One year ago, almost to the day, I found out I was cheated on and that my (now ex-)partner kept this secret from me for over a year. 7 months after, I went on a pretty solid first date, and then a great second date, and somehow that spiraled really quickly to me being someone's girlfriend again.
And we're happy. Life is hard outside the bubble of our constant fucking. But we're trying our best to learn from our failed relationships. Taking it slow, enjoying the honeymoon. Getting to know each other at a slow pace, instead of trauma dumping.
We both are pretty self-sustainable the way we are now. And I'm lucky that I'm able to have a partner just because I can. No other reason. Not for financial benefits, or because I'm about to graduate and the momentum of life moving fohrward is pushing me to go faster. This relationship exists solely because we like spending time with each other and we make each other happy just by being around.
So... here I am. A few months later. A few short months- lived, breathed, and fucked through... Since I broke my own heart. Since I was betrayed and found the hard rock bottom at the bottom of a glass bottle.
We broke up in May. But 7 months later and somehow I have found a new love. Love? I don't think I can call it that yet. But hope? Hope sounds right. Cheesy, and cringey, but true.
I thought breaking my own heart meant that I would have to fix it by myself too. And that just wasn't the case. New friendships and new "love" started to heal me without me having to do anything but be myself. They carried me most of the journey. Now I have to walk alone across the finish line.
I feel like the reservations I have about this new relationship only exist because I haven't asked the right questions yet. I haven't learned enough to feel like I have some semblance of an idea as to what's going to happen. But the truth is, these questions will be answered slowly over time even if I don't ask them. And even if I ask all the right things, and get all the right answers, I don't know what the future will hold. There is no guarantee.
I also just want to scream: I'm not done healing. Just because I'm happy. I'm not fucking done being a miserable prickly cunt. Not done chasing after stupid shit and shitty people who don't care about me. The self-destruction voice is so loud in my head sometimes. It sounds like him sometimes, I wonder if he hears it too.
The voice that is scared shitless. Scared to mess this up. Scared that I already did mess this up by asking for too much to fast. Scared that I'll continue to mess this up. Constantly looking over my shoulder for a shoe falling from the sky, matching the other half that came with my first heartbreak. My first real heartbreak.
Also anger. Still angry. Scared and angry- classic me feelings. I'm angry with myself, for not having my shit together when this beautiful man enters my life. Angry at him for looking at me like I can fix all his problems. Like putting me on a pedastal is the answer. Angry at how much shorter the pedastal actually turned out to be (because he's a secure adult man). Angry that he got under my skin so damn fast.
Angry at myself for the disgusting priveleged things I call him in my head. Townie trash. College drop out. Living at home with his parents. I hate myself for these things I think. But are these things I truly believe? Whose voice is speaking? Why am I feeling so goddamn insecure? Why am I hunting for evidence that I am better than his ex? Why am I SO scared that this person will disprove of me that I am willing to punch him and his ex down?
oh, summer’s tribute to magali is SO beautiful - there’s something so intimate and tender about someone clothing you and so many ways for it to be hellish but it’s clear she made it a place of fun and source of creative energy and that is so lovely. “her work inspired you to examine beauty in unexpected and often times amusing ways” is so moving and so resonant with why margo and eliot matter for me as queer characters, sources of a queer sensibility that far exceeds the writing itself and flows from the sensuality of chemistry and performance and yes, fabrics, from beauty. and how nice to know that comes from something real. the quality of sight as a power and skill to be treasured - yes, exactly
artist friends please accept this link to my scans of morpho: fat and skin folds by michel lauricella- also if you find it as helpful as I do please consider buying a copy for yourself!
Here we are again. In my parents home. Crying over Ariel and her actions. Only this time it was just that she let Sumi out of the apartment. I know realistically that it's fine, and I asked her not to do it again so she won't (or if she does she'll know not to tell me). But... I just don't trust her with my things anymore, especially not things that matter. And Sumi matters to me. Sumi is the only thing keeping me going sometimes, my only companion through all the heart ache and mental breakdowns. I know she's just a kitty. But she's my kitty. My responsibility to keep safe and healthy. Just like my own heart.
I don't know what I'm trying to get at besides the fact that next time I need to be in the bay, I'm bringing Sumi with me, no matter the cost or inconvenience. I don't care.
[image id: black text on white background that reads: My Mental Health really changed when I stopped asking myself "why am I so lazy" and started asking "why does my body need so much rest right now?"
