i miss you. i miss you and i don't know why. i don't feel the same way, everything has changed, i'm moving on, having fun, my appetite has returned - everything's great, don't you know? my friends tell me what a great catch i am and as usual, the sharks have sensed blood in the waters of the dating pool and i am being circled circled circled because how long can one delicious piece of meat splash about, arms flailing noticeably and failingly before going under? i miss you, god fuck, i miss you and i hate that random things jump out and remind me of you. and maybe i don't feel the same exact way and i guess a few things have changed, okay to be honest maybe i'm not having all that much fun, i wish i could just jump to being happy again and the fun isn't really fun, it's me slamming 15 shots of top shelf tequila in two hours because jesus fuck christ i want to be NUMB i am playacting at fun. i am the greatest performer in this bar and wow, another shot? sure. why not. the ones buying don't see past my glassy boozed up gaze or the drunken grin permanently affixed, frozen like a department store's front window mannequin. no, i am giggly, jiggly, and wiggly and i may be wobbly but i can see the hunger in the looks being cast at different parts of me, the mouths splitting open so i can see the shine of the whites of their sharpened teeth, jaws ready to gnaw at me, hands to grope and paw at me and fuck this noise i miss you i miss you, your chestnut brown eyes, warm and playful in the light, but mostly sad. so sad it broke my heart every time and still does even now, as only a mind's eye glimpse into my memory chest. i miss you and i miss us and i miss what could have been an exceptional and uplifting love story. i miss making magic in my kitchen for you, watching you enjoy every bite of so much on the plate. i miss how we wrapped ourselves around each other, legs twisted together, pressed so close we were unity i miss you, i miss you, and i miss you. i miss you because i love you and wow, not much has changed has it? i don't think i'm quite ready to move on, though i did give it the old college try. i can eat again but only in the tiniest of portions because sometimes my stomach decides to turn on me. nothing is great, i had to up my sleep dosage. i can't get comfortable in my own bed, your soft snoring was my white noise, i just loved having you near me, you were mine and i was yours and it was the first time in a long time that i felt so certain. you returned my key, yet continue to live rent free in the caverns of my being. i miss you. i want to talk to you. i want to smash my phone to bits so that i can't contact you because i am staring at your name in my contacts, which i should immediately delete, but i can't. i can't i miss you and i'm wondering if i should send you a message to see if you're okay but i know it's just an excuse. i already know the answer is no. because i am not.
Category: Journal
Recent Events
Someone commented on how I looked as though I had lost a bit of weight. They were concerned as I've not much on me to begin with. My cousin is a curandera and she did a deep cleanse on my apartment while I was at work. I pulled into my spot, already feeling the weight pulling me under again. She was on her way out, I rolled down the window to my car and asked how it went. Apparently, whatever was/is left of you/us has been battling viciously to stay. No shit. "I gave him a piece of me and I won't stop fighting to get it back." She nodded and said, "I know." She walked away and I parked my car. A spot I rented specifically for when you would spend the night. Oh well. I stepped into my place and it smelled of Dragons Blood, herbs, and an earthiness I could not identify. And I was hit with exhaustion. It's become a familiar reoccurrence since trying to rid myself of All Things You. The first time, I tried cutting you out on my own. The whole thing knocked me out in seconds, I could barely make it to my bed to lie down before I was asleep, heavy and deep. No dreams, only dark. The smoke alarm woke me up, the string I used had started a small fire. It amazed me that it dropped upon a bag of clothes meant for good will and nothing else near or around the candles was harmed. But also a lesson that I was an idiot and I should leave the spells and rituals to my cousin who was far more practiced and knowledgeable in that area. I never believed in magic. The old ways of our ancestors, the Yaqui practitioners from centuries past, meant a damn thing to me. I believed in intention, goodness, keeping a karmic balance as best I could. I believed in science and tangibility. As a 3rd generation American, any semblance of brujeria in my bloodline had been watered down like that of ice in flat, flavorless soda and it would be silly of me to put stock in any of that kind of unknown. I equated it to believing in God. Yet, I knew I gave you something when we first met. I felt it. I gave you a fragment of my essence. A slice of me intended for you to hold and keep with you, safe and loved. Since the split, I had not been right. This was no regular heart-ache. I had loved and lost ridiculously hard before, this was Not That. I knew it was something out of my scope of comprehension. I asked for her help, almost set my apartment on fire, and then passed out. Lesson learned. My cousin's magic is strong. My home has been spiritually sanitized by someone who loves and cares for me, I am feeling well enough to eat again, and I feel the gnawing twist deep within loosening, unwinding itself. I tend to my plants, I've begun to straighten up the various messes, room by room. I miss you the way someone misses a memory. Faded, foggy, blurred by too much time gone by. Even though it's only been a few days. I am regaining my own strength, no longer weakened by my love for you.
Cord Cutting
I've not been able to stop. These thoughts, sentences, feelings. Not even for minutes. Even when I haven't been able to jot down every living, breathing, writhing word, they all wriggle freely in my head, against another, with another, becoming another. I try and fail to make any of it come to some sort of sense. In the odd quiet, I notice the quick clicks and clacks upon my keyboard. After midnight in the city on a Friday. No sirens. No yelling. No squealing of tires echoing on the streets. Nothingness of sound. I wish I was as void as that. Somewhere, not so long ago, in a dream, I pressed myself against you, a soft but firm embrace and you did the same to me. Together, we fell into the waking sleep of souls connecting and the electricity of the event brought us front and center, face to face - rather, face in face, body in body, and it was the palpable just short of physical melding of something so far beyond our scope for rationale and reasoning. I know this was a dream because it is fading fast as the light of what used to be Us. There is no longer a We, only a Me and a You. I am drowning in the madness of missing you. But is it that? Or is it that have I lost a part of myself and this is why my stomach turns, my head pounds, my hands shake...I am going into shock because there is an integral piece of what Keeps Me Partially Whole not in place. I would like it back, please. Pack it up, wrap it gently - or not, leave it in a paper sack or store it in a gift shop box, I could care less how it finds its way home to me. I will happily and immediately give yours to you because I aim to cut any and all cords which bind. I was not made to carry you like this, alone and without solid promise for reunion. I don't fool myself into believing that you are suffering the same. You have your way to escape and hide from any and all things unpleasant. I do not. I have the eerie stillness of a Friday night in the city, the clock ticking, the branches outside my window rustling tip-toe soft as to not disturb the quiet, my fingers tapping away at this rant which you will never see. I have myself, my resolve, and what's left of what I thought was Real. And I have the strength to walk away.
Pretty
"We can't help that we are pretty." "You have known this all your pretty self." "You have been granted leniency in life because you look the way you do." i am pretty? i would think i would have known this were it the case in fairy tales in movies in life pretty is saved pretty is revered pretty is respected i am not nor have I ever been pretty pretty has leniency. the old mans hands shriveled fingertips nicotine stained rough and peeling pretending a game up my timid and frightened 5 year old thighs i should say no but this is only a game and i want to be a good girl Leniency the friend of an uncle who is "family" beer breath against my neck scratchy scruff scraping my cheek in a whisper... I Am Becoming Such A Beautiful Young Woman and my 13 yo self wants to kick him in his gross hairy everywhere and run away BUT i want to be a good girl Leniency the entitled groping ass slaps tit grabs forced wet sloppy lustful hopeful kisses against unwilling flesh while i play dead nerves flinching muscles contracting an anxious stifled spasm of my soul i want this to end i am not feeling pretty no pretty has leniency i am the malformed monster seeking refuge in the dark
Godless
I don't believe in god or give credence to any religion created by fearful men in efforts to oppress and subdue those they felt were beneath them instilling the thought process that all were unworthy except for themselves no religion is not for me yet I still pray my boots smoothly pack their prints upon the snow covered walk my breath soft, steady, serene it would be silent save for the gentlest sound of my steps as I head home the prayer is small a quick word with the Universe a telepathic memo to the stars a devotion to the moon once I'm home I light a candle white for cleansing I hold the wallet-sized black and white photo of my great-grandmother so close to my heart and whisper to it as though she were right next to me hugging me consoling me reassuring me loving me and I murmur an invocation "give me strength give me patience give me kindness" I do not believe in God But I believe in the woman she was Mighty Imperfect Determined and filled to the brim with all the Love and Fortitude only a cruel life could gracefully gift as penance No weight has been lifted Problems are problems I know I am still wavering However my faith certainly isn't After all I believe in the Universe The Stars The Moon and my Bloodline. And those are far more real and powerful than any variation of what is being sold as God.
The Universe Sent A Memo
This morning, my ex-husband came to pick up the kids. Ever the hospitable host, I mentioned I had one croissant left. Would he like a breakfast sandwich? Never mind that I had not eaten myself. Of course, he said yes. There I went, off to the kitchen as he sat at the dining table with the boys. And as I idly tended to the cooking and plating, I felt the strongest sadness in myself. This is who I am. This will always be who I am. It doesn't matter how shitty someone will treat you, you will never complain. Never fight. You will always care. You will always err on the side of kindness and consideration, like a chump. And I hated myself for that moment. I wished with every molecule in my body that I could be the spiteful and vindictive type, but I couldn't. I can't. I fed him. Made small talk. Hugged and kissed my kids goodbye. Felt the emptiness set in. I thought of all my exes right up to the most recent. All the men I've loved more than they ever loved me... you're fucking pathetic. You will never be enough. I buried myself under blankets and tried to hide from my own self. I didn't succeed. I went into work later that day, devoid of spirit. A fraying husk of a person. The whole evening, nothing but a handful of people. One regular, going through his own relationship woes offered commiseration. I was on autopilot. I smiled and responded with the most generic platitude I had at the ready. "Oh, you know. There's somebody for everybody. I just wasn't his somebody." I was ... blank. At some point, I realized I hadn't eaten the whole day. It was going on 9 pm. I forced myself to have a slice of pizza knowing that if I didn't, I'd get sick. The cook was rightly worried - I wasn't eating. I was always eating. Why wasn't I eating? I think I ate that one piece more to appease him than to put something in my belly. Another regular asked if I would do a shot with him. I usually don't. Drinking behind the bar isn't my gig. But I said yes. Out of spite for myself. I messaged a friend two short sentences. I am losing my defiance. I am losing my will. "You are stronger than that." I am not. "You. Are. Sure you're allowing yourself a moment of weakness, but you are." I didn't feel that to be true. But I knew arguing would lead nowhere and didn't bother to message back. Then, I once again stewed. I ran through all the times I had met adversity with my chin up. Shoulders squared. The countless instances I turned the other cheek. The ridiculous amount of pain and heartache I had suffered through thinking that in the end, it would be okay. As long as I continued to put good out into the world, I would be okay. What a fucking crock of bullshit. I felt the war within myself. The battle against becoming who I once was, who I strived to never be again. Cold, cruel, indifferent, unfeeling. Stone. By this point, everyone had left. It was just me and Johnny. Not everyone cares for him. He's a talker. In the grand scheme of things, he's not an angry drunk, he's almost always polite, and despite his tendency to have an opinion about everything under the sun, he has a good heart. There are far worse customers. I am not bothered by him. He called to me as I was cleaning, said he wanted to gift me something. He pulled that something out of his wallet and from where I was standing, it was square and shiny. For a second, I thought, There is no way this dude is trying to give me a f**king condom. Still, I was curious and walked over. It was a flattened chocolate wrapper. It had obviously been sitting in his wallet for quite some time. "Now," he started, still holding it gently in front of me. "it's not what it is, it's what's written on it. I'm going to show it to you and I'll leave it up to you if you want to take it. You can tell me 'No thanks, keep it' or you can have it. No pressure." He laid it down on the bar, some cheesy inspirational quote. On a tiny piece of foil that he had been carrying with him for who knows how long. And in that moment, I felt my eyes welling. I swallowed to clear the lump from my throat. Quietly, "I needed this. Thank you." He gave me a hug. Through a muffled sob, I managed to mumble, "It's been one hell of a week." There it was. The good grace of the Universe reminding me that kindness is necessary. Compassion is key. I remain soft. With no intent on changing.
coping mechanisms
when i was younger heartbreak devastated me in the worst way i'd slip away into late night dives drinking to forget picking up strangers just to feel wanted pretending they gave a shit even though i knew they didn't never being able to stand my own reflection the morning after fortunately times have changed i don't find solace in self-destruction the way i once did i suppose i've evolved lately i like to read old love poems the ones i wrote when the future seemed certain and promising i read them to remind myself that it has happened before it can happen again just because i've always been slow to trust when the time came to lower the many bridges to my soul's heart i did and i have continued to love unconditionally truthfully loyally always kindly. while my stomach is sick with the churning chaos of another paramour removed i take the time to acknowledge the moments where it all felt real new forever even if it doesn't feel that way at the present
their indifference, my shame
i am always embarrassed when i miss those who don't care to even give a thought of me it's like ... excitedly babbling about a subject of interest only to find that no one is listening or even cares caught up in their own self-contained bubbles so the words, exploding glistening once rainbow bright with vivacity slowly lose their vibrancy colors sad wilted with losing life bleeding away into gray silence that is what it's like my heart hemorrhaging prismatic poetry to an audience stone-faced indifferent unmoved that is how i feel i have to remind myself if i knock on the door of a house with no lights i shouldn't be surprised when no one answers it does not lessen my shame
Only For You
It's been an up and down not quite right everything scattered everywhere kind of a month as usual I weave my way through the chaos not altogether gracefully tripping over this and a couple times that but I had a minute and chatted with an old friend and maybe it's because we travel in the same circles or perhaps because the universe saw fit to summon you back into my consciousness we spoke of you briefly and I said I wished we had never been together because I missed your friendship that was enough of that and I went about my measured sprinting in accomplishing all the things needing to be accomplished and then the cruel joke from humorless gods a song one I hadn't heard in almost a year picked perfectly its moment to reemergeturning the still embedded knife slow in my gut a reminder that it was beautiful for a minute but also knowing with the heaviness of its truth it was not so glorious that it was worth losing a friend.
little by little
the wheels have been put into motion as the night goes long and my fingers fidget i laugh small short soft i've no ring to pawn pass on tuck away in a small box pushed to the back of a drawer to be forgotten until it is remembered during sad solitary sauvignon nights no so contemplation continues there was never a proposal the 'big rock" moment joyous tears speech impeding shock the announcement and following picture to the circle of friends oohing and aahing the phone call to parents sharing the same jubilant surprise no just an obligatory acceptance of wedding the mother of his children i would like to think he loved me i would like to believe i was more than a live-in maid nanny chef personal assistant i would like to hope that it wasn't all for naught yet i don't i can't i won't instead i will keep churning the crank operating the cold and tired machine rickety yet integral to and capable of shattering the shackles which once bound me to him
But Otherwise Fine 