THE STRUGGLE IS REAL

After watching Magic Mike XXL, I am struck by a deep sadness. Not because of the movie. It was much better when directed by Steven Soderbergh. But still, who doesn’t want to watch Channing Tatum face fuck women for almost two hours?

Highland Park sent a message.

I responded WAY too quickly.

So much fucking eagerness.

SO I knew I had to write.

The sadness has to do with how when I strip away (no pun intended, seriously) all the distractions: Highland Park, pot, alcohol, ayahuasca, prison, any new next thing. Then I am left with the painful realization of how much emotional abuse I endured at the words of my ex-husband. And how fucking comfortable I was with that. How easily I mistake that for love. And have my entire life. The weight of that is crushing. It is all I have ever known love to be.

Over and over and over again.

I have to break the cycle.

I can not model this for my daughter. It is NOT okay.

I deserve better.

So does she.

The shaman inviting me into his polyamorous experience with the other shaman feels like the Mother, testing me, wondering if I was serious. Or just bullshitting again.

I have no desire to drink, smoke pot, or fuck.

Tonight.

I want to face this head on.

I am sitting in a shit bath of pain.

And there is nowhere to go.

NOwhere to run.

THIS.

Is it.

All there is.

In it.

However, I can obsess on my next five tattoos. I think that is allowed. I am in an animal phase. Thank God I don’t have the money, or I would have added this week alone, a turtle, a rabbit, a black jaguar, and a blue whale.

That is all. Just those. To add to my butterfly, hummingbirds, lion, pony, and wolf.

Go big or go home.

Is what I used to say.

I don’t know if it still serves me like it once did.

Go real, or go home?

Go inside or go home?

Dear Great Spirit, please give me the strength to resist Highland Park if he suggests anything. Lord knows that man has a way. With me.

I have stopped myself from reaching out so many times.

Oh God.

SO MANY TIMES.

Crying, still, when I think of him. Maybe I am merely ovulating?

Reminding myself, painfully, how he blows me off. Over and over again.

Ending always with- HE IS MARRIED.

I WAS TOO MUCH.

She said so. I was more than they bargained for.

That is fucking right.

I am not the type of woman you fuck a few times and then forget.

I am a woman you fall in love with.

I am a woman you can never forget.

I love getting a tattoo almost more than having them. The feeling during and directly afterwards, when sore and healing, is the best. I feel my body. I am in my body. Aware.

Mindfulness meditation can do that same.

I am working towards that.
30 minutes a day.

On day 4.

Something is happening.

I just erased his email. For some reason, that always makes me feel better.

Alliteration.

He is DD. I am AA.

It means everything.

It means nothing.

I was secretly hoping he would reach out.

Goddamn, I am glad it wasn’t me first.

But it usually is me last. And that feels shitty.

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