Last fucking Hi.

Hi. You’ve been on my mind lately. Last night, I couldn’t help myself, my mind and body begged for a connection. It had been 4 months since the last time, I thought oxytocin and dopamine faded after 2 weeks, and I’m sure they do, but I had seen you last week, and you gave me a hug, both arms around me. Funny that’s all it took. Attachment has a power beyond what I thought I understood. I wish I paused to notice it, I wish I sat with it, I wish I could have verbalized it in more than 4 desperate words, via a little blue bubble at 1am. I wish I wrote, like now. Instead I puffed your ego and bruised my own.

Most times I’m fine, but sometimes big things happen in our lives that trigger our need to be seen by our past. And there was a big thing in my life. I was out of my comfort zone, I was trying, and being mature, and seeing but staying, and doing things differently. In that glass box of learning curves, I wanted to break my attachment to I, and you were just perfectly perched on the edge, unsure if you would answer, that hot and cold, exactly my comfort zone. It was a sure way to do it, to get out of this one. I’d done it in the past. And instead I could attach to you, win win. Or lose lose.

It’s incredible that my heart knows, my mind knows, the back of my eyes know, but I still shine my light on you. I’m bewitched by thoughts of you, memories, buying a chicken sandwich at wholefoods for you.

Your values suck, the ones you had with me, don’t match mine. I help, with nothing in return, I respond, with emotions and transparency, I put your feelings before mine when I know something can hurt you, I speak and do as I speak. None of this from you. How do I still want you?

MM

xoxo

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Let’s write about it

Feeling pretty triggered today.

First trigger first. Yesterday was a stark reminder that I am still there. Feeling heightened emotions, loops of excitement, defeated, and so so naked. On our call, I felt H could still read the part of my soul that knew I liked him, that I thought was closed to him. I felt he was seeking confirmation that I still cared about him, and I gave it to him. Once again he got what he needed. And in return, I felt ashamed that my body reacted in eagerness and nerves in direct response to his question. All he said was “M, what’s your background?” We’d played this dance before, he’d practiced on me on our last zoom call. He was comfortable speaking, but for me, it was as if I was hearing those words for the first time. Caught off guard I mumbled something about my cultural background. I know what he was doing, determined to portray a manner of loyalty to our culture, when the truth was he didn’t know what he was loyal to, he was just saying words he thought everyone wanted to hear. I’m not sure if I’m being eloquent about what happened, but the point is, he was selfish, and he put me on the spot, he drained me, to get to where he was heading. And obviously, in this whole roundabout, he wanted to talk about the painting in his background, dark and angry and intricate lines of black, that honestly bothered me. Even before I had seen it in person, when he shared a picture of it with me, and shared his delight in his purchase, the piece and artist bothered me. It looked like it represented his heart, black and scratched, and toneless, I think he saw that too and related to it, and I think I didn’t like that I was so pulled to a heart like that. Plus it was still resting on the couch behind him, I mean how does a man not have the ability to hang up a frame?  This repulsion I’m feeling, is anger, I know. Where is it coming from you ask? I am angry he did not love me. I am angry he comes across confident, and I, a bag of nerves. I am angry I have deep emotions for someone I don’t even agree with. I am angry because people talk about people leaving if you are too available, and that you can scare them away by telling them you like them. That’s trigger number two. This advice to women, and girls, to hold back emotions, genuinely repulses me. To teach women to not feel or to not act on what they feel, to shame them, it’s not right. To tell women that we have to be less, and feel less, because we scare people away. I don’t like this narrative.

Trigger three, I am consumed by being loved by A, H and now I. It’s all I think about, rotating between them.

MM

xoxo

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Letters to past lovers No. 2

Dear Lover,

Cheers to the memories. Joshua Tree, Bay Bridge, Banana Leaves, Mendocino.  There’s one memory, I’m still curious about.  The second time, after the second try, you were driving me to my appointment, you started to talk for a change, I listened and can still hear your eyes speak.  It was when you said those words, when you admitted it, it took me by complete surprise.  It threw me for a loop.  Really? How?  Did you really fall in love with me?  Was that really the moment you thought you were in love with me?  You blushed when I asked you if it felt really good.  That threw me off even more.  I literally thought, this person who constantly pushes me away, who constantly feels guilty, who is scared of every check-up, who are you right now?  How had you, have you, had these thoughts and feelings and I had absolutely no idea.

It’s a short sigh of relief H, to know someone loves you, it’s fleeting because, sexual love, and real love, as we know, are memories apart.

MM,

xoxo

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Letters to past lovers No. 1

Dear Lover,

When did you wake up and decide you couldn’t take this any longer?
The smell of my hair, the circle of my eyes, the white on my skin, you couldn’t have any of it around you any longer?

Do you remember, you stood so still when the ground was shaking.
Your grip was so still around my waist, it still holds me to this day.
Do you remember, the wind in your balcony was going crazy, and I wasn’t far off either.
But you were, beyond chivalrous. You were, your eyes told me you’d give me everything I needed. I think that was one of the last times you let them speak to me.
How did you do it then?
What has happened that’s made you so shaky today? Unwilling, or part willing.
That you had to roll paper in order to keep from hanging up?
To distract yourself whilst your camera was looking at me in awe.

You were my best friend, you are my best friend.
Nothing can break that, not even earthquakes, or fires or mountains of rain.
Are you able to process like me? Or, have you processed this already? Have you come to terms with the emptiness in your heart? Reveled in it with joy because of the freedom it brought? If I had given you anything, I hope I gave you that.

Things you don’t need to tell a lover, but here it is anyway. You were a piece to my puzzle. You are the collective good that I wish I could give to myself. You are my lesson, student, peace and surrender. Thank you A.

MM,

xoxo

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Here we go, hold on to your seat

I wish I could just tell the world, I like this guy, his name is H, he treats me poorly, I keep going back to him.

Maybe that would help me stop? Maybe that would make him stop? Maybe the shame of failure will take over the shame of feeling unloved, and I would just let it go? Fuck, I cannot wait for the day that I figure it out. The day that my mind and heart catch up to this rollercoaster , pause, call H up, and tell him fuck off and leave me alone.

It happened; maybe all we need is spelling out all we need. Copy paste for future reference:

So, yesterday’s conversation left me confused, but at the same time, more sure that I want to be with someone who wants the same thing as me. And if I’m really honest with myself I know deep down that we don’t want the same thing, and I think that’s why it’s just not working. So, I need to take a break from us, and our friendship and I’d really appreciate if you respect my decision and give me the space I need.

MM,

xoxo

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You deserve to get what you need.

It’s that ball again. Wrecking darkness in my chest. I’m feeling… unappreciated, temporary, not special. Cue, ten minute google search, “do you need to feel special in a relationship”. Okay phew, confirmed, psychologytoday, tinybuddha, bunch of other blogs, my therapist, confirmed, I should feel special in a relationship.

And honestly, I’m drained of you. You don’t know what the last trigger was for me, we never really know, but I tasted bile in my soul. And I know you didn’t intend that to happen, but careless is uncaring. And I don’t want your friendship, at least not for now, and not what it currently is. And I am upset and maybe I am lashing out, but in order to calm this anger within my chest, screaming at me to feel loved, I’m going to step away and take care of myself. I can’t control how you feel about me. And need to stop thinking that I need to, or that because I care for you, you must show that you care for me, with the same affirmations and actions and time.

I used to say, about A and others, “he needs to let me go”. But really, I need to let him go. I was chasing him, just like I was chasing B, to feel special, to be taken care of by the person I dreamt of, to be with someone other than who he is. I need to, want to, do it for me, he is not right for me. Let him go.

Since we’re here, some google search tips for the future:

Understand that listening requires taking in what the other thinks and feels and then letting them know that you heard them.

Look for, and think in terms of, “I love you because you are X” not, “I love you because you make me feel X”.

Be open to those who want to know about, understand, learn from, care for, enjoy, like, and love you.

You can expect your partner, those who care about you, to meet your needs, without you always needing to explain or communicate them.

MM,

xoxo

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Tolerating ambivalence has made me lose trust in myself

And to think. None of this will matter, when you are no longer my love story. If I should have sent you that LDR song. If I shouldn’t have. If I should tell you everything about the city reminds me of you.. Everything reminds me of you. Or I shouldn’t. If I should call you. Or be upset that you didn’t call me. If I should explain, ask more questions, listen more. Or do none of that. If I should be patient. Or move on.

None of it matters, when we aren’t going to be together.

And I have trauma, or fear, or heartache, whatever it is that I have. I can’t fight for you. I can’t bring myself to break my silence. I can’t go back there again.

And for the life of me, I don’t know if what I’m doing is good for me or bad for me.

MM,

xoxo

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The Messy Middle

I’m in the middle, of deeply wanting to be with you and excruciatingly wanting to forget about you, both, simultaneously. I’ve always hated being in the middle. I’ve always wanted to just wipe the slate clean, and move on. Or rather, be all in, both feet, no brace. I struggle with unknowns, the middle of nowheres, the things not in my control. The silent patience, the unknown acceptance. I’m trying to embrace it. The thick of it. The effing process of it.

I don’t want to wish you come back to me. I really don’t. But here I am. Wasting a wish. Head on my pillow dreaming of you. I’m holding on and counting time, unable to truly let you go.

Sigh, but, today’s lesson is to be okay with the thoughts we have. The voice that deliberately whispers, wish for him back, cling to his soul, that’s right, he’s still in the back of the room with you.

So here’s the thought, I’m going to think it, and I’m going to be okay with it: I wish that, if we are meant to be, that day comes. And if we are not, that I live in peace.

Miss Mess

xoxo

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BH, AH – Before Him, After Him

I was scrolling through my pictures, pausing at the images of my face, and wondered, if I looked different, before, and, after him. Did my eyes beam the same way, did my smile, did I look like I knew too much but couldn’t process it all. Did I always have that twinkling glow that covered my eyes and placid look that stamped my face? Or was that his doing, was that his twinkle green eyes, his placid unquestioning face, that I subconsciously adopted. You know, like how couples start looking like each other. Did I start looking like him? Adopting his aloofness, his rigid charm. And did it start replacing my childlike glow? My excitement for the little things. My humble expressions of inadequacy.

I hadn’t been out in San Francisco for a while, a lot of places reminded me of him, of me and him. Of things he said or I had said. And I remember the night he stopped his car in our alley, and demanded I give him a kiss. That was cute, but it also caught me off guard. We were together all evening, why had he waited till now? Mid alley, drink behind the wheel.

I don’t think I ever understood it, but, as if it was an unspoken secret, kissing him became kind of memorable. It wasn’t that I hadn’t kissed him or we didn’t kiss, well we didn’t actually kiss a lot, but I started to recognize that for him, kisses were reserved for special days, special moments, special reasons. I don’t know, maybe there was some shame in it for him. Maybe there was some form of belief around it. Whatever it meant for him, it was one more thing he never explained for me.

There were a few times, like when we got out of bed in the morning, or when I left in the evenings, that I would call his name, walk towards him, pause, stand on my tip toes and softly kiss him. Every time I did, he would blink a few times in surprise, and then, gently return his lips to mine. It was like he never expected it. Like this one kiss was so monumental that it couldn’t be taken lightly. I liked that, because that’s not how I ever viewed kisses. But of course I also didn’t like it, because just like everything else with him, I felt unseen and neglected.

Miss Mess

xoxo

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In the mirror, looking for you

Occasionally, when you are in the same room as me, I turn my head, look across the room, and imagine you can hear me speak.  Not out loud, but in my head, in your head.  I look at my reflection in the mirror, and can feel you standing there.  I turn my head towards you, look up at your face, and your soul speaks to mine, even though your words are silent.

Nowadays, I don’t know if you hear my voice any longer.  Even after we embrace, and my hands smooth past your shoulders and I breath out, worried and on edge, “this will hurt me.” You tilt your chin and turn to me, your eyebrows don’t crease, your eyes stay still, your face makes no movement. It’s as if you look right past me to something beyond the present.  I place one hand on your chest, above your heart, and feel it beating to the sound of everything that is going on in your head.  I feel there is no space for words, for conversations, acknowledgment or otherwise.

When I look back at the time we met, four years ago, I remember you were, over expressive, unrelenting, and particularly inattentive.  I understood, even back then, that you were not rebuilding.  You were climbing, indifferent to how cracks, and fractures, and devastation could help you.  We are, all the parts that we have ever been, that’s true.  But who you are today, broken and breaking, and reassembling is the earnest soul that speaks to me.  Well spoke to me.

And I fell for you.  Not like a martyr to the crusade. But two deep hearts, in one room, at the right time. It was sweet really. We were sweet. And afterwards, the strength of your brokenness, the fear in your confusion, your vulnerability to keep coming back to it, kept me. 

There’s new chatter now, my soul heard that you are no longer in the room with me, and it’s okay, painful as it may be, it’s okay, because this is the virtue of my breaking.

Aren’t humans beautiful, when they open, and feel, and face, or even when they just take the smallest step to peak over the ledge, at the incoming destruction, and all the things that seem wrong within themselves, but they look, and see, and want, to, finally accept it. 

We are something else.

Miss Mess

xoxo

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The one where I saw B back on Hinge

It was in my throat, like a tunnel running to my heart. I felt like I was choking, so much that I actually lost my balance, I pushed my arm out, as if to hold onto something. I looked behind me for the chair, and sat back down. I felt, sad and hurt, and drained. I thought, why couldn’t it have been me. Why couldn’t I have been what he was looking for. The tears climbed into my eyes easily, and streamed down my face even easier.

I read his highlight under “What I’m looking for”. Then I read “Extroverted”. Well, I’m definitely not extroverted. Well, I guess I can be, did he see that in me. Wait, did he have this up when we matched, did I know it, and was I just hoping to be something he wanted me to be? Ughh, who am I bargaining with here?

I closed my eyes, cleared the app from my phone screen. The memories of him had faded, but seeing him back on my screen was hard. There was a box within my chest, in the middle of my heart, beating, bursting, walls crumpling in on itself. In that box I had stored parts of him, his colored eyes, his broad shoulders, my memory that he spoke French, his air of confidence. The things that stood out for me, the things I picked that made me feel I had found a “winner”. Things that definitely didn’t make me feel loved but had been on a list I had written sometime, somewhere.

Sitting on that chair, forehead resting in my hands, I closed my eyes. I thought about the torture this was causing me, long after him, the torture he was causing me. I thought how his kind of confidence hadn’t worked for me, however much I was attracted to it. It had never worked for me. I thought about this lesson, how tired I was of this lesson.

Miss Mess

xoxo

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“You’ve seen my descent, now watch my rising”

There is a little girl within me that is calm and uncomplicated. That can hear what you are saying and not have frantic highs, that can see what’s happening and not feel agonising lows. I’ve been working on channeling that little girl, hearing her voice, being present, being here, happy with my journey, my face, my body, my comments, my actions. Isn’t it funny that we grow up learning to push away everything we are, and then circle back trying to be who we once were?

Miss Mess

xoxo

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Can you hear me?

We had been together for a little bit. You know, exchanged numbers, off bumble, one date in, lots of texts, and once a day FaceTimes. In that small space we had a level of knowing. Okay, I had a level of knowing. I knew he could hear my voice. I knew it followed him. Triggered him? Moved? Softened? Angered him? There I was, sitting in my apartment looking out at the San Francisco Bay, and him in his, by the Santa Monica Pier. I spoke to no one, and he could hear me tell him, what are you doing to better yourself? How have all these supposed regular, deeper, meditations actually helped you? How are you connecting with others? Why don’t you get to know me, instead of complaining about my questions, my accent, my jokes. Why don’t you be kind for a change?

Or maybe he heard none of it. Got off his couch. Went to bed. Covered his eyes with an airline sleep mask. And I lay on my bed, alone, recognising here I was, falling again. Off the bed. It felt higher than it was. Maybe off a hill top. Yes, I was falling off of that.

In my descent, I started doing this thing, I blamed him for my emotional state. I lost my ability to communicate openly. I walked out. Well, physically I walked in, but held so much back. Not able to face the fall, the rise, the drop, everything that was coming.

I’d like to say, we were not in the right place at the right time. I’d really like to say that. As if everything else was great. As if, all of him and I, was great. I don’t know.

Miss Mess

xoxo

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Be still.

He was still there, in my fucking heart.

I scrolled through my calendar to see how long it had been. I typed “surf lesson” in the search bar; that was the day after the last time I saw him, nearly four weeks ago. I still cared. I still brought him up in my mind. I still believed, or thought I believed, or made myself believe, whatever. The point is, I closed my eyes, calmed my mind and was lost with him. He could have been great for me. He could have been for me. We could have been great. Does that stop? Every time this happens, I wonder if this will stop.

Sigh, be still my heart: be open to your loneliness. Be kind to the place that wasn’t right for someone else. Know that it is yours, all yours right now.

Miss Mess

xoxo

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Steps of Kindness

I wish you an abundance of energy, tranquility, love and real kindness. I truly hope you can live your life the way you want to. With achievement and stability and inner compassion.

Thanks for teaching me more about myself. The triggers were worth it. Right now I can’t give you what you need. What you want from me doesn’t bring me joy.

Miss Mess

xoxo

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First on SoundCloud

I was listening to my new guys music on soundcloud, whilst me ex was texting me, and another ex-from 10 years ago asked me what I’m doing tonight.

Life has a way of consistently bringing everything I cared about to one place, as if to remind me, keep going, keep swimming, keep being kind, stop judging your past.

Remember, everyone always leaves and always comes back. There is more to this life than any one of them.

Miss Mess

xoxo

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While he was in London

He whatsapped me a picture.

I clicked it open and stared at it for a few seconds. It was a picture of him with a vitamin drip in his right arm, half his face cut off by the frame. It hurt, looking at him hurt, conversations without him, hurt.

This time, I just reminded myself to notice it. This time, rather than texting him a sentimental and long message about my feelings, and wishes, and brokenness. I just noticed it. It was in the middle of my chest, center left, forced, and choking. Constant and reverberating. I kept breathing, it kept coming back up. Like our entire relationship, it felt disproportionate. His full detox to my repeated aches.

He said he was checking in to see how I was doing. Wow. How I was doing. To me this was 60 days since the last time we spoke (I counted them), to him this was just his morning catch up text.

Miss Mess

xoxo

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Learning to say I Love You

I may have said I love you, once, maybe twice, in our entire three years together.

Near the end, because he started to feel like family, I would say “love you, bye!” You know, like when you hang up the phone, or leave their place, with that familiar bounce in your step.

Sometimes he would say matter of fact, “It’s cuz you love me” or he would ask gently “You love me?” My response was always, “Always”.

I would always love him, I knew that. But at the time, responding with I love you, or starting with it, was so big, so real, it was really vulnerable. If I were to ever say it, I had to pause at every word, I, Love, You. Heavy. Fear. Much. Maybe weak. Couldn’t say it.

I did love him. I’ll always love him. We both felt it.

And now, after all this time, I can tell him I love you, and mean it as a friend. I am so thankful for this version of peace and love that I feel today.

Miss Mess

xoxo

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Until you grow big enough to handle anything

I can handle anything. Truly, complicated negotiations, mortgage application, car lease, purchase of a home, name the task. I can step out the house and take on the world.

Until I like you.

Until I’m chatting to you and I feel the potential. The tiniest spark of like. Then I’m at a loss. For words. For the right words. It’s like my heart is cursed. I shame and second guess and go back wanting to correct everything and anything I just said, I come out frazzled, upside down, lost in my mind, everything but my real self.

And sometimes I am a lot and sometimes I am nothing. And I don’t know if you are a lot or nothing. But I know right now it’s too much for me to handle on my own.

Miss Mess

xoxo

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Feel Something

On the 4th Sunday, in my empty bed, I hurt myself. I lay there, feeling drained and overpowered by a beating in my head. I was flooded by an urgent need to make myself see things, things that my eyes and ears couldn’t unsee, things that I knew would cut deep. I had been here before, and here I was again. Like a sado-masochist, stabbing myself, over, and over. Not with a blade, but with messages, and pictures, and writings. I scrolled through my phone, through Instagram, looked at videos and pictures of him and his ex, videos that had always been there but I hadn’t wanted to watch. And for some reason, in what seemed like a permanent anguish, I really needed to find them. Needed to open up his profile, scroll to exactly what I was looking for, find it and burn. I think I needed to feel pain, and tears, something, anything, to remind me that what we had was real. That my feelings were real. That you had feelings for me, that you meant something. Mean something. That maybe if I still care, you’ll still come back, or something.

Miss Mess

xoxo

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