In Control

I cannot be with anyone.

Inside I feel such pain. I don’t know why nor where it comes from, but it manifests in this strange urge to eschew company. I haven’t spent much time around anyone in months. The days stretch long and open, I wake when I wish, sleep when its needed, eat for pleasure not routine. My life revolves around three solid things, my healing, distractions, and love.

This love is novel. I remain unfamiliar with this type of love.  It is unique in that it is singular to me.  I am the only recipient.  I am the only source.  I am in control of its generation.  I bask in the flow.  And this is my joy and regret.

I feel joy I have learned this,  it is almost a new skill.  It is almost a new dawn in my life. But I also miss being loved by another.  I miss it.

This missing drives me to peruse online profiles but this habit has become a source of pain for me.  I peruse and it gets stronger and stronger in my chest,  a feeling of unease so great it feels like a stone covers my heart center…

And I am alone again.

I close the application  and I am able to breathe through the pain.  I have learned not to fight it.  Pain exists. And it has just as much a right to exist as anything.  It even has a purpose.  But it doesn’t feel nice to cry and not know why. To poke around inside my head, berate my psyche, interrogate the evasive me,  this is futile for I feel I have gotten somewhere …

… and I turn around the next day to discover I have only gone in circles.  I am enough for myself and that is it.  I only have myself and that is it.

And I am both content and ill content with that.

I would love to have dates,  so I say this.  Then it becomes untrue. This wretched thing come up,  overcomes me it,  and I find I am fighting fear more frightening that any first date.  Why.  Why can I not move on and get on with it.  It feels like my life is on hold waiting for itself to begin.  It feels like love,  the concept of it sung in song and tale,  seeps away into the cracks between memories.

Soon it will be gone I think.  Loving her was so distinct but now it fades.  And I am left alone.

I am reminded of last loves.  The strong ones,  the ones worth the bitter ends they became.

She remains a hollow in my memory,  a holy thing,  a fragile love. And so much anger builds behind it,  for I am forced to think of the good times with the bad.  After all she did not treat me with courtesy.  I didn’t know it then but I know it now.  I treat myself now as she should have done and wish I had known better.  If I had known how to treat myself then she would have known how to treat me.

And the anger fades.  I take responsibility back and it fades and I am grateful for the lesson learned.  And I miss her a bit more with the knowledge.

I cannot be with anyone yet,  because the pain is still too great even now.  She does hold that place,  it’s been a year.  But I cannot let go so another could claim it.  I cannot let go.  I am afraid to let go.  I fear unlearning the love I hold now.  I fear unloving myself when I lose the love of her.  I fear being alone with a lonely me instead of one eschewing company.  It is almost better to pine than it is to be loved.

Here I at least have control of my heart.




Because: Illustration

I let myself sleep in with a dream lover.


This morning I woke up with a thousand worries and nothing to actually do but dwell on them. Or, shall I say, I was meant to wake up thusly. And I did wake up, facts the same. However, on the edges of sleep and waking, just before when I was to open my eyes, I was dreaming. And the dream was not going pleasantly.


There was much disarray and fighting being done, the character who was me made some mistakes, and when I realized I had control I bade her apologize. Or rather I apologized, now taking up the role which I already lived there, giving care and love back, turning negative into learning and positivity. I’ve been doing that a lot lately in my waking state so it was easy to do in my dreams now.


I did apologize and received an armful in return. A naked and desirable and dominating armful, with a pretty sinful mouth and wicked fingers. And the dream followed that line of thought to it’s very satisfying conclusion.


Why am I telling you of such personal intimacy? Because: Illustration.


Because how we feel affect what we bring to ourselves, so says the Law of Attraction, to which I subscribe. I have been worried of late. Worry bordering on they way one wiggles a loose tooth with their tongue despite the twinge that brings. I’ve had two things on my mind. Money and love. Heavy subject for any one mind but for me I find usually love wins out as more pressing.


If you read my blog you might have found the last few posts dripping with ennui and pathetic pining; even I am tired of feeling heartbroken, but we write what we know. And I have known worry; since all the other good things in my life swiftly coalesced into awesomeness so straight went my attention the the lingering negatives. Number one being my recent ex; the heart ache more poignant due to her making contact a few weeks ago. And number two:  Money. Money has been a pressing issue, or rather the lack and lateness of it. I’ve been expecting several checks. My worry has been keeping me from them.


Abruptly I find all my attention focuses solely on this imaginary lover, this dream lover. It isn’t that she is perfect, she is not, it is that I crossed a bridge in that dream. In a dream where my worldly worries and learned fears remain far from mind, I felt no need to hold back. I gave her trust, which I hardly do when awake; trust is one of my issues. And I did wake feeling a little cured of that. The dream was enough that when I did wake I felt, it feels, as if I truly woke in a lovers arms. As if I truly spent the morning there. My brain literally stuttered when my mind wanted to worry the negatives while I sat the toilet after rising deliciously late from my bed. And the worries which had been hounding me seemed not so great. Their import lay far behind me. So too, in fact did the missing of my ex, and I spent the morning happy instead of worried. Completely happy. No effort to be that way, no forced and gritted teeth willing myself happy. Just natural happiness.


Immediately I get a call. The check has been delayed but here’s some money to tide you over til it arrives. For the holidays. Shall we drop it off for you?  What’s your address?


Talk about hand delivery. And instant manifestation. Instant gratification even!


Amazing. It is truly and simply amazing what can happen when you get out of your own way.  This is what can happen when light and love divine does get let in. I remember speaking to myself as I lingered on the edges of sleep. I was scolding myself, in a caring way. I told myself to accept the money coming my way. I hadn’t yet. I hadn’t believed it was mine. I had been awaiting belief until it was in my hands.  And then I did so deliberately; I let myself accept the money. And then I worried not. And then it came.


Ask. Accept. Believe. Allow. Receive.


… Or something to that effect.


Law of attraction in action. Deliberate creation.


Thank you Universe for your infinite kindness. Thank you for being there for me even when all my doubt is in play. Thank you for always always giving me what I want, whatever I want. Thank you for … being. Your existence is precious to me; I see us as one and the same. As I thank you I thank myself.  As I care for myself I care for you. As I bless you I bless myself. I am grateful.


I bless myself with light and love. I bless myself with pure source energy.




Because: Illustration

love needs the light.

its like I loved,

in a dark place.

she was my heart,

before her I didn’t know

I had one. she grew there,

in my chest, like a feathered

thing, a beating drum,

and she showed it to me.

she showed me what a heart

is. she showed me

and I learned

and I surpassed her.


she left me,

in a dark place.

when she left I


she took the light

with her, and I was alone.

and I still had my heart,

which was her

and it ached

in the absence of her.

and it beat sluggishly,



I could feel it in my chest,

hear it in my skin,

the flutter of it’s magnanimity,

made me worry.


I forgave her,

and I blamed her,

and I bade her,

return to me.

but only silently,

and she,

she never did,

until I had become


and she sad

and I was moved on.


and then she wrote,

me claimed love

for me, spoke

love for me,



and I was angry,

and I was pain,

and I was scared,

and I refused her.


and I left her

in a dark place.

get out, I said,


I did.


and when she’d gone

silent I remembered

how I loved,

how my heart,

beat as her,

personified as her,

and that I loved her.


and how it just wasn’t

enough, to love

in the dark. love

needs light

to grow.


I feel eviscerated.

I must caution you against reading this if you are feeling emotionally fragile. If you are you might want to leave it unread. My pain wafts off these pages. I am undone here. I am laid bare. I am naked in my vulnerability and I promise you will feel with me by the end. And I must write this; I have no choice.

I feel tortured. I feel I stayed a while in hell. I did so willingly, assured there was some point to it, but in the end if the conversation had not taken place, perhaps I would be better. I know I would still be the same. Now I am different, changed, born anew, stronger. I weathered it, I faced the doubts another’s counteractive view tried to impress upon me, like brainwashing, like waterboarding, waves of her emotions, her pain, her need impressed upon me. I nearly sunk with the weight of it. And I knew, going in, she would be doing this to me, she would be dragging me down into her undertow, into her water depths of despair, into her hell. And I sought to heal, and understand, and pour my own fire on the blaze.

I regret it now. I don’t often regret much, but I do regret the anger and insanity I let loose upon her. Oh, I doubt I left visible wounds. I doubt I even left new ones. It’s possible I just reopened old ones with my truths but I regret doing so. Hurting her, was not satisfying when she is already so hurt. And the only way I forgive it, is to acknowledge she has hurt me, and it was in aid of healing for myself which let me pour the truths unfolded upon her already self pitying ears. I feel eviscerated, due to myself being reamed out during the duration of the conversation, scooped out of pain and anger and hate; all wrapped up in blame of her, for the hurts she dealt, and which I endured, and which I overcame, and which I removed myself from, and which she might do so again. I felt threatened. She wanted me back, in her life, in her existence, in her sphere. She wanted to impart how I was her love, and she was not the person I remember her as the (one who didn’t love me, and treated me so). And so I, not knowing where I was going, allowed it, until the pain drove my body into sleep, and my soul into healing, and I awoke feeling eviscerated.

I wondered, the whole while, if it were me? If I was the one in the wrong. If it was only that I change could the happily ever after come into being? I entertained the idea it was all my fault, and I need only change and be more loving and accepting, and she and I would heal and the hurt would stop. I tried to apply all my learned stuffs on spiritual matters and I only managed to open a door, and let her into my soul to torture it further. The interrogator in my den. She is a broken thing right now, hurting, dying, letting the pain she wrought upon herself and others eat at her soul. She is supposed to be happy, not thinking of me, living her life, loving it. Instead she is calling my friend crying that I refused answer her missive, and she is feeling such self pity she throws traps of guilt that cling like tar to my feet to capture me and draw me in.

And then she tried, oh she did, to tell me she loved me. I tried, I did, to believe it. I allowed her to torture me, with news about her, with her side of the story, with recollections grim and glossy, and I tried to see it this way. She loved me, and she was scared, and she still wanted me, and it did not compute. I am done. I am different. She has intruded upon a new me. I am not the thing she tossed around, like a cat with ball. I am not the toy she made me. I am stronger than that.

I refused to become hers again. I refused to entertain her notions of events, told in her version, colored her way, decrying my own lived recollections. I refused to give up my ideas, for they mold me, make me, become me, I live because of them. I refused to give up the beauty I have become in aid of a dark, twisted version that remains lost and left cautionary tale and recovered from. I am this beautiful spirit, and I do need to remain this. I refused allowance of the contrary.

But it was hard won. This woman, who loved me, who was me, who wanted me, is not worthy of me. And I am worth more than she, and what she gives, and what she offers, and what I need. I am worth more than the past, and worth more than the pain, and worth more than the lived torture. I refused. And with parting blows she let me be.

And I feel eviscerated. Like I were she, and she is death, and I am dying the arms of her soul. I feel, too much connection. I must need withdraw, but it hurts to. For I did love her. I did. I did. I just lost us both along the way.

There though, it is done. I wrote her thusly, speaking of my actual feelings, and my actual perception, and my actual reality. I spoke more of truths and less of lies and platitudes and couched phrases of softness. I told her I was done. And I meant it. I do not want her back. I do not want that pain again. I do not deserve to be tortured. I am done.

And I feel like death. Behind my eyes I feel tears which remain just whines of tiredness and ache. I feel like a battlefield gone cooling. I feel like a demon horde ravaged land. I feel finally finally free. And it does not feel good, as I expected it to. It’s just heavy with losses, on both sides, and disgusting with corpses, and pregnant with pain. It feels like healing is in order but grief is too momentary to allow just yet. It feels, like apocalypse.


The address is satirical, but I do wish you all the enlightenments.

Dear John,

I want to start with I love you.

I want to start with this because this is not a decision I make lightly and I want you to know its done out of love, both of self and of you. I have a confession, so best to start with that. I’ve been trying to fix you. I’ve been trying so hard to make you see what I see because it hurts me you don’t see it. It hurts me so greatly because you and I are so much alike. Everything I dislike in you I see in me. The light I see in you is one I feel when in the heart of myself. I’ve been trying for you to see yourself through my eyes, in all your glorious humanity. The light darkness of you. The positive negative. The beautiful ugly. I’ve been trying to fix your blind eyes.

We run so close in kind and likeness, I forget you are on your path, which remains yours to walk, and I remain on mine. I’ve been where you are, I’ve overcome some of the things you are struggling with, I want to help so bad, because it reminds me how I suffered to see you do. And you ask advice, you ask me what to do, and when I answer you: you agree, then reject, then agree; but it doesn’t seem to stick in your mind like it has in mine.

Understandable, as I’ve lived that experience which led to each conclusion, and you have not. It is understandable you wouldn’t trust advice from me when you don’t even trust advice from yourself. And I, I have been so impatient.

Do you know when we see an action, even just a generated representation like in film, that our minds can’t distinguish between ourselves or the other acting it? Our minds literally reacts as if we ourselves performed the action. (Its why I dislike horror movies.) When you worry so, when you fret, when you indecisively waffle, and ask, and reject, I feel the pain of your conclusion; the mouse in the machine running circles of mad and mindless claustrophobia.  And I want to help, selfishly. Which is exactly as I have learned to do, in order to take care of me–

But you are you. And you are responsible for keeping you happy, as I am for me. And as I wish you to respect me, and not encroach upon my self; as I expect you not to control me, I should not try and do so to you. Even as your unhappiness makes me unhappy. Even as your confusion confuses me. Even as your worry worries me.

Perhaps I should not try and offer solution or suggestion or observation. This, I understand, annoys people as they see it as judgment– which it is–and negative– which it is–and therefore bad– which it only is if they and I perceive it so. I try so hard to see the good in everything, in the negative, I don’t believe in bad. And we all make judgments, its how we develop self. I make no excuse for humanness.

You complain I am trying to change your beliefs. I admit I am. You try and control the flow of conversation– take turns like in kindergarten–but I dislike such imbalanced control–I try and wrest it from you back into normal parameters…

Is this the result of two antisocial creatures attempting socialization? Is this two humans trying to humanize? Is this two hearts trying for harmony? Is it all of the above? I wish I knew the answer. I always try and see what was wrong with my actions, after the initial anger spouts an automatic snarl in the other direction. I usually conclude some fault with me …

And I forgive myself that fault. I try for new behavior. Here, I feel I might have limited choices. I could allow you to flail about, myself held in check from checking you, and perceive the pain and hurt myself, or repeat an attempt to change you, or walk away. These options seem all I have. I wish there were other more kinder ones. Ones which didn’t shake my soul. I wish I could turn something upon you which heals and gives and helps. But I am in need of help now. I am suffering now. I am hurting. Because your hurts have buried themselves in me. And I already suffer my own.

I see it now. I need to take care of me. Just as I need leave you to yourself. And this is I why I say I love you. This is why I say I don’t make this decision lightly. This is why I say I love me.

And wish you all the enlightenments I’ve reached.

PS: (The address is satirical; I know this isn’t your name)


The truth.

The truth is … I feel I was lost. Like she lost me.  Like I’m a thing to be lost. Like I’m an object. One of her bought things. Like I belonged to her and she … just lost me. And didn’t go looking. Or try. Or want to. Like I– I am nothing.

I felt like this before, similarly. With ex. And when I tried to kill myself. Every time. I felt like this. Like there was a big space inside my body which was me, a lost thing. Empty. Empty of all the full things we put there. Reamed. Excavated. Carved. Shelled. I remain empty right now.

It’s not a matter of fear, or hate. It’s not a matter of wrong doing. It’s not a matter of spirituality to save me. Enlightenment won’t. I am bro—I am borrowed by myself from her possession and I won’t be returned, because she won’t ask for me back, and I won’t go to her. I won’t be some unwanted thing put upon her. It’s bad enough I take care of me, this unwanted thing. It’s bad enough, I feel so put upon myself.

I did it for love. Love of her. Love of self. To prove to her something. To prove I can be happy without her. I .. succeeded. At a detriment to myself. I hurt me, by trying to hurt her. Karma. I’m paying my wrong action towards her. Just because she wronged me, just because she couldn’t be what I wanted, doesn’t mean I have any right to … harm her. Sent her ill thought. Feel such animosity. I don’t, mostly, but deep down…

I hate her. She left. She lied. She cheated. She said she’d be there and wasn’t later. She promised and broke it. And I was… so pathetic. Scared the entire time. So hopeful. So begging. I gave all of myself except.. trust. That one thing I withheld. And it was..

The hardest to give.  The hardest to receive. Even harder to receive.

I wanted. So many things. With her I don’t think I wanted so much ever before. I would have done anything to be with her. Anything she asked. I still would. Except.. I know that’s wrong because if she asked me to be happy right now, if she asked me to let it go, to forgive myself, right now I couldn’t. I don’t know how. I don’t want to. I don’t want to let it go. Be happy. Forgive. Because then, its truly over. It’s gone. She is gone. And still she is the most important thing in my universe. Even now.

And I’m not hers.

And I know this is right. I’m supposed to be the most… I could be the most important thing In my universe. In my life. I could love myself more. But… And she’s fallible. Why would I love that? A personality. She will die one day. I’d lose her anyway one day. It doesn’t matter. I’d love her everyday for the rest of my life,  given the option. And then even my love is wrong. Possessive. I call myself and her a thing. Because I know this is how I relate. I’m not hard on myself for that anymore.

I really miss her. Like really. Like my soul, or something, got ripped out and away. And I can’t, fill it back in. why would I continue this if it hurts so bad? If it makes me feel all this.

Because I would do anything for her. Even suffer. For the rest of my life. The loss of her. It doesn’t matter what she’d want me to be doing right now. It doesn’t matter what she wants. This is what I want. I want to … it makes me happy to be miserable over her. It makes me happy to ruin my life out of that misery. It makes me happy to be like this. This contracted thing in a hole, separate. It makes me happy. Why? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know how I can love so much in this state. I don’t know how I can love so much, live inside this loss of her. I’m really tired of trying. To let her go. Of not being able to. Of..I don’t know. Of not getting what I want. Of getting what I want?

Do I want her more than I want to suffer? No. I think I love the misery. Of suffering. More than the actuality of having. I think I like this pain. I think I feel more secure here, in the darkness, than I do in the freedom of light. Like being in a hole, like this, in the moist dampness darkness of earth, is preferable to the vast expanse of a lite sky. I don’t know why I prefer this spot to the other but I know this is why I haven’t moved on yet. Allowed happiness yet. It’s because I need to be here. I long to be here. I need to hide. I create my own pain to do so

I waited my whole life to suffer this much. Maybe this was my intended goal. Pain is good. It’s not because I’m depressed right now I’m saying this. It is good. It is honest and true. It’s not a .. an evil thing. It is just converse. The other side of the coin. Great love. Great pain. Apart they are … too extreme, but together, say in the middle, you get them both. Its romantic, the relationship of opposites, the twist of them meeting magnetically and then twining together, like lovers do. I love her greatly, and I fear/hate/hurt greatly. I actually can’t hate her. Just her actions. Just the personality pieces which led to my pain. And I don’t … underneath, I don’t even hate them. All this, is scratching away at the surface of what I feel, unmasking the depths below.

I would do anything for her. And I would not because I am selfish. I want to feel these things for her. Because I do love her.  And I am aware, she is a reflection of me, and so I love myself, but this humanness in me just sees her and I think that’s okay right now. This is what is meant by human interaction. This is what is meant by sharing heartspace. Heartspace. The heart is neutral you know? It doesn’t see good or evil, as the mind does. It just feels, everything. And perhaps, on some higher plane, the thing we call heart is just loves, everything. I think that might be true.


Lectured by myself: on the subject of can’t.

For the past ten minutes I have been lectured by myself.

Or rather it weren’t lecture but preaching or something to that effect. It, the other side of the argument, the other me voice, the devil’s advocate so to speak,  was discussing my accepted belief that I can’t, and demanding confirmation I had been defeated.

“So have you been defeated,” It demanded, all round words like a British dialect. “Have you been so conquered by doubt then? Have you settled like a conquered nation into the bosom of your self pity, like a wallowing in tears or mud and crying about crying and crying about the filth. Have you decided to surrender to a limitation you made, and accept yourself as all you can be under said limitation. Have you really decided that you can’t?

If so you might as well shuck off the mortal coil now, for all the good it will do you from here on out. Life lived under this belief of can’t is no life at all in both yours and mine opinion. Thus you have allowed yourself to die, and still walk around as if you aren’t. This is such silliness I would rather you toss yourself off a bridge rather than wallow in such a wretched display.

And yet, I would rather you not. You see I know you. I see how you live your life. You assume laziness or lack of will leads to this path of can’t but I know better. You walk around going through the motions all the while you remain a person in mourning, for yourself.

I know you. You remain a beautiful intelligent self. You endeavor to always see and change for beauty. For the better. For the love you give. What you love you try and become. What you want is not own things, materialistically, but to absorb them into your being like osmosis, because you know if you walk away without something of them to hold on to, the memory will slip away. You own to imprint, not cage.

You are not greedy or selfish or conniving. You worry the idea of misconduct between teeth and tongue and moral code.

You seek knowledge above all else because that is something you can keep, find beautiful, and instantly apply. Like manifestation. You are wholly wonderful, you see your self growth, watch your being change, you embrace all things about yourself even if it is stubbornly etched there in psyche for years, you exorcise it and transmute it and find it lovable. You believe in all beliefs and none.

You find yourself tickled by things you say and do and love. You reflect this in others and love them their self owned pieces of you. You hear your own negativity and indulge in fits of tantrum only to walk away forgetting it completely minutes, hours, days later. And you smile and congratulate yourself on your victories small and great. You even find pleasure in your machinations.

You are what you seek. You are glory incarnate. You are capable and able and talented and worthy. You see yourself through another’s eyes before your own. You forget it is not them seeing you, but you seeing you through the reflection. You second guess and attempt for better each time. You embrace your tears, flee your pain until you remember its better to accept, you ever and always love.

I know you. I am you. I see you. And can’t is not a word you want to apply. Can’t is the word you use to put up barriers so you forget there is more ahead. Can’t is the word you would replace, were you to hear it fall from another’s lips, you would want to chastise and uplift and advise, were it another. Can’t is the word you enchain yourself with. You mourn not your death but your freedom.

And I would say I can’t allow it but I refuse to use that word nor place it on you, even as you are me, even as we are, and this is a conversation with myself. I allow you the choice to use it henceforth. But I challenge the necessary of this action. Why need you say you can’t? Why need you an excuse to not be more? Why need you this limitation? How does telling yourself you can’t serve you?

Beloved I love you. I can’t imagine not. And yes I can. I can imagine not loving you, not loving me, because we have before. And walking the path of self hatred, of self fear, is not the path you know now. Self love is won. I choose to love you. You choose to love you.

This is the choice. Fear or Love.

You can.”