Saturday, December 5, 2015

Happy Birthday, Bestie


When I thought about how it was almost your birthday I wondered what I wanted to give you as a present. 
And suddenly, an overwhelming urge came over my heart--
I wanted to write you a love letter.

We joke that we're each other's wife.
I'm your other husband. 
(Sorry, Andy. You have to share her.)
When too many days pass and I don't see you, I feel out of balance. 
When something important happens to me, I have to tell you about it.
(Even if I'm worried you might be scandalized by it.)
I always have to tell you.
I have to tell you everything. 
Because you're my best friend. 

I have several wonderful girlfriends in my life who I also consider best friends. 
But everyone knows you're my number one. 
And they love you because they see how much you mean to me. 

You have been there for every heart break for the last 14 years. 
(15 years?)
You remember stories from my life I forgot entirely. 
I think we've only had one fight. 
Ever. 
And it was when you were worried about who I was choosing to trust. 
(And you were right.)
But you never make me feel judged. 
You never make me feel wrong for being who I am. 
You make me feel like my soul is full of glitter. 
And I've searched for love and wondered why the men I love always leave, but the truth is, you're the greatest love of my life. 

You've held me together when I was falling apart, you've trusted me as your advocate, we can do nothing and everything together, and no one has believed in me the way you do.
(Except perhaps for Mother. Which makes you my family.)
Your sister told my parents, "They're very dedicated to each other."
And it really is true. 

I don't know if I really believe in romantic love anymore. 
But I believe in you. 
And I believe in the love we have. 
And I'm so grateful to you for always being there, even as the chaos constantly storms around me, I can stand with you and face it all. 

I can't possibly sum up into words what you mean to me. 
But I can say that on this day, I am so happy that your life found its way into mine. 
Because without you, I wouldn't be me. 
And I love who I am. 
And I love you. 
And I love us. 
We are the stuff they write songs about.

And I cannot wait to grow old with you, telling the haters to fuck off, singing when we're wrinkled and our voices still strong, fighting over the last milano in our bathrobes, remembering how fabulous we were when we were just young girls. 

Happy Birthday, Bestie.
My life is so happy because you're in it. 

What more could we possibly hope for?
We already have everything. 









Friday, December 4, 2015

Disarray Deez Nuts

You know that an email is gonna be good  when the first thing you write is, "What. The actual fuck. Is wrong with you??"

Subtlety isn't my strong suit. 

I understand the need to communicate. 
I share that need. 
But there are times when thoughts don't need to be shared. 
Like
If I never contact you
For instance. 
Silence. 
Is actually. 
A way of communicating. 
If you listen. 

I understand that you can't stay friends with all your exes. 
And that's fine. 
I don't expect everyone to be my friend. 
Who has time for that?
But I do think that men who overshare unnecessarily should be punched in the balls. 

Months ago, like, a lifetime ago, three fucking seasons ago, I met up with a guy I dated five years ago. 
And I hadn't seen him since then. 
And it was swell. 
And we even had dinner another eve after that. 
But that was it. 
The summer came and went.
He traveled. 
I made poor life choices. 
All was grand. 
He had mentioned that Eugene wasn't that far away and we could meet up again sometime. 
So after some particularly epic poor life choices I asked him if I could come visit sometime. 
He said we could go for a hike and eat lunchables. 
Huzzah. 
So we planned our super cool day and that was that. 
Then he let me know he was going to be in town so we planned to meet here instead. 
Swell. 
Save me the gas money. 
So all of our interactions, up to this point, were fine. 
Just two kids, catching up, like old friends. 
No. Big. Deal. 
Then. 
THEN--

He emails me. 

Teresa,

To be painfully honest with you, I really don't want to hang out this weekend.  I'm sorry.  Something about it feels kind of forced and upsets me greatly.  I guess my belief is that I'm just not meant to be this kind of friend to you.  Meeting up this winter after all those years was really amazing and productive.  I truly enjoyed seeing you.  And I believe some small forgotten part of me needed to take responsibility for not communicating openly with you in the past.  It was an opportunity to bring needed balance and fulfill a sacred duty on my part.  It was an opportunity to love.   

There are specifically assigned roles and duties in life, I think.  There is a place where I fit naturally and am fruitful and comfortable.  I believe that I should play the appropriate parts assigned to me, no more and no less.  A disruption rises in my spirit when we hang out, and I truly believe this is because in doing so I'm not filling my appropriate role.  In short, for whatever reason we are not meant to be hangout friends.  It's not good or bad, it's just new parts. 

Life is just really fleeting, you know?  Being alive is a great responsibility, and I want to make the best use of my time and energy here.  The work that was on my heart to accomplish with you has been done.  And my actions and words towards you now are honest and out of love, and I would like to keep it that way.  If we hang out, my spirit will be in disarray and my mission will be temporarily suspended.  And all attempts to be love on my part during this time will count for nothing.

I'm wrong a lot of the time, but also doing my best to follow my heart's guidance these days because I believe this guidance is absolute.  And like I said in the last awkward email, it's this great care for you that drives me to be brutally honest.  I think the maybe world needs more of these kinds of conversations.  And I would be glad to have more conversations like this one with you, if you ever wanted.  That is the natural role I am happy to fill :).

Sorry to mess up your weekend plans, I really am.  
Much love, Teresa.


Obviously, I did not respond. 
What the fuck would I say?
Sorry I cause a disruption in your spirit?
What a wackadoodle.
So I never responded and just accepted we weren't friends. 
Considering I'd seen him twice in five years, it actually wasn't a big deal.
I DIDNT CARE.
But the men in my life like to inundate my life with rejection. 
I'm pretty sure they all got together, had a meeting and decided.
That would actually make sense. 

So five weeks later, because his first rejection apparently wasn't enough, he sends me this.

Teresa,

I am sorry to write again about this, but for clarity and alignment with nature on my side it seems necessary.  Although in my last letter I mentioned keeping in touch by email, it feels in my heart that this is the time to say farewell to you for good.  I'm not really sure how to express how glad I am to have known and experienced you, how grateful I am for all you have shared and taught me.  I guess most of what I really want to say was written in the last letter to you.  

In a few years I imagine I'll look back on my life as if it were nothing more than last night's dreams, and I will remember you and smile.  I hope you do the same, Teresa.  I'll see you on the other side of all of this :).

Love,

This time. 
I was PISSED.
And I wasn't going to respond but apparently my silence wasn't loud and clear the first time. 
So I decided instead to rage. 
Rage against the enlightened bullshit. 

And you know what?
It felt great.
The last thing I need is another scared boy projecting all his shit onto me.
Take your issues, all your presumption, and kindly F U C K  O F F.





Thursday, December 3, 2015

foreign to me

I am not a fantasy. 
I am just a girl. 

I don't want to play your fantasy. 
I want something real.
Something ugly and messy. 
Something that doesn't run away because it doesn't like whose staring back in the mirror. 

I am not a fantasy. 
There's cat hair on my couch and dirty clothes on my floor. 
I feel sad when people don't want to talk to me anymore. 
I feel angry when my body is used to fill someone's void. 

I don't want to be anyone else. 
I want to be the crazy girl I am. 
And I don't want someone who doesn't like who I am. 

I don't want to be pushed away because I make your heart scream. 
It's not my fault the affect I have on you is ecstasy. 
That's just how my eyes are. 

I am not your fantasy. 
I don't believe in words. 
The consistent inconsistency of waning emotion. 
Your feelings may leave you, your thoughts betray you. 

But I will still be here. 
As I am. 
Unapologetic.  
Running from nothing. 
Always acting on behalf of the cries of my heart. 
Because living in feigned indifference would be too grey. 


I am not a drug. 
Even if I do make you high. 
Cravings come and go. 
What I am is permanent. 
I am in your skin. 
I dance in your heart. 
When you close your eyes you see my face. 
And I will never 
Ever
Disappear. 
I am a part of who you're scared to be. 

I am not your fantasy.
I am your only reality 
Where complacency is shattered.