired me to act like a real life person today, but I think it might have something to do with finally being treated like a human being by those around me .  And the way my life is going–that’s as good a reason as any.

“He who fights too long against dragons becomes a dragon himself; and if you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze into you.”

So, a friend of mine once told me to contemplate all of the problems my relationship had–and to try to isolate one distinct central hub from which all arguments stemmed.

Monogamy.

And it is true.  Most of our disagreements and fights originated based on lack of trust, fidelity or loyalty… perceived or actual.

But, if you are naive enough to think that polyamory or an open relationship solves these tensions or feelings of resentment.  Think.Again.

“He who fights too long against dragons becomes a dragon himself; and if you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze into you.”

If you think that jealousy doesn’t rear it’s ugly green envious head in those types of scenarios you are a bloody idiot.   It may seem like a dream set-up, but when you peel back the shine and sheen of the newness–it is really nothing more than a clusterfuck of emotions, uncertainties, and hurt feelings.

Do I have experience with such things?  Well, kind of.  And definitely more than you.

I used to believe that a polyamorous lifestyle would be idyllic.  That it would prevent the usual petty arguments over jealousy and trust.  That it would curb the typical boredom that tends to occur in long term relationships.   So many positive elements to such a set-up.  I mean, fuck whoever whenever, and then fall asleep next to someone you love every night.  Awesome, Right?

“He who fights too long against dragons becomes a dragon himself; and if you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze into you.”

Well, partially.  It takes a special kind of person to be able to deal with the many cons of polyamory.  You have to be a strong & confident individual.  You can’t get butthurt when you are left out.  You can’t drown in jealousy.  It is a constant balancing act when it comes to dishing out affection and love.  Patience must be possessed in bulk quantities.   And whether or not it was anyone’s intention–there will always be a ring leader of sorts and there will always be couplings that happen.  It’s natural for bonds to grow stronger and more intimate between two people.  And that would upset the balance of everything–causing temporary or permanent upheaval.  It’s not the utopia that you believe it to be.

But, that’s not what I want to talk about.

I want to talk about jealousy.  Because no matter what type of relationship you have–you will have to confront the wickedness of insecurity at some point.

I’ve put a lot of thought into what the reasons are for my own issues with these envious suspicion are.  I think I have been able to walk within the confines of my brain, gathering likely possibilities and scenarios along the way, enough times to develop somewhat of a solution to this most perplexing of problems.

Can’t say I’ve come up with an end all be all quick fix.  But, I have figured a lot of shit out.

“He who fights too long against dragons becomes a dragon himself; and if you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze into you.”

My jealousy stems from my own insecurities.  The fact that I have grown to be so uncomfortable in my own skin the past couple of years has played a heavy hand in that development.  I lack confidence.  Simple as that.  I know that I have a shit ton of qualities that make me an interesting and loving individual.  But, I never feel as though I am worthy of the attention that I receive from people– women in particular.  I doubt compliments that are directed my way.  If someone says I am attractive, I bashfully smirk and thank them, but it never sinks in deeper than the surface.

It is my ultimate dream to be able to walk into a room with aplomb–bravura emanating from my every pore, and with every footstep I take–I’m commanding the attention from the room.  I’d love to be THAT person, but I will never achieve that degree of comfortableness.  I’m more apt to fill Woody Allen’s role in life as the entity weighed down with every neurosis, anxiety and complexity known to mankind–and then some.

I do not have an impressive resume, don’t have a real job, am a triple-time college dropout, live with my parents, still have a face that breaks out, am not particularly witty or entertaining, and have a body pocked with stretchmarks, scars and cellulite–and that’s not the body dysmorphia talking.  I’m just not exactly trophy-wife or arm-candy material.

“He who fights too long against dragons becomes a dragon himself; and if you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze into you.”

So, anytime I am able to capture someone’s intrigue, I consider it to be extremely evanescent.  I’m waiting for the attraction to end before it has had a real opportunity to grow and develop.  Always fearing the worst, but truly hoping for the best.

But, something I have learned in the past couple of months is that confidence is something that can be feigned–to a degree.  I can put my mask of self-assurance on when I leave the house and bullshit the fuck out of everyone–and then yank it off the second I get home, where I will typically proceed to curl up in a fetal position and over-analyze the events from that day.   But, the thing is, I can’t be “on” all the fucking time.  I’m naturally a worrier.  I don’t think that all of the therapy in the world will heal that which is at once intrinsic and essential to my existence.  It’s an inherited thing.  I can’t trick my DNA.

Sure, mock-confidence can carry over until it eventually superposes your previously mottled demeanor.  But, it will never mask it entirely.  So, those who you are most intimate with will see your less enviable side.  They will see you when you are vulnerable, scared or anxious.  They have to deal with you when you are being irrational or completely nuts.  And they have to offer you the reassurance that you need when you get into this frenzied state of torrential overemotional downpours.

“He who fights too long against dragons becomes a dragon himself; and if you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze into you.”

Just as I have to learn to deal with my jealousy issues–my partner has to develop a tactic to prevent it from escalating to such a level.   I’m a naturally suspicious person–perhaps this is my use of psychological projection–but I have been unfaithful in the past and it was so easy for me to slip into that role– despite my unwavering love for my gf–and thus I have a heightened sense of awareness when it comes to issues such as fidelity.  For me nothing is worse than rejection.  Nothing is worse than not being good enough for someone.  My entire self-worth is based upon other’s perception of me.  So, if she were to pick someone else–even as a friend–over me–I would be destroyed.  I would be obsessed with discovering how I could fulfill her in the ways that this other person did.

I’m rambling.

“He who fights too long against dragons becomes a dragon himself; and if you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze into you.”

At this point you might be asking why I keep repeating that Nietzsche quote.  And the reason for that is simple my dears.  Sometimes quotations are up to interpretation by the reader–and I choose to take this particular one a certain way that relates to this situation.  For example, those who fight a certain perceived evil for so long will eventually turn into that same evil themselves–through necessity or by adopting the same tactics and completely amoral behaviors that were found so repulsive originally.  Sometimes we fight fire with fire.  Civil disobedience is not always successful on a large scale–and it is SO easy to slip into a path of least resistance.  It is much less taxing to be the villain.

If I fight this long enough.  If I continue to stare this green monster square in the eyes–quietly seething, allowing this deeply embedded and perhaps irrational anger to brew and eventually boil, then an explosion is bound to happen.  Something that I’m not proud of nor fully in support of will take place.   I’m all about ethics.  And I’m also all about pacifism.

I don’t want to deal with this shit anymore.  I don’t want to endure arguments every morning and every night.  I don’t want every hour of the day to be completely engulfed by voices yelling at each other–berating, belligerent and belittling– but neither hearing, really hearing, what the other has to say.  I don’t want any more hangups.  I don’t want any more angry emails.  I want to be able to check my voice-mail without cringing and tearing up.

But, in order for this to happen I have to be the bigger person.  I have to pull myself up by my bootstraps, so to speak.  If I want this situation to resolve itself, I have to be the one to change, I have to be the one to alter the system of beliefs I have rigidly set in place.  The jealousy will never end completely.  But, the way I handle it will have to shift.

I cannot let my past dictate my future.

But, I will take a piece of that, that which is fundamentally different from who I feel that I am, and what I feel I represent now–and it will proceed to change me forever.

For if I continue this pattern of finding faults in every move that my partner takes, whether it be professional or personal–if I look for flaws in her behavior and actions, then undoubtedly I will find them.  And if I don’t, then I will, perhaps, invent them out of some preposterous figment of my imagination.  I am not innocent in this.  And I never claim to have any superiority or any halo hovering angelically above my head.

Until I have a true reason to mistrust her– or the situations she places herself in–I have to back off.  I have to staple a wide, sincere smile to my face and wish her the best of luck in her ventures.   I have to let her stumble upon harsh realities on her own.  I suspect that she is running with a crowd that is offering her little in the area of growth and development as a person–that she is, in fact, regressing in maturity during her time spent with them.  I feel that only bad things will come of these new found relationships–and that at some point their negativity will influence her in a profound way.  But, I can’t know this for sure.  Perhaps the reason she has chosen this crop of friends is BECAUSE they offer her a respite from the tedium of a suit-wearing 9-5.  That she has no intention of dumbing herself down through these outings, but instead just wants to chill, hang out, shoot the shit, and have some beers with someone who isn’t me every now and then.  It may be tough to swallow initially, but the longer you stare at a problem the easier it sometimes becomes to solve.   I want to fulfill her.  But, I can’t be her everything, all the time.  I’m beginning to understand this.

Honestly, I wish I could choose her friends.  I wish I could screen them all ahead of time.  And truth be told–I wish she had a good set of trustworthy frineds…some that were not lesbians, even.  But,  I cannot control her in this way.  I can state my peace, one time.  And now I must move on and let things fall into place the way destiny has already set into motion.  The fundamental element of any relationship, monogamous or not, is trust and honesty.  And I must accept that this most coveted and sacred of symbiotic exchanges is flawless as of now.  Instead of fearing the end to this reign of purity and perfection, I should make the steps necessary to preserve it–and to perhaps strengthen the bond in the process.

Granting her freedoms, instilling in her the faith I have in her character, doing my best to provide her with what she needs to enjoy and bask in the positives of this relationship–those are the actions I must consciously take in order to give this a legitimate chance at survival.

Otherwise in battling against these nameless faceless foes, I, too, would become  just as wrong as they were.  I would become the monster I had initially sought to combat and defeat.  In my trying to protect this partnership, I was quickly transforming into a greater mortal enemy  than they could ever be.  I was pushing her away, when what I really wanted was to reel her closer to me.   But, this is not a sanctimonious act.  I may be trepidatious about it in terms of execution, but the rudimentary fundamentals I wholeheartedly believe in.  This is what NEEDS to be done.

I’ve grown so much through these experiences.  And much to my lady’s chagrin, I am a tactile or kinetic learner.  It’s all trial and error with me.  She has expressed her consternation with my patterns in this area–stating that she can not go through the laundry list of fuck-ups in order for me to change my ways.   And she has a point.  So, perhaps in the future, we can nip this thing before it balloons into something so monstrous in nature.  I’ll be more quick to analyzing and diagnosing myself in the future, I hope.

I never meant to harness such control in regards to dictating who she could be friends with.  It never stemmed from hostility, but insecurity.  I did not want the reigns on the relationship.  I am happy in the more submissive role.  But, I do want to feel secure.  I do want to feel cherished.  I want to fill the number one slot on her list of important parties involved in her life.  I need that reassurance.  But, I went about achieving it in the wrong way.  I should have expressed my concerns, allowed her the freedom she craves, and improve myself and our relationship in order to keep her interest level up.

She’s with me for a reason.  She’s with me and not someone else for a reason. And I know, and hope, that that reason is for love.

And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.


Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows

I got in a fight with a six feet wooden privacy fence today.  I’m a short kid.  I’m 5 feet 5 on a really good day.  But, when I’m mad–that moss-ridden wood planks got nuthin on me.   I was talking on the phone–a maddening conversation that consisted of my running ’round and ’round in my hamster wheel, never accomplishing jack shit.  The only thing I have to show for that hour long discussion are my battle wounds and Jason’s Deli in mah belly.

I used to have anger problems growing up.  I took everything so seriously back then.  I was a star athlete and scholar.  If I got a ‘B’ on an assignment I’d label myself a failure.  If I missed a shot in a basketball game, I’d punish myself for it when I got home.  My mood has always been unstable and was capable of elevating from 0-60 in milliseconds.  I’ve thrown basketballs and other miscellaneous items at very high velocities out of frustration,  punched doors, walls, cars, floors,  and even my own face many times.  But, I’ve curbed that behavior.

I now am able to calm myself down quickly.  I have learned to see the humorous side of life, where I tend to never get angry or upset–and rather just laugh about whatever trouble life brings me.

Recently it’s been different.  I’m running on fumes here.  I’ve lost all my spunk, all my fight, all my energy for handling these ups and downs.  Gutted completely and struggling to breathe at every moment.

Now if a bad thing happens–I cannot deal it with it properly and my anger escalates to an uncontrollable level.  It’s frightening even me.  Why?  Because clearly I have caused harm to myself–some of it irreparable when my mood fluctuates to such a degree.  I would never hurt someone else, but my own body is in danger.  Not to mention my sanity.

The worrisome part is that in the past four years most of my trouble has stemmed from depression.  When deep within the throes of despair my ability to control my rationality lessens significantly.  I remember  a particular episode two years ago that involved my breaking a wine glass and using the shards to cut deep within the flesh upon my cheek.  I would stop cutting when blood appeared.  Just lots of little shallow scratches.  I did not want to mar myself permanently, but rather was hoping to make the disfiguration of my mind and my soul more promient on my facade.  Crazy.  Yes.   I never told anyone what happened for fear of commitment of some sort.  People at work assumed I had been in a fight.  I told my family something about a biking accident.  It wasn’t until recently I have opened up about that.

But, since July these episodes have become more common, frequent and severe.  I even threw my guitar across my friend’s backyard.  MY GUITAR.

I’ve cut my upper right leg up enough to where I will always have five deep real scars.  The tools used?  Razors, scissors and a knife.  My right shoulder was dug into with a piece of glass–deep enough where stitches should have been utilized.  That moment of weakness will forever be emblazoned upon my upper arm.

The other week I threw my cell phone–full speed–baseball style into the wall of my bedroom.   The area of the house that is supposed to be my peaceful sanctuary has been ruined with these memories of distress and unhappiness.  That and now my phone has brain damage.   Le sigh.

And today–nothing too serious.  Some cut knuckles and a sliced ankle from a misjudged kick.

But, still.

No one should ever feel this way.  I am a pacifist at heart.  I am in love with love and just want the world to be peaceful and full of rainbows, kittens and snuggles.   Because I know that when I am most content in life it’s when my heart is warm and filled to the absolute brim with love.   I do the best I can to make people feel appreciated, special and important any chance I can.  I’m quick to compliment, but it’s never forced or out of any necessity.  I just say what I feel.  I want people to know what they mean to me, and that they matter a great deal.  If I have called you a friend and extended that most exclusive of invitations–I would undoubtedly take a bullet for you.  I am loyal.  I am going to defend you to the death.  And will always have your back.

But, of course, I’m very picky about my friends.  You can’t be a bad person with lax morals and expect me to wrap my arms around you in friendship.  Fuck that.  I select people based on their ability to improve me as an individual, to influence me in a positive way, to make me grow and develop and change for the better–to open my eyes to new ideas and concepts and to expand my idea of what life is all about.

I am never content to hang around people for the sake of company.  I want to learn every day.  I want to be entertained, but in a productive way.  I have grown up so much in the past two months and know that as I am right now–I am a terrific human being with the potential to do amazing things.  I have a lot of maturing to do.  But, I feel that I am lightyears ahead of some people who have actually achieved more in society’s eyes.   I guess in lieu of earning degrees or advancing my career, I have concentrated on improving myself.  It seems sensical to believe that if I better my soul and my internal persona than I will be more prepared for excelling in other areas of life.  That a domino effect would undoubtedly ensue.  A logical chain of events, if you will.

I am becoming much more philosophical in my self-prescribed isolation.  I’m reading a lot.  I’m studying the dynamics of relationships, both intimate and platonic.  I’m adopting an almost out-of-body objective opinion of what makes up my mind and body.  I pick apart my flaws and my imperfections.  I analyze them and am able to pinpoint them whenever I am in the process of making a mistake.  I see the areas that I need to concentrate on when fixing myself up.

And this is all progress for me.  I know I’m not perfect, but I am racking up my karma points right now.  I am making damn sure that I don’t fuck up.  I am doing the best I can to do everything textbook perfect.  And hoping that that eliminates the negative ju-ju from my life and lets in only good positive influences.

I’m working on it.   And that’s all anyone can ever expect for an emotionally drained, bloodied, dumbass, goofy kid of 23.   Now back to my marathon of “Real Housewives of Atlanta.”

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