When You Wish Upon A Star

People often ask me if I believe in God. It's a common enough question: usually safe and with people you're just trying to get to know better. My usual response is a shrug and non-commital face. I'm not really sure. The only way I do know how to answer is with a shrug and non-commital face.

The other day a co-worker asked me to pray for what he was praying for. He tried to be politically correct and said "to whomever you may pray to..." When I didn't really respond he asked if I pray. I told him no, because I don't, but then I added that I wish. And this is what I do and that's how I've defined my "religion" to others at other points in my life. I wish. I wish upon the stars and I wish when I find an extra eyelash and blow it out into the world. I make a wish when I succeed at holding my breath all the way through a tunnel and when I notice that it's 11:11.

Today, I wished to believe. I know telling a wish after it's been wished means it won't come true, but I'm going to break that rule and talk about my wish.

Last night, in bed with Jessa, I believed. Then, after reveling in my belief, I got scared off and I stopped believing. We were lying in bed and I curled away from her a bit. I know I'm excessively cuddly and touchy and always want to be held and touching. I know that. So I've learned how to get my need to feel physically close met while not suffocating the other person. We were lying in bed and she was on her back and I was curled with my head lying in the soft, warm, safe space between shoulder, neck and chest. Then I backed off. I took my weight off of her and pulled my leg off of her and back into me. My head was still close to her, but I was curled in a ball and my body was away.

She said it was unacceptable. And she said it with a smile. She honestly wanted to know why I was so far away. She wanted me back closer to her and those six inches of space between our bodies were six inches too many. So I curled back on top of her. I squeezed tightly and put pressure on her back with my pressing fingertips and I felt close. Mainly, I believed that she wanted me there. She wanted me right there with her; as close as I wanted to be to her, she wanted me to be that close to her.

(It's so clear that I'm not in a place where I can believe because I forced myself to write "she wanted to be that close to me" but I changed it back to "she wanted me to be that close to her" because even last night when I could and did believe, it didn't occur to me that she would want to be close to me, only that she could want me to be close to her. A slight difference in my head and heart, but a difference all the same.)

So I did curl back to her and got close and it felt amazing. I lay there with my head below hers in the warm darkness of her open bedroom and I felt what it was like to not only be tolerated or accepted or appeased, but to be equally desired. She wanted me there and I wanted to be there. So I told her. I said it out loud that I believed that she wanted me there. In a quieter voice, not a whisper, just a voice that's inherently and inevitably quiet, I followed my belief with the admission that I had never felt that before. I'd never believed that I was being held before bed because the other person wanted to hold me, not because they were giving me what I want.

Giving me what I want is amazing. Being held because the person knows I want or need to be held is a feeling of safety and love all its own.

Last night though, with Jessa, I was being held because she wanted to hold me. And not because she knew I'd get pouty if I didn't get it. Not because she wanted to make me happy. Not because she wanted to have sex with me--which is often a reason to be close, but we'd already had sex earlier in the day and talked about how nice it was implying that we wouldn't do it again that night.

Once I got the words out that I believed her and that I had never felt that before, I just wanted to say more. I wanted her to know what it felt like and how wonderful it was. My thoughts were occurring out loud for both of our benefits and with the speech and admission came more and more amazement and excitement and love--

It quickly turned to disbelief. It quickly turned to the realization that this belief that I was wanted will do nothing but hurt me. It wasn't even a conscious realization; the thought "this is going to hurt me" never materialized in words inside my head. It suddenly and harshly became omnipresent in my soul, forcing me to not believe, and to never believe. Even if I'm able to believe and be in love again, I can never believe in being wanted, just as I am, for nothing in return. There is always another reason or motivation or desire. I, me as myself, will never believe that I am enough. I will definitely never forgive myself if I get tricked into believing.

In my words of amazement out loud to Jessa, the weight of truth bared down upon me so I dropped my excited head down upon her chest and quietly and quickly spat out that “I don’t believe you.” My defenses are well trained and well practiced so they know to tell unwelcome truths with a half smile and joking tone, as if it’s a challenge, and trick that I do still believe.

Jessa reacted and I’m sure reacted well, but I had shut down so completely there was no way to get in again. I didn’t lie, but I wasn’t open and I played the game of changing the subject and quickly getting to the silence of sleep.

At 11:11 this morning, I made a wish because of an arbitrary cultural tradition I’ve grown up with and adopted as my own. I wished to believe again, then admitted it and joked that now it won’t come true.

I think it won’t because in explaining it here, the weight has again been placed inside my chest, and I just wish I could take it back.

Inspire Me

There's this idea in my head that I have to get inspired before I can write. And not that I don't have ideas or faith in my writing, but there's a very familiar idea and feeling that comes about when I just can't not write. I can't. I have to. And so I look for that. I long for that. I find blogs with good writing and I go to them to get me in the mood, to get the creative juices flowing, and I guess to feel a little less self-conscience, because if there are others out there also writing about their feelings as much as I do, and in a similar way as I do, then I can tell myself to not be embarrassed, but to get it out there. If I so enjoy reading others blogs, then someone out there must enjoy reading my blog as well. That's my logic anyway.

Well, I don't have that inspiration today. I don't have words inside my head aching to be pushed out of my fingertips, I just have the feeling of weight inside that really can only be lightened by writing.

My last post dealt with ditching therapy and the general hopelessness of ever feeling any better or overcoming the demons of my past. That didn't go away. Not really. I spent some time alone on Friday night, and I needed it, but it hurt me. Oh, it hurt me. It was good at first. It was great at first. I could put down the walls I don't even realize are up around me because there's no one for them to be there for and that feels so good, but once they're down, I realize what's underneath them, and on Friday, it was pain. It was pain that was underneath them. So it came out and it was too much for me. Old desires and demons came out.

Ne me quitter pas

Well, I guess it’s been a while. It’s been a while because I’ve been busy, but also because I’ve lost my voice. That, or I’ve locked it away. That, or the nightmares, and the cause of the nightmares, and the pain, they caused me to lock it away. That voice deep inside of me that so loves coming out and getting it out, I may have locked it away. I learned from a very young age the necessity of putting away any feelings I had, just to survive. Just to be loved and be okay, I needed to hide how I felt, I needed to survive through the pain by not admitting there was any.

I didn’t go to therapy yesterday. I didn’t go to therapy yesterday because I knew what it would do to the rest of my day. Not that I had a good day by not going; I didn’t. I had a day of guilt and even shame: for all of my pushing for therapy, how can I go into work where I preach the wonders of it when I myself don’t go just because it’s tough.

And I know. It’s okay to not go one day. Some days we just can’t face it. All of it. I called to cancel and reschedule.

Two nights ago I lost my voice. Two nights ago it happened and I felt it happening and that what was so upsetting. Because I am getting “better” and I am more aware of my feelings and who I am. I’ve learned to be intentional with what I’m doing and how I present myself to others. So now I have a past self, all the inner layers of me, when you cut me open and look at my rings, only the outermost know not to shut everyone out when things get too hard. There are those outer-rings, the older and more recent rings and they hold in all that came before them. Imagine these rings inside of me, bisecting my stomach and smaller intestine, fighting within me about how to deal with this problem.

It happened and I’m in pain so what do I do next? All my history screams at me to find a way to escape. Not an unhealthy way (comparatively) like drugs or alcohol, but something soothing, repetitive, and numbing. Coloring in a space; not even a picture necessarily, just a space, with a fine point pen, and putting all of my energy into it. Or looking around me and finding every letter in the alphabet just from where I’m sitting and putting all of my energy just into the alphabet. Or counting backwards, or counting in Spanish, or for the really hard times, counting backwards in Spanish. In warm weather I can play soccer and stay out there at least until I juggle to 100, my mind focused on 100 and the rest of my brain being used on the physical movement. I can try pushups when it’s cold or I don’t have much time or it’s the middle of the night, but they usually just make me feel and collapse, lying on the floor.

Then there are these outer rings that tell me to run to my friends with open arms. I have layers inside asking trust of me and trust of others to make it all better and all go away. I know that my friends have helped me in the past, but I don’t know how to be okay. This voice really does disappear inside of me and it would be such a fight to find a way to tell them what’s going on and why I’m hurting and what I need.

I was around friends later that night. After calling a friend I knew wasn’t home and leaving two versions of the same message less than an hour apart, I got to see friends. Jessa didn’t understand. And I realized that none of them understand. She said she was tired and wanted to go home and go to bed but because I was having so much fun I could stay. She said because I was having fun, I could stay.

And it just shocked me so profoundly because I was forcing the fun. And I thought about it all day yesterday. How could these people I love and spend all my time around absolutely have no idea how and what I was feeling? And was I truly having fun? Or was I just pretending? Because I was okay. I wasn’t dying on the inside; well, not too much more than normal anyway, so is this a good thing or a bad thing? What does it mean that I can have fun even when I’m hurting? Is that lying? Is it hiding and deceitful, or is it just a part of being in this world and being appropriate? We were all sitting around playing Uno and it was great and there were people I didn’t really know that well and I didn’t want to be alone, so why would I say how I’m really feeling? This is one of those times when I really have no idea even what the correct course of action is, whether or not I’d be able to do it. Am I supposed to just stay home? I didn’t want to be alone. Am I supposed to say how I’m feeling? That would have been inappropriate for the group and time. I don’t want to be one of those over-sharers. Besides, I can’t even write about what was upsetting, how am I supposed to tell people whose names I can’t remember?

I’ve come up with another hypothesis. Maybe I was supposed to tell one of my trusted friends that I was hurting and in need of their help. Maybe I should have asked for help. But it’s so hard. I don’t want to pull anyone away from the fun. Jessa was able to say that she wanted to go home and go to bed. Why can’t I do that?

Well, this was all poetic and nice at first, but now I’m just disappointed in myself and feeling lost again so I have to go. I’m going to post this, refill my coffee cup so I can blame my disgusting feeling on too much caffeine y ya esta.

Fun Fact

Five years ago today I lost my virginity. To a man.

ain't no in between

Yo.

So what I really feel like I need to do is just copy and paste the email I just received. I mean, there you go.

I'll at least have to quote it:

"and I know you and I love you, but sweetie, you kill me sometimes. Because you are so intense."

"It's fucking scary, because she has your metaphorical heart in her hot little hands, and she can make you feel like shit, and she can throw your heart on the ground, and stomp on it. But she can also make you feel the best you've ever felt. You have to put that trust in her. Otherwise, what's the point?"

And seriously, what is the fucking point? Last night as we talked it out--I know, what a phenomenal idea, talking about your feelings and working them out with the person you should be talking to and working them out with, woh--Jessa posed the same f-ing question. She wanted to know why I was with her and why we were saying we love each other and what we were doing if this whole monogamy thing wasn't worked out.

And fuck yeah man. She deserves that. I've been looking at this relationship from the "it's good now, and then she'll cheat on me and it'll end" standpoint. Shitty. I mean, a good defense, a nice wall to protect my heart, but come on, so unfair to her. I wasn't telling her that I was just waiting for her to fuck up and then I would end it. I wasn't telling her what I was thinking and envisioning.

News flash: I'm not perfect. And I shouldn't be. Not that I in anyway think I'm perfect, on the contrary, as she was explaining that it was just me last night, I asked her how I could ever be enough. I mean, this is a woman who likes to have a lot of people, and yet, she's just picking me. I don't really think I'm worthy of a normal person, but now this awesome woman who likes a lot of people is happy with just me??? Really?

I've put this pressure on myself to be perfect. Like, right now I'm not whole, I'm just a work in progress. And while we are all works in progress, we're fucking real people too. I'm a real person damnit! And a good one. I mean, alright at least. Blah blah blah.




a friend conceded i caught myself in a tv moment
but also that i can't be mad at something that didn't happen.
nothing happened.

my girlfriend said i'm the only one for her
and she means it
so how can i question.

both of them asked me,
"what's the point?"
because without the trust,
what is the point?





you know that sex and the city where carrie meets the guy with the tweety bird tattoo and it's got the whole circus theme and she's/they're all so convinced that all men are from the circus and all have a crazy hidden past and are nutso but then at the end of the episode it turns out that she's the crazy circus one?

well, this is a commitment issue, right? A commitment and trust issue? Even though Jessa's the decidedly non-monogamous one, I'm the one who's not committing. She;'s totally put that away and still admits that she doesn't "get" it, but that she's not going to be with anyone else while she's with me because she fucking wants to be with me and isn't going to do anything stupid to mess that up. And also that she doesn't want anyone else but me. She says I'm totally enough. Me. She says I'm more than enough and I make her happy and I (uncomfortable and I can't believe it because I'm a weirdo and insecure compliment that then made me cover my ears and sing la la la la so that I couldn't heart the rest of what she was saying) and a ton of great shit. I'm the one not trusting, I'm not committing, I'm just halfway there and that's gonna make it worse no matter where we are. And I know I have trust issues, I totally do, but I'm working on them and if I don't push myself as much as I can, well, then let's get back to our theme: what's the point?

If I'm going to be in this relationship then I may as well be all the fucking way in it. And if she makes me happy, why the fuck should I care about the other stuff. Yeah, it was scary that she walked in with her ex when she didn't expect me to be there and they were both drunk, but they didn't do anything and they weren't going to do anything. I can analyze as much as I want, but it all comes down to trust. I need to trust her. I can't go through this relationship needing to know where she's at every second of every day. I can't be Emily not allowing Ross to see Rachel. He's going to see Rachel because that's who he is and Jessa's going to find out her ex is moving away and need to make peace with her before she leaves. (That's actually pretty cool.)

Any one of us could be lying. I could be lying. I could say I have this kick ass job, but maybe I don't. Maybe I'm addicted to porn and I really go to the sex shop everyday. I mean, Jessa's not with me right now, but fuck, I trust that she's not with anyone else. Because that's what it all comes down to: trust.

I either have to bite the bullet and trust her or give up and be on my own until I find someone I can trust. It's not fair to either of us for me to be on the fence here, telling her I love her, but not at all trusting her. That's not the way it works. Wednesday and yesterday sucked, but they're over now. A lot of good stuff was said yesterday and man, this was probably good. It got worked out. I can trust her now. I do trust her now.

"shit fucking happens. And you have to decide what's more important to you. Being with her, or being sane. My money's on being with her. Because that sounds more fun. But I'll leave that decision up to you."

hierarchy of needs and struggles

Jessa walked into her apartment last night, knowing I was away at dinner with friends, totally wasted, and with her still-has-an-amazing-amount-of-emotional-power-over-her and also wasted ex-girlfriend. Jessa, my admittedly and adamantly non-monogamous girlfriend, showed up at her house with her ex last night looking for closure when she knew I wouldn’t be there. Completely drunk at 6:30 on a Wednesday, my never-been-in-a-monogamous relationship girlfriend took her ex back to her place when she knew I wouldn’t be there.

Here’s the thing. I was there. Dinner got out early and I tried to call her, but her phone was off, so I took my left-overs to her place to put in her fridge so I could bring them to lunch with me today (it’s a given I’d sleep there), and as I walked out, in the two of them stumbled.

In the two of them stumbled.

In stumbled my non-monogamous girlfriend with the woman she hates so much my relationship with one of the best friends I have in the world has suffered. In she stumbles with the woman who before that had always been referred to as “cuntwhorebitch.”

In stumbled the two of them, wasted, to Jessa’s apartment, looking for closure before the ex moves away forever in one week. In they stumbled to Jessa’s apartment. Her apartment. She hates being in her apartment. She wants to be out at a bar.

So I was there. I was in there. They were worried because the door was open. I was just running in and out, there was no point in locking it up.

What if I had shown up 10 minutes later? What would I have seen?

In stumbled Jessa with the ex she continued to have sex with long after their relationship ended.

What if I had shown up 10 minutes earlier? What would I have missed?

In this relationship, here’s what I pay attention to:
She’s fun.
She makes me feel good.
I get a huge ego boost and can believe it.
I’m able to believe the good stuff when she tells it to me.
I have fun.
I’m happy. Fuck dude. I’m happy.
I get to be out.
I’m treated well.
I’m taken care of.
I get to be social and meet a lot of new, cool people.
I have a ton of friends.
Lots of people like me and I need that reassurance at this point in my life.
I’m in a relationship where I’m honest and learning what that’s like.
I’m in a relationship where I matter; not just my girlfriend.
I have a ton of fun.
I’m no longer lonely, sad, or feel like a burden.
I feel wanted, and not just by her, my friends seem to like me more too because they’re not constantly having to find time for me.
She has a lot of strong friendships.
She’s loyal.
She’s smart and she constantly tells me how smart I am and truly makes me feel that way.
The sex is great.

Here’s what I purposely ignore:
She’s a pothead.
She drinks too much.
She doesn’t “get” monogamy. She doesn’t practice it and she says she doesn’t understand it. (She hasn’t been with anyone since being with me, but only because she knows I wouldn’t allow it.)
She’s really bad with money.
She likes other drugs (but hasn’t done any while I’ve been with her).

Last night I was absolutely forced to examine the fact that she gives me no reason to trust her, she clearly has the ability to change her mind about someone in the flash of a drunken afternoon, and that she drinks way too much.

But we just got a phone call of a woman looking for counseling because she just had twins and they both died. If work won’t make it better, it’ll put it in perspective and at least distract me…

responsible adult?

So I went over to Jessa's after a stressful day at work and she gave me a beer. Then I went out to dinner with Goldin and BAB because Goldin is in town visiting. We went to Teller's so I had a martini. Then I went back to Jessa's and after maybe an hour we all (there were two others there with us) went to my house to watch The L-Word OnDemand since I was at the Yonder Mountain String Band concert on Sunday. I had another beer as we watched. Then it was time to go to Shakespeare's and celebrate a 21st birthday so I had a beer or two while we were sitting around there. All in all, it was like 5:30 to 12:30 or 1. Holy shit. That's like seven hours of drinking. By the end of the night I could feel that I had been drinking, but I didn't get it. Like, I got home and I wasn't drunk (remember, this is all walking, I'm not justifying driving or something, I have no reason to lie), but I was, y'know, a lil drunk. I didn't get it. Because the amounts I'd been having were totally moderate or small. Then this morning as I was walking to work I was wondering why I was as drunk as I was (which really wasn't a lot, but I didn't expect any) until I realized that I had started at like 5:30. Oh my god.

It's like this: Some days I may come home and have a beer with dinner. I don't get drunk or even close from that. On special occasions I may order a martini as a cocktail before dinner, or with dinner. I don't get drunk from that. When watching the L-Word, I'll probably have a beer. Or maybe some wine. I don't get drunk from that. When I go to Shakespeare's I'll usually have a beer or two. I don't get drunk from that. (And I'll usually have more than that, so one or two definitely doesn't get me drunk.)

So I was only doing things that don't get me drunk. I was being responsible on a weeknight when I have work at 8am the next day.

Oh. Wait. I did all of them one after the other. I guess that would explain why I'm dragging a little today.

And yes, that's all of the story I have. I don't even know how I feel about it: I drank for like 7 hours yesterday. On the one hand: that's awesome! Like, I feel cool I have all that stuff to do with friends and I'm really drinking like an adult and not some kid at a high school party. On the other hand: I drank for almost seven hours on a random Tuesday night. When did I become an alcoholic?!

And one more thing, I looked H-O-T hot yesterday.