Weird Dreams And Missing Him

Dear Stress,

I know you're totally in love with me and all, but let's break up.  It's not me it's you.  Go find someone else to stalk, like maybe a black hole.

Sincerely, Me

My anxiety has been rearing its ugly head much more often than I enjoy or am willing to acknowledge.  I can feel the seeds of overcompensation sprouting....

I couldn't sleep for crap the night before.  Thought I'd be clever and put in some headphones and play some tunes to zone out to.  At some point, it got switched from my white noise playlist to my cardio playlist filled with the Beastie Boys, The Clash, David Bowie and the Rolling Stones and I ended up dreaming about break dance fighting cops and robbers making out with clowns.  How it all got to that point, don't ask.

I'm a pretty low maintenance person.  If you wanna be my lover, you gotta be down to watch documentaries  with me at midnight while we're both covered in cheesy popcorn.  In case anyone was wondering how difficult it is to strike up a friendship with me, you literally just have to message me and like, "Hey, we're friends now" and I'll be "Hell yeah" and then BOOM, we can go thrift shopping.  I know that I've said in more than one post that for me, the "signals" we all give pertaining to human relationships are more complicated to me than hieroglyphics.

You know what's hard about life at times?  When so many people need so many things from you and all you want to do is be nothing to no one for awhile.  It's not being selfish, it's being human.

I have no more room in my phones memory and as I was trying to make more room, I realized that I could never let anyone go through my gallery.  There are way too many odd screenshots and saved things that I have no valid explanation for.  Most of it are things that "inspire" me in the moment that I take the screenshot, and then later I try to figure out if I was slipped something in my coffee at the time because, well, who needs a recipe for frozen grapes?

I've been kind of all over the place lately in my head, but it keeps bringing me back to the same place.  The one I keep avoiding, but know that I can't any longer.  I am lonely.  And it sucks.  And it led to the really huge fight with a person that I will write something different about later, ending in me spewing "Screw you" a dozen times uncontrollably like I had verbal diahrea.  It was almost comical (after the fact, now that I'm semi-removed from the situation).  I had so much in my head that I was wanting to say, and it was the only thing that fell out of my face and I couldn't stop it.  I stood up for myself, but also find myself at the end of a path and I don't know which way to turn.  It led me to write the following this morning:

I have late night conversations with my dog.  He tells me how much he missed me when I was away and I tell him about you and how I want to take back the secrets I told you so I can decide now whether or not to tell you them again.  I want to take back the piece of me that lies in you, to see if I truly miss it.  I want to take back at least half the confessions, because I would feel safer.  I want to shake you and tell you that you're an idiot.  I want to get it through my damn head all the things you said.  I want to show you how unbelievably contradictory you are.  I want this up and down to stop.  Just Stop.  If you're going to push me away, I want you to truly be gone.  I want to punch you.  Hard.  I want this hurt to cease.  But I can't.  I made a promise to myself that if you can live without me, that I would live without you.  I deserve better than your half measures.  And even more, I deserve better than my reaction to it.  I won't apologize for evolving past your comfort zone.

If I knew that that was going to be the last time I'd ever touch you, I would have hugged you so much longer.  I don't think I would've ever let you go.  And if I knew that was the last real conversation we were ever going to have where we shared our dreams and laughed and were real with each other without a string of obscenities flying out of my mouth, I would have never stopped talking.  If I knew that you weren't coming back, I swear I would've told you that you were the only person I have ever felt connected with and that you were my home.  I would have told you that your face was my favorite movie to watch and that your voice was my favorite song and that I could listen to you talking to me always.  That your kiss felt like a resuscitation at the end of a bland day.  But would that have made a difference?

I want to do silly things with you and not have to pretend;  just have fun and go with it.  Kiss a lot and hold hands and make fun of everyone in the movies because we're better than them and then take you to the other room and fuck you like there's nothing left in the world but you and I.

I think about it all the time.  What I want.  How scared and intimidated I am to go after it.  The embarrassment of fumbling through stupid formalities of dating.  Can't they be bypassed altogether?  I would just rather move past the banter that has no bearing on anything meaningful and communicate non-verbally and maybe talk afterwards instead.  At this moment, I want to be completely consumed by sensory overload.  I want to touch every inch of you, silently celebrating everything I see as imperfections within myself.  I want to taste myself inside your mouth.  I want to see you in all its existence;  your fears and desires, your lust.  I want to feel you hunger to bite my neck.  Sexual release brings such emotional resolve for me.  You'll comfort me by reassuring me that you've found peace in my mania.  That my anxiety is a riddle you don't mind taking the time to solve.  We find familiarity with each other in your depression.  One day I'm just going to get straight to the point and tell you that you give me butterflies in my vagina.

Lately I've been feeling like I've fallen into the junk drawer of my own existence;  in the way that I don't know what to do with myself.  It's almost as if I'm some oddball key you found somewhere but you have no idea what door it goes to, but you're certain it's something important so you can't get rid of me or a doohickey that goes to something you have long since chucked but one day you'll need that one piece...  I'm still unlearning the behaviors of staying angry and needing to protect myself.  I'm learning to breathe again.  I may not fully understand and know love, but I want to and I'll stop at nothing until I do.  I've always overlooked important connections because I was preoccupied with surface level reactions to immediate stimuli.  Growing up, I didn't feel much peace.  I always had an outward shell of self protection, but not feel a sense of unconditional love.  My time at home was filled with gaslighting and being treated with contempt for existing.  My past is one wrapped in uncontrollable emotions inside that were never far from the surface of my always smiling face.  I'm bothered and bewildered by the fact that I have to actively assess my words, thoughts, and behaviors to make sure that I'm (both inward and externally) communicating properly my desire to love;  even when I'm not entirely certain what it is.