Methadone for the Soul

At some point it stops being cute when you lift your dress up over your head to show people your skinned knees or your favorite panties with the stars on them.
For me the last moment of “aw that’s cute” that came before shame and a sense of being demure should have been 38 years ago.
But I only stopped a few Tuesdays ago.

And I have to Facebook memories and blog posts to prove it. Lucky fucking me…

A gem from 2 years ago today or last year, I didn’t look.

Public service announcement.

Just so everyone is aware, I am Kali the destroyer walking around wearing a really pretty skin suit.

Also, when I am happy, it’s the same as stomping kittens.

So sayeth my ex.

So be-eth the reason I am no longer suffering his shit with a smile.

Just EW. No one should say stomping kittens like ever, and if they do I shouldn’t be repeating it…and he was long gone a buried, why did I dig that shit up?

Followed closely by this right here…

I am having a mini temper tantrum.

I am mostly mad at me.

Today I must rip apart a very complicated bed, move a giant wardrobe and get the lawnmower rolling after a long winter’s rest.

I had the worst, girly, pathetic thought pop into my head. For a split second, I wanted a man around to help.

I love being single and living alone, but that thought crept in and mewled in that obnoxious cajoling girl voice, the one that sounds like nails on a damned chalkboard.

I grossed myself out.

And then I realized that MOST boyfriends of times past wouldn’t have helped anyways and I have been doing this shit alone for years as is.

I have full confidence that the next man to sit beside me on the throne will be an equal and a partner as I will no longer settle for less.

As much as some help would be appreciated, I know I’ve got this.

When am I not having a tantrum or a meltdown, or lifting my dress up over my head???…rarely.

At least there was a lesson in here.

I spent almost 2 years in a passionless relationship with a useless man who couldn’t even change a tire.

Am I supposed to be proud of myself for this? Do I think I have time for this?

At what point could I not have just realized on my own that I was a capable girl? Why was I so blind?

Ah yes, couldn’t see past the dress pulled up over my eyes.

See why this isn’t cute anymore? I do.

I have said with great pride and full enunciation as loud as I can that I hold my memories close. That my heaven is a big editing room where I can add dragons and explore alternate endings.

Cool idea sure.

But isn’t an editing room where 90% of the footage falls to the floor and some nice janitor named Tim or George comes along and sweeps it all up and at the end of the day it didn’t further the plotline so it wasn’t really useful.

Um ya.

By replaying over and over and fucking over all these things have lost their meaning.
I thought I had to keep them to learn things, but we are kinda past that now.
It isn’t learning if I just play everything back on a loop.

I need help, not coddling.

My current train of thought has a lot to do with comfort zones and weaning yourself out of them. Methadone for the soul so to speak.
It is my way, or has been.

It’s time to face the cold sweats, the shaking and puking and just hole up in my house for a bit until I can sort through this.
The solitude is a comfort zone. But this one is new and I have room to move.

 

I’ve been crawling on my belly
Clearing out what could’ve been.
I’ve been wallowing in my own chaotic
And insecure delusions.

I wanna feel the change consume me,
Feel the outside turning in.
I wanna feel the metamorphosis and
Cleansing I’ve endured within

…

Contemplate what I’ve been clinging to.

Tool 46 & 2

See also Ænema

Mom’s gonna fix it all soon.
Mom’s comin’ round to put it back the way it ought to be.
Learn to swim.

 

I am going back through this website. It’s mine, I can edit and pull and cut as I please.
Then onto my life, I have to figure out why I do the things I do. Then throw it away.

Not every memory is worth keeping.