not today

I have recently become obsessed with reporting current weather conditions for where I live, or for literally wherever I am at that moment. 

In some ways, I’m a pain in the ass for how often I hit the submit button; but on the flip side, I’m assisting the weather app team (typically standard on every iPhone) to provide accurate information. 

I am trying to keep my mind and fingers busy when picking up my phone, and this helps me exercise restraint from social media apps. Also it’s quite possible that the weather app team might be considering removing that very same option to report any weather related issues, due to my frequency of reporting.

This gives me a little perspective on how often I pick up my phone. I’m also trying to be present in my life, so I’m trying not to pick up my phone as often. 

I think the weather app team hates me, so on occasion I press submit based an imagined scenario in my head and purely out of spite. 

Another reflection I see looking back at me, when I hold up that confounded fucking mirror to my inner soul. 

Sometimes I just want the fuckery to end and for the weather app team to get their shit together, because clearly they don’t have anyone else in my area that is as considerate and benign and willing to update them.

I can see I have taken this too far, but I also don’t see myself slowing down either. This experience (though thoroughly out of control) has likely inspired one addiction to replace yet another. But for now, it is far more entertaining and satisfying than social media. And I think this says a lot about the people I have surrounded myself with on social media. 

That’s a dig, since I recently turned into a curmudgeon old man, apparently. 

In fact I just paused writing this to report a more current account of the weather. So as you can see it’s already a problem. But it’s really only fun when the weather is inclement. 

The inclement weather is my favorite, especially if enjoying it out on my enclosed patio. The birds chirp and sing quite a bit, and many of them seem to be flying around in an effort to find a place to settle somewhere and ride it out. Though sometimes when it’s really windy and there’s no lightning just before the storm hits, they do tend to glide flawlessly on gusts and breezes under brooding clouds. It’s lovely to watch.

Curmudgeon old man my ass!! I’m a tree huggin, bird watchin, weather reporter. 

If the weather was like this all the time, I would be outside more. But if it’s not storming; walking outside on a hot sunny day in Florida, can be like wrapping a wet electric blanket around yourself. Fuck that. I am a native to the area and while I used to love outdoor activities, I opt for air conditioning now. It’s just too fucking hot and I don’t want a heatstroke. You have to drink excessive amounts of fluids and water to live in Florida or you will die outside. I say fluids (and that isn’t careless), but remember drinking alcohol outdoors all day can make you sick as fuck. Back to being a curmudgeon.

It’s supposed to be raining, but it hasn’t started yet. And according to the weather app it was supposed to start raining 7 minutes ago. Do you see what I am dealing with…? Yes, I reported it. Yes, I’m a little disappointed the rain hasn’t started yet.

I sometimes feel guilty about hitting the submit button; don’t worry, it’s ephemeral. I imagine eventually I will get bored with it, but not today.

You could tear open my throat with your teeth and I would still call it a kiss. The magic of your mouth is greediness and I am desperate for you to devour me.

Castle in the clouds

It’s that cry for help that still goes unanswered, since childhood. No one is coming to save me. So I save me by whatever means necessary.

For years I’ve subconsciously created coping mechanisms that continuously evolve to shield myself from predatory people, behaviors and situations. But mine own evolution can’t always keep up with my naivety or my romantic notions of needing to be loved. 

All anyone ever gives is half, and I find myself alone in nightmarish situations. Leaving me with no other choice but to become a monster. Survival mode will do that to you; maternal instincts too. 

I’m sure there were people that tried to love me. Perhaps one or two that even tried to understand me. But after everything, it’s too much work to differentiate between people’s motives of who actually loves me and wants the best for me and who is using me and just saying they want the best for me.

Does it even matter that I don’t know how to let anyone love me anymore? Does it matter that I would rather just be alone than to allow myself to trust anyone again? I know how to pile the bricks high with mortar and build until the sun struggles to trickle in. It sounds bleak but it’s better than giving anyone else a chance to destroy what little peace I have. And learning to love myself is still new. 

It’s not an excuse, and it’s not an explanation. It just is. I can’t take any of it back and I’m not sorry. I did what I had to, to survive. Granted they weren’t ideal choices, never mind circumstances. Right or wrong. I’ve been held accountable. 

In hindsight I thought choosing the bravest and boldest of people would make a difference. I believed they would help me tear down those walls, so I could be loved. Time and again I’d find that once anyone reached the top, they found themselves afraid of heights. So they’d get what they want and didn’t care about the chaos they left in their wake. After-all, it was just me, and they all knew I’m a true survivor. 

I don’t know what’s more pathetic the fact that literally every man I have ever loved has found a new way to destroy me or that I was complicit in allowing it to happen because I loved them.

Anyway here I am piecing my life back together again. And while maybe I am dirt poor, I have become a master builder. I know there are no rules in architecture for a castle in the clouds. And at least I know I’m the one that can build it. 

I save me. I always have. I always will. 

Wheel of Connection

It was so strange. Going onto a social media platform I had not been on for years. Seeing so many people I had long forgotten. It was nice to see what everyone was up to these days. 

Then I began to feel small.

The startling realization kicking in that I seemed to not exist, and clueless to know how and IF I would ever fit in again.

I wanted to scream so loud, thankfully that was fleeting;  a mere millisecond. I stayed quiet and observed instead; skimming through posts and seeing how everyone else wanted so desperately to also matter. Didn’t they all just already know that it was so much easier to disappear and not matter? It wasn’t as if they all just kept right on living their lives or anything! 

I remembered why I left. So many people pretending their life was perfect and how everything is just so copacetic, all the silver linings and identical selfie smiles, the check in’s and documenting every waking moment; only to be forgotten and lost under layers and layers; the onslaught of post after post. Or did they all really just want to share their life with everyone. Was anyone paying attention anyway? Weren’t they all just posting one right after the next?

It was all a ruse, an illusion; a delusion, sprinkled with a few genuine thoughts and feelings, somewhere lost in the rubble. Every one of them posting the same stories; bleeding out one on top of the other. 

I didn’t care if they missed me, I didn’t belong here anymore. I don’t want to blend in. I won’t drag myself back down into that abyss that had shaken me and sent my anxiety and depression spiraling. 

I had been foolish before. My absence had zero impact, my presence won't linger either. I’d be going backwards, making a mockery of any stretch of healing and all the efforts that I poured into loving myself again. I was an outsider, I stayed high on the fray of my own edges. And that dagger piercing my heart was a staunch reminder of what was and still is so truly important. Me. I matter. Even if I only matter to me. It’s enough. I don’t need to matter to anybody else. And. It obviously didn’t matter if I missed them. 

It wasn’t like I left because I didn’t care, or didn’t want to stay connected. But depression nearly killed me. I know the road goes both ways.

I’m glad honestly, that I didn’t let them see me come undone. Or perhaps they did but figured it best to let me sort it out myself. 

I could be angry that people who called themselves my friend or my family didn’t reach out to check in on why I disappeared, or to ask if I was I okay; or maybe they did and I lied, saying I was fine.

It’s too easy to fall back into these patterns. Pretending like I am okay while wasting an ungodly amount time scrolling, over analyzing and thinking myself into a corner; wearing the weight of hurting my own feelings. 

So instead I whispered to myself and wished them all well. I didn’t need to be heard. I went back to my own little world, where I could wander to the edge, look down and see that falling over had lost its appeal. 

No thanks, I’ll just fill my time with things that make me smile and embrace the memories of the people I still have so much love for; I’ll think on how we all used to be, before social media took over and reinvented the wheel of connection.

Better than anybody

I can’t let this sink me. It hurts, but I refuse to go under.

Maybe it’s time to detach myself from things I know no longer feed my soul. 

I break my own heart better than anybody.

Finally the rain

And finally the rain. The sweet earthy fragrance exploding in the air, the steady pulse of pouring rain after a long hot few weeks. The first real downpour of the summer. 

You need this. You need to soften all your edges in the rain, let it wash over you, and cleanse you. Face up, eyes closed. Feel everything. The goosebump static on your skin, as the cool rain kisses it. The shudder down your spine that follows; and suddenly your mind is quiet and you feel your body come to life in the tingling beneath every drop.

Savoring this moment. And the afterglow of the drizzle. Hyper aware of how soaked you are and how the air clings to your wet skin. Spinning like a child with outstretched arms. Hair soaked, flat and dripping, mascara running and a soft smile glossing your lips. 

I needed this. 

It’s time to stop going through shit, 

and time to start making shit happen.

** feeling inspirational and shit…

If

When (and I do mean if) I ever submit and let my lover find me, it will look like we’re having a rave when I get that clap on light, everyone will know we’re fucking. 

Not everyone’s reason for wanting a clap on are equal. 

Maybe it means nothing.

Maybe it means everything.

Sometimes, nothing.

Sometimes, everything. 

Always, nothing.

Always, everything. 

Nothing is everything.

Everything is nothing.

Nothing is you.

Everything is you. 

There’s a soft spoken confident voice attempting to appeal to the other voices in my head. She’s the rational one, the one that brings me back to reality and reminds me I can breakthrough my own boundaries if I have to. She’s the one whispering to get out of my comfort zone. She tells me to get out of my own way! She’s also the voice I’ve muted the most. 

The whiny ones screaming and crying have been getting all my attention. The crying baby gets the milk or some shit. Unsupportive cry babies! They whisper shit like, ‘what if you can’t do this?’ Or. ‘What if you fail?’ ‘Or what if the person saying they love you is lying.’ They’re the injured, the sufferers, the sad ones, the ones that are terrified of moving forward. They conjure up ghosts and fan the flames of fear. They hold me back. I hold me back.

I settled in to their sadness, threw the deck in the air, sat back and let the cards fall; now I have to clean up the mess. Or learn how to flip the mute switch on them. Or force the voices inline with that soft voice that clears her throat to be a little louder. 

I’ve racked up a few bad habits. I’ve let myself down. I’ve listened to the depression and anxiety for so long, I think maybe I did lose some joy. 

Someone said that to me a few months ago, they said they felt sorry for me because I lost my joy. It pissed me off. I still had a lot of joy in my life, but it was joy for others, it wasn’t joy for my actions or accomplishments. I do tend to go hard supporting others, sometimes I go so hard I forget to support myself. I don’t know, maybe there was some truth to the comment. Or. Maybe that person was just upset I didn't give in to them. 

Either way. I have been sitting with myself for a while. I keep talking it up and saying: tomorrow or someday; and that’s hypocritical shit. I don’t like someday’s, I like right nows. 

My demons are still wrestling, and although they’re sexy as fuck, it’s still that really bad, sad girl kinda shit. Sometimes the anxiety and depression win. And overcoming that way of thinking has been a monumental challenge. How can someone be so full of optimism and still be so sad? I know I have to embrace all those parts of me, even the parts I don’t understand. I have to love her a lot louder and speak a little softer. Being kind to myself is not always easy when you’ve gotten familiar with kicking your own ass for your past and present choices. I linger too long overthinking my flaws. That has consequences too.

I’m not going to get better in a day, I know that. I gave all my patience away to other people and it’s the bottom of the barrel for me. I get up and I’m grateful, I tackle what comes at me with vigor and enthusiasm. I know it sounds easy, it’s not, but it’s also not impossible. Introspection can be just as damaging, as it is good for you. 

My brother says to go through life as a pessimist and celebrate anything good that happens unexpectedly. I like this.