On being more independent

Last night, the storm outside was so violent that each time the thunder hit, your entire room trembled in response. You are not afraid of thunderstorms — you never were — but as you lay there in bed wearing nothing but your underwear and an old t-shirt, wrapped in the thin cocoon of your bed covers, you suddenly felt the intense need to be held, to be taken care of, to be loved.

This need made you feel vulnerable, and this vulnerability disappointed you.

Confessions to a stranger

1. I get angry sometimes — really, really angry — and that’s okay. My fists turn into flaming steel and I want to punch something thick, something solid. I want to throw things at the wall or sprint until all the fire inside me is put out, or yell and cry until the world apologizes for being a cruel place, an unhappy place. I get angry sometimes, but I will learn to control it. I will tame myself.

2. There is this hole that I sometimes fall into, helplessly, a hole that seems to have infinite depth and a dark, commanding gravity that pulls me down, down, down. I dread sitting at the bottom of this hole feeling nauseous from the fall, but it is sometimes difficult to claw my way out.

3. Sometimes I worry that I am not truly human, because try as I may, I can never fully comprehend what you are feeling. I will cry for you, and laugh with you, but I will never quite cry as many tears or laugh as loudly as I know I probably ought to. Empathy should not have to learned, but I am going to learn it anyways.

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

I've had this blog for a while, but only really shared it with my friends...until now. Please support me in my humble attempt to make a little more out of my blogging experience. :)

I love you brew

Pale Lager.
A light touch and a light taste. Toes barely brushing, toes brushing accidentally, toes brushing beneath the sand. A yellow sun dress. Kisses as brief as an ocean spray, as hesitant as your very first time. A yawning sun, stretching its rays as it tries to stay awake. You watch as fingers strum a guitar — you envy those guitar strings. The rising tide pushes you back, conveniently urging you to go inside. Gasps in a moon-lit room. Maybe you’ve had one too many Corona’s, but then again, maybe you’ve had just the right amount.

Dark Lager. Hockey at a sports bar. A stranger’s voice startling you as a whisper reaches your ear. “You’re beautiful,” says the voice. Lies, you think, as you arrange your face into a look of disgust, but you’re secretly glowing on the inside. Better keep sipping that Yuengling and keep your eyes on the game.

Brown Ale. An unexpected afterthought. You hate being an afterthought.

Conversations with my psychiatrist

I stopped by the coffee shop on my way to work this morning and searched the menu for the most caffeinated drink, knowing all along that I wasn’t just tired. I was tired of the quiet, tired of the alone, tired of being tired, and no amount of coffee could ever wake me up from that. I inhaled the smell of freshly ground beans, and thought I caught a hint of pastries. Maybe brownies.

I made brownies with Jane once. Actually, she did all the baking, but I stood there in the kitchen and wrapped my arms around her as she stirred the mix, kissed her on the ear from behind. I was pretty useless in the kitchen, but Jane insisted that baking was a romantic activity, so I played along. I remember dipping my finger into the batter when she was done.

Hey! Stop it!” She swatted my hand away from the bowl, half-angry eyes flashing at me from behind the strands of hair that had come out of her ponytail during the bustle of baking and now fell around her pretty face.

“Don’t be mad,” I teased, holding my chocolate covered finger temptingly in front of her. Suddenly smiling, she arched her eyebrows devilishly and promptly licked the brownie batter right off my finger.

 “How long does this have to be in the oven for?” I asked.

“Twenty minutes,” she said.

“Well that’s plenty of time…”

I remember how I swept her right up and carried her up the steps in her pink floral dress and how she laughed up at me as we ran to the bedroom. I remember how the laughter subsided and we suddenly became very quiet as I lowered her down onto the bed… how easily her dress slipped off…