Torrential Rainpour

I am full of coffee and good intentions, after my sleepy melancholy this morning.
I’ve been having weird, crazy, and sometimes slightly insane dreams — it’s the Chantix — and the one last night knocked me on my knees. Brandon was there, apologetic. And this isn’t isolated… lately I’ve dreamed about all of my exes in various settings and circumstances, and I just — I don’t know what to make of it. Before I just kind of shoved them away, the thoughts, because I will not turn into the pathetic person I was only a few months ago again, and didn’t pay any closer attention to myself or what I was feeling other than,
"(Shrug) It’s nostalgia, perfectly normal."

Which is quite true. To a point.
But this morning I woke up with a longing so acute, so physically painful, that it shredded my soul into pieces.
A familiar achey thrumming in my chest.
Not because I miss the past and want to court my ex….but because I miss his pure heart….I miss his friendship.

I miss friendship.
And I miss the raspy, overflowing essence of who people are.

Maybe I’m shining up my rose-colored glasses, and wallowing, because I’m so used to it.
But I don’t think so.
This is mourning: something that cannot be ignored or brushed aside. Something that has to be faced.

Perhaps this all stems from my night with Jennie on Saturday. First she got upset with me for quitting smoking, and then was practically begging me to go see male strippers, and when I adamantly declined, she got sullen and fiery. Later she congratulated me on quitting, and accepted my decision, but at the end of the night, I still left with a sour taste in my mouth, and I don’t think it was the thoroughly disgusting drink I muscled down at Suzie Cue’s. I think it was because I felt so alone.

I’ve always stood out in my group of friends. I was the cautious one (if you can believe that), the "reason" to everyone’s "action". The smart one who liked books and "weird" stuff. The quiet, doormat one, who puts up a fight about mischief but usually ends up giving in to maintain the peace. But the one who, when she’s had enough, explodes with all the fire and brimstone no one expects.

The one who’s always been more concerned with "connections"… with boys especially — because boys are easier to get along with, easier to digest, easier to….comfort. Soon girls faded from my periphery…around eighth grade…and in high school, the vast majority of my friends were men. Well….haha…the vast majority of them were exes or potential suitors. This is not said in cockiness… more like bitterness. Have I ever had a intersexual relationship that didn’t involve some sort of groping or kissing? I don’t believe so.

 

Anyway.

Back to the point.

 

I don’t have many friends. Since I’ve learned that I can’t be trusted around men (my decision), I tend to avoid them. It’s too easy for me to slip into the role of caretaker, comforter…..and of course, that usually starts with good intentions and ends with my body wrapped around theirs. Such is my "love addict" personality — don’t get me wrong: I take sole and full responsibility for my actions, but it’s nice to give a name to the sickness I’ve felt in my blood for a very long time.

And women? They’re so hard to relate to. While part of me would relish sitting around doing each other’s hair and sharing clothes…it’s just, not feasible. I’ve had very few "deep and philosophical" conversations with women. Jennie and I have been best friends for years and years, but even she says that sometimes she doesn’t "get me". That I’m "on a different level".

 

So here I am, trapped in the in-between. Male friends are not trustworthy and female friends are not relatable, so I am alone.
No pity party here…just a prevailing sadness.

 

I am grateful for all that my friends have done for me, don’t get me wrong. They have done a lot, were a wonderful shoulder to cry on more times than I can count. But at the same time, the self-deprecation of most of them is….tired. In a lot of ways, I have tried to outgrow self-deprecation. I am aware of my short-comings, and I have accepted them or tried to change them. A lonely factor creeps in again. Often I feel as if I am the only one that disdains the status quo and is willing to buckle in & change it.

And anyway, if you hate yourself, why would anyone love you? These are things I’m learning. If you don’t learn to love yourself and see your own worth, then that’s too bad, because no golden beacon of light and love is going to come up to you and magically instill self-worth inside you. It is your own work; don’t try to pawn it off on someone else.

Easy for me to say, right? People have no problem loving me, right?
Wrong. People don’t love me. People want to fuck me. Big difference.
People want to receive my "comfort", my patience, my time, and my body.
But they don’t want to sit down and have long talks with me, or be the calm to my whirlwinds, or grit their teeth through one of my long-winded and mostly incorrect tirades.
So no. Not easy for me to say.
Because even if scores of people did love me,
that love is empty when you hate yourself.
Trust me, I know.

And I think (ok, I’m getting to the point) that this is the entire reason I’ve been dreaming about my exes.
Because, you see, I am starved for friendship
I already have love and support…I have even nurtured myself to an astounding degree, though that journey is far from complete.

But even as I write that, a smug mask settling over my face, I know it’s false.
This is just LA creeping up again to own me.
I love to be loved, I need to be needed, and I want to be wanted.
I dislike Colin with a hearty fervor, but he had a point when he nearly yelled that at me one night.

The point here is that, with Dustin and I, there is nothing to fix. My life is not that of early winter, when Colin would go off on one of his psycho bipolar episodes, and I cried myself to sleep. I have no "crazy" to deal with.

And even with all of my earlier research and changes in Spring, I am finding it hard to adapt to a life without emotional and mental complications.

And so in dreaming about my exes, I am trying to recreate that feeling of PURPOSE, that feeling of knowing someone so intimately and trying to heal their pain, that feeling of MAGIC that comes from the spark of an unexpected soul lighting yours on fire. I think that, yes, I want a friend, and yes, Brandon, for example, was probably one of the best friends I’ve ever had (though he had an agenda, but what else is new?).  But I think it all REALLY boils down to the same place it always does: I am sick and I’m looking for my next "fix" (pun intended).

I am frustrated because Dustin is living a life out of fear (not that I blame him) and I am ready to grab life by it’s horns and wrestle it to the fucking ground. I’ve had enough of waiting around, of being patient, of living a fruitless life. I want to accomplish things, I want to live my dreams, I want to rush headfirst into what I

want. That is not him. He is still reluctant and too patient and inactive. It is frustrating to me.

 

But what I’ve learned this year, that I’ve never known before, is that I can be as action-oriented as I want, no matter what he’s doing. I am my own person. So is he. And I don’t have to drag him with me to chase what i want. I can do it by myself. I am strong enough, I am independent enough, I am knowledgable enough.

 

And what do I want?
I want to live in an apartment and be independent (by myself is fine, even welcomed). I want to change the things that aren’t good for me (quitting smoking was the first step). I want to plan for a career, plan for an amazing home, plan for a family. I want to nurture interests, once I find out what they are. And I want to make friends. Not surface friends either. But I am beginning to think that maybe I’m unfriendable, like everyone either wants me to be their Great Love or "doesn’t get me". It’s sickening and a little sad. But I will keep trying. I’m nothing if not obstinate.

And in the meantime? I’ll be burning candles and drinking tea/coffee, and attempting to enjoy wine, and trying to embroider things, and writing even if it’s stupid. And nurturing the tiny flower of my self-esteem, and working to conquer LA, and devouring reading material on a vast variety of subjects. I will be me. And I will love it.

 

Love
Amanda

 

P.S. My biggest character flaw? I have no Courage.
I’ve found that this year. So I’m working on it.

I will not be the person that is a raving, charismatic lunatic but sits in the corner when it comes time to fight.

 

So here’s to Courage.