Shadow Work, Day One: I Love You and I don't want to

Seems like, I am broken in ways that make it impossible for me to accept or receive love. They say, you must love yourself before anyone else can. I am always looking for a way to accept and love myself. But, as is my way, I find myself with unrequited love. Only made worse when the person in question also plays along for a little while. Were they ever even interested? Was this all just a game to them. I must box away my emotions so I can pull them out every time I have scheduled that “time” for feelings. Since I have not done this, I keep spontaneously crying. Maybe the experts are on to something with this piece of advice. 

Honestly, it is giving me a lot of self-reflection time where I can review everything as a whole. I made a lot of mistakes. But were they mistakes? Or was it just me being "me" and him not liking that aspect to me? I am now recalling comments I made that I think started to add up over time. There were things I said that from the perspective of another, could be seen more negatively than the intention. I guess I forgot that the most important thing about dating is that you are getting to know someone. You are vetting a complete stranger, so you can decide if that person is the one you want in your life. 

I am in so much pain because rejection never feels good, but this was inevitable. I just didn’t know it yet. I think that my lack of experience has me jumping on every piece of advice hoping for some magical solution to all my problems. That’s just not how the world works. The issue is that we live in shades of grey. Which means that what works now, may not work later. Or what works for you, may not work for me at all. I don’t understand why I am not a cookie cutter or better said, a Sheeple. Why can’t I just fit. 

Although my heart feels like it could fall into a thousand pieces, it comes down to whether love was enough. It wasn’t this time. I want to give up. Throw my hands and scream because what am I doing. I am aging. These goods are expiring and soon, no one will even want the outside packaging, either. I know this was an important lesson I learned. I know that I am blooming at a rate that makes me revisit the possibility of “being on the spectrum”. I also know that half the solution is writing down the problem. This is me, writing down the problem. Am I the problem? Is there no one out there that fits into the world like I do? Or really, doesn’t fit, in the way that I do not fit. I keep drifting into these realms of fantasy, where I am better. I am not me and people smile at me because they are happy to see me. And then I wake up and I am alone. Again... 

Finding someone is not about the job they have, the car they drive or even the clothes they choose to wear. It’s about the person they choose to be every day. Living is a choice. Loving is a choice. Just about everything about us is a choice. Why do we so often make the wrong choices? Or the choices that set us down the harder path. I understand what happened. I can even guess a lot about what is going to happen next. But now I must move forward knowing that even after all this time and growth, I am still being dumped for just being me. How much of me do I have to hide to be accepted? How much of me do I lose as I learn to conceal who I really am? Why can’t I just be me? Often revisited by the haunting theme of this life, that all the love I have had in this world has been unrequited. That I love more than I can receive. Maybe that’s on me because we are the sum of all our choices. How does one carry that? That we are the sole reason for our own unhappiness. 

The bottom line to my shadow entry, day one, is the Billy Eilish song, I love you. “I love you and I don’t want to.”

I created this current moment of unhappiness with a series of choices. But you can't say I didn't try. I shot my shot, and these are the results. Soon this will be a memory I can revisit, and my glasses will be more rose colored than the very dark poop shade they are now. That's why it is so vital for me to write it down. Everything. The good and the bad. It only feels bad right now because I saw a happy future melt in front of my eyes while the person burning it all down to the ground only had an apathetic glance for my direction. Maybe this is the best kind of rejection though, because now I have my closure. Where there was love is now only an empty space that longs to be filled once more. Distraction will fill the void until my heart is ready to try again. Until then readers, I sign off knowing that feelings are going to happen whether or not we are ready. So, plan those crying sessions. God forbid you look the way you feel inside.

-Jen 

Bad Girls Look Down - a spoken Poem

I was in a creative writing class, and I had to write a poem that featured onomatopoeias, which are the words that make noise. It feels therapeutic to revisit it as it was a very painful story to write. I also had to perform it, which is the link provided... 

BAD GIRLS LOOK DOWN

Trauma

By Jennifer R. Hanson

Clash, like lightning the transgression has been committed; bad girls look down.

Badabump, badabump, my fluttering heart slows - to – match – this - burden; bad girls look

down.

Brrrrrrrrr, my skin shivers as my shame covers me like a blanket of ice; bad girls look down.

Thump, thump, watching every footfall gently caress the ground below; bad girls look down.

Drip, drip, twin streams run their delicate course down across my field of freckles; bad girls look

down.

Wah, Wah, Wah, my judge jury executioner askes why I always look down. Bad girls look down.

BAD. GIRLS. LOOK. DOWN.

sssssssssss, I whisper trying to break the intangible silence of hope; but bad girls look down

AND sigh, at last, relief, from this temporary moment of despair...

I can look up now.

Because, only bad girls, look down.

New Year, New career?

I have some life changing news, but based on recent feedback, I'd say the breakup was mutual. I have heard a lot of things over the years. You don't get to level 38 without hearing a ton of unwarranted advice. In my experience, the people who want to change you the most never really liked you in the first place. I took a toxic job knowing that I needed to learn a lesson. I knew from day one when my trainer was belittling and condescending. I would joke about it with new hires, how I would empty my locker at the end of each shift because I never knew when my last day would be. Today. It finally came. I think I hoped that someone would say, no,  stay. Don't quit. That's a fantasy. At the end of the day, people only care about saving their livelihoods.

Something about making sure I don't have any company property on my person was probably the icing on the cake for me. Why not just say, don't let the door hit you on the way out? Why did I stay? Why didn't I just leave when 50% of my team quit? Why was I the stupid one? I won't say the entire experience was a waste. I have never had more control of my emotions as I do today. Trust that I did not react the way I wanted to, several times. But people don't see your growth. They see that you still aren't fitting into their cookie cutter mold. I just haven't found my tribe yet.

My tribe. My like minded, hello darkness, the world is shit, kind of people. My family tells me that my tribe won't be in customer service. Have you ever had a job with 0 customer service? Coworkers and bosses are a type of customer too. Everyone wants me to be energetic, positive outlook Jenny with a y. But I'm just Jen. Just fuck this, fuck that, the world is shit Jen. My darkness helps to illuminate your brightness. You're welcome.

After my worst December ever, I feel numb. Like what's one more rejection? I just remember thinking about how my birthday is in one week from today and I just didn't want to cry on my birthday. I know it seems silly, but I really love birthdays. Something about celebrating someone's existence just sounds so amazing to me. Proving that even negative souls like things too. 

It was all the new years quotes I saw too. Normally they are all so dumb from new year - new me to I'm gonna lose so much weight this year. Yea yea Sally, how is Jan 1st any different than any other day this year? Ya had plenty of chances to start a new you. But there is something to be said about these handheld wire taps that we carry around with us because the quotes nailed it this year. Things like, don't be the reason you can't succeed. And only you choose to stay at toxic jobs. And it got me thinking that I feel stuck because I am allowing myself to feel that way. We don't get to control what happens to us but we do control how we react. I borrowed a celebrity autobiography from the library, as an audiobook. It was only 5 hours long. As I listened, I heard about this awesome life and I felt so envious. I realized what she was doing differently than me. She was seeing the things in her life that did not bring her joy and she cut them. Then she found time to work on the things she loved doing. So I quit my job and now I'm writting on my blog. January might turn out as bad as December but at least I'm now on a new path. Time to find my happiest version of myself.

That being said I'm looking for a new job. Something part time to pay my necessary bills. Sure, I have money saved up, but money is always finite. I think I need to get serious. Work on my IT certifications and look for my tribe within the technology community. Those people get me. They understand that machines are better because they lack emotions and motives. They do what they are programmed to do. That's all I want for myself. To run like an emotionless program. Wish me luck. 

Case File .5: The Lost Cat by Jennifer R. Hanson

Nothing speaks louder than the bright green face of several President Franklins now staring up at me from my desk. The door to my closet-sized office reads Demi-Goddess for hire. With the recently realized knowledge that magical beings of all varieties are openly living among humans, you would think business would be booming. Maybe it is my sign? I painted it myself.

“Well, Mrs. Escobar… I do not typically look for missing cats, but you have convinced me.” I said grinning from ear to ear. I noticed that she has not taken a seat yet and is staring around my office at the piles of interesting items. What?! Who has time to clean? I have to stay busy to pay the bills. Past due bills; which is why her money is screaming my name right now.

“Senior Cuddly whiskers is not just a cat. He’s been my only love since my husband passed last year. He…” She breaks off with a sob.

“No worries Mrs. Escobar. The Senior is in good hands.” I say as I reach over to pluck a short white hair off of her impeccable two-piece suit. “Do you mind? This looks feline and it is just what I need to get the search started.”

She nods quickly at me, turning to leave.

“Wait,” I say stumbling to stand before, she can depart.  

Mrs. Escobar turns back around, handing me a very posh-looking business card with just an address in a black glossy fine print. “This is the studio apartment I rent just for Senior Cuddly Whiskers. Start there. If you return him before the sun goes down today, there will be more cash waiting for you. ” And she silently turns once more, walking out, taking her hoity-toity airs with her.

What is the world coming to nowadays? Cats can have their studio apartments and in Belltown no less. I guess that is the Seattle elite for you. Sundown is only a few hours away. I grab the timetable for bus route #18 as I race through my cozy warehouse loft in Ballard. It is not much, but it is home. And because the cost of living will cost both your arms and legs, it is also my place of freelance investigations.

Lost your priceless family heirloom? Can’t get the proof that they are cheating? Are you being hexed? Well, look no further! Demi-Goddess for hire. Or at least that is what I am advertising on my back alley flyers floating around town. Ugh. And now I am literally about to herd a cat if I can find the Senior in time. Easiest money ever said no one.

Seattle weather. It does not rain as much as the tourists like to go on and on about. Not now, in the middle of June, anyway. It has been a hot minute without those misty mornings where it feels like the ocean is kissing everything. I look up from my lumpy bus seat to read the illuminated sign stating the next bus stop. The conductor comes on the overhead speaker to read the next stop. “3rd and Bell” That is me. The Senior’s apartment is still a couple of blocks away, but at least it is a nice day.

 “Onward,” I say, getting a few looks from other departing passengers.

About a block from the address, I reach into my messenger bag for the pre-made concoction I have just for these lost and found situations. Google. Who knew half that stuff worked when you can wield magic. The internet has mostly been my teacher since my dad never came back from that infamous cigarette run 31 years ago. My mom is still in the institute for the insane. Turns out, when humans are with magical beings, they can lose their minds. I like to think my dad was that good.

“Allioop!” I whisper to myself as I drop the cat hair into the bag holding my concoction and begin to shake it. I do not know if this kind of thing needs magic words, but it cannot hurt. A line of magenta smoke begins to appear. I am pretty sure humans cannot see this line of smoke as several people have walked through it and no one seems bothered. I can see it though. Fuzzy and clear at the same time if that makes any sense. I began to follow the line that is originating from the little bag in my hand. I realize that people can see me holding out this little bag as if it is leading me forward.

“Hey, I’m walking here,” I say to one businessman on his cell phone giving me the stink eye.  Muggles. They do not believe in anything.

The red hand appears on the traffic light across the street. Paused at the intersection, I think about how If I were amazing in my magical skills, no red hand would illuminate for me ever again. But Dad just did not get to the part where I was out of the womb before he could explain how my half-magical-self works. A green man walking appears and before I can start across the street, the smoke turns blue and makes a sharp turn to the left. Senior is on the move! I pick up the pace, getting more looks from the locals. I have now reached the posh part of Belltown headed directly for the Olympic Sculpture Park.  

I run up a set of long stairs. I need to start running again. I feel more out of breath than I should be at this age. The line of smoke stops as if it is thinking. “Hey man, think later, the sun waits for no one,” I say as if the smoke could hear or even respond. However, if smoke could shrug, then this is what the smoke did before settling on a weird combo of blue and magenta, shaping it to a question mark. Well, I broke the smoke. “Fudgesicles”, I say frustrated, wishing I had spent a little cash on a guaranteed finder spell versus digging through the ad-riddled websites in search of the free ones.  

“Oh, did you bring any?” a disembodied voice says to me. I turn around quickly as lightning. Up, down, all around. I cannot find the owner of that enchanting voice. I smell glamor.  

“Up here fool!” says a pair of eyes floating above a silver sculpture in the shape of a rather fancy but giant bench. Fool? I am the smartest Demi-Goddess I know.

“What did you say to me random floating eyes of despair?” I quip back at the seriously awesome pair of eyes just blinking down at me. I cannot let him know that though. Stay strong.  

“Ha! You would be in great despair as well if your human servant had tried to force clothes on you. I am taking a much-needed break.” His head and body begin to become visible and it is now clear that I am in the presence of a magical creature. A Cheshire cat. A beautiful all-white Cheshire cat adorned with a fancy diamond encrusted collar and a mini sideways affixed top hat. SCW is visibly written on a tag hanging from his collar.    

“Your human servant would not be called Escobar, by chance, would she?” I say with chagrin. Easy money after all.

“Maybe so, maybe not. It is not my business what humans refer to themselves. I simply require the comforts of life without the drama. Now keep me waiting no more. I heard you yell out food I know to be sweet. Hand it over now, human.” He unfurls a paw in my direction, nicely painted nails with diamond attachments on the tip of each claw.

“Human? Is your nose broken as well as your manners? Demi-goddess here to take you home safely to your human servant. Come down here now.” I say with more demand in my voice than I intended. Magical creatures are cute, but they are not whimsical. There are as dangerous as wondrous, even if this one appears to be tamed. I am going to need to bribe this one home. Lucky me.  

“Is that so?” His grin triples in size as his body begins to fade, leaving just those eyes and now, a very creepy grin. “May the odds be ever in your favor little Demi-Goddess.” And with a pop, there is nothing but air circulating the very spot where the Senior had been floating only seconds ago. The game is now afoot.

I conduct a quick google search on my phone. Sunset is scheduled for 9:01 pm. Thank you for the long summer days. It is 7:15 pm now. Curses. Why did Mrs. Escobar take so long to employ me? I do understand the need for a Cheshire cat to be indoors before sundown though. The darkness does something to their personality. What is once considered simply mischievous can turn quickly downright evil. And yet, being inside remedies this? “Magic,” I say shrugging. Well, this job is going to cost me money after all. “To the Belltown quickie mart”, I say to no one secretly hoping the Senior wants to follow out of curiosity. What is that saying about curiosity and cats?

“That will be $9.36, ma’am.” The very tired cashier drawls out to me while bagging my several very sweet selections. I do not know what is more offensive; the inflation on snacks in Seattle or calling my very young self a ma’am.

“Ah, thanks. Keep the change.” I say sheepishly knowing it is not much of a tip but I am not a fan of loose change at the bottom of my bag. I run out of the store, headed back to that bench statue, in case the Senior did not catch my hint to follow. Left. Right. Up. No sign of that pesky beast. I probably should not sit on the sculpture, but then again, why make a bench if you do not want sitters?

Plopped down on the not so comfy bench now, I reach into my bag of goods for a snickers bar. My phone’s screen suddenly comes to life and reveals that I have lost at least thirty minutes on that little trip to snacksville. Oh well. I look at the snickers in my hand and think, why wait? All the commercials tell me to just dig in. I tear into it ravenously. Pulling the wrapper out of my mouth, I realize, I have an audience.  

“Mmmmmm. Caramel-wrapped nugget covered in a layer of peanuts and surrounded by chocolate. mmmmmmmmmmmmmm. So heavenly.” I lick my fingers and from the corner of my eye, I see a diamond-clad claw swiping for the remainder of my candy bar. “Nut-hu Senior! You have to be faster than that.” I slide off the outlandishly large bench and make a run for it. I passed his studio Belltown apartment on the way here, so I know the direction I want him to follow. The trick is getting him there without him getting wise to my scheme. I turn left, the opposite direction of my goal, but I have time. I look over my shoulder. He is gone again. Or at least not visible.

“I guess you did not want any of my sweets then,” I say to the silent air surrounding me. I shake the bag and just his cat head pops back into existence, floating in front of me.

“I did not say that little Demi-goddess. But I would be interested in what else is in the bag before you so rudely depart again.” His paw appears once more and he is reaching for my bag, palm face up as if I am going to give in to his demand simply because he made one.

“I am not a human nor a servant. What do you offer me in exchange Senior? You can not get something for nothing, ya know.” I wink at him as pull out the king-sized Reese’s cup. Cheshire cats love games. Well, here we go.

“Peanut butter? Ugh. Do I look like a canine?” He rolls his eyes, but his gaze falls right back onto the Reese’s cup packaging. I think someone does like peanut butter.

“That is a shame. I guess I shall go find someone else who wants my candy.” I begin to turn. “Wait. What do you want?” He asks, adding a hint of a cat-like pur to the end.

“If you can catch me, I will tell you!” I click my heels together engaging a prepared speed spell on my shoes and I take off. Good. If I can keep him interested long enough to follow me to his place before sunset, the cat will be in the bag. So to speak. I am the smartest Demi-goddess I know after all.

He has vanished again, but this time I can see that my smoke has reactivated and appears to be chasing me from my own messenger bag. That has to be the Senior, hot on my trail. I turn right. I can see the Space Needle now. It always cracks me up when a tourist asks me how to find the Space Needle. Simply look up and walk towards it. Maybe he will think I am headed there.

“I hope you like water because I love running through the giant Seattle Center fountain”, I yell over my shoulder. The smoke slows a little. What? Cats do not like water? Shocker. “Guess we will find out if you like the fountain too”. I say laughing as I pick up speed. The smoke suddenly comes to a complete stop and dissipates. Now also stopped and catching my breath, I look to see if I can find any traces of the smoke. I know the Senior needs to become visible to grab anything. Then I see the horror. A giant slash mark on the cheap plastic grocery bag of candy. As well as the trail of candy I have just left on my effort to escape.

“Hey! That’s cheating.” I scream to the sky. A woman grabs her child closer as they pass me on the sidewalk. I sigh in frustration. I raise my phone and the happy ocean background shows me that I am now down to forty-five minutes left before sunset. There is no incentive to follow me now. The Senior has the goods. As if to prove my suspicion, cat claws appear floating in front of me, holding half of an eaten Reese’s cup.

“I suppose this is more delicious since I got something for nothing, little Demi-goddess”, he says while two large eyes appear, staring down into my soul.

I reach into my candy bag hoping for some ace in the hole. The only hole is right there though. At the bottom of the flimsy grocery bag, revealing that it holds nothing now that it has lost its ability to hold anything. Think. What else could he want?

“Well, I guess I should head home then. The place where my freezer holds my collection of fudge pops.” I say casually as I begin to walk straight to the Senior's studio apartment. I see his now visible body floating behind me.

“Collection you say? Do not keep me waiting little Demi-goddess. Lead the..” I cut him off. “No cat. Stay here. I have grown tired of your demands.” I snap, trying not to grin. I must look upset that he has cheated me. Plus, it is the only way a defiant magical creature is going to follow me now. I doubt he hears no very frequently. I pick up the pace because I can now see the sun moving closer to the horizon. I look around to see only a darkening sky but no cat, or cat parts. I hope this works.

I race into his building, taking two stair steps at a time. I do not have time for the elevator. The magic must have run out on my smoke because I was hoping to at least see if he was following. There is nothing. I reach his door, quickly turning the knob. I let myself inside. Mrs. Escobar is standing in the living room near a coffee table. Oh look, President Franklin’s face is staring up at me again, in triplicate. But before I can say anything, an enchanting voice from my shoulder grabs my attention.

“Silly Demi-goddess. This is my place. Not yours.” Chagrin painted on the grin of a very satisfied Cheshire Cat.

“Senior Cuddly Whiskers, darling, did you enjoy today’s game?” Mrs. Escobar says to the smile floating above my shoulder. What is going on here? My jaw has hit the floor as I realize that I was hired to entertain a bored cat.

“Yes. Quite the energetic one today Sylvia.” The bored cat says as his body becomes completely visible creating a slight weight on my shoulder. I begin to shake him off of me but he has already started to float to Mrs. Escobar. “This little Demi-Goddess was well worth the money.”

I reach for the remaining cash. I am not even sure what I want to say, so I point to the door like, hey, exit is this way. Mrs. Escobar nods at me and I turn to leave.

“Bye Felisha”, the Senior quips at me one last time before I depart this crazy scene. I turn to them both and say, “No. it’s Amber. Amber Morgan. Demi-Goddess for hire”.

The End

Day 29: Dear James, Alexa, add Non-Dairy Milk to the list

Seems silly to keep up the dear James letters but something can be said about closure. Almost like those ads they make you run in the newspaper when you are trying to divorce someone you can't find. Yea. That's a thing. Turns out ghosting is neither new nor does level of commitment even matter. One day, you are happily with your forever person and then bam, no person. 

I think a lot of us know the pain from being ghosted, but what goes through the mind of the ghoster? Who hurt you? Why pass that hurt on? I don't think I was ghosted this last time. I think I said some things in anger. Things you don't get to take back. I can hear Wesley's words now, if only as a whisper on the wind. As you wish.... moral of the story is, be careful what you wish for because you might get it. 

Regret is such a weird concept. It implies that if you could change something/someone/some moment - you would, but also means admitting to disliking something/someone as that/theycurrently are/etc. So, we are shaped by our experiences, all experiences, good and bad. Some things have little impact while others roar like the tsunami created from the flutter of butterfly wings. That's the tricky part about relationships. What becomes the mountains and vice versa for the mole holes? 

I have a friend, that got into a fight with her SO and in a moment of anger,words were said. Just a mention of hygiene pet peeves while living in shared areas. Now my friend takes out the bathroom trash, daily. Daily. Over one comment made, over 10 years ago, in the middle of a small dispute. 

This brings me back to James. Words were said. Things that won't ever be forgotten, on both sides. This is the real reason I won't send the text. Why relive that trauma only to eventually end up here because we caused too much regret...  Maybe pride plays a part too. Maybe he's waiting for me to send that text. Or better yet, he has moved on. Living his life, hoping to find a more compatible forever person. That's what I truly want. That's all I have ever wanted. Did I want that for me with him? Yes. But I'll take second best which is his happiness. Remember that loving someone means wishing that they are happy, even if that does not include you. Let them fly free. If they wanted it, they would fly home. As of today, o notifications. 

That being said, this will conclude the dear James letters, but will not discontinue the blog. I enjoy writing. Crazy concept, yes. But I also think people who love math are weird. What ever floats your boat. I started a fictional paranormal noir with a modern take a few years ago for a college class I took for fun. Creative Writting 101. Maybe I'll post it. Could be fun. Note that this class did nothing for the progress of my degree. I literally took it for fun. 0 regrets on that $500. 

Here's to a new year, old me 🍻🍻🍻

Day 27: Dear James, Grocery Lists?

 

I am feeling a lot more rested and a lot less hopeless. Holidays just have a way of bringing childhood traumas or whatever, to the surface. Like we need to be reminded of our inner most secret pains. Although the intensity has lessened, it doesn’t mean the hole there is gone. Honestly, it just means that I can think a little clearer, now that my thoughts aren’t clouded with complete and utter despair. Why do emotions control us like that? Women hysteria. It is such a sexist diagnosis and yet I chuckle every time I hear it because is it wrong? I often feel hysteric and then bam, food. Endorphins don’t make any sense.

Anger though. That one baffles me the most. I heard recently in the dialogue of a movie, that sometimes anger is our way of subconsciously trying to say something that has been ignored. That we are ignoring, about ourselves. Think about that. Your body, your mind, your everything is projecting this unresolved issue and yet, you still cannot hear it. Can other people hear it? Do people know why other people are really angry? Is there subtext in every situation or is that just a “me” thing? It has me really thinking though, back on many past events. Events that we will hashtag JenActsLikeaKaren, and I wonder what that was really about.  

I open this Dear James letter with my thoughts on emotions because I tend to only write when I am riding a wave of extreme emotion. Something I have covered in nauseating detail throughout the journey of this blog. Noticing the large gap in years since my last post to my most recent, it would appear that I lost inspiration for a few years. Maybe blogging just wasn’t trending anymore. Either way, I am back, ready to therapeutically heal my recent wounds and stretch some mind muscles. You should hear the new slang. Kids say things like that’s cap = untrue statement. Say less = keep talking because we are vibing. Vibing, like being on the same page. It’s cool beans I guess, but I still miss saying “Right On” all the time. Maybe I will throw it into some conversations and gauge reactions.

Yes, I did think about sending that text today. I didn’t type it out because what if I accidentally sent it and how do you explain that? “Yes hello, ignore this accidentally sent and perfectly typed out text that I have been obsessing over for weeks”. It is funny to me, because he probably has me blocked by now. The smart thing to do, in my opinion. I read another blog where this girl mentions sending random texts to an ex who had blocked her. She did it so often, that it became habit. The funny part is that her texts turned into things she needed to add to her shopping list. So, one day, 7 years later, her ex responds and says, why do you keep texting me random words? And she confesses what she has been doing for the last 7 years and that’s it. They say goodbye and she stops using his text for her grocery lists. The story seems unbelievable. But also, kind of believable. Don’t worry, I am not on that level of despair. But it’s a thought, knowing that I could send things that the other person might never see, until they did. Might be a new way to get over someone. That should be the thing that happens at every breakup. “Just a little reminder, to block my number on your cell phone, for no reason of course”.

So yea, Day 27: Jen needs tortillas.

Day 25: Dear James, Break- up Notes?

Day 25 of the end of my happiness. I thought about sending a text several times. I never typed it out, but I imagined typing it out, a thousand times. Something so simple, like “Merry Christmas!”, no explanation, no follow up. Just those simple words. Then I would talk myself out of it. He doesn’t want to hear from me. I think I am more emotional because I just watched an animated movie (Elemental) that reminded me of us. And I thought, why aren’t we together again? And then I re-read the last messages he sent me. Where he gets mad at me and tells me that I have ruined his life. All I can think is, no, I can’t have done that. But it doesn’t matter how I feel or what I think. That is his reality of me. He really feels like I am his enemy. I am now dead to him, and it hurts more today than it did in that moment. I think the anger has subsided. All I have now is realization that I lost my forever person. All I have now is forever alone. I am trying to bottle up the pain and hide it. Maybe it just feels more intense today because holidays are for the people we care about the most. I still care about him. I don’t know if he thinks about me. Or if he cares. Or worse, that he ever cared. Even if he came back now, it still wouldn’t matter because the seeds of mistrust have been planted. The fear of abandonment will always flitter on the unspoken words between us. So, yes, I could reach out to him and face possible rejection. But what if he didn’t reject me and we spent years trying to repair this thing that broke between us. I don’t know whether it was a miscommunication, or we just finally learned all we needed to know about one another. It is not clear. The only thing that is clear is that it is over. No back and forth. No checking up on one another. I died to him. I think I died to myself too. 

You don’t realize how much someone matters to you until they are not there. Kind of the reason I try not to value the greenness of other grass because you just can't see what you have until it is gone. All I can see is everything I have lost. I sit and think, because apparently all I have is an endless amount of time now. Forever truly feels that way. I think about his words. Mine. Was I wrong. Was he? Does it matter if we aren’t even together anymore? It is all really confusing because I want to move on, but everything reminds me of us. Smells. Moments. Items for sale. I think, wow, he is going to love this stupid item at the store, and then I remember that he is never going to see it. I haven’t experienced much death in my life. I say those words out loud and I think, that’s kind of true. I have never been to a funeral. That doesn’t necessarily mean that I haven’t experienced death. Am I not going through a type of mourning right now? Death of a potential relationship. It was not perfect, but it was mine. And now it is gone. 

I have tried the dating aps again. Maybe it is a combination of the time of year and the fact that I am still in mourning, but everything that everyone says is shit. Worse than before. What starts out as a cute icebreaker just looks like the worst offense you could place on my entire existence. I am not your sweetheart or your gorgeous inset some fluffy animal. I am just a stranger, online, trying to forget her ex. Trying not to compare every sentence, word by word. Why aren’t you funny like him? Why aren’t you so smart, like him? Why do your compliments feel so empty, unlike his. That’s the problem. None of you are like him. None of you ARE him. Could EVER be him. And maybe I am glorifying a memory of someone. Maybe he was not the G.O.A.T. of my unwritten autobiography. I don’t know, because love is blind. I am starting to see again, and the world is just pain. Pure PAIN. I want to be blind again. And I don’t want blindness with the first guy who throws a smile my way. I struggled with the concept that I was in love with the idea of being in love. I want to be in love so badly. But now I struggle with what to do when I don’t want anyone else? Will I be one of those people who loved once and that was it? Do you only get one chance with your forever person? 

My mind wanders, even now, and I think about the memories not made and the moments uncelebrated. About afternoons where soft music might be playing so we could both enjoy reading our books. Or listening to him read to me in his voice that was soothing to my soul. Short walks around bodies of water where we try to snap photos of the local wildlife. Well, I try to snap the photos because he likes to live in the moment. So many lessons not learned. I think I was learning to listen better. To love deeper. To be more patient. Now I am 4 steps back from square 1. Worse now than before because they say it is better to lost and have loved than to never have loved, but is it?  That doesn’t feel correct. 

The tears flow the more I type this out, knowing I will never send it. What would it achieve? I thought I was handling the separation like an adult. Not feeling anything and moving on with my life. I started focusing on my job again and joined a new gym. Then I heard a song that just opened every flood gate inside my head. Three Day’s Grace sung a remix of "Somebody I used To Know". It’s hard to explain the epiphany that hit me. Hearing that song hundred times before and now, hearing it with new experiences. Every word felt true. Like one long drawn-out stabbing to my heart. I don’t know whether it feels better to know that I am not alone in my pain or worse that others feel this too. That really sucks. The world really sucks. But talking about the lack of fairness in the world seems pointless. I digress.

Update to last post

I know it looks bad when I post these dire despair posts about my extreme sadness and or thoughts of suicide but my inspiration comes from my extreme emotion. My voice lies in my experience. I am who I've been. I know sadness. And because I am not the most stable sandwich in the basket, my any given experience can go from one extreme to the next. I often find my mighty pen when I'm in a low so below sea level, I'm drowning. But honestly,  I taking the time to write this even without the emotion to back up my creativity because my public needs to know that in this given moment, I am not the same person who wrote "hurt", the post a few days ago. That was one moment however many million seconds ago when I was not my best version and I had succumbed to my own self doubt. But feel safe in knowing that I am a talker not a walker. I could never take my own life because of my past and how it has helped to shape me. I cannot go into too many details without revealing more than I care to, but there was a time when I was ready to take that walk. Thankfully I had an epiphany and was shown the error in my selfish perspective. An epiphany that has kept me safe all these years later. So while you might read my post and think, man, we need to institutionalize this one... take a step back to think that maybe it's very therapeutic for me to share my insides with the outsides, even if it scares you. What scares you, frees me. Think before you act.

HURT

Today I woke up sad. Sad that I didn't believe in God and yet, I prayed for a miracle. I prayed that I would just sleep forever. Waking up is so hard. Too hard. The loneliness has crept in so deep that it's choking my very soul. Crying has become my new normal. Stuck in this perpetual moment of heartbreak and even after the rain has cleared, I sit with no rainbows. No sunshine. No butterflies or even puppy dogs. I cry until my eyes hurt and my chest feels like it will explode. I youtube videos on self affirming yourself out of a panic attack. I lie, out loud, because it feels more true when my ears can hear it. Everything is ok. Everything is not ok. You will get through this. You're caving into your own self deprecating mountains of failure. Why me? Why was I born? Why am I still here? Why won't you take me! I hate God. I hate that I'm this walking oxymoron that can't do anything right. I don't want to live but I can't kill myself. So I try to take deep breathes until my chest aches a little less; and then I pray. Mortals. We don't believe in magic but we hope our spells will work anyway. Is that why I'm still alive. I don't believe in god, but I wish he'd step up anyway? I find myself lingering at work. Things I could do tomorrow, I do them now. I've always been a procrastinatorr and suddenly, I'm Johnny on the spot. Anything to keep me from going home. I'll work for free, but please don't make me go home. Please. Silence. No one can hear my prayers. No one cares. Maybe this oxymoron is tired. Maybe it's time. You cut vertical. It only hurts for a moment. And then you never have to hurt again. What lesson am I learning. Isn't 30 years enough. Is it all in my head. Am I really sick and just unmediated or am I lazy, inconsiderate, good for nothing... I'm 6 years old again. Sitting in a box. It's black. Pitch black. I'm locked inside. I was bad again. I don't understand. I never understand. Other children don't feel this. I think we'd all have said something by now. It's just me. The odd one out. No one likes me. No one wants me around. I'm 6. And my mother says to me, how she has to love me but that doesn't mean she likes me. Bad girls look down. I watch my feet as the years go by. I'm 15. My mom asks, why do I look at my feet all the time? I respond, bad girls look down. I'm 25 and I realize, I'm still watching my feet. People I know, pass me. I have no idea. It's me and my feet. That's all I can see. I'm now 30, writing this and thinking about those god damn feet. I'm so broken. Unmarried and let's face it, not in any relationship longer than a few months. Or even what anyone would have ever considered healthy. Friends. What are those. I abandoned my cat. Now I live off my mother and her husband. Lucky I'm not holding a sign on a street corner but praying every night that I have a heart attack or just stop breathing. Fragile humans and it feels like I'm immortal. What is this! The tears have stopped. I feel less suicidal but just as lonely. I have no one. My mom isn't talking to me. Patrick isn't talking to me. I broke their TV. Because that's the type of person I am. Bad girls look down. Fuck. How much more can someone cry? I feel so weak and stupid and everything else I know I'm not supposed to feel. It hurts. Everything. From my toes to the top of my head. When will it end. How much longer until my karma sentence is up. Bad girls look down. Everything is not ok.

Judgey McJudgerson Speaking

I can look at a person and tell you everything wrong with them. After a 15 minute conversation, I can tell you more. I look at my own reflection and all I see is how I am like you. But I am really not like you. Judgement is such a confusing issue in my life. I can see where it inspires some to improve their own imperfections. Then I see how it further cripples others. Where do I stand? I think I am in denial. I cannot live up to my own standards so I pretend the bad parts of me do not exist. Every now and again though, I am reminded how different I am. How I honestly have no room to judge. He who cast the first stone and what not.

And yet, I cannot help my ever need to vocalize my opinion. I do not tell you my judgement to hurt your feelings or to put myself on a pedestal. I worry that I see something that you cannot. Strangers on a bus would not point out a booger. So when I do, it is because I think of you as a friend. I can see the hurt fall on their faces though. When it was more than just a boogie hanging. Hear their disappointment. Were they in denial too? Or did I really just cross a line?

They say a cornered animal will fight tooth and nail. Is that what your words were to me? Did I accidentally corner you in my misguided attempt to help? I didn't know. But you were successful in opening my eyes a little too. I cannot say I really enjoy being pulled out of denial. It is my warm happy spot where I can toss my pain. My very own Pandora's box, with yes, hope on the bottom.

So the answer is yes. Everything you said was right. I really am that kind of person. I read somewhere, probably on Facebook, that you develop your personality by age 4. If people don't change, then you've known me my entire adult life. Even had the ability to see the imperfections I could not see about myself. Especially the ones standing between us now.

And yes, I have not been there or gone through those specific life experiences, but I know what my eyes see and my ears hear. I have heard you say that you should work hard to keep the good aspects of your life with you as long as you can. But you also should not have to work so hard to be happy. When the bad outweighs the good. You can't change people because people don't change. All you can do is slowly learn more of their secrets and determine if this is the deal breaker or if you're in it for more. I can't force you to see my point of view, no matter how you rationalize bad behavior or try to take back words said. But I beat this dead horse and so casually pass judgement because I'm ruled by my own fear. Are you breaking? Will you end up broken? Can I prevent it? Do the failed attempts to prevent the inevitable result in my own undoing? Am I the only one who sees an inevitable negative outcome?

I have more questions than answers. I just hope that where ever you are and whom ever you with has you safe. That's all my judgement has ever been. An emotion I could not convey any other way.

Until next time. You are still my one and only.

End of life chapter (insert #)

My Only One - Can we make it through this?

Once upon a time I had a blog that I very much enjoyed. Like a public diary that the masses could view and comment about. I made it private when I realized that I write from my soul. For me, that place can be dark and misinterpreted. Even to the extreme of unforeseen consequences. It's ok not to be happy and to work it out on a public platform. Gawd knows my generation already status updates every time they sit on the pot or blow their nose. So with out further ado, I present Odizus: reunion tour.

Disclaimer: I have several blog posts - made private of course, because I want you to know who I am now and not who I was. I made public the generic postings of course. ^_^

As some of you may know, I'm a very black and white person. Ask my boss. The answer is yes or no. But just between you and me, I'm also human. I can't honestly say I don't have a few grey areas...

For instance, word definitions. As a person ruled by their emotions, the meaning of any given word at anytime could mean something else. What's happy? Is it smiling all the time? My face doesn't bend like that naturally. It honestly hurts after a day of falseness. You want a smile, be you! And make it funny, please.

Then there is dating. I don't date. Does being alone mean or make me unhappy? I get lonely, but for human interaction. I know I'm loved and I have my people. I just can't imagine letting the whole world in to my little secret society. It's been since February and I'm just now really warming up to a co-worker who wasn't always my favorite person. I'm selective. So, if I'm that picky with co-workers, people I absolutely have to be around professionally, then why would I settle for less with my heart? It doesn't help that I'm a difficult person. But If they're worth it though, we can find a way.

I'm reopening this blog because I found someone worth it. Not romantically, but that end all, we're in this until our dying breathe. But something is going terribly wrong. Maybe we've reached that defining moment when we ask ourselves, how long is forever? Sometimes knowing someone for a long time just means you've known them for that long. I like to think that I've known us for that long. People grow, but they never change. Perhaps, their eyes were never really open because I'm pretty sure my true colors were always right out there on the table. Or was it I who just vocalized my discontent for life too frequently? I thought true friends were honest. How much is too much? How little does it take to make your friendship just another mundane "acquaintance"?

I care. I care so much I wish for sticks and stones because your words cut so deep. If it were ANYTHING else, I could just apologize and make it go back the way it was. But it's honestly so much more complicated. You didn't stand me up. I didn't steal your shiny new boots, made for walking. I was just me and you were just you. Somewhere, we lost sight of what was important and feelings were hurt. Is there enough time in this lifetime to fix us. I miss you already, except really. I live a life standing still and you make it go. If only for a day or an hour, it means the world to me. You are the sunshine on my rainy days. And you know how I love my rain.

So, if we don't make it to forever, I love you. I will always love you. And at least I know that our memories will make it to forever. To my dying breathe because, you were the one. My only one.

End life story chapter (insert #)