A drug.

I got a taste of something I hadn’t realized I was missing. My touch-craved skin took a hit of a drug that was almost impossible to give up. It craved more, lusting for the soft fingertips of a beautiful man to make their was from point A to point B. And too soon this drug was ripped from my life and I was left to withdraw… alone. And since I lost this thing I never knew I was missing, each breath has felt like it lost half it’s meaning, its purpose. My skin craves touch again, not just from anyone. From him. Because his touch was one that ignited little sparks of electricity down my spine and calmed the nerves inside my mind.

I will just have to crave his touch until I don’t anymore.

Power.

Why do I give him so much power? Even now, so many weeks past everything he is on my mind more than he should be. I think about the nice things he said to me. One in particular:

“I saw a girl at the gym today. She looked like you from the back so I got excited. Then she turned around and…well let’s just say she wishes she had your face.”

And I remember the time I saw him walk out of the men’s restroom and I was so happy to see him and I waved and he came over to me and we talked and he held his hand out and I took it and it was something special. That connection we had. Then he called me his friend to another person at the gym. And that hit hard. I still do wonder if it’s customary in his life to kiss all of his friends. To touch them the way he touched me.

I’m getting off track. I realized today I was giving him so much power. So much power over my thoughts and emotions. I keep replaying memories. Wondering if it was something I did wrong. But it wasn’t. And I KNOW this. I just have to believe it. I will meditate tonight. I was visualize me taking the power back.

He really isn’t shit…you know? Just an insecure man that met me at a vulnerable time in my life where I was lacking love and affection and wanted it so badly I could scream. So upon finding it I held on, too tight, and I was brought to my knees by disappointment. I said my peace, and now I must take my power and move. the. fuck. on.

 

I’m too much.

My entire life I’ve been “too much”. I’m too passionate, I care too much, I feel too much. I’m crazy, or insane.

I’ve fought the war against my empathy for so long, I’m exhausted. So I am learning to accept it. To embrace it and cherish it…for at least I can feel. There are many who cannot. And the feelings of love and care and joy that have come into my life are unforgettable and I am forever grateful for them. But when times are difficult, they truly are. My body can be racked with a sadness so thick and powerful it feels like the earth stands still. A crippling depression that leaves me wondering if I want to be a part of this world anymore. The only thing that keeps me going is knowing that someday, I will be able to be happy for a long time. When I quit fighting my emotions and the way I am.

I love deeply and passionately. I care deeply and with my entire being. I cry when I see others cry, I glow when I see beautiful things. I appreciate kindness and like minded souls more than anyone would ever know. As K. Flay would say, beauty has a way of crushing me.

Sometimes I do wish there was a way to turn it all off. The sadness, the happiness, the overthinking and anxiety. But just for a little while. What was once my curse needs to become my full-time blessing.

No one wants to be alone. Everyone deserves to feel the type of love they’d move mountains for. The type of connection that makes life worth living. The trust in another human that magically makes you feel like a different person yourself. I want that. And I can’t lose hope that someday, somewhere, I will meet a man who doesn’t tell me I’m “too much.” I am just enough and a little more.

Someday soon.

I’ve been feeling so strong lately. I no longer feel disappointment when I think of him. I just don’t really feel anything. Apathy. I was hoping this would happen. What helps is that I haven’t seen him in a few weeks. He seems to be staying away from the gym we both frequent, which has been truly great. When I was younger I’d be dumb enough to, deep down, want to see him. But where I’m at in my life right now I could never see him again for the rest of my life and I’d be completely fine with that.

But that’s not how life works. I’m sure he’s lying low right now, letting things calm down. Maybe he thinks I’ll make a scene if I ever see him at the gym. Just goes to show how little he knows about me. That gym is my safe place. It’s my therapy room. It’s where I go to feel powerful and strong and healthy. I love the patrons, the sweat and the hard work. I’d never cause a scene. I am already upset with myself that I let Greg* into my life and it tainted the gym in a way. I know I will see him. And when I do, my heart will skip a beat. My stomach will drop. But as quickly as that happens, I’ll get it together and just keep on keeping on. Deep down though, all the feelings, the memories, the love I felt…will come back. Rushing over the walls of the dam I built to keep it all down.

And the 10 steps forward I’ve taken will be downgraded to 5. But it’s okay. This is a part of life. And we live so close to one another it’s inevitable.

He is the epitome of what could have been. What I wanted it to be. A true love. Someone I could finally and truly love and care for. I wanted endless nights of cuddles and kisses and sex. I wanted to wake up to him in the morning. I wanted to feel his smooth skin beneath my hands whenever I want. I wanted to smell him each day and have it feel like home. I wanted…so badly to be loved. and to love.

And I’m a broken soul right now. But it’s healing.

My soul is broken.

My soul is broken
I’m not sure what to do about it
Should I carry it in both hands and show it to the world?
Or should I leave it somewhere, quiet and dark
Let it heal in peace and solitude
That’s the biggest question of them all
How do you heal a broken soul?
Cigarettes and alcohol?
Muscle relaxers and sad songs?
I suppose it’s best to try them all so we can decide which one works best.
Perhaps I will try smiling at myself in the mirror.
Telling myself I’m beautiful.
Hugging myself
Loving myself.
My soul is broken.
But it’s healing.

I wonder if I’m ugly.

I don’t know what I want. The story of my life. At this point do I want to date? And if I do, what for? What’s the end game? Is there one? So many questions. Be still my overactive mind. Maybe I want something casual. A friends with benefits. But I don’t know if I can do that anymore. The way it felt with Greg* was so different than with a casual fling. Having that emotional chemistry as well as the sexual chemistry is a different kind of sex. Connecting with someone on that level is something completely out of this world. And I miss that. I don’t miss him, but I do miss the way I felt with him. Wanted. Needed. Desired. I’d love to find that again, and I am sure I will someday…but I guess I must wait, be patient.

I wonder if I’m ever on his mind. I know he thinks I’m crazy, I can’t blame him, but I hope one day he thinks of me fondly and realizes who I was. What he knew of me.

I wonder sometimes if I am ugly. And I know I’m not, but sometimes I wonder. I see men that I find extremely attractive but talk myself out of talking to them or smiling at them because I think maybe I am not in their “league” as people say. I am short and small. But thick and curvy. I lift heavy weights and run intervals on the treadmill. And I’ve lost 35 pounds since the beginning of the year and my clothes don’t fit anymore so I had to buy new ones and now those aren’t fitting quite right either. I am still stuck in the mentally of the fat girl that let herself go, when I am now the fit girl that should be confident in her beauty and hard work. But it’s a work in progress. I wish men had a sign on their forehead whether they’ll break my heart. It’s a risk worth taking I supposed, but I don’t how if I can make it through another one.

I fell apart.

My falling apart wasn’t beautiful, or glorious. It was difficult and ugly. It involved alcohol and 1.5 muscle relaxers. These contributed to my falling apart. I did things and said things I normally wouldn’t have. I became vulnerable, needed someone. And the only person I wanted was the one in the world that doesn’t want me. But the truth is, he doesn’t want himself. How I can expect to love someone who doesn’t love themselves? I loved the idea of him, I really did. And my heart makes me come off as being crazy. Because expressing your emotions and sharing them with someone passionately makes people crazy, right?

Honestly, my falling apart was a chance for me to come together again. And finally, after a month of depression, self doubt and dark thoughts, I feel like I’m getting back to myself. I feel stronger. I feel a new love for myself that wasn’t this strong before. I am beautiful. I am healthy. I am kind. I just need to protect my heart better. And I will.

My falling apart was a new beginning and I am ready for what’s to come.

I need a break.

I am a mess tonight. All the power I had is gone. I indulged in a bottle of wine and some beer with some new friends and my inhibitions were lowered. I sent texts I shouldn’t have. Made calls I shouldn’t have. And I sit and wonder what my next course of action is. For the first time in a long time I feel like an absolute mess. With alcohol coursing through my veins he’s the only one I want to see, or talk to. But he doesn’t answer, the texts or the calls. And I know I need to sleep and it’s the best course of action but I am instead writing on here. Pouring it all out. I can man up. I can be strong. I have been strong for a long time. And I know I sound crazy. I think that is what a strong, reckless heart makes me. Crazy. Crazy. Crazy. Because I love and feel too fiercely. I am too vulnerable. I think one of the biggest challenges in life is accepting this. I just want to be held. I want to feel cared about.

Bad thoughts are running through my mind but I still see the rainbow on the other side so I won’t go through with it. Why is life this difficult? Why is love so complicated? Jesus, I really need you to take the wheel on this one.

I need a fucking break. I need some fucking help. Why am I such a fucking mess? What would I say if he even called me back? I am going to take a pill that will mix with the alcohol just right so I might not remember how fucked this night got.

Why do I always fuck everything up? Will I ever stop?

You felt right.

Lately I’ve been waking up with puffy eyes and a headache. I make it through the day just fine but it seems like when I get home the weight of life just comes crashing down. Working full-time, making it to the gym (my therapy) 5 days a week and getting my coursework done is difficult in itself. Add a heartbreak on top of that and I suppose it’s easy to see why life feels so heavy lately. It reminds me of this song by K Flay that I’ve been listening to a lot lately, “You felt right to me.”

I hadn’t had a good thing in a long time
Moving in the fast lane with the wrong guy
I don’t really know why
But you felt right to me

I guess I am just left wondering why the universe felt the need to bring Greg* into my life. When it was just going to end the way it did. So abruptly and without good reason. I suppose further down the line I might find out what lesson I needed to learn from it all but right now it just seems pointless. I didn’t need another heartbreak. Perhaps this was supposed to show me how terrible I am at protecting my heart and that I need to stop recklessly letting people into it before I truly know them. I know there are shit people out in the world, I have met many of them, I certainly didn’t need to meet another, especially of the male gender.

As each day goes on I feel better. Perhaps tonight I won’t feel like listening to sad songs and crying. Maybe I’ll feel stronger tonight. I am taking the rest of the week off from the gym. I’m not ready to see him BUT, that’s my gym and I WILL be back on Saturday. I will just focus on yoga and meditation this week. Deload.

What’s another scar.

Is being alone for the rest of my life the worst thing? Should I stress about it? I shouldn’t, truly. But I do. Throughout the years I’ve had small tastes of compassion and love. I’ve been held, but never for a long time. Never long enough. I’ve been kissed and finally felt butterflies after years of them being absent. And these small tastes have left me wanting more…so much more. What is a life without these things? Without someone to wake up next to. Without someone to share everything with, including myself. What is life without hugs and passion, and cuddles and the warmth of another’s hand in yours?

I didn’t beg him to stay in my life. I didn’t have to. He wanted me in his still, so that he wouldn’t be the bad guy. The bad guy for taking advantage of my kindness. You see, he didn’t see himself in a healthy way. And the way others saw him was more important to him than the way he saw himself. And so he would strive not to be the bad guy. Unfortunately for him I know my worth. Never will I allow a man to string me along to feel better about himself. To boost his confidence. I know what I want. I know what I’m worth. You either want me and put in the effort, or you don’t. It’s simple.

That still doesn’t mean my hearts not broken. It doesn’t mean that I don’t randomly stop what I’m doing sometimes and think back to a painful memory of what it felt like to be held by him. How it felt to hold his hand, or that first kiss. Or the 100th kiss. Laying in bed laughing together and feeling like I’d never want to be anywhere else. And I sigh, and I move on and with each time this happens I feel further and further away from it.

But it still hurts. It’s still painful. But what’s another scar on my heart? Smaller than the others but visible all the same.