Southern Confessional

Thirty has come. So has a job, the start of a new life, and my confession– I am afraid to love.

Oh, that’s not new. Or special, or…great. It’s honest, ugly, and painful.

It came to me as I laid in bed with another man, describing another who is so far gone, he probably forgot he dated me.

I blamed him, the one before him. Not completely, but the percentage was their load. “What they did to me” stuck with me. I let it rule me.

It still does, to a degree.

(This is so pathetic. Vulnerability, here we go…)


A part of life, but a butterfly effect touching every encounter (sexual or romantic) years after the fact. On that note, I can admit to being a saboteur. By doing too much, by doing too little, or just rolling downhill at full speed.

Nobody is perfect, but this fear is dismantling what has yet to come. If I let go, fall in, get close, be vulnerable, I will get hurt. It always feels like this. It always seems like it. I feel like I drive people away, and I feel lonely all the time.

Okay, not all the time.

Usually when I see happy moms with their kids, when old friends show their awesome pics from parties, and some girl talks about some guy and how he’s just all in love and in paradise with her. All the things I want as a “great person whose time is yet to come”, but it just isn’t happening.

I’m not just sitting here waiting for it, either.

But I’m off track.


Afraid to.

Because it has happened so fast and fell apart so soon.
Because vulnerability left me wide open to have facts used against me.
Because I am usually not a valid choice. I am next on the list, I am “usually not taken, and always available”, I am the settlement when the truly desired aren’t open.
Because I am a “target”. (Meek, big woman, motherly)
Because I answered first.
Because it ends.

It ends and all those things sweet become sour. Emotional investments become salty water. Heartache is real. So is letting go, so is the fight between moving on and analysis. Useless, useless, analysis.

Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it hurts. It makes things worse. It makes me pick myself apart, and not feel good enough for anyone.

I fight to untangle the web. It might take the rest of my life to get what I want.


When I see what I want, or at least want to try, I distance myself to play it safe. To protect. I don’t want to make a mistake, but I have so much love to give.

Or friendship or…whatever.

I just sorta fell deep into sadness after my birthday. I know a lot of ppl are going through this. Still, I feel like odd woman out, feeling unwanted, temporary, and on the outskirts of happiness, while every other woman is wanted and desired.


I dunno.

“It’s all in your head” is the token phrase. Well…yeah. It’s how I feel. Experiences have convinced me. Failures and awkward ends have proven it. I fear it because I lose it.

It’s lost when folks are done with me.
When my charm wears off. It makes trust hard. It leaves me wide open. It makes me wish I couldn’t feel as deeply as I do.

This reads like teen dreck, I know.

I define myself, right?

But like most sappy meat bags, I just want to be desired, adored, a d needed. Let me return the favor, smile more, and stop having these deep sad spells. And the pathetic jealousy.

Some limits I need, due to rushes in the past. But in that realm, can somebody be crazy about me? Not obsessive consumption, but get a Lil melty. Come on.

I will continue to work on myself, and be fearless–loved or not.


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