F* Me

Dammit.  Fuck.

I still like you.  I can't stop thinking about you.  And I hate everything.

Especially this.

I don't get you, and you make me hurt, and make me long...and make me angry.  Because you hide in the most hurtful of ways, saying nothing.

And yet, tease.

Are you just...that...mean?

I hate the fact that like any stupid girl, the fact that it's Valentine's Day makes it worse.  This never happened to me before.  When other (single) girls pined, I was fine.  Thought they were silly.

Not today.

Not this time.

I have not felt this...since her.

It hurts like cruelty.  Choking, mad, laughing cruelty, sitting within and squeezing my heart.


Fuck.

Burn me.



*more in comments

Sew: a Needle Pulling Thread...Through the Sutures of My Soul

It seemed like a good post title at the time.


So. Weird things happen. Enigmatic Girl managed to write something that turned me off (lol); not to mention that I was having a self-conscious-flailing, angsty, desperate, romantic heart-pining anyway--which almost always leads, for me, into a hurdling, burning-from-the-heavens plummet of a self-destruct.  haha  (Um, which I kinda did.  Internally, you know.)

And there was one evening when I actually hurt so bad that I cried.  Isn't that stupid?  Sad?  (I mean in an "Aw, gosh--poor thing!?  Isn't she pathetic?" sort of way.)

See?  This is why I hate it, hate it, when someone touches that...that certain place in my heart this bad.  I hate it.  It's like opening up my chest cavity and putting the rusty teeth of a sawblade to the most vulnerable, and already chafed, part of my heart.

Something touched it again, after so many years (I haven't felt that much...longing, of that dire, exquisite, particular kind, emotionally); after all this time.  Something...encased (or whatever) in somebody.

And then that...that particular kind of pain, you know?  When they pass on you.  Just pass.

Oh.  My God.

ow


And then, as odd as these things come--I turn around and some girl (a different person) is totally having a crush on me!  Outta the blue.

And though I...am not sure yet, where that interaction is going...(taking my time, getting to know, but...unsure if it'll lead ultimately to anywhere other than liking & friendship)...it is kinda wild.  You know?  To just turn around, metaphorically smack into a wall, and have someone else there, liking you.  haha

Altogether?  Hah...I'm catching my breath--and there's this voice inside of my chest where my heart is, almost laughing a little hysterically, going "I'm not cut out for this!"

I'M NOT!  I swear.

Fug, navigating people-relationships takes so much energy!  *grits teeth*


You know what I would like?  Just...her.  That one I have in my head, who is...that perfect match for me, in all of these important ways.

The ways that I need her love to be piercing, yet soft with tenderness.  Understanding, giving (in the heart give-and-receive sense)- charity of heart.  Not making it a dynamic, a tension inside thing, where conflicts within the ego, for its unspoken needs, are warring.  But where things are at ease.  Absolutely no power-plays, the need for one to control something, to hold something in their hand, in the relationship, that they greedily mete out or take away.

Can I explain?  That is one thing, a timbre of a quality, within Enigmatic Girl's stuff, that I finally got to the heart of, that...hurt.  To encounter it, in reading.  That kind of slowly was turning me away, off, all this time.  It's...sometimes subtle, in her writing; and sometimes less so.

But not everyone has a taste for it.

I'm just one of them.  It is more bitter, in my mouth, after having gone down, than it probably is for many.  It pains me, on some kind of soul level.  It is acidic soil to the tenderest of my roots.


Sometimes I wish I were not such a natural psychologist.  I hate having such a sensitive nose for all of these nuances within people, and to their ways.  And how their behaviour, and even their writing, slowly but very definitely paints a picture of these nuances.  But then I've always been a gifted observer, and had the tongue to place words to what I see.

I actually had a dream about it from God, once.  (Yeah, I know!)  A dream from God's POV.  Had to do with me doing just that--observing, and analyzing, and writing down words for what I saw in what I observed.

I've never forgotten that.

*shrugs*  But I've always wondered exactly what it meant that I was supposed to do.  (With it.)

Observe what?  Anything?  Write down what?  For what purpose?  To accomplish what, or for what life's purpose?  It does seem clear to me that the most skilled of my gifts are for observing essences & nuances of people, but does that mean I should use that gift for writing about them, like writing stories?  Or...counseling them?  Like as a therapist?  Or...writing books on human behavior, as a psychologist?  Or in ministering to them, on a soul level--to their personal & spiritual needs?

How, how, how, God?


I have tried to sit down and envision myself using that gift just for therapy--as in, counseling others; but you know what?  Whenever I've (amateurly) counseled people in the past...it just gets so...BORING, for me, after a while.  Like I want to heave a deep breath, after enough of it, bang my head on a table, and just walk away and go explore something else.  Kind of like:  The pointlessness of people being stupid just gets to me after a while, you know?  lol  So that doesn't bode well for making a very good therapist.  The more I got bored and frustrated and jaded, the more unempathetic and inappropriate (in my response to them) I'd become.  (Well, feel like becoming.  And trust me- that kind of sentiment doesn't take long to bleed through.  Voice of experience from the receiving end, here.)

Where does that leave me?  Writing books (like self-help books or research-based books), or writing stories?  Or would I become less jaded and impatient and frustrated in the spiritual realm?  -Somehow I worry.

The thing that is good about art, music, and fiction and the like is that you can make it as intricate and nuanced and eloquent as you want it to be, and often speak to people, and to their inner themes, on an almost subconscious wavelength.  And if they enjoy your work, the format in which it comes to them is readily absorbed and accepted.

But that takes a certain kind of skill which I'm not sure yet that I have.

But I want it.

And I'm willing to continue trying.  I keep feeling that.  The desire to keep trying.  I keep feeling like one day, it's going to come clear to me, and it will all "pop out."  (My creative fiction, or writing, or music, or whatever medium I end up putting my expression in.)


We'll see.


Meanwhile:  You.  Her.  Are you out there?  You'll know me.  I'm the balm to your soul.  But also your spark.