My own Fifty Shades

My sexuality is feeling boundless as well as my insecurity.

It is the way of the world those being tethered to one another. Keeping us all locked in a prison of irony and sanctity.

There are so many things I am aching for, from life, and I’m feeling trapped from them. Admittedly, by my own doing.

For the first time in so long I’m wanting to feel the freshness of a new relationship, the clarity of its walls being unknown. Keeping definitions to a minimum. I want and am excited to learn someone new.

 

I am curious and crazed. My book shelf as of late not helping (Fifty shades of Fucked Up).

140 Characters

Jamey M. H. ‏ @jigglejams

I thought it was IBS but it was really WRT.

Things like this make me laugh. Hysterically. And for days. Why? Because to me it is hilarious on multiple levels.

Level 1: The stress, anxiety, albeit hardship of my relationship (on multiple occasions) has literally made me ill.

Level 2: Ha! Just called the ex the “shit.”

Level 3: IBS – A widespread condition involving recurrent abdominal pain and diarrhea or constipation, often associated with stress, depression, anxiety, or previous intestinal infection.

As you can see Level 1 and 3 are related, more exclusively then in Level 2. Level 2 really is to make me laugh. Now the Tweet is fully explained. (I received some confusion)

Personal issue: I do not like giving credit where credit is due. More exclusively in the male category, when the males behaviors affect my life. I do not like to feel less than. More importantly made a fool of. In my situation both of those things happened. So now I have this self-burdening aftermath.

It’s always interesting to self examine. The things you can realize on your own, though inspired.

My “personal issue” as stated above also has a “silver lining” that I pretend* is the route cause. I feel it’s immature to put it all, whatever that is, on to a guy. In each scenario I must have had a downfall as well. The seed growing the plant of failure was that of my own. I am that seed. My life being the plant. Here we sit in the garden of WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING. This I know is not true in all interactions, however.

Why do I like my tweet? Because it’s giving credit where credit is due. That SOB can suck a D.

Jamey M. H. ‏ @jigglejams

Emotionally I am #Xena but physically I am #Gabrielle.

*Other life events have made this a regular thought process of mine, since childhood. We are addicts of rhythmic insanity, cycling our insignificance that only we legitimize.

Disjointed Applications

Adjustabilty of my minds mental process has been compromised. Juxtaposed into the previous nights thoughts. Dreams. Replays. Here I sit stunted. Wondering all those pathetic wanders. Compromised. To produce any structural comprehension…there is a screw loose. Needing a prescription for growth hormones, specific. Targeted.

I look out my window. Weather report. Jacket no jacket. Start car. Robotic. Method madness. At least these certain things I can do blindly. Memorized. Second to nature. Second to doing this since birth. Second to started my car after exiting the womb. Second to.

Band-Aid me. Neosporin. Hug me and let me cry.

It starts in Dream Sequence

Sometimes, if I work it just right, it’s as if it never happened. I can gallivant through my days like a school girl. Laughing. Dancing. Drinking.

Other days it starts from the silence of sleep. Vulnerable. Penetrating every dream sequence. You are there. Replaying variations of rejection.

The best version of myself is the one that’s an actress. Holding and hiding. Oscar-winning.

Happy Anniversary

This time last year my relationship was in complete turmoil. The kind that makes you obsessively contemplate, “what will make this better?” Your desperation to fix your relationship is multiplied by your desire to no longer feel…destroyed. I’m not sure if that’s a strong enough word for how it feels when the world has lost it’s shape and all things seem to be unrecognizable.

Quite literally I was crushed. Crushed beneath the weight of it all. I couldn’t crawl my way out of the pit that I had fallen into. For some reason the happiness that I could have, easily, didn’t align with the happiness that he needed. And he would not live without what happiness he desired, there was no room for compromise. But to try to figure all of this out with someone who could not process their own feelings. What is there to fix?

Somehow we carried forward. Limping. And the emotional toll was taken from my body. My physical health deteriorated quickly with a flu that was unwavering followed by a cyst in my chest. Horrible. It was as if the emotional damage was taking a physical manifestation.

Fast forward.

Here I am again, the anniversary of it all. Divorce is final. Sickness has returned, as well as the cyst.

Forgiveness after the D-word

Forgiveness after the D-word

So I was Googling, yes that’s an activity, and ended up with this site. How? Well of course I googled, “how to forgive after a divorce.” Thank goodness I did; I could tell I was being bothered by the whole thing (who wouldn’t?).

Something I know to be true for myself is that FORGIVENESS is a big thing. Not that I have the inability but that it’s very important to not have any lingering bitter feelings towards anyone. To completely let go of it all.

It’s like a weight lifted off your shoulders, you don’t have to like the person or even ever talk to them again. But when you forgive you become a better you. Who doesn’t want that? I think we could all use a little more forgiveness, the world is so hard on us all already. We should really give each other a break.

So even though my heart is still in shreds and my financial life in turmoil, I am ready to let go of any hostile feelings. Because I did really love him and there is no shame in that.