I never want to
fall in love,
to decline in the way
that killed Romeo and Juliet.
If Love wants me
on rising up to meet her
and being embraced
by her warm golden glow.
I will have it
no other way.
I never want to
fall in love,
to decline in the way
that killed Romeo and Juliet.
If Love wants me
on rising up to meet her
and being embraced
by her warm golden glow.
I will have it
no other way.
Garry May threw up on my shoe the first time we met,
looked up at me,
smiled and said, “I love you.”
And that was it for me.
I loved him terribly and immediately.
We were at a bar downtown.
Then he played a Blondie song on the jukebox,
made a joke about anal sex to a young couple.
I think they were on a first date,
They seemed offended,
and I laughed.
He looked like that guy from the Libertines,
during a bad patch
and whenever you had him over,
was habitually entitled to any booze in the house.
Garry told people to fuck off
he always smoked all my cigarettes.
Sometimes he was downright gross.
Truly, he was a handful,
there was an ugliness about him
that scared away the faint of heart,
and I loved it.
we did drunk yoga.
The ugly in me
honors the ugly in you,
my beloved derelict, Garry.
It’s hard to love the darknesses ,
but I think we should shoot for that
if we really want it to matter.
There are still good people out there,
Don’t let yourself forget it
As you read of the tragedies and travesties many participate in
There are still good people, my Love.
Don’t let the fear paint you into a corner.
When you think you are alone in a dark place,
You can see the spark of kindness in the eyes of a stranger working behind the counter at the gas station,
Selling cigarettes, smiling at you like humans do.
Not the seeing-through-you glare that industrialization has nurtured in many.
When you hold the door open for someone else,
Look into their eyes for real and
Let them know too.
In a certain darkness, the illumination of love in the eyes of someone looks like a prayer candle lit in the solemnity of the church – a dim area, quiet hush of prayer, of hoping or begging for something, anything; for some, a last resort. More lumens to maybe call upon the notice of a less-than-attentive god, or to at least illuminate a spell of darkness, and all those hopes flicker and bounce shadows about the faces of the praying, simultaneously revealing and distorting, depending on the slant of the flame at that moment. When we signal to the fates, some kind of SOS from the spirit, sometimes we must settle for reading answers from the shadows created, like Plato and his cave.
I was not sent to answer his call, but he decided I must have been. He never asked me before I was appointed. It was not my choice, nor my function. I am as lost here as anyone. But, he saw my face, and the flicker in the dark was a beacon, and so he decided I was the answer. But I hadn’t been asked any question. My candle was my own prayer, my desperate reaching for some kind of path to tread, but he took it as some sign meant for him, and began to follow me. Soon we were both lost and I had to send him away.
I have logged in countless hours as an object of affection in the lives of others. A serial monogamist for the better part of my teen years and my adulthood, I was also a searcher. I knew the love I wanted was out there for me and I had to find it. This was often at the cost of my family, my funds, my family, my self. Not to mention my dignity. There were several mistaken attempts… well, ok, let’s be straight about it – they were all missed attempts, failed connections, complete raging disasters at times. My poor parents, who were stuck with me as I returned home over and over, after each failure would come to its conclusion, they would pack up the truck with my remaining possessions and bring me back home.
I thought I was doing the right thing – I was following my ultimate vision of love! For the love of God, isn’t that the meaning of it all?! In the eyes of that other person I would see the reflected flicker of my prayer and I would reach for it. “Reach” is really an inaccurately moderate word; it was more of a lunge mixed with a stumble, or maybe a blind leap. I would fall into the relationship, willy-nilly, and despite repeated failures, I always found myself shocked when I wound up on my ass, tears in my eyes, hair a mess, fat lip, possessions lost at apartments I had to abandon after being shoved down the steps of what was previously “our” dwelling. My inner eye still has a rip inside of it from that one time. I lost my white and purple quilt, my favorite lamp he smashed, and finally, thankfully, my innocence. The loss of this set of false beliefs was the gift. It was then that I began to understand that my vision deceived me. I wasn’t seeing love in these places. I was seeing the reflection of my hope, and it was an illusion, and quite dangerous.
When he began to pursue me, I knew immediately not to take it personally. Usually that expression has a negative connotation – don’t take it personally. But it applies in love, too. Sometimes someone falls in love with you and it has very little to do with you. That was what he was doing, and I knew it. Yes, it’s hard to not get caught up in the heady feeling of, OMG! Somebody Loves Me! but my previous experience had left me better equipped to understand it. He thought he loved me but he never did. He never could have. He barely knew me but the candle of his hope caught in the darkness of eyes and he focused on that spark, and followed. I told him to stop.
Pushing away these pursuits will make people think you are cold and unfeeling, locked up, broken, unavailable. Don’t listen to it. I know I’m not broken – I’m far from it. I have been smashed and rebuilt so many times, the glue and sharp edges has made a new conglomerate of stuff and now I am stronger than ever before. And I may have a torn inner eye but my vision is finally perfect in this regard. He thinks he loves me but he does not. The whole thing has very little to do with me. I am a placeholder, the variable x in his equation, to be filled by any value that makes sense within a particular solution set.
I hope someday he understands this and appreciates what I did by stepping away and saying sorry, not sorry. It wasn’t a rejection, but an act of reverence and respect. Our souls deserve more than being a mere reflection of someone’s hope and sorrow. The life of being the mortal mirror is one of the deepest sorrows one can face. It’s so very lonely to live as a reflection of everyone else. Walking through life seeing others as a means to an end of loneliness only pushes away real relationships and plunges the self into further isolation and despair. Only when we make genuine connections beyond our need are we able to really begin to know, and eventually love, anybody.
You aren’t owed happiness and the universe is not compelled to bend over backwards to make it so. The universe will leave you to your own devices. You cannot see the light if you don’t want to see it. If you’re looking for reasons to be angry or discontented, you will become an expert at finding those reasons, and it will get to be so easy. You will carry in your mind a long list of what must occur before you can be happy, and a list of everything stopping you from attaining that. Don’t wait to fulfill all of your conditions which must be met before you begin to really live. You will end up missing the good parts.
Grieve the sorrows when they come, and listen to your anger when it speaks – you don’t need to be a hero or a liar. But please don’t take it personally. It’s not personal. Pain is widespread. Shoulder your share with grace. Do it for yourself. Do it for the rest of humanity. Know that it’s your fair share, and that everyone gets a turn to struggle. Don’t be too precious when your turn comes. Take your lumps, and move on. Help somebody else with theirs because you know what it’s like.
Don’t waste time pointing fingers at what you hate. Focus your attention on ways around the ugly parts, and keep your sight on the love. There is so much of it. You aren’t alone, even if you feel like you are. See the light. See it in strangers’ eyes when you are out walking around, and look into the eyes of the lady who hands you your coffee at the drive through in the morning. Even if she won’t see you back. Don’t take it personally. Smile at people. Even if they piss you off. Sometimes you can be an asshole, too. I can be. Laugh at it. Move on.
Don’t turn your heart away from compassion for others, even if it is excruciating at times. Apathy is the shelter of those too afraid to feel. Be brave. Let your pain make you strong and don’t be greedy. When you help other people, you put your own pain to good use. It becomes powerful. Share your strength when you can, and let others be strong for you when you need it. Own up to your power. Don’t place it in the hands of others and then blame them for not using it right. See the hurt in your enemy, and grieve it for them. See the humanity in your enemy too, and love it. Forgive them, even if in only in the privacy of your soul, and then move on from the anger.
This is your chance, right now, here in this form. Stop clinging to what should be, and open yourself up to what is. This is today; this is now, and this is your moment. I don’t care who says life sucks. Attitudes suck. Life is beautiful, even when you can’t tell for the moment. Be grateful for the ugly in life and laugh at it, because it means you are living to experience it. It’s finite and it could be gone without warning. Be brave, be love. It’s today.
I think it’s time to say goodbye to you.
Not that you will know, because I am not going to tell you, and I sincerely doubt you will notice for a while. At least, not until there is something you need from me. I hope I am strong enough to let my silence speak for me then, because you do not deserve to know what is in my heart and mind anymore.
I view relationships in an economic sense. When deciding what relationships I can take on, I look at my emotional “budget” and what I can afford to invest. While this may sound a bit cold, I think this is a smart way to operate, because our relationships truly are investments we make, and we pay in the form of time and emotional energy. Sometimes we see returns, and sometimes, we don’t, and if we are lucky, we at least break even. If we are not so lucky, we suffer a loss and are forced to absorb it. These losses often cause us to pull funding from other projects we have invested in, and can substantially impact other unrelated outcomes. Like that break-up that I struggled with last year, when it became hard for me to speak to anyone, even my close friends, for a little while.
And then, of course, there are the times when investments pay off, wildly, beautifully.
My budget for us is blown and I am pulling the plug and taking all funding away from the friendship I have spent the last few years making investments in, the one with you. Notice my wording – investments I have been making. Because, let’s face it, this has been a pretty one-sided relationship. I gave it time to see if this was truth or if it was my insecurity and neurotic personality traits coming through, because I know my limitations and realize that this happens at times. And there were times that it seemed you reciprocated. Time was needed to track patterns and to eventually use this data to forecast our possible outcome.
I knew there was an aloof coldness and emotional stinginess about you, but some could say the same about me. This alone is not an indication that a person is unable to be loved. So I decided to monitor the status of things between us for a while, invest only a small amount periodically, what I could spare if need be, and wait and see what the long-term outcome was. I saw some really wonderful things about you, the way you think, your sense of integrity, your critical thinking skills, and your sharp witted sense of humor. I still think that it was worth it to attempt to nurture things and see what the outcome was, and I wouldn’t go back and change my mind if I could. It was worth trying, I believe. Any kind of love or finance is usually a gamble.
Over the course of months, I noticed some patterns, ones that, quite frankly, didn’t bode well for the future of our project together. The frequency of your energetic investments seemed to peak during the times when there was something you needed from me, specifically. You only seemed to respond to me around the times when there was something you needed from me. My connections, my love and concern, my company; these are all resources you called upon when it suited you. Surely you had noticed that I was pretty consistent in my affection and fondness of you, and you seemed pretty comfortable with benefitting from it when it worked for you. Damn right I was consistent – I stand behind my investments with diligence. I don’t do things half-assed.
Some things in my life kind of hit the skids. I needed to draw from some of my investments in order to have resources to navigate some trying times. About 95% of my other projects had equity to fund me through this rough time, thank goodness, and I was able to manage.
Yours was not one of them. You were nowhere to be found. And now, you must go.
I admit it is with some sadness that I cut this whole thing off. It’s hard to walk away. I really liked you and wanted to have you in my life, as childishly simple a statement like that may be. It’s the truth. But the facts are there, black and white and undeniable. I have always been more invested in this than you were. It’s not equitable for me. Why should I keep pumping funds into you, a project that is happy to eat my energy and love but is unwilling to reciprocate? That’s foolish, and really, quite embarrassing.
I am sure eventually there will be another message from you, some text or something, when you want something from me. It will start off as a hello, then a “Hey, can you…” I will remind myself to hold back that good-natured part of myself, the puppy part of me who is always so glad to see a friend and jumps on them and covers them with kisses. No puppy kisses for you anymore, sorry, love. No reply for you.
When it comes to our relationship, I’m spent. Cashed out.
Good luck to you out there. Maybe someone else will see your potential the way I did, and maybe this time, you will appreciate it and recognize the value there, instead of ignoring it like you did with me, and throwing your resources into some shoddy scheme like I have watched you do many times.
Some people do not have the sense for emotional high finance.
I’m on a roll today… tired of people telling me to not research my health issues. “Quit being a Web MD doctor,” they tell me, with an amused smirk in their eyes, as my obvious ridiculousness has apparently tickled their good senses. I’m such a silly goose, I know. It’s not just that whole thing, but also the frequent vibe I get from people that whatever is going on with me, I am obviously bringing it on myself. I’m tired of much of the attitude I encounter as I work my way through my medical issues, quite frankly.
Please, enlighten me. If you have suffered pain and symptoms that have interfered terribly in your life for YEARS, and you have done lifestyle changes and seen many medical professionals and had operations and taken medications and you were still not well, what would you do? Lay there watching Netflix, figuring some doctor will eventually get it figured out? Somehow I doubt it. You will want answers and you will want hope that it may eventually end. I am not a moron. I am a good researcher. I have learned how to discern types of information into legit or not, learned to observe the when and what of my symptoms, and I have realized that I am the only person privy to my feelings and symptoms. So, yes, I am going to continue to work at it, because at the end of the day, I am the true expert on me.
Furthermore, I am so sick of all the judgement I feel coming at me. My health issues are not my fault. I don’t think I deserve them. They are not a manifestation of a mental illness. Sorry, guys. When I suffered severe PPD and had a years-long mental breakdown, I can say that I did not feel like there was an infected piercing inside my rib cage back then. I was able to eat without it causing me searing pain daily. I used to be able to laugh without having to stop because it hurt. You would think that if my pain was caused by depression, then, logically my pain would have peaked with the depression. But my issues did not come along until I was out of the woods on all that stuff.
And yeah, I do live a first-world lifestyle. I do have an office job and a daily commute. I eat packaged foods and read on my tablet a lot. I drink alcohol moderately and have again started to use fluoride in my toothpaste. I am vaccinated. My lotions have parabens in them. However, none of the people in my life who also live this life have the issues I do. I’m assuming searing abdominal pain is not part of my colleagues day-to-day like it is for me.
But what’s funny is that when this all began, I was going through my “truther” phase – eating the “cleanest” diet of my life, drinking kombucha and eating mostly raw foods, and I had reduced my use of products that were not “natural.” I was in the best shape of my life, with a level of muscle tone I may never again hope to be able to re-achieve. I was meditating and I spent the beginning of this all wondering if it was my chakras being out of balance or something. Maybe my history of sexual abuse as a kid was coming back around to re-victimize yet me another time. Son of a bitch. I meditated on forgiveness and trying to balance out my spiritual vibrations. If I forgave harder, maybe my soul would stop wanting me to hurt physically.
But, I got sicker. I guess I wanted it; I was “asking for it.”
Three summers, this will be, three summers since I was able to have one day without feeling pain in my body. Happy fucking summer solstice, guys. I can barely remember what it was like to not need to take something for pain so I could go out and dance. Middle fingers extended to all of those people who suggested I need to push through it and exercise more and that will help me. Seriously, fuck you guys. The funny part is I loved exercise, and love the high it gives me. But it’s excruciating and takes me days to bounce back from physical exertion. Excuses, excuses, right? I would like to lay a dagger into your side and see how many miles you can run. Email me and we can set up something.
I truly do appreciate all of the suggestions on supplements and THC based remedies. I do not doubt that infusing my body with THC oil would make me feel better, not a bit. But it’s economically not an option, unfortunately, as bullshit as that may be. I am not in a financial or legal position to cook up a pound of weed. We can debate how screwed up that is until we are blue in the face but it remains my position. And I am afraid to mix in more chemistry in my body, in terms of supplements, until I know what is really going on. I don’t want to confuse things more, before I find an answer. I think that makes sense.
“Victim blaming” is a buzzword phrase we hear in society all the time. Generally it relates to rapes – yes she was gang raped at a frat party, but she was drunk and wearing this little dress, so we all mouth these platitudes of how wrong rape is, but goddamn, what self-respecting girl goes and gets hammered in a mini skirt at a frat party without expecting to be raped? She brought it on herself. Not officially, maybe, but this is the truth in most people’s minds when these things are in the news and we all talk about it over coffee in the relative safety of our homes or jobs and all of our careful choices. Not often do we contemplate the how or the why or how a group of young men feel ok about taking turns penetrating an intoxicated woman’s various orfices in a team effort. The seedy underbelly of humanity that no one enjoys examining… the idea that many people will see another human vulnerable, and hurt them instead of help them. So instead it is about how she should have made a better choice, well, then, they would not have been compelled to brutalize her.
I have felt victim blamed many times in my struggle with my health. It gets worse the more fruitless my search for answers becomes. The lack of a definitive diagnosis so far seems to justify the thinking that this is on me, that, by living my life in a way that is basically the same as most other people, it is somehow irrational for me to expect to feel about as well as most others. This must be something that has sprung from my poor choices, physically, mentally, energetically, spiritually. The implication of this is the idea that, when people do not live life in the right way, they will experience pain, unhappiness, and illness. To an extent, of course, this IS true. If you live hard and rough, don’t eat right, etc., yeah, you are going to suffer consequences physically. But what about all of the people who live within reasonable bounds and still get sick?
To me, I see the mentality of victim blaming to be the result of fear and good intentions, in a way. People want to believe they are safe, and so are their loved ones. The people who are sick are sick because they made the wrong choices, they did the wrong things, and now they are paying a fair penalty for it. It’s sad but it’s fair, and makes sense.
How many of us see the morbidly obese man or woman on the scooter at Walmart and shake our heads in disgust? I think we all have. You tell yourself, “Get up and walk, for fuck’s sake. No wonder you are fat and can’t walk around. You are lazy and disgusting trash. Now get the fuck out of my way. I need to find the mayo.” None of us know this person’s story or medical history, generally, and the one we patch together in our minds is a mosaic of assumptions. This is socially acceptable victim blaming. The purpose of this is to safely place ourselves and loved ones on the other side of that dividing line – If I make better choices, I will not be the one in the scooter at Walmart. And it is largely a logical point. Take care of yourself and odds are you will be healthier. But what if it doesn’t work that way, and one day, after making what you thought were mostly the right choices, you find yourself sick and in pain? And then you are the one in the scooter, enduring the haughty glances?
Welcome to my neighborhood.
It stands to reason that we must always try our best. We should definitely use the knowledge we have acquired about the human body and health and safety to maximize our lives the in the best way we can, as much as we are able to. But we must never assume that by doing these things that we are able to effectively circumvent any negative outcomes. This is simply not true. And when we come across people who are in the midst of these personal horrors, no matter how tempted we are to blame as a means of separating ourselves from the same fate, we must stop ourselves. Being alive is being vulnerable. We all have a death sentence and we all are eventually going to face some trouble or another. I am so sorry to tell you this, but even if you eat “clean,” live “clean,” meditate, spend time in nature, pierce the veil or what-not, you can still get sick. You can still acquire health conditions and pain and maybe even die from it. Sometimes a cell just goes rogue. Sometimes a blood clot explodes your brain, out of nowhere. No matter how healthy you may live, sorry, but you are dying.
This is my battle cry. Sorry, not sorry.
All of the disapproval, David Avocado Wolfe links, and judgement in the world cannot save you from this fate. Sooner or later, you are dead meat, as am I. So, forgive me if I seem flip and dismissive sometimes. I spent a lot of time trying to lead that clean and pure life and I still got sick. And now, in between shitty days and doctors and sometimes feeling sad for all I have lost, I try to enjoy myself as much as I can. It sometimes comes in the form of fruity smelling, chemically based lotions from Bath & Body Works, or a nice gluten-filled IPA beer, or, sometimes, a Big Mac (GASP). I truly have no idea why my hair is falling out and has been for the past several months and why I feel like I have an infected wound in my torso, or why almost everything I eat makes me want to vomit. I have to summon the hope in myself that maybe this will someday improve and keep reading, keeping feeling and thinking, keep trying to get to the bottom of it.
I don’t need people talking to me like I have no health literacy, have no self-awareness, or like I have no grasp on how to live a healthy life. I don’t need medical or nutritional or spiritual advice from my friends and family, unless I ask specifically for it. Sorry but I wish you all would trust me that I am smart and open-minded and I am working on it in my way. Don’t make me explain this all to you as a means of ending a hurtful conversation. Please don’t hate me or yell at me for telling you I need this. I need love and empathy and I need understanding. Don’t blame me because you are afraid of my fate becoming yours. Blaming me will not keep you safe. Sick people seem to be a walking manifestation of the vulnerabilities that come from having a human form but it doesn’t make it right to victim blame us. Life is scary. We can do better by being empathetic and kind to one another instead of judging and preaching. Yeah, maybe it is scary and it is tempting to believe that you hold the answers to how to make it end, but odds are, you don’t. Stop bitching at me, and give me a fucking hug. We are all in this fight for our lives together, aren’t we? Bring it in, my friend.