After a while

After a while you learn

the subtle difference between

holding a hand and chaining a soul

and you learn

that love doesn't mean leaning

and company doesn't mean security.

And you begin to learn

that kisses aren't contracts

and presents aren't promises

and you begin to accept your defeats

with your head up and your eyes ahead

with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child

and you learn

to build all your roads on today

because tomorrow's ground is

too uncertain for plans

and futures have a way of falling down

in mid-flight.

After a while you learn

that even sunshine burns

if you get too much

so you plant your own garden

and decorate your own soul

instead of waiting for someone

to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure

you really are strong

you really do have worth

and you learn

and you learn

with every good-bye, you learn...

~Veronica A. Shoffstall

I found this poem today or maybe it found me. They say good books and people do that. I can relate to it on so many levels. Although I think I am still waiting for it all to really sink in, to finally be able to say "I got it" and mean it. I have thought about, written about, cried about, and talked about all of my issues: my adoption, my mother, my fear of abandonment, my failed relationships, my lost love, my need for external validation... Each time feeling like I've gotten a little farther on my journey only to stumble back a short while later. Perhaps my "after a while" has yet to come, but I know that I will keep striving to reach this goal. One day I will be happy with who I am and I will know that it is I who is responsible for this happiness. I will be able to hold my head up high with my eyes looking straight ahead (not down looking towards my past) with the grace of a woman and not the grief of an abandoned child. Any happiness I get I've got to make myself.

Pimples. They are red, ugly and they hurt. Especially when you have one inside the crease of your butt cheek, like I do now. Funny how you never notice that it's there, until you sit down on the commode and feel the pain from this small, red mound. I actually happen to find this pain to be surprisingly pleasant. I enjoy squeezing the little sucker and watching it enlarge. If it has a nice white head on it, even better!
So today, I went to Publix to grab a bite to eat. I opted not to wear any underwear since I had my new pimply friend. I wore some pale blue capri exercise pants with a white, cotton, v-neck sleevless t-shirt. No make-up, hair pulled half-back, glasses on. I walk up to the deli department and to my surprise the clerk looks at me and says "Well if it isn't America's next top model" and smiles. I look around because surely he couldn't be talking to me, but when I realize that I am the only one standing in line, I smile and blush. I politely said thank you and proceeded with my standard order: a veggie on whole grain bread with provolone cheese, no mayo, extra mustard. When he was finished, I looked him in the eye and mouthed thank you. Not just for making my sandwich, but for making me feel beautiful without my make-up, glasses on and a nice, big pimple on my left ass cheek.

Sometimes, I have these totally irrational fears. I say sometimes because it is not always that I am feeling fearful and insecure. Sometimes, I actually feel good about myself and confident in the future. However, I wish this feeling lasted longer than just sometimes.
The fear that I am currently grappling with is the idea that my friends are getting tired of me. I feel like a nuisance. I call too much, write too much...Try to be a part of their lives too much. They all, each and every one of them, have their own lives to tend to, their own 'thing' going on. They each have goals to achieve, relationships to work on, and careers to live out. I have these as well, but what do I really have going on and even more importantly, what do I have to offer them? I mean, what is really going on with me, beyond the monotony of studying for my stupid test and working part time. And half of the time, I feel unproductive because l feel like I don't study enough nor do I clock in enough hours at work, at least not compared to my hard working friends. I almost wish that someone would just tell me what to do. Give me structure...Map out the rules. It seems that my friends have already charted out their way and know almost exactly where they are going and how they are going to get there. I am envious of this. They all know how lost I am and I worry that one day they will get tired of helping me find my way. Let me emphasize that I don't feel this way all of the time, I know that my friends love me as much as I love them. But I just feel that I shouldn't need them as much as I do, that I should be a little more independent and self-reliant. This need for others scares me. Perhaps, this is what makes my fear not so irrational after all.

I think I may be the most sensitive person on the face of this earth. Words touch me much too deeply and I carry them all {the hateful and the loving} within my soul. I've been told this is my Achilles heel, a seemingly small but fatal weakness. This is also my strength and what makes me a good healer, lover, and friend. There are so many moments when I wish my skin was thicker, almost leather-like. Like the kind you see on 60 year old women who have gone to tanning beds their entire lives. Only, I don't want leather skin from a false UV light, I want it through experience. I have this scab on my heart, which is constantly being picked open. As soon as it starts to form and you are able to run your fingers over its rough edges, someone or something comes along and rips it off. It starts to bleed profusely, throbbing, hurting like hell until I or a dear friend envelops me into their gentle, safe hands and apply pressure. The pressure is firm and I say to myself, this will be the last time. This time I will walk away stronger...Healthier.

There are so many moments in life, where I stop what I am doing, and take a moment to step back. I try to notice the colors, the smells, the textures of life. It's during these times that i realize that i've really got to change my perspective.
this glass half empty,
things should be better
i deserve
i want
i need
i, i, i, i, i way of viewing the world.
the last time I was really able to do this was when my dad was in the hospital. He sat in the over-sized, hunter green arm chair and I on his bed. He was still wearing his mustache looking oxygen mask and he is still the tiniest man I've ever seen, but for the first time I could see hope in his eyes. A spark I haven't seen in years, 2004 is the last time I can really recall since I was a little girl. The conversation flowed easily and we talked about everything from constructing resumes, to love and relationships, to living on your own for the first time, memories from our past, and even my birth father Carl. Tears flowed just as easily and so did the love. It was in this small, drabby hospital room that I realized that I was going to be okay and so was he, regardless of the future. The reason? Because love actually is all around, no matter how much sadness and madness is going on, we just have to pay attention to it. We need to look at the ingredients of life. That night, I reconnected with the man who took me in when I had no one else and loved me the best he could. That night, I realized that when one feels connected, they feel loved and in turn feel like they have a soft place to land. This is all I've ever wanted.

"Because I couldn't let go, just a passing moment gone"-Rocky Votolato
This lyric stood out to me today as I was listening to "White daisy passing" by Mr. Votolato. I am constantly thinking about the times that have been, the passing moments, which are now gone. It's so hard for me to remain in this moment...breathing this air. It's much easier to reflect on the past or dream about the future. Why is this so and am I the only one who lives in a constant state of reflection? At times I feel like I am stagnating. Is this where I am supposed to be in life? What if I made one decision differently, would I be happier? Do I even know what would make me happy now? Perhaps I am not asking the right questions. I have learned that it's not the answers to the questions we ask, it's the questions themselves. This, my life, is not turning out how I wanted it to be, yet this is exactly how it was meant to happen. Control is an illusion and the price we pay for trying to be in control is anxiety. I'm tired of paying such a high price.

Breath out so I can breath you in. Go away...No wait...Please come back. Life is cyclical. Although cliche', when one door closes another one truly does open and what goes around certainly comes around. I had an experience today, which allowed me to see this and step into another person's shoes. We've all heard it before, the "it's not you, it's me" break-up excuse and I have certainly not been the exception. However, today I was the one dealing the pain rather than receiving it. And being the barer of bad news hurts almost as badly. A little over a month ago it was I who was in turmoil over the call that came a day too late. Now, it was I who was avoiding the phone and hoping that the person who was trying to reach me would get the hint and magically disappear. Telling somehow how you feel, when you know it's going to hurt, takes balls. And experience. I have learned that there is really nothing one can say to ease this fall. It's sort of like giving a shot. You know that you are going to inflict pain on someone else, but that they need it. So you gently tell them that "this is going to hurt" then you grip the syringe, pinch their skin, and on a count of 1-2-3 hold your breath and pierce the skin with the needle. When they wince, you look into their eyes, apologize and say that you are almost finished. Afterwards you put a band-aid over their sore and congratulate them on how well they handled the pain. Unfortunately you can't put a band-aid over someone else's heart nor can you really congratulate them on how well they dealt with the heart break. You just close your eyes and fall and hope that when it is your turn to be in their shoes it won't hurt as badly. I hope the day will come when I won't have to say "it's not you, it's me" nor will I have to hear it.

I just finished taking a shower and while I was going through the usual motions of cleansing myself physically I realized that as of late I have also cleansed myself emotionally. This emotional cleansing has a lot to do with letting go of a boy. I've been thinking a lot about he and I and relationships in general. I've been reading and talking and writing. I've also been carrying on my now infamous title as a "heartbreaker" turning down the prospects, which have since come and gone, the way I like it. I'm in a good place. And what I mean by this "place" is that I am no longer mad or angry with him nor am I happy or giddy with him. I am at peace with him. He came into my life out of the blue, touched my heart and broke it. For a while I felt as if I were swimming in tar, while the rest of the world, including him seemed to so effortlessly move on. I hated him and I hated myself for having such a hard time letting go.
I remember what he said about desire and expectations. The two go hand in hand and once you control the desire you let go of the expectations. What he and I shared, whatever it was and as brief as it was, I have let go. No more expectations, desire or resentments over the fact that it did not work out. I wrote to him last about searching for validation within his eyes. This I now know is not true. Being in Berlin with him took me out of my comfort zone, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. This was probably the best part about my trip because it allowed me to see myself through a naked eye. I was reliant upon him, someone whom I didn't really know as well as I thought. Plus, this got confused with the expectation that he would sweep me off my feet and carry me off into the sunset. It's so silly really. I was hoping to find in him what I was missing in myself, but that is not what love is. I think in its simplest form it may be the give-and-take that makes you both match. There is a desire that allows you to WANT to give-and-take with each other and so it ends up transpiring effortlessly.
I hope that he is still happy that he has gotten to know me and I can say, with honesty now, that I am happy to have known him. I'm glad our stories have intersected and maybe they will do so again in the future. However, whether or not they do is not of importance to me. I have let him go; I am living in this moment and will spend minimal time reflecting on the past. I wish him well as he travels along his life's journey. I will be traveling along mine.


"The thief of many hearts knows how to hide hers so that only the most clever can find it!"

He once told me "doesn't matter what happens, I'm so happy to have gotten to know you." Now we no longer talk and thinking of him no longer makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Instead, it hurts to think of him and the warm fuzzy feeling has been replaced with a peircing, gut-wrenching jabb. I wonder what feelings are elicited when thoughts of me run through his head and if indeed he is still "so happy to have gotten to know me?" I wonder if he even thinks of me at all. This wonder turns into an obession at times and I know this is not healthy. Why is it seemingly impossible to move on? Why, why, why...I'm so sick of it. I'm tired of wasting so much time and energy on memories of him and my curiousty of what he is doing now. I feel angry and upset when I think of him and I no longer want to feel this way. How can I make peace with the situation within myself so I can finally let go and move on. Is there a magic formula, which has somehow eluded me? I need to come up with strategies or consequences for each intrussive thought about him that enters my mind. I need to at least stop being a cyber stalker and quit checking his profile! To be loved and needed are like drugs, when they are abrubtly taken away from you one goes through great lengths to get them back. However, I don't even know if I would call what we had love. Maybe strong infatuation or a wantingess to be in love. I have committed so many of this words to memory, the good and the bad. We had always said at the very least we would be friends. Will this be so? So far it doesn't look like we will be, but I suppose only time will tell. I shouldn't think about him so much. I miss him. Or is it the idea or him?....nope, I miss all of him. Ugh.