It's funny how life works out sometimes. How you don't really realize what you want in life until you have it, or until you reach a point when you don't have it.
Four years ago I was head over heels in love with the man that I thought I was going to marry. The man that I would one day have a child with, a family with. And then life got turned upside down and I realized that he was not the man I had always envisioned him to be. That the man in my dreams every night that was holding my hand while I twirled in a wedding dress, told fantastic tales to my belly each night in preparation for our first child, and cuddled with our son and daughter in an oversized arm chair... just wasn't him anymore. That man was still in my dreams, or some shadow of a man that was never defined enough for me to recognize, but for whom my love for was not only unparalelled but also overwhelming.
It was after this that I began to live life, fully and also on my own terms. I wanted to experience the world, truly experience it. And in doing so I met many other men, many men that entertained me for some specific segment of my journey, for a very specific amount of time. They were there for a specific reason to allow me to continue on this journey. Some of them knew that, others were saddened to realize that this was not something that would be enough for either of us, not then anyway. I was saddened too, each time I realized it was time to move on. I was saddened that none of these men were the man in my dreams either. Not that they were not good enough, or that they lacked something to prove their inherent self worth. It just wasn't right. Well it was right in the cosmic we needed each other for those specific moments in time sense, but not in the sense of destiny. We were not destined for each other, not at that specific point in time. I emphasize this because I would not hesitate to give any of these amazing men a second chance, I just wonder if this is wise considering the damage that showing my interest in them again could inflict. I am not proud of the fact that I broke so many hearts, and I do not intend to rebreak those that have overcome the initial wounds.
What is heartbreaking to me, literally gut-wrenching, is that the man that did not deserve me, that did not end up deserving the family that I dreamt of each night, now has exactly that, without me, and in spite of the fact that it was literally the only reason he ran away from me to begin with. As I type this I realize that it sounds as if I am the jealous exgirlfriend, which maybe on some innate level I am. "He was mine, she can't have him" is the immediate jealous response. This is because he was mine for so long, and still twice as long as her, but also because he was my first love. Maybe I loved a man that never really existed, but some part of him is still hers, and it hurts more than anything that it is something I will never get back. In some small way as much as I want to deny it, attack him for being a black mark on my past, I cannot. Some part of me will always love him. What is stronger than all of this is my jealousy, not of the woman that now has him, but of what he now has. There is an almost feral jealousy of the fact that he has what I want most in my life, and he does not deserve it, nor did he want it. I am jealous of the family that he gets to have even though the man that left me four years ago did not deserve to ever have it.
As scary as it sounds, and as hard as it is for an independent and level-headed master's level counseling student to admit, I want a family more than anything. I want a husband that surprises me with flowers and sleeps safe and sound next to me each night. I want his and hers toiletries again. I want to take turns making dinner, and choosing what to watch on TV. I want to feel life inside of me. I want to bring a life into this world, and know without a doubt that he or she is safe, that our family is whole and happy. I want what I had as a child for far shorter than I would have wished. I don't even remember what family like that felt like.
And as I say all of this, I'm looking to the man that is in my life right now. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel safe. He respects me. He makes me happy in ways that I have not been happy in a long time. The problem is that I am absolutely terrified to trust that he can be the man that I so desperately want in my life, and I know that he is not ready for what I need so badly. Not to say that he couldn't be that man, but that it's just not in the cards yet. Babies scare him, marriage is a joke.
And for me it's the same, on the surfact, with my friends. I couldn't even count on two hands the amount of times I've vowed to never reproduce, but somewhere deep down everytime I take that vow I smile knowing that I'm deceiving my audience.
Unfortunately, my world is standing still, and my feet are anchored fastly to the hull of this ship that is not travelling anywhere near those waters. I have to wonder if I'll ever deserve what I so hope for, what I so dream of. And what I could have done that I did not deserve it before,and still do not deserve it now.
But until the fates do believe I deserve the life I so hope to someday live, I will sail on in uncharted waters with the one that I choose to lay my head next to most nights. I will navigate with only my heart as my compass, and hope to God and also to my lost father, that it only guides me right.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Claustrophobia of the Soul
As I sit here my hands are trembling for reasons that I cannot explain. My breath is catching in my throat and tears are brimming within my eyes. My emotions are clawing for my attention, for my help, but I am at a loss, for words and also for what to do. And so after many recent days of this uncontrollable emotional breakdown of sorts I have crawled back to the only place that has ever made sense to me, even if the words rarely make sense themselves. I'm unsure what I believe I can find here, on this empty page only consisting of a blinking cursor that only seems to mock me after so many futile attempts to explain how it is that I am feeling. I'm unsure that there are even words for this type of feeling. It's almost as if I'm experiencing claustrophobia of the soul... I just feel so trapped within myself, and I cannot get away. I can't get out of this box that I have drawn myself into. There is no getting away from who I have allowed myself to become. That sounds like a bad thing, like I've let my life, and myself, go to hell, but that's the most confusing part of this saga. I like who I am. I like who I have become. I've finally found a place where I am happy with the decisions I make, the people that I choose to surround myself with, and the things that I am doing. Life is not perfect, and a lot has changed lately, but somehow I'm still me. I'm still independent and hard-working and loving. I am still dependable and honest. I've reached a place where where I am and what I'm doing somehow have nothing to do with who I am. I am me regardless of where I am, who I'm with or what I'm doing. But I still feel like I want to run away from me. And unfortunately, I am the only person I cannot get away from. Because every time I run, I'm there. And my soul is beginning to shatter, ever so slowly because I still want to get away. I just need to figure out what it is that I need to get away from.
Monday, May 14, 2012
The Grey Compulsion
The intent of this post is rather embarassing. A few days ago I was at work and picked up a book off of the shelf and started reading it on a whim. The cover was intriguing, and yes I must admit the worst part of this story may very well be the fact that I have fallen victim to one of life's greatest sins. I not only judged a book by it's cover, I grossly misjudged it. Days later I would find that this book, which I had compulsively read the first page, a middle page, and the last of (as I do with every book I judge) and set it back on the shelf for later review, was the new craze. It plasters newspaper reviews, television shows, facebook posts and posters in front of bookstores. Fifty Shades of Grey, the tale of an inexperienced and passionate young woman and the youngest business tycoon/ closet BDSM master to conquer the world. I have to admit, after judging it as a good book by it's less than fascinating cover (after further reading and understanding), I was wrong, this book is not good; it is amazing, maybe even life changing in a sense that is unexpected, uncanny, inexplicable.
Many are drawn to the utterly erotic context. Some to the sad love story. Even others to the tortorous exchange of pain and pleasure. Not I. I am drawn to this book because of its ability to push boundaries, to test limitations. This is not a book about sex, this is a book about love, and the bounds that people will break, both consciously and unconsciously, to satiate the innate need for it. This book shows love for what it truly is: a compulsion.
And the more I read, the farther I am enthralled by these two people. And it is strange because usually when this happens it is because I want to live that life, to feel those feelings, to experience life in ways that I have yet to. This is not the case here. I am obsessed with their compulsion because I need to understand it, to understand this need that has somehow overtaken me already. This sounds strange in the context of this book if you know anything about it. But I'm talking about the bare bones of the story. Obviously it is an extreme example, but it is also the epitome of what it desperately tries to describe. The compulsion to love the one person that is not necessarily easy to love... practically, emotionally, physically, or otherwise. Because that is what I do, what I have always done, what I am doing once again.
But I ask you this, is it wrong to want to be compulsed by him?
J-L
Many are drawn to the utterly erotic context. Some to the sad love story. Even others to the tortorous exchange of pain and pleasure. Not I. I am drawn to this book because of its ability to push boundaries, to test limitations. This is not a book about sex, this is a book about love, and the bounds that people will break, both consciously and unconsciously, to satiate the innate need for it. This book shows love for what it truly is: a compulsion.
And the more I read, the farther I am enthralled by these two people. And it is strange because usually when this happens it is because I want to live that life, to feel those feelings, to experience life in ways that I have yet to. This is not the case here. I am obsessed with their compulsion because I need to understand it, to understand this need that has somehow overtaken me already. This sounds strange in the context of this book if you know anything about it. But I'm talking about the bare bones of the story. Obviously it is an extreme example, but it is also the epitome of what it desperately tries to describe. The compulsion to love the one person that is not necessarily easy to love... practically, emotionally, physically, or otherwise. Because that is what I do, what I have always done, what I am doing once again.
But I ask you this, is it wrong to want to be compulsed by him?
J-L
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Time, and tests, will tell
"One thing Winny had learned from books was that you had to be tested in life to discover who you were and what you were capable of doing. Hopeless sissy, noble warrior, maniac-- he could be anything, and he wouldn't know until he was tested."- Dean Koontz (77 Shadow Street)
"As you have observed, it is the nature of human beings to exploit one another ruthlessly and to ravage nature as well, again and again and again over the centuries. No class or race or faction is innocent of that crime."- Dean Koontz (77 Shadow Street)
"By their nature, heroes leave outsize footprints, overblown and dangerous legends, therefore, in a well-ordered and efficient world, there would be no place for them."- Dean Koontz (77 Shadow Street)
"Fear is the engine that drives the human animal. Humanity sees the world as a place of uncountable threats, and so the world becomes what humanity imagines it to be."- Dean Koontz (77 Shadow Street)
The clean paper is almost menacing, waiting for me to ruin it with these misspelled words and misrepresented emotions. I remember days where fear was not present or if it was it was only that the words would never stop, or that the pen may run out of ink or my hand would cramp before the words refused to flow. Life is much different now. Words are few and far between, as is inspiration. Life is fleeting, and yet I have no words for it. I cannot explain how it feels to question whether I want to know if my life is about to drastically be in jeopardy. It is frustrating to try to pick out the emotions when so many are zooming around inside of my crowded head. They are attacking me in phases, breaking me down with each onslaught of doubt, pain, worry, regret, loss, sadness, and longing. And we are back to the age old question: if you could know if you were going to die, would you want to know? Would it change your life, the way you live it? Would knowing that soon all of this will be gone, and that you might get to fall in love, and you might even have time to have children, and to find happiness and purpose in life, but that you would have to inevitably leave it all behind change if you choose to do those things? It's hard to fathom, and the words fail me, fail to save me.
But the answer is obvious, the answer to the question at least. I have to know, because it will change things... it might even change everything. Can I truly have children knowing that they will grow up most of their lives without a mother? Can I have children knowing that there is a large likelihood that I will pass on this "bad gene" and they too will suffer as I might, as my father did. Is it fair to affect my world as my father inevitably affected ours? This pain, I wouldn't wish it upon anyone.
Time, and tests will tell. Until then, the ticking clock is nearly unbearable.
"As you have observed, it is the nature of human beings to exploit one another ruthlessly and to ravage nature as well, again and again and again over the centuries. No class or race or faction is innocent of that crime."- Dean Koontz (77 Shadow Street)
"By their nature, heroes leave outsize footprints, overblown and dangerous legends, therefore, in a well-ordered and efficient world, there would be no place for them."- Dean Koontz (77 Shadow Street)
"Fear is the engine that drives the human animal. Humanity sees the world as a place of uncountable threats, and so the world becomes what humanity imagines it to be."- Dean Koontz (77 Shadow Street)
The clean paper is almost menacing, waiting for me to ruin it with these misspelled words and misrepresented emotions. I remember days where fear was not present or if it was it was only that the words would never stop, or that the pen may run out of ink or my hand would cramp before the words refused to flow. Life is much different now. Words are few and far between, as is inspiration. Life is fleeting, and yet I have no words for it. I cannot explain how it feels to question whether I want to know if my life is about to drastically be in jeopardy. It is frustrating to try to pick out the emotions when so many are zooming around inside of my crowded head. They are attacking me in phases, breaking me down with each onslaught of doubt, pain, worry, regret, loss, sadness, and longing. And we are back to the age old question: if you could know if you were going to die, would you want to know? Would it change your life, the way you live it? Would knowing that soon all of this will be gone, and that you might get to fall in love, and you might even have time to have children, and to find happiness and purpose in life, but that you would have to inevitably leave it all behind change if you choose to do those things? It's hard to fathom, and the words fail me, fail to save me.
But the answer is obvious, the answer to the question at least. I have to know, because it will change things... it might even change everything. Can I truly have children knowing that they will grow up most of their lives without a mother? Can I have children knowing that there is a large likelihood that I will pass on this "bad gene" and they too will suffer as I might, as my father did. Is it fair to affect my world as my father inevitably affected ours? This pain, I wouldn't wish it upon anyone.
Time, and tests will tell. Until then, the ticking clock is nearly unbearable.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
The hero(ine)
Some days the trail of carnage that marks my path is overwhelming, surprising. It's almost as if I am not the girl that left them there. It takes on a cartoonish representation in this unlikely satire. If I could describe it in words it may be rather dark, depressing, and a little too enlightening for the feint of heart. You might know everything about me, but I'm almost determined to never ever show you this.
Memory is a funny thing. The more you want to change something, the easier that memory is to change. It warps faster than normal memory when you wish more than anything that it would have been different, that you would have made another choice. So maybe you wake up two weeks, two years, two decades later, and you remember it exactly as it should have gone. You were the hero (the heroine) of the world. You didn't break his heart, you saved it from shattering. You didn't lie to him, you saved him from a much deadlier truth. And you bury those real memories under bullshit until they do not even seem to exist anymore. Seem. To. Exist. Key words.
The bodies are piling up faster than you ever imagined was possible. You walk into a room and all hearts are on you suddenly. They are all begging for your attention, for your expertise. It's almost amazing how quickly they have begun to fall. for her. for you. but mostly for me. This is the girl that they fall in love with. The girl that puts all of her shit out into the world and just is. The girl that isn't afraid to be broken, or confused, or undecided. They fall for the version of me that needs fixing, but doesn't ever expect to be fixed. Because like all men, they love to fix broken things, to put things back together, to reassemble without instructions. The problem is that as much as they are addicted to fixing me, i'm addicted to shattering. I have perfected the art of shattering into a thousand misguided and ill-intended pieces.
I say that I believe life is about the pursuit of love, and most days I mean that. I believe that we are put on this earth to find that one other soul that will make us whole again, that there is a perfect match in this world for each and every one of us. I am the most disgusting romantic that you will ever meet, but I am also deep down in my core a realist. I got my love. And it is because of this love that I learned the ultimate thrill.
Some people bungee jump, others skydive, but not this girl. This girl slays her victims of love with the double bladed sword of vengeance. Taking back a piece of herself that she never intended to give away before it's too late. Because it was too late once... maybe even twice... and she never ever wants to feel that pain again. She is fine with shattering, she knows the pain is only temporary because she causes it now, but back then it was him that broke her. He threw her against that wall and like a sheet of glass she scattered across the floor of that apartment. She left something there that she may never find again. And as she looks back at the wreckage, at the toll of hearts on her conscience, she wonders if maybe she did not create the same kind of monsters along the way.
Memory is a funny thing. The more you want to change something, the easier that memory is to change. It warps faster than normal memory when you wish more than anything that it would have been different, that you would have made another choice. So maybe you wake up two weeks, two years, two decades later, and you remember it exactly as it should have gone. You were the hero (the heroine) of the world. You didn't break his heart, you saved it from shattering. You didn't lie to him, you saved him from a much deadlier truth. And you bury those real memories under bullshit until they do not even seem to exist anymore. Seem. To. Exist. Key words.
The bodies are piling up faster than you ever imagined was possible. You walk into a room and all hearts are on you suddenly. They are all begging for your attention, for your expertise. It's almost amazing how quickly they have begun to fall. for her. for you. but mostly for me. This is the girl that they fall in love with. The girl that puts all of her shit out into the world and just is. The girl that isn't afraid to be broken, or confused, or undecided. They fall for the version of me that needs fixing, but doesn't ever expect to be fixed. Because like all men, they love to fix broken things, to put things back together, to reassemble without instructions. The problem is that as much as they are addicted to fixing me, i'm addicted to shattering. I have perfected the art of shattering into a thousand misguided and ill-intended pieces.
I say that I believe life is about the pursuit of love, and most days I mean that. I believe that we are put on this earth to find that one other soul that will make us whole again, that there is a perfect match in this world for each and every one of us. I am the most disgusting romantic that you will ever meet, but I am also deep down in my core a realist. I got my love. And it is because of this love that I learned the ultimate thrill.
Some people bungee jump, others skydive, but not this girl. This girl slays her victims of love with the double bladed sword of vengeance. Taking back a piece of herself that she never intended to give away before it's too late. Because it was too late once... maybe even twice... and she never ever wants to feel that pain again. She is fine with shattering, she knows the pain is only temporary because she causes it now, but back then it was him that broke her. He threw her against that wall and like a sheet of glass she scattered across the floor of that apartment. She left something there that she may never find again. And as she looks back at the wreckage, at the toll of hearts on her conscience, she wonders if maybe she did not create the same kind of monsters along the way.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Twisting myself back up in love/life
"life doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to be lived"-Dexter
And as the fear creeps in deeper, running already sounds enticing. This soul was born to run, impulsive to the core, but the biggest fear is what happens when I can't run anymore. And if I'll ever find what I run for.
Am I scared to get hurt, or that I've found a place worth being still for? My heart continues beating, my mind is racing at a frenzied pace, but amazingly my hands are steady. Only here. And as I say this I can hear what its like when he smiles.
This world is a mess of contradictions and nonsensical bullshit, but I love every twisted note. I love that I hear his smiles, taste his apprehension, smell his doubt, feel his absence, and imagine a place where this is routine, mutual, a place where finally there is no reason nor temptation to run. ever again. Or at least for one more night.
Monday, January 16, 2012
untangling the web
The concept of time is something that I can no more put out of my mind than I can erase, or escape it. Memories are remnants of this time, and as those memories fade, I am left to wonder if time itself does not fade, and eventually cease to exist. We wake up and we live each day and we go through the seconds and minutes and hours as if they are nothing, but once we live them, and cease to remember them, do they themselves fade away?
And as I stood there today, realizing that everything that we ever had was gone, I smiled. I reveled in the fact that he no longer existed there, that maybe we no longer had to exist either. All that remains of us is the fact that we have both found our way here. I understand what here means to me, although I'm not really sure where or what here actually is. What it is for him, I don't really care. Because even though it is here for him, it doesn't have to be here for me anymore. I have finally escaped the tangled web we chose to weave all of those years ago, and I feel confident in the fact that I am better for it.
Fate is for the believers, destiny is for the lovers... somehow I find myself somewhere in between these. Locked between fate and destiny and believing and loving. You would be amazed by the amount of lies that exist in this space. So, I wonder if I can believe in that happy ending, or simply bask in the utter lunacy of it.
And as I stood there today, realizing that everything that we ever had was gone, I smiled. I reveled in the fact that he no longer existed there, that maybe we no longer had to exist either. All that remains of us is the fact that we have both found our way here. I understand what here means to me, although I'm not really sure where or what here actually is. What it is for him, I don't really care. Because even though it is here for him, it doesn't have to be here for me anymore. I have finally escaped the tangled web we chose to weave all of those years ago, and I feel confident in the fact that I am better for it.
Fate is for the believers, destiny is for the lovers... somehow I find myself somewhere in between these. Locked between fate and destiny and believing and loving. You would be amazed by the amount of lies that exist in this space. So, I wonder if I can believe in that happy ending, or simply bask in the utter lunacy of it.
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