I've taken to posting here because it seems (if only slightly) more dignified than continuing to complain about the same thing in front of 100+ people who've proven they don't understand anything that goes on in my life. The bottom line is that, at this fucking moment, i hate life. I can use every coping mechanism in the book and get somewhere close to happy, but there's still that huge, festering, black hole in my heart and after so long, the denial and repression and projection take too much energy and I crash. I falter. Amd i go right back to wishing i was immersed in the time before my heart got trampled, or before it had the chance to. Those were the last times i was happy. I lied when i said i wanted a rewind button, or a spoiler alert; i wouldn't give up those six weeks for anything in the world; but i'm so god-awful tired of being miserable. I always said no one would ever make me miserable, and despite the way it looks, i think that's still true. He somehow made me happier than i'd ever been; not having him in my life sucks, but i just revert right back to the fact that i wasn't a good fit for his life and thus maybe couldn't make him happy. I wouldn't spend a minute making that person unhappy. So what it all boils down to is me; i let myself feel something i didn't think existed and now that i know it does, i can't seem to feel much else. I'm trying. And despite that i'd never do anything that wasn't genuine, i feel like a fraud. How can i even kiss someone else when i know that deep down, they'll never really have my heart?
I'm so sick. My throat is damn near swollen shut and it hurts to exist; and although i managed not to be broken; i managed to keep functioning just like life was normal, i despise it because i know i'm not happy, not really. I'm so tired of pretending, even when i really think i'm genuinely happy, and my body just gave up for a bit. So now i lay here, feeling like complete shit in every context and I still wonder what i did wrong to end upwith the short end of the stick. I have a good life, i know that. And i know plenty of the current misery is clouded by the physical ailments; but this life isn't what I wanted. I have passion, I have drive, and I have ambition. I can go after anything I want. But live is a little more elusive than that and unfortunately, my whole belief system has changed. I never believed in soul mates; i still don't. There are people in my life right now proving that i can be genuinely happy despite what i thought i found. But it feels too selfish; like even if i treated said person like gold, it's really not fair, knowing what I know. I still believe in love and I don't want to keep anyone else from feeling what I did. I still believe in love, i just somehow didn't get that lucky.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Crumbling foundation or remodeled walls...
I'm a 'live every moment' kind of girl; i'm completely aware that tomorrow isn't promised to me and wasting any moment being unhappy just doesn't make sense. SO I must say, that the epitome of a complete living hell for me, is waiting; and even further, waiting for something that may never manifest. But sometimes, you just have to take a risk; whether it's a few moments, or a lifetime, the risk is worth the potential payoff. In the meantime, it's still pure hell.
I feel like a complete waste of skin for complaining so much about something so seemingly trivial; to try and articulate the level of meaning always seems to fall ridiculously short. This is pretty much the same rant over and over again, so let me sum it up in case you're short on time: bitter and jaded, hopeless romantic, hates people and thus chooses to stay happily single, although angry that someone amazing enough to change that choice will never come along. The comedically tragic plight of plenty of women who are actually worthy of existence. And of course, one comes along who does JUST that, and it fails miserably. End act V, the tragedy is over.
The bottom line is this: my entire life, I've shunned religion, politics, plenty of events in historical records...I don't believe in much of anything conventional...other than love. I'm a hopeless romantic to the core. I watch chick flicks by the dozen, and have been plenty comfortable for years, settled into the idea that all humans suck and that my romanticism is indeed hopeless. Love exists, but some of us aren't lucky enough to have it once, much less more than that.
So, having realized quite some time ago that not everyone is lucky enough to find love, I felt pretty damn lucky that I found it 1.5 times. Yes, one and a half; that's a discussion for another day. What I'm having a REALLY fucking hard time with is the idea that this fucking infamous cunt by the name of Fate, decided she'd just drive the knife in a little further. She prompted me toward one random act that was clearly the most amazing and the most horrific thing that I've ever done because it elicited the most peaceful, zen happiness I've ever felt...and then ripped that away and left me looking all wide-eyed and teary wondering what happened to my shiny little prize.
Yes, Mrs. Wicked Witch Fate Monster presented me with the most amazing person I've ever met. Oh, and she was clever. She could have sent him to my door with a bouquet of daffodils and an engagement ring, but she's no fool. She knew I'd have run like hell. Nope. The clever bitch gave me a mere portal into stimulating conversation with no fear of being stifled. This person was countries away!! I could have my proverbial cake and eat it too...all the intellectual stimulation I could handle, and none of the attachment? Sign me the fuck up, Fate; gimme the dotted line, I'm IN. Digital communication, little to no sexual innuendo; the bitch tricked me into thinking it was just a new friendly person with whom I could converse at will.
SO there ya have it; endless conversation in both written and verbal form; talking about everything from literature, to philosophy, movies...even bizarre things that no one even knows. I hate, no LOATHE the telephone, but I talked to this person for hours on end and was still completely intrigued. Yet, I could still duct tape mouths of lesser humans and fancy a meaningless roll in the hay whenever I saw fit? Hmm. I was beginning to see that this may be too good to be true.
I was right. Stupid girl. This isn't just some person with whom you can have intellectual conversation from 6000 miles away. Ms. Dirty Bitch Fate somehow hacked into my database and took the written list that details the exact person I'd create in a lab if I could, and she gave him to me on a silver platter. This was the person of my dreams. So lo and behold, when I realized this, I decided it may be worth the risk to investigate. I stayed calm and considered, day by day, what might happen when this person returned to my town of residence. We planned to have dinner; we both seemed to be looking forward to it...perhaps Fate wasn't the whore I thought she was. It seemed as though she might have done something to reward me this time.
Oh. Silly, silly hopeless romantic. Let's just cut the shit and fast forward; after 6 weeks of reeling me in, of non-stop wonderful conversation (which thankfully finally became splattered with sexual innuendos) there came a hiatus in conversation just prior to this person's returning to the country; totally understandable, there are details to which must be tended and I went about my life, knowing that I'd be getting the reward of face to face conversation soon enough. After said return, some time went by...I was, of course, impatient, but also totally willing to provide space; after all, I'd never even met this person, I wasn't looking to be high on the priority list. After what seems like way too much difficulty, the face to face meeting finally happened; I thought it went smashingly well...no it DID in reality go amazingly well.So therein lies the problem: I thought I was the exception, when in fact I'm just the rule; whether he can't be bothered with me merely because life is too full or that he's really just not that into me, my stupid, stupid, open heart died. I wanted it, I let myself believe, that I might spend time with someone I actually LIKED, and that god forbid, there might have been a chance that I wouldn't have become painfully bored with said interaction like every other. I don't know how long it's been since I thought that...I hate everyone I meet. So my conversation, my zen happiness, my excitement that there was a person on earth from whom I didn't want to immediately flee...all of that went straight down the gutter like little Georgie's sailboat. Unfortunately, we don't all float down here, because I'm drowning. I'm drowning in the idea that I was fooled. I'm not easily fooled, because you can't really fool someone who doesn't care. But god DAMN IT, I cared. A lot. And now, I have nothing. I have a random text or a FB msg every other week, because apparently I'm just really not all that amazing.
The fucking irony is that no one really knew much about this, yet it seems as though it caused everyone to slither out of the wood work; I've been asked on more dates, and have been the target of more expressed interest in the past month than I can ever recall; exes came lurking, like everyone is just waiting for me to give up this silly thing they all thought was fleeting. Even the attached men in my life make it a point to tell me how amazing I am, but I still kind of wonder why this person was thrown in my face only to disappear. Seems unnecessarily cruel; not only to me, but to the poor, unfortunate souls who think they might actually be the one to get this heart to start beating again. Sorry ladies and gentlemen: I appreciate your affection, but it's too late.
And so I complain. I complain because Fate fucked me and made sure that she was the only one who got anything out of it. I was happy being alone because I'd convinced myself that what I wanted didn't exist. I'd rather live happily alone than settle, any day of the fucking week. I was genuinely HAPPY. But what I truly wanted has now been thrown in my face so I KNOW that it's out there, yet I can't have it. I really could have gone on living happily single, not putting much effort into those who didn't deserve it, and just living. Now I'm just the epitome of bitter that I couldn't have just skipped this whole fiasco. Was six weeks of conversation and one interaction with someone THAT amazing really worth the festering wound (maybe I should get that checked out) that it left behind? I'd LOVE to be strong enough to say yes. But I'm not. This took the one weak spot I had, in the depth of my soul, and dug into it with a spork. I can't even begin to figure out a band-aid for this one. And so I bitch. And rant. And complain that I don't understand, because I process emotion outwardly and because I fall apart without logic to apply to my psyche.
That's it. that's all I've got. I believed in love, I found a person I could have maybe thought about actually *gasp* dating? and at this point, all the dates, all the attention, all the 'you're amazing, it's his loss' is just making me tired. You're all the same. He was different. And now, I'm forever different. I bid you good day, I must go sit at the bedside of my soul because it's on the way out and it shouldn't die alone.
I feel like a complete waste of skin for complaining so much about something so seemingly trivial; to try and articulate the level of meaning always seems to fall ridiculously short. This is pretty much the same rant over and over again, so let me sum it up in case you're short on time: bitter and jaded, hopeless romantic, hates people and thus chooses to stay happily single, although angry that someone amazing enough to change that choice will never come along. The comedically tragic plight of plenty of women who are actually worthy of existence. And of course, one comes along who does JUST that, and it fails miserably. End act V, the tragedy is over.
The bottom line is this: my entire life, I've shunned religion, politics, plenty of events in historical records...I don't believe in much of anything conventional...other than love. I'm a hopeless romantic to the core. I watch chick flicks by the dozen, and have been plenty comfortable for years, settled into the idea that all humans suck and that my romanticism is indeed hopeless. Love exists, but some of us aren't lucky enough to have it once, much less more than that.
So, having realized quite some time ago that not everyone is lucky enough to find love, I felt pretty damn lucky that I found it 1.5 times. Yes, one and a half; that's a discussion for another day. What I'm having a REALLY fucking hard time with is the idea that this fucking infamous cunt by the name of Fate, decided she'd just drive the knife in a little further. She prompted me toward one random act that was clearly the most amazing and the most horrific thing that I've ever done because it elicited the most peaceful, zen happiness I've ever felt...and then ripped that away and left me looking all wide-eyed and teary wondering what happened to my shiny little prize.
Yes, Mrs. Wicked Witch Fate Monster presented me with the most amazing person I've ever met. Oh, and she was clever. She could have sent him to my door with a bouquet of daffodils and an engagement ring, but she's no fool. She knew I'd have run like hell. Nope. The clever bitch gave me a mere portal into stimulating conversation with no fear of being stifled. This person was countries away!! I could have my proverbial cake and eat it too...all the intellectual stimulation I could handle, and none of the attachment? Sign me the fuck up, Fate; gimme the dotted line, I'm IN. Digital communication, little to no sexual innuendo; the bitch tricked me into thinking it was just a new friendly person with whom I could converse at will.
SO there ya have it; endless conversation in both written and verbal form; talking about everything from literature, to philosophy, movies...even bizarre things that no one even knows. I hate, no LOATHE the telephone, but I talked to this person for hours on end and was still completely intrigued. Yet, I could still duct tape mouths of lesser humans and fancy a meaningless roll in the hay whenever I saw fit? Hmm. I was beginning to see that this may be too good to be true.
I was right. Stupid girl. This isn't just some person with whom you can have intellectual conversation from 6000 miles away. Ms. Dirty Bitch Fate somehow hacked into my database and took the written list that details the exact person I'd create in a lab if I could, and she gave him to me on a silver platter. This was the person of my dreams. So lo and behold, when I realized this, I decided it may be worth the risk to investigate. I stayed calm and considered, day by day, what might happen when this person returned to my town of residence. We planned to have dinner; we both seemed to be looking forward to it...perhaps Fate wasn't the whore I thought she was. It seemed as though she might have done something to reward me this time.
Oh. Silly, silly hopeless romantic. Let's just cut the shit and fast forward; after 6 weeks of reeling me in, of non-stop wonderful conversation (which thankfully finally became splattered with sexual innuendos) there came a hiatus in conversation just prior to this person's returning to the country; totally understandable, there are details to which must be tended and I went about my life, knowing that I'd be getting the reward of face to face conversation soon enough. After said return, some time went by...I was, of course, impatient, but also totally willing to provide space; after all, I'd never even met this person, I wasn't looking to be high on the priority list. After what seems like way too much difficulty, the face to face meeting finally happened; I thought it went smashingly well...no it DID in reality go amazingly well.So therein lies the problem: I thought I was the exception, when in fact I'm just the rule; whether he can't be bothered with me merely because life is too full or that he's really just not that into me, my stupid, stupid, open heart died. I wanted it, I let myself believe, that I might spend time with someone I actually LIKED, and that god forbid, there might have been a chance that I wouldn't have become painfully bored with said interaction like every other. I don't know how long it's been since I thought that...I hate everyone I meet. So my conversation, my zen happiness, my excitement that there was a person on earth from whom I didn't want to immediately flee...all of that went straight down the gutter like little Georgie's sailboat. Unfortunately, we don't all float down here, because I'm drowning. I'm drowning in the idea that I was fooled. I'm not easily fooled, because you can't really fool someone who doesn't care. But god DAMN IT, I cared. A lot. And now, I have nothing. I have a random text or a FB msg every other week, because apparently I'm just really not all that amazing.
The fucking irony is that no one really knew much about this, yet it seems as though it caused everyone to slither out of the wood work; I've been asked on more dates, and have been the target of more expressed interest in the past month than I can ever recall; exes came lurking, like everyone is just waiting for me to give up this silly thing they all thought was fleeting. Even the attached men in my life make it a point to tell me how amazing I am, but I still kind of wonder why this person was thrown in my face only to disappear. Seems unnecessarily cruel; not only to me, but to the poor, unfortunate souls who think they might actually be the one to get this heart to start beating again. Sorry ladies and gentlemen: I appreciate your affection, but it's too late.
And so I complain. I complain because Fate fucked me and made sure that she was the only one who got anything out of it. I was happy being alone because I'd convinced myself that what I wanted didn't exist. I'd rather live happily alone than settle, any day of the fucking week. I was genuinely HAPPY. But what I truly wanted has now been thrown in my face so I KNOW that it's out there, yet I can't have it. I really could have gone on living happily single, not putting much effort into those who didn't deserve it, and just living. Now I'm just the epitome of bitter that I couldn't have just skipped this whole fiasco. Was six weeks of conversation and one interaction with someone THAT amazing really worth the festering wound (maybe I should get that checked out) that it left behind? I'd LOVE to be strong enough to say yes. But I'm not. This took the one weak spot I had, in the depth of my soul, and dug into it with a spork. I can't even begin to figure out a band-aid for this one. And so I bitch. And rant. And complain that I don't understand, because I process emotion outwardly and because I fall apart without logic to apply to my psyche.
That's it. that's all I've got. I believed in love, I found a person I could have maybe thought about actually *gasp* dating? and at this point, all the dates, all the attention, all the 'you're amazing, it's his loss' is just making me tired. You're all the same. He was different. And now, I'm forever different. I bid you good day, I must go sit at the bedside of my soul because it's on the way out and it shouldn't die alone.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
A truly wonderful, but nevertheless caricature of...
I only post here when I really need to get something sorted out in my head and other options, like actually talking about it, seem to fall horribly short of comforting and take a pretty long detour around resolution. I also think this may be the last post, as it truly defines the title of this blog and kind of marks the end of a full circle...it really seems as though it may have been quite a caricature this time...
That being said, I appreciate outside opinions; any perspective that can be weeded out of other's experiences is a product built of heartstrings and fragmented pieces which, when shared, might just help to make a little sense of everything. Unfortunately, it has come to my attention that no one in my life has really encountered what it is that I'm trying to process. The result is me incessantly babbling and being met with endless skepticism.
Here's the thing about skepticism: I am an almost equal balance of jaded cynic and hopeless romantic; consequently, if I am ever lucky enough to meet someone amazing in this hell hole, chances are I'll want to believe that they're amazing, but the devil on my other shoulder won't let me. So far, that's worked out well, because guess what?! SURPRISE!!! They actually weren't amazing and that pesky horned little fucker was right. Lucky me.
Enter: man of my dreams. Very likely everything I've ever wanted in someone. Not perfection, but perhaps perfect for standing by my side and plotting world domination with me. Now what? Both the little angel of romance and Mr. Cynic with a Pitchfork are standing on opposing shoulders, not quite sure what to say. So I told them both to fuck off and went my own way; I was instantly zen, just having someone awesome to talk to who seemed to have an infinite supply of wit and brilliance, and yet was open and accepting of my bizarre notions about life. He's attractive, artistic, thoughtful, well-read, crazy, spontaneous, and threw the dead baby jokes at me before I even had a chance to line up my best ones. The hopeless romantic was sitting wide-eyed in the corner, having been thrown from my shoulder thinking "Holy shit, where has THIS guy been?" The jaded devil peered through slits for eyes, trying to convey his weariness as things are never what they seem.
As we can see, the perfect balance of two opposing sides is pretty far from perfect; being the hopeless romantic lets one continue thinking that they just may find that person who fits with them like a puzzle piece, but the jaded cynic will look for any reason to flee or believe that it's not as it appears. In this case, I didn't need skepticism from the outside. For once in my life, I needed someone to quell MY cynicism, because unfortunately, skepticism is not going to prohibit me from getting hurt, but it WILL prevent me from being fully happy, even if only in the moment. All I wanted was to believe I had met someone amazing and relish in that until something changed my mind or until I got a chance to know him better. So that's what I did. I basked in every second of intelligent conversation, being free to be me and free to get to know someone who was actually worth knowing. I quelled all expectations the best I could, but never extinguished the little flickers of hope that it may eventually be something more; given that this 'meeting' occurred while residing in two different countries, there was no danger of me feeling stifled and I actually formed some sort of connection with someone without the normal tendency to flee elicited by the fear of being smothered. I actually wanted this person around. And I'll admit it, I was facetiously planning the graveyard wedding in my head. I expected those around me to see that this was a mere girlish assertion of the fact that I was thoroughly impressed by someone; not that it was a memo to go buy a bridesmaid's dress. But no, I don't get to be impressed. I don't get to hope, because I'm the jaded cynic, the independent female who intimidates everyone, the "I need my space, stop smothering me," no-relationship girl.
Well, let's fast forward to today. I was right: I met someone amazing. I was also right to not have expectations because expectations almost inevitably lead to disappointment; yet lastly, I'm human, and I was right again: being cautious did NOT prohibit me from getting hurt. Because after six weeks of assertions that this person thought I was amazing as well, I let myself get a little excited. I let myself think that there was someone with whom I could be in the room for more than five minutes without looking about for sharp objects to impale them or myself. And being right about all of those things didn't prevent me from being wrong about the most damaging one: that the feeling was reciprocated.
I do recognize that my assumption of being wrong is an assertion based on sheer emotion, completely outside of the logic that i know exists somewhere in the situation as plenty of extenuating circumstances must be afforded to the party who doesn't get a chance to speak here; I honestly don't have a clue what to believe, perhaps it is just a matter of time and I over-analyze. That doesn't change the fact of how it feels. In my head, it all inevitably equates to one thing. I can sit here, re-reading messages, reiterating the things that made my heart skip and my breath catch, and I can make excuses for lack of contact, and I can be understanding, and I can look at things from a logical perspective...and really, all that adds up to in my mind is "He's just not that into you," or a million other cliches that tell me I didn't balance it quite right, and that the hopeless romantic angel was riding the giddy monster in that last lap, speeding toward the finish line, while the jaded cynic had to stop at the Gatorade stand. Unfortunately, the giddy monster suffered cardiac arrest, the angel landed in the dirt, and who came bounding over the finish line, dixie cup in hand? You guessed it. The devil wins.
I'm not looking to be passive-aggressive; there's thankfully only about a 1% chance that said person will see this, much less make it to the last paragraph before deciding I'm bat-shit crazy and cutting off the iota of contact we had left. If I couldn't say it out loud, perhaps I shouldn't say it, but I'm honest to a fault and it is what it is. Again, this is just how I process things as saying it out loud IS pretty crazy. I may have been a bit silly to have thought a connection, one of any sort, could really be created from 6000 miles away, and maybe even a bit sillier to believe it could seamlessly transition into real life like I saw it in my head.
Unfortunately, all I can do is speculate, because asking directly will most assuredly come off as some bizarre sense of entitlement, expectation, or just level 5 stalker for admitting that I felt something that likely seems too intense for the context thus far. I barely know this person and I sound like I'm drafting the epitaph for my heart; but when you're a hopeless cynic and a jaded romantic, sometimes it IS like that when you find yourself fooled. I didn't need serious; I didn't need overdone; I just needed to continue interacting with this person on the level I had been, perhaps in a face-to-face fashion, or to hear some assertion that although life sometimes gets in the way, I wasn't being tossed aside. Well, look at that...of all the things I wanted to believe existed, I only ended up with the "Too good to be true" demon who hides under your bed and steals your dreams. If nothing else, there were six weeks of amazing conversation that made me smile more, and sleep more peacefully, than I have in years. I suppose if there's a silver lining, that means there are clouds present, and for that, I'll always be happy.
That being said, I appreciate outside opinions; any perspective that can be weeded out of other's experiences is a product built of heartstrings and fragmented pieces which, when shared, might just help to make a little sense of everything. Unfortunately, it has come to my attention that no one in my life has really encountered what it is that I'm trying to process. The result is me incessantly babbling and being met with endless skepticism.
Here's the thing about skepticism: I am an almost equal balance of jaded cynic and hopeless romantic; consequently, if I am ever lucky enough to meet someone amazing in this hell hole, chances are I'll want to believe that they're amazing, but the devil on my other shoulder won't let me. So far, that's worked out well, because guess what?! SURPRISE!!! They actually weren't amazing and that pesky horned little fucker was right. Lucky me.
Enter: man of my dreams. Very likely everything I've ever wanted in someone. Not perfection, but perhaps perfect for standing by my side and plotting world domination with me. Now what? Both the little angel of romance and Mr. Cynic with a Pitchfork are standing on opposing shoulders, not quite sure what to say. So I told them both to fuck off and went my own way; I was instantly zen, just having someone awesome to talk to who seemed to have an infinite supply of wit and brilliance, and yet was open and accepting of my bizarre notions about life. He's attractive, artistic, thoughtful, well-read, crazy, spontaneous, and threw the dead baby jokes at me before I even had a chance to line up my best ones. The hopeless romantic was sitting wide-eyed in the corner, having been thrown from my shoulder thinking "Holy shit, where has THIS guy been?" The jaded devil peered through slits for eyes, trying to convey his weariness as things are never what they seem.
As we can see, the perfect balance of two opposing sides is pretty far from perfect; being the hopeless romantic lets one continue thinking that they just may find that person who fits with them like a puzzle piece, but the jaded cynic will look for any reason to flee or believe that it's not as it appears. In this case, I didn't need skepticism from the outside. For once in my life, I needed someone to quell MY cynicism, because unfortunately, skepticism is not going to prohibit me from getting hurt, but it WILL prevent me from being fully happy, even if only in the moment. All I wanted was to believe I had met someone amazing and relish in that until something changed my mind or until I got a chance to know him better. So that's what I did. I basked in every second of intelligent conversation, being free to be me and free to get to know someone who was actually worth knowing. I quelled all expectations the best I could, but never extinguished the little flickers of hope that it may eventually be something more; given that this 'meeting' occurred while residing in two different countries, there was no danger of me feeling stifled and I actually formed some sort of connection with someone without the normal tendency to flee elicited by the fear of being smothered. I actually wanted this person around. And I'll admit it, I was facetiously planning the graveyard wedding in my head. I expected those around me to see that this was a mere girlish assertion of the fact that I was thoroughly impressed by someone; not that it was a memo to go buy a bridesmaid's dress. But no, I don't get to be impressed. I don't get to hope, because I'm the jaded cynic, the independent female who intimidates everyone, the "I need my space, stop smothering me," no-relationship girl.
Well, let's fast forward to today. I was right: I met someone amazing. I was also right to not have expectations because expectations almost inevitably lead to disappointment; yet lastly, I'm human, and I was right again: being cautious did NOT prohibit me from getting hurt. Because after six weeks of assertions that this person thought I was amazing as well, I let myself get a little excited. I let myself think that there was someone with whom I could be in the room for more than five minutes without looking about for sharp objects to impale them or myself. And being right about all of those things didn't prevent me from being wrong about the most damaging one: that the feeling was reciprocated.
I do recognize that my assumption of being wrong is an assertion based on sheer emotion, completely outside of the logic that i know exists somewhere in the situation as plenty of extenuating circumstances must be afforded to the party who doesn't get a chance to speak here; I honestly don't have a clue what to believe, perhaps it is just a matter of time and I over-analyze. That doesn't change the fact of how it feels. In my head, it all inevitably equates to one thing. I can sit here, re-reading messages, reiterating the things that made my heart skip and my breath catch, and I can make excuses for lack of contact, and I can be understanding, and I can look at things from a logical perspective...and really, all that adds up to in my mind is "He's just not that into you," or a million other cliches that tell me I didn't balance it quite right, and that the hopeless romantic angel was riding the giddy monster in that last lap, speeding toward the finish line, while the jaded cynic had to stop at the Gatorade stand. Unfortunately, the giddy monster suffered cardiac arrest, the angel landed in the dirt, and who came bounding over the finish line, dixie cup in hand? You guessed it. The devil wins.
I'm not looking to be passive-aggressive; there's thankfully only about a 1% chance that said person will see this, much less make it to the last paragraph before deciding I'm bat-shit crazy and cutting off the iota of contact we had left. If I couldn't say it out loud, perhaps I shouldn't say it, but I'm honest to a fault and it is what it is. Again, this is just how I process things as saying it out loud IS pretty crazy. I may have been a bit silly to have thought a connection, one of any sort, could really be created from 6000 miles away, and maybe even a bit sillier to believe it could seamlessly transition into real life like I saw it in my head.
Unfortunately, all I can do is speculate, because asking directly will most assuredly come off as some bizarre sense of entitlement, expectation, or just level 5 stalker for admitting that I felt something that likely seems too intense for the context thus far. I barely know this person and I sound like I'm drafting the epitaph for my heart; but when you're a hopeless cynic and a jaded romantic, sometimes it IS like that when you find yourself fooled. I didn't need serious; I didn't need overdone; I just needed to continue interacting with this person on the level I had been, perhaps in a face-to-face fashion, or to hear some assertion that although life sometimes gets in the way, I wasn't being tossed aside. Well, look at that...of all the things I wanted to believe existed, I only ended up with the "Too good to be true" demon who hides under your bed and steals your dreams. If nothing else, there were six weeks of amazing conversation that made me smile more, and sleep more peacefully, than I have in years. I suppose if there's a silver lining, that means there are clouds present, and for that, I'll always be happy.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Reset button
It's been too long; too long paying for mistakes I've made, too long letting others influence the way I choose to live my life, too long spent being afraid to go after what I want. I live how I wish, but I care for the people in my life and I make every effort to remain a good friend and a good person, overall. However, nothing should come at the expense of my own peace of mind. I wake up every morning with instant anxiety. I rarely sleep enough because I can't switch my brain off and the best I can do is restless tossing and turning between short bouts of shut down. I constantly assert the level of space that I need, being a solitary person, but too often sacrifice this when someone asserts a need. I put my own neurosis aside, painting it with that label, neurosis, somehow assuming that I don't have the right to such eccentricities of character, and thus put the 'needs' of others first. No more. I am self-aware enough to state exactly what I need and I refuse to let the neediness of others shove that to the back burner. I compromise and will continue to do so for those I love, but will not feel guilty for putting my needs first. I own my life, I've gotten to this point by myself; I've had a lot of help, and I will continue to always help a friend in need, day or night...but not at such a high price that what I need is outweighed and overlooked. Toxic people: the switch has been flipped. Poison doesn't fit through the strainer I'm using, so please just move along. People whom I love: bear with me, because I've done the same for you.
I have goals I need to tackle, habits I need to eliminate and others I need to cling to, and decisions to make for myself. I need to live again, and currently, bullshit keeps getting in the way of me doing that to the degree at which I thrive. I am who I am and as Marilyn once said, "If you can't handle me at my worst, you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best."
I have goals I need to tackle, habits I need to eliminate and others I need to cling to, and decisions to make for myself. I need to live again, and currently, bullshit keeps getting in the way of me doing that to the degree at which I thrive. I am who I am and as Marilyn once said, "If you can't handle me at my worst, you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best."
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Get in the ring...
I despise the moment when the only thought running through my head is “I give up. I GIVE UP. I. GIVE. THE. FUCK. UP.” I’d like to think that I’m a pretty strong individual; I’ve never been a proponent of throwing in the towel when shit gets hard. More often than not, I’ll put up one hell of a fight for whatever I believe in, even in the face of impossibility when it just may be a good idea to actually call it quits and accept defeat. I think the one context in which this though consumes every pathway in my brain is when my heart hurts. It’s a strange feeling of apathy, given the shit that I’ve overcome. I’ve been a mess, lying on the floor in the fetal position, balls-deep in a panic attack because one of the only people I had ever loved just really couldn’t seem to muster anything close to what I felt. There was a long string of interactions in the years following and I was able to realize pretty quickly that no matter how deeply someone cut, or how much I may have wanted the fairytale ending, there wasn’t a damn thing I couldn’t overcome and hell if I was going to waste my time dwelling on what could have, should have, would have been. For some reason, I’m on this god-forsaken planet and I’m hell bent on making it worth every minute.
The amount of times I’ve seen my heart dragged through the mud, thrown out of car windows, left lying in a puddle of my own metaphorical vomit…you get the idea, there have been countless crash and burn situations, whether I drove the car into the wall or not, it still hurts. I can get through anything and I pride myself on the ability to feel deeply, but bounce back quickly; unlike a lot of lucky people, I learned how to do it pretty late in life. Sometimes I get worried that no one will ever make a big enough impact to get me to give up a life of complete selfish solitude. I do what I want, when I want, and my actions don’t have a significant direct impact on very many people. I like my freedom to be who I am. IS there anyone out there who might love me without stifling me? I hope so. But hope hasn’t been very good to me lately. The times I find that I want to give up and become a hermit cat lady living in a decrepit old house with a black wrought-iron fence, a creaky gate and weeds for days, are the times when I really think something is worthwhile, and I let the walls down, usually pretty quickly in these instances (don’t get me wrong, I hold onto a few defense mechanisms) and then I find out I was wrong. I made a vast error in judgment, misread a situation and came out on the other side wondering what kind of lenses of delusion I had happened upon to make me think that the situation was coming even close to making me happy. I tend to think it’s everyone else I want to give up on; that humanity as a whole has disappointed me so many times, that the next little scrape on my heart was just the last straw. However, it’s much more a level of disappointment in myself that makes me think, “Huh. So you’re STILL trying to be something other than an emotional idiot and pretending you can commit to someone if the right person came along, huh? You’re STILL a hopeless romantic that thinks you’ll get the happily ever after if you just give one more person a chance?” Hmmm. How can such a jaded cynic be so naïve?
I am a walking contradiction: Far too stone-hearted to love the way I do, far too jaded to be such a hopeless romantic, far too serious to be so adverse to any sort of plan, boundary, or commitment, too solitary to live a life rooted in love, too hopeful to be so jaded…and so I get to the point where it all goes out the window, I sigh, and I want to just. Give. Up. Because one more person hurt my feeling when I thought I could trust them not to, or failed to acknowledge such when I thought that hurting me was accidental. We all hurt the ones we care about; unfortunately, it’s usually inevitable. I think the difference that keeps me in the ring, fighting for what I want in life, is the people that are there with me. If you hurt me, it’s because I let you; I let you in, I opened my heart, and unfortunately that gives you a much easier pathway to come in with guns blazing and leave a few bullet holes. I guess the bottom in line is that I don’t give up; not on me. I’m going to misjudge people, I’m going to make shitty decisions, but every day is another chance to live, and that’s what I’m going to keep doing. Maybe I have a rough time giving up on something I thought was worthwhile, but cutting ties is much better than holding onto the ropes bleeding and pleading for a TKO.
I may be too neurotic, too hopeful, too analytical, too human…but I keep trying and the people who understand me get all of the good that comes out of the fact that I’ll never stop fighting. I protect what I love. I protect who I love. That includes myself and my heart. I will give you everything I have if I’ve decided to let you past the walls and the padlocks, but if you make it into the ring, you better be prepared to be in my corner. It might be bloodbath that sometimes gets in your eyes and clouds your vision, and you might even take a few swings at me, because the fight can get a little messy at time, but if you’re in my corner, you’ll never lose the fight.
The amount of times I’ve seen my heart dragged through the mud, thrown out of car windows, left lying in a puddle of my own metaphorical vomit…you get the idea, there have been countless crash and burn situations, whether I drove the car into the wall or not, it still hurts. I can get through anything and I pride myself on the ability to feel deeply, but bounce back quickly; unlike a lot of lucky people, I learned how to do it pretty late in life. Sometimes I get worried that no one will ever make a big enough impact to get me to give up a life of complete selfish solitude. I do what I want, when I want, and my actions don’t have a significant direct impact on very many people. I like my freedom to be who I am. IS there anyone out there who might love me without stifling me? I hope so. But hope hasn’t been very good to me lately. The times I find that I want to give up and become a hermit cat lady living in a decrepit old house with a black wrought-iron fence, a creaky gate and weeds for days, are the times when I really think something is worthwhile, and I let the walls down, usually pretty quickly in these instances (don’t get me wrong, I hold onto a few defense mechanisms) and then I find out I was wrong. I made a vast error in judgment, misread a situation and came out on the other side wondering what kind of lenses of delusion I had happened upon to make me think that the situation was coming even close to making me happy. I tend to think it’s everyone else I want to give up on; that humanity as a whole has disappointed me so many times, that the next little scrape on my heart was just the last straw. However, it’s much more a level of disappointment in myself that makes me think, “Huh. So you’re STILL trying to be something other than an emotional idiot and pretending you can commit to someone if the right person came along, huh? You’re STILL a hopeless romantic that thinks you’ll get the happily ever after if you just give one more person a chance?” Hmmm. How can such a jaded cynic be so naïve?
I am a walking contradiction: Far too stone-hearted to love the way I do, far too jaded to be such a hopeless romantic, far too serious to be so adverse to any sort of plan, boundary, or commitment, too solitary to live a life rooted in love, too hopeful to be so jaded…and so I get to the point where it all goes out the window, I sigh, and I want to just. Give. Up. Because one more person hurt my feeling when I thought I could trust them not to, or failed to acknowledge such when I thought that hurting me was accidental. We all hurt the ones we care about; unfortunately, it’s usually inevitable. I think the difference that keeps me in the ring, fighting for what I want in life, is the people that are there with me. If you hurt me, it’s because I let you; I let you in, I opened my heart, and unfortunately that gives you a much easier pathway to come in with guns blazing and leave a few bullet holes. I guess the bottom in line is that I don’t give up; not on me. I’m going to misjudge people, I’m going to make shitty decisions, but every day is another chance to live, and that’s what I’m going to keep doing. Maybe I have a rough time giving up on something I thought was worthwhile, but cutting ties is much better than holding onto the ropes bleeding and pleading for a TKO.
I may be too neurotic, too hopeful, too analytical, too human…but I keep trying and the people who understand me get all of the good that comes out of the fact that I’ll never stop fighting. I protect what I love. I protect who I love. That includes myself and my heart. I will give you everything I have if I’ve decided to let you past the walls and the padlocks, but if you make it into the ring, you better be prepared to be in my corner. It might be bloodbath that sometimes gets in your eyes and clouds your vision, and you might even take a few swings at me, because the fight can get a little messy at time, but if you’re in my corner, you’ll never lose the fight.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Greed is a bottomless pit...
There is no end to greed; However, I find it interesting that greed and selfishness seem to be infinite in our society, yet those who chase after it with such fervor and disregard for all else, still manage to become bottom-dwellers. How does one lurk upon the bottom of a black hole? Amazingly enough, the egocentric sloths find a way to drain all others around them, and seek satisfaction from a source of infinite emptiness...and yet still find time to ponder why people treat them poorly, omit them from their lives, or why on earth life isn't smiling on them in the fashion which they desire. Must just be bad luck right?
Why do these soul-sucking wastes of space still manage to exist in our lives no matter how much we refuse to accept bullshit from people? Because they're a sneaky breed: part ninja, part vampire, part parasite, this particular creature sneaks beneath the radar with their ninja skills, sucks kindness like a vampire, and then latches on, somehow tricking their host into believing they NEED to be fed.
Thankfully, the genuine people of the race can usually use their own Ninja skills to avoid these filthy, spirit-siphoning leeches; I however, have not always been so lucky.
I've got a well-constructed suit of armor that protects my heart. Keys to surpass it are available, but are not easily obtained. Once you've passed the test, however, you're rarely denied entry. It's one of my biggest flaws. I refuse to take bullshit and I cherish those who have managed to secure a place inside my heart. However, sometimes I misjudge and accept a leech disguised as a decent person; Once I become aware of said misjudgment, I fall upon the same quandary that likely occurred in the first place: everyone fucks up, everyone does things which they later may not be proud of; isn't it my obligation to stick by those whom I call friends, even when they screw up? It's a blurry line between repeatedly screwing up, epitomizing selfishness, and just falling off of the right path and acting like an ass as a result. The former looks a lot like the latter; until it finally goes way too far.I'm trying to sharpen that line. Selfishness is an affliction I'm not willing to deal with. I try my utmost to be a good person and to treat people with respect, kindness, and understanding. I will continue to do so, but in order to alleviate the tension that this attempted soul-sucking creates, I have to sometimes throw it out there in hopes that I'll allow myself to gain a greater understanding of how to combat it sooner.
Bottom line: I will give until I have nothing left; however, the people who deserve it are there to replenish the reserve. For the bottom-dwellers, I only have this: Tread lightly on the backs of those you trample while you try to get to the top; chances are, they'll eventually walk out from underneath you and you'll plummet. Good luck flying.
Why do these soul-sucking wastes of space still manage to exist in our lives no matter how much we refuse to accept bullshit from people? Because they're a sneaky breed: part ninja, part vampire, part parasite, this particular creature sneaks beneath the radar with their ninja skills, sucks kindness like a vampire, and then latches on, somehow tricking their host into believing they NEED to be fed.
Thankfully, the genuine people of the race can usually use their own Ninja skills to avoid these filthy, spirit-siphoning leeches; I however, have not always been so lucky.
I've got a well-constructed suit of armor that protects my heart. Keys to surpass it are available, but are not easily obtained. Once you've passed the test, however, you're rarely denied entry. It's one of my biggest flaws. I refuse to take bullshit and I cherish those who have managed to secure a place inside my heart. However, sometimes I misjudge and accept a leech disguised as a decent person; Once I become aware of said misjudgment, I fall upon the same quandary that likely occurred in the first place: everyone fucks up, everyone does things which they later may not be proud of; isn't it my obligation to stick by those whom I call friends, even when they screw up? It's a blurry line between repeatedly screwing up, epitomizing selfishness, and just falling off of the right path and acting like an ass as a result. The former looks a lot like the latter; until it finally goes way too far.I'm trying to sharpen that line. Selfishness is an affliction I'm not willing to deal with. I try my utmost to be a good person and to treat people with respect, kindness, and understanding. I will continue to do so, but in order to alleviate the tension that this attempted soul-sucking creates, I have to sometimes throw it out there in hopes that I'll allow myself to gain a greater understanding of how to combat it sooner.
Bottom line: I will give until I have nothing left; however, the people who deserve it are there to replenish the reserve. For the bottom-dwellers, I only have this: Tread lightly on the backs of those you trample while you try to get to the top; chances are, they'll eventually walk out from underneath you and you'll plummet. Good luck flying.
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