relationshipping

An impossible love

My eyeballs need cocaine

is not fun.

I was talking to a most awesome individual the other night, playing holiday catch-up, telling him what amounted to tales of a heart-hammering 2013.

At one point he said, “Wow…everyone loves you.  You have all these people who love you.  I have a lot of people I can fuck but nobody loves me.”

This disarmingly honest statement is the most endearing thing he could have said.

But what happens when none of that love is possible?
What good is being loved if life and individual circumstances don’t allow it to be fully realized?

Because that’s my situation.

2013 has been my year of impossible loves.  The love part has been tremendous but being hit with the reality of said impossibility hurts something equally tremendous.

Why impossible?
Physical and emotional unavailability, a waning sexual attraction, a disparity in levels of commitment…factors that can’t be compromised without compromising oneself.

So my year has been chock full.
Of expectations.
Of love.
Of letting go.

And the trade-off?
I stay true to myself and the situation at hand.
This truth fucking hurts me and causes hurt but it’s honest.

But truth?  I want to roll my eyes at pretentious honesty, ignore its gnawing presence and live in denial-land except I am incapable (thank you, fuck you previous life experiences).  I want to rationalize growing chasms in my relationships but I just can’t.  Once I feel that certain break, the one where my instinct high-alerts my heart and brain to prepare for impending sadness and grief, I know an ending is inevitable.  Ignoring my instinct isn’t an option as it has saved my ass too many times; my life, even, on occasion.

After an ending, I am a puddle of grief.

What to do between cathartic cries?

I focus on myself.
I hurt, I think, I grow.

And I appreciate this difficult thing that is love.

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random love

Let’s fast!

She expected me to leaveUm no.
Was my first response.
Actually I think it was my first 38 responses.

Him: No one NEEDS to eat as much as they do.
Me: Nodding. I get that. But fries(!!!). Oh god, do I love a fried starch.
Him: You’ll get so much energy…you’ll feel great!
Me: I think I should watch you, get inspired, then try it out.
Him: You say you like to try new things…

I don’t know how it came to be that I agreed to fast.
Honestly, I think I was bored and that’s often dangerous.
I mean, it could cause a person to not eat for 11 days.

A few hours into Fast Day One…
Me: Oh my god, what are we going to do after we smoke weed?
Him: Uh, Rumi, we don’t smoke while we fast.
Me: WHAT?!
Him: Have you not been listening? It’s not just food; we’re getting pure.

What the shitty shit have I just agreed to?
I don’t meditate.
I’m not seeking mental clarity or an epiphany.
But at this point it seems like a good challenge. And it’s true that I’ve been feeling pretty lethargic and kinda gross in general so…yeah, let’s fast.

I’d never fasted before so I decide to maintain it until I can’t or don’t want to anymore, whichever comes first.

The first few days I think about how to handle hunger, hang out with friends at bars and restaurants, what if food smells gross me out, or I feel weak, would I be angry for being hungry, etc. I filter quite a few what if’s and feel excited about the new challenge and before I know it, I’m 2.5 days into the fast.

My body temperature fluctuates. A lot. I feel an intense heat radiate from within a few times a day. I’m a bit shaky for no more than 30 minutes every evening, between 21-23:30, towards the end of my work shift. I nap almost everyday; he tells me it’s a good way to conserve energy and let my body have extra rest.

The sight and smell of food don’t gross me out. Everything smells and looks fucking fabulous BUT I don’t want to eat except for a 15-minute window towards the end of my work-night. My sober self goes out to a drunken, hungover brunch and I’m severely tempted by fatty-fat dripping burgers and endless mimosas. But temptation isn’t indulged and she moves right along.

Life slows down, slows way down.
I calm down, my thought process is much more deliberate. Little things fall by the wayside; actually, they don’t even blip on my radar. I contemplate many things but it’s not necessarily deep thoughts, just thoughts.
Maybe I’m physically incapable of rapid-fire thoughts or knee-jerk emotional responses.
Maybe I’m gaining…clarity?

It was a peaceful, interesting and unexpectedly fulfilling 11 days.
Fast Day 12 doesn’t happen because I simply don’t want to fast anymore.
I want consumable energy.
I make a veggie soup and it is delicious.

Oh, and that first hit of pot, post-fast?
I-n-c-r-e-d-iiiiiiiiiii-b-l-e.
Pura Vida.

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