#YOU

Where ever you go- there you are. 

Even more so.... where ever I go- there you are. You seem to follow me. Hide in shadows. Lurk on corners. Follow me home. Leave me in the lurch. Leave me alone again.

You clever you. You take on different shapes. Different accents. Different smells and shoes sizes. You spit different rhymes and reasons. But you still get me in the end. Get my heart. Get a little piece of me, what little there is left. Get me to my scabbed knees. Get me telling myself that I can take one more hit. Even though I know it isn't true. I know this one may just have been one too many. And this, this, is my greatest sadness. Because in my heart and mind I really think that this one may have sent me to a place from where I can't get back from. This one hit too low below the belt and too deep into my gut.

This is their way, this is your way. Get me to believe that my walls no longer need to be standing. Trick me to think that I need no more protection, now that you are here. Get me to tell you about my life- my real life. The life barely anyone knows about. The life that looks beautiful on the outside, but on the inside is cold, empty, damp, used, broken, battered, the real me. The me that cowers in corners and talks myself into getting up again for another day  that I can bet is going to be terrible. The me that knows better to believe anything you say. Believe what anyone says, really.

But you challenge that voice, and I am too tired to fight it. Too tired to believe my life is meant to be spent alone and miserable. So I bite. 

I spent time listening to your fear. I spent time making you dinner. I spent time compromising on baby names. I spent time hearing you say that you only sleep right when I am next to you. I spent time telling myself that this may just be an end to the life I knew before you. That is until I discovered you are just the latest of all of them. Where ever I go, there you are. And here you are once again. 

I spend a lot of time trying to reconcile that the life I dreamt of will never be mine. Nobody will ever love me in my 20's. Nobody will love me when I am young and beautiful. Nobody will ever know me not being someone crippled- in my heart, mind, and body. Nobody will know me without serious trauma. Nobody will have kids with me by age 30. Nobody will know me without doubt, fear, and having to convince me that I can believe anything they say. That will never be my life. This will never be me.

I spent a lot of time thinking if I could believe you when you talk. I spent a lot of time hoping that when I reached out that you would take my hand. I hoped you would already be there- hand extended- waiting for me. This is not what happened. 

Just at the moment when I let you in. Just at the moment when I felt I could tell you that I needed you then. Just when I took enough bricks out to see over the wall. Just then you took the air out of my lungs and broke my broken heart. I never ask for help, or support of any kind. But I asked this of you. I asked because you asked me to. And you dropped it. Dropped the ball, my faith, dropped me.  There I was. Feeling the wind go through my empty chest. Feel nothing at all because I am already so far gone. More than I let on. More that I really knew. And there I was again. Alone. Alone again, Naturally.

And now, now that you used me up and left me with nothing but more pain than before, I wonder. I wonder if that little voice in my mind is right. Maybe I should just give up and call a dream just what it is, a dream. Maybe I should just come to realize that I am really too far gone. That I am too much. That I have too much damage. Too much to take on. Too much for anyone else to bear. And this makes me more sad than I can possibly say. This is my greatest sadness. 

I wish I could say that I had a good time acquiring all of this baggage.  But that just is not the case. These are marks given to me over three decades. These are bruises taken, not earned. In the end, no matter how I got them, fair or not fair. This is what it is. This is a great sadness, because this is what I am and what I have. No matter if I want it, deserve it, or not. This is what I have to carry. No matter how far I move or how light I color my hair. Where ever I go, here I am. And there you are creeping up behind me.

I would never go out to hurt anyone. But perhaps by getting involved with you- I do. I do hurt you- and I hurt me more. I think I just need to come to terms with a life that is mine. A life of looks from a distance. A look from men who go home to women less complicated. A life too broken to be fixed. A life spent without tan lines on my left hand. A life with a heavy heart and swollen eyes. A life that is mine, far away from my dream. Far away from you. A life missing what I never had. A life feeling sad for myself, wide awake in a world where I build walls. This time not to be taken down. No matter how handsome, charming, or lovely you seem in our two weeks, they stay. They stay. You go.

Stollen, Once Again.

"Live by the moment; after all, life is a series of moments." -- Trent Woodard

This quote has become my life, unfortunately. I have lived inside many years of darkness with very few days of light that can be counted. Most of this life has been a battle, a heart breaking uphill battle, with few points of love. Few points of mercy. Few moments of happiness in my life only to be ripped back and stolen from me. Always with the words- you don't deserve this- but they do it all to me anyway. 

I don't care to have a series of moments. I am seeking for consistency, continuity, stability. I don't know these things in my life. But I know it exists in the lives of others. I've seen it. I know it is real. And now, now I am terrified that it won't happen for me. I'm simply terrified. 

Just a few weeks ago another man entered my life. Well, re-entered. He and I knew one another many years ago. When I was young, beautiful, blonde, and still hopeful. Seeing him again made me feel hopeful once more. He got me thinking about fate. How we found one another 3,000 miles away from home in a town where we had no real roots, but one another. He made me think that perhaps the reason I have been alone for so long was because we had to wait for one another. We had to become the people we are now in the place we are now. Thinking that way made the years of loneliness almost alright by me. Because we were here. I was alright, and maybe, that time was over. I was mistaken.

He was just another.  I was blinded. I was stupidly trusting, even though nothing in my history says I should have been . I thought this was different. I was different. This was different. I was mistaken.

Tuesday was the two year anniversary of my attack. I told him I didn't want to be alone that night. Instead, I wanted to feel appreciated, safe, happy. He said he would be there and make all of that happen. And he did. Until he didn't. He just had to tell me that very evening that he 'wasn't sure' that he wanted to do this. Wasn't sure that he could do this. This- on the evening when I asked to feel special, wanted, and safe. I couldn't even get my wish granted before midnight. I couldn't get it, even though I know this exists every day in the lives of others.

This is my heartbreak. Again.

Just a few days ago I wrote about him. That he made me smile by doing nothing. And now, he makes me cry by doing the same. I have had my life dangled in front of me. Then he snatched it all back away. This from someone who told my mother I was special. This from someone who told me his favorite baby names. This from someone who said he sleeps better next to me. This from someone I have done nothing but try to be a good person for and with. 

I just wish I could say that I did something terrible. Slept with his brother or got him fired. Spent all his money and lost his dog. But, no. I have never and would never do something to hurt him. All I would want for him is happiness. All I want for me is that too.

But now, in this moment I feel as I have my entire life time. Frozen. Broken. Dead Inside. Crying. I got a close glimpse when he was around. I could almost see my future, the way I wish it would turn out. And having this person pull back and run, it left a dent in a place I didn't know existed. The pain and sadness is something I just can't explain. It would have been better if he had just left me alone. Left me to my loneliness. I didn't need the love me love me not game. I didn't need the reminder. I didn't need any of them, really. It would be better if they would have left me alone because this heartbreak will last longer than our two week romance.

Come Out Come Out- Wherever You Are.

Hello from one of the most beautiful places on earth. Although- lately- it hasn't been beautiful. It has been cold and rainy and leaving me with great unease and anxiety. Or maybe I bring those things here. Which may mean I am ruining paradise. I may have to think on that one.

Life as of late has been chaotic to say the least. I have moved Home. A place I have dreamt of for as long as I can remember. A place I have never had before. I have lived places, slept places, have addresses, but never had anywhere feel close to where I should be. Home for me has been a place of terrible fear. Nail biting. A place of secrets. Lies. Pain. Pain that stings long after the belt. Pain that still swirls in my heart and makes my back clench. Pain that feels as strong now in this moment, just as it did when I had baby curls and a bedtime.

This has always been hard to explain. I guess I cover my scars well. I can paint over myself to look just right. To look beautiful. To look normal. I have been able to erase my history- on a skin level anyway. But the more I try to settle into my new home, the more unpacking I do emotionally. To say I am uncovering a whole new level of loss is to say the least. The more I unpack, the more I learn all that I do not have. All that I never had. All that was taken from me, robbed from me, and stolen. All that I needed. All that I still need now. And all that I have  wanted for what seems like my lifetime.

I find my patience getting shorter- for others, and most likely myself too. I pride myself on being a caring human being. Being someone to be trusted, relied on. A safe person to turn to- no matter the time. No matter anything at all. As I unpack and settle- I feel unsettled. I unpack alone yet again. Without any help. Without anyone. And this constant is driving me mad constantly. My tolerance for this is at an all time low. I now say things out loud to myself, to the Universe, to anyone who will listen, really. I could really use some help here- from someone able to do it. From someone who wants to do it. For someone who wants to do this with me.

Now, I know I may not be the easiest person. But I try very hard to not let my past screw up my present and future. I know there are others that are be easier, younger, prettier, simpler, what have you. I know I can be a lot to handle sometimes. But I still think I am someone worth wanting. Someone worth saying things out loud to. Someone who wants to be here- not just in space and time. But here in my heart. Here in my life. 

I'm not afraid like I used to be. I used to be locked in a room. Beaten bloody and ruined. I used to be in a room bruised and battered and left alone. I used to be in a room staring at the cracks in my door from the bashing. I used to be in a room shaking and shattered. I used to be in a room buried in a corner rocking myself to be calm. I would watch my hands shake and feeling them freezing cold terrified to leave. I would feel this freeze on my fingertips and feel nothing else. Feel no heart beat. Feel no life. Feel no emotion. Feel nothing but the freezing digit pulse. This was my life for many years.

I would be in a hot bath stung failing at catching my breath and crying. I used to be in a room on the floor wondering if this is what it felt like to die. For my body to feel my soul leave it. For my heart to be so broken that I wished they had killed me, because at least then it would be over. I'm not afraid like I used to be. But I remember.

I say things out loud now- say them with complete fragility and wavering voice. To say things out loud isn't easy for me. But I have to say it. To have been locked away for so long, it makes me need to say things out loud. I just have to do it. But every time I get no response, every time I get dead air, every time I get nothing in return, I feel what I did before. I remember. 

Still, I have to do it. I have to take this life of mine and match it to the beauty around me. Take something for myself. Make myself into something. 

I didn't think that this move would unleash all that I thought was settled. Make me remember things I spent thousands of dollars killing with drugs and therapy. I didn't know it would all come rushing back to me. I didn't think it was still following me, still a part of me, something to be settled again. Vulnerability is a mother fucker. Seeing how others see me can be just as tricky. Seeing my life through the eyes of another can be beautiful. And it is this beauty that keeps me talking, keeps me praying, keeps me saying things out loud. Keeps me telling myself to settle again. Keeps me.

 

(Photo by http://thomas-rant.blogspot.com/)

Bravery.

I've done a lot of things in my life that some consider brave. But I never saw it that way. I just saw it as what I was doing.

I moved to different cities. I lived alone. I got a tattoo. I told told my grandmother to shove it.

I gave up my job to go back to school- a few times. I stopped talking to most of my family.

I got attacked and went back to work with offenders two days later. I continue to live at my crime scene.


I had back surgery in New York Winter and still traveled on the subway without a cane.

All of that seems like nothing compared to writing this. Because this is me unfiltered. And I have never done that before. I haven't told anyone most of this, and next to nobody has ever seen my writing. And it is hard to let it go out on its own and float. 

It's hard to float.

It's hard to let go, even though that seems like the easiest thing to do. 

It's hard to shed my skin and show my scars. It's hard to show I have them. But I think I have to do it so that I can move ahead and leave the stories of how they got there behind me. 


It's hard to feel that this is freeing. Even though it is. It's hard not to feel anxiety knowing this will be read, but the anxiety doesn't help anyway. It's hard to let go of this secret side of me. But great to know I no longer have these secrets.

I wonder if it is bravery or self indulgent. I pick bravery.