I haven't written in this blog for a long time. Or in a journal...a real journal, that is. I take notes and sketch and stuff, but I haven't really written for myself in a long time.
I was going to get up early today to go to a yoga event. Free yoga, free healthy food, 1/2 off membership passes, which I was considering buying. The classes are reasonably priced as it is, and at half off for heated yoga, candle yoga, and all the different variations they offer, I'd be crazy not to. ...that's what a functioning person would think, anyway.
But today I'm not functioning. I'm not interesting, or clever, or groomed, or handsome. Today I'm everything I've always been, and everything I've always wanted to be more than.
Today is one of those days where I'm too tired to be strong.
I can't pretend today.
I can't trick myself into being okay with all the loss I feel. I can't pretend not to miss her. Or her. Or her. Especially not her. Or him. Today, my body is telling me that it is time to grieve.
As my brother sings at the top of his out-of-tune lungs "Don't you want me baby?!?" from the other side of my parents' house, I realize that for almost 4 months, I've been living back with my parents.
I'm not ungrateful, nor do I fail to recognize that many people do this and that in no way makes them weaker or less attractive, its just a set of normal circumstances. But despite all my efforts to blend in and be one of the group, I want to be more than normal. Superhuman. Superman.
But I'm tired, and tights hurt and ride up in all the wrong places, and if I'm not true to my diet and workout schedule, they can be very unfriendly for all the wrong reasons.
So no cape and cowl today. At least not until later on, because pretending is a better drug than hope. When you pretend, its as if the things that normal people hope for are already real. And that feels good.
I think I've always misunderstood relationships.
I have very few that I feel are mutual. True friends, and I'm far away from all of them.
When I meditate, I tell myself that separation is an illusion, that we're always near each other, all of us. On strong days, I believe it enough to pretend hard enough to make it through the day sure of myself.
But today I just want to accept the fact that the people I love are far away, that there's little I can do about it, and that if I acknowledge that it hurts...it doesn't make me less valuable to them, or to others, or to myself.
The stronger party is the one that is okay with walking away. I cherish the people that I don't have to be stronger than. The people that accept that somedays i'm stronger, some days they're stronger, but no matter what shape the other is in, we still like being around each other.
I wish that any of my romantic relationships could have been like that. Maybe some of them were, and I'm being too self-indulgent to see it at the moment. Again, I'm not trying to be ungrateful for what I've had and shared with others. I just would like to look at my empty hands and let myself cry instead of telling myself that the air is enough, that emptiness is fulfillment, that Lao Tsu understands me.
I have progressed a lot, and achieved a lot, but today I'm just sad. I can be sad every once in a while, the world is enough of a mess of a place for me to be sad. Its beautiful enough to be happy as well, but today seems to be for sadness.
Green tea with drops of lemon oil are a welcome little pleasure.
I do not live in an ideal world. I also do not live in the worst-case scenario. I live. And living has its ups and downs.
Friends do a lot to help through the waves.
Perhaps solitude is helping me develop a little more backbone, so I can be a more valuable friends to the people who don't care whether I'm valuable or not. Those are the people worth improving myself for. I need to be among them. I need to love and accept me, so that I can work hard to be better for me.
Sometimes I think of myself as a guardian to my inner child. As an exercise to be aware of my awareness and relate to myself, communicate with myself, love myself.
So today little David is crying, and I'm not going to pretend he's not. I'm not going to go out on the town, and flirt with pretty girls, or go to the movies, until I've given inner-child-David enough of a hug, and reassured him that even if things don't turn out okay, everything will turn out okay. Because not okay is okay. Whatever happens is okay, because we're together and we listen to each other and love each other and take care of each other. And when we die, we'll die together, and I'm never going to leave him again.
