Sunday, October 19, 2014

Castles Made of Sand

I spent the last three-four days working on a post in draft mode.  Sometimes I have this overwhelming need to get something out and when I sit down to open the flood gates, only a trickle comes out.  Ugh, the old mental constipation-such an uncomfortable and dis-satisfying feeling... So I sat down today to finish what I had started 7 million times over and instead, I  deleted the whole damned post.  Maybe whatever it was I had been trying to say wasn't what I needed to say at all.  Instead here's the dump that came out-

Mental masturbation- the temporary unraveling of the intricate labyrinth woven into the patterns of my mind.  Sometimes, I catch it before it frays completely out of control, and other times I entertain it like the itch that refuses to be scratched.... the more I scratch, the more it itches and the more it itches the more I feed the urge to scratch it.  Bloody and scabbed, picked, and then bloody again... There is something about that secret self-torture that draws me back time and again.  And I know, this ain't no new revelation... it's not as if this is an awakening I am experiencing for the first time, but every fucking time it's so raw that it feels like the first time.

Over the years, I have come to embrace my mental masturbation, I have accepted that I over think constantly, but the wear and tear it takes on my soul is exhaustive at times.  This is probably where the extreme introvert in me was born... that need to remove myself from the outside world for periods of time so that I can collect both my thoughts and re-tune my energy.  It's weird because while I know it to be necessary, it is not always the most pleasant experience.

Most of my posts are a direct result of said mental masturbation sessions.  Sometimes I'll ruminate on something for months before I even realize what (or for that matter why) it is that I my consciousness is hung up on.  More often than not, I'll write about it, presume I have worked through whatever it was and move on, only to have the subject resurface weeks, months or even years later... then I go digging in my archive, find the applicable post and expound upon it if necessary. 

The most recent theme in my consciousness has been about intimacy.  I may as well call it the big I word, because I treat it like the plague.  I have been scared of it for a long time, while craving it at the same time.  When I wrote Naked a little while back, I mentioned that I had finally come to the realization that I had been running from intimacy... and that I was ready to own that intimacy is in fact what I want.  A real and true connection with another, based upon building an authentic relationship.  Once I made that admission to myself, it was as if pieces of the old wonderwall began to crumble, like a castle made of sand... and all the skeletons that had been hiding in my fortress came out to play, and what a ride that has turned out to be.  Vulnerability scares the ever-loving-shit out of me,  but I am convinced that is what my soul has been craving. 

I am diabolically opposed at all times on the inside... there is the part of me that allows vulnerability to slip in through the cracks, the part of me that cannot help but love with my whole heart every second, despite the other part of me that stands at the gate, arms crossed, shouting that I am a fool, this never ends well, and happily ever after is for fucking suckers.  For years now, I've let that cynic rule my mind and close off my heart.  Sure, every once in a great while, my heart wins out for a moment and I will entertain the idea of being vulnerable (but rarely does that translate to the act of me actually following through) most of the time, Tough Bitch swoops in and poisons my mind with self doubt... and usually, I get too tired to fight and let her win. 

Not this time though.  Falling is Like This is my ode to outing Tough Bitch once and for all, and since writing that, she has tried to make me pay, and I continue to refuse to take the bate. I may not always recognize the traps she sets right away, but I am getting better at not letting her occupy as much real estate in my mind.  Not allowing others to treat me like shit seems easy compared to not allowing me to treat myself that way, but I have become aware and ever more vigilant.  I have taken to sinking into the awkwardness my mind produces and really exploring it.  Becoming comfortable with the uncomfortable... it's tough, but I feel as though that is the only logical next step... this is the epitome of viscerally ruminating, it has only taken me my lifetime to get there. At the end of the day though, I am good with it all. Tough Bitch served her purpose and I do not live in the kind of fantasy where I think she is going anywhere soon...and I am also aware that the girl in the freshly pressed dress is no where close to setting up permanent residence. What I do know is that everyday I am a little closer to embracing the redeeming qualities of them both.

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