Tag Archives: love

After first kiss with Smiles*

2 Sep

Found this gem as I was digging up some of my writing. This is right after my kiss with Smiles* (now at this time– we were in Argentina*, I had a mad crush on a guy with a serious girlfriend, Smiles was trying to figure out if she was bi or gay or what, and I had never considered it). I also was drunk out of my mind and did not actually piece things together until later. But apparently my mind knew what I didn’t. Embarrassing and poor Smiles.

Enjoy:

Restless restless restless.

“I ached for my heart like some tin min. And when it came oh it beat and it boiled and it rang. Oh it’s ringing.”

I ache for my heart. Maybe the way to name this feeling is it is not that my mind is restless (oh wretched tendency) but it is my heart.

But it is more than that. It is not even as if I cannot sleep, and this would be the end of my problem.  If this were true, I could predict the happenings. I would lie awake, most likely for hours. I would toss, and turn, and curse the clock. My legs would intertwine with the lilac sheets, and every physical feeling would be noted objectively. I would bemoan my misfortune, and consider life paths, life loves, medical school, running away to be a writer, the to-do list that is always etched in the forefront of my mind (which is ridiculous because the frontal lobe has little to do with memory). I would then fall asleep, fitfully, just about the time the Konchos geared their engines in the morning. I would wake up, and probably not fully function the entire day. Right around 5 pm I may wake up, and a dreadful cycle would begin—(one of which I am quite familiar).

Unfortunately it is not just that I cannot sleep, although this is a consequence. I have a sizzling energy about me that hasn’t left me all day. It is a tip of the tongue feeling, something that should be addressed. Something I am forgetting, and my body is embodying this memory of something that makes me slightly uncomfortable but is exciting. I am the opposite of bored, but this is trapping me.  Like I need to decide, or have a painful conversation, or that something is about to happen and it will be devastating in either a beautiful or dreadful way—but we (audience) do not know which yet. I have the inclination that somehow that outcome is up to me, but I have no idea what I am even talking about right now. It is just a very specific feeling.

None of my normal mechanisms are available to me.  I cannot run. I cannot even walk here as far as I could and come back for hours in whichever direction I want. (I know I harp on the lacking of Idaho*—but the safety is priceless). I cannot take a hot shower. I cannot paint.  I cannot sing.

But I can write, and so here we are.

It is nervousness and anticipation and the pit of my stomach telling me I am afraid of something, but the way every cell in my body is buzzing—I cannot tell if I should actually be afraid; or merely embrace whatever is about to happen. I don’t think this is premonition exactly, but I simply feel like I am missing something big.

If I could wrap my feelings into a few other emotions, it would be a combination of the following:

1)   Facing something when I am not sure of the other person’s reaction, and that reaction matters to me.

2)   Trying to recall a word that is the perfect one to be able to describe a situation, but not being able to.

3)   A first date.

4)   A large decision that will affect my or others’ lives.

5)   Anticipation.

6)   When I know something is coming (ie a tornado).

7)   After a resolution to do something difficult, but you know you must in order to be at peace.

8)   How I felt after that walk with Alex* (aside—boy with girlfriend).

Sidebar: I am not sure if it is even wise to get into that, at this point. I am not sure if this has to do with him, but I somehow don’t think so. Mostly because no matter how difficult and annoying those feelings are, Alex does not make me feel on edge or anxious or buzzing or ‘sparkly’—Alex makes me feel like me. He is like a cup of ‘no-pun-intended’ (dear Lord my dear, are you really making jokes to yourself during your crazy maniacal quest to discover whatever the hell is wrong with you?)

But really. despite the conflicting emotions and desire to stay away from any bindings I may have to someone who quite obviously cannot be mine, Alex makes me relaxed, comfortable, like a higher-definition of myself. I feel like I understand him, he I. There is no buzzing or anxiety there, only comfort. Although I could understand your original suspicions that it could be this—I really don’t think it is. Even with the e-mail situation, everything is definitely calculated. It is not as if I am surprised that I relate in such a real manner to him. I am not twitter-pated, I have no butterflies, I am not surprised. It just objectively is what it is—but that doesn’t make it easier that I objectively like him and his character. I feel like the reason whatever this feeling is, is similar to the walk after Alex was that then I was toying with the idea of telling him how I felt. However, I have not even considered that as a possibility since then, which is why I am reticent to say this today has anything to do with Alex.

Maybe this is discovery enough for now, I am hoping this feeling will be gone in the morning.

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Flashback- my first female love

30 Aug

I talked to the first girl I loved, curly hair, or “Smiles” last night.

Back in the day, I fell so hard for her. I think I kind of explained what happened, but maybe not. She was coming off of being in a relationship with a guy— and started having feelings for his female roommate. 

Draaaaammmmma.

I had feelings for women before that, but kind of brushed it off. But Smiles just swept me away. I was infatuated by her, and we were infatuated with each other. I remember one night we spent all night just talking with one another, was the wind came in the window and we could hear the sounds of music in the streets of Argentina*, and we were so enthralled/intrigued and thirsty for the other person.

We had a thing. Doesn’t that sound weird? We had a thing for and with one another, and spent the summer doing “photo shoots” of us kissing to just “make *Tara jealous.” I still have those photos on my computer– a few beers, me with a backwards baseball cap and a striped shirt putting my hand on her thigh, her waist, her side. Kissing her against a car. Laughing so hard we were drunk off of each other’s happiness.

This all culminated in an evening where Smiles was in the middle, and she was sitting next to a guy. We made out in the back of a cab, and I was intoxicated with her lips, her teeth, the softness of her body. That kiss— those kisses— are among the most intense in my life. Smiles and I were never “officially a thing” on facebook or to our families (or for me at that point, it took a few months to even tell my friends)– and in fact, after that magical summer, I freaked the fuck out. I pretended like it didn’t happen. I came back to grad school, and developed a friendship with her. We never called it what it was– taking each other on dates, letting hands linger on the body for too long, pressing against each other and inhaling the scent of each other’s wrists and limbs and finally silently being with each other. But if I close my eyes, I can remember skinny dipping in the ocean– the way it went on for miles and we went on for miles, and we were so present which is so rare for me sometimes. 

It wasn’t until I was about to leave that I told her. It was dramatic. “I like coffee, and car rides, and you…” Oh, I fell so hard, but by the time I gathered up the courage to tell her that the summer we were together was more than just a summer fling, we were both leaving for other things. She had dinner with my family at graduation because hers didn’t come, and everyone LOVED her. She is so laid back, and sometimes so flakey, but when you are with her it is like the sun on your skin. She makes you glow, and feel warm, and when I am with Smiles I love my life, every second of it.

She called me last night, at 1:00 am. Sober. I was asleep, but answered, and we talked for about 2 hours. My sleeping patterns are horrendous.

Now, I closed the door on Smiles last year a little before this time (it seems so long and so short ago, hugh?) I wanted to be with Lovely and give us a shot. Smiles and I had some fundamental things that would have been hard to work out– namely the flakiness and extreme sexual/drug risks Smiles was okay with and I would have a hard time with. She’d cheated before, she was semi self-destructive, she has bipolar 2. She drank hard. These things meant sometimes she was unreliable, which in a long-distance partner would just breed jealousy.

But I did take time away from her until I stopped being in love with her, and until she stopped being in love with me. I think you can definitely love people without it working out.

However, she would call sometimes and I noticed it was when she was having romantic troubles, which I didn’t like. I didn’t want to be a fall-back. She was upset when I decided not to visit her back in August/September, and then upset again when I WANTED to visit last March. She is pretty good with meds now.

But we talked for two hours. Things that last year in April/May would have made my heart ache, like her telling me that I was the best kisser she’s ever had, and that our connection was firey and thirsty— just make me giggle and smile and say “yeah. yeah, it should be like that.”

She is dating new girl that is an AWFUL kisser haha, and she mentioned the two nights that I most remember us being intimate in Argentina*. Ego boooooost. But for real– it does give me hope with Lovely because even after talking at 1 in the morning for 2 hours with Smiles… I hung up the phone, smiled to myself, was happy I had a dear friend to relate to, and fell back to sleep.

That does not happen with any kind of heartache for me. I feel only love for Smiles, but not a smidgen of heartache for her. I told her about Lovely, and she said cryptically using her pet name for me, “You know, the universe brings you back together if you should be, you know? Just remember that. That’s what I think when I think of you.”

And I told her I loved her, and she said she loved me, and we meant it and knew we would always be in each others lives. As dear ones, not lovers, and that was okay with both of us I think.

I don’t know if it can ever be that way with Lovely. “What about Smiles? You got over her?”

It is different, a different way and kind of love you build with different people. And a different level of intimacy– Lovely and I were so, so intimate in ways that shock me. Smiles and I were intimate in different ways. 

Smiles, though. I miss her, too. I just want to hug her and talk and talk and talk– it has been over a year since we’ve seen each other in person. I just remember her yelling on a rooftop “Cot!” which is the spanish nickname for me, and running and jumping in my arms after we’d been apart for a month. I was so happy, and delighted, and clearly so was she. I so look forward to seeing her again– we’ve talked about me visiting soon, and I am excited to see my friend.

 

The aftermath: coming out

27 Aug

So, I mentioned in my last post that I came out to my parents via an emailed letter to them (a version of which I posted earlier in this blog). I had been meaning to wait and tell my dad in person, and then email them both this letter. However, in light of my recent (or at least FEELING recent and raw) break-up, I broke down in the car crying with my mom.

My spirit was beat-up, and really, really exhausted. And the thing is kids– we can’t do it alone. This thing, this part of me that I’d treated as insignificant, had become a separator and it was and has destroyed things I’ve built that I valued.

See– I kept thinking: it’s not a big deal. I am brunette. I like women and men. I really like sushi. I hate Kraft mac and cheese.

Then there was the sneaking up on me, thing that happened. Where a relationship I enjoyed became a relationship I cherished. Where something that might have stung at one point instead had me retching and writhing on the floor, not eating, not drinking, from the loss of it.

It is somewhere within that space that NOT telling my family became more devastating and scarier and lonely and created more distance than telling them ever could. Not letting my mom know why I couldn’t sleep, why I cried while laying in the car sobbing and heaving and gagging from loss, why my heart was so broken– this became not doable any more.

So the silver-lining to the twisting tearing end of Lovely and I is ironically the very thing that could have kept us together. Like, forever. The pain of not sharing who she was to me became more unbearable than the pain it took to share this part of me with my family– who I know will and are struggling.

My dad has not talked to me, responded to me, or answered my calls since I told him. My mom emailed me saying that she was overwhelmed by the information, and it would take her time to process before she could talk to me. So basically, neither of my parents have contacted me since I let them know. So basically– of the four people I would have said I love most in this whole entire world– 3 of them are not speaking to me at all. My poor sister…. 🙂

And you know what? Instead of the deep sinking pit feeling, I feel the feeling you feel after running a hard race. I am tired, and I have to sit down, and sip water, and rest– but I feel empty in a way that is refreshing. Light in a way that exposes you to the way you have been carrying something heavy for a long, long time.

I am marrying all the parts of my life, and being a person who values authenticity, this fractured portrait of myself has been more exhausting than I realized to maintain. I want everything– and I don’t want the prejudice of ignorance to ever destroy my happiness or my relationships again. I let that happen, because I was scared of what I would lose.

My wisdom now whispers, you were losing everything anyways. I would have continued to grow apart from my dear ones if we hadn’t had this conversation, and I would have just lost my Love, my family, and myself. It is amazing the severity of damage silence can do.

August 25– Coming out to my parents. I pressed send! AHHHHH.

25 Aug

Finally broke down to my mom today, about the whole situation. Sat in my car crying after church (WHICH WAS AMAZING… by the way. It felt like my whole soul was being cradled in a warm bath of hope that God and people and me can maybe not be at odds).

Tried to be sneaky and use neutral phrasing, but definitely said “I love her” and talked about our “relationship.” Finally my mom, after some well-meaning friendship advice (“You should try wooing her. Let her know you still care. Send her a card”) got quiet. She said, “you didn’t seem to be this upset about leaving your other friends in *Illinois after graduate school.””It’s different mom.” I said quietly. Come on mama. Put it together. Come on, please, just understand. 

I realized how much distance was between me and my parents– duplicity folks. It hurts. So… I sent them letter. I told them everything. An hour ago… haven’t heard back yet. Immediately called my friends, each saying how brave and proud of me they are. Including my sister. 

Pressing send– I felt this release. It is over, out there. I told them what I could. Lovely pushed me to this, and I am grateful. Either way– coming out to be with her, or coming out because it hurt so very much not to be with her. Something light and airy, I could have had perfectly for years without saying anything. But my heart in shambles or my heart wrapped in love, and barely touching why either way, made me realize that I would lose my family anyway, or at least what I loved about them– if I didn’t share this.

I am so nervous, I am so nervous. But why not just pile on the madness now– it is already a storm. Might as well just get my umbrella and wait for a tornado since I’m already soaked.

Coming out and Diary-ness

18 Aug

Dear Diary:

BAH psych. I know this isn’t a diary, but this week it has become one. I decided not to go tubing with Pretty Eyes because I don’t want to give her the wrong impression– it feels more like dates and even though you can SAY one thing, it can SEEM like another.

I want to talk a little bit about cutting out communication. With Lovely, really my whole reason was that even though I said she should date other people, it was ripping my heart in shreds to say that. I couldn’t watch. 

I’m working on finding things to distract me. Probably will change my hair. Been working out like a maniac. Haven’t been able to eat still– which with the whole losing weight thing I guess isn’t bad, but this seems different. Instead of eating lots of fresh fruits and vegetables, I just kind of look at the food and hate it. I don’t want it. It is boring to me. Do you sense a theme? NO ME GUSTA boring 🙂

Also– on coming out to my family. My dad is coming with my sister at the end of September to visit me. I am thinking of coming out to him then– on the day he leaves haha. I really don’t want to do it around the holidays, and I’m hoping that life will settle down for them a bit and they’ll have a chance to process. After I come out to him, I think I’ll call my mom or write her a letter. My dad is awful at keeping secrets, so I think this will force me to quickly tell my mom too.

It makes me nervous kids! Lol nervous nervous nervous! But I’m starting to feel a peace about it too, it will be SO relieving to just have them know. In my head, I have always thought the worst case scenario was losing them. But this has shifted to the worst case scenario being one of duplicity and an inauthentic life– and realizing that I do deserve to live authentically and not be fearful of what that means.

Still nervous though.

 

I am never dating or breaking up with anyone ever again because it sucks

10 Aug

This blog is becoming depressing.

Whatever, it’s mine, so if you don’t like it– I’m sure there is a much better one out there about like rainbows and puppies and butterflies.

My ex-girlfriend called me today, and we talked for two hours, and I miss her again.

(You. I miss you again.)

And we hung up, and I cried a lot, like the big heaving cry– because I am so fucking selfish. My dog whined and licked my neck and rolled herself onto my shoulder which made me cry more. Now my eyes are red, and people probably think I smoke pot which is why the creeper talked to me when I went and smoked a cigarette from the pack I haven’t smoked for 7 months. That’s when it’s bad folks.

I am so different then I was even a year ago. What is important to me, what I need, what kind of life I want to make. It sucks when something is so so so close, when you can’t put a finger on why it can’t be any more but you know it can’t be– when you want to just pull someone up close and forget the shit going on, and just be together in the moment. THAT is what I want. But there comes a point where you can’t ignore the future thing, and THAT is what I cannot predict, and then it becomes unfair to ask someone to journey with you because you don’t know exactly where the hell that journey is going– and is that okay with you? and at first the answer is yes, then it is uncertain, and then it is no. I want to know. I love you, and can we be together, and will this be forever?

I don’t know if that is something I’ll ever be able to even say for sure. And then you say, I don’t know, and maybe not but now is good, yes? And then– no, probably, but now? Now is so, so good my love, isn’t it?

And then. Now is not good enough, and you realize you’re killing each-other thinking about losing what you have so you decide to make it go away before it is ripped from you, because it is easier that way, right?

No, don’t love me. Don’t do it. Don’t do it, it will hurt. Leave me, my love, leave me, leave me, leave me. Please don’t love me.

I don’t deserve to be hurt then, when I wake up one day, and know you’ve chosen not to love me anymore. How many times have I told you not to love me?

On mental illness and tragedy

8 Jun

This is normally the type of post I would save for secret poetry blog, but I am going to put it here as I think many people deal with these things: anxiety, depression, the desire of having an something to cling to as a lifeline.

Artists and writers and creative folk have long had a history with at times crippling mental illness. We always talk about the “stigma” of mental illness– and for a long time I thought I knew what that meant. “Ah, I see. Stigma. Bad, bad word.” I thought of stigma as being the same word as “discrimination.” But it really means “brand, stain, mark of disgrace.” (yes, I did Google that). In short, to me that means that viewers of those with mental illness see scars, damaged goods.

I would like to think that I have matured. I saw mental illness as tragedy and tears, and brokenness. What happens when an entire country is ravaged by the way rape is used as weapon against women’s bodies and men’s ability to protect their families? Is the entire face of the country marred and tainted for the lifetimes of that generation? What about children who turned to militia to survive, and their childhoods have been wrought with lessons on how to not be human? Are they just the twisted scars of their own past?

Previously, I would have seen these people as casualties. I would shake my head, tears in my eyes. “Devastating.” I would say. “So very sad, so very sad. What a cruel place this world is.”

Is. That. It?

No, no, no. I don’t get to just leave. Prevention is amazing, amazing. But I think what I failed to realize is that these people are allowed to continue, survive, thrive. Have productive and meaningful life. These people can achieve amazing things, and though there may be permanent damage, it is weak to only see them as damaged.

At one point (selfishly) I was too overwhelmed by my own pain reflected in their stories. But it is my job to set that aside, see them. 

“We need to both add joy and take away pain,” I said. I still think this in some respects, but it has evolved. Joy and pain are not commodities. They are not things that run out.

I know I am capable of helping children and women navigate the waters of what this world can do to you. It is scary, because I am human as well, and I am deeply affected by pain in general. My tolerance is not high. I get angry, so very angry, and I know anger is a caustic substance. But I have also learned what to do– I know I need to stay connected to family and friends, I know I can’t indulge in sad music, I know I need to see light things and laugh, and cook maybe, and write. I know I need to distance myself from relationships that cause me to feel dark and languish in “what-ifs.” I need to revel in beauty, and the stories that give me hope that despite the world’s evil, there are those who choose to be in love with one another.

And now– now I can be that anchor, that lifeline. And I have such joy knowing that what people are capable of could be lovely if they can just find a way to hang on.

What do you do to take care of yourself so you can be that person for someone else?