I sometimes wonder if as a society we are doing it wrong. The “love” narrative is everywhere. Girl meets boy. Girl dates boy. Girl marries boy. Girl pops out children. Girl grows old with boy. Girl dies. H A P P I L Y E V E R A F T E R.
Is that why we are all so miserable? Because we have bought into this fairytale hook line and sinker? When the reality is relationships are messy. People stay together out of fear of being alone. And we martyr ourselves by thinking we are pushing through in the name of love.
People do terrible things to one another when they are in love.
It sometimes bothers me that not a whole lot of people in the world are attempting to live an enlightened life. They accept things as they are with no need or want to understand/change them. Perhaps they are the true masters of the safety bubble. After all- how can you be unsafe when you are blissfully ignorant?
Must be nice.
I want to tell them all to wake up. To help them spot the lies they tell, the lies others tell. To help them understand why they do this or that. Or to help them understand another’s motivations. I want to see them grow. So that I can grow too.
But people aren’t interested in growing.
Who am I to be now?
It’s been over two months since I’ve asked that question. I’ve assumed multiple definitions in this time frame. None of them seem to fit. Who the fuck am I to be?
I think it’s time that we all own up to our shit. Our insecurities. Why have we taught ourselves that being S T R O N G is the proper path? P E R F E C T I O N the ideal goal? Are we so afraid of being hurt that we refuse to let anyone in completely? I hate this. I think its bull shit.
I want to transcend.
No more fucking mask.
Two weeks. I have two weeks to debate, mull, imagine, curse, anticipate, dread, long for, and run from our eventual collision.
I was once so excited at the prospect of sitting across from you at some table. Sipping a cocktail. Enjoying your presence.
And now I am fucking terrified.
You are not what you seem. And my brain knows it. It’s screaming at me to run. Put as much distance between the two of us as possible. And then my brain takes another turn and decides this all sounds incredibly romantic. An imaginary pull… It belongs on a movie screen.
But it really doesn’t.
It’s a new year.
I wish I could tell you that I’ve had some sort of revelation. That I am resolved to make 2015 better than 2014 was. That I am going to learn how to connect with others and let down my guard.
I must confess that was my original plan but I’ve woken up these past two days with such an awful feeling. The not okay has grown stronger. Is it because I’ve stopped feeding the monster? Because I’ve committed to commitment?
I doubt it.
More conversations with my men today. The ones I’ve loved. The ones I’ve broken
We begin with a conversation with my dear sweet boyfriend.
About how he is the perfect man for me. Because he gives up and makes a hard swing into nothing. He has no more feelings. No more cares. No more wishes. He’s able to turn off his emotions like a light switch. One moment they are there- the next they are gone.
But they are not really gone. For that would truly be a feat. He’s squashed them somewhere deep down inside of himself. Not to return as he has deemed it unsafe.
After silence you start again. I had written you off. I assumed we were finished writing the book. The final chapter had come and gone. I built too quickly (why do I always build so quickly?)
And then you start again.
To live a life of quiet domesticity would be my death. I don’t give a SHIT if you think it is best for me. You pious men. You think you have any right to tell me how to live my life? What will work best for me? What will soothe the she wolf? You do not know. You have not bothered to get to know either of us. You just keep feeding us with your projected image.
Stop feeding us.
We will refuse to eat.
We want to be alive. We want to explore. Discover.
We do not want to compromise.
That is what it will be.
The death of the she wolf. The death of me.
This is the start, of how it all ends.
They used to shout my name, now they whisper it.
I’m speeding up…
And this is the red, orange, yellow flicker beat sparking up my heart.
I’ve avoided writing like the plague. I don’t enjoy being faced with my own stupidity. This journey is a painful reminder of the twists and turns my diseased mind has decided to take.
But I’m still along for the ride.
Because I have no choice.
Because I need to know.
I’m back bitches- did you miss me?