Low Lull

I am a graveyard site. That is how I feel these days. Barren and dry and decaying. Where are the fertile valleys of my dreams? Where did they go? I'm so sick of being tired, and doing things because I have to instead of I want to. Is it so wrong or grand for me to long for fearless, happy, maybe doing something I like and still being able to eat something for dinner kind of life? Most of the time the answer is yes, that's too much to ask for. You pay your bills, you're quiet after 11pm so as not wake the neighbours, and you wake in the morning groaning to go to work which barely pays for this place thats not my home. God help me get through this phase. Another low lull, just ride it out. Please don't give up.

Too Small for my Spirit

I don't know why I can't sleep nights.
And I do.
Every day my spirit it curtailed by the "duties" of this world, I die a little bit more.
It's a slow death. Every slow workday, where I end up coming home after the sun has already gone down, it's a still birth to my dreams. It becomes harder and harder to feel like satisfaction is possible in this life. That is is only a luxery for the rich, or smart, or beautiful, which God decided I wasn't worthy of. Instead I am this feeler which feels everyday more and more like a curse. A self timed ticking bomb in which I will self destruct and I have to watch the mind numbing process of watching the glorious trailers of other peoples lives while fantasizing from a dark room in the late hours of the night. I know I shouldn't complain, there are those without roofs over their heads, or food in the bellies, or the luxery to even worry about their futures because they need to survive the present. But sometimes...I don't know. I feel cursed. A sadness which is has wrapped around my heart so deeply, it now has roots, and grows stronger with each proof of dissapointments which come in forms of friendships or relationships or just my personalship of titanic emotions.
I don't think anyone really knows me. And after so many days of asking others how they're doing, you begin to shrivel inside. A plant with no sun, I have been in a long, long, winter.
I'm tired of being false. I am with so many. I lie so easy it becomes habit. After a lifetime of trying to preserve the image of self sufficiency from such a young age...it becomes sort of necessary to not relax into the reality of complete dissaster. It's not even disaster. It's the mundaness of it all. I work, sleep occasionally, and then do it all over again. Mostly I think about if dying is really the easiest solution. It is selfish and cowardly, but sometime I hear a song, or a see an old picture, or read something so heart breaking, and it makes me feel like this body is too small for the size of my spirit. I want to be ripped open and let free. And this 9-5 bullshit allows no room for freedom in any way.

Little Bit Less of that Loneliness

When I got the text from him, which basically said "me and your best friend have been really digging eachother for awhile and think we have something. We've been together for awhile and now we'd like to make it official. Thanks."
This coming from a guy who I'd slept in his arms and talked into the night less than a month before.
I don't know what I felt first. Anger sure as fuck. But something I can't quite identify. Dissapointment?
I like to believe that people are generally good, that they are all looking for love and acceptance just as I do, so how bad can they be?
Me and this guy both came from same backgrounds too. With serious troubled health, mental ups and downs, and well this "persona" we both talked about. They one we tried on and suited up each time we got in a crowd or even just with others. A clown costume. The loud, funny, jokester, the very brash and outgoing prankster that no one could imagine could actually be very shy. Very lonely.
We talked about this at 4am after a dance party where the rest of the group were sprawled in drunken disarray around his apartment from the corner of curtains in the living room, the bathtub (yes I'm serious) and in the hallway to the kitchen. Everyone there. But we were alone. The door closed. A world within a world. We shut off the world and let our own take over. Curled into his shoulder with his arms around me I felt safe. Trusting, and trusted. He was opening up to me like a dying man. Telling me how hard it was to be crippled literally at such a young age from his broken knees and how it kept him from a lot of things he loved. He was being so blatantly honest and true, speaking from a place of innocence and fragility. Things that men aren't allowed to show with their "bros" round. And I sympathized. Or more empathized. I may have not had broken bones, but if you've read me blog you know I've collected enough health issues to be just as crippled.
Either way I guess what I'm saying is I felt like we had both seen each other. Both acknowledged each other in a way no one else could. It felt sacred.

Days later in another 2 hours funny banter over facebook chat where we send eachother funny youtube clips, traded all our best song numbers (which was hard since we overlapped alot) and made plans for the next weekend, it came up. I knew it was kind inevitable. He asked me out.

And I don't know why but I knew I had to say no. But I was straight up about it. I told him, not because I didn't think he was awesome, or cute as hell, but I had to decline. I wasn't nor am I healthy enough to handle my own life, let alone take on someone else's needs. I didn't want to try because if I fucked it up I'd fuck up one of the best things in my life (or so I thought). And because I was so rawly honest about it, so vulnerable about my shortcomings, he understood. He said he understood and that it was okay. And so I believed him.

A weekend or so later, somehow the sleeping arrangements after another group dance night, I was again in his arms. And I had to ask, whether from a place of pride, or just need to know since I still adored him, I asked whether he was really "okay" that I said no. That I had to say no.
"I get it. I do. I was bummed for a few days. But I'm fine now."
And I snuggled deeper into his neck and squeezed him, showing him that if I could love him I would.
I don't know now. I might have been falling in love. Or maybe I just adored another sensitive soul. Or maybe I just really longed for the recognition we both found in each other. Who knows at this point.

Anyways, from that point on, things just well...deteriorated. We went from talking everyday to me trying to make conversation via text. He'd text back at his leisure of course. Usually a one liner which would frustrate the fuck out of me. On movie nights I noticed he's sit away from me, or find someone else to lounge on. One particular night it was particularly obvious things were not good. I was a bit high and on edge and he was horizontal across my good friend Patricia. And I hadn't seen patty for awhile, and I wanted to cuddle with her. Or maybe him. I dunno even. But I tried to get in the middle and he just played zombie. Heavy limbed and playing dead I tried to pry him off to Patty's amusement, giggling while I tried to squeeze me teensy self in between this lug. I did manage, but his entire weight, back and all was pressing into my midriff as I cuddled with Patty. Eventually I gave in, "All right, all right you win," I said jokingly and roughly pulled myself out of the mess of limbs.

I went across to the other couch where the guys were sitting, and although it was only about a foot away from him, it may as well have been a 1000 yards. I felt myself being sucked by a tide, and a black hole was forming in between us now.

Even with friends over, we'd bicker. And it wasn't unnoticed. It was embarrassing hearing him tell me off.
"God I don't want to talk about it!"
 he said when I kept pestering him about what was happening with this dream job that he was forming with his friends. I heard through the vine that it had gotten pulled and that there were "issues" within the group. This info gathered all from everyone but him. I wanted to know so badly after I heard. Felt like something this important, then as a friend I should know. I had to. If I didn't then the void really was real and I was really only becoming an acquaintance.  I was losing him and I clung like hell. I did the hellish mistake of being a woman and I pestered him about it. And off course he told me off.
Even in front of his friends and roommate. Like I was some fucking animal, something he could tell to go piss outside cause he wasn't in the mood to "walk me through the details".
So I got back the only way I knew how. I straight up said I wouldn't be crashing with him that night. S'not like we were a couple, but saying I was going to be crashing with Patrick was odd enough to make a statement. Over months of sleepovers I had never crossed that 2 food gap of carpet to sleep in that other room.

Me and Patrick were on good terms. Friends, playful. But strictly platonic. So it wasn't weird when I stayed with him that night. We settled down, having a smoke, a tickle war, maybe a few extra lion cub wrestle matches because I loved hearing him giggle like a school boy. I've always been pleased when I can make a big guy curl and titter like a litte lamb. Mostly it was just a nice burn off steam and it was hella fun, but it didn't mean I didn't hoot and jaunt extra loud or make Pat laugh extra hard, making sure the fun was heard through the walls. Yes bitch move. I know.

Anyways the move was pointless, the slice had no sting, because in reality, he was already making moves with Patricia weeks before. Of course I knew nothing. So the next morning I apologized. Like a fucking chump. A ignorant, albeit partly guilty, but still yearning for the good old days chump. I was genuinely trying to get my friend back and I had no idea how.

"I think I really have something with Patty. I know you told her you have fears about changing the group dynamics, but I think the group's going to change no matter what."

That was the first time he'd texted me longer than a one liner, and it was to tell me he fell for someone else.

I think I cried for about four days, had kind of vicious emailing between him, and exhausting confusing and heart slamming like a piece of meat phone calls with Patricia for 3 straight days. Owing to her kind nature, she did say she cared for me, didn't realize how much I liked him, said she'd back out if it meant losing me. But it was all half hearted and empty promises. They were already and had already been together. Maybe not sex (as far as I know), but together enough to know they spent some nights together. Her in his arms. In my crook. She would have already learned the smell of his skin, the stubble on his cheek, the heat in the wind of his breath.
Knowing that I was just a replaceable piece in a world I felt I constructed with him, felt like the worst feeling I could ever feel. I felt like nothing, absolute nothing.
But the part that devastates me the most, is I felt like I knew these people. Especially him. Felt like I was understood and we understood each other. Like we had something between all of us. A invisible rubber band that held us together and kept anyone who wished to harm us away. Like we could never be the ones on the other side.
I guess I wanted so much to trust.

Anyways. Now I'm blabbering. I guess my point is, I feel like a recovering shotgun patient every time I reach out to trust, and it turns out sour. I spend the first while is shock, absolute mind numbing can't even feel anything or feel like eating shock. Then the pain, the overwhelming pain of the anesthia wears off and it floods my heart like an fucking heart attack. Months of this, crying, listening to sad music, eating again (at least) but this time in ferocious scary way. Binge eating like maybe enough of this will fill the fucking gaping ass hole which is now me. Then I slowly recover. But I don't. It's one of those soft to touch wounds. And its so damn visible every time I walk outside I purposely walk farther away from people so they wont brush up against the swollen parts. And even if they do come close enough, I pull down the sleeve. I'm fine. I'm fine. My answer for everything.

I never really recover from those hurts. And the worst part is I blame only myself.  Because even after this and all the others, with each bullet to the chest, I still unfalteringly, stupidly, but with a loving innocence miss and love them. The ones who the riffles. Because even for one night, in the quiet of the stars and the hum of mingled breaths, two people can feel a bit less of that loneliness.

Pull me in

It has become unbearably hard to even pretend to be happy for others. I haven't spoken to my sister Melody in over 6 months, just because even the thought of talking her makes me feel like crying. I can't help it. With a beautiful baby boy, a good partner, a home in the country, and a fulfilling job, its like she won the lottery and I'm out on the streets and I have to pretend like congratulating her is the "right" thing. I know its petty and useless to compare or even to covet what is not yours, and I know she must have her struggles (beyond cellulite and not having enough cash which is universal I can't think of much else), but that is what I do. I struggle on a daily basis to even shut up the thoughts in my mind which tell me it would be better if I killed myself. I feel like a plague. a sickness to everyone around me. I'm always sick and they cant help me. I cant help me. So I just continue feeling sad, feeling jealous, feeling like I'm wasting space for someone who really deserves and wants to be here. Dear god, this depression is full blown now. It was a small manageable thing  before, but now its like a rapid dog, attacking anyone and anything. Even myself. Or whats left of it at this point. I am scared. For the future. For my life. For my decisions which don't seem to really be mine. I have been watching my life like a doomed drowning person at sea. Being pulled strongly farther out into the current, farther from the shore where I see myself walking along the sand. It's me, but it's not me. I scream for help and the girl on the shore looks in my direction, squinting like she heard something, and I scream louder. But she just shrugs like nothings there, and keeps walking. I have to watch my life being literally sucked away from me. I'm lost. And I don't know how to make it back to shore. Please if you hear me, up there, out there, pull me in. Pull me back in.

2015.
This is it tina. This is you life. No more put downs or unbelievable expectations. But you do have to pull yourself together. No harshness my love. I want this for you. Only goodness and strength. That is what you deserve, but remember nothing good ever is easy, you have to work at it. Small steps my love, small steps in this life.
Start reading more delightful things
Practice some yoga
Learn a few songs on the guitar (or at least play around on it)
Write. Write. Write. Even if it sucks like Arjuna told me, its not the idea, it's the commitment. Thats what drives you. And the hardest part is having the inspiration when you have none. But if you push past that, when you do get inspiration you can go back and change it. She was talking about writing novels, but I was also thinking she was more talking about life.
And for got sakes tina, pray. Connect to God. To your core. Whatever what you want to call it. Find the rootness in who you are. Nothing else matters. I want to be able to say with confidence in this year, "At the center of life's storms I stand serene." my emotions are in conflict with my identity Apparently. That pretty much sums me up. But that is an outline of what I can work on. Be less hard on yourself, but learn to distance yourself from emotions. Let them go. Don't hold onto sadness like it's the only consistent friend. You deserve better than wallowing. You are better than wallowing. You have greatness within you. And its worth staying alive to burn that fire up, to burn that blaze until the wee hours of the morning, that nothing can put it out.
And it's okay to speak to yourself as a self help person. If thats what it takes to get out of this rut, then you fucking speak to yourself in self help talk :) And its okay to feel love again. Feel safe to love. But be smart about it. Attract and adore the right people tina. Learnt to do that.
Love you love you Love you

O's

The is something spiritual about hugs. I don't think I can even encompass how much I love hugs. I love how they are so unique and specific, and yet universal in the way they convey feeling. Like the other night I met up with a close girlfriend of mine who I hadn't seen in awhile. And the easy flow of talk and company was like waking up. When we hugged tight and leaned into eachother, not needing a time limit.  Throughout the night we had our arms loosely linked around eachothers hips as we walked through the city I felt bathed in content sweetness. I realized how far I was making myself into this scary reclusive hermit and that I wanted, no needed this kind of beautiful caring affection of a good friend. One that reminds you how food and late night conversation in an empty restaurant can be the best time in weeks, or even months. How friendship hugs are like coming home, like being welcomed back into a safe place. One where you are you, and you are welcomed. Loved.

My father and I are at this weird precipice in our relationship. I'm still young enough to be still under his care (a little financially and sometimes breakdown emotionally) so yes I am still his little girl. But also I am old enough to speak to him like a friend, asking how he is and really caring. Inquiring about his life before me, and being thrilled and ravenous for all the details that made this person. This amazing, dedicated, and goddamn sacrificing father who I think is just the fucking cats pyjamas and the sweetest heart on the planet. And I think he's recognizing in me my need to become someone, and he sees himself in me. When I'm lost, he remembers, and when I recount how much I'm scared of the future, he agrees. It's like we're both speaking the same language now. He is seeing my life from someone who had already seen the movie. And he wants point out all the good parts. So when he hugs me goodbye now, it's not stilted or a brief pat, it's a squeeze. I curl myself into his big bear arms, the bowl of chest the perfect cave for me to burrow in and my head stands as a perfect rest for his chin. In those moments I feel this thick peace, this safeness. But not the same safeness, this one is primitive, it feels..fierce. And right. Like I am protected. Like I have a grizzly guard over me.

Boys. Ahh boys. What can you do with them? Can't live with them, can't live without them. But I will say this. My first love, and so far my only true love was Johnny. And we had hugs that lasted days. Literally. There was a point where we only left the bed to pee and to grab something to eat. We intertwined ourselves so deeply as we lay in bed, limbs were just obstacles that got in the way of us pressing each other tighter. It was like we were trying to melt into each other. Like I was trying to burn off the skin, oh the beautiful skin, but to burn away our bodies so I could press my heart closer to the burning heat emitting from his chest . Our hugs were not soft. They were grips. Like they were vital. Keeping me alive. I would feel achingly beautiful, exquisite pain of those hugs. For I knew I was in the presence of the fleeting joy of love. But that did not mean I ran from it. I did only what anyone else would. I held on for dear life, for as long as I could, and with as much strength I had in me, even knowing it was doomed. Those hugs were as close to reaffirming life as I can describe. They made me believe I was Eve. And I was placed on the earth to adore and live in this new world with the first man. That we had the whole world as our oyster and that we were going to move forward into that space. Together. That there was nothing to fear or nothing that mattered but us. I felt safe. Again a different kind of safe. A kind of loving net in which we both held each other up without having to actually look back to see if it was there. It was the most comforting feeling in the world.

And then today, working with my workmate. Kylie. This cute fluttery korean girl with soft eyes and cherry cheeks. A perfect little dumpling of a girl. I was feeling sick today. But because its a relatively my first week back I knew I couldn't bail or call in. Everything became laborious. Taking orders. Talking to people. Even bloody standing seemed difficult. And I think she could tell. She did little things, like taking on the bigger tasks like taking out the trash. Or she'd give me a gentle shove away from the front desk if another customer came in, taking over and giving me room to just chill in the back. I think I feel in love with her a bit. Or at least my sick as fuck and dying self did. And even though we've only known each other for a few days, it felt so natural that we were already doing playing bum shoves when we'd pass each other, or give eachother goofy eye brow raises from across the floor. Or, like tonight where every once and awhile she would put her arm around my shoulder and pull me into her side and I'd loop my arms around midriff and we'd just lean back against the table. Those gentle concerned little hugs from her got me through the night like nothing else could or would have.  I felt like I had met another beautiful little soul who I could sit on a rainy night with. Like this tiny butterfly was keeping the demons of my self loathing and pity away, just with the light touch of her arm around me. I felt safe from the harshness of the world.

Again they are all specific feelings, specific relationships, specific ways these hugs were talking to me. But they all were about feelings of comfort, love, and protection. Like shields. So funny to think of it but hugs are like bullet proof vests lined with down feathers. Immensely protective, but incredibly soft things. I've always kinda hated and loved when people signed off a letter with XOXO. But the thing is, I kinda think I love it in the incredibly dorky sense but don't want to admit it. I especially love those O's. And I love that I don't need to explain, because I already have.

The Sensitives

God I wish I knew what or where I wanted to direct my energy. I want to be a dj. I want to be a writer. I want to be a teacher. I want to learn languages. I want to learn how to be a gardner, a farmer, a chef, maybe just a fucking stable person. But I get stuck. In my fears that are like tormentors. Who surround me and circle me and throw me around, pushing me in every direction until I end up falling over and huddling on the floor. Sometimes literally. All I know is I'm never happier than when I falling into the space of a good song, or breathing in the balmy cool air in the space of untouched land. I feel peace in burning coals, the trickle of running water, the feel of falling into your pillow after a long day. How can I make a living from that? Why is life just paying bills until you die? Can there be no time or opportunities for more of the luxeries of experience?

I never needed nor really wanted luxeries that could be bought. Only the ones that can be felt.
Joy, peace, affection, love, excitement, confidence. All of these I have craved since I can remember. As a child when others worried about whether they would get a cookie that night, I worried about who I was going to be. Or if I would ever be the me I wanted to be. At seven years old I was having midlife crisises before I was even midlife. But that is me. When I talked to my step mom about how hard it is for me in this world, how it pains me to feel not only my own self torture, but hating and hurting from the injustices of the world that happen to those I love, she replied in her very no nonsense way, "Well then you've got to grow a thicker skin."

But though that advice contains truth, it doesn't mean it feels good. In fact I kind of hate what it means. It basically means the world will not make room for the sensitives, for the artists, for the philosophers, for those who actually have compassion for others and this planet. Nope. No room. Instead the sensitives must rearrange themselves to fit the twisted dark space that has become society. Am I the only one who finds that wrong? Who wishes the world were more compassionate, honest, and maybe a little more kind for all of us? I don't know. But I do know that although I might have to grow a thicker skin to just at least be able to handle the outside world, I must take this lesson in coping. Thats what my step mom said when I asked how she turned out so normal when she had just as fucked up childhood as mine. "Guess I'm just better at coping. You just do the best with what you've got. That's all anyone can do." Yeah. Guess so. I guess I gotta just do that.