Strong

I might break down every once in a while, but don't forget that I'm strong.
I'm strong as fuck. That sounds pretentious, and I don't care.
I'm not strong because I want to be - I'm strong because I have to be...
because of the cards I've been dealt. I'm strong because other people
need me to be, because the world needs me to be, and because I need
me to be. I might not be as strong as I think sometimes, but I know I'm stronger
than I think most of the time - because no matter what happens,
I just keep going, just keep singing, just keep writing, just keep dreaming, just keep on being.
What else could I ask of me?

I wrote a poem today.

I wrote a poem today, and it's not very nice. I saw this woman in the park and she just... well, read the poem.

Her smile looks like a lie.
(Her children precede her, running,
grabbing, shaking apart at the seams,
two boys in worn out sneakers,
t-shirts plastered with corporate America,
eight dollar haircuts.
The air around them is jagged and agitated,
all orange and green.)
Her feet drag,
her belly is swollen beneath ill-fitting clothes,
her hair is undone and unwashed,
and her smile,
it looks like defeat.

It's not very happy. I felt almost guilty writing it. I felt like I should follow it up by writing about the couple with their baby girl who looked just so happy to be alive - but I didn't have another poem in me. I haven't written in so long.. and I'm rusty. I've written a couple of poems in the last month, and it's not prolific in any sense of the word... but it feels good to be writing again.

 

Walls

That fourth wall... why can't I let it down? I'd love to just bulldoze the damn thing, stop being cautious for once. Even when I know it's safe - when I know LOGICALLY that I have no reason to hide or distrust, I still keep that wall up. And it gets in my way. It gets in the way of my happiness and I don't fucking like it. It all falls down on the shoulders of whether or not I can trust people.

When I was in France, I had a discussion with some French and American friends about the differences in where Americans "put up their guard" vs. where the French do the same. It was decided that Americans are more like a peach - it's easy to get in with them, to become sort of casually friends, but that center is tough and difficult to crack open. The French on the other hand are more like a walnut. They have a tough exterior, but once you're in - you're in all the way.

I'm pretty typically American. I'm a peach. But instead of a nice normal wooden pit that cracks under enough pressure, mine's made of something more obnoxious - steel perhaps. I don't want to say diamond, because that would give me no hope of ever actually letting anyone in all the way, and I don't want to think like that.

So right now, I'm trying to... heat the steel? This metaphor has gotten completely away from me so I think I'll return to the literal. I am trying so hard to let people in, but my asshole brain keeps telling me not to, telling me I can't trust people, even when that logical part of my brain knows what's going on.

So, I'm trying. That's good, right? And I'm working through it, figuring it all out, figuring out why I'm feeling or pushing in certain ways. I'm trying like mad! That's all you can really ask of me.

Feeling Human

There are so many amazing things in my life right now, I don't even know where to begin. I guess the biggest one is going back to school. It's nothing insane, just a one-year "certificate" in web design, but I'm already in love. I'm taking Flash, Dreamweaver and Web Authoring this term. It's fabulous. I feel useful, at least a little.

The second great thing is Ellie getting bigger. She's not a baby anymore, she's a miniature human. She has thoughts and ideas and she's interesting. She holds conversations and she makes me think. And she's been spending a couple nights a week at her dad's, so I get some alone time.

That alone time is another grand gift in my life right now. I get to have a social life, I get to take classes, and I get to have a sex life again. And I've found a very nice ... dancing partner... who makes me feel beautiful and whole and normal.

I don't know if it's a combination of these things, or if I just love change, or if I have a brain tumor that's tricking me, but I feel HAPPY and NORMAL for the first time in a very long time. I feel like I have a LIFE. I feel like I'm not some sort of freak. I feel ... human. I'm just this girl. I'm not damaged and broken. I have a history, flaws, baggage.. but so does everyone else.

And you know what, I have been working really hard this year. Working to have this life I'm finding. I've been putting myself out there with friends and lovers, with my work and school. I've been trying really hard. I've been going to book club (usually) and the gym, and trying to say yes when I'm scared, and even ASKING other people to hang out with me. That's not something that's easy for me - just texting or emailing friends to see if they want to hang out is hard. But I've been doing it anyway. Getting signed up for school was a series of smaller and smaller hoops to jump through - and I made it through each one.

I deserve to be happy. I worked for it. Did you know you have to work for this shit? That being happy isn't just something that happens to you? Did you know you have to make that happen? Because I didn't. I fully thought I was just damaged or broken or "less than"... but I was just terrified, hiding from the world. I wasn't seeking happiness.

But now I am, and I'm going to make it my bitch! No matter what it takes. I'm done hiding.

If you please...

Dear hormones,

Chill the fuck out.

Sincerely (but not happily),
Me