raw

this is one of the darker (or lighter, depending on your view) entries. i'm really focusing on giving it all up: expectations, desires and the like. i'm beginning to understand that i am no different. i can have no pride around being friends with my ex—that's been established for awhile. that i'm pricked, i bleed. that's how it works. smash the ego. i can't escape my anger, nor contain it in any sort of comfortable space. it hurts and that's the way it is. i touch it just to make sure it can burn me. time to put that self-annihilation aside as well. for the first time i've considered taking anti-depressants, though i don't necessarily want to alter where my feelings are going, but i am exhausted with where my feelings are going. (but, really, it doesn't matter if i'm tired. i can lay down.)

i'm giving up hope, which to some is for suckers anyway. hope suggests holding on to a desire that something may someday happen. slowly, slowly, i'm realizing that it's completely possible that a man will never hold me in a passionate embrace and tell me he loves me. i can't hope for that because the actual act of hoping is moot, though i still feel the ache of wanting it, that's all it is: an ache, a feeling. nothing is happening. i am where i am and there's no better or worse place to be. slowly, slowly i'm laying aside my sexual desire. i'm not stomping on it as i did in my marriage, but i'm moving the intensity out of my communication altogether. until i feel confident in being able to hold those desires equally with my power and voice, until i don't feel that it leads me, i'm inviting it to take a rest. i'll still investigate my sensuality, and especially in my dance, but no more control of it in my life.

there's no future. no expectations. i've made lists of desires until it felt as if my head would explode and the ink run dry. there's never a reason for one's head to pop off.

slowly, so slowly i turn away from what i think anything looks like. i open my arms. my eyes are closed, i'm not looking. i'm here.