Routines

I think we're starting to fall back into old patterns. I can feel you drifting back into the daily life we had before you left. I can feel myself drifting back into caregiver, peacekeeper mode. I'm not entirely happy with either situation. I don't want our old routines. I don't want our old relationship.

I want passion, I want boundaries, I want commitment, I want respect, I want love. I don't want the kind of love we had before, the kind where I bring you a glass of water and you get me an ice cream on your way home from work and those are little "I love you"s.

I want big love. I want hot, rough, fast, or loving, smoldering, slow sex, all day, every day. I want heat when you hold my hand, I want you to look at me like I'm the person you want most in the world by your side every day.

Instead you look at your phone.

I want, I want, I want. I've always wanted but never taken enough. Never taken enough for myself or spoken up for myself. I just compromise, and by compromise I mean that I say, "whatever you want to do," and "whatever you're hungry for," and "wherever you'd rather go this weekend."

I compromise myself and what I want and that's not okay. I don't want that anymore. I feel like you burned me and out of the ashes is rising someone newer, more confident, more selfish, more demanding. Someone who is going to be an equal rather than a doormat and I don't know if you're going to like the new me or if I'm even going to like the new me.

But I'm tired of giving and giving. Maybe you'll look back at this, even if we're still together ten years from now, and go, "I lost my girlfriend who loved me and gave with all her heart when I did that stupid thing." Because you did. You lost her.

Now you have choices. Me, or someone new, or be alone, or run back to the girl who has proved that she doesn't love you the way you loved her and she never will.

I can't tell you what to choose, I don't even know what I will choose.

But I do know we can never go back to who we were.

Birthdays

I had so much fun part of today. The part where I was swimming with my friends and taking photos and playing games. The part that felt carefree and relaxed.

And still you turned away from me. I didn't wake up with you and you rolled away when I tried to snuggle. Instead, I was awake at 6am on my birthday, alone and drunk in the dark in the pool. I watched the sunrise and thought it would help me feel hopeful about the year to come. A new day, a fresh start, a new beginning. 

Instead, my new beginning felt lonely, disjointed, cold, shaky, and disappointing.

And now I'm ending the day the same way. We fought, I cried. I'm sitting here and you're sitting over there and you don't want to touch me or be near me and I get worse. Everything gets worse. 

The loneliness increases. The feeling that I'm going through this and there is no hope it's going to get better hits and I just sob and sob and sob. 

This is what my birthday is this year.

I hate it. 

I want to feel better. I want you to love me and hold me and never stop. 

I want a lot of things. I don't think I'm going to get them. 

On Fire/Morphine

I can't put it down. I can't seem to walk away. I know I should, everything in me is screaming that this is not going to get better. That, fundamentally, there is a lack of respect for my feelings, there is a lack of prioritizing me first.

But all I want is to be closer. I want to crawl inside you and sleep inside your chest so I can feel your heart beating. I want to crush you, I want to kiss you, I want you to want me, I want you to fuck me- honestly, passionately, brutally, bruising me. I want you to claim me and never let me go. I want your purple handprints on my body so I have some confirmation of your presence when I leave for work or you leave.  I want to cleanse you with my body and my love so that the last person under you wasn't her. I want to claim you. I want to erase what you did.

But I can't. I'm on fire, torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer. I can't think, I can't breathe, I can't tell if I'm crying or gasping because I feel your hand on my back as if it burns down to my bones and I want you but I don't because I'm picturing you and her and she's awful and I want you to shed your skin like a snake so I don't have to touch any part of you that she's touched. I want you to touch me and never stop; I want you to never touch me again.

And I'm hurt, so hurt, but you've always been my comfort. I want you to hold me and tell me this was just a nightmare and it wasn't real and you love me so much, how could you ever do that to me?

I can't cry. I can't scream and swear. It's like my emotions have been running high this whole time and now that you've told me the worst someone turned the dial back down. Is that because it can't get worse? Do I have no more anxiety because it's over? What I was dreading already happened?

Now the only thing amped up is desire. I don't get it, I don't understand it. But it's there. I feel like I hyper-sexual being right now when I should be a mopey awful mess. Is there a term for this? Is this normal?

Is everyone going to judge me for staying when I was packed up and ready to leave?

Countdown/Morphine

I'm counting down again and this time it's my stomach that's in knots.

I don't want to do this but I know I have to.

I'm like a morphine addict. I know this is the fun phase, the sweet phase, the kind phase. I love kind T. I want to be with kind T. I want to stay with her and hold her and live with her and have babies with her.

But kind T doesn't stay.

I have to remember that.

I need index cards for tonight:
1.This is not my fault.
2. You cannot blame me for your actions.
3. I deserve better than this.
4. I did not look outside of our relationship to make myself feel better. Only you did.
5. How could you spend three nights with your ex-girlfriend and come home expecting to still be in a relationship? How do you justify that for yourself?
6. You will do this to me again.
7. You don't respect me or my feelings. You betrayed me on the ultimate level.
8. You had an emotional, if not physical, affair. You had an affair. You had an affair.
You had a three and a half month long affair.
9. You still think that what you did was acceptable.
10. You expertly planned and executed how to lie to me on multiple occasions to continue your affair.

Put down the morphine needle. This is one drug that is fatal. This is one time you have to walk away. Love doesn't always conquer all. Not when two people don't love the same way, the same amount.

I love you, but you love yourself.

Cycles

Domestic abuse falls into a common pattern, or cycle of violence:

• Abuse – Your abusive partner lashes out with aggressive, belittling, or violent behavior. The abuse is a power play designed to show you "who is boss."
• Guilt – After abusing you, your partner feels guilt, but not over what he's done. He’s more worried about the possibility of being caught and facing consequences for his abusive behavior.
• Excuses – Your abuser rationalizes what he or she has done. The person may come up with a string of excuses or blame you for the abusive behavior—anything to avoid taking responsibility.
• "Normal" behavior – The abuser does everything he can to regain control and keep the victim in the relationship. He may act as if nothing has happened, or he may turn on the charm. This peaceful honeymoon phase may give the victim hope that the abuser has really changed this time.
• Fantasy and planning – Your abuser begins to fantasize about abusing you again. He spends a lot of time thinking about what you’ve done wrong and how he'll make you pay. Then he makes a plan for turning the fantasy of abuse into reality.
• Set-up – Your abuser sets you up and puts his plan in motion, creating a situation where he can justify abusing you.

Your abuser’s apologies and loving gestures in between the episodes of abuse can make it difficult to leave. He may make you believe that you are the only person who can help him, that things will be different this time, and that he truly loves you. However, the dangers of staying are very real.

I may have to read this a few times before tonight. I may have to read and re-read and a third and a fourth time as I wait in the parking lot for the apologies that have already started.

They've happened before too, and just like this cycle. "I'm so sorry, I was such a jerk, I didn't think about you. I won't talk to her anymore...We have so many more problems than her and this is all your fault because you were mean and fighting with me before B and I ever starting talking. But I won't, I won't talk to her."

You'll be so sweet to me, you'll buy me dinner, you'll promise you'll get me to trust you again. Then you'll call me out for something stupid, "you rolled your eyes at me." "I didn't even feel it happen, I don't know what you're talking about." "Oh my god, I can't believe you won't just apologize for rolling your fucking eyes at me. I can't believe we're having a huge fight over this!" two weeks later. And right after that I'll have to sit through 57 minutes of agony as you talk to her in our dark bedroom with the tv on because you don't want me to hear.

It's exactly this cycle. You set me up to justify what you're doing.

I can't believe that I thought I deserved this for so long. I can't believe I let you talk me into thinking that you and B was my fault.

I can't believe I can't believe I can't believe.

Thank you for finally pushing me so far that I couldn't bend anymore. 

No/Controlling

That's not how this is going to work.

You can't just text me when she's done with you, when she has to go back to her life and you start to get scared that what you've done might be wrong.

I know the moment you find out I've blocked you on instagram. You text me you're sorry for hurting my feelings, that this whole trip was a "poor choice." On your last day. When I am your ride home from the airport. When B is gone, back to her life because she's not going to leave a guy who drives a BMW and lives on a tropical island.

And then you try to be magnanimous. "I'll sleep on the couch for however long it takes."

No.

You don't get to choose your consequences. You don't get to tell me how to be mad at you. You don't get to tell me what kind of crime you think you did and then choose the punishment you think fits.

You lied to me. You straight up lied to me and said you'd meet her for lunch, maybe. Then you posted pictures, so you wanted to get caught. You shoved her in my face, left and right. She's in your cover photo on Facebook! You confessed to the 3 day trip with her. You've lied over and over more times than I can count on my fingers and toes. You checked out on our relationship and expect me to be here working on it for you when you get back.

You expect to walk on me like the doormat I've been for you for the last two years.

And you're sorry for "hurting my feelings."

I found some autonomy and some self respect today.

You're not sleeping on the couch. What couch?

4 Days/3 Nights

4 Days. 3 Nights.

That's at least how long you were gone with her, the numbers that you confirmed for me. That's how long you guys took off for a weekend without your fiance or her fiance to a remote island. Without telling me. Did you guys tell him? By the lack of an instagram tag, I'm betting you didn't.

I didn't think about who used to read this blog. I didn't think about the kind of feedback I would get, but K is right. I'm putting the pieces together and everything you are doing is sneaky, and lying.

You know that what you're doing is wrong.

I protected you. I found out on Father's Day and I still went to dinner because your relationship with your dad has been so rocky, and I pretended everything was fine, and I talked you up.

When you were short with me on the phone before your sister's wedding so I got the time wrong, which, by the way, I was doing errands for you and then I was 15 minutes late to pick you up, and then you didn't talk to me the entire evening, even though you weren't dressed when I got there and we weren't late, I still praised you to all your family members.

You know what Sarah said to me at the reception? She said I make you better, that I support you, that I lift you up. And I had to listen to her and nod and smile and not cry because I knew we might not make it past that weekend.

This has been the summer of pretending. Of me pretending I'm fine when people ask, and you pretending you love me, when you've been deciding how to best cheat and sneak behind my back.

You'll wake up later this morning and if you even care to look, you'll find I've blocked you on twitter and instagram. You probably won't find this, or remember it. I've left facebook for now because we still have to talk about things and I can't just shut you out completely, but I don't want to see any more photos from Hawaii and now I don't have to.

How could you text me you love me last night while you're with her? Maybe you slept together, maybe you didn't. I don't pretend to know. But I do know that I wasn't comfortable with you having lunch so I would never be comfortable with you spending three nights with her. But you did it anyway, and then texted me that you love me.

You don't love me, you pretender.

Slam Poetry

If I could perform slam poetry
I would stand up with the women
Whom I admire so greatly
Who SPEAK
with simplicity about complexity.
The spoken word is our
HISTORY
Passed down from mouths
To ears to hearts.
Stories of victories, losses,
Lovers, and legends,
All preserved throughout generations.
Literacy replaced
With rhyme and rhythm.

If I could speak with such
VORACITY
I would tell the world of my own
SHORTCOMINGS
Of my misdeeds, my misheards
My mis-nameds, my Miss Less.
I would tell of how I got to be
My age
Without becoming a
WARRIOR
Without learning how to defend myself
Or manipulate the field.
Of how sometimes I am
Cornered
And I don't ever fight back
Instead going silent,
Retreating into my
TURTLE SHELL.
If I could breathe slam poetry
I would not be the victim
I am the survivor
Without needing to take up the
Spears and daggers of this
VIOLENT world.

Special Days

Today was one of those special days.

The ones without any snot or tears, where your kid runs bang on into a wall and instead of melting down like she usually does, she shrugs and sits until she stops feeling queasy and then joins in again.

The ones where moms come up to me at the park and say things like:
"That's the first time I've heard a parent say 'Watch out for the person behind you,' all day. Thank you."
"Why you got like four kids on you? Either the redheads or the Mexicans aren't yours."
"Do you have Mary Poppins pockets in your dress? Where are all those water bottles coming from?"

It's the kind of day where I notice how far Mexican culture has come, because there were four little boys in colored skinny pants and converse and that never would have flown fifteen years ago. When I smile because Abuelo still uses a bandana instead of a bandaid, and little Crystal realizes I can understand her 3 year old Spanish as she begs me to push her on the swing.

It's the kind of day when "Mom," slips out more than my name and I remember that the kids fall into this charade as much as I do. When we laugh and make brownies and lick the bowl and learn to crack eggs on our foreheads. It's when a king size bed seems too big for four people because we're all piled on top of each other.

It's when she's in the bath and I come in to check on her. "Are Mom and Dad home?" she asks.

"Yes," I smile.

"Oh," her brows are furrowed and she's thinking. She doesn't seem excited or ask if she can rush to greet them. "Will you wash my hair?" she asks instead.

"Sure," I murmur and she leans forward for me and we don't discuss it further. She knows I'll stay until she's tucked in bed.

Perhaps we've all grown too dependent. Perhaps my life is too entwined with theirs. Perhaps when they hold me and refuse to let go, or read the bedtime books with my voice bound in each page when I can't be there, it is a sign we should all pull back.

But I've taught them how to ride a bike, how to make a sandwich, how to properly eat whipped cream from the can, how to do a handstand and make it across the monkeybars. The time for pulling back passed eons ago.

Safe Space

I use theater terms a lot - terms which have come to apply to all aspects of my life. "Safe space" is a favorite. A physical, mental, and emotional space free of judgement, filled with support and understanding and trust, where honestly is valued about all else. I think of this very much as my safe space.

Sacred space - a place to connect, to breathe, to become a part of something or someone bigger and you leave your personal crap at the door. You come in as a blank slate, ready to learn, to be open, to explore.

I have a sacred space that I enjoy visiting, a short hop, skip and jump from my front door where the sounds of running water and birds whistling take away everything I was ever worried about. It's here that I can curl my fists in the sand or dip my toes in the water and feel as if the earth is surging inside of me. It is here where I become grounded.

I haven't visited in over a month, since my two jobs became exhausting and I wasn't sleeping at all, so I was shocked to come upon my sacred space and find it violated.

Because I place such importance in this place, the attack felt awkwardly personal. Horrifyingly meant for me. On top of that, the ducks who usually swim to me and beg for bread at my fingertips swam upstream immediately at the tall, dark figure I presented on the bank. They were terrified of me.

I was upset. I was angry. I seriously wanted to yell at someone or stand as a watchdog with pepper spray and a slingshot. I understand that kids tag urban areas and I've seen some really cool, beautiful street art, but this is in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of nature. This was an ugly word for an ugly reason and I hated it with every fiber of my being.

But I'll go back. I'll get used to it. I'll take it back for myself and find a way to make it part of my place. If there's ever a kid with a can of spray paint down there, however, I may just slap him/her.

Family/Heavy Update

I got the phone call. The one I was half-expecting to come at three am from a sobbing girl. Instead it was an afternoon text message: Can you please call me when you have free time? So innocent, so politely distant. This is how my family works. We all do this. We all downplay our feelings and refuse to take up anyone's time or emotions or ask for what we need.

I called my niece right away and she was in tears on the other end of the line. "I told my mom and she just - she thinks that if I go out with my friends for a night it's going to go away and I'm going to get better!" I let her cry while I analyzed, processed, and also because she needed to get it out. She's so worried that by asking for help she's going to break up her family, cause her parents to divorce, be branded as a screw up for the rest of her life. "-and then she said 'What, do I need to worry about you committing suicide, too?' and she just spat it at me!" my niece sobbed.

This is where being an aunt puts me in a difficult position. I am, in age, between my brother and his daughter. I am at a point in my life where I can understand both points of view, and it doesn't seem very long ago that I was dealing with my own high school/college issues. His wife, K, and I are so close, probably the closest of all my siblings, (plus or minus Ladybug) and her relationship with my niece is so reminiscent of my own with my mother.

I know that K feels like a bad parent, that she is trying to help/love/comfort her daughter, but has no idea how to handle this situation. I also know that my niece is trying to protect her mother, trying to lock away all her emotions, because she feels like by being honest she is ripping her foundation apart.

So I'm flying out to see them and I honestly couldn't be happier about it. I want to take my niece in my arms and check that she's okay with my own eyes. I want a late night conversation with my sister so she can talk to me about everything she feels overwhelmed by and can't process.

I want to walk into the doctor's office with them and assure them that it doesn't make us lesser people. I want us to walk out of there as a unit and I want my niece to go to sleep at night knowing that her family is rock solid and 100% behind keeping her well and happy, above and beyond everything else.

This is the definition of being family. I am more than happy to live up to the parameters.

Heavy

When Christmas gets heavy:

I skyped with my brother's kids late Christmas night. They're cute kids, 15 and 8, but they're a little overemotional. My nephew is funny and biting but can be sensitive, and so can his sister. My niece is a junior in high school, after she skipped a grade in middle school, and she's been dealt some heavy cards lately: her best friend died from cancer last year, and her other best friend went to jail for molesting younger boys after he himself was abused. Her life has sucked the past few years.

She wanted to talk to me about it this summer, but couldn't find the words, and being raised in a family where we don't push to communicate, I held her as she cried and told her she could come to me when she was ready. Last night's call was tense, grumpy, and awkward, and finally she kicked her little brother out of the room and broke down.

She's been anorexic for the last year. She has emotions she can't understand - feeling happy and normal one day, grumpy and depressed and introverted for no reason the next. She feels anxious, paranoid, stressed, and she doesn't want to tell her parents because she doesn't want to be a fuck up.

I'm pretty good at being calm and reasonable and compassionate when people come to me, but after the fact, when I'm writing about this, I can't help but start to cry. Should I have told her about my anorexia years ago? My depression as an early teenager? The year when I'd been lost and confused and tricked into thinking I'd fatally hurt one of my best friends? Should I be talking about these things to my other nieces and nephews who might be feeling the same way?

Luckily, her mom, K, is the sibling I talk to most, and she knows, briefly, about my struggles with anorexia. After ascertaining and making sure that my niece is not suicidal, I convinced her to talk to her mom. She's struggling, she's drowning, and she needs help and understanding. Maybe it's a conversation I will be part of, maybe I will end up flying out there to help, or maybe she'll find the courage to say something and then call me later. And I understand her hesitation, because she can be emotional and now her parents tend to brush her emotions off. But now I'm worried about her. Because this is what leads to drugs and sex and suicide.

I know there's a stigma against getting help, especially in our family - I mean, hell, I never got help or talked to my mom about any of my issues for that very reason. But I'd rather get her help than see her all over the papers. I'd rather she learn that help is okay than to lose her forever. She's my baby girl who is sarcastic and funny, who lights up at Disneyland, and wants to be a singer and has so much talent, who plays the guitar with me and can sing Katy Perry better than Katy Perry can. I refuse to see her light go out because she won't tell her parents or a doctor that something is wrong.

Tragedies

It's always hard to write about a tragedy. It's easier to keep quiet and not step on anyone's emotional toes. When last Friday hit the news, I was in shock like everyone else. I reached out to my siblings and their children, who felt hurt and confused and scared. I imagined my niece and nephew who only live a few hours away from there, in kindergarten and pre-k, so little, so funny, so ultimately helpless against violence of that force.

But my niece and nephew back east are no strangers to guns. In fact, their father collects guns and is an avid hunter. They never go grocery shopping for meat, and the littlest knows moose meat is her favorite. My whole family are no strangers to guns. We are police officers, sheriffs, military members, war vets. We know the power of a gun and the safety rules of owning one. We know that there are two safes, one for the guns and one for the clips, and the keys aren't kept together.

What we don't own are semi-automatics. What we don't need are guns that belong in war and action movies. No one needs to be able to shoot off thirty rounds at at time. These are people guns. These are massacre guns. GB has rules about what kinds of guns civilians can own. Hunting rifles are fine, but any pistol/handgun is prohibited. Anything that can shoot six bullets without reloading is prohibited. Can I stress that more? SIX bullets.

Wake up, America. We're not waiting on a zombie apocalypse. We don't need guns based off AK-47s in the hands of citizens. We don't need to buy bulk ammo at the nearest supercenter. Why can I only buy two boxes of cold medicine but can buy 400 rounds at a time? What on earth are we doing?

My mom brought up a sad point. Those parents probably already bought Christmas presents for their children. Maybe people will think me callous, but I hope those toys are donated to Toys for Tots or another organization. Those kids aren't coming home to open them, and they were never really "their toys" in the first place. I'm sure all their favorites and most played with will hold a special place, but for these unopened presents it will just be a haunting reminder. Something decent/noble can bud from this tragedy. I hope it will.

Emotions

Warning: Emotions and whining ahead-

We're going to pause all the good gay posts that have been going on to talk about my personal life.

Because today was one of those days where I just wanted to cry.

I'm not a big crier. I used to be until I was 6-7, and then again when I was coming out and drunk all the time, losing my friends and family and was just a big, hot mess. (I'm not a crying drunk, either, it was just a situational life thing.) So, when I do feel like crying, once every 6 months - 2 years, it's a big deal, and it usually means my hormones are a mess too.

Today was a 17 hour shift, take out half an hour for lunch. It was the busiest, most trying, most awful day so far. I'm reminded why some movie stars (mainly wannabe movie stars) are such a pain, why family therapists get paid so much (who really wants to be an intermediary between a parent and child???) and why people only work 8 hours a day. Because when you work more than that, you begin to rip your hair out and sneak behind your desk to take deep breaths because you are oh-so-overwhelmed.

So I did, and then I came home and doodled an intricate drawing on a post-it to let my mind blank out because there was still all this stuff going on that I didn't want to think about. And I've got to do it again tomorrow. Difference being tomorrow I'm going to make sure I eat breakfast.

Wish me luck!

Day 6 Redux Stranger

30 Day Letter Challenge

Day 6- A Stranger.

Dear Stranger,

We don't know each other, but if we did - if we met on a bus at 2 am and poured out our hearts, whether you are 8 or 80, we would relate. I could probably love you if I met you. That's just who I am. There's a part of you that would love me as well, but as to what kind of love and how much- that's unique to us. To you and me and how we fit. I think it's hard not to find one thing to love about each person, even in someone you've only just met, or passed by on the street.

I'll probably remind you of someone you already know, and yet I'll be completely different, and it'll be the same for me. In a world of seven billion people, it's amazing how no two are ever exactly the same.

Maybe I'll hate some part of you, as it's easy to do. It could be easy for me to be jealous of an ex-lover's new relationships, easy to feel as if you've been handed the world on a platter, or easy to feel betrayed by your lack of interest in the world around you. Mostly, I have issues with intolerance. If I see any of those qualities, I'll try not to hold any of that against you :) I try to see the heart lighter than the feather in those around me, whether Anubis would agree with my judgement or not.

I would try to cherish you, and hope you could do the same for me. I don't require gifts or constant attention and affection, just a thought now and then. A gift could never compare to a shared laugh or a conversation on the rocks in the river, or to a glance and warm smile when the clock reaches 1:23 and the words don't have to be spoken because we both understand.

I hope you find someone to sit with, someone who makes you feel warm, happy, and bright.

Thinking of you,

 -Stranger

It's a bit boring, I know, sorry. Just in case you're interested, here's the 2010 version. I didn't read it before I wrote this one, but I did read it after and it was interesting for me to see how I've changed and stayed the same.

Day 4 Redux Siblings

30 Day Letter Challenge

Day 4 — Your sibling (or closest relative)
I've got a lot of siblings, but I'm just going to write two letters because these are on my mind right now.

Dear Sister #1, (This is the sister side-story I mentioned in Vanity)

Every time you get pregnant, I start to wonder if you're a little insane, again. You're the most wonderful, happy, loving, gorgeous person I know, and so is your husband, but you have so many kids. I think having that many kids would drive me nuts. When do you sleep? When do you eat? How can you afford food for everyone?

And then I spend time with everyone and I can't imagine your family without a single one of your children. They're all so unique, each bring a different perspective to the table, and I love each and every one of them. I can only imagine what this one is going to be like. But, seriously, now. Nine kids? That's a lot. Just hold off a minute and seriously think things over before you go for ten, okay? I'm not getting any younger and would like to be the "cool auntie" for all your kids. If you keep going, your youngest ones are going to think I'm old and weird.

Lovingly,

Your Little Sister

Ladybug,

It's been five weeks since I've heard from you. Grams let me know you were okay three weeks ago, but it's not the same.  I worry about you all the time. Everywhere I look, there is someone who looks like you, or there's a Marines logo, or a "Support our Troops" bumper sticker. I want to rip them all down, because each time I see them I worry about you more.

When you were still in training, I could wear all my USMC gear with pride. It was as if by branding myself with it I could still feel you in the passenger seat, arguing about the awful music you like to listen to while we drive down the highway. But now you're not in training, and I see all these kids on the street- 17, 18, 19, 20, and my god, you're so young. Now I can hardly look at any of it without wishing I could work up the courage to write you a letter or pick up the phone and try to reach you.

I get that you've been trained well, I know that you know your way around a gun better than half the guys you're with, but you'll always be that little boy who tried to fight me and lost, every time. You'll always be the kid who ate chicken nuggets with ketchup, who couldn't handle a cold pool, who got locked in the walk in refrigerator every week and loved to dismantle lawn mowers in his spare time.

You're always going to be that kid, no matter what you do, or what rank you earn, or if you become a national hero. You're always going to be my little brother, for better or worse.

Love you- hope you're alright.

Your Big Sis

Day 2 Redux Dream Girl

30 Day letter Challenge Redux

Day 2 — Your Crush

Ohhh man. I have so many kinds of crushes. How about a little something different?

I've never been a dreaming kind of girl. My sleeping history has been riddled with mostly nightmares, not dreams, so when I met you, dear friend, what a surprise that my nightmares paused. My normal ratio is something like 3:1 in favor of nightmares, but for weeks it seems to have reversed.

Even in my happy dreams, I've never dreamed of a relationship with someone in future tense. I've never had a sleeping dream where my partner and I were happily together ten years down the road. For someone who has feared commitment most of my life, I am now dreaming of you in the most interesting of ways - introducing you to friends as my wife, watching as you stand up for me against an old adversary. These dreams are not sexual in nature but imply a deeper bond, a trusting, warm link that makes me feel safe and comforted - things which are hard for me to feel during my waking hours.

The fact that I barely know you makes this even more interesting. I hardly know anything about you, and yet, in my dream you become my everything: my fierce guardian and protector, my giggling companion, the person smiling and pushing hair out of my face as we linger in the quiet kitchen of a social gathering.

Who are you, and why do you make me feel so safe? Is it a psychology thing? Have I become more accepting of love and kindness, more willing to lean on someone else, and this is being personified through you?

Now when I wake I still feel distress, but only because I wish I could fall back into slumber with you.

-

Avoidance

I avoid a lot of things.  In face to face conversations I have a hard time admitting my feelings, even if it's just admitting to physical pain like a headache or stubbed toe.  When I write my yearly Christmas letter, there are giant elephants dancing across the stationary which I refuse to acknowledge.  I won't talk about the man who messes up the family dynamic, even though my extended family is burning with questions about him.  Even when I blogged consistently for a whole year, I avoided talking about the girl that broke my heart.

I avoid doing laundry until it's necessary, and same goes for washing my car.  I avoid making my bed because, honestly, I'm just going to crawl back in it in a few hours.  I avoid important conversations, simmering arguments, anything which I believe will be taxing and a pain in my ass.  I avoid it until I absolutely can't anymore, and then it blows up and smooths over and everything is, usually, fine.

So I was really proud of myself this weekend when I stumbled onto a made-for-TV movie on Lifetime called "Girl Positive."  I'm not usually a Lifetime movie kind of girl, but this one caught my eye and I couldn't shut it off.  The movie stresses the importance of cautious sexual interaction and the reality of HIV among the suburbs and non-risk groups in the US.

When I turned it off, I realized- I'm in my mid-twenties and I've never been tested.  Can you believe that?  It never seemed quite so insane to me because I've never had intercourse with a man, but after watching that movie- how ignorant could I sound?  Like that is the only way to get an STD/I or HIV.

It's not like my sexual education was lacking.  My health class taught me all about being safe and staying healthy, but when I came out all possibility of testing positive for anything sort of flew out the window for me.  Gay and Lesbian sex was not exactly stressed in the health curriculum in my little Mormon and Catholic town.

But, instead of procrastinating or avoiding, like I would normally do, I called up my local clinic to get a blood test.  Now I have to wait.  The waiting part sucks.  I probably should have stuck with avoidance.  But at least once I know, I'll know, and hopefully it'll just be a reassurance- a peace of mind.

When I drafted this post last night I was scared.  I had expected to receive a call yesterday, but it was just radio silence.  Because we missed yesterday's deadline, I know that because of the clinic and the hours this particular doctor works, I might not get a call until next week.  Now I don't feel quite as scared.  The chances of me testing positive for anything are so slim that it's not worth worrying about until I know.

I just need to relax and let what happens, happen.  I'm sure it'll be fine.

Beauty/Ugly

There comes a time in every person's life where they discover a flaw in themselves. As humans, we discover superficial flaws all the time: too fat, too skinny, one eye is larger than the other, one breast is smaller than the other, etc. The internal flaws are hard to discover, and even harder to admit to, unless low self esteem is in play.

I have always been fairly confident in myself, even while admitting to myself that I have several ugly internal tendencies. Over the years, I have come to terms with the ugly sides of my personality, but showing them to others remains hard for me to do. I am cynical, I am jaded; I picked up a book in Target today called "100 reasons every daughter needs a father" and wanted to write the author because I never had a father and I'm just fine. (The urge to rip the book into pieces obviously says that while I'm not psycho because of it, I still carry a penny of daddy issues in my pocket.)

There are ugly tendencies I wish I could change, or get rid of, but there is one thing I am selfish about, and I wouldn't change it for the world.

After first:girl, my mind was jumbled about. I had an affair with a boy that felt dirty and unsatisfying, and then went out partying, looking for people I could connect with so that I didn't feel so alone. When first:girl and I stopped talking, I felt like I had been thrown into a churning ocean with no way to float or scream for help. A few short months passed, and a new girl came into my life.

An:girl was cute, in her own way, a little loud, funny, a soccer player. She was a little rough around the edges, but she was bi-curious, and I looked at her like a drowning man looks at a life raft. We hung out, talked, laughed, but she was young. An wasn't much younger than myself, but girls were a new concept to her. I had had time to begin to adjust, begin to find myself, and she clung to me, taking who I was as the ideal lesbian figure.

I just wasn't emotionally ready for that. I wanted to be with someone older than myself. Someone who would ground me, who would look at me and say, "Go change. You don't look like yourself, you're imitating Tegan Quin." I wanted someone to guide me through sex, to understand that sometimes it doesn't end in orgasms, and it's okay if it doesn't. With An, I felt as though I were carrying two worlds on my shoulders, my world, and hers.

I didn't want to stumble through this tangled web of do-be-do-be-do complexes, stereotypes, and uncertainties with a young girl. I wanted someone who would walk alongside me on my path, and maybe knock a tree branch out of the way or pull me out of the way when a wolf attacks. I still want someone like that. I'm older now, and know more about myself (I can occasionally pull my guide out of harm's way as well), but I am still new enough that I want someone who has been through this a couple of times.

So, I broke it off with her. Abruptly, and without any real explanation as I could not put what I was feeling into words that had enough worth for her to hear. I handled it badly, and I was selfish. I put my own emotional needs first, an ugly, awful thing to do. I could have handled it better, but even now I believe it was the right thing to do.

I've shown you one of my selfish priorities, and have justified it for myself, and for you as well. I write with a bias to portray myself in a better light, another ugly habit I cannot break. It is human nature. And with this justification, the ugly seems more beautiful inside my head.