and I’m angry. I’m angry at you for painting me as an addict craving “The Mirror Effect”. That’s fucked up. I love you. Authentically, not just for the pleasure you bring me. I have a host of realistic, difficult, painful, deep feelings for you. I love you for your understanding, your humor, your groundedness, your knowledge, your softness. Love you for allowing clunky, mean me into your guarded heart sometimes.
I love the energy between us – in all its expressions, both old and new. I love the way you feel on every level. Love the way you make me feel. Love how I open for you. Like no one else. I just dissolve.
I love your fear.
It feels like I can’t say anything because you’ll run screaming, but I’m not sharing this with you anyway, right? What unrequited love.
I will fall in love again. There will be new people, other connections. But I love you, deep, hard, wide, as much as I ever have anyone. It kills me. I want to shout it from the rooftops. I want to let it out. Want the world to know. I want every person to know how much I love you. I want my love for you to make every person see you the way I do. You’re not fucking perfect. There are times that things about you have disgusted me. But that’s love. That’s how it feels.
You’re also a hero to me. I have been with you… through hard times, through celebrations, through shame, through brokenness… through joy and through struggle. Through first times, through last times. Through heartbreak and firework.
And fer fuck’s sake… I don’t know how to not be there for you. That’s what you’re asking me to do right now. I feel utterly crushed.
And now I fear I must bottle it all again. Until the next time you beck and call. But I don’t fucking care. This is a relationship. This is how it works. The more serious: the more painful.
Fuck. Now to the Mezcal. To the poetic edge of drunkenness, which is two shots for me still.
I keep thinking – will it be Tuesday? Will you contact me on a fateful Tuesday? Please this one, this coming one… Please… Just… let me visit you. Let me touch you. Let me stroke my fingers through your hair, let me kiss your neck and nuzzle your shoulder.
Run my nails along your chest, your thighs. Let me gently suck your ears and pull your fingers along my sides. Show me how to touch you, show me how to please you. Give me a show, touch yourself for me. Let me show you how to rub me slowly and in small circles and where, and what I need to crave you on the inside. Kiss me everywhere. Lick me. Let me show you hCircle your torso in my legs and rub my breasts along your chest. Let me stare at you. Kiss you. Have you. Take me. Take all of me. Fuck me.
Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck.
I hope you’re laughing.
I hope you’re hard.
Want you that way. I want you inside me, safe, warm, laughing. Laughing at your fear, laughing at our humanity and animality. Laughing so hard you forget about fucking and you slip out of me. I want you to feel understood and cocooned and I want to feel the soul, will, body you are on the inside of me. And around me. Letting me know it’s okay. I’m okay. I can give it all to you and you won’t judge me. You won’t hurt me. Not on purpose.
Except you will. And are. And I should take better care because if all the above came true and then you disappear it’ll gut me. And you can’t help it. You can’t. If you could, you’d never do this.
Fuck. What unrequited love.
Fireworks now. They remind me of Costa Rica – that last night. When Tito and I shared a hotel room before we both ended up on the same plane out as we had on the way in (where we had met). There were fireworks that night. I strained to see them through the grate and was worried that Tito would see my ass cuz I just jumped outta my bed in a t-shirt. He was cool though. Tito was my business partner briefly. Shared my RV with him for 3 years at Burning Man. Chatted with him recently. We both said we missed each other. He said more. He never does. It was sweet.
So many friends are returning to my life. I’m trying here. I’m trying to exist. What unrequited love.
And it’s a new day. July 3. I dreamed you nodded and winked at me around the 9th of July. Could this all be over in a week?
I’m proud of myself for maintaining my weight since the party. For not giving in to the voices, and for not stuffing myself to feel numb. I plan to lose another 25 lbs, but I have to give my body a break from weight loss for a bit. Right now it’s so fucking hard to get through a day and eat right. I don’t know what happened. It’s been since I got back from South America. I’m struggling so much, using every coping mechanism I have (FUCK YOU ANA NO ONE LIKES A FLAT ASS).
There’s no fucking way I’m giving anyone the power to fuck this up for me. I just want a few days of mindlessness, a break. I guess I had that recently, so I shouldn’t complain. Because, you know, I deserve to live life with a constant urge to starve myself. *Eye rollz*
It may not have been all sex and roses here but it’s a lot of sex. The Plant Whisperer and I usually average twice a month. Now we’re at three times/week. I love polyamory. Thank you. It’s just amazing to see how healthy both he and I get whenever there’s a third. Obviously humankind lived this way for millennia. It’s deeply hard wired. I can’t speak so much for me, but his skin changes, his body changes… he gets younger. Testosterone. Amazing stuff.
Today (July 3) he and I are going to storage to deal with some stuff and then I’m going to Queens to a clothing swap party at Jennifer’s place. I am excited, her friends are all theater people. That should be fun.
Well, only a few people showed up, but I really enjoyed it. I came away with two new shirts, a purse, and a plug in speaker for phone or computer. I figured since I’m about to send the amp away it’d be nice to have something in the interim. I got the box for the amp out of storage. Now I just have to figure out the protocol and ship it (and follow your suggestion to test the fuse first). I can never seem to do this all at once. Funny, with things that are annoying to do, how that is. I could just get it over with, but I got to drag it out.
I realized how bad my BDD is. So weird. The girl I took clothing from is 5’2″ and a size 6. I couldn’t fit into dresses or pants of hers, but her shirts were all perfect. I’m 5’10” and a size 12 (well, between a 10 and a 12). I dunno. Cute shirts, too. Soft, expensive, never worn – still tags on them! They’re a little racy on me, but whateva. It was nice to be around a group of funny women of all sizes and shapes trying things on that did and did not fit. I have gotten rid of so much clothing recently.
Really trying to do things that I’ve learned serve me and build me. New clothes, take care of body inside and out, give socially, take care of emotions. I can’t live half the year traveling and the other half here if my lifestyle here doesn’t support me and, moreover, replenish me such that I can do the travel. I think that I’m doing well. Feel like I’m transforming. Life is changing.
I do have to figure out some $ though. Eeeks. The mango on the ground at the moment is that.
Instead of thinking about $ I went to the gym. Leg day. Pushed it hard but kept my deadlifts and squats for home. Will not be able to do deadlifts at home much longer. Need heavier weights. Hm.
Talked to Dawn today. She reminded me that being jerked from one end of the intimacy spectrum to the other sucks, but that the longing I’m feeling is hormones and nothing more. What unrequited love.
More and more I am harnessing the emotion. Using it to produce. To create. To write. Write. Write. Write.
I’ve done 19/61 pages of my friend’s book. It’s working out. It’s work though! Sheeeeit. Parts of it I am tearing up. I still think it needs more. But that’s the “real editor”‘s job. Who the fuck knows. Someone took a pass before me, which is, uh, surprising.
Looked through our convos on Facebook. Why, in early June, did we suddenly start talking every day? It was after your swing experience. A month of joy for me and difficulty for you I guess… It just gets me because I’m never the one that comes for you. I guess your squirrel analogy is quite apt.
And then made the mistake of looking at your IG and saw the cabbage you posted yesterday, and felt really upset and hurt that you’re all making cabbage the way that we did with red cabbage. But then I sat with that a little and realized that you probably knew I’d see it – and probably didn’t post it out of any meanness or wish to make me hurt or rub my face in the lack of you. You probably posted it because you’re still needing space but you’re thinking of me and in fact you probably posted it to send me a message to show me you were implementing something I taught you to improve the quality of your life and also to, I hope, show me that you are doing the work, that you are taking care of yourself and cooking nice things for yourself.
The sunset is a lake of fire. The reddest I’ve ever seen.
And yes, there is a meta-level of me that is totally enthralled/appalled at myself for stalking you on social media and you for leaving clear messages for me. I love it and I hate it.
This is part 3 of 3 of what I wrote in order to not write to him.
Here are parts 1 and 2: