New year, nothing much new here.

    Well it’s officially the year of our Lord, two thousand and nineteen. I rung in the new year on a rooftop in, surprise surprise, Dallas, Texas. I know. I’m as shocked as you are. It was simple but nice and honestly probably one of my favorite New Years. I mean it didn’t top Time’s Square or The London Eye but it was nice. He was beside me. So it was what I wanted. I’m currently cuddled up with his beautiful Australian Shepherd that has taken a break from her shenanigans to give me some needed puppy cuddles and I’m thinking about what the next year may hold for me.
    I have a lot of goals for the next three hundred and sixty-five days, much like everyone else but it’s not necessarily about change. Things have been going well for the past three years, since my move to Washington and I don’t plan on changing things; just improving them. Building upon them. Expanding them. Don’t misunderstand, I had a lot of challenges in the past year. It wasn’t an easy year but I’m sure they just get more challenging with age, yet I survived.
    So I’m still modeling and the goal for that has never been to be splashed across builboards. I’ve actually already achieved my goal with that which was to do it. I have built a great reputation in Washington as a model. I work with boudoir photographers often and I love it. I’ve moved into promo modeling which I also greatly enjoy and simply plan to keep modeling for as long as photographers and companies want to work with me. As that’s established and growing I’m considering tipping my toes back into the world of writing.
     I wrote a children’s book several years ago that I’d really like to pursue getting published. I think this year that is something I will really push myself to do. It’s a goal I’ve had for a long time and while I am a published poet, being a published Author has always been a title I’ve dreamed of. I’ve let my fear of rejection, as well as my fear of success, hold me back. If 2018 taught me anything, it was to stop holding back. The right people will support your dreams. The right person will push you to be your best. And the right thing for you will always find you if you’ll stop hiding from it. Be more open to opportunities and you’ll get a lot farther than blindly pushing down one lone path in search of satisfaction. I finally opened myself back up. To life and love. And every step has been a battle but I’ve honestly never been as happy as I am, right now, in this moment. I have my doubts about what the future holds but tomorrow is tomorrow’s concern. I’m living for today. I’m loving right now. Now I just have to keep this positivity for the next three hundred and sixty-five days.

Words

You know, for a person that loves words so much that I used to read the dictionary as a child, I’m not very talented at using them to express My own emotions. One of the reasons is my passive aggressive nature. One being that I’m a people-pleaser and am constantly more concerned about others feelings. But my main reason is fear. I’m not an unintelligent person. I graduated college with honors and  only half applied myself my senior year, because of reasons I will happily blab about in another blog post somewhere in the future. I love to read, and I love to learn. My fear comes more from rejection. We’re all afraid of that but after a while guarding yourself becomes second nature. For me, being rejected because of a physical attribute  is way more bearable than being rejected for having a certain opinion.

   I can handle not being tall enough, or small enough, or not having pretty eyes the color of an angry sea. If I’m rejected because of those facts, then I don’t want to be wanted by you anyways. You’re small-minded if you’re going to confine me to those requirements. But rejection of my opinion or my emotions and feelings, my thoughts, my ideas, That hurts much more. Those are things I can change, to an extent,  but would I still be me if I just flip-flop to please you? No. I’d just be a carbon copy. And I’m not talking about major things like racism or how you like your coffee.  I mean opinions like your favorite color, or your favorite sweater, or most hated poet of all time.
        I’ve always craved a partner whose thought process differs from mine. Someone that views the world a bit differently than I do, but still enjoys a lot of the same things. I imagine it’d be like taking the same photograph with different lenses. The composition is exact but the focus varies. You could learn so much and see so many different things all in the same little 8x10 box. 

      But showing someone my photograph, and having them turn away in disgust or just not caring enough to truly look at it, has always been a level of vulnerability that makes me extremely fragile. I’ve been broken before, and having put myself back together, well it’s not a pretty process. And not one I want to keep repeating. I learned how to show only one or two shots of my portfolio instead of the whole book. I learned how to hide enough of myself that I could raise curiosity but never fulfill it. Or at least, make sure I didn’t want to show more. But then I’d meet someone and something would click and I’d want to show them all of me and in my excitement show too much too fast. I’m extremely guarded until I trust you. But once the trust is established I’m all in immediately. I’ll happily show you every corner of my art gallery. Too much too fast. I'm trying to learn balance and not be so all or nothing but so far...I'm all or nothing.

      

1,695 mi.

 It’s 11:32pm on Tuesday night. Meaning in exactly 27 minutes it’ll be Wednesday. And I’ve been dreading Wednesday. Wednesday means he’s leaving. The man who has somehow worked his way into my heart in the past almost two years of knowing each other, eight months of talking, and three point five months of...well, we’ll call of seeing each other. Cause we weren’t exactly dating. We’ve gone on precisely two dates. The first one was great, until it wasn’t, and it ended with me sobbing on a ferry ride home. Not a huge deal. Ok, it was kind of a big deal to me. The second date was better. It didn’t end with me crying at all, so you know, bonus. Plus rooftop dinners in downtown Seattle have a great vibe to them. It’s hard to fuck that up. 

    Back to my point. I’ve known this guy long enough to know that I’m into

Him. Long enough to know that I want to see what this could turn into. And well enough that I should be able to look him in the eyes and tell him that I have feelings for him. But every time our eyes meet, my heart stops and my mouth goes dry and I can’t make a normal word form with my tongue. I’m petrified that he’ll run. He’ll just disappear into the night, like he has before, that first night. Though that was 75% my fault, I was still afraid of it happening again. This man has been intimate with me and yet I can’t be emotionally honest with him because another heartbreak might just kill me. I love so hard. Too hard. No one has ever matched me on the battlefield. I’ve always fought alone. I have no idea what it’s like to stride confidently into an “I love you” or an “I need you” or even the most basic of an “I like you”. And feel that reciprocated. No idea. No one has ever liked me back on that level. As me. No one has ever truly been in love with me. So as accustomed as I am to rowing in that damned boat alone against the current, this time is different. 

    I can tell he’s different. That’s what drew me to him the first time we met in that low-lighted lounge, beneath a Mexican restaurant, in the heart of Seattle. He’s intelligent, intensely, intimidatingly intelligent. I could listen to him speak about things I know next-to-nothing about for hours simply because of the way his face lights up as he’s talking. He loves it. So I’d listen. We had enough in common to relate well with each other but so many differences that there was even more room for us to learn from each other. A completely terrifying but enthralling combination for me. I’d never been here before. Most guys just wanna fuck me and then ghost. Most guys aren’t interested in having a deep conversation about, well, anything. So this....This was enchanting and I honestly couldn’t get enough. I would’ve spent every day with him and not gotten bored, even if we just curled up and read separately on our own, I would’ve loved sharing that space of silence with him. As it was, adults have to work and pay bills so we didn’t see each other as often as I wanted. I think both of our past hurts had us relatively keeping each other at arms length. I know, it did for me. I was terrified to trust him. But I felt it happening anyways. Slowly and then all at once. Little things he did caught my attention and made me realize that he was paying attention, he cared, even if it wasn’t like how I expected. 

      My own emotions took me by surprise. The way they slammed into my chest when he said he’d gotten the job in Dallas, how I was happy he was getting something better, where he’d be appreciated for his talents. I was happy about that. But hadn’t really expected it to take him so far away. My own sadness at not seeing him regularly hit me like a brick wall. I was mad at myself for caring. He’d snuck under my guards and scaled my walls, seemingly without trying, And I hated realizing that I was incredibly disappointed that he was going. That someone else might soon be waking up to him. That someone else would put that slow grin on his face, or make him scoff at their failed jokes, or giggle at one of his. I hated that thought. It made my stomach roll and my heart ache and I knew I had to tell him but I wasn’t sure I could bare my emotions like that. I wasn’t sure I ready to be so vulnerable again.

       I tried. I planned it all out in my head. What I’d say. How I’d say it. But once again my heart stopped and my mouth went dry and I looked him in the eyes and couldn’t admit that he meant so much more to me than I let on. Because it was crazy. I felt crazy having let myself fall so far so fast. I always fall so fast. So I let the moment pass and then sent a panicked text that barely revealed my half acknowledged feelings. But it was too late. He had to go. And I had to support it. It was what was best for him. And really, who was I to ask him to stay? 

     So Wednesday, he is leaving. Tomorrow he is leaving...today. In a few hours. He is leaving and I’m way more upset than I have any right to be. And I should probably take my emotions and shove them deep down and lock them up so tight I’ll forget about them.  But I’ve never been good at hiding something once I’ve admitted it to myself. He’s different than any other the guys I’ve been with before. And I’m different with him and I don’t want to be who I was before him anymore. 

      I want to keep being who I am now. So I’m going to try. And maybe, he’ll want me as I am now. Maybe he’ll miss hearing my giggle as his rambunctious Aussie licks all the makeup, I painstakingly applied, off my face as I lay in bed. Maybe he’ll miss my snoring into the night as he’s trying to get me to stop hogging the bed, but honestly he can’t blame me. He likes it too cold, so I need his body heat to sleep. Maybe he’ll miss me lazily watching him dress for work as I wrap myself in his side of the blanket and snooze for five more minutes. Maybe he’ll miss me blushing from the slightest hint of something sexual in his tone. I know I’ll miss it. I’ll miss him. I already miss him. I don’t know if it’s too soon or too much or too fast but, It’s 12:20am now, on Wednesday morning, and he hasn’t left yet but I already miss him. 

A Fresh Start

Alright guys, I dropped into a black hole of depression and a bit of self-destruction but now, several years later, here is what’s new with me.

I’m ready to love but I’ve realized that I’ve been expecting my new love to feel like my past love. I keep looking for that past connection in someone new. I am constantly saying no when I don’t feel like I felt with him. I expect to have the same thing with a different person, and that is impossible.
Starting a new relationship after having
your heart broken is hard. It’s hard to trust someone new. It’s hard to believe someone new. It’s hard to be someone new, and yet you will eventually. You have to let go of that past relationship if you truly want to find the one that’s right for you. You don’t have to forget the experiences you had with that person but you have to stop looking for them in everyone else. That experience was special, and you learned whatever it was that you were supposed to learn (or possibly you taught and they learned) and now you’re on to the next experience with someone new.
The new relationship can’t even begin if you’re projecting your old experiences, good or bad, onto this new person. You have to be ready to tear down your own walls. Lower your own guards. You have to set the soldiers at the gates of your heart at ease. That isn’t the job of a new person in your life. You can’t appreciate your new person if you’re wishing or expecting them to be like your previous partner. And continuously dating the same type of person over and over will get you nowhere. Yes, we have “types”. My type tends to be fuckboys and douchebags because I’ve become very good at navigating those types of relationships and I’m never surprised, but still hurt every time, by the predicted outcome of those “relationships”. Try something new; try someone new. Give someone unexpected a chance. At this point, what have you got to lose by jumping into uncharted waters?
I realized that I’ve done this countless times. I didn’t give someone a real chance because it didn’t feel right. And by right I mean it didn’t feel like that last relationship I had that I was so happy, for a while, in. I kept looking for the same experience with a different person. I wasn’t open to what that specific relationship could’ve been, I was too busy looking for a repeat, a replica, an exact carbon copy of what I once had. Who wants a repeat relationship? Honestly, that’s the opposite of what I want because he’s gone. I want someone who will stay. So why am I constantly distancing myself from someone who might stay?

Photo By Amanda Lewis

I’m afraid of another experience. I’m afraid of the next person simply being another learning experience and then they’re gone again and I’m hurt again and that’s that. But honestly, if that is that, then I guess I am still not who I need to be for my partner. I firmly believe that every person you’re with before you “settle down” teaches you something that prepares you for being with your person, partner, soulmate, whatever you want to call them. I’ve learned at least one good lesson from every douche I’ve dated. Haha, I’m hoping I taught them to stop being a douche! I didn’t date in high school, I was raised very conservatively. In college I was too busy finding myself, mostly in beer pong cups, let’s be honest, to be ready for a true relationship. The one I found myself in ended up teaching me damn near everything. It was a toxic, on-again-off-again, I-love-you-but-I-can’t-be-with-you type of roller coaster that just ruined my ability to trust anyone, including myself and my own judgement. As a result I’ve been dating douche-bags since because hey, let’s relearn the same thing over and over to make sure I’ve got It! But really, I mean, I picked him. And I used to think I just picked the wrong person, but hindsight is 20/20 and I learned a lot about my own needs for a future relationship. I learned how to stick up for myself emotionally. I learned how to appreciate red flags instead of make excuses for them. I learned that the way I need loved isn’t the same way my partner needs loved and how to grow and provide that type of love. And now I’m learning that looking for him in everyone else is impairing my ability to move forward and an actual real, true, honest, caring relationship. I have no idea what a happy, supportive, honest relationship with a partner is like. I’ve never been in one because I purposefully choose people that feel like my ex.
I’ve just been repeating that cycle and becoming more and more frustrated when things end, the same as the last time. I’m breaking my own damn heart because I’m trying to thrust all of my readiness for something real on men that are nowhere near ready for that. And when I do find a man that I like and is completely open and ready for what I say I’m asking for, I tend to panic and bolt. Because I’m in uncharted waters and it doesn’t feel the same as my ex. He is not my ex. He is completely, drastically different. And I’m petrified of him because I’m navigating and can’t see the stars. I have no idea what I’m about to learn, or teach, or both, in this new relationship. I tend not to communicate out of fear, which gets us nowhere. I’m already learning to push myself. I’m pushing myself to speak up and be honest about my expectations and desires, something I’ve never done before. I’m still learning, but I’m ready.

Stop Asking!

I'm laying here between my devoted pooch and this man who fell asleep here but probably won't stick around long; they're both snoring but I'm wide awake. Trying to be real with myself for once. My best talent, by far, is avoiding reality. Because real life sucks. I work five to six days a week. A relief from the seven days a week I used to work for the past year.  However, despite my desperate attempts to save money, I'm always broke. My car finally bit the dust and I'm left to either walk or bum rides to work. I have a college degree that I'm not using but will be paying off for literally the rest of my life. I have a two-bedroom apartment that I've spruced up but I live in it alone. I'll be 28 next month and I have nothing to show for it. No one is impressed by my ability to exist. Including myself. I'm a ship lost at sea, I have no direction and no concept of a plan. And I'm a huge failure at relationships. No one would  care that I've done nothing with my life if I could convince some poor bastard to marry me and pop out three little mini-me's. Then I'd have a purpose. But that hasn't happened. I'm the queen of failed attempts in that ballpark and quite frankly, I give up. No, I don't have a boyfriend or even a prospect of one. No, I don't have a career; I have a job. I don't have a car. I don't have a boyfriend (I said that twice because people keep freakin' asking me). I don't own a house (nor do I really want to), And no, I don't have any idea what I'm doing with my life. And I don't care. If I feel like selling everything I own and buying a one-way flight to Australia I just might do it. Why not? I have no reason not to. I may not have much but I am free to do whatever the hell I want, within the law and reason, of course. So screw your idea of how things are supposed to go. I've never much liked rules anyways. Stop asking me what I'm doing with my life. I'm doing whatever the hell I want. and stop asking me why I'm single. I'm single because I won't settle. So take that. Or better yet, just stop asking!

Beauty Is as Beauty Does...

I'm lying here in my living room as HGTV redesigns on in the background, it's past three AM, and I cannot sleep. Most likely because of the words someone spoke to me a few days ago that keep running repeatedly through my brain. These words were meant to compliment and cheer me up, I'm sure, however all they did was make me feel even worse.

        It was later at night, I'd gotten home from work early since it'd been a slow night and I wasn't needed on the floor any longer ( I'm a bartender/server). Feeling discouraged and depressed, I went home, as I do almost every night I'm cut early. I curled up on my chair in my living room, turned my TV on to HGTV (I'm an avid fan) and then stared into space for a while. A friend of mine hit me up, asking how my day was. I gave my standard reply of "okay" and waited for the usual question everyone always responds with. It came. "just okay?". I was immediately irritated, for several reasons.

       One, lately everything seems so predictable to me that I even knew what that text would say before I had even read it. Two, why, when I say 'okay' do people feel the need to question my certainty? I said 'okay' because I was 'okay'. If I was absolutely freaking grand I would have stated so with much enthusiasm. If I was completely miserable, which I was not, then I would have grudgingly admitted so. I was okay. He seemed to think I was mistaken (along with the other ten or so people that responded exactly like he did) and told me I must be better than just 'ok', to which I replied that no, I'd had just a normal day. Then it happened. He insinuated that I had to have had a much better day than I had stated because I have "fantastic boobs".  As if having a fantastic rack (which yes, thank you, it is) guarantees that I have wonderful days all the time or at least nothing so bad could happen that my "fantastic boobs" couldn't brighten instantly. 

     Really? Really! I was instantly pissed off. My boobs, kind sir, did not fix the fact that I went home having worked about three hours less than I was hoping, and having made not even a fourth of my usual tips, due to almost no one venturing out that night (mainly because of the crappy weather that has decided to stay a while). Perhaps if I was an Exotic Dancer my boobs would've made a difference, however I sincerely doubt that considering the location of the town in which I call home at this time. Even if I was a stripper, that doesn't give you the right to assume that my breasts possess such wonderful magical powers as allowing me to skip through life. If it did, I wouldn't have worked nearly so hard in college. Honestly, I wouldn't have gone to college at all-because the debt I now have will, most likely, be hanging over my head the rest of my life. I'd be super rich, living my dream life with a nice house on the beach - you get it. I guess my boobs haven't gotten the memo yet because I'm nowhere near any of those things being a remote possibility at this point. 

      That short conversation lead me into remembering other conversations where people assumed I have a perfect life because of my appearance (which I really cannot take much credit for. God decided what I'd look like and I've left myself alone). At a previous job I admitted to someone that I suffer from depression, and over the past few years my depression has increased. At one point, I couldn't find a reason to get out of bed other than avoiding my dog peeing all over my apartment. Honestly even that almost didn't seem worth facing another day. They were surprised and told me so. They said they couldn't imagine someone as pretty as me being depressed. 

      When did being pleasing to the eye mean that people wouldn't have hardships? When did the promise  that as long as you're beautiful you'll never have a bad day, or a bad month, or even a bad year happen? I never got that contract. This time last year I was working four jobs and barely even making ends meet and it's still a struggle. I pray every day when I go to work that my car will start. Yesterday the heat and defrost quit working. I had to stop halfway to work to get a towel to wipe off my windows so I could see to finish the drive. I'm not complaining, my car got me to work and that was all I needed. I see people walking to work in the snow and I'm so thankful that my car still runs. 

      I know several people who have similar stories. People have told them they're too pretty to have problems, or too beautiful to be depressed or unhappy. Outside of plastic surgery,  we have no control over how we look. Sure, we've learned how to enhance our appearances (make up), even capitalize on it,  and take pride in ourselves (we don't show up to work disheveled and unkempt), but that doesn't mean as much as society has come to believe. I don't "look" depressed because showing up to work with my hair uncombed, un-showered, and my clothes wrinkled and reeking of beer from working the bar a week ago, is completely unacceptable and instant cause for suspension or being fired. Despite never feeling like it, millions of people manage to pull themselves together long enough to be in public. The sad thing is that we're all wearing masks and few people care enough to see what's behind it. Stop assuming based on appearance and stop speaking without considering the fact that you might be about to say something ignorant. 

      Maybe I'm overreacting but this is my place to rant and rave when I feel the need and you're all free to disagree if you want to. If you're the guy whom I had that wonderful conversation about my boobs with, I know you meant well, and thank you for that backwards compliment. I don't recommend saying anything like it that to another woman, but then maybe another woman won't mind. And if my boobs ever do develop the power to let me skip through life, I'll be sure to let you know. 

    In the mean time, my friends, please wander on. 

A Peek Inside...

Going against everything that I portrayed in my last blog entry, here is a peek inside me. I scrabbled it down about ten minutes ago.

It

Something inside me-something I didn't even know existed before him,
something I don't recognize, or understand, or can explain, blossoms
for him. Only him.
I feel it tickling the tips of my toes, whispering behind my knees, quivering
through my thighs. I feel it contorting in my stomach, dancing
on my lungs, and twisting my tongue into a sailor's biggest pride. Whatever
it is, it turns my intellect into a mess that could impress the most seasoned Lunch Lady.
I, am useless.
Looking at him, feeling him, is all I can think of. I hunger for his
company, continuously. I'm a junkie for his poison, constantly
craving the prick of his needle into my vein...
Were he Vampire, I would adore nothing more than to die
in his arms; his teeth sunk into my neck to drain every drop
of love from my body. "Please," I would beg, "please
take me. All of me." And I would rise from the mist
of death to repeat the sacrifice.
We are a match. My body sings it is so whenever he touches
me. We harmonize. As the flame will leap from match to wick
without touching, I ignite from a look into his sea-green
eyes; ever changing yet always captivating me.
We cannot be replicated. There is no cloning
of our fusion. Whatever it is within me that rises like a wild cat
at the scent of its prey, is also domesticated for him. It thrives
off of his desires-begging to please-plummeting from the sky like Icarus
at the hint of disappointment. Pouncing at the taste of play. No one else can unleash
it. No one else can keep pace and no one - NONE can make it yearn
to satisfy, but him.
He is intelligent,he is strong. He is
compassionate, and giving.
He, is mine. I am his.
And It, awakens only for him.