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May 10, 2016

men

Apparently You can Handle the Truth…who knew?

May 10, 2016

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At no point was I lying. I was fucking trying, even when it started to slide I tried to not end up in the ditch. Last time I tried that we ended up upside down in a swamp, this is not a metaphor, this happened. I hit the gas instead of the brake when I shouldn’t have hit either and just coasted. But I barely knew how to drive back then.

What happened is this. The one I wanted beyond measure and reason told me in no uncertain terms that he didn’t want me. I saved the texts. Listened to a lot of Fleetwood Mac, believed him and set about healing and filling the space he left.

I was without heavy equipment, holding one of those kiddie beach shovels and staring into this massive abyss. Every now and again believing I caught a glimpse of the monster, but I wasn’t sure. Jason showed up with a backhoe.

He showed me off and celebrated me. I did the same. We both knew what it was like to be kept a secret and to be kept guessing.

He was safe, sane and my kinda weird.

Listened to everything I had to say without prejudice.

Starting writing things about me and actually posting them. I did the same, I wanted to, he was worth it, he deserved it and it was fucking fun. This freefall into softness.

I thought if I stopped hurting I would run out of words. I didn’t, I found new ones.

Everything was on display for the world to see, like Christmas window dressing, elaborate and shiny and making everyone smile.

We went mildly viral.

We went to bed in Toledo Friday night and he looked at me and said, “Thousands of people know we just had sex.”

To be clear, he is my kind of weird. This was not.

I freaked out a bit.

I liken myself to lots of things. Commonly a pendulum/wrecking ball and damn did we swing far and wide from what I was used to. But I wanted to see, so did he, the edge is where the best view is.

And then I ran.

I spent today/yesterday and most of last night trying to figure out what the fuck went wrong, why did I run?

I think I know. Jason really knows. He saw the whole thing coming and decided to try anyways, says I am worth it. He is an amazing man, truly.

He has forgiven me my trespasses and we are back where we started, friends. Amen.

He took a day and night, got drunk and posted many a thing. Nothing to sharp, I didn’t feel persecuted, like at all…

I wasn’t getting the shunning I felt I deserved. So I whipped myself…

It wasn’t necessary. Everyone saw what happened, plain as fucking day. Everyone but me…

Jason said I had to forgive myself first, but his forgiveness and these words from a stranger made that a lot easier. Maybe in the time called now, taking the hard road can be a lot easier if you don’t circle the same 7 miles out of sheer stubbornness. I got myself so close on memory and wits alone. Now it’s time for a little faith.

This showed up in my page inbox and I wept tears of relief.

Okay so I’ve never done this however watching it all unfold for days now and reading all the comments, blogs, and memes I feel inclined to write this…there is a community of writers and page owners and I found these two there…Sarah and Jason…they chose to share a portion of their journey with their public, (on Our Lady of Lust and Grace as well as her blog and personal fb/ Jason King the writers page) not for drama or attention but for decided choice reasons and as a statement within their relationship…now to a degree we feel invested and of course that we have a right to weigh in, even me because. ..Well…here I am. The thing is…it’s not a choose sides, judging, or pissing contest…this is two people navigating a part of their journey…and sometimes that gets ugly…sometimes toes are stepped on…and sometimes it hurts…however all that being said it is still wrapped in beauty and worth the dance. I think Jason knew who Sarah was and where she was at in her life but made the choice to move forward…because he needed too…and I think Sarah essentially did the same…for different reasons but ending in the same place…both were well intentioned, breathing in hope but living in truth…and ultimately as much as the journey was about ‘them’ it seems it was really about themselves on their way to self-discovery and evolution. They played their roles and are fulfilling their purpose. He knew as much as she knew. She is no worse or responsible then he is. They both knew…and pushed forward anyway on a wing and a prayer…isn’t that the point?…isn’t that what we all do?…you can’t fault people for being who they are and living the best they can and are able…we journey where we need to grow and it is my opinion and hope that Sarah learns how to become her own poet, yes that has double meaning, and truly love and honor herself and that Jason learns to break patterns and find healing so he can embrace love and stop having to fight or self-sabotage in the name of it…however that looks and whoever they end up with…much universal love and respect to them both.

From the page runner at https://www.facebook.com/FirefliesMoonlight-406903469415962/

Go show her some love like she just showed us.

All I know is this. My old wounds have not closed and I am the only one who can tend to them.
The hole has reopened and I am walking around it trying to figure out what to do.

That was the only lie I have told, I know exactly what to do. Write my own damned story

My heart is in the abyss and I’m going in after it.

 

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men

Spoiled, Broken and/or Delusional

May 10, 2016

 

I am having a slight twinge of jealousy right now and it’s so far out of my wheelhouse.
I am uneasy being green.

My girl came home and just vomited up all these damp, dark secrets up into the light. The relief that flickered across her face and lit her up from the inside, as a table full of us played priest-in-a-box, triggered my envy. We just said ‘hallelujah’ and celebrated her decisions and becoming. Testify.

I can’t have that, but I want it.

I don’t get a welcome back party.

I don’t get absolved.

I can’t even get words out right now, save these. I am struggling to write around self-imposed gag orders. Some of these are not my stories to tell, some wounds are still bleeding.

And honestly? I am afraid of what I might say.

I am currently unable to even.
Fuck this, fuck that, fuck everything.
Throwing on my yoga pants, grabbing a venti/iced/soy/latte (ew, I am totally not doing that) and going full white girl. I need brunch and mimosas STAT, with a mani-pedi on top.

Aaaaand I am grossing myself out right now.

I need, I need, I want, I want…
I deserve nothing.
Not the kindness and understanding pouring into my inbox, no sympathy and definitely no more bandages.

I promised everyone a fairy-tale.
As it turns out I am not the damsel that needs saving. I am the dragon that burns down the world when I sneeze and all I am left with is ashes. It ended, unhappily.

I strive to be the shield and not the sword and yet, there is a blood trail leading straight to me. It’s not my blood. It’s my fault.

I should be shunned by my tribe right now. I should be yelled at, punished.
No one’s stepping up to do it for me so I will go ahead and do it my damned self.
I’m putting Baby in the fucking corner.

My behavior was predicted and predictable, but I still don’t know exactly why.

I was navigating uncharted waters on a ship called Hope. Then…

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That bit of awful and a few other choice phrases running loops in my head right now. Like those spherical cages with multiple motorcycles in them at circuses. Just waiting for the crash and burn.

That is what my head is, that and a roundabout with hidden exits. A weigh station where everything is weighed and measured and takes the long way to get where it’s going or ends up in Timbuctoo. A switch-yard where the trains never seem to be on time and the signals go awry and shit blows up.

A line from Return to Oz where Jack the pumpkin headed scarecrow fucks something up and errrbody is about to die and Dorothy Gale just says “it’s alright Jack, it can’t be helped.” Really just the second half of that sentence.

I just hurt someone exactly the way I have been hurt, recently and often and I feel sick about it.

“I hurt him and now I hurt for him” I told her, “It’s my way. “
All of this is my way, sadly. Thought I could break it, break through something. And I broke him.
He didn’t deserve it.

He saw it coming, had essays and memes ready to go.

I didn’t.

I don’t even know what happened exactly. I am trying to figure it out as I write this.

I am bearing witness to the fallout. Everybody is watching it happen and I am sitting here unable to speak. Beyond “Can’t help it, the girl can’t help it. Oh no…” Little Richard

I hate doing what’s been done to me. Doesn’t excuse me. I did the fucking thing.

I am not sure if I am spoiled, broken or delusional. Probably a little from each column with my own magical fucked up psychic self that can see the What but not the Why.

I rarely think I am right, even when fate is screaming in my ear as I struggle to drive and argue at the same time. Pulling over when I couldn’t take the fighting in my head. Then just submitting to it, trying to get enough quiet to figure out what the fuck was happening.

But he wrote rebuttals before I said the words.

It’s possible he saw it coming, I spoke openly of others in front of him, warned him I wasn’t coming in clean. I didn’t realize how dirty I am. I should have known, I think I just got used to my own filth, seemed normal, until it wasn’t. Now my soul feels filthy and blood stained, again, it’s not my blood.

This is so surreal.

Maybe I just walked from the best thing that ever happened to me. Time will tell. Everything will become clear, and maybe I will come clean again or find someone whose filth and fury matches my own.

What I cannot deny that voice, screaming in my head that said ‘no’ loud enough that I almost crashed the rental car. I have ignored her before and it went as bad as it could go before I left the places not meant for me.

Maybe I did shield him and it remains to be seen.

Maybe, the kissing cousin of Hope.

The ship called Hope still floats.

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