desolate.

 

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I can see all the lonely people … because they are me … and we are just floating like feathers, vulnerable to the wind … and I am so far away.

I cannot sink. I cannot settle. And I am exhausted. It is odd to see the ability of people to fly and progressively soar … and I have no wings … just a single feather. Floating …

I am asking you to…

Here is my need, this is my ask.

Oh it’s so easy …

Here is my need, this is my ask. Here is my need, this is my ask. Here is my need, this is my ask.

I wrote it over and over again … perfect. Control. Controlling to perfect. Per-fect.

Good God. Get a hold of yourself. Just stop. Stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop.

It is ultimately satisfying and soothing to write STOP. Stop stop stop.

Stop the hurt, stop the shame, stop the guilt … fear. Stop stop stop.

Just stop. Stop the stimuli. Stop the loud. Stop the angst. Stop the broken things. Stop light. Stop dark.

Just be. Stop. Please.

 

It’s About To Get Real

For the love of bullet points …

  • I do not like not knowing how to do makeup.
  • I do not like this side of me.
  • I do not like knowing where every scar came from.
  • I do not like looking myself in the eye. The mirror magnifies.
  • I do not like the way hair grows on my body.
  • The way it makes me feel like a man.
  • A man trying to make it as a woman.
  • How black and coarse the hair is.
  • I do not like how it grows on my toes.
  • It’s gross.
  • I do not like my “below the waist” self.
  • It is physically exhausting to carry some days.
  • despise my spider veins.
  • I do not like how my stomach bulges out every single time I eat anything at all.
  • I do not like how when I try to suck it in, it’s painful and obvious.
  • I do not like feeling as if I look pregnant after I eat, when I’ve never had sex.
  • I do not like the life long struggle of having acne.
  • Seriously, it’s old and tired.
  • I do not like being tired!
  • I do not like that I am 32 and in my first relationship.
  • I do not like feeling this way when my boyfriend tells me I am pretty.
  • I do not like keeping all of this inside …

Deactivated Facebook for 3 days … went back on tonight cause I wanted a glimpse of my friends blog that I’d been missing. I was hoping the “Facebook fast” would help me pursue other things. I did … a bit. Colored a picture and gave it away. Had lunch with a friend. Had dinner with coworkers … lots of rowdy library folk. (Yes, they exist.) All nice things I suppose.

The loneliness is heavier than ever … the spontaneous laughter feels like a lie and I’m ashamed for it. The writing is a lie … because my mind and heart can’t seem to agree and my fingers are tired … so they lie. They lay silent while my ears ring. My arms bleed with the desire of … God, something I can’t even accurately and completely describe. A yearn for release. My temples throb for lack of it. The frustration is maddening.

So I’m sitting here, unable to stop tears … simply cause that’s how God made me. My throat is tight and burning.

I hate this death rising inside me. It sours my voice and keeps me sick … it just keeps swirling … it is infinite …