Sunday, January 27, 2013

Reading back on my posts, I still see my false sense of hope. I’m confused as to why two men who aren’t really interested in me aren't replying to my text messages.

Why does this hope screw me over? If I never had this sense of hope I would never have survived my adolescence, I would never have stopped smoking pot, I would never have dreamed to have a job I love, I wouldn't even believe it’s possible to have a normal relationship one day... So this hope helps me, and saves me. But it’s also the thing that stops me seeing the reality in other people. So maybe all I can do is save my hope for myself and take others as they are, with a bucket of salt just to be sure.

Whilst in the bathroom I began to ponder (I do my best pondering in the bathroom), “Did I actually want a boyfriend”... what do I really want? Why am I going on this quest? Am I a success junkie, a life perfectionist? Do I just want to be able to say that through all the mudslinging of life I got the job of my dreams and eventually figured out how to love and be loved in a healthy way... So many of my self help guru’s (books) propose that often what we truly want is not what we say we want. I think they’re right because I don’t think I want a boyfriend, I just like the attention and playfulness... however those same actions throw me off kilter in my life and make me feel like I need a day alone to get myself back on balance.

Maybe it’s intimacy that I want, someone to truly know me... I just read a perfect paragraph about this very thing...
“This intimacy thing is so elusive, so divinely inviting, but it seems to recede as I approach. I wonder what it means to really know someone. I think it means you can let them see all of you – even the embarrassing bits you've never shown anyone else. And when they've seen all those scary, messy and just wrong parts they still accept you, even like you.” (Walker. L., Sex, Lies & Bonsai, p.158)

Is that why I’m doing all of this, because I want someone to know me...? My bestie knows me, most of me. I feel like maybe if you grabbed all of my friends together and they shared everything about me with each other you could paint a picture of me... but I don’t think it would look like a real x-ray of me. There are secrets and yearnings I have that I don’t tell people. They make me feel safe because I can’t be judged by them if no one knows them. Like this, my writing, I love it more than I could explain to anyone. It’s mine, my treasure. I like being this girl, the creative girl that isn't scared to transcribe the slightly mental record that plays internally.
Could it be anymore perfect; “Haim” are playing on my iphone right now “Go Slow”. Its music that sounds like what I feel like... Deep, earthy, old school but unrecognisably new, creative, beautiful in a quirky way, deep, funny.

Writing is self love to me. Maybe I will be able to write my way to self love.
Again the ponder does wander, into my mind again... why am I doing this? Do I want a boyfriend, do I want a long term relationship just because I’ve never had one, do I want a distraction from myself, do I really want to face myself, am I ready to be intimate with myself to then be intimate with another?

No comments:

Post a Comment