Mask Off

 Sometime around 2018, a much younger colleague asked me if I was autistic.  Being raised in the 80s, I had a very specific idea of what autism is and I didn't identify with that.  I told her I clearly wasn't autistic, and I brushed off the offense, or at least I thought I did.

Years later, sometime around the pandemic's start in the US, I found myself "stuck" at home, thriving.  I was immersed in life with animals, house plants, and phone dates to watch movies with a friend who lived two thousand miles away.  Life was good.  During that time at home, I found myself losing weight, regulating my sleep schedule, and just feeling stress-free.  The entire world was in chaos and I was living my best life.  

During a night of usual self-reflection and over-analysis, I started thinking about that conversation, a few years before, and wondering why on earth she said that.  At first, I wanted to dismiss it as a rude comment, but then I thought about questions she had been asking me, leading up to that point.  She asked if I thought literally, in black and white.  She asked if I had to think about making facial expressions... there were a few other questions.  Regardless, I started wondering if I maybe was dealing with some sort of developmental issue.  I recognized that my hyper-intelligence was present for as long as I can remember, but my emotional development was hella delayed and that was what I kept hidden for so long.

Fast forward a bit, back at work in person, I reach out to one of my colleagues and ask her if she knows much about high functioning autism.  She tells me a bit and I share with her that I think maybe that's what I have.  She waved me off, saying I'm gifted not autistic, and then she handed me this checklist.

I had a long list of checkmarks on both sides and when I showed it to her, she shrugged "see, gifted", and that was that.

Except, it wasn't.  Recently I was watching content on TikTok and noticed a message from a friend.  I clicked it up, watched the video she shared, and read the accompanying message.  "Have you ever wondered if you were autistic?"  As someone who has known me for thirty years, I had to give her question some weight.  The truth, as you know, is that I *had* wondered if I was autistic, but I didn't know what that meant much beyond wondering if I had a pervasive developmental disorder that I wasn't previously aware of.... but one of the beautiful things about TikTok is that it allows you to consume content created by multiple creators in such a short amount of time.  Before I knew it, I was obsessed, watching successful, middle-aged women talking about how they had always known they were different, that life was unreasonably hard for them-and why would that be?-before they realized that they're autistic and just really, really good at masking.  I started watching longer talks, reading books, and it was the book Unmasking Autism by Devon Price that helped me arrive to the place where I can say that I undoubtedly know I am autistic.

I created a list of traits, that I may pick apart, piece by piece, that I have tied to my autism:

• I've always felt like another species and so I observed humans to learn how to be one as it didn't come naturally to me
• I never made eye contact when younger and was shamed into doing it through aggressive language, bullying, and teasing by my mother
• I've always had special interests that haven't waned: animals and acquisition of knowledge amongst them
• I'd easily express anger (autistic meltdown much?) but any other emotion was like trying to pull teeth
• I'd practice facial expressions, tones of voice, accents, body language in the mirror and try to learn to mirror a number of things that other people seemed to accept socially
• I have always been incredibly clumsy
• Small talk and not connecting deeply with someone I share space with makes me incredibly uncomfortable and zaps my energy
• I think literally and still have issues with some idioms.  I can tell you which idioms are appropriate for which contexts/situations, but I don't know what the hell it means.  (Relatedly: did you know the chicken crossed the road "to get to the other side" is a euphemism for he crossed the road in order to get hit and killed?  I sure as hell didn't until two weeks ago.)
• I've always been very slow, even when competing in athletics, unless I was running, in which case I was fast.  Really fast.
• I have weak ankles and achilless heels
• As a toddler, I was quick to speak and read, but I didn't want to walk, I'd roll everywhere
• I look younger than I am and frequently hear comments about this
• I stim nearly non-stop when not at work-- constant humming and singing, if not aloud, then definitely in my head

I'm going to end the list here for now as I don't want to spend much more time on the list itself.  But, some interesting facts that are worth noting:

• I have had a potassium deficiency my entire life.  In 2018 or so, they discovered it has to do with a benign growth on my adrenal glands.  They're finding now that the channels that allow potassium movement within the cells are impacted by autism, implying that autism may have a connection with lower potassium serum levels.
• I had a benign growth in my abdomen as a child.  I also have benign growths on my thyroid and adrenal glands.  There are studies linking tumor growth, due to a mutation leading to cell cycles not ending when they should, to autism.  To this day they don't know what caused my abdominal tumor nor my tumor in my adrenal gland.
• My grandfather exhibited many traits that I now recognized are spectrum-y behaviors and autism has a genetic link.
• My baby brother is a diagnosed autistic.

More later... I'm exhausted.

Disregulated

I’m a 42 year old woman. Sometimes that fact is lost on me. Some days I feel 19, other days I feel 65. Today was a 65 day. It was stressful, from start to finish.  I expected some level of stress as it was an unusual schedule and not a typical day at work. Knowing that, in advance, prevents me from achieving the highest levels of anxiety, but I can still get to an 8 on a 10 scale. Today was an 8. 

I frequently find myself in leadership roles because the absence of leadership causes me distress. I like to think I’m a fairly decent leader, but the truth is, everybody is different and the type of leader they work best under is going to be different. It’s not a one size fits all situation. When dealing with people, you have to aim for one size fits most… 

But today was hard because someone who works well with our students was outright insubordinate. I don’t have a huge ego (at least I don’t think I do), so that’s not so much a personal hit as problematic because of the impact her actions had on the rest of my staff.  She’s destroyed trust and that’s so difficult to earn back. 

I envy people who can work without having to put their heart into it. So many times over the years I’ve dreamt about quitting, getting a work from home job and just doing the 9-5 thing in my pajamas. Have distance, keep feelings out of it, clock in and clock out. Instead, I’ve stayed in an increasingly emotionally draining field working with people who are increasingly emotionally drained. 

Because of this situation, I’ve found myself disregulated. Anxiety built up, anger festered, and I found myself unable to tolerate even the best of company. 

I have some reflection to do.

Ask 8-Year Old You

I am so happy to come home every day. This is a relatively new feeling and I’ve been pondering that a lot lately. 

I chose to rent this house because it felt right. It was a gut-feeling, not one of my usual overly-calculated decisions. The house has character and land and it made me remember a picture I drew when I was 8 years old. At school, we were prompted to draw our perfect home.  In hindsight, I recognize that most people drew their human family because that’s what they associated with home. Instead, I drew the inside and outside of a house that was centered on me and animals. As I got older, I assumed I’d find a life partner before I hit the ripe old age of 20, and we’d both settle into this animal-centered life and spend our days sitting on the front porch, talking and drinking lemonade with our dogs and spend the nights by a fire, reading our respective books and just enjoying each other’s existence in silence. 

I didn’t find that person at the young age, nor did I have that sanctuary life very early on. Things were chaotic for a few decades but now the waters have stilled and I feel peace. The one thing that’s surprised me most about it is that it wholly comes from within. Once it’s taken root, it grows to fill every little nook and begins to overflow to the surroundings…. But it really does come from within. 

8 year old me knew. 

Close Enough?

I’ve had a difficult couple of days. Times like these, I find myself more in my head than usual… which is terrifying to think about, really. 

I sat outside this evening as the sun went down. I tried to focus on the fact that I live on a sanctuary that I built by myself, in an effort to soothe the unease I’ve been feeling these last 48 or so hours. 

As a plane’s light flickered tens of thousands of feet above earth, I wondered what people were aboard. I wonder how many are happy, how many are in love, how many recently lost a loved one, and how many are staring out the window down at the clouds below.

A very real thing is that I never feel loneliness generally. I only feel lonely when there is someone, in particular, I long to be close to but just can’t. Sometimes that distance is literal and the gap can be bridged, and sometimes that person’s body can be inches away but their heart and mind are in another world. 

I’ve been befriending silence again. The last time that happened I got swallowed by it. I have connections I didn’t have before but sometimes I don’t know if they’re strong enough to hold my weight if I let go. 

I can’t do long-distance as easily as I could twenty years ago. I’ve spent too long alone.  But my mind is starting to play tricks on me and it’s got me wondering if even when he is nearby, will he be close enough?

The Timing is Perfect

 I've always had vivid dreams and I've been fortunate enough to remember the details when I wake... at least most of the time.  This wasn't such a blessing when I was younger as I had frequent nightmares.  I remember reading once that the average person has about two to three nightmares a year.  I didn't believe it, so I had to look it up myself.  Turns out that the average adult has one nightmare a year and kids have maybe 5-10.  Still, I was having that many in a week.  But, that's not the point of this post.

I've been noticing lately that my dreams are all about the changes happening in and around my life right now and instead of fear and trepidation, these dreams are filled with positive symbolism and experiences and I wake feeling more confident, more at peace, and more filled with love than when I went to sleep.  

When I was a child, I felt like my brain was an enemy, that my intelligence was an impediment and that my inability to not over-think or to shut off my brain at night was going to be some critical flaw that caused my eventual undoing (I was so dramatic as a child), but the truth is I feel that those things are what allowed me to arrive to this point in my life, where I'm filled with peace and hope and contentedness.

I'm 42 and I am finally in love.  The man causes me to actually feel things, which in and of itself is a miracle, and I find myself excited at the thought of forever (insert echo of the word "forever" here)...  Part of me wishes I would have found him sooner, because that's what my brain does, it focuses on what could have been better, but the truth is, I don't think either of us was ready for one another until now.

Crushing Skulls & Merry-Go-Rounds

 A friend called yesterday and before I knew it, we were discussing merry-go-rounds, as people do.  It reminded me of a couple of stories, related, though 20+ years apart, and I shared them both.

Sometime during the late 80s, we were visiting my grandmother's sister, which we did weekly, and just as we did every time we would visit, we took a walk to the local park.  My grandfather stayed behind, talking with the men in the dining room area, only taking interest in our affairs long enough to shout "keep an eye on her", speaking to me of my grandmother.  I was a child and somehow, I knew, I was responsible for my grandmother's welfare.

My younger brother accompanied us to the park and once there, we saw a merry-go-round.  His eyes widened with excitement and my grandmother encouraged us to "hop on" and enjoy while she pushed us.  We got on, my brother sitting between vertical handle bars, which he held on to for dear life, and I stood opposite him, legs spread a bit, waiting for movement.  My grandmother grabbed ahold of one of the verticle bars and, now I remember this quite vividly even now, instead of standing still and pushing the bars as they passed her, building up speed over time, she took off running, bar in hand.  Immediately, I was confused, but my grandmother had her own way of doing things, so I let it go, and just tried to enjoy.  I remember looking at my brother, his body turned away from me, but I could imagine how happy he was to feel the breeze in his hair.  Then it happened...

Somehow my grandmother tripped, and for whatever reason, didn't let go of the bar she was holding on to when she fell.  Before I knew it, my grandmother, decked out in a denim skort, was being dragged through pea gravel while my brother giggled.  Panicked, I turned and dropped to my ass, stuck my legs over the edge and dragged them to slow us down.  As I did this, I shouted to my grandmother, "let go, just let go... you're tearing up your legs", but she didn't listen.  After what felt like an eternity, but was really just a few rotations of the merry-go-round, at best, the thing came crawling to a stop and she let go of the bar and rolled outward and away from the merry-go-round.  She was filthy, covered in dust, dirt, and blood and she had small gravel stuck beneath the skin on her knee.  I asked her what on earth she was thinking and she stood up, literally wiped the front of her skort and made a comment about her legs being torn up, and said, "I didn't want to crush my skull".

I was confused, yet again.  And, I told her as much.  

"Well, I was afraid if I let go, I'd roll underneath the merry-go-round and my head would get squashed."

I turned to look at the base of the merry-go-round to find that there was about an inch and a half of clearance between the bottom of the thing and the gravel.  I don't think she had any idea how big her head was....

Upon returning to my aunt's house, my grandfather looked my grandmother up and down, then turned to me, "what the hell happened to her?".  I was, at most, 9 years old.  She was, at least, 50 years old.

That memory stuck with me through the years and after my grandmother passed away, I was going on a tour of sites that held some great childhood memories.  I would leave a pinch or two of her ashes at each site, and each stop was a story I'd share with my children, as they accompanied me.  When we got to the park, two of my kiddos ran to the merry-go-round, while the other went to the giant metal caterpillar.  I had the girls get on the merry-go-round and I pushed them (by standing still and pushing the bars as they crossed in front of me).  As I was pushing them, I told them the story of what happened that day, over 20 years before, on that very merry-go-round.  Well, unbeknownst to me, my son had left the caterpillar behind and was standing to the side and slightly behind me, just in my blindspot, near the merry-go-round.  The girls were giggling and suddenly I saw movement, my son had jumped from where he had been standing to land on the metal floor of the merry-go-round, only the merry-go-round was doing what it does best, going 'round.  

The next thing I knew, my son was airborne; he had been tossed off of the merry-go-round like a cigarette being flicked from a car window.... and it happened so suddenly, he had no idea what was going on.  The girls' mouths dropped open and my oldest hung her feet over the side to slow the merry-go-round down so she could hop off and check on him.  He landed, with a confused thud, in the pea gravel, and I rushed to his side.  Looking down at him, I asked him what in the world he was thinking, and he said "I just wanted to go around".  

I pulled out a small jar from my pocket, opened it, and took a couple of pinches of grandma out and sprinkled them just beside him in the pea gravel.  He looked over to what I was doing and before getting up he said, "hi, gigi-ma".

For what it's worth, I found out that about a year later, that park which had stood there for over 40 years was torn down and paved over... but these memories will be around for a while.

Ramadan, Year 2

I wasn’t as prepared for my second year of Ramadan as a Muslim. I have been preoccupied and, if I’m being 100% honest, I have pulled away from my religious studies since October.  I don’t think it was intentional, necessarily, I just felt overwhelmed with information while I really just wanted to focus on my connection with Allah. 

I find myself missing the learning, though. So, this Ramadan, I want to re-center around seeking knowledge and learning.

Insha Allah, that will allow me to spend more time outside of myself and reflecting on how I can be of more service to others.  

Ready or not, we are on day 2…. Time waits for no one. 

More

A good friend called today. We spoke briefly about my current relationship and I finally said aloud what I have known to be true about myself for some time: prior to this relationship, I never considered how someone made me feel when I entered into the relationship. How someone made me feel always played a role later, but it’s almost as if it was an after thought, not the entire reason for being with him. 

In my current situation, every step of the way, I am assessing how I feel. Prior to his visit, I told myself and a friend that if I wasn’t feeling it, I’d chalk it up to a good try and hang up my hat for a while. Single life was settling into my bones and I had a routine that worked for me.  To be honest, I expected this to be difficult, feel uncomfortable, and be work. Instead, I was faced with a much different reality, one that is easy, natural, and feels so safe. 

Safe. There’s that word I’ve been using a lot over the last few years. It’s been the main obstacle between myself and a real romantic relationship. I have wanted someone that feels safe and never in my life have I felt safe with another. 

Until now. 

I am listening to the hum and splashes of my washing machine agitating a load of laundry mixed with his stuff and mine. I’ll swap it over into the dryer before bed and in the morning, I’ll fold his clothing, create a pile, and hand it over while he packs his bag.  He’s already told me he will drive us to LA so I can rest since I have to drive back home. And I have already stopped myself from crying twice. Crying over a man. Can you imagine? Ha

I know that I am being guided and so I will be patient. But, I will spend our time apart focusing on my health and wellness. I want to be better, do better, and live longer to experience more of him, more of us. 

Now What

I am sitting next to the man I love, who in 48 hours will be boarding a plane bound for Morocco, where he lives, works, and has family. We are sitting in silence, listening to one another breathe, and I know we are both taking in the reality of the situation: this dream is being put on pause. 

So what now? 

Well, now I have to go back to living a life alone. I’ll wake without a hug and go to bed without a hug. I’ll cook for myself and I won’t see his smile or look into those eyes as often as I’ve been able to. I’ll survive, for certain, but man, I’ll miss him. 

For now, my heart is sad. It’s like that feeling you have at the end of a big, important day, when all of the adrenaline has worn off and you’re just left exhausted, somewhat deflated, and wondering what’s next…

A return to normalcy, only now I want a new normal. 

Everything Can Change in a NY Minute (ooooh)

One week ago today, the man I’ve spent the last five months getting to know from afar landed in Los Angeles, where I picked him up and our in-person lives started. 

It feels like a lifetime ago simply because I feel like he’s always been here.  That’s not to say it’s all fairy tales and rainbows, quite the contrary. We have arguments, some of which are heated and some of which are cold. We are learning each other’s quirks, like I talk on the phone with friends a lot and he leaves everything laying around after working on a project. But, along with those negatives, there are positives, so many positives, and it makes me think back to younger me and wonder if I ever did a real inventory of the people I allowed into my personal space.  I think often I just thought this person is good enough and didn’t consider if they were going to push me to grow as a person, if they’d look out for my best interest, and if they made things better overall. 

Right now I’m focused on a few things: allowing myself to be in love in a healthy, mature way, being respectful when someone is trying to help/learning to not be so hyper-independent, and just enjoying the moment. 

I have made note that certain things need to change. For example, I lived a life centered around dogs. While my dogs are incredibly important to me, they cannot be the focus. I have to find a way to keep air flowing without using fans because he gets so cold so quickly. And, I need to focus on my health in all ways as he is holding me accountable, simply through asking me basic questions about my health.

So the bubble is going to burst soon and I must drive him to the airport.  He’s told me he will return at the end of May and on his next trip, we will marry.  I am processing so many things at once, but I know, without a doubt, I want this man to be my husband and I want to be his wife. Everything else is details to me. 

While he is gone, I will likely move houses, so we eventually have more space. I will focus on work and planning whatever type of wedding it is we choose to have.  And, more than anything, I will spend our time apart, which includes the holy month of Ramadan, thanking God for hearing the prayers I had as a child and again more recently. 

I don’t want to wake from this dream. 

Big Juicy Healing Tears

I have never been the type of woman who thought I needed a man to rescue me. I’d often roll my eyes at the thought of women who dreamt of some man being her knight in shining armor…

This past weekend I found myself crying big, juicy tears one night. The tears were waiting there, for years, waiting for the right moment, and when that moment came, they freed themselves.  Some context:  A couple of weeks ago, my guy and I were talking about our childhoods. He wrapped the conversation up with a comment about how he has a feeling we will help each other heal.  Since then, he’s flown across the world to spend a week and a half with me. He arrived, immediately folded into my life, and now we are discussing finding a reasonable path to actually living together and building a life together.  Here’s where the tears come in. 

I found myself mourning my younger self and the ideas she had about the treatment she deserved. I allowed people to use me and abuse me and I tolerated so much because I didn’t know there was better and I didn’t believe I deserved it, even if there was. As I cried, I held myself, apologizing for the things I allowed, and promising to up the ante by requiring better every day moving forward. 

I acknowledge that this relationship is new and even newer up close and personal, but baring that in mind and comparing it with the honeymoon phases of my previous relationships, there’s just no comparison.

I came across this image the day after my big cry and realized what I did the night before was start a healing process that I have been hoping to start for so long. Like finding the edge of packaging tape, healing sounds easier than it is, and sometimes we get false starts, but I am slowly peeling this back and hoping that it’s a real beginning. 

(And he isn’t saving me, by the way. My knight in shining armor is simply a Moroccan in a black jacket but his kindness and patience has allowed a quiet peace that I have never shared with another. I am learning what it means to feel safe in space with another human, Alhamdulillah.)

For My Therapist

If ever there was a time I’d like to freeze and keep forever, it would be this. I’ve spent the last day and a half with a man who makes me feel seen, loved, and at peace. 

I don’t know if this will last but I have never wanted something so much.  So, I commit to doing what it is I have to do to make it work. That’s a promise I can make to myself. 

But, the reason for this post is that I want to document something I realized about myself, ya know, for therapy purposes. All of these years I have thought that I am not lovable, like something is inherently wrong with who I am.  But it turns out, I just automatically push away love. I know this to be the case because twice in the last 24 hours, the man that I adore more than all others has asked if I’m ok and seemed cautious to be affectionate with me. I’m somehow projecting a “don’t love on me” vibe to the man I most want love from. Not good. 

We tell ourselves stories as children, to make sense of the big, bad, scary world and the unfair things that happen to us. The problem is that while these stories serve a purpose for a short window of time, they do damage for a much longer period of time. 

I want love. I want his love. 

More than that, I want to know, inherently, that love is good and ok and that I am worthy of it. 

Is this the kind of thing you were looking for, B? Ha 

I Want to be Your Friend & Other Weekend Thoughts

 If you don't know me well, you'd assume I'm extroverted.  I play one on TV and I'm damn good at it when I have to be.  The truth is, I'm an INTJ and if given the choice to crawl into a hole and hide from the world or do quite literally anything else, I'd grab a blanket and burrito myself up in that hole.

People are energy expensive.  But, I do love some of them, and so I find myself having to socialize from time to time.  One of those times was yesterday, when I went to a local winery to celebrate a friend's birthday.  Before long, I found myself sitting in our private room, telling story after story, making people laugh.  I heard, from more than one person last night, that I should be a comedian and, "really, though", I'd be successful.  A successful comedian, could you imagine how proud I'd make my grandparents?

Anyhow, at the end of the night, our party had died down and there were just four of us remaining, and we were discussing relationships, boundaries, and other related things.  Eventually we meandered to the parking lot, and as we talked there, a woman who had been partying inside came out, stumbled up to us, and told us she wanted us to go with them to the next bar.  That was an immediate no from me, but she kept talking and turned her attention to me, "I want to be your friend, I'm Brianna", she said.  I told her I have a strict rule against being friends with anyone named Brianna, nothing personal (I was only half kidding), and she laughed.  Before long, she told me she owns a crystal store in her house in the mountains and wants to hold toke and totes, moon circles, and other such things.  I politely declined, telling her that I don't go out much and I much prefer sitting on the couch with my six dogs and watching foreign films.  "You're my kind of woman", she replied, then asking me if I had seen a certain movie.  I asked her what it's about and she got a funny expression, "I mean, it's porn".  I questioned why she'd ask if I had seen it, and she said that I told her I like to sit on the couch and cuddle with my dogs while watching porn films.  

Um.

I don't think I'd ever use the word "film" after "porn", but it did make me wonder what kind of person would bond with another over a puppy cuddle puddle whilst watching someone get a train run on her.

The reason I'm writing about this is because I have always been genuinely stumped as to why anyone who doesn't already know me well would want to be my friend.  One of the best compliments I received in recent memory is that I am someone who helps to motivate others through making them want to be better while also making them feel it is possible to do better.  "You underestimate the impact you have on others", he said.  And, maybe I do.

...but do you know what I don't underestimate?  The amount of time it takes to clean a damn house.  I have been hiring someone to do the deep cleaning while I keep up with the day to day stuff.  I think about the generations of women who had no option but to stay at home and clean and tend to the domestic duties and I am amazed that all it took was a little booze and the occasional Quaalude to keep them subdued.  If I have to spend one more damn second sweeping or mopping or making a bed, I'm going to set something on fire.  This shit is for the birds.

Achilles' Heel in His Mouth

 I've been told I'm very self-aware.  I don't understand that spectrum.  I mean, how is one "very" self-aware, you either are or you are not.  And, frankly, I don't understand how someone can live an entire life and not be self-aware.  Maybe this is the foundation of much of the disconnect I feel between myself and some others.

I read my first blog post to Marie, a lifelong friend.  She told me she didn't understand some of it because my vocabulary is above her head.  Amusingly, while open and honest communication is probably my number one value, I find that I struggle most with communication.  Is it because I'm too much in my head, leading me to not only be "very" self-aware but to also have stunted communication with others? 

The other night, my partner and I were texting about his upcoming visit.  He made a comment that led me to believe that he's nervous, perhaps very nervous, and that he's questioning the timing of everything.  I did what I thought was supportive and compassionate and I told him I understood if he felt the need to postpone the trip a bit.  I'm not going anywhere, we can continue speaking daily and getting to know each other better.  Shockingly, to me, he responded negatively and communicated his feelings quite clearly.  I sat there, genuinely surprised as to why he was reacting this way, and confused as to what I had done to spark that response.  

Later, the next day, I had communicated with a good male friend of mine about this issue.  I recounted the text conversation and he said that he understood my perspective, but he knows what triggered my partner.  He went on to say that I communicate very effectively, albeit without a lot of emotion, and perhaps men aren't used to that from women.  In particular, he thought my partner was seeking reassurance, not an escape hatch, and when I didn't respond with excitement about his upcoming visit and reassurance of my feelings for him, it failed to meet his expectation and led to his reaction.

Hearing from my friend this explanation, and later getting confirmation from my partner about this being the issue, it felt like a punch to the gut.  I can't tell you how many times I've heard that I communicate as if I don't care, when half the time I feel like an overly-needy, hyper-emotional person.  I explained to my partner that I'd appreciate it if he was a bit more direct when he needed a certain response from me, as I don't mind offering reassurance as often as he wants it, but I don't identify the social cues that many others can identify.  I am logical, at the heart of it, and I love logically.  If you tell me that something I did or am doing is causing distress, I seek to alleviate that immediately, hence telling him we can wait as long as he needs.

I feel like a toddler when it comes to expressing my emotions.  Having someone who is more than comfortable expressing his as a partner is proving to be quite interesting and I'm hoping we can meet somewhere in the middle.  We both care deeply for one another, and we both know that, so I suppose that's a start.

Just Another Human Story

 I've lost count of how many times I've been told I should write a book about my life.  It seems flattering, on the surface, but the truth is I'd given nearly anything to have a life so dull that nobody would dare suggest I write a book about it.  

I've tried to start a journal recently-ish.  I used to write, by hand, faithfully.  I'd bleed through a pen and I swore that in the depths of my soul was a well of endless ink.  Alas, it's lost its appeal.  The most recent attempt was for practical reasons: my therapist requested it.  I think she's looking for some insight into how to approach trauma healing.  I'll be honest-I don't know if there's a way to heal.  I think some time ago I just swallowed it all and made it a part of me, somehow inseparable.  There are times when I can feel the cells that have been damaged by someone else...  it's palpable, like they're all vibrating at once.  But those times are so few and far between and, let's be honest, I'm probably more than halfway through this race.

I'm told I'm funny.  I think, like any funny person, there's a reason why we so easily spin words into laughter.  I'm a story teller, a performer of sorts, but when I am alone, just me and a keyboard (or, previously, a pen and paper), I'm not funny.  In fact, I imagine anybody would find it quite difficult to even consider that the funny, story telling me is the same person writing this blog.  And, to be honest, I kind of love that.  The one safety in this world is the dark place we hide in when we need to be alone.  It's unremarkable, often undetectable by outsiders, and it's completely and utterly safe.  

Everyone that has ever loved me has died, that is both true and untrue.  It's true in that the people who raised me and gave to me when they didn't have to are gone.  The only people left are those I've given to and who may love me as a residual gratitude of sorts.  I have spent my life hoping to create love where there is none and so far I have yet to succeed.  Instead, I have collected a number of experiences that when turned to story and told in a certain way can entertain a crowd.  Sometimes, though, in that crowd is a person or two that I, myself, love.  And I have never found anything more satisfying than watching someone I love experience a moment of pure and utter joy, regardless of how small or seemingly unimportant the moment may be.  It's in those brief moments that I realize I love to love, regardless of what I get back.  The joy in my life comes from giving to others and watching that gift somehow improve something for those I hold dearest.

I am in a relationship right now that I think may be long-lasting.  He scares me, in a good way, and I think I need that to grow.  I think I'm going to use this to tell my stories and if they turn out funny in type, all the better.  But, not every story will be entertaining and I may not know why some of them chose to come out at all.  I will trust the process as writing has always proven cathartic in the past.  

So, here's to the documentation of some of my life's moments.  May I represent them as accurately as possible and, if in the stories somewhere there is a map that can lead my therapist and me to a healthier place, may it be found!