Fucking patience!!!
To Gary: Keep in mind that I still love ya man.
You keep reminding me of patience.
“Have patience, Nadia.”
“The more you wait, the more you get.”
Can’t you see it?
This thing you call patience is oozing out of me.
Can’t you smell it?
Patience holds a pungent yet sometimes sickly pleasing odor.
Can’t you taste it?
This patience I hold is bittersweet.
Bitter in that you, of all people, you don’t notice and sweet in that I know in my heart my patience far surpasses that of many.
Damn it, sometimes just sitting there knowing something in your own heart doesn’t make you believe it.
Sometimes when you feel something because you know someone wants you to; it’s just an illusion.
But I refuse to believe it!
An illusion my patience is not.
It is blatant if you don’t look for it, yet hides from the mind and from the eye when you search.
You are searching.
Stop.
It will get you nowhere.
I don’t open up to soul-searchers.
People who believe they “understand” you at the drop of a hat.
The people who think they know me well know me the least.
The people who comprehend and appreciate the fact that there are more layers to me than to Anna Nicole Smith on a bad day are the people who will maintain the love I have for them.
The bad thing about being me is that it’s so hard for me to trust someone.
In one way, I open up to a person completely, answering questions they ask honestly and unabashedly.
In another way, I do not trust at all.
I am hesitant when someone tells me they love me, I’m afraid to believe it.
I am hurt when people say they will call and then don’t.
Yes, you say I’m hurt easily, yes, yes, yes!
So you get it, huh?
I may deny it, but who wouldn’t?
Telling someone they’re ‘sensitive’ is equal to insulting them in this society.
It’s equivalent to calling someone a sissy.
The fact that you notice I’m hurt so easily tells me you see past a thin sheet of my soul most people don’t see through.
And that scares me.
It makes me ashamed.
I am raised to be a woman.
By the age of 12, I was told to be a ‘woman’.
Not a chick, not a broad, not a pussy, not a girl, but a WOMAN!
So melodramatic, I know.
Where does this road lead anyway?
If you know that I’m so easily penetrated, then why do you insist on doing things, which you know will hurt me?
You probably think I overreact to things, but in reality, your idea of overreacting is my idea of under-reacting.
I mellow myself out when you disconcert me.
I try to think rationally, all the while keeping in mind that I have to be a woman. Have to keep my dignity and ironically, my balls, in place.
I have to be honest.
I have to be understanding.
I have to follow my heart.
I have to do so many convoluted things and I don’t even know what my heart is telling me!
Damn it, my heart is confused!
Hell, I don’t care if you’re the Dahli fucking Lama; I swear to Buddha, your heart would be confused too!
See?
Now this is overreacting.
You don’t see the half of it.
God, why am I so bad at this?
I’m so petrified of being hurt yet nothing gets me around that twist of life.
I know nothing will and yet I try to so desperately to get around it.
Why am I so bad at being me?
How can one be bad at being oneself?
I’m ashamed of who I am.
I don’t think you would love me if you knew who I was.
I don’t think anyone would love me if they knew who I was.
Honestly, as much as I want to let someone know who I am, someone who I know will not care, not mind, not do anything to change me for the worse or for the better, I could probably never do that.
I want to so badly.
I want to tell someone exactly how I feel, someone who’s always and forever on my side.
Someone who understands me for what I am.
But somehow I’m beginning to convince myself there is no one like that.
Not for me and not for you, not for anyone, as a matter of fact.
Others just don’t realize it.
Or perhaps they do but they accept it as a part of nature.
You see, I want to spill my heart, mind, and thoughts out to somebody who I know for an ironclad fact will love me and be there for me one hundred percent of the way for everyday of my life and beyond.
I’m sure I would have the patience to deal with that person’s idiosyncrasies, yes, that’s a quality I promise to maintain.
I want so badly for it to be you, but since there’s nobody who can love me for who I am no matter what ever happens, it can’t be, I guess.
That doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you in every way you want to be with me and a thousand more.
Even though you hurt me so much more than you know, involuntarily sometimes. Even THEN, I have the patience to love you forever and a day.
I want so badly to unlock the truth about me.
But you see, I’d have to get some trust for that.
And that’s something I can’t do.