If I had thought. . .

If I had thought that was going to be my last night with you, I would have done so many things. I would have hugged you for so long. A hug that felt awkward in its length if it didn't mean goodbye. I would have said so many things. Told you how much I love you. How wonderful you really are. Because you can't see it. And I would have let you know, finally, what it meant to me to lose you. Because if I never get to tell you I love you again, you should see the hole you'll leave behind. You should see just how big you are to me. Because you can't possibly know.

If I had thought that it would never be the same between us again, I might have seen the signs earlier. Might have seen all the things you weren't telling me. Might have had enough time to hide some small space in my heart that would be left undamaged by your departure.

If I had thought that you knew all night long that this was going to be the last one we spent together, I might have stayed home alone instead. I might have kept a memory more pure for our last day together. Or I might have kept you with me all night long.

If I had thought you were lying to me while I told you all my truths, I might have kept some things to myself. I might have hidden part of myself away from you the way you were doing the whole time.

But I never thought any of those things. Not even once.

Someday though, it will all be okay.

I don't know how to care about you any less than I do now. I don't know how to be anyone other than who I am and who I am loves you a ridiculous amount. Who I am is able to forgive you over and over again. Who I am is getting better and better at not letting you see how much you hurt me because I know that it would hurt you to see it.

As a human being, I get to reinvent myself with every rising sun. Or more frequently than that. Every breath we get to choose who we want to be. Usually we just keep being the familiar thing we are used to. It is easier. It is safer. Every once in a while something comes along that knocks us off our present path. Or maybe it is a subtle wind that causes us to bear ever-so-slightly to the right until eventually we are someplace we never planned to go.

I think you were a subtle wind for me. And then you just plowed me right off the path. I don't think I'll ever be the same again.

And I love you. Oh, how I love you. I don't think telling you with words is working well enough. I don't think my free time and attention and care are making a bold enough statement. Or maybe they are and I just look ridiculous to you. Because you don't care for me so much. You couldn't. You don't.

So despite how much I love you, I have decided it would be best for me if I created some space between us. I don't think you'll notice, so it won't hurt for you. But I have this problem: I don't know how to care for you less. I don't know how to think of you less often or not worry about you so much. I don't know how to reign in my stray thoughts so that they don't wander your direction.

Because when I don't see you it weighs heavier on my heart than when I get to see you several times a week. And when I don't text you I'm just wondering if maybe you'll want to text me this time. And when I DO see you, despite my best efforts, I fall easily into that person that absolutely loves you. No matter what.

My conclusion:

I'm not going to ever be able to tell you goodbye. The very thought of that makes me hurt in ways I haven't learned the words for. I'm going to keep reaching out to you even if/when it becomes obvious that I should maybe stop trying. So if you don't want my love and time and attention, you are going to have to be the one to walk away. And I really hope you don't, because that would be something to survive, not something to get over.

I know all of this might come off as sort of desperate and pathetic. Think of me that way if you must. But I'm trying to be the one that will always be there. I'm trying to be that unconditional love I keep hoping to find somewhere. I'm trying to be as forgiving and accepting as I need someone to be for me.

I know you love me. And I know you love me less than the things pulling you away from me. I'm just saying that I can't love you less for that, even if I should.

Patience is a virtue I am lacking.

Every time I see a secret on postsecret that speaks to me, I save it. Tonight I started going through them to read them all again. I only got to "S" in alphabetical order before I had to stop. Too many things going through my head.

First, I think someone could learn quite a bit about me based upon the secrets I chose to keep. They speak to me for a reason.

Second, it made me believe that maybe we aren't all that different after all. My deepest fears and greatest hopes do not belong to me alone. Over and over again other people found more beautiful ways to say these things:

I feel not good enough.

I can't wait to fall in love.

I don't think I'll ever recover from being fat.

I think you are amazing, and you can't even see it.

I'm so completely happy with me and life and everything. One day at a time.

Just because I survived it, doesn't mean it was ever okay.

Being imperfect is part of the beauty.

Every bad thing in life would be worth it, if it led me to you.

Over and over again. The same feeling with different words. The same meaning with different pictures.

I'm ugly and flawed and broken and I'll never be okay. You should love me anyway. I think you are more amazing than you would ever believe. If I could tell you, maybe you would fall in love with me. I think we could build something beautiful beyond words.

I'm surprised again at how often we can feel the same things. Me and a stranger. Us. All of us together.

If there are all these people out there waiting for their person, than I'm sure my person is out there waiting for me. And no matter how flawed and broken I think I am, he is going to think I'm all kinds of good things. And I'm going to see the good in him, even if he can't figure out why I keep seeing it. And together we will make each other happier and stumble along through the years just holding each others hands, no matter how rough the path becomes.

I'm feeling impatient. It is just getting worse.

I feel like I can bring any subject back around to this one.

I'm lonely in a way I don't understand. Hanging out with friends every day doesn't make it any better.

So, so impatient. Where are you?

I really like the way this feels. Holding hands with my favorite, favorite man (mostly so I would stop poking him and pinching his nose and rubbing his chin hair and messing with his hair) and feeling only the kind of affection I feel for any of my friends. Friend-feelings. I sure love that man, and now I've learned the right way to do it. My heart feels full. And whole. And happy.

Hugs are IMPORTANT.

I'm going to write though I have nothing particular planned to say. Just this awareness that my blogging lately has sucked. Okay, everything in my life lately has kind of suffered from my lack of attention.

I could talk about work, because I've been at one place or another at least 70 hours a week. But I've been living for those few hours between work and sleep. Let me talk about those.

So I had a crush on my best guy friend. I think these things probably happen a lot between men and women. And then he told me he liked my other friend. Well that sucked. More than I thought it would. And not in a oh-no-he-doesn't-like-me kind of way because I already knew that part. It was the excitement in his face when he talked about her and the horrifying realization that no one has ever, ever looked like that for me. And the wonder if anyone ever, ever will.

Well, and, it DOES suck to not have feelings reciprocated. I'm not going to lie about that one.

After I got over that particular event and all the associated feelings, I decided that he needed to be moved quickly and permanently to the "brother" category. For my sanity. For our relationship. For the good of everyone involved.

Yeah, so thats easier said than done.

Totally working on it.

I can't tell you how much better this feels. Now it feels much more okay to tell him how I love him. Maybe I feel less misinterpreted. But I do love him in a similar way that I love my brother. Maybe less because I know my brother better and longer and we have so much in common and so many good memories. Maybe more because I see my best guy friend more often and he disappoints me much, much less and he is a brother I choose to have.

And it feels more permanent to me. Like when he starts dating someone I'll definitely see less of him because he will, of course, want to see her as often as possible. But that won't mean that our relationship is over. It is a forever thing. Elastic enough to absorb the changes.

I feel like I have more power. Or more ground. Like I don't need to worry so much over not making him mad or not letting him see me grumpy or ugly or unhappy. He doesn't need to be attracted to me, he just needs to love me for who I am and accept the ugly parts too.

I'm not so preoccupied with his physical self. How near he is or how often he touches me or how often he looks at me. These things still matter, of course. Especially hugs. Hugs are IMPORTANT. But I don't feel like he is a second source of gravity and my attention keeps falling into orbit around him.

And I love him all the more for it. For the things he has taught me; the things he meant and the things I think he never planned and doesn't even know about. And now that I'm learning to slowly erase all the stupid extra stuff floating around in my head, I can see even more details of who he is. My favorite man.

Sometimes he makes me smile all goofy because of a text message. Sometimes he disappoints me. Sometimes I feel like the only safe place left in the world in right next to him. Sometimes I think he has no idea that he is hurting me. But I like nearly all of his moods and can accept the ones I don't care for so much. He listens and shares. He smiles and laughs and gets quiet and sings and rants and raves and dances. He is consistent and inconsistent. Sometimes I understand parts of him and then later I'm baffled. He challenges and affirms me. He pushes me to the edge of my comfort zone. Sometimes he makes me mad. He makes me want to listen to every story and somehow be for him as many wonderful things as he is for me. I want so many things for him. Things that will make him happy and healthy and whole and so, so, so, happy.

And I miss him. This is what working so much has affected the most. Less time for him. I've seen my girl-friends a lot. But I miss this one. My favorite man.

On another note, I just realized that I worked out today in a sleeveless shirt and there is black lint from my previous shirt stuck to my deodorant. Kind of looks like I have black armpit hair growing in little patches. I wonder what ladies at the gym thought? They probably didn't even notice me. Thats what I'll say.

Goodness I'm tired!

I bought the new Relient K album.

I don't really have time to write lately and I can feel the words building up inside of me. They might run out of room and die. Like little plants with no room to root. Terminal rot.

I'm tired of going to my second job. I don't want to do it anymore. I'm so, so tired. I don't know if I'll keep going the next four weeks. I'm going to do it one day at a time. One day. Like today.

And I wish I could stop worrying so much. Worry doesn't fix a thing. Doesn't change the outcome. Its hard to remember that.

Time for work. I hate this so much. It is all my fault I have to do this. Stupid, stupid me.

I think I can finally speak.

I remember how it feels to feel good about me. And how it feels to put up that safety wall around my heart. And how it feels to realize that I've gotten way too involved and attached to another person. And how it feels to take that first step back.

Apparently I'm initially too trusting. Too willing to go all in. And then, once hurt or disappointed, I am difficult to coax closer again. I think this is true. I don't want to get hurt, but I hope I'm not hurting you either. But I'm not willing to let you make me feel the way you made me feel ever again. Even if you didn't do it on purpose. Even if you didn't know you did it.

Someone make it feel better. Please?

My mouth is all full of the words I’m not saying. I think I keep accidently swallowing them. That’s probably why I feel so sick to my stomach. Thats probably why I keep biting my tongue. But it will be okay. They will just fall into the hole inside my chest and freeze into ice crystals in the coldness there and no one will ever know what I never, ever said.

I put frozen spoons on my eyes. It was a good kind of pain.

I've moved away from the "there is something horribly wrong with me" theory. I have a new one: there is something really important missing. I don't even know what shape the piece would be or what color it is or where it goes to begin looking for it.

And how many times in my life are you going to say, "Sarah Jo, this is not going to end well. Be careful. Just take a step back. Pay attention. Wait a minute. Slow down. You're going to get hurt." And then I merrily ignore you and it all comes true? And you never say, "I TOLD you this was going to happen." It's more like, "I'm so sorry, Sarah Jo. This is what you need to do to make it feel better. This is how long its going to take to heal. This is how you make sure you don't do this again."

I don't know what magic there is that after 11 years now you are still here. That we are completely different people than we were when we met and still we love each other.

I am thoroughly convinced that most people I know don't ever actually see me as a real, live human being with feelings and bad days and character flaws and needs. They don't see it when I'm not okay and they don't know what to do when they do see it. But you see. Since that very first phone call you've driven right past the bubbly outside to the real person underneath. Sometimes it's uncomfortable and frustrating that I can't just gloss over my feelings and move on when talking you to. You won't let me. But you're teaching me that ignoring all the bad things won't make them go away. And pretending I'm not hurt won't make it true. And I'm truly, truly grateful for you.

I write poetry sometimes. Its never very good, but it sure makes me feel better.

One Breath

One breath at a time. Concentrate on the rhythm of the inhale and exhale against the thrumming of my heart. It’s a sound I recognize. Reassurance that I’m still alive.

It doesn’t matter about the change of pace. From a slow walk to a death race. My breath, in time with my heart, kicks up a pace. We work together.

My mind isn’t needed for this dance. My lungs and heart have their own romance. Like a couple matching stride. Reassurance that I’m still, still alive.

But oh, what is this that steals my breath? Stops my heart right in my chest? It puts a dizzy spin to my vision. Black stars and weak knees. And oh please please please

One breath. And then another. I don’t know how many moments like this I can survive. But the kick-start of my broken heart is reassurance that I’m still, still, still alive.

Stupid feelings.

I have a lot of things going on in my heart right now. Or my mind. Maybe they are the same thing and we just use two different words to describe the rational and irrational parts of ourselves. The part that makes sense and the part that doesn't care about what is logical and just goes flying off in whatever direction feels best. I think I have a lot of things going on in both parts.

I dreamed about going to the tattoo shop and just getting a tattoo. One I never even planned. Just stopping by one night on my way home from work and talking with an artist I had never met. And in my dream this artist got more and more worrisome. I told him I wanted a square tattooed on the inside of my left arm and I wanted it turned so that it looked like a diamond. He drew up a picture of a gravestone with strawberries growing up over it. The dream continued with me saying clearly exactly what I wanted and him trying to give me something completely different.

And my waking self realizes that I keep saying exactly what I want and I keep getting something completely different.

I hate it that sometimes my mind knows exactly how I should feel and my heart just doesn't care. I've already decided that everything is okay. Just fine. Just like everything has always been. Nothing is different than before. Just my perspective. But I still feel like someone put a rock in my lungs and I can't quite breathe right around its sharp edges and heavy weight.

Stupid feelings.

But now I've got bigger things to worry about. Worry. Worry. Worry.

Talking usually makes me feel better. I don't feel all that much better. I feel better about some things. But its like both my feet are bruised and I can't decide which one to lean on. Because the things it might seem that I am upset about don't upset me at all. And I don't want people to think that. But how do I explain what really hurts? They won't believe me. They just wont.

I don't know if my writing clearly reflects just how happy I usually am.

So I know I've talked about crying quite a bit recently, but this is my blog and I'll cry if I want to! Ha.

Normally when I say crying I mean that tears were coming out of my eyes and trickling down my cheeks. But today it was the kind with not only the tears, but those awful noises and the red face and the runny nose and the curling in on myself until I couldn't anymore.

Johnna came over and we talked about stuff. Feelings. You know. And eventually we got to a point that I write about but I never actually talk about to anyone. I'll write about it again today.

I feel like there is something terribly wrong with me. Something everyone else can see and I can't see it. This thing makes it easy for people to just completely stop talking to me and spending time with me and generally caring about me in any way whatsoever. They just disappear. And it's so easy for them because there is something about me that makes me not worth anything. And this thing that is wrong with me is also the reason no one wants to date me. No one. Not one person yet.

And people don't want to hurt my feelings and let me know what this horrible thing is, so they say things like: No, you're a great person Sarah Jo, they are all just stupid. One day it will happen and you'll see it was worth the wait. I don't know what's wrong with the boys, you are amazing and beautiful.

They say nice, nice things.

But experience has taught me the truth. There is something terribly, terribly wrong with me and no one will tell me what it is. I keep trying to fix things. What else can I do? I changed my whole life! I'm a stranger to myself sometimes and I keep working on being better. I want to be the best version of Sarah Jo I can possibly be. But it isn't good enough. I'm missing something. I'm broken. I'm flawed. I'm not worth loving.

Where is this one that is supposed to see the good in me? Where is he that will want me and only me forever? Where is the one that is strong and kind and smart and bold and silly enough to make me happy?

I said all of this with tissues pressed against my eyes, sitting with my legs folded on my bed, trying my best to bend into myself until I disappeared and it stopped hurting so much.

And I think it's ridiculous that I can survive living with drug addicts. I can handle not having electricity or running water. I've heard the violent screaming and things crashing against the walls. I once lived in a motel. I bailed my dad out of jail. I've seen my mother taken away in handcuffs. They steal from me. I got bolt locks on my bedroom door. I was morbidly obese and I lost over a hundred pounds by myself. I've lived with empty cabinets and roaches and mice and lice and trailers with no carpet. I know all the different people my parents can be depending on which drug they are on or what they are going without. I've hidden in my room in fear. I've screamed into my pillows in anger. All of it I did with a real and honest joy for life, everyday. So real that I felt it must seep out my pores in tangible waves and infect other people. So real that it felt like another presence inside my chest nearly lifting me from the ground.

And I think it's ridiculous that after all of that, loneliness is going to be the thing that finally breaks me.

Warning! This post contains no point whatsoever!

I woke up feeling really hungry and I was dreaming about chili so I had chili for breakfast. I've learned that working 12 hours three days in a row just standing still and packing boxes in a gray, loud, dry, windowless factory makes me not care about going to the gym or whether or not I should eat this homemade chocolate chip cookie or cleaning my room or going to the grocery store. When I get really, really tired, I cry. Did I already post that before? Maybe I did. So there I was, tears streaming down my face as I packed boxes yesterday afternoon. And then in the lunch room too. No noise or sobbing or anything, just little tears trickling down under the rim of my glasses and falling onto the sandwich bag containing my uneaten peanut butter sandwich.

I don't like not talking to anyone for hours at a time and then the only people around being the kind of people that think working in a warehouse for years on end would be a really good job. The best kind of job. They don't use the word "career" or think about what it would be like to retire after god-knows-how-many-years packing boxes and scanning merchandise.

Its time to go to work now.