Friday, January 29, 2010

I am becoming hollow.

Our electricity has been off for a week now. I spent the first several days with my aunt. I stayed with Johnna in a hotel. I stayed with Sarah at her house. I feel like a vagrant. Homeless. I haven't been alone for a week. I just want to sit in my room with the door closed and do whatever I want to. Read. Write. Waste time on the Internet. And not worry about the other person in the room. There won't be any.

But it has been a good week. Especially the parts where I spent whole days with Katy and drove home each night to Johnna. It was nice spending time with them. And knowing that they wanted to spend time with me, not just help keep me occupied while I had no where to go. They wanted me around whether or not I needed them. I like that. I don't want someone to be there for me because I need them, I want them to want me around just because they enjoy being around me.

And it has also been a rough sort of week. I asked my best friend, my favorite man a rough question last week. And I got the answer I suspected. But I wish I had gotten it sooner. Long, long ago. And I wish he had been more kind in his answer. But he was perfectly himself. And it hurt me. The way he spoke to me hurt more than the message. And it made me angry. So, so angry. Because it sucks to find out my suspicions are true. That I care more, tell more, trust more than he. And it was the first time I truly felt like he didn't care about me. Me, my feelings, what his behavior has done to me, like it didn't matter. I don't matter.

When Robbie hurt me, broke my heart, he called me and apologized. It wasn't enough for the damage he had already done, but it made me believe that he SAW. That he knew exactly what he had done. That he was well and truly sorry. But I don't think he sees. Or he sees and doesn't care. Either way, I can't handle that.

So I asked him not to talk to me for a few days. I didn't want to say anything in my anger that I would regret. Because anger is only a secondary response. The real problem was the hurt and disappointment and no angry words would help that at all. They would only cause more damage. And I discovered I couldn't very well pretend. It took all of my pretending to stay there as long as I could that night. To keep smiling. To not get up and leave immediately.

And I'm still angry. Because there are things you don't say and touches you don't initiate when you don't actually want a person. And now I hate those touches. Those words. Those looks. And I hate how much I want them from someone who DOES want me. When they mean something. I didn't know what it was to want those things before. It makes me angry.

And the cold manner makes me angry too. At least you got further than those girls. Maybe I wanted you to stop trusting me. I'm sorry if you felt like I was toying with you. I never said I was nice. I wanted to watch you lie. No I don't tell you as much as you tell me. You didn't tell me everything, did you? You should keep secrets.

I feel like I was walking around seeing a different picture. The wrong one. I feel like a fool. Stupid. Ridiculous. Blind. Like there was this person in front of me like a sword; I ignored all the sharp edges and admired the beauty and strength. How now can I be angry at being cut?

But I feel disregarded.

I'm trying my best to build up walls and distance so it doesn't hurt. So I'm not so angry. And it's so hard for me. I'm always so ready to forgive. To make it better. And people in my life tell me to just walk away. Stop trying. It is not worth being in a relationship that makes you feel insignificant. But I can't ignore all the good things he is. I can't forget how much I love him even when he is mean. Even when he hurts me.

I keep hoping he'll say the right things again. He used to know the right things to say. It should be like this:

Sarah Jo, I do love you and you do matter to me. Very much. I just don't love you the way you want me to. We wouldn't work well together. I know we would hurt each other. I'm not ready for the kind of relationship you want and you shouldn't have to wait. I don't want to hurt you or lose your friendship. I want to see you happy. I'm sorry if I found all the wrong ways to tell you this before. I didn't know how. But you are one of my best friends and I don't want to lose you.

But he didn't say anything like that. He said he wanted to focus on his business. He said all kinds of girls fall for him. He said he needs me to help him with his business. That I'm the only one to offer even though people he is really close to never would. He seemed so far away. Like someone who had never held me close. Someone who had never seen me cry. Had never ever ever cared.

I am a statue crumbling from the inside. I am slowly becoming hollow. I am a smile without a reason. I am an echo of my former self.

I can't cry in my bedroom. I couldn't write about it all week. I can't tell the person that I would always tell my troubles.

I cut my hair a lot shorter. I see a new person in the mirror. This girl is independent and strong. She is captivating and full of life. She is happy and confident. She doesn't need you.

But I don't want to learn the lessons I've learned from this. I don't want to be guarded and cautious. I want to see and expect the best of people. I want to trust without reason. I want to give openly and freely of myself. I want to hold nothing back. I want to tell everything. I want to feel like enough. Like more than enough. I want to feel cherished and loved.

But some things we must wait for. Sometimes you must lose good things to make room for greater things. Sometimes you must suffer hurts to build strength. Walk through pathless forest to find the right trail.

I didn't mean to talk about any of this. I meant to say how awful it feels to not be able to go home. I meant to talk about how my room looks when everything is cold and lit by the weak winter sun coming in through the slanted blinds. It looks like I am living in my car with my backseat full of all the things I feel I need each day.

I have eaten out every single day this week. I haven't been to the gym at all. I feel unhealthy. My insides feel gross. My muscles feel wrong. I want to work out and then go home and shower. I want to cut up vegetables and make a salad at home. I want to get enough sleep in a bed that feels just right. I want to be in a space that is all my own. I don't want to worry about what time I get home. Or what time anyone else goes to bed. Or where my things are least in the way. Or what I can do and say or not do and not say to be least intrusive to those people giving me a place to sleep.

I want to go on a long, long bike ride where the only thing dictating the length we go is my muscles. And the sun should be shining and there is absolutely no breeze to bike against. Or we are hiking in the woods. And the hills are sufficient to steal my breath and make my legs ache. And the sun shines through the leaves painting everything a kind of flickering green as the branches sway. And my muscles will have that satisfied tired feeling and my skin will be hot from the inside from my racing heart and hot on the outside from the persistent sun. And it won't matter if I don't have money to do anything. And I'll feel healthy and strong and beautiful.

But it is winter and I can't go home and I'm upset with the person that used to be my favorite person and I feel unhealthy and irresponsible and poor. And a lot of it is all my fault.

I should say some positive things. Nearly everyday someone says something nice to me. They say my hair is cute. They say they like my glasses. They say I have a nice smile. They say I am the nicest person they have ever met. They say I am cute. Adorable. Beautiful. They say I have pretty eyes. They say I look good since the weight loss. They say I brightened their day. They say I am funny. They say I tell good stories. They think I am smart. Strong. Inspiring. They say I have a pretty voice.

And more important, my friends say things that REALLY matter. With words, or just by being my friend. For more than a decade. For only months. Jeremy said I have many close friends. I do. I'm the kind of person that needs many close friends, but I feel lucky to be blessed with so many. I couldn't be all horrible and broken and not good enough and have this many wonderful people around that love me.

I think I'm not the only woman that longs for her future mate in life. Thinks about it daily. Or several times a day. I'm not the only one looking and waiting and wanting. At least there is that.

And I hope that it crosses his mind too. Wherever and whoever he is. I would like him to be at least a little uncomfortable without me. I don't need someone to complete me. Rather, someone to complement me. Fit together with me. Be my partner and we can build things together.

But for tonight I should go to bed. I've vented enough for one evening. And I've been on Johnnas laptop for far, far too long.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

I have all kinds of things I want to say. And I just can't.


I just made dinner by dumping things into a saucepan until I thought it tasted good. The end result involved: tomato soup, milk, garlic, Mexican seasoning, corn, brown rice, cream cheese, rotel, and salsa. Topped with some sharp cheddar. My mom looked at it in fear. I think it tastes pretty delicious. It is not exactly a soup because its rather thick. And I don't know how I'll ever make it again as I measured nothing at all. And what should it be called?

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Maybe I'll sleep without the nightmares tonight.

I don't know what I would do without my girlfriends. Supporting me and listening to me even when I don't follow their advice. Just being there. A phone call after a potentially upsetting situation. An ear to listen to me as I recount what happened. They take my side. And even more important, they let me know when I'm wrong too.

And I've learned again that it is much better to hear what I don't want to hear than not know at all. Not knowing is awful. And I had a lot of awful. And I still feel a little hurt, but now I feel heard. I said what I needed to say and I asked the questions I needed to ask. I feel relieved. Like that rock in my chest is finally, finally gone.

There are going to be some changes now. And I'm not exactly sure what form they will take. But I know what I want. And I know now that he isn't going to be that guy for me. We have different priorities. Very, very different apparently.

But I'm done being upset. I think I'm ready to rest.

Monday, January 18, 2010

I want to be persued.

I don't make up silly songs.
And I dance terribly.
And I talk about myself way too much.
I'm oblivious to all kinds of things. Actually I can't even explain how much I'm missing.
I'm clumsy and I can only cook when you aren't watching me.
And I love too quickly and much too strongly.

But I
I want to be pursued
and really, nothing else will do.
I can't wait around and hope one day
I'll be good enough for you.

So I forgive when I shouldn't
and I don't let people know when they upset me.
I can't make decisions but I won't tell you what I want.
I'm really not all that exciting.
I often sing off-key and I can't handle it when you're mad at me.
And I don't know how to flirt or be sexy.

But I
I want to be pursued
and really, nothing else will do.
I can't wait around and hope one day
I'll be good enough for you.

Because I would love you more than anyone.
And I'm exactly as patient as you need someone to be.
I would take you on adventures and follow along on most of yours.
I am joyful, strong, and resilient.
I am kind and smart and open.
And I am so ready to see what it is like to be in love.

But I
I want to be pursued
and really, nothing else will do.
I can't wait around and hope one day
I'll be good enough for you.

I just want to be pursued.
And it would be so great if that were you.
But I can't wait around and hope one day
I'll be good enough for you.

I want to be more than "good enough" for you.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

A strange, strange, stranger.

Today I went hiking in the cold for the first time ever. It was so great. I missed hiking more than I can say. It was kind of scary when the trail was covered in the stuff that looks like snow but is really now just white ice. And going downhill was tricky. But my muscles were sore and I got warmer and warmer as we went and it was so beautiful.

I can't believe there was a time when I hated outside. I was a different person. A strange, strange, stranger.

Saturday, January 16, 2010

I have no idea what is going on in life.

I wanted to write last night and my internet wasn't working. I hate that my internet doesn't work here all the time. Mostly it makes me miss writing here when I have things I need to work through. It doesn't work so well when I'm just writing in a word processor. I'm mostly afraid I'll lose it. My computer will die or a virus will spread or some horrible thing will happen and all my words will be gone. Yes, I back them up on an external hard drive, but this is instant. And then there is the feeling that my words ARE me. That if someone wanted to, they could just know me simply through these words. The truest, most honest version of myself. The version that isn't afraid of blushing or seeing that facial expression. The version that just wants to talk and be heard. I can be that girl here in this box.

I wonder sometimes what I look like to other people. And who I really am. Am I the person I see myself as? Because I know that I, and most other people, am painfully unaware of many things I might be. Am I the person other people see me to be? Because each one of them has a different Sarah Jo. Which is it? Maybe we aren't things that can be defined and listed and explained. Like trying to hold an armful of ocean water. Which direction is it going?

I feel like underneath my skin is just a giant vacuum of WANT. A force never satisfied with what I already have. I have learned so much. I WANT to learn more. I have become so much stronger, so much healthier. I WANT to be stronger, healthier. I get so much of his time and attention. I WANT more time, different kinds of attention. I have experienced so many beautiful, wonderful things. I WANT to see, hear, feel, experience, imagine, do more. Always wanting.

Of course I am often satisfied. Nearly always filled with this soul-deep contentment that is comprised of gratefulness, optimism, and joy. I am so glad for these people in my life. I love so much this new body that I have. Look at this car I get to drive and this bed I get to sleep in and how the sky has its own emotions and how the beauty of the natural world is so much that I can't even wrap my mind around it. I can't even fully appreciate it because I could never, ever see and understand the layers of detail. I am happy.

Books and movies give me this false sense of...sense. They end. And most of the time all the problems are solved and everyone is happy or they aren't. But there is a story line. The plot line runs like a seam through the story. Sometimes it seems confusing and you can't quite pick it out among the chaos, but there it is. A promise that the author is leading you by the hand. This will make sense in the end. Even if you hate it.

But we don't get plots. There is no rising action and resolution that leaves us feeling satisfied. And where does the story begin? No it is a series rising and falling. Starting over and falling down. Climbing up the next hill but you never climbed down the last. And here is a rope bridge over a ravine. Do you think you'll be okay? It does not make sense. Often we look back over the memories and create stories to help us make sense of our own lives. The stories of ourselves. But I don't know how much of them is true and how much is dependent on the memories you include, the memories you disregard.

I want so much to know how it all turns out. I wish someone could promise me that it all turns out okay in the end. Better than okay.

I spent time with Nika last week. I hadn't really seen her in a very long time. Spending time with Nika made me feel better about myself. She seems to see some person that is greater than I am when she looks at me. Someone witty and articulate and funny. She laughs at things I say and tells me I say everything just the right way. She delights over my facial expressions and calls me things like strong and wise and mature. And she tells me what she is feeling and experiencing in a very self-aware, insightful way. Like she can see the reason behind the madness in the world. Like she can pick out the lessons needed to be learned from every trial. And she makes me feel hopeful. Perhaps everything does happen for a reason. Perhaps it will really turn out okay in the end.

But mostly, she makes me feel like a person worth loving. No, like a person that deserves to be loved. Easy to love. Not someone who might find someone someday. No, like it is inevitable that some man is going to really see me and fall in love with me and want me. And we will get on each others nerves sometimes. We won't understand one another and have moments where it seems like a stranger stands before us where our loved one used to be. We will get angry and hurt and confused at the things we keep doing to one another. But we will find a greater love than we have ever known. We will find the kind of understanding, kindess, joy, and companionship that make living with another person worth while. She makes me feel like some day this man is going to see that greater person in me and I'll always, always be better for it. And I'll do the same for him.

I don't usually understand what is going on all around me. I don't understand what is going on INSIDE me most of the time. I sure hope everyone else is this confused.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

These drums of war sound very much like my heartbeat.

I'm at war within myself.

There is the part of me that uses every hurt as an excuse to disengage and make sure that person never has the power to hurt me again vs. the part of me that loves without reason, reservation, or fear. That forgives over and over, even when the other person doesn't ask for it or know it is needed. That doesn't understand the meaning of giving up on someone.

There is the reaction to keep all of my feelings secret because experience has taught me that what I feel doesn't really matter. It doesn't matter if I cry. It doesn't matter if I hurt. It is better to keep it hidden where I can't be ignored because I never spoke up vs. the recent lessons that some people know I'm not okay even when I don't say it. Care enough to dig it out of me. Care enough to listen and try to fix it. Sometimes.

The desire to ask questions so I get the answers I so desperately want vs. the belief that I won't get honest answers anyway. Silence is better than being lied to.

The years-long lesson that I am not more important than any other thing in anyone else's life so I shouldn't expect someone to choose me. I am not good enough. I am not more important than their drug habits. I am not more important than her new boyfriend. I am not more important than whatever is on TV right now. I am not more important than his need for space. It doesn't matter. I don't matter, when I have needs. vs. the recently found belief that I am, in fact, a person worth loving. A person worth choosing over drugs and TV shows and at least important enough to make room for with new boyfriends and needs for space. I am good enough for someone's time and attention and I deserve as much consideration and attention as anyone else.

The fear to trust vs. the desire to love and be loved.

Impatience vs. a desire to have things worth waiting for.

The person I was for years and years vs. this new creature I haven't figured out yet.

My heart hurts.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

I just wanted to say I'm noticing a change. And I don't like it. This sucks.

Friday, January 08, 2010

Remember algebra in elementary school with the pawns and scales?

It came to my attention that I don't have an ice scraper thing for my car. Luckily, a broom is a good snow removal tool and there was no ice to speak of. I want to have either someone who will always, always clean off my car and warm it up, or perpetual summertime. Is that too much to ask for? Oh, or maybe a garage?

I think about it ALL the time. A different "it".

I would also like to have someone here to talk to me in the morning. All the things I have pent-up to say. I want to hear their grumbling when the alarm goes off and see what they have to say about their dreams or what we should eat for breakfast or how they feel about all this damn snow. Inconsequential things.

I get to spend time with two friends I rarely see this weekend. I'm excited! And I get to see my favorite person on Sunday. I'm seeing less of him than I would like. That makes me a little sad. Okay, more than "a little." It's like life is forcing me to take that step back that my mind knows I should and the rest of me refuses to do. Sometimes (most of the time?) the things that are good for you don't feel good. Till later.

I smell like cigarette smoke. At least cigar smoke doesn't smell awful like this. It just reminds me of him.

I'm having meat for lunch. On my lean cuisine deluxe french bread pizza. That means no meat for dinner. And I'm going out. I should have planned better. But I ran out of lettuce and refused to venture out into the craziness that is nature in January.

I want some hot chocolate. And a hug. Maybe more of a cuddle.

I want all KINDS of things.

Every single paragraph, save this one, has started with the letter I. Makes me feel selfish, spending all this time talking about me. But that is why I'm here! It makes me feel better about things to just write about them. Somehow everything makes more sense when my fingers hit the keys and these symbols show up on the screen. And it works better when I post it to my blog. Like at least someone might hear me. Maybe. Not like when I save things to a word processor and they hide there inside folders inside folders. Things I cannot say to anyone. I hate that.

It may seem like I say absolutely anything at all here, but there are things I cannot say. I wonder if everyone has secrets. Not even secrets though, really. Not hidden things. Things so pointless that you wouldn't even talk about them. Like recording memories, maybe. I wrote this so I would never forget how it felt to be in your arms. In case it never happened again. I wrote this when I was angry and hurt and confused and I didn't want to tell you. This one is just me expressing how much I wished you felt the same way for me. How nice and horrible it feels to love you.

I wonder if it is always nice and horrible to love someone. If we must constantly hurt one another to get close. Little hurts. Sometimes big ones. People are confusing. And I don't always understand the intent behind the words and the actions. Don't know if you meant that one to sting. But it always has been just a little horrible and very, very nice. The good outweighing the bad. Is that how we choose which relationships to keep? The benefits of this relationship outweigh the cost. And in this particular one, the benefits are much higher than I'm used to experiencing. And so is the cost. Worth it still. But I see now that the ratio is shifting. Some internal balance mechanism thrown off center. Wavering. And how now will it end up? Because very recently the cost is much, much higher than before. And that sucks.

Time to leave for work.

Thursday, January 07, 2010

Cooking and cleaning calm me down. Writing helps me make it make sense.

There are so many things I want to talk about, but they aren't things I know how to have a conversation about. Bits of information floating around in my mind and I can't bring them up to others but I don't want them stuck here with me. I want to work them over. Figure it all out.

Like just now I was staring at my own foot trying to see it a different way. The way he sees my feet. It makes me think about how some of the things he seems to like best about me are things I don't do intentionally. Or things I am naturally, without decision. Without trying. Like how I don't get upset when he drives all crazy. I like it. I like it when he is silly and ridiculous and obscene and inappropriate and shocking, even when I don't/cannot participate.

I ask him if he wants me to forget and he says, "I don't know." He doesn't know what he wants. I know what I want. Always things I can't have, I suppose. But I want to be loved enthusiastically. Without reservation. Without having to wonder what I'm doing wrong. What part of me is not good enough for a sure answer. I try to be patient. I try to be understanding and unobtrusive and accommodating. I smile when it hurts. I'm silent when I want to complain. But I want more. Or less even. This hovering over the line thing makes me confused. It's not fair. Because I can't even see anyone else. I don't even notice those other guys.

And I should. When they hint that they would like my number I should give it to them. When they want my attention I should linger a little longer. This is the first time in my life that guys actually pay attention to me. I should be dating and learning things and getting hurt and falling in love and generally experiencing life. I could, I think. But I don't know how. And I don't really want to. I want to hang out with my best friend.

Last night at the bar that guy kept putting his hands on me. A friend of a friend. He touched my arm. I didn't mind. He slid his hand across my shoulders. Down my back and back up. Touched my face. Guided me closer to his bar stool till his knees were against my thighs. Kept saying things like, "Sarah Jo, you really are very attractive." "Sarah Jo, you have such a nice smile." "You smell so good." And then, "I'll probably never see you again." "I would ask for your number but that would be pointless, wouldn't it?" "I'll never forget you, Sarah Jo." I smiled. I talked to him. I tried not to say anything too encouraging. He was attractive. He was lean and seemed strong. He was fun to talk to. And it felt nice, having someone pay so much attention to me. But I didn't want him or the invitation he represented.

And it is so strange to me that these words and these touches weren't shocking to me. Before, some strange "before" whose date I can't name, it was all scary to me. To have people touch me at all. And then I learned to be okay with things like sitting so close that our bodies touch. Having people touch places that aren't directly involved in a hug. I nearly panicked the first time my best friend slid his hands down my back during a hug. Hands should stay strictly in the upper-back region for hugs. But I liked it after I got over the shock. So when this stranger casually slides his hand lower than my shoulder blades, I'm prepared for the way it feels. But I was still thinking about it. I wonder if I'll ever be so comfortable that I don't think about it.

The look in his eyes. The bar-stranger. I've seen it only a couple times now. My best friend doesn't look at me that way. I learned that look from other men. But I think "interest" is the best way to describe it. It's not the twinkling, playful look I get sometimes when they flirt with me. This one is more of a heated look. Like he doesn't care what I have to say. And all of his words are planned, measured, and spoken to achieve a goal. It makes me uncomfortable because I don't want them. I should only see that look when I'm with someone and I love him and he loves me and we have both decided that we absolutely should not wait any longer and I want something from him and he wants the same thing from me. Then we can measure our words and give just the right look. But not from strangers.

I keep looking. Trying to find the one I notice who notices me too. One who is playful and smart and nice. Maybe he is a tough guy with tattoos and facial piercings. Maybe he is nerdy with those black-framed glasses and a terrible haircut. Maybe he dresses nice and has every hair on his head just-so and smells like cologne. Maybe he is something I can't anticipate. But I keep finding myself comparing. And that IS ridiculous. Because the things I want now are things I didn't know I wanted till I found them in him. Why do I expect that my Person will have these qualities? Maybe he is made of yet other things I don't know to look for because I have not and will not see them until I find him.

I just know I need to follow the advice of that graffiti sprayed on a bridge, "Take a step back from everything." Because I find myself becoming too attached. And that would be okay if the feeling were mutual. But it's horrible to think about and miss a person and know that they probably didn't even want to see you. And it's horrible to cross my arms because I just want to reach out and touch him. And it only got a thousand times worse after New Years Eve.

I'm impatient. Usually, once I decide I want something I just go after it with reckless abandon. But I can't do that this time. And being patient is hard work. And apparently I have a narrow focus. I pay a lot of attention to one thing at a time and then I miss everything else going on around me. So I suppose that is two things I need to learn.

Be patient. Widen my focus.
I've been impatient and single-minded my whole life.

Writing really does make me feel better.

Sunday, January 03, 2010

This is how it is for me right now:

I may be too emotional and too sensitive and too impatient, but I don't know any perspective but my own. And I don't even understand that one most of the time. It would be most helpful if you could explain to me exactly how you feel and what you're going through and what it all means to you. Because without the words, I can't figure it out from here. I just come up with conjectures. That are usually the worst possible conclusions to come to. That are usually wrong. And most of the time I feel foolish for even thinking you could be thinking such things and I'm so glad I kept my stupid mouth shut, and I would love very much to get to that part very, very soon.

I don't like the way this feels. I feel so disconnected. I feel ignored. I'm confused and I don't understand why I have to wait so long for you to help me understand. It makes me feel like I have that rock in my chest again and no matter what else I'm thinking about or doing it is weighing on me. Bending all my other thoughts around the obstruction.

Yes, I'm wondering about what happened. I want to talk about it and see what it means to you, for us. But more than that I am bothered by the lack of communication. It doesn't feel accidental to me. It feels like you just didn't want to talk to me but didn't have enough respect for me to even tell me that much. To tell me, "Sarah Jo, I just need a few days to process this without talking to you." That is easier for me to understand.

So I don't know what is going to happen next and I cannot stop worrying about it. I don't want to worry about it. I want it to be resolved and over, no matter what the outcome. This waiting makes me feel sick.

I'm so ready to be whatever kind of friend you want me to be. I'll lie and pretend I'm okay even when I'm not. It won't take me long to get back to okay once I know what on earth the situation is. If you could please tell me what the situation is.

This weekend I have:

Read two books. Watched a scary movie by myself. Worried and worried. Baked cookies. Spent four hours at the gym. Talked on the phone for hours. Texted my girlfriends like crazy. Spent nearly three whole days completely alone. Made breakfast, lunch, and dinner at home from organic, fresh ingredients. Didn't cry. Not even once. Sang out loud in my bedroom till my throat hurt. Investigated the Clifbar website. Felt confused and hurt and concerned. Shopped for things I didn't need. Took the long way home just to avoid being home any longer. Went to sleep early just so I wouldn't have to experience anymore awake time. Tried to examine exactly what happened when I drank too much New Year's Eve to make sure I remembered it all correctly. Looked up recipes for things I'll probably never make. Brushed my teeth excessively and tried new ways to put on my make-up and fix my hair and picked at my face and examined myself in the mirror from several angles. Tried unsuccessfully to watch streaming movies on Netflix. Cleaned my laundry and my room. Stared into space just remember how nice it felt. Been woken up from dreams that were so nice it made my heart hurt to realize they weren't true yet. Maybe never. Waited and waited.

Saturday, January 02, 2010

I worry too damn much.

And I don't know how to stop.

Remember when I said that? I was wrong. Again.

I think I say this quite a bit but, I was wrong.

So I used to think that never having dated/being a virgin still at 23 was worse than having experienced those things and then having to go without them. I couldn't understand the other point of view. I have never been there. I still haven't. And I couldn't see how having a thing, however brief or long ago, a thing everyone seems to chase after, could make it worse for not having it. At least they knew how it felt. At least they had a few precious memories to cling to. THEY don't understand the feeling of . . . knowing that in 23 years no one has ever wanted to touch me. No one has ever wanted to be with me. Just me. How could it be worse? The feeling is a knife, slowly inching deeper with the passing days. Getting knocked around by my inept heart.

But I think I was wrong.

Because now I see that there are thousands of little things I can't even begin to imagine. Things I don't even know to miss. Its awful having this big, empty spot in my mind where my relationship knowledge should go, but I think having more information might just make it worse. This is how it feels to feel loved. (You can't have that now.) This is how it feels to sleep in someone's arms. (You can't have that now.) This is how it feels to whisper in the darkness. (You can't have that now.) On and on. Thousands of things I don't even know. Couldn't possibly understand. Couldn't possibly miss yet.

And I try to draw parallels to weight loss. Because before I didn't have any idea how it felt to feel strong and healthy and good about me and my body. I thought that was awful. But now I know. And to go back there to where I was would be unbearable now. Because now I know exactly what I would miss. Exactly how awful it really is in comparison.

Having said that, I know that if, for some reason, I had to live out a great portion of my life as the fat, fat person I was, I'm glad to have gotten it over with.

But if I have to spend a great portion of my life alone, I would rather figure out exactly how much I'm missing. I know it makes the pain of loneliness even worse. I know the cost is so much higher than not trying at all. I know it might bring me to the greatest pain I would ever really know.


It must be worth it. People keep trying and trying and trying for some elusive thing. It must be worth it. And I want to find out what it IS worth. Today, I don't care about the consequences.

Friday, January 01, 2010

So I like metaphors.

I'm confused by all these new feelings and I don't know what to do with them. It sort of feels like when I accidentally pull the needle out of a knitting project and all the naked loops are hanging there, exposed. And one tug would undo the whole row, the whole scarf. Unstable and fragile without that needle. And putting the needle back in is another thing entirely. You have to make sure the loops are all facing the same way. You have to make sure you don't drop any and that everything goes in the right order.

So our relationship is this imaginary scarf. We've been adding rows and rows of knitting every day and every conversation and every touch and laugh. Making the pattern. Our pattern. But last night the pattern changed. Like a new thread being worked in with the rest. A new, completely different row. And I feel like the needle was ripped out and now I don't know what we do next. Do we unravel that last row? Go back to the safe, familiar pattern. It would be easy to do. Pretend my eyes had never seen the new thread. I would only think about it all the time.

Or we could work this new pattern. Unfamiliar and beautiful as it is. Gently work the needle back through these new loops. The thing I had been secretly hoping for. It could end in disaster. But it could be great. So much better than great.

But I don't get to decide alone. And you aren't here with me.