Being a Whiner

Listening to: The sound of some bullshit on TV

Debated for a minute or 7, not writing this blog, as I’m in a hyper emotional state, which I’ll attribute to being sicker than I’ve been in years, but maybe it’ll help if I purge some of the emotion onto this figurative piece of paper.

OH GOD DAMN IT with the phone calls!! No, this isn’t part of my original intended writing. This is my frustration, and incredulity about the FUCKING PHONE CALLS, of which I’m getting another right now. The phone calls that for years I wanted, and did not get. That come from number blocked, so it’s not even like I can block them. Right now, in this moment, feeling like death that’s not even been done the courtesy of being warmed over, THAT phone call just pisses me off. There’s no chance I’ll answer, but in my head I’m screaming “what do you want from me??” Except I don’t really care to know what you want because I’ve nothing left to give. (Without malice.)

You were lucky enough to be one of the 3 men in this lifetime I have been in love with. And “…you lost the love, I loved the most…” (Christina Perri – “Jar of Hearts”). You were pampered, and nurtured, and cared for, and about, in ways others can only dream to be. And then you hurt me. A lot. And in every way imaginable. I finally, and fully, walked away, at your behest. Remember?  You to me: Hey Michelle, I want a divorce because the reason I used to be so horrible to you is because I’m embarrassed about what people think because you’re 14 years older than me.  And then you and your girlfriend went on a cruise to the Bahamas. And you tried to use the love of my daughters for you, AGAINST ME. And you set me the fuck free. If you are by some chance reading my words, and that’s why you’re calling me, I am NOT GOING TO ANSWER. Without malice. I’m not the girl who answers anymore. I’m back to the girl you met, except, an even more awesome version of her.Please, go love your girlfriend. Better yet, go love yourself!! That’s all I ever really wanted for you. But now if you do or don’t, it doesn’t involve me.

And just writing these words has taken away the emotion I was feeling. *Woooosaaaaaa*


I’m not editing this when I’m done writing it. This is going to be the most free-form “…swimming round in our glasses, and talking out of our asses…” (One Direction “A.M.”) (and so what if what’s in my glass is sage tea, and not booze? I’ve never needed alcohol to be unabashedly honest. Or to be an idiot.) sort of thing I’ve ever written, and it’s all staying. It’s staying because its possible that the six thousand five hundred and twenty four emotions that I’ve been feeling in flickers, and flashes, all day, is more healing around the DV. I also know that because I’m physically sick, I’m emotionally more “weak” than I may otherwise be. So just in case anything going on with me today can serve to tell anyone who might read this, who needs it, that if they one day, after feeling really grounded, feel like a flippin’ psycho one day, they aren’t alone.

The whiny bit is about how physically miserable I’m feeling, and how for the first time in a long time, I am lonely, and miss the idea of an “us” a lot. I’m missing being taken care of. And I don’t mean in the way a parent, or even an adult child, or a good friend, will take care of me. I mean the way a love would take care of me. Run the bath, pour in something aromatic, and soothing. Wash my hair for me, and that place on my back I can’t quite reach. Help me dry my hair when I’m done so I don’t catch a chill. And bring me a fresh cup of tea, once I’m back in bed. And as sneezey, wheezy, coughy, red-nosed, fevery-eyed, and likely contagious as I am, cuddle me to sleep, maybe while singing to me. And know that when you catch what I’ve got, I’ll do all that, and more, for you. ’cause that’s what love does.

I dig that being a strong, independent woman is cool, and that I’ve gotten through the shit I’ve gotten through because (even in my most weak moments) she is who I am. But today I just wanna lean a little, or a lot. Today I kinda dream of a someone who is fully engulfed in thoughts of (all of) me, and into whom I could melt, who’d melt right back into me. A someone who helps me shine, instead of being intimidated by my brightness, for whom I do the same. I want a someone whose intensity matches my own, and whose calm does too. Someone who isn’t scared to push boundaries, explore new thoughts and ideas, and take chances with me, because they know that whatever we do together, it will be extraordinary. Together we’ll be shouting YOLO, but both of us know that it’s not the truth because we’ve lived a thousand lives, or are currently living a thousand concurrent lives.

And as I write this I get a bit bothered by the fact that someones have put out there in the world the psychodrama that to want these things, makes a woman less strong, less independent. Why am I hesitant to say them, think them, feel them? Fuck that. Isn’t it GOOD that I didn’t get so broken that I’m no longer capable of giving, and receiving, love? Doesn’t that really speak to my strength?

This has taken way too long to write. I’m tired. I don’t ffeeeeellllll gooooooodddd. My cup of tea is empty. And I want someone to cuddle me to sleep, because there is nothing else they’d rather be doing.

Because this blog will maybe be read by someone who has experienced DV… For you, and for me, as much as I am whiny girl right now, I would not trade having to run my own bath, for getting punched, hit and kicked, ever! I can get my own cup of tea, and am happy to know that never again will I hear that I’m walking too slowly to get it. None of the abuses, small or large, none of the bullshit, is worth having someone, occasionally, show you what passes for love in their world. So for me, while I am open to a love, bars have been raised, never to be lowered. What I what in a man is so tangible to me, it’s almost as if I can see every thing about him, in exquisite detail, in my mind’s eye…. And sometimes it seems like 90 years I’ve been waiting for him. Or since the middle ages.

So now I’m throwing this out into the ether too. All that I desire, desires me. And HE is out there. But until he’s here, instead of there, (whoever he is ’cause as much as I can see my ideal of him, who he will really be….unknown) I’ll some days whine. And then I’ll go make my own tea.


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