I was damn near unstoppable. My work outs were consistent, I was writing every single day. Yeah, that’s right. EVERY DAY. There was always a book in my hand by 9 pm sharp and I was out by 10. No exceptions.
I’m a creature of habit. My routines make me feel grounded in what would otherwise be a very chaotic ADHD life. When I am on my own, I can really move mountains. I can be anything, do anything, accomplish anything. All my energy is put towards what I desire. Turns out, my desires consist of more than spankings and dark romance novels, contrary to popular belief.
✅ Consistent content output
✅ 5 day a week fitness routine
✅ Immaculate diet
✅ Half way done with my novel
🚩 A man enters
<insert dracula music here>
I don’t know what the piddly fuck happens between annihilating the day before noon and a man knocking on my door, but it usually ends with me forgetting I have a job, an appetite and a book I have to finish by May. It’s a slow kill—a poison. You don’t notice it until you’ve drank too much and your tummy starts to churn. Maybe you start feeling a little ill, but it’s okay. It’ll wear off. Give it time.
The first five days, I’m locked in still. Especially if I don’t love him—zero fucks. But something happens between the talking stage and the now I have feelings stage. Like an internal apocalypse.
Suddenly I forgot to post my content on time. No big deal though, right? I’ll just mass post everything today. But a few days go by and I realize I’m going to bed at 11 instead of 10. I mean, it’s just an hour. Not a big deal again though, right?
Before I know it, I’ve nearly abandoned my writing, my content and whatever book I had picked up off the Barnes & Noble shelf has now been sitting on my nightstand collecting dust. My world begins orbiting around him—the way he makes me feel, the attention, the intimacy, the closeness.
You hang up.
No, you hang up.
As long as I haven’t found myself drowning in the depth of my attachments, sanity is mine. The second someone turns on the lights in the hell house I call my heart, it’s back to Dumb Bitch City.
And I start to notice it. I can feel my intuition trying to hint at me like a friend who gently nudges you because you’re too drunk at your sister’s wedding. But you ignore it, right? ‘Cause this is fun and I need this.
Why do I need this?
My life is a road I have absolutely no doubt I can trail blaze. I could probably conquer a couple of nearby cities while I’m at it. God forbid a poetic man with a dark side is standing at a crossroads, because I will take whatever road he’s taking. I’m too interested in wanting to consume and being consumed. This thing inside me is a phantom love goddess all her own and she is the only god I worship.
I’m a child.
Inside, deep down, I am constantly looking for permission to let that part of me live. Like some big Daddy or Mommy is going to come save me and I can burn every bridge behind me. No one will be able to cross it and hurt me anymore. It doesn’t matter what’s on the path ahead because this person will carry me through it. Because all I want is to turn this brain off that proves to be a vicious task master. And sometimes it has its place. But I’m tired. My legs are long, but I miss being small. Maybe if I could just relive my childhood all over again, it could be different. This time, my Dad doesn’t die. And he’ll tuck me in and put on The Fox & the Hound for me. We’ll make chocolate covered strawberries and he’ll buy me that tiger plushie I want.
I don’t think my ambition leaves. It just gets channeled into him (or her). Whomever him/her is in the moment. The man/woman who has no idea I’ve pushed them into a parental role they didn’t ask for.
Daddy.
Mommy.
I don’t care if you think it’s weird.
My desperate need for praise pushes me into the arms of a man I know might be dangerous for me. Maybe I don’t know. Not much can get between a girl and her deep-seated need for a gold star at the end of the day. Self validation didn’t seem strong enough for me. Much of my life I was either silenced, blamed or discarded. That doesn’t make me a victim, it just means I have a skewed relationship with personal sovereignty. It’s not a unique issue. But what I do have are a hundred thousand unique experiences that have threaded me into this microscopic needle hole, you see? No, you don’t see. It’s too insignificant, really.
And maybe I was a victim, you know? But the person I was a victim to taught me that expressing my feelings came with criticism instead of understanding. So I always feel the need to tell everyone I’m not looking for sympathy. But I’m lying. Because I just want someone to validate my feelings. So I scrape whatever empathy, understanding and encouragement I have left and pour it into a parental figure, hoping it will get them to stay. Hoping they’ll play Mommy or Daddy so I can relive a hundred thousand moments I feel were stolen from me. And nothing else matters. I orbit around them like the bleeding star around a last quarter moon, begging to fill the empty spaces.
And some of them enjoyed that—witnessing a wild force like me disarm herself and leave the breast plate at the castle doors. I am defiant and heavy-hearted. I gotta couple switchblades in this brain of mine that can dissect the truth in approximately 0.5 seconds. Sometimes you gotta build a cage around me just to keep me from feeding on the locals, you know?
I can still do those things, even in love. But I want to sleep. I want to be oblivious even in my waking life. I just want to trust someone enough to know a sword isn’t needed. For once. Just once. But sometimes I want something so bad, I force it. Even if I know the truth, I cannot accept it as the truth.
I want to feel safe.
So here’s the big reveal—none of them were actually safe. Not even one. Turns out, childhood is over and no one is coming to save me. I have me—a Mommy and Daddy in one. I hate that by the way. I don’t want it.
Stopping to fornicate with the mysterious poetic man (or hot gym guy) never really worked out for me. Most people will take whatever they can get from you. Whether they’re doing this consciously or unconsciously, I don’t know. Probably a bit of both.
I don’t always lose myself, but I get lost with them. Because I close my eyes real tight, hold their big hand and say weeeeeeeee until I wake up and realize I’m chained up in some guy’s compound somewhere. Figuratively speaking.
The book on my nightstand collects dust. My own writing is covered in cobwebs. My workout routine is non-existent (just kidding. I’m too fucking vain for that). You get the idea.
I refuse to abandon what I want in someone. I just hope they can be enough of a leader to hold me accountable. To love me enough to not allow me to abandon myself, even if it means they can’t benefit from that choice. That’s how I am, I think. I hold you accountable. I push you to succeed. I really value that, you know?
The hardest part isn’t even finding someone who can do this. The hardest part is loving myself enough to hold me accountable. To love me enough so I don’t abandon myself. But sometimes my brain hurts and my arms are tired.
And sometimes I just want someone to tell me the answers.
Do this.
Don’t do that.
Make this.
Write about this.
Go to pilates on Tuesday.
My legs are long, but I miss being small. And all I’ve ever wanted was permission to be little without ever having to shrink.
My dad died when I was seven. I’ve spent a considerable amount of time contemplating the black hole in my chest that feels like a refrigerator door being pulled open too quickly from time to time. I’ve often wondered what losing a father looks like for my divine feminine counterpart. My own sister has her quirks some of which I notice due to their blatant patterns. In many respects I feel as though your diary was stolen and someone shared the missing pages! You definitely have a talent for creating visual tapestries of honest illustration that border on mirroring the dark recesses of the heart that people are all too often afraid to discuss and reveal. I feel like I’ve been taken on another ride into Wonderland by Alice’s darker and wiser alter ego!
Keep up the great work! You are incredibly talented!