I am always that person who is either somewhat or completely unsure about certain topics of interest. I consider myself to have the softness of my mother, but the firmness of my father. The two often collide, and create a twisted individual caught between kindness and doing exactly what I need to do to grow and move on in my life. Things that should be obvious or easy (as if…) become branched out affairs that tap on my brain days, weeks, and even years later. “Was that right?”
I had to make choices some weeks ago, based on things that simply were not happening. It wasn’t clean, it wasn’t easy, and it surely wasn’t happy. It made me wonder if I’d be alone for the rest of my life. I mean, a lady like me doesn’t exactly have callers at her door. It’s more of a luck of the draw that someone turns their head. For how long will their head be turned? How long will their heart be there? How can a beggar be a chooser?
Believe me when I say the choice filled my head with a lot of stuff. Believe me when I say the trip between “it is decided” and “maybe I moved too quickly” left me bloody and bruised emotionally. That’s the thing–staying in the comfort zone was hurting me as well. Waiting, and be refreshed when necessary. What kind of life is that? I knew what I wanted wasn’t happening. It hadn’t been happening for a long time. I think that maybe the other person took advantage of my docile side, knowing that “the right words” would calm me down in the moment. The pushover in me accepted this behavior. The firm woman wanting results was getting tired.
I did what I felt like needed to be done. As inconsiderate and “mean” as it seemed, I felt even worse for all the things I had to do in the past. I was constantly re-assuring myself about hopeless events that would take ages to happen. Not to mention a nosy father who kept asking “when” and “why”. I had to say the same thing all the time–“they’re busy” or “working”. I didn’t have a straight answer, and I got tired of looking like an idiot with a parent saying “they’re living another life and just not telling you”.
Since then, it has been an on again, off again text message song and dance of communication that spins the same story. Somebody far away claims to care for me. Somebody far away wants to see me. Somebody far away feels so much for me, but I’m not convinced. I don’t have an ounce of faith or hope or waiting. All I can hope for is that that they stop trying to push me in that direction, just to have me wait again. THAT’S my mother’s side, though. Being stubborn. I refuse to let myself soften up again just to be put on hold.
Maybe that makes me a bad person. I am forever claiming I do not ask for the moon. I honestly do not. How could I demand anything from anyone, bad as my credit is, sickly as my work history is, and as pathetic as my educational status is? I do not demand anything of anyone these days, let alone ask for anything. I want and need for a lot of things, but my voice does not crack for them.
What happened is that I accepted what I wanted with that person will never be. Our communication is a torture that both angers and saddens me at the same time. Oh, they think I do not want them. They don’t realize desire never dies. Want never dies. Images of kisses, hugs, and love being made just don’t rot out. Cravings and thoughts are still there, but a sad woman is facing reality–they will never be. One of us has all the time in the world but no money, and the other has little to no time at all–to the point of passing out. They have a life, obligations, and hardly any time for themselves. As for love? Never dead. Crushed, maybe. Hurt, perhaps. Realizing that what we want isn’t always what we get.
“Says you,” they often say in conversations. Honey, it’s the reality we face. In all the years we have known each other, there’s always been a plan but no execution. I have heard about other trips taken, and I never complained externally. Internally, I just wondered–if I’m so great, what about me?”
Oh the layers of sorrow! This is when I realized long ago maybe the love and admiration is there, but the priorities are not. So, as I looked at a picture sent to me days ago, again I am reminded of what will never be. I never said I didn’t love, I never said I didn’t want. I’m tired. That’s all. Fed up. Facing the truth, no longer wearing the red dance shoes. I don’t have anything left, and that makes me a very bad, very impatient, very selfish person. I have to be. I’m sorry. Not as malice, not as one who is cruel–but one who is real.
Then, my mind went back to all that stuff, PLUS another incident. Here I am, burning bridges. Didn’t I tell myself to think it over? Didn’t I also tell myself to stop dwelling in the past? So, how could one be unsure of either situation? At the end of both, they simply hurt more than they should. I second guess because I’m lonely. I’m afraid of staying like this. I’m afraid to start over. I can admit that. I don’t like being firm. I have mothering characteristics. When I have to be “like my dad”, it eats me up inside.
Saying “what if” and looking back is always some kind of bad news. I know this. The man is beautiful, but as I have told him 900 times over, it will take him a lifetime to look me in the eyes and hold me close. As for the other situation, I always think about that one. My feathers ruffle, and I move on from it. My more perverse side screams at me for walking away from it, but common sense knows better. It’s more about pleasure than romance.
Hard as it is to love all this woman with every single flaw, I made the decision to put her first in a lot of things. Love, career, goals. I fell off the track and am climbing back up. I keep falling off, but I cannot stop. Maybe all of this adds up to a memoir. Will anyone read it?