I don’t have an addictive personality.

(I mean, I definitely hovered dangerously on the alcoholic line, but I feel like I got over it before it got me too hard.)

What I have is a history of poor decisions, and weak decisions, and retracted decisions. It’s my dark underbelly, under the intimidating façade I wear. It’s the reason my sister can call me and talk about a hippy ceremony of burning sage to let things go and make me cry at work in my office at 12:40 in the afternoon. It’s the reason why I can’t get out of bed, and the reason why I’ve been hiding from my friends and my potential friends for so long.

The fact that I’m intimidating kindof blows my mind. I can’t figure out how it started, though it’s probably some residual leftover of trying to not care that people made fun of me growing up. It seems like a cruel turn of events that the guard I built up to make it so I could handle people making fun of me is why people hate me. Not because I do mean things, or act out against them, but because I don’t react, or react too logically, or whatever. And people do hate me. They “unfriend” me on Facebook. They threaten me with hammers or contact my boyfriend’s exes to form an allegiance against me. They accuse me of making excuses all the time or of ruining people they know. They tell me they’d rather be with their other friends, because I’ll always be there, or because I’m not fun enough.

(Note: sometimes I am mean, and push people’s buttons, or lie, or tease. I’m not pretending I’m perfect here, but I don’t think it explains the hating phenomenon.)

I do make excuses all the time, though. I’ve burned a lot of bridges with my passivity. I’ve wasted a lot of time by not being honest with myself and others. I’ve wasted a lot of time avoiding the things I am honest with myself and others about.

Worse, most people don’t even bother hating me. I’m just an obstacle in their way of getting to what they want. What I have to say is what they have to listen to before they can talk. So I don’t talk to many people.

My sister says that my image of myself is awful, that my low self esteem and poor confidence is unfounded and bordering on dismorphism. But I do feel fat, and I do feel unattractive, and like people don’t like me and couldn’t like me and wouldn’t like me, and I am tired, and many people do make me feel awful about myself.

I just always end up alone in my dreams. Alone, on a stormy seaside, with a large bright kitchen and a cat. But at least in my dreams I’m content.

i was vulnerable once.

if i'd known you then, maybe things would be different. i could say things like, "i love the way you make me laugh," or admit that i'd try to remember what your lips feel like through the day--i still do, even though now i'm not supposed to.

a woman told me yesterday not to fall in love with someone you don't know, because even though adrenaline is amazing, it wears you down and leaves you bruised.

i don't feel particularly eloquent right now. i'm sad, i'm stuck, i'm not sure if i'm in love, but i'm really not sure what i'm doing. i need a nap.

once again

i felt your hand, familiar
as it slid around my waist
i recognized the lines that i helped
paint across your face
i let you treat me badly
i let you misbehave
i kissed your lips as if the pressing
kissed the hurt away

i loved and i love
but i want to grow up
i don't want to live in
this never never land
my love deserves
conditions
the longer i see you
the more i want to go

we've reaped what we've sown, we've stumbled home
we've seen some wondrous days
i held your hand through some stormy storms
but i must be on my way
you let me treat you badly
you let me misbehave
you kissed my lips as if the pressing
kissed the hurt away

i loved and i love
but i can’t fix this up
i don’t want to live in
this endless feedback loop
my love deserves
conditions
and there will be
other people to love

the longer i see you, the more i want to go.

the voice in my head is slowly becoming mine, as i divest from all the people i loved that i let treat me badly because i wanted to make their lives better. i am not interested in seeing them anymore, i don't miss their skin, i don't want their approval, and i don't constantly want to give them mine. i'm tired of pandering to their whims, i'm tired of keeping my neck out. vulnerability is something that needs to be earned.

i want to move on with my life. i want to be a grown up, not torn between the drama of my unhappy generation and that undying angst of trying to find everlasting, unconditional love. my love deserves conditions. i deserve to be happy.

sometimes, things get to be just about me. and the more i think that way, the closer i am to being good.

Am I living?

Sunday: sleep, likely to spend time out of the house
Monday: gym, work, volunteer
Tuesday: recovery ride, work, dinner with bf, soccer
Wednesday: work, afternoon of freedom (read: correspondence, laundry, wash the roommates' dishes)
Thursday: gym, work, possibly waxing legs/dr appt, gaming workshop with roommate
Friday: recovery ride, work, possibly date night
Saturday: morning chores, afternoon flee the house for a planned adventure w/ friends or bf (leaving roommates asleep at home)

Would like to squeeze in another day to:
go to dr. appts
post on friend's round robin creative writing site
take dance lessons again
take capoeria again
visit my grandparents

So busy and living on 5 hrs sleep.....

divesting

would you please stop trying
to sleep with me? because it
confuses the living fuck out
of me, it's either intensely
flattering or insulting, you
either can't get over me, or
you just live in the moment&
are happy to forfeit me as a
friend for a convenient fuck
and i keep saying no because
i've put a lot of work in to
a friendship with you, yet i
find most of the time i just
wind up regretting it. sigh.
stopstopstopstopstopstopstop
divesting from you again....

honey

perhaps he likes the way you like him
your honey stream of tasteful wits
the words that burn his lonely lips
of how you really want to know him
of how you're still around
he's got a lot of evidence
that what you say is meant for real
perhaps the whiskey laughs still echo
when he's alone and unfulfilled
or maybe, streams of words forgotten,
kisses fade into the night
and both of you are passing, jaded,
waiting till your breaths are stilled