And
I’m somewhere between piss drunk and emotionally drunk and I love open water. I love what it does to my soul I love the feeling of peace but also excitement and like I could spend my whole life in one place and never want to run again I love the sound of the water as it’s making it’s way towards me I love the unknown of where it begins and ends I love how you can never step in the same water twice because it’s always moving. I love the stars and the magic I feel when I just get lost staring into them I love how I could sit there for hours soaking in the little lights in the sky. I love sipping champagne in a tiny glass under them. Getting lost in it all. I love those small insignificant little moments that people don’t notice. I love seeing them and wondering who else noticed them, the little smile someone gives the person they are walking down the street with. Two people who want to hold hands but are unsure so their fingers just keep brushing against each other. I love the way it feels to be in a graveyard at night. Like you’re being watched over by everyone who has lived a life you know nothing about. All those souls who know so much. I love that it makes me feel alive and a little sad that they’re gone and forgotten like I will be someday. I like visiting them to let them know they aren’t forgotten. I love that I love knowing all I can know about people. I love peoples stories however small and insignificant they may think they are. I love knowing and understanding a persons brain. I love that I love things people think are strange. I love keeping those things to myself like a little secret just for me. But I also love telling people those little secrets here and there to see if they’re like me at all. I love understanding as many sides to a person as I can. I love being so painfully aware of the dynamics of someone’s decisions or thoughts and beliefs even tho it can be painful sometimes. I love a perfect cigarette and never knowing when it will happen. I love that when it does happen it’s with a drink and outside when it’s almost painfully quiet and it’s even almost impossible to hear the noises of the city. I love that it’s when the world around me is asleep and everything feels peaceful. I love that nothing can take that moment or interrupt it and when it’s over I can hold on to it and try to fall asleep until it’s a distant feeling in my mind.
I love so many little things in such a sloppy unconventional intense way that it scares me.
These little secrets of mine are my wall. These little things make me up into the ball of human that I am and I don’t like letting someone have all of that. It’s my safe place, my security blanket. I’ll give away bits and pieces of myself but never give them all of it because once it’s gone I’m afraid I’ll have nothing left. I’ll disappear. I can’t even bring myself to list them all in fear that the phone will take them from me. Which is asinine I know.
I love finding pieces of myself in other peoples works of art. In their writing and poems and addictions and dreams and hopes and fears.
I know in a lot of ways a lot of people feel these things but for me, it feels sacred and like I need to protect it.
I’m afraid I’ll lose these little pieces of myself and it will break me a little more. I’m afraid people will take them away from me. I’m not sure how. But the fear is so real. That’s another little secret.
I love the intense almost maddening joy I feel when I hear something pure and beautiful. And I am learning to appreciate the comedown of that as well.
A piece of me loves very deeply that I can’t say these things out loud like I can type them. A piece of me despises that I can’t. I think the balance messes me up a little sometimes, but I don’t know if I’d change it.
I love that my thoughts either begin or end in a complete irrational abrupt statements that have no structure because it shows how intense the feelings are or are forming or how they are drifting away.
I want to change a lot about myself. I always want to grow. But these are some things I never want to lose. And that terrifies me.
I hate a lot of things about myself as well. I hate a lot of physical things about myself. I hate how I am proportioned and how my face isn’t quite “right” when I catch a glimpse of my reflection. I hate that my face is long and sad and angry and my eyes go hollow with the thoughts in my head. I hate that my small lips go dry with the things I don’t say and that my nose isn’t right. I hate that my waist is never small enough after years of starving myself and then years of recovery. I hate that my legs seem big but aren’t strong enough to hold me when things go dark. I hate that my arms are scarred from self mutilation from years of hating myself. I hate that the recovery from that didn’t delete those scars.
I hate that my mind wanders off to small dark places that close me into a rage of hatred and self loathing. I hate that those moments come so often and so forcefully that it makes me crave an escape that has almost killed me so many times. I hate that if I succumb to those cravings how at peace I feel for a sliver of a moment and the embarrassment and resent is so much stronger after, yet I still want more.
I hate being unable to say these things out loud. I hate not being able to share them and be understood and not dismissed.
I convince myself that my pretty little secrets I need to protect from others, where as my ugly little secrets I need to keep hidden to protect myself.
With all of my pretty little secrets, I have just as many ugly little secrets too.
Secrets don’t make friends. That’s for sure.