I don’t know what to do. I said I’d end this blog, and I really want to. I’ve deleted all of the extra pages here (they were dumb anyway, especially the poetry page), the About Me section, etc. But quite honestly, I just need to write. Whether it’s stories or shitty poetry or self-destructive and pathetic or inanely ridiculous blog entries, if I’m not writing I’m just not okay. Writers not writing is how monsters grow horns. My intention was to set up another blog (aka: run away, always my go to MO) and start fresh, start over. But I’m tired, you guys. And sad. And so I don’t feel like it. So I guess I’m just going to stay here and write. Whenever I need to. And whoever feels like reading, have at it.
My ex-man friend got in touch with me. I fell deep into crazy town (his words). He’s right. I did. I was not okay. Things I said to and about him were unfair and not okay. It’s a long story – if we’re close friends and/or you’re someone I trust, you know all the more private, uglier, scarier details. (I think) he’s forgiving me a lot, which means he’s a bigger person than I am and I’m grateful to him for being that way – not for being forgiving, but just that I know he knows that wasn’t me; that’s not who or what I am. That we didn’t waste our time on each other.
I want him to know I learned a lot from him, and I don’t hate him at all and I’m done being angry at him (in perspective, I think I was unfairly using him as a punching bag for the sins of other men). He asked that I not blame him for all of my problems. I wasn’t, I was just in a really really bad spot and he was the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time…I’m grateful he was mature enough to own his feelings and recognize he wasn’t being fair to me, that he said good-bye now as opposed to, say, back in the summer when I was in a lot more turmoil for some reason than I was last winter. But that’s how he’s interpreting my behavior, which is fine. I always say – anything you put into writing or any other kind of media: words, paint, music, poetry, sketching, etc…once you hit send and/or release it, it no longer belongs to you. It’s now in the minds and hearts of whoever receives it, and they’ll see it through their eyes and experiences.
I loved him. Not an in-love, let’s be together forever kind of love. But a deep, sweet, caring kind of love. I loved him. I will always keep him in my heart and feel shitty about how I reacted at the end. I can be quite a jerk face when mad. And I suppose I am not as free love, casual, liberal as I wanted to be. I admire him because he’s able to look at these things far more philosophically than I am. I’m wired different- I love fierce and hard, and if you tell me no thanks, even if you do it as positively and sweetly as you possibly can, I am bruised and battered and all of my baggage rears its ugly head. Sometimes at you. (There’s my biggest red flag, my ugliest neon flashing warning label, gentlemen of planet Earth.)
I want to feel wanted, but I also want whoever I’m with to feel wanted. And adored, and cherished, and beautiful, and all of the good things so the bad things are kept at bay and in perspective. But I also think I have no idea how to love myself. “Value yourself,” C said to me when I left his house last Sunday. “People like being around you. They enjoy you as a person and love to be in your presence. Love to be in your presence, too.” C said. And my ex-man friend said he tries to choose to be happy than not. These are both good men I have been blessed to cross paths with. I like it when I can learn from other people more patient than me.
But can I confess I don’t even know where to start to do any of that?
But I am my daughter’s best female role model to show her how to do that, and so I need to go figure it out.
We’ve gone and done the worst imaginable: we’ve elected a reality tv star with orange skin to lead us. I fell a little into crazy town on Wednesday and Thursday about that, too, to be honest. I never get political on Facebook and I went a little nuts…I mean, y’all. HE’S GROSS. And he’s orange. But people refused and are refusing to interact with me unless they are/were going nuts too or I post about M or something silly. I get it – i cross to the other sides of streets too when crazy people muttering to themselves about pending doom are heading toward me.
But I am Love. Love is my core, it is my all, it’s why I am here, Who I Am. And I spent October in a weird, amnesiac fog, completely lost from my core. Not singing my song.
There’s a tribe in Namibia in Africa that sings songs to each other when they forget who they are. They don’t believe in evil or sins or bad. They believe we are all songs, and when we act bizarre and weird and do things like forget our core and fall into crazy town, it’s because we’ve forgotten who we are. My song has always been Somewhere Over the Rainbow. So I’m going to listen to that an awful lot over the next several days, try to stay away from news sites about Trump and stuff, and just figure out where to start. A friend told me to just start by getting very still and quiet, and begin boxing up the bad and the good. Start looking for careful, safe places for them inside of me. Then you take a careful step, assess, and get quiet again if you need to. Then stand up carefully and step again. And again. And then again.
So I am.