"It's been really interesting, as your friend, to watch you come around to the realization in your life that just 'not sucking' might not be enough. For so long you really just wanted your life not to suck. And now that you've got that and want more, I see you really struggle with it - like you shouldn't want more than that. That it should be enough for it not to suck. I'm really curious to see what you'll do next."
It's great to have friends that can hold up your life before you like a mirror and help you condense all your half thoughts and outbursts into something cogent.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Friday, August 30, 2013
when I was made of flame
dammit. I used to be beautiful.
I used to stop traffic. Random men would stop me in the street, hand me things, cling desperately to me, make up flattering nicknames to call me, find a billion different ways for them to grab my attention. I used to be able to walk into a crowded room and pick out the guy I would like to hang out with that night and he would, inevitably, make his way over to my side. Men have written songs for me.
I used to be filled with sexual desire. There were ample opportunities for that fire to be kindled, nurtured, to fucking burn down the house. The whole of being would sometimes be filled with sensuality. I luxuriated in the feel of food on my tongue or the wind on my skin.
But when it came time to choose a husband I chose a man that did not kindle that fire in me. Intentionally. I wanted someone who loved me for my intelligence, for my thoughts, for my hopes and likes and intentions, rather than for my fuckability. It seemed like a sound choice at the time. What I needed was saftey. Stability. Someone who I could trust we the whole of me. And I got that, in spades. I figured that I'd been pretty much glut on sexuality, that it was going to be totally unimportant when I got old, and that I could probably make some improvements on the boy in that arena.
I gave up this central, beautiful part of myself.
and I miss it.
desperately.
and I don't think I'm allowed to have it anymore.
I used to stop traffic. Random men would stop me in the street, hand me things, cling desperately to me, make up flattering nicknames to call me, find a billion different ways for them to grab my attention. I used to be able to walk into a crowded room and pick out the guy I would like to hang out with that night and he would, inevitably, make his way over to my side. Men have written songs for me.
I used to be filled with sexual desire. There were ample opportunities for that fire to be kindled, nurtured, to fucking burn down the house. The whole of being would sometimes be filled with sensuality. I luxuriated in the feel of food on my tongue or the wind on my skin.
But when it came time to choose a husband I chose a man that did not kindle that fire in me. Intentionally. I wanted someone who loved me for my intelligence, for my thoughts, for my hopes and likes and intentions, rather than for my fuckability. It seemed like a sound choice at the time. What I needed was saftey. Stability. Someone who I could trust we the whole of me. And I got that, in spades. I figured that I'd been pretty much glut on sexuality, that it was going to be totally unimportant when I got old, and that I could probably make some improvements on the boy in that arena.
I gave up this central, beautiful part of myself.
and I miss it.
desperately.
and I don't think I'm allowed to have it anymore.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
forgot my OCPs
This morning I cried as I mentally gave a eulogy to man I never got a chance to love messing up my mascara even as I put it on. I could not bear the sound of any music.
I wanted to run away to the sea. I wanted to never see the faces of my family again. To bite my teeth into the flesh of a living lion. To scream at hurricanes. I wanted to breathe acidic fire and wear pain on my skin. I hated all that was and wanted all that could not be. or should not be. or that I was too afraid to be. My heart peeled off in jagged chunks and I bled into my lungs until I could barely breathe.
I wanted to run away to the sea. I wanted to never see the faces of my family again. To bite my teeth into the flesh of a living lion. To scream at hurricanes. I wanted to breathe acidic fire and wear pain on my skin. I hated all that was and wanted all that could not be. or should not be. or that I was too afraid to be. My heart peeled off in jagged chunks and I bled into my lungs until I could barely breathe.
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