The Days

It's been over a week since I last spoke with him. It's four days into this Divorce.

I'm starting to feel weak, like I might falter. But I know I won't. It's sad, how "love" can become like an addiction. That's when I question whether or not it was love. I mean, it feels like I'm going through withdrawal symptoms. Anxiety, tension, irritability. It's all there... it's all ridiculous.

It's funny. Now that I'm NOT having relationship, dating, or sex drama... I'm posting in this blog again. It took 18 months of emotional turbulence, a broken hymen, miscommunication, and an STD. And then it took inner chaos and pathetic, floor-bound crying spells. But I'm finally at this point of just really wanting to BREATHE, which also means having the space to breathe and allowing myself that breath and that space.

So many of the women and individuals I admire strong, independent, and self-determining. They own who they are, they own their image and sexuality and how the world perceives them. They dominate; they are not controlled. That is who I want to be. And I'm not saying that falling in love or being in a relationship means that a woman becomes controlled... I'm saying that I become controlled.

Ick!

It's weird. It dawning on me that now I have a freedom, an opening and beginning that I wasn't viewing clearly before. I was afraid to be apart from him for so long, apart from any man. It comes down to that whole "missing out" thing, I guess? But that's not the case. My heart is free. I don't owe anyone anything.

I mentioned to Therese that I really want to reinvent myself. It's a thought I've had since September. That's when it sprouted. Really, it's been there for much longer. I mean, that's partially why I came to New York -- to start a new Life, to expand. Now, I want to push that even further: I want to start a new me, I want to push the boundaries of who I am. I want to be a me without boundaries.

I do not know who this Michelle Jackson 2.0 is, though. I do not know where she lives, what she does, who she knows, what clothes she wears. I mean... it's almost morbid, in thinking about becoming "someone else". It's almost as if who I am now has to die. I don't want that...


Basically, I do not know anything right now. But it's okay. I don't have to. I can just keep pushing, pushing, pushing forward until...

A burst.

Reflection Eternal

I am alone.

I am alone... and I am scared. People don't seem to understand that -- or perhaps, I don't want them to. In a way, I force myself to believe that no one else can connect or relate to what I'm going through. It doesn't matter, though. All that matters is that I am, in many aspects, ALONE. And I feel alone.

I "divorced"... him? Relationships? Love? Sex? I don't know. I shut it down. And it really hurts. It really sucks. I don't like this feeling. It is weighing me down, and the weight is tearing me apart. It's as if all the hurt and loneliness in the world is sitting heavy on my chest. I've tried to avoid this feeling for as long as possible by hanging on. But shit, what the fuck was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to keep remaining hopeful, to keep making excuses for the situation? I don't think that is a solution. I don't think that is real.

So I decided to make a clean break -- a really messy, tattered, entangled "clean" break. The first night, I was okay with it. I wrote it out, I took the actions, I wiped it out. It felt right; it felt doable and possible and necessary. And now... I'm starting to lose that. It's like being a fucking heroin addict: desperate, dangerous dependency. Every time my phone beeps or buzzes or rings, I want it to be him proving me wrong. It's not.

I refuse to relapse this time. I've been hitting pretty low points recently. Just awful moments where hope seems to be the most foreign, unimaginable, and unreal thing; moments of complete dissolution and impossibility and incapacitation. And in those moments, I just want to reach out, out, out -- out past the people in this city, out past my best friends, out past my family... to someone who will REALLY be my saviour, really rise up to break my fall and reconstruct my pieces back into a whole. And I guess, that person has always been a romantic partner.

But shit, I don't want to be that girl who just hangs on. Pretending and making herself believe. No thank you. I want to do this work. I want to relearn and rediscover what it means to be ME, fully and wholly and magnified ME... without needing anyone else to complete or help or reveal my truth. I don't want any of the excess. And I guess, "he" is an excess.

I get really sad sometimes. And then this other feeling builds up -- the one that doesn't have a name, but it's so real and palpable and pronounced that it manifests as a physical ailment: a tension and tightening and constriction of my whole body. It's killer. It makes me want to scream. It makes me want to cry. It makes me want to dial his number 1,000 times until he picks up and makes everything better.

He will not and cannot make everything better. I AM ME. THIS IS MY LIFE. All of this shit is mine to gather and sift through and assess and discard. Why am I relying on someone else to kiss my boo-boo, dress up my wounds, and heal me back into whatever ideal concept or entity I feel that I should be.

WHY DO I NEED HIM?!

I don't. And I don't want to.


I just want to be happy... with/in myself, with/in my life. I just want to be centered. I just want to be fulfilled. I just want to make sense. I just want to know the infiniteness of all of this. I just want... so much that I can't even put it into word, or thought, or feeling, or anything that has ever been tangibly or physically manifested in this Universe. But I KNOW they are mine. I want peace. I want love, YES. But first...

I want to be alone. I want to love myself. I want to love myself being alone.


I am alone...