We need to talk...

I’m breaking up with you. I know we didn’t have a very long affair, but you constantly make me feel like I need to change something about myself. Whether its my appearance or the way I handle myself. You beg me to change. Here’s the deal, love. Its like smoking, if I really wanted to quit, I never would’ve started. You could try to turn that around on me, but the difference is you were going to go away anyway. You are only meant to last a little while. You were supposed to warm me up and inspire me, and then go away. Hide on the other side of the sun until I need to thaw out again. What I’m trying to say, darling. The words I’m so desperately searching for… Fuck off summer; I’m tired of sweating and feeling fat.

The summer is good for making plans and for fucking. Only skinny people can “make love” in the summer time, everyone else just sweats way too much for that. I’m ready for the cool, crisp nights that take my breath away and make me want to fall in love. The summer is good for brief affairs that make me feel silly and wanted. Fall, winter, this is where I thrive. I can wear cardigans and socks and jeans and not want to drop the extra 40 pounds I have stored in my ass. I’m not built for hot. I’m built for cuddles, and cider, and soup. I feel clean in the fall, I want to smell like the sexy, masculine smoke of a bon fire. I want to make someone else hold my beer when my hands get too cold. I want to borrow your jackets. I want to stay in because the weather is too bad to go to the bar. I want to cook for you and all of your friends. I want to dream about waking up in a cold room and staying under the covers with you because its too cold to get up and face the day.

I look better in the fall; I like a good chill in my cheeks to make them pink. Not a sweaty glow. I smell better in the fall, I feel better in the fall. I take better care of myself in the fall. I tend to my heart, and my friends and my feelings. Show of hands, how many of you have seen me this summer? Ok, put your hands down. If your hand was up, you are one of the following: My roommate, my parents, someone I had a brief affair with, someone I’m currently in like with, a friend of Cameron’s, or I work with you. Everyone else, it was too hot. I didn’t want you to see me like this.

I want to go to a football game. I want to cook chili. I want to stay the night with my little sisters and cuddle up in blankets on the trampoline late at night and talk about what we want to be when we grow up. I want to watch scary movies. I want to feel comfortable. I want to be affectionate. I want to start something new. I want to knit. I want to go thrifting so I can wrap myself in oversized men’s sweaters and skinny jeans. I want to go to shitty local shows and drink dark beer. I want to wear orange and red and yellow and laugh at everyone who is fading out of their fake summer glow.

 Now for the things I need. I NEED TO QUIT WORRYING ABOUT THINGS I CAN’T CHANGE. I need to worry less about the things I can’t control and play the cards that have been dealt to me. I need to live in today and not last week, not tomorrow, not next year. To-fucking-day. That’s where I am, that’s what I have to deal with, that’s what I need to worry about. I need to take it one day at a time.

God damn it, I love when the weather starts to get cold.

nausea and a headache

I’ve made this beautiful world for myself. Its all wrapped up in my head. Wrapped in soft blankets tucked in for the night just waiting for the morning so it can wake up. I am so good at lying to myself, so good in fact that I have a really hard time gauging my own emotions. I like to think I’m happy and I know what I want, but how will I ever really know.

For example, my current situation. I have wanted what I have now for about a month, and all I can think about are the ways its going to fall apart. I’m so full of bittersweet doubt. I feel happy, there are so many things about this moment in my life that I could sing and dance for, but there are also so many reasons for me to stay up late and bask in my paranoia.

I don’t know what to do; I don’t know how to let myself be happy.

Sister Rosetta Goes Before Us- Allison Krauss and Robert Plant

Pete and Repeat

Whether it is out of passion or pain, this is why I sing at the top of my lungs. It’s the tension, the conflict between my body and my need to get all the air out of my lungs. I just want to get high; I just want to forget about all of the bodies that have once been pressed against mine. The melodies, the shapeless words, they’ve soaked into my soul like the cigarette smoke melts into my hair. Now let’s take all the other boys I’ve “just fucked”, there does not exist a single one that I did not love, if only for a moment. Well there are 2 of those and I felt dirtier and emptier than you could ever imagine. It’s rarely just sex to me, regardless of what I might say.

I’m so fucking tired of being only fucked. I’ve never wanted polyamoure. I’ve wanted to be passionately kissed by someone who is worth my affection; instead I fall for small pieces of what I want in numerous lovers. His grounded thoughts, his intelligence, his tongue, his eyes, her lips, his laugh, his hands, his voice. Now, what if I told you that you encompass all of those things? That your voice is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard, your laugh makes me want to cry, when you are sad I want to murder. Its stupid really, you will never get out of your head to see this. Maybe you think you are too crazy for me, and that might be true, but I’ve been too crazy for so many others. People that wouldn’t give me the time of day.

I want to turn myself inside out and dump out all of this dirt, all of the shame. I want to take a bottle of bleach and a toothbrush to my soul. I want so badly to be pursued, to be chased. To be the prey. Something that fills you with such desire, that you must have it, regardless of the repercussions. I say to myself often, and to others as well “he doesn’t know what he wants, but he doesn’t want me. If he did, he would have me.” Why don’t you have me?

I know that its probably not progressing for a reason, but I chose to lose sleep over this. It gives me something to pine over, now as for the others that I have been killing my time with, only time killed. I might have looked inside to see if there was anything worth trying on, but it never really is my style. I know it won’t feel right once I put it on.

Should I just be naked for a while, drink in bars alone? We all know I’m not just going to stay at home; Cameron and I have two different lives. And I get caught up in my head when I’m alone. And I write things that I will never publish because I can’t let you read this. No one needs to know how crazy I am for you, especially not you. I am insane. Bat shit fucking crazy. I just want to be held at night, to be caressed, and to be kissed. Is that so god damned much to ask?

This should be read with eyes that understand that I like to exaggerate. That I will take my one little emotion I am feeling and spin. Spin, until I am dizzy, until I can feel the vomit rising in the back of my throat, until it’s the only thing I can focus on, until I have to have one hand on the wall and one on the floor to stop spinning. It should also be known that I was really happy when I wrote this and that doesn’t make any god damned sense in my head. I sat down thinking “oh I’m going to write a happy blog post.” Well guess what, princess? That shit don’t happen at night. 

So this is me, 2 days later, editing out some of the more graphic details of my love life, cause “ain’t nobody got time for that.”

With that being said, I’m going to share with you something that has been plaguing my head for quite some time, every time I hear this song, I think of this song. It’s a fun game, really it is.

When I hear:

Boys of Summer - Don Henley

I think of:

Stutter - Joe

When I hear:

Jack and Diane - John Mellencamp  

I think of:

I think I'm in Love - Jessica Simpson

When I hear:

Edge of Seventeen - Stevie Nicks

I think of:

Bootylicious - Destiny's Child 

Its mostly just the beginning of the songs and the last one is super understandable. I mean Stevie Nicks is in the video, buts its just so exhausting because all I listen to a lot of classic rock in my car, and them BAM attack of shitty music from my childhood.

         

I’ma leave you with this one.. just for fun, because its Friday. Where the Party at? - Jagged Edge 

Terms and Conditions

I’ve come to terms with something. I’m kind of a bitch, and a whole lot of sarcastic.

                Thursday night, at the bar I got caught up playing a game with my friend Cory’s friend Christian. The game was about reading astrological charts. Not just the whole “I was born on this day, so I’m a Pisces”, the whole “you were born where, when, sun, venus, blah, blah, blah.” kind. So basically, I’ve got a lot of earth and I really need an air sign to balance me, and apparently I’m a fickle hard ass… This boggled my mind; I say” if I’m such a hard ass, why do I have such a problem with anxiety?” Cory knows me pretty well; he has rescued me a few times. I make bad decisions and he never sleeps apparently. He replies “because you don’t trust yourself, you aren’t accepting the way your head works.” Apparently that’s a Capricorn thing, and I have a whole fuck ton of Capricorn stuff going on in my shit. We don’t trust anyone very easily, when we do trust we become very loyal, but if that safe little trust nest is ever destroyed it fucks our whole world. So that makes sense to me.

                I realize that I put myself in a lot of really vulnerable situations and I’m always exposing feelings. If I put them out there, I am in control of them, but that always ends up ending with me being all crazy and hurt. So I should probably not do that. I’m scared of getting comfortable in my loneliness, but I don’t need to keep walking around like I’m made of glass. Its exhausting. So basically, what I’m saying is that I’m going to make people work a little harder to gain my trust. It feels better when there is some actual sowing effort before all the emotional reaping. And its probably a little bit more healthy that way.

                I saw my mother this week, and I drank sooo much this weekend. Not my finest weekend, but I’ve had worse, it was interesting though. Or at least its interesting to look back on now. I was running so hard away from the whole delicate, fragile, anxious person I’ve been for the past few weeks because I could not handle my mother stepping on my little heart. So I just became this crazy, reckless individual person who didn’t give hardly any fucks. It was fun, kind of, but my liver and my lungs are probably just about ready to tell me to fuck off. But I feel like I was possessed by a crazy white trash demon, I mean Thursday night after the bar, I think I turned the charm on and Friday I didn’t do a whole lot of talking because my feet weren’t really touching the ground. At least I didn’t talk much after the bar; the bar was a different story. Talked a lot there, sang a lot, kept my friend out too late because I can’t say no to karaoke. I need it, its like a drug.

                I need to keep my feet on the ground, my heart off of my sleeve. This is the world I’m living in, my head may be able to manufacture images that I would like to see in real life, but my head is not real life. Its my head.

the yellow rose of texas

“And the worlds got my dizzy again; think after 22 years I’d be used to the spin.”

                My anxiety has been getting worse. I came to a realization tonight, I’m alone. I have friends, yes. Thank you for pointing that out, but I’m alone. This force I have been running from is finally catching up to me. I’m not much of a runner anyway. We all know me to be more of a spinner. So tonight, I decided to go for a good long spin.

                Yesterday, I woke up to something I didn’t want to hear, I fought with people I really didn’t want to fight with. I had a panic attack, my shoulders are still sore from it. Sometimes I wish I had a little note keeper in my head, I have a really fun dialog in there sometimes. Today at work I wanted to write about how much it pisses me off when people blame their actions on drunkenness. I’ve done some stupid shit when I was drunk, some really stupid shit. But I knew what I was doing, even the times when I’ve been black out drunk, at the time I remember knowing what I was doing, I don’t remember what it was but decision making is still involved. I can recall thinking to myself, “I’m going to remember this in the morning” and waking up to a blank page. That’s not good for my head, I know.

I wanted to write about how I hate when people describe themselves as “broken”. No one can break you; our lives are ever changing puzzles. Just because the edges of the pieces are changing and moving around doesn’t mean you are broken. It will never be the same, yes. But its not broken. They didn’t break you, you didn’t break you. You aren’t broken, you are different. You might not even be put together, that just makes you separated, but not broken. You don’t need to be fixed, you don’t need to be healed, you just need to rearrange some things.

Instead I’m going to write about how fucking scared I am. The anxiety, its terrifying. Its to the point where I get breathless when I think people are mad at me. When I think I have let someone down. Or if I have too much caffeine.  Knowing that I’m all lonely, its scary. I’m scared I’m going to turn back into that 13 year old girl who is sleeping alone for the first time and dreaming of murdering the mother that isn’t speaking to her. I was sitting outside smoking a cigarette, there was a shadow dancing in my eye, it felt like there was something in the corner of my eye. My eyes were trying to adjust to the darkness and I could feel it. That scares the shit out of me; I don’t want to feel the dark. Its dark and scary. I don’t really want to feel this alone, but I’m going to. I still have people that I’m going to hang out with; I probably even have someone to kiss this weekend. But that’s a casual thing that is surprisingly one of the most consistent and healthy relationships I have right now. He doesn’t put up with my shit, well he might, but I haven’t really given him any shit to work with. I keep my shit together around him. Except for that one time with Lil John and Vampire Weekend, but that was “adorable” so eh. I’m scared of getting used to being alone, to just dealing with it and getting so warm and cozy in the one person life I’ve created that I don’t leave room for anyone else and I end up alone forever. Alone with a house full of cats and whiskey.

I thought about my Papa tonight. I miss him terribly. I started thinking about my nephew, yesterday I was playing with him. He was throwing pillows at me and climbing all over the loveseat. He slipped and bumped his little head on the back of the couch. It hurt, he hit it good. He cried and Elaine, his mother, consoled him and calmed him down. It occurred to me that mothers are wonderful people, a child’s first best friend. She is the one that plays with him, and makes him smile, his company. All parents really, that isn’t just a mother thing. Dads are pretty awesome too. My grandparents were a really huge part of my early childhood. Most of what I remember from before the divorce is being over at Granny and Papa’s house. James will never get to meet my Papa, and that makes me really sad. I need to spend more time with my Granny because I know she won’t be around for forever. But its hard because Papa isn’t there. He died quite a few years ago, 2004. But he is still in my head, in my heart. I was his yellow rose, hence the yellaroses. He used to sing “yellow rose of Texas” to me all the time. My middle name is Rose, for those of you who didn’t know. My next tattoo will probably be a rose, for my Papa. They were married for over 50 years, Granny is alone now. Over half her life spent with this one man.

“And it only feels worse when I stay in one place, so I’m always pacing around or walking away.”

Landlocked Blues - Bright Eyes

the string unspun

I’m longing, hungry for your touch.

Its for you, I drink too much.

Drinking for you, can’t get enough

Drink you down, I’m so in love

Listen to every sad song

The radio will play

For you I’ll ever long

So many things I shouldn’t say

In my head you tell me no

To you I want to run

For you, the places I would go

For you, my strings unspun

I’m longing…..

Never knew me a better time,

I guess I never will

Crocodile rock just makes me cry

You with her, it makes me ill

In my head you hold me close

To you, I’ll always run

For you, like rivers I will flow

For you, my strings unspun 

I’m longing, hungry for your touch.

Its for you, I drink too much.

Drinking for you, can’t get enough

Drink you down, I’m so in love

I'm drunkish. I can't get very far without thinking of him, it sucks everytime. all the time. in time it will get better. more numb. more controlled. for now the Jameson is here to fuck with my head. You keep me from making decisions I shouldn't, but its out of loyalty to you, not out of respect for myself. Fuck around, my heart is heavy, my hands are slow, my head is weary. 

And I look up...

I talk a lot about spinning. Spinning, round and round, looking up, arms spread. Stopping just to have to world spin round around you. I like songs that spin. Mumford and Sons spins. I think it’s the mandolin. It just goes. I have decided on something that I want. I want a love that spins, not even a love, but a passion. A need for anything, but it has to spin. It has to start one place, see something, hear something, get excited and spin. I can spin in sadness, in happiness, in loneliness. I have said that I  “wallow” in my self-pity. I don’t wallow, I spin. I take that feeling. I look at it, I focus on it. And I spin.

                I need to quit looking for things. For anything, I need to allow things to happen. I have an idea of what I want out of my life, but it’s a very vague idea. I have friends, I have very good friends. I have a certain kind of friend that I’m not sure everyone truly has, I have a best friend. His name is Cameron. I know I talk about him in a very playful manner, we fight, we argue, we do ridiculous things. He did something today that really blew my mind. I came home from work and immediately changed and left, he was a little sad. He hid under his blanket and told me a certain someone was right. Here is the thing that sticks with me; this is the man that has seen me in my most ridiculous, and he still enjoys my company. The past 8 months that I’ve lived here I have been absolutely insane. I cannot express the amount of times I have uttered the phrase “Cameron, you were right.” The man has seen me in situations that he knew were not going to be beneficial to me, he has expressed his concern, I have been a stubborn cunt and did it anyway. And he has held me crying whenever I got hurt. He has seen me drunk out of my mind, freaking out over a fucking karaoke contest. He has seen, and heard me weep the lonely, sad, desperate, angry, ugly cry that I would never wish anyone to see. Its well beyond the normal ugly cry, it’s the point where my face becomes hilarious and he has to stifle a laugh. He has been more than a friend; he has been a guardian, a protector. He has seen me cast myself in a very unattractive light, and he still wants to hang out with me. He still wants to be my friend. He still lets me live in my house. I’ve mentioned the main reason I give everyone as to why he is my “best friend.” In 2008 I got “kicked out” of my house 2 days before Christmas. Cameron let me stay with him. He took care of my stupid 18 year old head. He loved on me because I needed infinite hugs. I may have met him randomly in Wal-Mart and we both probably would have shat ourselves had someone told us we would be living together in 5 years. But he is one of the most positive influences I have ever had, I will probably ever have.

                Now I just told you all about this man, this wonderful gem of a man. I live with him. We are good friends. I have him, and other numerous people that deal with my shit on a daily or weekly basis. But I still get lonely. Everyone does, I know, but I get really lonely. Mostly at night, fun fact: I didn’t really sleep alone until I was like 13. My older sister and I shared a room before our parents got divorced. We would sometimes share a bed, especially when we could hear them fighting at night. When I moved to Kansas City with my mom, I slept in her giant king size bed with her. I think I slept in my own room there once, and then my room became my brother’s room and we shared a closet. When I moved back to Oklahoma I had my own room. But I had awful violent nightmares about killing people. I was like 13, ripping out throats in my dreams. Counseling was involved and that got better. Fast forward to college, I was reading a book one night, House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski. It scared the shit out of me; I couldn’t turn the lights off in my dorm. I couldn’t lie with my back to the open side of the room. One night it got so bad I had to go stay with the guy who let me borrow it. Then there was Kyle. Our first summer together he would come visit me in Ada and we would sleep on the floor together. We eventually got to where we would sleep together at his parents’ house. Then when the school year stared, I was staying the night at least 3 times a week. Then more, then more, sleeping in a twin size bed. I had a house off campus, and a full size bed, but there was no body in that bed with me. I needed the security, the warmth. We moved to Arkansas in December of 2010. When our relationship ended in September of 2011, we continued to sleep in the same bed until I moved out in November. That was such a stultifying situation. It fucked with my head more than I let on. I don’t want to talk about that anymore its late and I will make myself sad. The point is I get very codependent at night. I love sharing my bed with others. I’m a cuddle slut and I’m afraid of the dark. Not what’s in the dark, the actual dark. I get scared of the shadows in the corner of my room. I have nights when I will get up and turn the light on 2 or 3 times just to get the dark off of me. I get lonely at night, and in the morning. The morning when I don’t have anyone to tell me how cute baby dinosaur is, baby dinosaur is me when I wake up. I have little roars with every yawn. I think I’m cute, don’t ruin this for me.

                There are a lot of things that go into the idea of loneliness, I know I’m not alone, I have a Cameron. But intimacy, honest affection, security, these are the things that I get a hankering for late at night. I’ve flirted with the idea of polyamoure; I think it has some valid points. But I know that I truly just want one person to think I’m special. Not even entirely special, just special to them. I want to be cuddled. I want to get out of this headspace because I will stay up entirely too late and listen to lots of Bright Eyes and I will make myself very sad. I’m tired even. I has a sleepy. Its 4:30 in the god damned morning. I need to crawl into that bed that I am strong enough, brave enough, to sleep in by myself. I am bigger than my loneliness. I know that I am important to me, that I make myself happy. I would like someone else tonight, but I don’t need it. I’m menstruating and it’s a full moon. I’m just listening to Mumford and Sons and their spinning stringed instruments getting all sappy. Silly Leah, you silly little girl, go to sleep.

Mumford and Sons - After the Storm