As I’m sitting here slurping my nth gin in tonic,
vision blurred,
mind blurred,
feelings blurred,
thoughts blurred,
yet somehow still able to exercise my favorite past time;
people watching,
this particularly cute 70 year couple, were holding hands as they walked by.
How...rude.
These are the moments I feel most schizophrenic.
A large part of me wants to ask the waitress for a bucket. For the only reasonable response would be yack. Get it out of my system and move on.
But then, there is this little voice inside that says:
isn’t that the dream?
Isn’t that the goal?
What else is happiness?
A job?
A house?
A car?
No. Someone to love.
Someone
To
Love.
It’s ironic really, because the image of me screaming at the top of my lungs is still hanging in the air. The guilt of my actions continues feel so heavy my breathing has changed.
That's what the gin and tonics have been for of course, a prescription for the pain but the symptoms aren’t subsiding.
Let’s make the next a double.
But it’s as if while I was screaming, my 'knowing' or my subconscious, whatever you want to call her, was whispering ever so kindly:
'So do you really think this is how you will make all your dreams come true?'
It’s strange really.
I’d gotten so good at expecting everything to fall apart, I had no idea what to do when it didn’t. All my heart has been begging for was someone not to walk away in disgust when my sharp, degrading tongue came out to play. Knowing it was probably them who provoked me into this corner of self-hatred anyways.
But let’s leave excuses at the door.
I needed to be seen with all the gory bits in order to feel loved.
Or else what were they really there for?
This carefully crafted image I had presented like a sales pitch, begging them to see through it?
Or were they just waiting for the second shoe to drop, not knowing I’d throw that shoe straight at their face?
Almost like testing their patience.
Even worse, testing their pain tolerance.
Do you have the ability to withstand this much intensity?
If not, you are too short to ride the roller coaster you were signing up for.
As the famous ponytail would say;
Thank you, next.
'How cruel' said my knowing.
Shall we call her Betty? I always imagined her being like Betty White or something along those lines. Older. Wiser. More fun. More firm. Less desperate.
For love that is. Less desperate for love.
But where had that desperation gotten me?
Lots of experiences, I had tried on almost every personality without fail, but without success either.
Whats a girl to do?….Girls?
Nah, been there. Done that.
The one thing I was sure of was men were my liking.
It was my taste that I was worried about.
And the most concerning of all was the nauseatingly obvious fact that I was the single common denominator between all my shared relationship endeavors.
Uggfff...Now that’s a hard pill to swallow.
My pride takes a hit on that one.
It seems until I understand how to love the gory bits myself, I don’t suppose I can expect anyone else to do it for me.
But fast forward a bit, I guess it also comes down to finding someone who will see the gory bits and love them. Not just tolerate them. But admire them. Because it had gotten me to where I am now. And I wouldn't be this creature without them.
There must be someone out there who will know that it is just my little inner child throwing a tantrum. Or who is afraid. Or mostly likely of all, is just really really sad.
Too sad to bear, so screaming out of anger seems more tolerable.
Anger is more tolerable than sadness.
Why is that, I always wondered?
A thought for another time I suppose, since my mouth starts salivating when the waitress arrives with my fresh gin and tonic. 2 limes. Perfect amount of ice. The glass had just started sweating.
And this time, it’s a double.