This blog is a space where I can just be me or that's what it says, what I meant it to say when I started this blog almost ten years ago. The problem is that I do not know who I am anymore. Honestly, only recently did I feel certain I was actually writing without worrying about censure. People read blogs because they want to read them. They aren't forced to pull up the site every day, several times a day; it becomes a sort of addiction.
The last year has been very difficult for me. I can't begin to assimilate all that has happened into my memory. As of late, there have been many people who have their theories and conclusions as to what will make me happy. What they don't understand is that I am happy, just not as happy as I could be. So what do I write now? Do I write how much I miss my "ex-boyfriend;" since, that is how he referred to himself, as my boyfriend. Do I let ooze out all the pain, like Mercury, glorious yet lethal?
Do I continue to write about the exploits of a 10 year old boy who says what he thinks you want to hear, while all the while smirking at having tricked you into believing him? I look into those large, brown, oval eyes and try to get a picture of what he is thinking. What I get reflected back is nothing. They are devoid of all emotion. Is that possible for a 10 year old? How do I reach him? Only one man and his son have been able to get through to Zach, to have him want to change, but they are gone now. I see how he hates me for their absence. I hate myself at times too.
Do I write about a man who continues to hang around because he said he "didn't get a fair shake" when my boyfriend was still in the picture? I never put my life on hold during the last year. I dated, made some new acquaintances, tried to be "single and willing," but I cannot choose to have a relationship with someone who doesn't get me. Michael doesn't get me. Ben didn't get me.
Is it so hard to believe that what I want is an atomic explosion not just a spark, an inability to stop talking to one another ever, a look so penetrating that those eyes stay with you always. I had that, always thought it was a myth, something Hollywood drummed up to sell more tickets. Now I don't. Still, I will be alone before I settle for anything less than what I know is out there. Do I think another everything-I-always-wanted-wish-you-were-mine man will come along? Nope.
Do I write about the tumor, the Lupus? What is the point?
Je ne me sens pas aimé ou qui voulaient l'une quelconque de ces choses que vous ne devriez pas lorsque quelqu'un se targue d'être en amour avec vous. En fait, je me sens plus seule et de la peur que j'ai fait avant.
I do not feel loved or wanted; any of those things that you should feel when someone claims to be in love with you. In fact, I feel more alone and scared than I did before.
The last year has been very difficult for me. I can't begin to assimilate all that has happened into my memory. As of late, there have been many people who have their theories and conclusions as to what will make me happy. What they don't understand is that I am happy, just not as happy as I could be. So what do I write now? Do I write how much I miss my "ex-boyfriend;" since, that is how he referred to himself, as my boyfriend. Do I let ooze out all the pain, like Mercury, glorious yet lethal?
Do I continue to write about the exploits of a 10 year old boy who says what he thinks you want to hear, while all the while smirking at having tricked you into believing him? I look into those large, brown, oval eyes and try to get a picture of what he is thinking. What I get reflected back is nothing. They are devoid of all emotion. Is that possible for a 10 year old? How do I reach him? Only one man and his son have been able to get through to Zach, to have him want to change, but they are gone now. I see how he hates me for their absence. I hate myself at times too.
Do I write about a man who continues to hang around because he said he "didn't get a fair shake" when my boyfriend was still in the picture? I never put my life on hold during the last year. I dated, made some new acquaintances, tried to be "single and willing," but I cannot choose to have a relationship with someone who doesn't get me. Michael doesn't get me. Ben didn't get me.
Is it so hard to believe that what I want is an atomic explosion not just a spark, an inability to stop talking to one another ever, a look so penetrating that those eyes stay with you always. I had that, always thought it was a myth, something Hollywood drummed up to sell more tickets. Now I don't. Still, I will be alone before I settle for anything less than what I know is out there. Do I think another everything-I-always-wanted-wish-you-were-mine man will come along? Nope.
Do I write about the tumor, the Lupus? What is the point?
Je ne me sens pas aimé ou qui voulaient l'une quelconque de ces choses que vous ne devriez pas lorsque quelqu'un se targue d'être en amour avec vous. En fait, je me sens plus seule et de la peur que j'ai fait avant.
I do not feel loved or wanted; any of those things that you should feel when someone claims to be in love with you. In fact, I feel more alone and scared than I did before.
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