2018 was a bitch.
I entered 2019 like a woman in newly ironed fabrics, with so many promises and ideals as to what this year would bring. Love, travel, every day happiness brought through simple things.
I also hardened under that last loss.
When the substance of the past few years gets boiled down, the remnants are toxic bits and pieces of manipulation and hurt. I shelled up.
I built walls. These were Berlin level walls. Nothing was getting in. These were walls that separated east and west, my heart from what was out there, and I stood strong.
Then the sickle came along.
"MR. GORBACHEV TEAR DOWN THIS WALL."
The walls came down.
I let them. I admit that. I am still unsure if that was a mistake but, lord, was it ever the most perfect thing I've ever experienced. People started commenting on how happy I was, how relaxed and carefree.
How I looked better than I ever had; content.
And I was.
I felt like I finally had worth to someone.
Then life got in the way.
I spent days crying into the arms of every friend I have, and I will be forever grateful for each and every one of them for it. Many brought food I could not eat; others brought wine to get me drunk; and some just came and had their shirts soaked with tears they could not understand but accepted anyway.
It's funny how sometimes you think the whole idea of karma and fate are bullshit ideologies then you live something that the best screenwriter could not write and you're sitting in that pre-op waiting room just looking for a time to go scream and cry in the car.
I try. I try so hard to give all I have but it is never enough. I am always left with the remnants, wondering where I went wrong, where I have been deficient.
I have never been enough. That is a reality. I have always been the cheated, the left, the hurt, and I cannot understand what I did to cause it. But I accept and carry on.
And even when I find where I am supposed to be there are complications that take that from me and say, "No. Not you."
I am tired. I am tired of working as hard as I can, doing what I am told, being all I have been raised to be and still sitting with the knot in my throat and the uncertainty.
This is ambiguous and I know this.
What I also know is that I am here, waiting. I have been waiting for some time. I wait, listen, read, and try to push through every day but it is hard.
At the end of the day I am here to give so much and wonder if I am screaming into the void, offering with no chance of reception.
My friend Becka introduced me to Josh Joplin back when I was 16. It has been my personal anthem since then:
"I wanted perfection from every song I've ever sung,
That was wrong.
And I wanted something from every person I've ever loved
That was wrong.
And I've changed, I've changed,
I've reconsidered everything.
I'm fine now, oh I'm fine now,
Laid the barrel in my mouth.
And everything I've thought before,
I won't think anymore.
But have I? Have I changed? The outcome certainly hasn't. I am still the one left.
And yet I try, I keep doing what I do, and I expect something different.
And I expect the old adage of "What is meant to be will be" to come true.
I am human.
And with that comes human energy that slowly wears down. For tonight I will watch "Big Little Lies," sip my wine and hope that in some universe the old adages are true.
Every day I wish for the same.
And I hope life can give me that.
And I still believe you that something like this always finds its way to come back around.