Knowing when to quit may be my greatest victory.
WHAT IT WAS:
A gentleman I thought had left the scene called this evening to ask me about my day.
(AND whatta a day it’s been.) Since I require immediate medical attention tomorrow morning, he told me he would pick me up, stay with me through aforementioned medical intervention, transport me to his house and provide a soft place for me to fall and recover for 24 hours per doctor’s orders.
WHAT IT FELT LIKE:
Lyrics on my heart today: “Don’t mind if I fall apart; there’s more room in a broken heart.” Carly Simon, Coming Around Again
I have a wild heart. It loves fiercely. My heart is always in search for the wounded. I don’t come to prey upon them. I understand their pain. I take the wounded in and give them safe space. When the wounded are met where they are and loved unconditionally exactly as they are, they become more resilient and the truest version of themselves.
For reasons that have eluded me until today, they don’t stay. Once my wounded are bound, they gain confidence and before I know it, they’re on their way. That’s the double-edged sword for people who love unconditionally. Unconditional lovers feel great contentment when someone they were able to guide, or restore in some way, contributes to humanity. After all, what greater cause is there? We stay rooting on the sidelines and also; we often go home alone, never having had an expectation of anything resembling appreciation. There is no debt for services rendered. Then, without further obligation the transaction is closed.
Today it occurred to me that not everyone appreciates the power of love. I want to believe the misunderstanding and fear has to do with their past alleged experiences with “love” and not some deeply imbedded fuckedupedness on my part. I think back on my own experiences and understand, but I will not digress. I will not hide. I will not refuse to love when someone loves me because someone else did it different, or not at all, in the past. I will not cease to plan and do, because of prior trials erred. I won’t cower. I won’t run when it looks like love. I won’t bow. I’ll be here in the arena with my hands in the air ready to fight for love. I’d like a partner in love and life, fighting in the name of love WITH ME, but I don’t need anyone to fight battles FOR ME. If a faithful warrior does not manifest, I know I’m scrappy enough to stand on my own.
Still, just once, I’d like to see it. I’d like to see a wounded warrior rise up and take my side.
I’d like to have an endless supply of unconditional love to spread healing to as many wounded as humanly possibly. Everybody hurts, however, suffering is a choice. There is no need for humanity to suffer in dire straits for love. There is enough to go around. I have to believe that.
*stream of consciousness*
another potential suitor bites the dust. *raises glass*
fuck, i don’t know what it was. as you like to say, “it was something.” i doubt you will ever give it more credit than that. what was it? what were you to me? what was I to you?
I was your greatest ally during a time of great trepidation in your life. or I tried to be. you couldn’t even ask me about my fucking day. I have no desire to hold together the shards of your confidence; and also I could have. you know you are better than this. I’m not entirely sure which you fear more.
Please? understand this. I can’t martyr myself to the potential disease ever again.
Remember I said this.
Sometimes, maybe destiny just slaps you right in the face.
I’ve been up all night with painsomnia and stomach junk. I was feeling depleted enough at sunrise to doze off. Then my alarm woke me up (1hr and 23mins of sleep according to my FitBit. This little electronic, sin against fashion that I wear in a rose gold color upon my wrist.) I awake to not being able to see out of my right eye. This is a fun, new-ish symptom from pseudo tumor cerebri. That’s right, folks. It is literally, all in my head. My body and brain believe that there is a tumor in my body (my cerebral area; see also spinal cord) that isn’t there. This means that I have all the symptoms of a brain or spinal cord tumor however, I do not. It is as much fun as it sounds to be. To be clear that would be none for anyone who might have missed it. And also; excruciating abdominal pain that left me in the fetal position. Clearly, an awesome way to start the day.
Luckily, my trusty productively distracting iPhone was within reach and I was able to silence the alarm and also message Ms. Teenager Diva to get up for school to no avail. I call out for Tessa to go audibly, or physically, wake her up. I text my Momma and ask if she can transport today. Normally, Tessa would be the one I would ask for this, but yesterday her truck broke down in process and it was a WHOLE thing. Momma stepped in this morning.
Continuing the juggle flow I have going, I dial my psychiatrist, Dr. Loris, to painstakingly explain the current predicament which will require me to cancel, last minute, an appointment I requested ASAP less than a week ago. Frankly everything I just said is self-explanatory. There are way too many things being juggled and I cannot keep up. If my medical history has taught me anything it is: the one thing I can consistently expect is that my physical body will break down under tremendous mental stress. I obviously am a glutton for punishment because I decided to soothe my soul by self-talking shit to myself.
Loser. Burden. Shameful. Worthless.
Again, the smartphone saves me. I open the Instagram application to access a folder of saved affirmations. Before I can even get to it, one of my favorite authors has sent this brief message out to our souls:
There it was again. Another tickle in my brain making my hair stand on end. It rings the bell of one of my first and purest passions: writing. The signs point and illuminate this path again; and I cannot resist the luster.
I shall start with editing current website content. After that I will finish the drafts I have. There may be an influx of notifications, all apologies; and also it is time.