'Cause I need to keep going....

Watching Mythos I I suddenly realized that I have been denying some of my pleasures and bliss for two solid years. I can now understand what I have been feeling that's been growing inside my emotions like a disease.

When I met ______ I used to have a pretty engaging "web-life/presence", enough for my liking. I blogged and wrote frequently. I was on a creative high, using the internet as a creative outlet, "maybe someone will read this, just to get it out there." Then one day I found a shitty comment on one of my random posts, conversing with another friend, essentially accusing me of being a reverse racist. I stopped everything. I didn't need to. It was solely his issue and he should've been minding his own fucking business anyway. But it scared me that something I wrote, something so frivolous as I did that day could cause pain.

Now I know that nothing I did or wrote was wrong at all, but in the wrong neurotic hands words can be misconstrued. I suppose I always knew this. The important thing that I have to take from this experience is that I am not responsible for what others PROJECT on to me and my writings. Good or bad, most anything can be twisted in a mind that is bent on gnawing on it's own insides. It's not my job to disengage and already far poisoned mind.

On ending

Please join me in a moment of silence as I mourn the end of a lost era...a time that I fought with and fought through, so far from what I wanted...How much will I miss the constant neediness? How much will I miss the foot stomping and the pantyhose of a 26 year old never being right? Others find me brave, while they don't know I am terrified of falling even while I close my eyes and jump off every cliff...No hang glider above me...No net to catch me as I fly along...I always remember things easier that they were when I look through the rearview mirror...See, it's the happiest moments I choose to reflect on when each end of an era draws near.

If you're flawless, then you'll win my love.

I'm a perfectionist. A total Pitta all the way. I've got this constant inner need to fix things that are broken, even if they are wayyyyy broken. I will be the one that will beat the dead horse both figuratively and literally (or at least try to shake it and wake it up.) It's just how I remember learning to be. "Never give up, never say die, you're a constant warrior on the battlefield." Some times people think I am a Taurus.

I'm finding that this nature, while keeping me on my toes, is causing me more harm than good. I'm starting to feel more and more like I used to when I was a kid. Like a bird in a cage picking out all her feathers. Only this time it's not my parents constantly telling me to look out for all the dangers out there. It is so engrained in me that I can do it myself without even thinking about it. I want things to be perfect because I'm terrified of being hurt and of people hurting me.

It doesn't surprise me that I have had relationships and even in my job, demanding of me more and more because something just isn't enough. Some people enjoy this but I end up walking away from it defeated because I feel like I wasn't ______ enough. These cycles get worse with traumas in my life.

Constantly demanding perfecting is essentially telling yourself that things are in a constant state of imperfection and will never be wonderful because something is always wrong.

Deepak Chopra says that attachment is fear. Like a bird clinging to a wall because it doesn't trust himself to fly.

To me one of the most romantic movie lines ever is from Bridget Jones. Colin Firth tells her, "I like you just the way you are." *hmmm, maybe someday, maybe today :)

peace

A poem for love near to touch.

Come my love and keep playing your passionate songs

straight to my sentimental heart.

In the doorway I drift, listening to you sing to yourself.

Lost in the harmony to the song on the radio.

While I pretend its all for me.

The defined arch of your back makes me want to weep

in wishing for all things far away from us,

But oh, so near to touch.

Wouldn't we be a beautiful sight, if all visions came true and I

could sign my name across your heart?

It's hard to look in your face while my mind is sweeping me away.

For all that I learn,

all that I've read

and keep

tucked in the ebony hope chest inside my mind:

Rays of ochre light pushing through the unstitched cracks.

In walks him or hims;

And my mouth betrays me with a split tongue

and twists my sense,

my logic to simple puffy clouds

and

pale dreams.

Oh, it's the hateful contradiction of it all

never to lay down

my full hand

(long, graceful yet strong)

I tuck the winner up my sleeve

while the acid butterflies

chew my stomach

and my heart melts in their eyes;

Butter from love

or

a rose tipped blush of inner fears?

of what? I cannot say.