It means not having to think.

I told myself today that if I have learned anything in thirty years of dealing with relationships it is that one day there will eventually come a happening that will spin you off your rails and decisively change you forever. It’s something that will shake your walls hard enough that every future decision you make, will pivot off of this one event. In most situations I have rallied through, it’s hard for me to believe that someone really understands the concept of loving until they have honestly ruined it themselves. Like how can I know how something works unless I tear it all apart and dissect it, to learn whats inside. It’s until you realize, and have this conversation with yourself – looking back, and saying out loud “what the fuck was I thinking?” and “what the fuck I have done?“. It’s really until you feel the ramifications and finality of your decisions spiderweb on, to digest that sense of losing a vital part of what had become of your life, I’m not so sure I trust so easily in hearing anyone say “I love you“. I’m not saying someone can’t ‘love’ someone at all. I’m saying that in time, the meaning of that word will change for them. It’s the person on the other end of that ‘love’, the receiving vessel, that I choose to challenge and warn.

Loving someone just doesn’t mean caring, understanding, and being able to bathe in a sense of well-being. It means being able to be kind, caring and understanding even when you don’t feel good. It’s un selfishness. It’s compassion and being able to feel grief in someone elses voice, it’s positively supporting the bonds when you know someone could fall apart. It’s being a mess and feeling deathly vulnerable, it’s to feel safe even when you are feeling ugly and destroyed. It’s you being there in their face even when maybe you “don’t understand”.

It’s hard, it’s all very tiring in my head. It’s like every day you are adding soft clay to a binding wire structure. Pieces fall off, some crumble and just wont stick. Some get twisted in overlapping fingerprints. Some never get smooth. Somedays you just have to chop off an entire fucking side because things are not shaping into what you want them to be. And that one piece of copper wire just keeps finding its way through, no matter how much medium you press against it. Days of piling shit on and grabbing clay everyday and pulling pieces off over and over again until one day you wake up and realize what? That you no longer have any more god damned clay to add-on when you need to just get by. Because one side of the relationship did what? They stopped. Because one side chose to no longer be there. Or maybe they walked off. Or didn’t answer the phone that day, or maybe they just woke up and something changed in them. Good or bad or whatever. When that clay is not there, all of that (your) support dissolves. Because you know for fucks sake every day needs you to be a part of that clay and what it holds together. If you want anything real, anything worth waking up to, anything just worth a second of your fucking time in the world – then you need that substance to be there.

Love or not, I just don’t bend like I use to – I know loss well enough. If you’ve lost it then ‘know why’. If you’ve never lost it then I say ‘prepare yourself’. And if you want to hold on to it – I say ‘make your choices smart’, smart like maybe that love that feels fantastic right now, might not be there tomorrow.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you” often translates into : “I don’t want to hurt you and then for you to find out about it”.

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Note 1311
The air is thick this month. As usual it’s a flood of everything at once. Like film going in fast forward then slowing down at half speed. It’s the grain along the sides of the frame that remind you again of things that slip like razors underneath your skin. They are just there. I miss the cold beach.

Note 1314
I’m okay with a quiet, dark, arctic rest of the year. I’m tired of the waves. Consistency is king when you are tying the sutures. It’s the keystone of the arch. And we all know that, so let’s just keep our feet in the water. Ok.

Note 1320
Just give me a year of no spinning disasters. And a photo of that. Thanks.

“The thing with broken clocks is you can always tell exactly when they stopped ticking. With people, it isn’t so easy and sometimes you can’t even tell they’re broken.” – Anonymous

I rarely run from red.

Note 1304
It makes me smile to be surprised with the good words. Even though we occasionally map out what we think our heads want to hear. I’m glad to feel the electricity when it’s on. I crave it when it’s not. I hate the walls and gaps and long stretches of pummeling that just happen. That’s just how it goes. Grief challenges you to not only hold your breath during the storm, but also to fall softly.

Note 1299
Anxiety is the fucking beast and doesn’t have any rules, often charging forward at his on pace. The reins tangle and before you know it you are lip biting your own decisions. If only we were so perfect to prevent that.

Note 1302
Sometimes your own heart has to do the punching.

When it finally ceases to haunt you.

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Some people are better at hiding the disasters, and some wear them like a story across their forehead. You would be surprised at how you will come to know the looks and the mental flinching of personalities when someone has went through any sort of trauma in relationships. Which in actuality, pretty much covers all of us in the functioning world. We all handle it differently on layers and levels, depending on how an individual is wired. I tend to be like a sponge and absorb things very fast, so much that they leave long-lasting fingerprints that never really shave away completely. I know some minds that don’t even shudder around anyone, ever. I wonder if people like that are more like monsters on the inside, somehow staving off the ability to show empathy about anything except for what is the “absolute now”. Some carry it more everyday and some slide out from underneath it all.

I have definitely had struggles with letting things go. I can, and have had unsettled emotions in the past for months and for even years. Love, hate and discord all play and string together more than anyone would think. There has always been this dance that they do. It’s a process, there is grieving and all that – we all know. It’s the cookie mix in the bowl that you cannot ever seem to get all out, but eventually you end up washing whats left away. It’s inevitable, it’s sad, and it feels like too much wasted time. But when it arrives, like an insect that lights on the back of your neck – it delivers the utter and most profound, loud impacted detachment on the human psyche that I know. The art of simply not caring anymore. When it finally ceases to haunt you, it unhooks from your conscious and then and only then are we able to close the chapters. And maybe this time you have to be the monster. Anger is the tool that can fan the flames and eventually snuff them out.

You have to fight in the end to reel back what they took, and use it to rebuild and reprogram things that were lost. It’s always a fight. You will struggle to regain it. And anyone that tells you differently, has not fought enough of those battles. Yet.

A: Dear snake, I ask why that you would hurt me?

S: I will never hurt you. I am always beside you. I offer everything comforting, and loving. I care unconditionally about being close to you always.

A: I don’t exactly feel safe with you. But I know that you care. I will be ok with that.

S: *bite *swallow *leave

A: Why did you bite me, and leave marks that will never go away? Why did you swallow and devour the things that I thought were sacred within our minds? Why did you hide so far away when I needed you the most?

S: I’m a snake.

Touch this angel in a clutch of snakes.

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“When man is happy, the meaning of life and other eternal themes rarely interest him. These questions should be asked at the end of one’s life.” – Andrei Tarkovsky, Solaris 1962 

“I wish I would’ve screamed fuck you more often instead of being considerate of your feelings while you failed to give a damn about mine. So…fuck you, better late than never.” -Should Haves, R.H. Sin