It Was Good

First thing today, is to figure out how he will love her. He loves her, that isn’t the question. But how would he show her? Yesterday, it was with a small note, I love you handwritten on it that hid underneath her tea cup. A teacup he picked out for her and filled with black tea he steeped the way she likes it. But, today was a new day and another chance to figure out how to love her. He walked to the kitchen and leaned against the counter to think. He looked around at the bills scattered in front of the Keurig and the pile of discarded recyclables by the trash. He takes a deep breath and fear overwhelms his thoughts. That feeling of not being good enough weighs him down. But she needs his love and so he pushes through it. I’ll find something in the living room. Toys surround the perimeter of the room. The plastic, colorful, and imaginative toys lighten his mood. But, his fears whisper the word tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow it will be easier he agrees. And sits in the rocking chair his wife nurses in. It’s an awkward chair, not his first choice, but it was for her. There’s no use in waiting a voice from inside says. He reaches into his pocket for a small notebook he carries around with him at work and goes to his disheveled desk for a pen hidden by months worth of mail to be organized. He walks back to sit in the awkward chair and taps his chin. Eyes shut tight, he writes I love you because you exist and I love that. Those words are embarrassing to him, but he knows she needs to hear it. So he tears the paper from his small notebook and stands up to leave it on her seat. He walks away and turns to look at the note. I should rewrite it. He takes a step. No, no she will like it. It’s good enough.  

My Current Thoughts

I am not always the easiest person to talk to. I am fully aware of that. But:

I am capable of change. I am capable of forgiveness, I am capable of learning/listening to new thoughts and ideas even if they compromise my own beliefs.

I tried just following a belief system even though the system compromised my beliefs. It gets hard to pretend once you really sit down and think about what your true values are. It’s always been extremely hard for me to pretend. And even though sometimes the truth pisses me the hell off, if I come to the realization that I’m wrong, I will apologize or I’ll admit I was wrong. And I will do whatever is in my power to either not do it again or adjust my own views to what was true. Even if it means removing myself from a situation. Removing myself is a last resort but sometimes I have to do it. Especially, if I’m explaining my needs, my thoughts, my feelings, and they are disregarded or shoved to the side like an old news paper.

If you can not come to me with the truth, don’t come. If you can not strip away and get to the core of why you believe something. Stop coming. Find someone else to be friends with. I’d rather be alone than have people around me pretending. Disagree with me. Tell me why you do. Most importantly, tell me your life experiences that made you come to this realization. Don’t come to me with non human bs. Be a human. Tell me I hurt you. I’ll tell you why I’m hurt by it. That’s how you bond, that’s how you grow. We get mad. We scream, we yell, or not. We go home, think about that shit, and regroup. Then we come back to it whether it be a couple days weeks months. Just be honest, that’s how bonding happens.

That’s what I want.

Confessional:

To be honest, 3 or 4 years ago this was all very hard because I wasn’t secure in my own faith or values. Over time, my husband and going to school helped me sit down and establish what I currently believe and where my boundaries when it comes to my beliefs and values. So I am now more secure in and listening to conversations (especially religious ones) that compromise my own beliefs. If a topic is sensitive to me I will say that. I will show that, but it took time for me to learn to say, “this is a sensitive topic for me and to explain why.”

A Tidbit on Mindfulness

The feeling of self-righteousness crosses my mind before and/or after I tell myself I’m just not pretty enough anymore. At first thought, I do think that I could do it better than some other human out there and those thoughts are often exchanged with my insecurities. At times, I have to say to myself, “Okay, let’s think about this clearly. Is this really something I’d be capable of if I were in their situation?” That usually puts things in perspective for me. And then, with the insecurities I push myself to think something positive about my body or my abilities (which isn’t always easy). It’s about being in a constant state of awareness of my thoughts. I have to be, because the downward spiral is an easy slip. First, I’m content while listening to a talk show on NPR, not paying attention to my thoughts. Then I’m staring into the eyes of a Cheshire cat who’s asking me where I’d like to go. And then, I can’t remember where I even started. Or in other words, I’m no longer conscious. The real world full of daily struggles has slipped beneath me. To be mindful of my thoughts is both humbling and uplifting at the same time. It’s something that’s pretty important to me.

Art

A place where rules can be bent and logic defied

where man is winged and birds speak

this is where I write from

and also from my heart

even when it seems meaningless

it is something

it is a piece of me

and I will continue to leave bread crumbs for myself

because for some reason I think I’ll need them

-Saschia

 

….More at Jayne.Press Writing Like A Writer

 

 

Little purple person

Who are you when you’re

not looking,

when that sweat is dripping

from your brow

When your feet are up

on the couch.

Can you define yourself?

Not your hobbies

or your top responsibilities,

but who you are,

those spaces,

 between your out-right 

maddening choices?

“I’m a little purple person,” it whispered in my ear. “I run and frolick and think of the many ways I can return to you. It’s just a matter of getting to you.” It takes ten huge steps away from me, but since it’s so small it doesn’t get more then 3 inches from my face. It sits, crosses it’s legs, and faces me. “In between the spaces is space, my dear poet, it’s space to be filled with memories and love and if you even feel the need, hate.” The little purple person then lays down staring at my popcorn ceiling, and places two arms behind his head. “And if you must know, my dear poet, the space between my maddening choices is balance. Where the imagination runs wild because the madness isn’t present, but it was and it will be. Some call it peace, but I believe, my dear poet,” he faces me now, “it’s best left temporary. Because to grow we must change.” He goes silent and slowly closes his eyes. I study this tiny person. He must be no bigger than my thumb. I roll over and look at my popcorn ceiling. My eyes slowly close. That could be true, it could be true. 

 

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