#everything l.

I looked at his mother’s and sister’s Facebook post, and they’re all on vacation together. I am happy for him. He has this family that is together. But I can’t help but think of my own fractured family. My estranged sister. How everyone hates my mother. How my mother has done decades of work to earn that dislike. And I wonder...what keeps families together? Even my sister found a family. To do things with. To go to births, birthday’s and holiday things with. To go camping with and that love her. She can just reinvent herself, and they love her so much. 

I am glad to see him with his family. I hope he feels happy and loved. I even saw him in a picture of him and his smiling, racist brother-in-law. They had their arms around each other. I guess with some white people, racism isn’t a deal breaker. And neither is family. I get it. I am not even mad. I am just relieved and sad. Relieved because they’re not my people. And sad because, I feel like I am no fun. I am too quiet about the right things, and not quiet enough about the wrong things. 

Last year he asked me to go with them. I absolutely couldn’t because as a selling-point he told me that his family is protected because the Mexican government and local cartels had struck an understanding not to disturb white tourists in that area, so not to worry because “white people are safe.” What is it like to enjoy that type of privilege? To know that you can walk alone at night, and have an idea that more powerful groups than you, will protect you. To feel so safe in the world. A holiday to enjoy his white privilege. And to be so aware of it. I remember I said, “well, I’m not white....so...” And he said, “aww don’t worry.” 

Sometimes it’s easier to think of myself as being the wrong type of girl for him and myself as a “no-fun,” “boring” person, than to remember that one time at the mall, he mentioned how his Uncle and his Uncle’s girlfriend were telling him how when they went to Mexico, they were touched that the people in the town began going door-to-door and singing Christmas songs, and people would come out of their houses and the town would end up in the church for Midnight Mass. And his Uncle said, “Even though they don’t have wealth, they have culture. Isn’t that great?” And I rolled my eyes and was like this is such a classic western view of poverty in tropical places. And we talked a bit how there is culture here, etc. And we agreed that culture here is “crappy” but the truth is, I think culture here is complex - good and bad, but he said, “even when white people take your side, you’re still not happy. My Uncle said culture here sucks. And that they are better over there.” And that totally wasn’t my point. To him, I am just no fun, and I can see that if I kept thinking then I would be seen as too much, and always negative. -Which I think a lot of white people think. But we just see reality, and layers. When they just get to be white, and smile upon the world, and the world smiles back. And if they don’t then they’re “weirdos,” or “difficult.” I don’t get how he thinks these governments and cartels are controlled by whiteness, and that the biggest threat to him is me?

Sometimes it’s easier to just remember him well. As a good and happy man. Who didn’t yell at me because when he told me he wanted to get a gun to prepare for conscription and nuclear fall-out, I asked him where that was all coming from, and he told me that I “didn’t understand the rules of engagement.” 

He is really handsome. And sometimes it’s easier to smile and think, wow I can’t believe a guy that good-looking liked me. He doesn’t know my personal history of dorkiness. He just looks so happy and harmless and strong, just like I remember. 

Sometimes it’s just easier to not remember all the sexist things he said. That felt like he was lying to me. And that I think he really hated me. How can he hate women so much, and like his mom so much? And hate his mom so much? It’s easier to remember his story about how him and his four buddies stopped a sexual assault in an alley one night, and why couldn’t women appreciate their allies more?

Sometimes it’s easier to think of him and a confident guy who was in a terrible predicament with a toxic, alcoholic ex and was helplessly trapped in a separation and was just doing his best to pick up the pieces of his heart. Sometimes it’s easier to think, paperwork really is “just paperwork.” 

Sometimes it is easier to just think that I was the ungrateful one. I am too political. I am too dissatisfied. I am too strict. I am too demanding. Than to think that this handsome, smiling, hard-working guy has a single flaw.

I remember I was much stronger when I was younger. I would cut guys off the minute I saw some bullshit. I think S really changed me. That was the first guy whose logic and behaviour I couldn’t comprehend, and spent the longest time trying to understand. But lately I feel like all the realizations about love in my family have just undercut me. I think something is wrong with me. I know what good treatment is (I think), but I also feel like I will give a guy a chance to be kind to me.

I had a thought, that he doesn’t have me, and he doesn’t have his ex-wife either. And she was beautiful and I bet she was fun. I wonder if he misses her when he goes there. Sometimes it is easier to think that he misses her, misses their good times together. Maybe everything he said about her was true. Maybe he misses the healthy version of her, the way I miss the healthy version of him.

Anyway. Even though my heart started pounding, and I heard blood behind my ears when I saw those pictures, I was happy for him. I am so happy he is with his happy, laughing family. They’re not strict, they think strippers are funny, they don’t mind if there is a racist in the family. They’re relaxed and fun and hilarious and loving. And he looked happy. And between my heart and sternum, I felt relief. And that made me smile.

I think I keep looking at things because I want to brace myself for something. Or make sure I can handle something. Or know that it doesn’t effect me. It effects me less than it did months ago....so that’s good. I guess I am just curious about this life I could have participated in. He just really hurt my feelings. I hurt is feelings too. And I am sorry for my part. There are some situations where I wished I said things differently. I wish I broke up with him sooner. I wish I trusted myself more. 

I just watched A Star Is Born. I can’t get over how sad it much be for some people to love someone so much, to love them through an addiction and have actual real love, only for the person to die. 

And I wonder, is it worth the heartache to love someone? Anyone? When one day, either through death of the body, or through the decay of fire over time love ends? Are there any non-heartbreaking endings to love?

I used to think it was worth it. This morning I heard read aloud a theory of an early feminist author (I forget her name), that romantic love is used as a manipulative tool to pacify and distract women. Which made me think, while women are preoccupied with thoughts of love, men may be occupied with thoughts of acquisition, with loving a women as a subset of more important, higher prioritized goals. Indeed, I have often felt that for men, without material acquisition they do not feel they “deserve” a woman. Basically, from some early stage, in the centre of women’s consciousness is men, while in the centre of men’s consciousness are things. Women’s goals end up being a man. Man’s goals are to get things, things that after much toil are accompanied by a tide of assets, among them, a women, or women. Women become an offshoot, a tangent, but are not the centre in the same way men are in the centre of women’s lives, minds, and hearts. 

But I found that in the male character in A Star Is Born, at his core did put a women in the centre of his world. He put her on his stage, launched her career, was encouraging for the most part, and reminder her of her own authenticity. And I feel like the unintended lesson, is that if a man loves you from his core and puts you in the centre, he will be ineffective in other ways, in this case, he may have addictions. And the lesson for men is that, if you put a women in the centre, then you may have all the success in the world, but something will be inherently “wrong” with you, and you will be too “fragile” to overcome your challenges. Even with therapy, rehabilitation, understanding the root of your issues, and most of all, your will will fail you. 

While it is a tragic love story, it still satisfies some type of on-going narrative in heteronormative romantic narratives, of a whole women loving a broken man, and ultimately loosing him. Also the absence of infidelity on his part, makes the loss all the more poignant, as he is truly a “good man,” but for his drug and alcohol use. You’re damed if you love a good man, and you’re damed if you don’t. 

It’s an “if only” case. If only that jerk manager never said those words. If only he went to her last show. If only he had the internal strength to lot listen to those triggering words. In the end, however, I do believe that it was not the alcohol, but words that killed him. Words, the very mechanism of his, and her success. 

It’s my birthday today. 

I have so many thoughts and lessons learned. But I am a little tired to write them down. 

you know what amazes me? That in the midst of all the chaos in the world, people are still finding each other and having sex. I had sex recently, and I didn’t really want to, I just had too much to drink. And when he wanted to have sex again in the morning I stopped him in the middle of it and went home. 

And I wonder, people have sex. Men have sex like this. They just act out a role, and it’s so meaningless. I mean, he didn’t call me. But I didn’t want him to call me. Actually, even I never want to see him again. 

And shouldn’t I? I mean as the girl shouldn’t I want that? But I don’t. I learned a frightening/liberating lesson: that sex is not always about emotion. 

But it does trigger the wanting of a person, that lasts for about a week. And then I am back to regular. I don’t even want a boyfriend. I think this is the first time in my life where I don’t want a boyfriend. I don’t want to have sex like that again either. I feel like it makes me want more, with people I can’t have it with, and that makes me feel sad. 

But yeah...I mean sex like that is out there. I bet lots of people have it a lot of the time. But it’s just not for me. But then again, I don’t even know if true intimacy is for me either. 

Actually, I don’t know if it exists for me. I have never really felt totally 100 percent comfortable with a guy. I have always felt like I was putting on a show. Sometimes, through all that, one or two of them here and there could tell real things about me, I rather like that I must confess. But I seldom reveal myself intentionally. 

I think it’s a power thing. I feel if a man knew all my secret thoughts he would have power over me, not love me. 

In fact, I don’t think that a woman like me can be loved by a man, or really love a man. They are so foreign to me. I mean how are they even raised? God knows. I don’t understand their rules or their understandings. And they don’t understand mine. But I don’t really want them to. 

I am a little lost actually, I am a little lost as to what I should do. 

And men are such wild cards to introduce into one’s life. They can leave. They can choose a job somewhere else. They can fall out-of-love, if they ever were in whatever love is in the first place. They can become annoying. And so can you. Or I. I just don’t see it. 

I have also never been friends with a guy, I mean honest to goodness friends. And I don’t trust them. I don’t trust their loyalties. Or their sense of honour. Actually, I hardly trust anyone’s. Men or women.

I am reading a book, and it's about to get to the part where a great friendship is described. And I thought to myself: I am about to read about C and me.

Then I thought, maybe with time, the gravity of our friendship weighs less. Like maybe I remember it now, or over romanticize it to the point where it still means a great deal to me and is more a faded, "I knew this girl once," to her.

But then I remember all our confidences, and humour and sparkle. And how we crashed a company's holiday party, and drove around, and took photos in photo booths.

And I felt a wave of relief. That I had a real, at least one, real relationship in my life. Where I didn't hide from them. And they didn't hide from me. And it was genuine. Not based on family ties, or length of time known. Just pure, we enjoy each other's company. We believe in each other. We first and foremost believe the other exists.

I saw a light vertical scar on my ankle today as I was reeelaxing.

I remembered how it was from a time when I was in Vegas with a boy, and he twirled me around and my ankle bumped into a small, sharp corner of a small stage.

And I thought to myself. I was in Vegas. With a boy. At that time in my life, I was with many friends. I was with my sister. Sister. I was rich with people.

It's funny isn't it. The people are gone. But the scar I can keep.

The people are scattered by the wind. But the scar is burned into my flesh.

I remember being pissed at the time, and worried that I would have yet another scar. I wanted so much for perfect skin.

And the memory is wrapped in my heart. It makes the corners of my mouth turn upward. My eyes look into the distance. And I remember them. The time. The time of life.

I hope they'er all ok.

I hope I am ok too.

My puppy is becoming more confident. She is sleeping outside my bedroom, and jumps onto my bed in the middle of the night. We always wake up together. She is the sweetest girl. I am so lucky she is my puppy. And I am her human. I love her.

Please let me turn the page into another part of my life. Please give me the strength to stand up for Goodness. Please let me enter this next phase with a light heart, a wise(r) mind, and some nice clothes.

I had a note that this tumblr turned twelve years old. Twelve years!

Twelve years since I was depressed. Since I broke up with S. Since my sister and I fell out. So much has happened.

I've finished school. But not learning.

I've fallen in love. Out of love. In love and out of love again.

I've utterly lost my family as I knew it.

I've started building my career. Less than ten years in. I will figure out what I want to do with the next 5.

I am in a dreaming, root planting place in my life. I never thought I would be this alone. But here it is.

I am trying to build or enrich or deepen my circle. While grieving the one I've lost. I don't know yet how to carry loss of people. Or change of relationships or whatever.

I have a vision for this world. While being mindful of my mortality.

A girl at peace. Even though this world is not peaceful.

I have come so far from being anxious in my childhood - adulthood room, to living single, healing, caring for a lovely creature, cooking, doing the things. I hope I can keep it up.