I Don’t Feel Good

I was looking at my memories today, watching Kristie and ___ and me duke it out over privacy issues that spanned from the first to the fourth amendment. My take on it that day was that you could say whatever you wanted in the privacy of your own home, and not in the public forum… but someone recording it released it to the public and therefore, violated right to privacy.

But I don’t care about that. I care about the name that goes in the space… another friend I lost on Facebok that I sit in the muck about, hoping to grow flowers in a rich, alive soil. After telling me that she was going to deactivate her Facebook account, I blocked her, because I didn’t think it mattered anyway. I was tired of getting in trouble at work for too much chatting, not enough paying attention. I wanted to fly under the radar with g-mail, but she flipped her shit. I also knew that not seeing her status updates, not seeing her name in my Facebook feed was the right thing to do, so I wouldn’t be tempted to comment on damn near everything. Being tracked on social media by your job is not my idea of a good time.

This was years ago, and so I’d gotten over it by now, but seeing her name in the comments was a way to rip off the band-aid and scratch off the scar. It’s only a flesh wound.

But starting shit over something that benign was unnecessary and petty. If you tell me you’re going to deactivate your account, what does it fucking matter? It was benign on my end, but not so much on hers… and it wasn’t like we ceased communication after that, anyway. We just switched platforms, for what I ws grateful. All I really wanted to do was block her from chat, but I couldn’t figure out how to do that without blocking her from my friends list. I probably should have looked into that a little more.

But I can’t stress enough how much it hurt that she thought I was doing something to hurt her.

So be careful with that social media crap. As I have learned, people tend to think what you’re saying is all about them, when in reality, it’s all about you and what you need to convey. But perception is reality, and I don’t pay much attention to that rule, because I know myself. I know that I am a lot clearer in writing than I am when I am speaking, because I’m not on the spot.

Writing: You are such a beautiful soul that I can’t imagine life without you.

Speaking: Ummmm, ahh… stammer stammer “you want some chili fries? I have a coupon.”

Grow the Muck Up

Chronic remorse, as all the moralists are agreed, is a most undesirable sentiment. If you have behaved badly, repent, make what amends you can and address yourself to the task of behaving better next time. On no account brood over your wrong-doing. Rolling in the muck is not the best way of getting clean.

This was originally a Facebook picture sent to me by Bryn, saying that it would make a good writing prompt. I agreed with her, and told her I’d give her my take on it.

I disagree with this statement wholeheartedly, because sometimes the bad behavior is not resolved without sitting in it. Knowing it. Seeing all sides to all stories. Ruminating on everything that’s gone wrong and what you could have done to make it go right. I think that you cannot move forward without exorcising your past, and to box up those feelings of remorse is to repeat them regardless of your good intentions.

Those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it. Cliche and true…. as in, there’s a reason it’s a cliche.

I agree with the self-improvement part, that you should work toward wholeness, but it doesn’t come without a period of mourning, because most of the time, when you behave badly, it strains or ends a relationship altogether. Because where would the conflict be if you were only hurting yourself? Most people aren’t even aware of self-sabotage, but they for damn sure recognize when they’ve hurt others, because the reaction is not limited to internal turmoil.

I also think that in the present society, people package emotions the same way they clean up when guests are arriving in five minutes and they haven’t had time to clean all week… just stuffing everything into cabinets and closets and forgetting the mess is even there. And then, two years later, another guest needs to use the linen closet and opens it, unaware of the bale of hay that’s going to be dumped on them when the door arcs backward.

Diving into the wreck is the same idea as Marie Kondo’s The Magic of Tidying Up. When you clean up your house, it should be all in one go because there has to be a dramatic change in your attitude- that if it is nice, you’ll want to keep it that way… and that only cleaning small messes at a time will keep you from relapsing, because you’ll never want to go back to the way you’ve lived before.

Does that play to your emotions at all?

Not everything you do is going to need that amount of cleanup, because once you’ve excavated your inner demons, you won’t want to go back to living the way you did, which I’m sure is this person’s point of view. But you cannot acknowledge your own inner angel if you do not acknowledge your own inner asshole.

Some people do relapse, because we are all human and fallible and messy and divine at the same time. Our range of emotions is not small, and very few people are willing to spend time with it. How you feel on the inside radiates to your circle of influence, and if you treat yourself like crap, you’ll treat others that way, too… another selling point in not berating yourself, but at the same time, how do you get out of the muck if you’re not willing to tell yourself the truth? How do you even know what to repent for? How do you know what amends you need to make? How do you deal with the sometimes inevitable truth that amends don’t mean shit? I mean, you’ll feel better, but they might not.

Sometimes the deep, dark recesses of our minds need to be explored. You can’t grow flowers without tending the muck to begin with.

To me, the quote above makes everything too simple, because it doesn’t address how you’re supposed to address the task of behaving better next time… the process and hard work it takes to break a cycle that may have lasted for years. Promise does not come without pain.

In the bulb, there is a flower.
In the seed, an apple tree.
Unrevealed, a hidden promise
butterflies will soon be free.
In the cold and snow of winter
there’s a spring that waits to be.
Unrevealed, until its season
Something God alone can see.

Natalie Sleeth

Running Late

One year ago today, I was running late.

I know this because today in the “memories” section of Facebook, I was behind in getting to the Supreme Court to be with the people on both sides of the opinion in Obergefell v. Hodges as arguments took place, the case which would establish marriage equality. It was an interesting day, because an antigay protester got under my skin and told me he’d beat the gay out of any of his children. Having been bashed myself, I can tell you that physical violence has not once caused me to stop loving women. When I realized that I needed to fold and walk away because nothing was going to be accomplished, he told me it was just like an angry dyke to run. In actuality, I was running because I wasn’t as big as he was and I wanted to punch him in the face, and physical violence wouldn’t have changed his mind, either. However, there would have been many years’ worth of anger behind that punch. If Jesus really did die for all our sins, I would like to believe his was one of them and that Jesus would have chosen to eat with me, just like he ate with lepers and prostitutes and all of the other margins of society. I don’t remember the part in the Bible where he got together with the Pharisees and Sadduccees just for drinks.

I was also really interested in keeping me from being the story, or getting arrested at what seemed like a party just for me on the other side of the equation.

And no one likes a party more than me… when I’m in the mood for it, anyway, and the marriage equality side was full of rainbow banners and overflowing love. I needed that overflowing love, having shown up to a marriage equality party and going through a divorce. It was a moment where I wanted/needed Dana in the worst way, because it was a party I wanted to share with her. Going without her seemed like showing up with a missing limb. Reality hit me like a car accident that day.

I am still waiting for the day when the dissolution of our domestic partnership arrives, and I hope the Nassers are home when it does. I dream that Dana is procrastinating (she wanted to handle it) because she doesn’t want to get divorced, and that is not reality, just a dream, but it’s comforting nonetheless.

I am still lost, hurt, and somewhat angry that this happened, and I am not putting any of it on her. I choose to believe that my own actions are mostly responsible, and I carry that weight. It was her choice to make it a physical fight, but at the same time, our divorce wasn’t really contingent on it. She made the choice to betray me, but even that is small in the light of what happened over the next two years. I choose to believe that after that fight, I saw her differently and took my own actions to grieve and move away emotionally so that eventually I’d have enough strength to really leave and not look back. Of course, that is over many months of reflection, and not what it felt like in the moment.

It took two years for our relationship to really dissolve, even though in the fight where she betrayed me, I told her she had enough money to do what she wanted. To go back to Virginia or whatever it was she wanted to do. Instead, we resolved that issue, or I thought we did, but in retrospect it just allowed me to wander further and further away from her, because if I didn’t trust her ability to hold a secret before, I really didn’t then. And I wasn’t even that angry that she blabbed it, just that she went back on our agreement while I wasn’t there to see it happen, or to change our agreement beforehand.

Falling in love with the idea of Argo was just a shitty catalyst for comfort as I moved into the world not knowing what to do. I was reading my old entries and realized all over again the truth of the matter… that Argo the character was way different than the real person and that in some sense, I’d fallen in love with my words about her rather than the person she actually was to me.

Because I really do love her, but not like that… because once I’d had that epiphany, I couldn’t go back. I did in words to get her to retreat, but my shitty commentary was as much real as Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny all rolled into one.

I also learned the difference between really forgiving someone and not letting it go on both sides of the equation, and why I believe that this parting of the ways will stick with both Dana and Argo because I forgive what happened now, but I won’t forget it. Argo didn’t deserve what she was handed to by me, and I don’t think I deserved what she handed to me, either. We were both lost and afraid for very different reasons, because the way our relationship started was not the way it ended and oh God. What have I done?

A few days ago, I went to the beginning of our conversations with each other. Just re-felt everything and bathed myself in the light of it so that I could forgive both of us, for real instead of holding on to everything that’s been done… because I truly don’t believe that we left anything undone. I feel that we each did the very best we could to hurt each other so that neither one of us can say that further interaction is necessary.

I am still somewhat paranoid that we will accidentally run into each other, but that is fairly impossible as I don’t even cross the Potomac anymore. Everything I needed to see or do is done, with the exception of picking up and dropping off my parents at the airport and taking my mom to Mt. Vernon. I am comforted by the fact that I might not even recognize her, anyway, but her face is burned into my brain and I talk to her in my head all the time because I am determined not to talk to her in any other way.

But it’s not because I don’t love her. I just love me more, and I want to stop my own heart from bleeding out in pain. I had a lot of dreams that died when we hurt each other, and I doubt I’ll ever forgive myself for it. I can forgive her, but forgiving myself will take a lifetime.

Words Bite

The line I wrote yesterday about how “if the bark is big enough, I never have to use the bite” and “words bite” have stayed with me and run like a freight train all night long. It has started the tape rolling of my entire life, my relationships with everyone, and just how deep the rabbit hole goes in terms of the times I haven’t been able to walk away from a fight because I’d get so angry I couldn’t exhale. Years ago, I was filling out one of those ridiculous blog memes that are all the rage, and one of the questions was “how do you release anger?” Tongue in cheek, I answered, “you’re supposed to release it?” Now I’m not sure that was very funny.

I am one of those people that when I’m angry, you really don’t want to fight with me, but at the same time, I believe I also have the world’s longest fuse… apparently the exception to that being when I’m typing. I am much harder to rattle in person, using humor as a reflex because I don’t like confrontation and I’d rather joke my way out of it than just have a fight. I thought the way I popped off at Dana’s parents was in the moment, and last night realized that fight had been building for over a decade. It took me ten years to finally tell Dana’s parents what I thought of their treatment of her, and how that affected me as the best friend/daughter-in-law that they wouldn’t recognize as such. White-hot anger that had built from a single match overflowed, and I would have been dead before I let them “win.” However, I didn’t win a thing. Just cemented in my wife and her parents that my anger was dangerous in their world of using the buttons on their clothes to hold in their feelings.

In a way, though, I’m really glad it happened, because sometimes anger is exactly what needs to happen to get bullies to back down. They may never want to speak to me again, but they for damn sure started treating Dana better, and since that was the whole point of my anger, anyway, I suppose its purpose was served even as I was pushed out of family pictures. What it doesn’t serve is being able to reconcile, because I doubt that I would ever truly be accepted again by any of them. I spent our entire relationship worried (not without cause) that they thought I was a deadbeat, that I’d never make anything of myself, and when Dana said that, too, I didn’t know if that was her reality or theirs that she was parroting and I didn’t want to stay around to find out.

Dana minimized my writing, and if getting retweeted by Margaret Cho wasn’t impressive enough, I don’t know what would have been… I guess I need to start working on a novel that will win the Pullitzer Prize or something. But I hate writing fiction. I will get out a first chapter and realize there are plot holes all over and give up, because I’m not sure I’m wired for it. Lindsay is begging to know what will happen to Sarah Silverman, and honestly, I was thinking about her in the car yesterday, wondering what she was up to and if there was a storyline waiting to emerge. The only thing I know for sure is that Sarah is straight, because I don’t want her story to be about coming out, a reflection of me at that age. I want Sarah to be her own girl.

I love young adult fiction, and have never stopped reading it. For instance, I think I’ve read Gary Paulsen’s Hatchet at least 25 times, and that is not an exaggeration. I also read The Giver and Number the Stars by Lois Lowry frequently. Perhaps I don’t need to work on a Pullitzer, but a Caldecott or Newberry. I’ve never been unimpressed by reading a novel with that stamp.

But the entire point of this entry is that words bite, and the ones that say I’ll never amount to anything took a chunk out of my soul, and I am doing everything I can to refute that statement. Getting away from Dana & her parents’ shitty observations were the first step. The second is trying to meet people who’ve already accomplished great things as inspiration to keep going. The third is finding people who are interested in what I’m doing and who I am… relationships that aren’t tinted by the “you’ll never amount to anything” lens.

I would like to thank my glasses for that, because once I started to see differently, I began to see differently. I remember Dana saying that they made me look so hot that I was going to leave her, and that was the least of my worries… although now that I am beginning to start thinking about dating someone else in a dreamy, faraway sort of sense, it doesn’t hurt.

I am more than the sum of my parts, and am unwilling to let those words bite anymore. Those words that reinforced my belief that I was worthless, or at least, unworthwhile. I move into the future knowing that at heart, I am a good person with lots of potential, and the things done to me in the past to make me capable of such fight will melt over the years as I get further from the enormity of realizing that I was emotionally abused and now I’m an adult that needs to grow the fuck up and stop acting like an arrested teenager in an adult’s body. It was the key that unlocked every door to me, because I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I knew something was, but I couldn’t put my finger on it, and when I did, the dam broke. Anger spilled forth at people who never deserved it, or at least, even if the words were true didn’t need to come out that way.

Because my words bite just as much as everyone else’s.

 

 

Stayed

Woke up this mornin’ with my mind stayed on what it means to move into the future. Eighty times a day, I find things that I want to tell Argo and Dana. And all of those eighty times, I have to remind myself not to do it. I could, but it wouldn’t hurt anyone but me. Sending a letter into the ether with no chance of reply is something I just don’t want anymore, especially when I might get a reply that is just damaging and not fruitful. I am all about the fruitful these days. I would rather focus on the friends that will reply, that will give feedback, that will love me despite all my enormous flaws and failures… thinking that I am smart, kind, funny, etc. All of the things that I am that don’t send me to a negative place. I have to watch how I feel about myself, because most of the time it renders me incapable of seeing myself for who I really am, and when that happens, I don’t even want to get out of bed. I don’t want to let how others see me become the way I see myself. It hurts to contemplate, and I don’t want to do it anymore.

When I do, I fail to see how successful I am, how this move was great for me (or at least, it is *now*), and the fact that I am truly dedicated to self-improvement one day at a time… mostly by putting my feelings here so I don’t have to carry them around with me all day long. It’s like, “I’ve thought about that already. I don’t need to think about it again.” There are some mind worms that won’t go away, but they will as I get further and further away from them.

I am only a year and change out in terms of an enormously damaging divorce and a friend who made this move all about her, even though it was completely unnecessary and caused me to believe I was this horrible person for coming here, when in reality, all I wanted to do was change my life. It was my dad who said, “do you really want to remain in Houston?” And no, I sure the hell didn’t. I couldn’t create an emotional boundary with Dana to save my life, so I wanted a physical one until I could cope with the enormity of loss. She was my world, in the very best sense of the word… and it is only now that I can picture a future without her.

A lot of puzzle pieces had to come together for the move back to DC, and I am grateful for them. It was my idea to move to DC in the first place, and I never should have left. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking except that I wanted to get away from Kathleen, not the city itself. And, in truth, September 11th scared the everliving hell out of me, and that went into leaving as well. I remember the pictures rattling on my wall just as clearly as I can see the coffee cup in front of me right now. I remember ExxonMobil getting a bomb threat a few days later, wondering if Kathleen was ever going to come home again.

It was out of fear that I left. Fear of Kathleen, fear of terrorists, fear that I really didn’t have many friends outside of Kat and therefore, a very poor support system. I wonder all the time if terrorists are going to hit DC again, but at the same time, I’ve lived enough not to be scared of it. I have to trust that intelligence and the military are doing their jobs, and just like then, they”ll start the fighter jets flying over my house every ten minutes should something actually happen. Better to be in the place with the fighter jets than no fighter jets at all.

And as I have said before, I wanted to go back to a setting I knew. I wasn’t just going to take off for Minneapolis and hope for the best… the exception to that being that there’s a great seminary there and I would have found a way to be happy in the way that I always do… by being malleable enough to accept the circumstances around me and just go with the flow. I would not have been unhappy moving to a place I didn’t know, but I did want to feel secure in a setting where I felt comfortable.

When Argo absolutely flipped her shit, it was when I was just looking for a job here, and I told her that wherever I got a job was wherever I was going to move and WHAT IS YOUR DEAL? The city was big enough for both of us to move in the world without crossing paths, and because I’ve never seen her in real life, I doubt I’d recognize her, anyway. I internalized her flip out and I felt about thisbig, even though nothing that she said was reality. So I ended up coming to DC just about as broken as a person can be, and it was through the grace of God that I ended up at the Nasser’s, who loved me until I could stand on my own.

My family has visited me since I’ve been here, and that’s really helped. My cousin Nathan lives here as well, and that was another factor in deciding to move here as opposed to anyone else. He’s a psychiatrist, so I figured he could help me get set up with services in Virginia, but as it turns out, Maryland was the much better choice, although I didn’t know that until I got here. Nathan and I talked about Montgomery County services, and I realized I had hit the jackpot.

I only wanted as much contact with Argo as she wanted with me, which at that point was none and I was okay with that… which should have said “calm the fuck down.” But it didn’t, because the way I’d pushed her away in the past said to her that I was dangerous… when anyone who really knows me knows that I am way too meek and mild to want to cause anyone fear… plus, I’m little. She could take me. 😛 However, how she feels is how she feels. Period. She can believe whatever she wants, but it doesn’t mean that I have to participate…. anymore.

The point is that I was going to move here with or without her support, but what she thought of me resonated hardcore… and now I’m really quite tired. I said some things that were absolutely beyond the pale, and I greatly underestimated how much words could hurt… on my end, as well. For every crappy e-mail I sent, I got one in reply. Why I kept reaching out is beyond me… probably because I didn’t want to end in enmity and anger, and wanted to keep making it right. But then another fight would start, and I’d start apologizing all over again. We’d just gutter snipe each other into the ground, and I can’t believe I was willing to do that to myself for this long. I feel like I should have known there was nothing I could do and to leave well enough alone. In a lot of ways, I feel so stupid. Not for moving, though. For not being able to just walk away. We can play each other like violins by now, knowing just what button to push to get the desired reaction… mostly on my end, because I have trouble walking away from a fight. There have been a lot of times that a fight has started over one line in a page of words. I’d write a page intending to be thoughtful and truthful, but if one line came across as negative, it would escalate. My fight-or-flight reflex is so entrenched that I’d just lose it and pop off, because I haven’t really gotten the “flight” part through my head.

It’s trauma and self-preservation all rolled into one… stuff I haven’t dealt with that needs to go away but I’m just not there yet. I learned that in this last go-round, because every single time Argo starts in with her stalker shit I get so angry that I can’t even breathe, because if there’s anything I hate, it’s injustice. I might be a judgmental dickhead, but that’s about it. I have a huge bark and no bite… because if the bark is loud enough, you never have to use the bite… or so I thought.

Because words bite. I should know that by now, and I do know it logically. In the moment, though, it’s quite different. Cortisol and sin race through my body in trying to survive… because that’s how deep I feel threat… not by Argo. By anyone. Anywhere.

Words bite.

Venti Royal English Breakfast

Yesterday Scales and I met at Starbucks after I got out of church, and then went to breakfast at a little pub in Dupont Circle, where we were planning our “tourist day.” I said in an earlier e-mail that I’d like to go anywhere, as long as we were incredibly naive about it. We were going to go to the Newseum, but we didn’t have quite enough time, so we went to see the actual Star Spangled Banner and the first lady gowns before we went back to Starbucks. I don’t normally have a two tea a day habit, but the Royal English Breakfast is everything. Everything.

We are both going through situations that are still “extremely loud and incredibly close,” and it was nice to have some pal-ing around time. I was telling her that I was caught between someday wanting to date, and my standards being so incredibly high that I thought I’d never meet anyone… I mean, why does she think I picked her, even as a friend? She’s passed five bars. FIVE. With a 170 on her LSAT, and you only need 163 to get into Mensa. I couldn’t do that at gunpoint. Thus, my belief in “kick my ass” smart is intact. Plus, she used to work in medicine/insurance, which gives us a lot to talk about as well.

I kidded her that I was just glad a blonde got through law school… and was there a lot of Wite-Out on her screen?

God, we have so much fun, because even the moments where we’re broken, at least we’re broken together. It’s great to have *that* friend. I am hoping that we are each encouraging the other to be better people, because that’s the best you can hope for in a friendship.

I certainly feel better, especially about myself now that it’s not being drilled into my head that I’m not some creepy stalker. The truth is that the things I did were to get Argo to go away, not any closer. I couldn’t bring myself to break her third grade BFF heart again, or mine, so I just acted like a jackass, taking the shortest path I knew to her thinking I wasn’t worth her time. It was my passive-aggressive way of not wanting time with her anymore, because I misguidedly thought that if I pushed her away, I could come back to Dana a few months later, Argo free and healed from the wounds I’d left. That wasn’t reality, either, because every time I had good news, she was the one I wanted to tell. Every time I had bad news, she was the one I wanted to tell. Even with a virtual friendship, every minute that we were fighting and away from each other was pure torture, mostly because I know I was the aggressor, the one that deserved punishment.

I just beat myself into a bloody pulp. When I first got here, I barely left the house, as if she would somehow know if I did. I hid from the world because that’s what I thought I deserved, self-inflicted house arrest. I went overboard, and I know it, because the more I sat there, the more I had time to ruminate and get even more situationally depressed about the situation rather than making room for other good things to enter my life. It is only now that I allow myself happiness, however fleeting, because sometimes there are days when I just cannot even… leaving Dana out of this because even though I am situationally depressed about that, too, I am more at peace with Dana than I am with Argo. Why? Because I wanted out of that relationship, and I didn’t want out of this one. As much as I may say that I don’t want her in my life, know that I am lying through my teeth and hoping one day I’ll believe it.

Because at this point, I don’t have a choice. I want to stop the fights, the tears, the dysfunctional relationship that didn’t start out that way, but devolved into it over time. She waffles between “say what you want” and “shut it down.” I am taking the “say what you want” side of her face, because without saying what I want, I don’t release the thunderstorm that leaves me walking through life wet and cold without allowing myself to change into dry clothes.

I need space to figure this shit out. What I want out of life and what I don’t. What I believe I deserve and what is reality and what’s not… when I’ve punished myself enough and it’s just time to get on with it.

It’s amazing how much of each other’s souls we saw, considering that there was never a third dimension of our relationship. I cannot speculate on what would have happened had there been, but what I do know is that there have been days where I wanted it and days where I didn’t… scared to branch out on my own regardless of what she thought about the matter. If we’d made plans to get together, it would have been a combination of OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU EVEN MORE IN PERSON and I THINK I’M GOING TO THROW UP… nervous to the point of exhaustion.

But what I do know is that there are days in which I wonder what it would have been like to be able to give her a hug, because what I do know from pictures is that her body seems warm, and her hugs would be memorable… if only for the chance to say thank you. I am grateful for this life experience, no matter how it ended. The roller coaster has come into the station, and it’s time to leave the park.

And on that note, I’m off.

I Just Need More Time

I thought that it would be easy just to come home and write about the game, but it’s not. There are so many things I need to process. The short of it is that we shut them out 3-0, but there’s more to it than that. So many shots on goal, so many moments where the crowd was to their feet. The game was disappointing in some ways, great in others. I’ll write more about it later, but it seemed like they were playing very lazily until we hit minute 81. I want a game where it is wrestling it out for all 90 minutes, every player giving 110 percent. I also like it when the entire game is 0-0 because both teams just Will. Not. Give. and it comes down to penalty kicks. I said that to the kid behind me, and he said, “nuh unh. It’s overtime and THEN penalty kicks.” I laughed and said, “you’re RIGHT.”

There’s more little anecdotes like that, but I’ll save them until I’ve had some time to think about what I want to say in depth, especially since this could be for DC United’s blog as well. I asked the new member team how people get press passes, and they said they didn’t know, but they’d find out. I don’t know if bloggers are allowed, but they are in some markets, and it doesn’t hurt to ask.

It’s also hard to believe that I’ve gone this long without contacting Argo, because like I’ve said before, usually what happens is that within a few days of each fight, we’re back in contact making up. But I realized that this time, the “make up text” must come from her, because I’ve had enough of feeling like I’m imposing on her life. You talk to the people you want to talk to, you make time for the people you need as much as they need you. I am walking away not because I don’t want her in my life, it’s that the relationship has lost its equilibrium and I’m not going to beg…. again. 😛

It’s hard to care and not care all at the same time. I am not waiting for anything, just trying to process the past as I know it, which is enormous unto itself without further need of contact. That’s the part I really care about- comforting myself, self-soothing until this feels like a part of my life that has passed, but not for the worst.