In Pisces.
I am a woman now. At least that's what they tell me. I see friends of youth graduating college, getting married and having children. And I... Well, all I have to show for my twenty-two years is a good story to tell, a broken heart, and a top-of-the-line boob job (which I'm paying for myself, thankyouverymuch, in efforts to perfect and drastically change the imperfections I feel)... I am not Christina-Marie Blanco. I am an illustration of someone who resembles her; black hard lines lacking color and shading in the spaces; raw and without most of what makes a person beautiful and worth noticing. I am not a bad person, not even close. I am just a person who lacks much: love, drive, spirit, and all of the things it takes to differentiate Life from Existence.
As I write this, I am crying, and I realize that I don't even remember the last time I cried. I don't remember the last time I felt anything so strongly I couldn't control my emotions. I don't remember what it was like to take care of me; to live and laugh with all of my heart. To know I was in the exact place God intended me to be at an exact time. All of my efforts of love and taking care of someone still go to the Other Boy. I haven't a clue why I feel it is my life's duty to be his savior, but every day for three years now I've found myself bending over backwards to save him from the world. Why? Because I see the lowest, most hidden parts of myself in him. He's that child in me--eyes open and unfortunately burdened--that no one protected. Unfortunately, most support and recovery groups would label me the "enabler." I've done nothing to truly construct him. Despite declaring me the "best thing that ever happened" to him, I don't know that he is in any better a place than he was the day I met him. I may be able to walk away knowing I've done him no service at all. I think that's what breaks my heart the most. At my expense--nothing... Some days he is the greatest human being I have ever known and fills my dusty soul with warmth. But other days--like today--I am left forlorn and disappointed in him.
I don't even know about that old life. At the risk of sounding cliche, it seems as though it was all a dream. It takes a certain kind of love and condition to make you feel lonely. I never knew what lonely was the first nineteen years of my life. With the love I had for the Boy, despite his absence, I felt full and hopeful. Today he is pushed back far into my subconscious, safe for keeping like a souvenir from innocence; a keepsake. Still, though, he slips into my dreams every now and then, as a passing face in a crowd or another person in a stuffy elevator. Sometimes we exchange words, other times we don't even make eye contact. But every single time I stop and think, "it's Him. My God, it's Him." And even in dreams filled with meaningless nonsense, I stop myself to ask "where did I go wrong?" Without you, dear Boy, my life is meaningless.
On the Travel Network, Andrew Zimmer is at a penis restaurant in China that only serves the penises of animals--as a delicacy. And suddenly, wiping the saltiness from my face, I am reminded that God does have a sense of humor.
As I write this, I am crying, and I realize that I don't even remember the last time I cried. I don't remember the last time I felt anything so strongly I couldn't control my emotions. I don't remember what it was like to take care of me; to live and laugh with all of my heart. To know I was in the exact place God intended me to be at an exact time. All of my efforts of love and taking care of someone still go to the Other Boy. I haven't a clue why I feel it is my life's duty to be his savior, but every day for three years now I've found myself bending over backwards to save him from the world. Why? Because I see the lowest, most hidden parts of myself in him. He's that child in me--eyes open and unfortunately burdened--that no one protected. Unfortunately, most support and recovery groups would label me the "enabler." I've done nothing to truly construct him. Despite declaring me the "best thing that ever happened" to him, I don't know that he is in any better a place than he was the day I met him. I may be able to walk away knowing I've done him no service at all. I think that's what breaks my heart the most. At my expense--nothing... Some days he is the greatest human being I have ever known and fills my dusty soul with warmth. But other days--like today--I am left forlorn and disappointed in him.
I don't even know about that old life. At the risk of sounding cliche, it seems as though it was all a dream. It takes a certain kind of love and condition to make you feel lonely. I never knew what lonely was the first nineteen years of my life. With the love I had for the Boy, despite his absence, I felt full and hopeful. Today he is pushed back far into my subconscious, safe for keeping like a souvenir from innocence; a keepsake. Still, though, he slips into my dreams every now and then, as a passing face in a crowd or another person in a stuffy elevator. Sometimes we exchange words, other times we don't even make eye contact. But every single time I stop and think, "it's Him. My God, it's Him." And even in dreams filled with meaningless nonsense, I stop myself to ask "where did I go wrong?" Without you, dear Boy, my life is meaningless.
On the Travel Network, Andrew Zimmer is at a penis restaurant in China that only serves the penises of animals--as a delicacy. And suddenly, wiping the saltiness from my face, I am reminded that God does have a sense of humor.