The love of my life

She was. So much of me still believes she is, and will always be. As much as I’m sobbing now missing her I was sobbing when I was with her. She really tried. She did. So hard. She gave herself as much as she could. I don’t blame her for the things she bore before me. The things that tore at her until she started to break me down. Why she just couldn’t trust me. How that ended us.

I don’t blame her. I don’t hate her. I love her as deeply and passionately as I ever have. I just know now how unhealthy we became. How her lack of trust couldn’t be reconciled no matter what I did. No matter what she did. We were both victims of it and now we walk alone, forever altered.

And people tell me I’ll feel differently someday, that I’ll meet someone else who makes me feel again. But the thing is I know I won’t. I won’t. And I simply don’t want it. At all. Very opposed in fact.

As awful as it got, my Stardust was also exceptionally good at love bombing me and making me feel really special. She knew me. She loved me so goddamn passionately and deep in her soul she knew, as much as I did, that we were indeed made of the same stuff.

Some comet streaming across the universe for so many silent millennia, cold, unknowing, she broke into a million pieces, and that dust was us, forever knowing that to feel whole we needed each other. That’s what we know, what we whispered in each other’s ears as we fell asleep entwined around one another because we couldn’t stand to not touch, now that we found one another again.

I don’t want anyone because no one could possibly replace that. No one can. She was it. She was the love of my life. I believe it deeply so strongly I can’t believe it any other way.

Or I couldn’t. She wasn’t the love of my life.

I am.

And as much as I’m sobbing now missing her keening my heart out to the scorched Texas skies I know that she isn’t it. And I’ve been holding this despair deep inside me for half a year now and all of a sudden it’s releasing once more until I feel like I’m going to cry for her for the rest of my life. And fucking hell she will never even know.

I didn’t need her. I chose her. I chose love. GodDAMN it’s worth it, too.

And even if I don’t talk about her anymore or I’m quieter than I used to be I’m constantly constantly missing her.

So no.

No one could catch my eye, no one could replace her, no one will ever again have that hum under their skin calling me home.

She was it for me.

And so I cry.

I am the love of my life.

Distanced

This pandemic has changed so so much.

I don’t have much in common with anyone anymore it feels like. I’ve been distancing myself from close friends and not sure why.

Haven’t wanted to write.

I desperately need some outdoor time. But it’s too fucking hot and I can’t take it.

It’s death outside right now in Austin. 87 degrees when I get up at 4am to work. 107 when I head home, even hotter later when it’s after 5pm. The air hums and vibrates with the energy of the heat, it’s as if I can feel the sun penetrating my skin, the energy I carry with me, my very soul sears and bakes and it’s excruciating.

No one understands that seasonal affective disorder hits me hard this time of year because I’m separated from that which I love the most.

And so combine all of that with this pandemic and this half-in half-out existence everyone I pass each day seems to have…it’s a surreal feeling.

People know they should be isolating at home and wearing masks but they don’t do it. They act as if life is normal and yet they have these shadows of guilt following them everywhere they go.

It feels almost wrong to enjoy the new job and the people I meet, because everyone is awkward and distant behind the masks they wear. It’s as if not seeing a person’s entire face dehumanizes them somehow. Both of them. All of them.

Maybe it’s a grand conspiracy to make us all habitually avoid one another and eventually we will see each other as nothing more than a desk, a tree, a rock. Dehumanizing leads to atrocities, we’ve seen this. Or more likely, because I don’t believe any of what I just said, perhaps we are just experiencing fatigue from it all.

Six months and our world has flipped. Hell, four years and it has. Not pointing fingers, but speak to me in person and I’ll definitely give an earful. We aren’t the same.

We are exhausted from every person being a danger.

We are exhausted from being afraid to hug our family when they come home from work because they could have been exposed to the virus.

Exhausted from never making eye contact and never ever physical contact, we must stay six feet away at all times, nope don’t Ever. Touch. Each other.

And my natural inclination to avoid people is growing, or perhaps this year has allowed me to relax into it, instead of attending events every month or so. Now it’ll be three years before I return to the circles I used to know and well, do I really even know them anymore? They definitely don’t know me.

I’m tired of not being able to write. Tired of having my phone or iPad as the only way I talk to people. I’m tired of the news, social media, I’m tired of it all.

If I could, I’d move into my car and drive to the woods at least eight hours away to the nearest mountains and leave everything in my car that needed a battery or gadget that had circuits and I’d walk until I couldn’t walk any more.

I need a detox from this pandemic, and there’s no end in sight.

I needed that

Took kiddo for a picnic by the creek on my parent’s property. We don’t get to visit much, and things are awkward what with the shunning requirement of their faith, but it was lovely. Mom had found a sewing machine for me, made in probably the 50s or 60s, a neat old Singer that will last me as long as I need one. It was very sweet and generous of her and completely unexpected. She also had a few sewing supplies for me, which was super considerate. When I left my Stardust in Idaho I came back with what little I could fit in my tiny car. And sewing supplies weren’t part of it.

I’m thinking I’ll do some preparing basic garb for Sherwood Forest Faire next spring, and definitely get some capes started as soon as possible.

Anyway, back to it…we picnicked on the property my parents have owned for about 17 years and I’ve been in love with it from the first day I walked under the trees.

The place is covered in pecan trees and has a creek on one side. It’s my absolute heaven on earth and I wish it could be mine someday but I know it’s not likely now. Mom did tell be before that they’re leaving it to my sister. Who lives three states away and wouldn’t move back, I’m sure she’d sell it. Sigh. Not anything I can do about it.

So in the meantime I visit the trees when I can. And today took kiddo to sit with me out there for a little while.

The skies were tremendously odd and I loved them.

We spread a blanket out and sat and listened to the squirrels in the trees above us. These trees are so massive at the base, I’m sure many are 200-300 years old at the least. Which means they were loved by natives not very long ago.

This one is so massive I swear it’s a hundred feet tall, and probably easily 12 feet around the base. Some branches grew so full and long they sagged to the ground and back up again. It’s ancient and absolutely perfect and I love him.

And of course some obligatory shots taken while I still can, before something happens that keeps me away from the trees I call home.

It was a beautiful day and everything was perfect. Even the stickers I had to pull out of my bare feet.

A vessel or canvas?

Recently I saw this as a prompt for a post online:

“…some of the stonefemmes I have talked to recently have an interesting way of describing themselves in their relationship to stonebutches. One called herself a “vessel” and another a “canvas.”

In your ideal scenario:

Femmes, how would you describe yourself?

Butches, how would you describe your femme?”

My response is below:

Sigh. As poetic as it is, and as appealing it is to be a canvas or vessel…and I’m Aquarian, a water-bearer, a vessel, it does come more naturally for me to think that way. Especially having grown up in a doomsday cult that looks at women as inferior.

I can no longer romanticize being something waiting for the “right one” to fill me. I am whole and full on my own, and love it that way. I do love being the receiver, the soft place to fall, the oasis in this harsh world. But I am those things for me first. I don’t exist as such for someone else’s comfort or to save someone. If I end up being their safe place it’s because I’ve allowed them to join me there, because I was there doing it for myself first.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE LOVE LOVE being the pretty thing on someone’s arm, if they’ve earned it by being incredible on their own. I’m not an accessory, I’m not waiting to be filled, I am whole ❤️

That said, I have always been strongly fond of the comfort found in being a “helper” and “compliment” to someone I respect. And I’ve many times loved being able to help someone back to their feet, cheering them along the way.

I hope my strength inspires others to be better, for themselves. In that way I hope I can inspire and be a muse and help them to become all they can be, for THEM, not for me.

I’m still mulling over this, because years ago I’d love the image of being the canvas or vessel to facilitate incredible works of art. But who marvels at the canvas or vase on its own? Most people admire the paint and mastery of the artist, not even seeing the canvas. That’s not enough for me. I’m not something to be painted over and expected to hold the work of others while being an invisible supporter. No thank you.

My ideal is that I continue to be improving myself, for me. And someday maybe I’ll walk alongside someone doing it for themselves as well, and our paths will align. But I’m not waiting for a hiking partner before starting on that trail for myself. They’ll catch up, if they exist.

The Promise of the Shaman

Not my work, but made of the work that calls me the strongest.

Worth the time to read, if you just take the time for it. And I needed it so. I read it over and over, inside my head, then out loud, and the words felt delicious so I had to record them.

I’ve been in a horrible slump lately. Each day is okay and each holds its own loveliness, I even scored a new job that I’m excited about. I just can’t feel much right now. And I’m tired of it, I can’t write well or motivate myself much other than rearranging furniture and cleaning.

It’s the August in Texas slump and I’m over it. I need to go sleep under a tree somewhere cool and isolated. For a few years.

THE PROMISE OF THE SHAMAN:

If you come to me as a victim, I will not support you.
But I’ll have the courage to walk with you through your pain.
I’ll put you in the fire, undress you, and make you sit on the ground.
And I will wash you with herbs, and cleanse you, and vomit out the wrath and the darkness that is in you.

I will drink your body with good herbs, and lay you upon the grass, facing the sky.
Then I will smash your crown to shreds old memories that make you repeat the same behavior over and over again.
I will blow on your forehead to frighten the thoughts that obscure your vision.

I’ll open your throat to release the knot that doesn’t allow you to express yourself.
I will blow on your heart to frighten fear, so that it may go away and not be able to find you.
I will shatter your solar plexus to extinguish the fire of hell that you carry inside and that you finally know peace.

I’ll blow on your belly with fire to burn the attachments and the love that wasn’t there.
I will blow on the lovers who have left you, on the children who have never come.

I will blow on your heart to warm you up, rekindle your desire to feel, create and start over.

I will blow hard on your vagina or penis to clean the sexual door of your soul.

I will take away the waste you have amassed trying to love those who did not want to beloved.

I will use the broom, sponge and rag and I will safely clean up all the bitterness that is in you.
I will blow into your hands to destroy the bonds that keep you from creating.
I will disintegrate your feet into dust and erase the memories of your steps, so you can never go back to those bad places.

I’m gonna turn your body around so your face can kiss the earth.

I will blow on your spine, from root to neck, to increase your strength and help you walk straight.

And I’ll let you rest.

After this you shall weep, and then you shall sleep,

And you will have beautiful dreams full of meaning,

And when you wake up, I’ll be waiting for you.

I’ll smile at you and you’ll smile back at me

I will offer you food that you will eat with pleasure, savoring life, and I will thank you.
Because what I offer you today was offered to me before, when the darkness lived within me.

And after being healed, I felt the darkness disappear and I cried.

Then we will walk together and I will show you my garden and my plants, and I will bring you back to the fire.

And they shall speak together with one voice with the blessing of the Earth.

And we will cry out the desires of your heart to the forest.

And the fire will listen and whisper the echo, and we will create hope together.

And the mountains will listen and whisper the echo, and we will create hope together.

And the rivers will listen and whisper the echo, and we will create hope together.

And the wind will listen and whisper the echo, and we will create hope together.

And then we will bow down before the fire, and invoke all the visible and invisible guardians.

And you will thank them.

And you’ll thank yourself.

And you’ll thank yourself.

And you’ll thank yourself.

  • ISC.: Author unknown-

-Eduardo Muscara, international-

Writing them out of my life

Every word I write estranges my parents further. I’m literally writing them out of my life. Not sure how I feel about that. Do I stay silent and still be rejected and let my story die with me? I know they’re out of my life anyway, as long as I reject the religion that’s taken them from me. But was that all that did it?

I’m coming to terms with realizing they Just. Don’t. Like. Me. And never will. Although the fierce feminine side is all from my mother. The dreamer side is all my father. I’m a delightful product of their best traits and they’ll never see it.

Didn’t have a chance in hell

Crumbling cliff’s edge before me, yet another precipice hard fought for another fright that makes my feet tingle so strongly I feel I’m tiptoeing through clouds and all I’m doing is standing here

Alone

Wolf

Howling under my breath so as not to shake the boulders from the sides because if I do they’ll tumble and crash and I realize

This pain is like an echo

Sending my arms flailing grabbing trying to hold onto something that is no longer mine and I can’t

Let

Go

Because it feels disloyal and I’m awash in your pain, the same I caused you, the one that’s stabbing so deep I’m drowning and choking on the words you said and I can’t stop repeating them and my throat burns so even though I’m under water and all

I hear is my bubbled breath but it sounds like your voice

And you’re the echo of pain I felt when my parents turned their backs and now all I’m doing is sobbing for you again when I said I never would and I told you this is a love you don’t recover from and I know that theirs is too but I’m dead I’m gone and buried and they don’t even like me anymore, not me the adult but me the child and the me I’ve become proud of

At

Last

And they’ll never see it because their eyes can’t speak the language I write and they choose their blindness reading the words leaking out of me that were inspired by their own and when I talk I hear their voices and yours and now again I’m worthless spit upon yet wishing I was just close enough for you to do it again

And it’s echoing all around the sides of this cliff with sky all around it steeper than I can climb and deeper than I can swim and I have to face it alone this time knowing that they will never hear my true voice and

I might as well have been muted

But now I scream.

Darkest mirror, yes, I still miss her

I’m not calling names or pointing fingers. Honestly, I know very damn clearly that all of us have narcissistic traits. Every one of us.

This article helped me come to terms with still missing her now and then, my Stardust. Because in her shined the things I loved most about myself.

As much as I recognize the toxic cycles we became trapped in, I also have many wonderful memories of the time we had. I still love her, even if I can’t be with her. I’m coming to terms with that.

Even better, I love me MORE. Never again will I risk everything, including my life, for love. Because a healthy love would NEVER ask me to do that, no matter how good it felt.

From the article:

“Narcissists are our darkest mirror.

Whatever you most long for, whatever you most seek, whatever you truly are, the narcissist can see it. They use this understanding to manufacture feelings in you, to torment and play with you. Whether they do it out of jealously and lack (all narcs are empty), for the challenge associated with manipulating someone talented/empathic/special/vulnerable, or out of sheer boredom, narcissists can only reflect what’s already there.

Loving and losing a narcissist can be an anhilation event. When he’s no longer there to show us our reflection, it can feel like he took every little piece of us with him. But those pieces were there before the narcissist came along.

Narcissistic relationships offer us the gift of acknowledgement. Reinforcement of our truest and highest self. Whenever I missed my ex, I paused to reflect back on the aspects I most longed for, tracing the contours of his false personality, finding that all originates within me.

I became, for the first time, self-actualized and deeply happy.”

https://www.quora.com/How-long-does-it-take-to-stop-missing-a-narcissist/answers/106415310

She emulated the things I loved most about myself. That’s why she was so perfect. Even when she wasn’t. And I don’t believe she did it all to manipulate me. She truly believed her love was true as well. Until the end. Then there definitely were things said and done that weren’t based in love, but rather were based in fear. If I’d not been so blinded and wanted so very hard to believe then we never would have gotten as far as we did.

I won’t worship the ground someone walks on again. Never. I should be worshiping my own feet on the path meant for me. I’m learning, slowly, that the traits that draw me most to someone are the things I love most about me.

Day by day, I’m learning.

I Don’t Pack For You

It waits in the drawer till morning, 

I feel it, watching me, through the wood as if it were a window,

This alien piece of anatomy with no soul. 

I can feel it throb, hidden away, 

It’s attached, though it isn’t, 

Roots deep inside 

My hips saddled with femininity I want to slice off, 

They weigh me down without my consent. 

A gift unbidden from my mothers before, 

They squeeze my stomach, 

These hips that carry me, 

And I can’t 

Step forward

Any more

When they call the wrong name.

I didn’t agree to be gagged under the surface of an ocean so deep 

We all drown in it.

Let this me I was bleed to death with them, 

Let those hips 

And breasts 

Fall.

As they slap the ground around me,

Wet birthing, and heat, sticking to my legs, let them go.

And as I tucked the piece 

Between my thighs 

For the first time, 

I heard my skin slough away

And my fingers moved tapping on the sides of this cave within me,

Deep echoes of a human born

Again, yet

The way I was supposed to be.

No, I don’t strap for you. 

I don’t pack to make you squirm, 

I pack because without feeling whole I’m the one squirming, 

Living a skin that never felt right, 

Living a lie that always was too tight, 

And you laugh because my eyes can’t stop looking at that drawer.

As I will that latex piece to me with my screaming skin, 

And still you’re too blind to see 

What has always been.

I’m no longer just a writer…

I’m now an author, and floating high with the wisps of cloud in front of the setting sun…I’ve waited my entire life for this moment.

The art is my own, painted at the beginning of the quarantine starting in the area, which makes it even more special.

Thank you, Victoria, for the push and encouragement, as well as guidance. This is a day I’ll remember.