May My Love Stain You

I’ve gotten so caught up in contributing to this manuscript that I’ve abandoned the blog again. And the vow I made to post more often. A friend asked me why I had stopped posting yesterday. Well, maybe not a friend yet, but someone I would like to call friend one day. After a moment of “should I post something from the work in progress or something fresh?”, I decided I should do the latter.

I had a thought last night about the way I suddenly found the warmest of love in a place I wasn’t looking for it. Suddenly. And so soon after letting go of another. One day we’ll talk about all the feelings that came with that.

This thing has no rules and my heart doesn’t take orders.

I love hard. This is something which I have learnt is true for both my romantic and platonic relationships. If my heart opens for you, it will go the whole nine yards for you. It will also break a million times when our time is over. And, as someone who can count the number of actual (read official-he-asked-me-out-and-I-said-yes-I’m-your-girlfriend) romantic relationships I’ve have had on one hand, I don’t say this lightly. This thought isn’t fully developed but, I mean to say that I don’t often love this way, I guess. With security. Yes, I’m 27 going on 40 and I have limited experience at relationshipping, and discovering just how much I can love and give and labour emotionally is such a journey. Always discovering something about my heart and mouth that makes me pause and say, “dang, you’re something special”.

And I am. Lord. I am.

I have been mistreated.

Taken for granted.

Emotionally dragged from pillar to post.

Misled.

Lied to.

I have had my self esteem pounded into the ground the way I imagine one pounds yam. Properly.

I have had my friends wipe my tears in the dingiest of bathroom stalls in equally dingy bars in the wee hours of the morning.

I have been publicly embarrassed.

I have been ghosted.

Questioned my self worth.

Had my intelligence thrown at me as a reason for the abuse I was receiving.

A whole lot more I assume, because Poesville is a place we all have the co-ordinates for and it isn’t just a little town with a corner-store and the one ageing church. It’s a sprawling, ever evolving metropolis, with an efficient transport system and bustling Visitors’ Centre. Some of us have permanently reserved seating there in the VIP section.

But there is one thing about me, perhaps as a result of the many times I was in a place of uncertainty, or because it’s just the way I am. I never want a person who enters my life for the purpose of love and affection, to walk away questioning whether or not they were ever truly loved or cared for. I drown my lovers in it. I make sure that my affection is pouring out of them even though I am the vessel.

Sounds overwhelming doesn’t it.

But imagine never worrying that your heart is safe. Never wondering whether your human supports your breath. Having a permanent cheerleader. A place to take your life off safely. A resting place where it doesn’t matter that your flaws are under the spotlight and your nakedness is, you know, naked. I’ve spent the last few years of my life searching for this feeling and somewhere along the way, when I realised that we are too human to be able to offer this in its entirety, I resolved to be the best safe place for everyone who took a step in my direction. No matter how tentative. I refuse to be the reason someone walks away and intermittently asks “what if?” about me. Well, I don’t want that question asked because I was evasive. Or lukewarm. Or swung back and forth like a pendulum.

Sometimes it’s beautiful and rewarding. Other times it tears at my own heart to build the other person. But I’ll gladly empty my cup to spare my loves a loveless existence.

Bittersweetness and full hearts.

The Empress.

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The Things I Leave Unsaid

I spend the better part of my life filtering what I think and say to ensure the longevity of my relationships. Relationships with family, friends and strangers on trains. The reason I do this is simply because people are unpredictable. People wake up on the wrong side of the bed every other day and unfortunately, no memo is circulated notifying the general public of this.

I spend hours on end tiptoeing (I don’t know if that’s how that is spelled) on eggshells to ensure the future of volatile relationships. And the worst is when I have to tiptoe around the feelings of individuals who I love and who claim to love me in return.

They say that we hurt and are hurt the most by people we love. I can attest to that. But shouldn’t the people we love be the ones to hurt us as little as possible-who go out of their way to make sure that our feelings are kept safe and secure? Should they not be the ones to go the extra mile to guarantee our happiness? Yet I constantly find myself drawing the short end of the stick regarding the preservation of emotions (real or imagined).

When I accidentally cross a loved one, I bend over backwards to ensure that the balance is restored and that I swallow MY pride and that MY emotions do not feature-regardless of how strongly I feel about something. Sadly (and pretty obviously) this has resulted in feelings of resentment festering and there is nothing I hate more than conflict with a loved one so very often, I acquiesce to their desires.

I want so very much, for people to meet me halfway when shit like this happens, yet they rarely ever do. So I’m stuck in a perpetual bubble of hope in which a significant of eye-rolling takes place. I want to keep less of my frustrations a secret because I am met halfway with a white flag-but human beings are inherently selfish and mean.

As a result, I keep things to myself and the word sorry is never far from my lips. So when I say sorry, think about whether you deserve an apology from me or you are just getting it because I want to shut you up and move on.

Dark thoughts and tequila

xx