When Steve and I were together, there was a lot of it. I was constantly afraid of what he’d do next, or of what people would think, of what people were thinking, and who would find out. Even now, a lot of fear still lingers when I see him, when someone says his name, and when I think of him.
Because the scariest thing is just how easy it would have been for me to stay with him. Just how easy it would be that I could still be there right. now. How different my life would be. How horrible my life would be. How upset I would be. Someone once asked me what my greatest fear was, and we’re not talking the dark, spiders, and being attacked my chickens. We’re talking what is your greatest fear in your life. Failure? Becoming evil? Taking on the world and losing?
No. My greatest fear is being back in that exact situation, because it was the worst to me. I lost my personality. I lost my ability to communicate. I was so caged and hurt. It was torture for me. Daily. It was a constant reminder of pain and the lack of comfort. I had no sleep, I had cut down drastically on what I ate, simply because I didn’t want to puke it back up. I was beyond in pain. Someone constantly had control over me, and I was in fear of what would happen next.
So you see, sometimes I shake thinking how different everything would be if it was still the same. If by some miracle I didn’t leave. If I didn’t move on and keep living. It’s just. Scary.
NewGuy and I have been getting pretty phsyical. I mean I’m comfortable with all of it, but it’s physical so here is where my suitcases of baggage come in. I sat on his floor with a tall glass of water trying to settle my breathing and holding his hand. “Are you okay?” He asked me. Of which I assured him I was fine. “No I mean with all of this. Are you okay?” Right then my heart melted. I’m leaving and the night before he decided to be the exact man I’ve ever wanted in my life.
I crawled behind him and whispered, “You are too good to me.” He thinks he does nothing and doesn’t understand. I get quiet and shower his back with kisses while I try to choke back tears. At least he can’t see me crying. “You make me comfortable. You care for me. You take care of me.” I started to choke a little harder on my tears. “You asked me if I was okay. You accept me.” Then he caught on that I was crying. “I’m broken NewGuy.” He reaches for my hands, “What?” I start to cry harder, “I’m broken. I’m used. I’m hurt. I’m no good.”
This was the point of which he picked me up and put me down on his chest holding me tight. You’re not broken. I cried harder at his care. Our last night together and Steve had to jump in, I cried harder that I lost a night to him. You can talk about it if you want to. “You’re so good to me.” I whisper in his neck with tears running down my neck. How does someone hurt such a beautiful person? I cried harder, and he held me until my tears slowed. He held me while I shook with everything I have. “I’m sorry.” I kept whispering in his ear while I wiped my tears and tried to forget it all. Please don’t apoligize. He said like he meant it, and I fell into his body not wanting to move.
You’re so good to me.
ME: The way your finger tips feel on my back, and how good you are.
Me: Newguy there’s been so much bad in my life, and you come and your just. Good.
Then I curled into his arm and slept like a rock feeling wanted, and comfortable.
Been a sucker for love. My parents were cottage lovers. You know the ones that meet young and only during the summer. The kind of love that fuels love stories and compete’s with the Romeos of the world. I am a sucker love because of them. They complete each other most days. It’s tit for tat, but when it comes down to it, it’s strength and inspiration that holds the two of them together. They do not go big on holidays but on everydays. Their love is seen in the care of the other when one is sick, or the constant backing of the other during fights. It’s sickening really, in the same sense it’s utterly inspiring.
So you see I’m a sucker for love. I’m in it for the story, the boy meets girl and from there it’s ever after and white horses. Then again I’m also a sucker for real love stories. Like my parents. Where it’s grit and bones, bare and stones, they fought. Like hell. To keep their love alive. Sometimes it was bad at things weren’t great but it was a constant need to keep the other happy, the family fed, and the drive my parents have that kept everything on the light side of the rock and a hard place. Its not perfect, but my parents can help anyone believe in love.
Even now after I know my mom’s story is more complicated it only gives me hope that I have a piece of her beauty, her strength, and that someone’s gonna love me just a fraction the way he loves her.
a tube top. *Insert gasps here* I bought two actually. Along with three dress shirt type thing a ma jigs. Why does this mean anything? Because it means everything. I need a nice necklace to go with them to not make me feel quite so naked, but I bought them. I’m going to wear them (and eventually I’m going to feel comfortable about it).
I went on a shopping excusion with my mom and I forced myself away from the plain T-Shirts (didn’t buy a single one!) and I bought nice shirts that accent the fact that indeed, I am a girl. Then I went dress happy. I’m not sure if I can pull off the dress with pants thing, I know not many people can, but I’m gonna go for it. It’s girly while still covering myself (small steps here) that and I think it’s the style I actually want.
Why is all of this style thing important? I was dominated by my over baggy, non-flattering, free, clothes for too long. Now I have a section in my closet (growing section) of clothes that I feel pretty in. Clothes that I look pretty in, and clothes I feel good in.
From my blog. Which is mainly because I’m feeling good. Slash I have end of the year sludge when it comes to things I have to get done, which means I run around like a chicken with my head cut off. But a whole lot more tired.
Life. is good. Really good. My ex boyfriend begged for me back while he had a girlfriend. I was hit on for three hours by an excon who was just released from jail. I have only a few more weeks left of living in my dorm, with my nagging, narrow minded roommate. I have meetings up the wazoo and projects all due in a matter of days.
Yet life. Life is good. So how does any of that make sense? Because I finally came at peace with who I am. I’m not a victim persay, I was I was badly hurt, really emotionally fucked up. That doesn’t mean who I am. Who I am is who ever the hell I want to be. I want to be a hippie I want to change the world, and I do. I voulenteer. I give back. And not in the lords name, or to raise money, or to raise awareness. Just because I like helping the people who need it. I realized I am beautiful. My face is full of unique traits that most people would die to have. My eyes are neither green, nor blue, they are hazel. My hair is neither red nor brown, or auburn. It changes with the seasons, like my eyes, they change with the whim of the sun, the flit of my heart, and it’s desires.
There’s more to come, it’s just hard to write about the good stuff you know? I feel like writing about it is, pointless. Not making any type of ground, but I am. I’m proving to myself the things I feel.