She's got all these reasons in her head.

I went to a singles ward today. I haven't been to one in over 5 years. I should have thought more about that before I just hastily embarked. I was sitting in Sunday school and on the verge of tears for really no reason other than my life felt like, in that moment, that it was falling apart. So I texted my Clonie. I should have texted her 300 years ago. And I should know by now that if I can't share every aspect of my life with her, then something is wrong in my life and I need to fix it. She told me to tell her everything. 

I called her and we talked. I told her the entire story: how he would pick me and then change his mind a few days later. How I saw love in his eyes but then he broke up with me again. And how for literally a month the breakup had dragged on. She listened patiently. And the more I told her the story, the more I questioned why I let this story continue. I wondered why I hadn't stopped it. Why I continued to pursue it. So Clonie gave me some tough love. And in true best friend fashion, she said everything I needed to hear in a way that wasn't damaging. Why are you being so considerate towards him? What are your motives in keeping communication open? Why can't you just let him go? 

All valid questions. All answers I don't necessarily have. Honestly, I need to just let him go. So I will. I will deal with him not picking me. And I will recognize that although we were compatible and things seemed perfect between us, they truly weren't. Mer said love is just a word until actions are behind it. I think my actions were genuine portrayals of love. And I excused his actions as representations of what he was willing to give. But after the first few weeks, they weren't enough. And I knew that. And he knew that. And that's where I can't understand why I made the allowance. Because if it truly were love, I wouldn't have to make allowances or exceptions. I wouldn't have to wonder. Mer said that when it came down to it, she has never had to doubt Brent's love for her. I've never been able to say the same...in any relationship I've had in my life. 

And I have been thinking about that for the last few hours. Why I'm willing to sacrifice my happiness in order to remain "loyal" or just to stick it out...even through the crappiest relationships I've had, I keep trying to fix it and make it better. And sitting here, I realize it probably is because my parents got divorced. And ever since that happened, my idea of love is that it surmounts all. But what I've come to realize is that love is only one thing in a myriad of things that make a relationship work. Mer hit this point home today when she told me that a "perfect connection" can't make you blind to everything else in the relationship, and doesn't make up for being treated poorly. 

I need to figure out what is the driving internal force that causes me to end up where I am right now. I don't know what deep flaw I have that keeps leading me to this point. Or why I am so weak that I am incapable of ending things when they aren't exactly what I want. And then changing the things I want to further align with that. Maybe I don't think people, relationships, my life will live up to my expectations. So I lower them and then latch on like hell. Mostly, though, I think I'm afraid of being left behind. And that self-fulfilling prophecy keeps coming full-circle. I keep reaching down to find love, thinking that those people will be so enchanted that they'll know they can never do better and subsequently need me and never leave me. Except they do. Every time. Everybody leaves. And maybe it's better that I love the wrong people and they leave, rather than actually loving the right person and having him leave, too. 

I think that's the saddest thing I've ever written. And the worst realization I've come to. Damn.

We accept the love we think we deserve.

I was sitting at the lake tonight. It was cold. I had Maria Taylor playing on repeat. Tears were streaming down my face. And I felt the wall I always resurrect start to thicken and rebuild. When I got home I came downstairs and penned the PS of my last blog post. My sister texted me and I eventually surfaced to face my family. I didn't wipe the smears of mascara and eyeliner off. I didn't stop the tears. I also didn't say very much, at first. I just sat there silent in my pain. 

I don't let people in. I rarely try, because I get hurt and the wall that I build subconsciously becomes thicker and harder. Most people see my exterior as confident. It's a mask I've fashioned well to hide my very fragile, pieced-together heart. Not even my family is privy to that side of me. Pain is experienced solitarily. Details complicate things, so it's better to suffer alone than burden anybody else or show my weakness. 

But tonight, the loneliness wasn't a familiar old friend. It was stabbing and piercing and rolling down my cheeks in mascara-blackened beads. I somehow croaked out my desperation at never being chosen by the ones I choose. A small crack began in my wall and threatened to start another. Before I knew it, I was talking to my mom and sister about my feelings. About my fear of never being picked and ending up alone. About my broken heart. 

And my mom told me she thinks the timing is off. That a divorce hurts and I haven't healed. That I don't let myself be vulnerable, ever. And that maybe I wasn't ready to be in a relationship in the first place. So me sitting on the couch, crying and letting my wall crack a little was probably a good thing. 

And as I lay here in bed, I agree. I don't let myself feel vulnerable. Because I am so afraid of rejection and pain. So I cut it off at the first sign. And I shut myself down. And I felt that happening tonight. I can become robotic and void of feeling. I've been there. I use people and I discard them after they've served their purpose for me. I don't let myself experience emotions. I try to fool myself into thinking I don't care. Deep down I just care too much. But it's only when I'm alone, that I ever let that part of me show. 

So I think I'll take a break from finding somebody new. I don't think a new relationship can heal the pain from the last one. I don't think getting older is a good excuse for making exceptions to the list of things I want in my partner. Or for accepting less than what I deserve. And I don't think shutting down and turning off is going to help me achieve my goal of being whole. 

I thought being wanted and messaged by all these guys online would make up for my ex-husband not wanting me. I thought being told I'm beautiful by strangers would make up for the years of being horribly overweight and feeling ugly about myself. I thought dating would somehow validate me to the world; prove that I am not the messed-up, hideous person I often perceive myself to be. 

But a thousand people telling me I'm beautiful doesn't matter if I don't believe it and feel it myself. A thousand first dates won't prove anything to anybody about who I am or am not. And men wanting me cannot erase the hurt and rejection that comes from a rocky marriage ending on a terrible note. Those are tough truths to digest. I think the toughest truth is this: I've never felt at home with people because I've never been my true self with them. You can't find a home hidden within a fortress of protective layers that are impenetrable. I don't feel like I belong because I don't let anybody know me. 

Letting Tyler know me was a good step, but that has also come to an end, which has catalyzed this self-reflection. And so my fear that I'll never find that feeling of "home" again cropped up when I felt those walls rebuilding tonight. But somebody else can't break down those walls. I have to do it myself. We accept the love we think we deserve. So for now, I work on me. 

I finally made it, I made a clean getaway.

I've written this letter a million times a day in my head over the past few days but haven't put pen to paper. I guess I haven't been true to my promise that I'll be open and honest about my feelings. I keep thinking I have something to lose. But really, I don't. So if I appear wreckless, foolish, stupid, or desperate then so be it. It doesn't really matter anymore...

I miss you. I know things are weird between us right now. And that's probably my fault. I have all these insecurities I try to cover up. It's ridiculous how I expected you to be honest about yours when I can't even show you mine. So I've pretended I'm fine. But I'm not. 

When I was in high school I had a boyfriend who was my first love. At some point in the relationship, as we neared the last half of senior year, he asked for a bit of space to sort things out in his head. I was broken - I thought that if he wasn't 100% sure, he obviously had never been sure and didn't want to be with me. So I ran full-fledged at the next guy that would take me so I wouldn't have to process the perceived rejection. A week later, my first love came to discuss things with me, and I blew him off, telling him I had moved on. Awhile later I stumbled across his blog, in which he had written a post where he couldn't understand how I could move on so quickly if I truly loved him. It hurt like hell to read those words, to think that's what he thought. That stayed with me for a long time, but somehow faded the more I repeated the action of "moving on" instead of allowing for time to heal. And I thought I had changed, and you and I even discussed that. So I haven't thought about this situation in years...until I woke up this morning at 5:30am and couldn't shake the horrible feeling that I've given you this same impression. 

I wish I could just make you a mixtape of every song lyric that I've been listening to for the last few days. Songs are so much more poetic and beautiful than what I have to say. But here goes...

I've taken so personally the times you've needed space and can't figure out what you need. I thought that if you couldn't see 100% that it was me, you never could, never did, and never would. I realize now that logic is skewed. But I felt ridiculous needing you when you didn't seem to also acknowledge that same need. And somehow we kept falling back together. To me, it's because from the moment I met you, it felt like home. And no matter what happens, you can always go home. Maybe that's ridiculous, but it's how I feel. 

The thought of you finding somebody else or losing your feelings for me made me panic in the craziest of ways. I felt the goodbye Saturday night when I was driving home. And I imagined all these scenarios in my head this week...and I went into defense mode. I shut off and decided to not process your unspoken rejection and throw myself full-fledged into dating. Monday I met a guy off Tinder. On paper he seemed to be everything I thought I wanted. But even driving to meet him, I didn't want to. I wished you would text me and tell me to come over instead, so we could laugh and I could believe that you actually liked me. But you didn't text. And so I went. And from the moment I met him I just spent the evening wishing he was you. The conversation was polite. The food was adequate. But the magic wasn't there, and I found myself comparing the two of you all evening. When the date ended, he kissed me goodbye at my car. I thought I was going to throw up. I got in my car and sobbed. And called you. You didn't answer. And I cried harder. That night I couldn't sleep because my heart hurt so much. 

Tuesday I went out with an old acquanitence from college. When he asked about past relationships, I couldn't even bring myself to speak about you in that way. You weren't a past relationship, you were my present state of mind. And when I got asked why it ended, it hurt to much to even bring myself to process the truth: that you couldn't feel that way about me. And the date was a pleasant distraction from my heartbreak, except the fear that you were on a date, laughing, flirting, comparing her to me wouldn't stop nagging at me. When I got home after the date it was 2am. And I wanted desperately to text you. But I couldn't let you know how much I needed you. So I layed in bed looking at the ceiling. I couldn't cry, I was too sad. So I deleted your number. I deleted your pictures. But I couldn't delete your memories. So I numbed my mind and watched the clock tick by the minutes until I finally fell asleep.  

In the morning, I wanted to text you, but I didn't know your number. So I checked Twitter, the only place we still had contact. When you weren't my friend on there, my heart literally plummeted. I searched for your account and my fears were confirmed. He's found somebody else. He isn't interested anymore. I should have broken clean. I should have stuck to my guns. I should have stopped. But instead, I found your number on the texts on my iPad. And I texted you. I have never hated a conversation with you more. I knew I was hurting you. I knew you were hurting me. I knew I should just let you go. So I legitimately tried. I went on a date that night. He and I had exchanged some witty texts. But in person, I wanted to just walk away immediately. It wasn't right. I left shortly after meeting him and felt so hollow. Nobody felt like home the way you did. 

I wanted to drive to your house. To tell you how much I miss you. How I tried to replace you so that I wouldn't have to deal with you rejecting me. How the thought of you kissing somebody else kills me, and how me kissing somebody else made me physically sick. How afraid I am of losing you.

But instead I came home. I went to bed. And I woke up this morning,Thanksgiving morning. And all I can think of now is how grateful I am for you. For everything you've shown me. And for the person I became while knowing you. For allowing me to see love in your eyes, even if it was only for that brief moment. And for introducing me to what home feels like. I'd been searching for that my entire life.

I texted you Happy Thanksigivng. When I really wanted to say I miss you.

P.s. I know we are through. I think it took a lot of bravery for you to tell me that. I know you can't force something that's not there, even if you wanted it to be. I am trying really hard to not close myself off, even though my pride and heart both desperately want me to. 

So tonight, I drove to the lake, and I sat there and cried for awhile. I'm confused and find it difficult to comprehend how I let myself feel so deeply for you when I know you didn't feel the same. Except deep down, I thought you would realize that you did.  But that is a me problem, not a you one. And I promise not to speak about feelings or heartbreak with you anymore. I just wanted you to read this so you could know the whole truth. That even though I know you didn't treat me how you should have, even though I knew you didn't feel how I felt in the end, and even though I wanted to delete you, I can't. Because you were put in my life for a reason. And it doesn't make sense that I uncahracteristically let you in, only to shut you out because we don't work as a couple. We are best friends. You know me completely. I know you. And I don't want to stop knowing you just because I have to stop loving you. So, before I stop showing my emotions and switch off into friend mode, I want to say:

I sincerely hope you find who and what you are looking for. I hope you can eventually reach a point in your life where you feel worthy and deserving of the love that you crave. Because you do deserve it. More than anybody I've ever met. And while it will sting when you do find her, I hope our friendship lasts long enough for me to be able to see that guy, the one who loves himself enough to be able to love somebody else. 

If it's the same for you, I'll just hang.

So much to say. So many thoughts. I wish I could just stop thinking in song lyrics. I wish I could just be brave enough to say what I'm thinking. But right now I'm just here in a parking lot, wishing instead I could have turned left instead of right. And that I could go back instead of forward. I keep trying and somehow always fall back. Guess I'll have to finish this some other time. Back to work. 

Ode to the Past

Feelings, what are those? 

I openly admit that I am in the middle of the craziest ride of my life. He ended things on Thursday, and Friday morning was backpedaling into my life. The thing is, I keep letting it happen because I keep wanting it to happen. Because I can't give up, let go, move on. Should I? At this point, should isn't even a question. Can I move on? No. 

I feel like I need to call Jared. He always gives me needed perspective. 

Well...I took my own advice and I called Jared. He gave me great perspective. No surprise. There's something intensely satisfying about having a friend that knows you so well. I talk to Jared more often than any other friend. And it used to be that our friendship was thrown about in the craziest of circumstances. However, even despite all that, it's easy to talk to him about everything. I have a hard time connecting to others on a level beyond superficiality. And it's not because I don't want to know them. It's because I can't let them get to know me. But with Jared, he already knows me. So it's not difficult to spill my guts. The wall I keep up with most everybody else was already hewn down almost a decade ago with Jared. 

I think the one of the most valuable perspectives derived from my relationship with him is that I had pretty intense romantic feelings for Jared at some point early on in our friendship. So Jared knows exactly what I am talking about when I discuss my feelings for guys. And he can help me see why things aren't working or how I'm acting that perhaps is hindering my relationships...because he was on the receiving end of my shenanigans at one point. I think because we went through that and are on the other side of it (without ever having actually dated), we have the ability to tell each other our exact opinions without worry. And I appreciate that so much. And I think everybody needs that in their lives. 

Tonight, having an actual person to sieve my emotions through helped me realize that it doesn't matter how I got here, but that I am here. In this place. Right now. And I can't change the past. I can't control the future. And I can't control other people just because of things that I want. 

I also realized I am terrified of making the wrong choice, of giving up on the right person, or of holding onto the wrong person and eventually missing out on the right one. I think a lot of this fear has to come from the fact that I am now 29. I realized last year what I want, which catalyzed my life evolution to this point. And I don't want it to be too late to have a family. Which, I suppose, leaves me feeling a little desperate at times. 

But as Thanksgiving approaches, I just want to feel gratitude for what I do have, instead of staying inside my head and focusing on the deficits. And what I'm super grateful for tonight is a friend who picked up the phone, listened to my craziness, and who was bold enough to offer opinions and advice. Jared, I know you're reading this because I basically forced you to, thanks man. I love you! 

Always one foot on the ground.

If hope is a thing with feathers, my bird is perched precariously on the edge. Why do we keep ending back together? The draw is magnetic, undeniable. 

It was over my head, I know nothing at all.

If I could choose my moment to die, that would have been it. The words were like a hammer to my heart. And until that precise second, it was like my ears had been plugged. And they popped once those words were uttered. Like I finally could hear what had been said over and over for hours. And maybe I could hear them, but I just refused to believe him. Until I was still standing there and he plainly asked me why. 

I rarely experience the events in my life as an actual person, but rather as a bystander. I was standing there and yet I was watching myself stand there. I could see my eyes silently begging a boy to let me in after he had already coldly shut me out. 

If my life were a movie, the moment he uttered that phrase, a bullet would have zoomed from behind and pierced me right there, dead on the spot. And my lifeless body would have crumpled onto the concrete and the camera would have panned out. And he would have walked inside and the door would have closed. And the credits would roll to some horribly sad song. 

But instead, in real life, I just watched myself turn and slowly walk out. And as each foot thudded on the pavement, I could vaguely hear the garage door close behind me. I kept my eyes straightforward, unwilling to let a single tear escape the bottom brim. And I could hear myself breathe in and out, so I knew I was alive. But mostly I could just hear my own heart breaking and the blood rushing to my head. 

I sat in my car for awhile. I couldn't even put the key in the ignition. When I looked down and realized I was still holding it in my hand and the door was half open and I was covered in goosebumps from the chill, I stuck it clumsily into the ignition. Secretly I hoped it wouldn't start. Because then the inevitable moment of me driving away and not looking back couldn't exist. But the engine roared to life. And I had no choice. I drove away. 

That's the funny thing about love. We look for it. Find it. And when it leaves, it leaves us with a gaping wound. And yet, we heal. And eventually look for it again. It's a merry-go-round we don't ever really stop. 

Then there's me. And maybe it's because I can't tell where I am on the ride. But, as of this moment, I am uninterested in healing. Because most of me is wondering if the splatter pattern I left on the garage floor will be the only reminder he has that I was there. Except I know it's invisible, and he'll never see it. 

And so maybe it wasn't love. Maybe it was only my fear of being forgotten. So maybe I carved my heart out myself. 

Jibber-jabber.

It's been an interesting past few days. My brain has been in a fog or haze or...stupor? Sometimes I think I get so overwhelmed by emotions that I tend to shift into autopilot so that I don't go insane. I don't mean to, it just happens. And then I perseverate on the things I want to think about until I literally can't remember how I've gotten from point A to point B. 

There are moments in my life that I can recall instantly. Some of them were even moments that, at the time, seemed completely insignificant, but for whatever the reason, have become huge milestones for me. Then there have been moments that have happened where I knew immediately I would never forget it. Those are much rarer for me. But this morning there was a moment where I just knew, without a doubt, that I'd never forget that look or that feeling. 

And when I truly think back on my life, I realize there is so much to forget. And I spend so much time trying to forget that I tend to forget the importance of remembering. So it makes me appreciate just that much more those striking, lightning-bolt moments that will forever imprint in my mind. 

I spend a lot of time living for other people. And just in a single week, choosing to truly live for myself and feel everything I am feeling without hiding behind it has been such an intense and eye-opening experience. I sincerely hope I am brave enough to continue with it. But I think each day is filled with a thousand different choices, and as long as I keep choosing, I'll progress even when I fail. 

At this point I'm so exhausted I'm uncertain if my thoughts are honestly making any sense. So, goodnight. 

Roller coaster, favorite ride.

I can rarely remember a time when I am just at a loss for words. But tonight was such a time.

I was honest and truthful. And vulnerable as hell. I laid everything on the line. Because I had nothing left to lose. I have a million thoughts I want to share but for some reason only 3 words keep replaying over and over:

He picked me. 

He picked me. 

He picked me. 

He picked me. 

I must belong somewhere.

I found out this morning that my dad was 1.5 miles away from the terrorist attacks in Paris. He is safe. But he could have easily died. And that is chilling. And has caused a lot of inner turmoil for me. I am upset and grateful, and truly overwhelmed. I spent the day with my sister and we both just seemed shocked for the rest of the day. 

I think it made me wonder who is important in my life. And who I care about the most. This morning, before finding out, I went online to set up my dating profile. I went to add a profile picture and literally every picture from the past few months is of him. So that put a damper on things. And I realized I don't even want to be online, or looking for somebody to date. And even considering online dating seems so ridiculous now, in light of everything else. Like profile views or likes somehow add fulfillment to my life. 

But I do this. I don't like feeling, especially feeling vulnerable. So I think I don't really heal. I hate feeling so I just jump into something new as a distraction. But at the end of the day, I don't want to be distracted. So I'll just be brave and somehow allow myself to feel what I feel for the time being. And I think that must be ok. Because we are always looking to attain some sort of happiness. And maybe happiness means accepting all our other feelings, too. It's not a state we achieve, but an emotion in the spectrum of emotions that we feel. And we can't recognize it unless we also acknowledge every other emotion on that spectrum and allow ourselves to feel those as well. Which I don't really do. So I guess it's time to start. 

There's a song I love by Bright Eyes, about belonging somewhere. And I've decided home isn't a place, but a feeling. And today, in realizing how close I could be to losing the people closest to me, I realized I just want to be home, wherever and with whomever that may be. And while I don't know how or who or why, I do know I must belong somewhere. And so that's why I just want to act without regrets. I want to be genuine to how I feel, and not apologize for it or feel guilty about it. That's really hard for me, because it means I can get hurt. I am hurt. But I want to feel at home. So maybe that starts by first finding home in myself. 

So, Saturday.

I don't feel like analyzing my feelings today. But I made a promise to myself that I'd blog everyday. So here I am. It's been an entire week. And not much has really changed. Except everything has. So there's that. 

Within the belly of a big blue beast.

Sometimes I listen to a song on repeat so much that I forget I'm even listening to music: it just becomes emotion inhaled and exhaled. There was a time, within the last few years, that I was too busy to enjoy music. Which is ridiculous because my life, since I can remember, was always lived to music. My musical taste has changed, but not drastically. When I was a teenager I couldn't ever understand how "old people" would just listen to the music from their youth and not evolve with the musical times. But I get it now. No music is as poignant as those songs that played during the pivotal and tumultuous times of growing up. However long that process was...

I guess I still feel like I'm growing up. I think I got caught up in this mentality that I'm already supposed to be established, a grown-up, settled. My "life" is supposed to have already started. The funny thing is, I recognize now that my life is happening, whether or not it's the life I thought I'd be living. It's interesting to me how a single year can change me so much. When I was married, I thought we had to be a certain way. Trying to fulfill that impossible expectation left us both defeated. 

I think I've spent my entire life like Meredith Grey in that episode where she begs Derek: pick me, choose me, love me. And when presented with the options: they either do. Or they don't. And it still messes with my head sometimes that the one person I vowed to love forever couldn't. He couldn't hear my plea. He couldn't pick me the way I wanted him to. He couldn't choose me. And waking up on the other side of that has perhaps been the hardest part of everything. But here I am.

Maybe that's why I don't have expectations like that anymore. I've become more accepting of reality. And for awhile there, I convinced myself that my reality was better without the complications of feelings and emotions. But everything is always going to be messy. Even when it's perfect, it's messy. And I wonder a lot just how can somebody can go through that and still want to believe in love. Am I a fool for wanting to?

No we are not swans. We fit into each other, we are Russian dolls. Where somewhere in the center sits a beating heart. Now do you feel we'd gone too far? Or do you feel we reached the top? Or do you feel like letting go? Now cmon. Hold on. We are not swans. Nor are we as ugly as we think we are. 

Disasterpiece.

I read an article that says the first 15 minutes after you wake up are your brain's most creative and thoughtful. I'm uncertain if I believe that. Because usually the first 15 minutes of my day are spent watching my dog poop and then cleaning it up. If that's as creative as it gets, I'm pretty screwed. 

So this morning, to test this theory, I decided to blog first. Here goes:

Last night I had this dream. My mom told me my sister never came home. And I was in the middle of doing something with somebody and had to pry the news out of her because she didn't want to tell me. It was a terrible dream, but thank goodness I woke up and realized it was just that. But I've spent the last few minutes trying to figure out all the components of the dream and why suddenly my dreams are about losing the people I love. Because this is just one of a barrage of terrible dreams I've had lately. 

I'm pretty sure it's because I am terrified of losing the people I love. Duh! Woo, way to really have to dig deep there, haha. But in some ways, I feel like I have already lost the people I love. I guess that's why it is easier for me to be alone than let myself feel anything for anybody else. The entire component of loss is easily avoided that way. And wow I just realized the first 15 minutes of my day are sounding pretty depressing right now. 

I'm not depressed. I think I'm just in this weird numb state where I don't want to care about anybody or anything. It's eerie how easily I can shut off my emotions to just feel numb so I can pretend I don't care. And it's usually around this time I begin wreckless behavior. To solidly convince myself that I don't care. 

But I am not being wreckless. Which kinda annoys me. Because it means I do care. And I'm thinking that I keep trying to convince myself I don't care because I'm afraid that's how other people feel. Gross. I can't believe I actually said that out loud. Hahaha. 

Remind me to sleep in tomorrow. This morning feeling thing doesn't bode well for me. The end. Resume numb status. Begin wreckless behavior. Or...don't. And be ok with feeling. Mehhhhhhhhh. 

Age 29 is confusing me. Maybe I'm becoming mature. Or maybe I'm becoming even more of a disaster. But maybe that's ok. 

Gaping Holes.

There are literally 15 thoughts fighting themselves in my brain. And I haven't written in awhile. But I somehow figured out how to log back into this blog and import every other blog I've written in and combine them all into 1.

I normally don't make my blogs public. Mostly, because I never share my true feelings with anybody. I don't like looking weak. It is physically impossible for me to break myself wide open for somebody else. It's a slow and cracking process that takes a lot of persistence and patience. So blogging is kind-of the anti-me.

But I figure, since I am now 29, it's time to be more genuine. And vulnerable. And so I posted all my feelings for everybody/nobody in the world to read. That's a pretty scary thought. 

So, here it goes. It just got real, son.