Bahumbug.... Sort of

For once I write here not directing my unhappiness towards a very particular person. He and I are beyond happy. I am lucky in that regard.

I have a festive niggle I have to get off my chest.

It revolves around a tree, as most Yultide problems in my family do.

I'll go towards the tree itself. I live in the hostel and we usually put up a tree, most people being Christian oriented (though not practicing). This year, no one put up a tree. It was the 21st of December and no one had fetched a tree. No one had called, no one had gone up the hill. They had spent their nights drinking and drinking. I came back from Holiday back home in Canada, no tree, just a mess. I came back from holiday out East in Aberdeenshire, no tree.

So, there has been this scrawny little thing in the middle of the yard blinking at me for well over a year and a half. It was cramped in a small pot.

The little fur in the pot.

I brought it in and decorated the wee thing, excited and proud that we would have a little tree for Christmas. I suppose I was proud that I'd taken initiative. And after, I AM going to re plant it on the hill behind us.

The end result was a Charlie Brown job.

But everyone just kind of made fun of it. "Come on, its too scrawny. Too sad. Pathetic."

I was really hurt by this. I adamantly defended the tree, but on the 23rd of December, the Manager above me ordered a new one pointing out that it needed to be up to be paid for, yet at no point had he offered to cancel it when he said he'd ordered it a few days ago.

Perhaps i'm being bahumbugy, but I tend that way around this time of year. I'm far away from home and Christmas is a time for me when we think of others. Perhaps my staff had different expectations. Perhaps my staff are sad and lonely. Yet I feel like they were thoughtless comments and actions. It hurt, and I clearly said and expressed how I felt, and still the other tree was put up. It just kinda hurt.

Sometimes I think around Christmas People don't think either. They don't think to ask and I feel guilty for getting a thing I immediately know I will never touch again. They mean so well and yet I have no desire to keep this thing, to have it at all. I would have been happy with nothing at all because the few things I said I needed, I actually have to go shop for now. Perhaps its me being selfish.

Things. We focus way to much on things instead of being together, and it seems its very much engrained in me. C'est La Vie.

Thinking about it now though, I was fortunate enough to have two other Christmases and the thing I liked about both of them was the food and the sitting together and enjoying each others company. I should let it pass and think myself lucky. I have the best present this year. I have the love I've longed for above all things, safe arms to go to and no more fear.

Happy Holidays and I hope you are with people who love you.

0. The Drop

I had a complete breakdown yesterday.

It lasted nearly 6 hours.

Exhausted at the end, I called someone and realized what I'd just been through. I have not bottled something up like that for a very long time. Well over a year. Not since I lived at home alone.

I used to do it often, or more often then I thought, which makes me think I should have seen it coming. In a  way I did. I needed a cry, a book and some tea. I didn't realize how extensive the cry was though.

I held everything back when my mother came. I didn't want her to see me distressed about the last stretch, because I had so much to be happy for. I held everything back when I visited my sister, because I didn't want her to see me distressed about the last stretch, because I have so much o be happy for. I didn't cry some days, because the urge to do so came right before I started work, or I just wanted to go to bed, or I had such a short time with the one person I could, that I wanted it to b happy for both. But I held everything back.

I can see how I did it too. I've been walling myself off from everyone, scared to see and speak to people, venture beyond a certain point in the town. I've been injecting my brain with lectures and pod casts, new music and junk television in an effort to improve my mood, or to keep off a bad one. If I'm not thinking about it, it can't happen.

The signs were there too. Isolation, lack of focus on anything productive and the inability to write. That's always a bad sign. It comes out sporadically, and unfocused. I can't seem to fix on an idea or plot at all. If my writing doesn't work then I'm lost. I couldn't even draw, Which is usually my back up outlet.

But I knew it had to, and with time to myself and away from everyone, my mind slowly unraveled and the weight of everything poured down on me.

The first thing I should have done was speak to someone. Anyone, but my fear of judgement comes up when I'm feeling my lowest, so I didn't want to speak to anyone for risk of further "Attack" when they probably would have helped me. I went through anger, terror and it was all directed at myself. I was ruining everything with my "stupid emotions", who only wanted to speak to someone. I hated me and felt ugly, scrawny and stupid.

It was an utter deterioration of myself.

It was a long time coming, in someways. I needed to pass through it, though I certainly wish it had been so much less savage. I was a cornered dog, biting and snapping with out thought, until I'd bitten my self enough to realize this was fruitless.

Settling, I called someone and they walked me through how exciting everything was about to be, and that they understood this was coming, and that I had every right to feel some of these feelings. I went through the list of things to be excited about.

I am still frustrated at the timing of it, and for the fact that I let it kind of fall out of me. But I think those things can be resolved with speaking and in two weeks, perhaps even resolved.

This morning I've rebuilt. While it is as cold as balls in this place, I'm going to sit down stairs. I'm going to ease myself into socializing and I'm going to write some novel.

2. Raised by Captain America and the Bitter Dual Nature of the Now.

I don't think you are superman. I think you are Captain America. The title is a farce of course. You wish to be superman, indestructible, god like, morally sure of his actions and able to follow through. Captain America suits you better. He is structured with flaws, which he over comes with his kindness and a sort of thoughtfulness that looks out for others around him. He is the man we wish to be, chosen for our morals and not born into something so grand. He made who he was with his heart, for his all that, flaws and all.

Insight, struggle and I understand why you wished for so long to be on your own.

After speaking with you, I feel enlightened, with a touch of insight.

I am fortunate. All my life I have had supportive family and friends, even when I didn't think they were being so, they were always looking out for me and wanting me to be so happy.

You, I feel you've faced something so much harder then I and its your determination to remain good, honest and truthful is what I find so admirable. You are a hero to yourself, more than comic could come up with. The incredibly, you find yourself coming to the truth. Your softness is an admirable quality.

I want you not to worry with me. I just want care and love, to know that you're feelings will be returned.

....

But this is also the last two days, where my heart remains strangled in agony. It was you who used the word once to describe it. I wouldn't be able to do this were it not for you, but how my heart hurts when your not with me. When I can't be with you. Not allowed, hidden pushed and locked away.

I've wanted to cry all evening. I'm so close to the end. Only two sleeps. But it does not change how the now feels, and how much junk I have to pump into my mind to make me stand up right and smile at a stranger. I feel useless, stripped and ugly in these moments. Nothing is right on my body. Nothing is right in my body.

I've been hunted by half a handful of others too, and all I want is to fall back and feel protected, safe with you. I want to say I am not yours to hunt. Leave me be. But I have to find other ways. Lies upon lies. It all tastes stale on my tongue.

Strangled and hidden in a cupboard. I hold every faith in you, but I've been hurting for so long. It will take a bit of time before my cynicism subsides.

I hope the I'll stop feeling sick in the evenings, ill from the stress. I miss you.

12.

I was going to be angry in this post. I was going to rage. I was going to be infuriated.

But I cannot.

Its what I think I want. It wouldn't help. I would only feel ashamed.

My day started out alright and slid towards poorly. I shed tears and begged to see a change. The agony of being denied you. We are both suffering and I know this. I should be able to bear this better. Yet I cannot help it. I am the making of the wind that batters this house.

There's just one thing instead ringing over and over in my head.

As desperate as I feel, for the sound of your voice, for the touch of your hand, for the warm embrace. As desperate as I am for you to sing and thing you're terrible when you're not. As desperate as I am for your kiss and kindness.

More than sleeping next to you. More than a hug, more than being held. More than water or food right now. More than sleep. More than a room of ones own. More than all these things, there's just one thing.

I just want to say, I love you.

17. Luck

When its only my pen that will help.

I've been chewing my lip, so to speak. Building the fortress of my own anxiety. I have so much to be ready for. So much to be excited for. I dig my own hole. Its only out of tiredness, out of frustration. Its been a long year, and though its had the most wonderful moments, there have more hard ones than I can count.

Its near the end. I need to be a stronger person and understand these last few days. These last few days are the final end. The test of a long journey. I said before, that no story is beautiful. Its easy to see it that way from the safety of its pages, but it is savage, heart wrenching. It is the truth. It is the truest way of life. We are people. We are people who love and we are people who are loved. We are the lucky ones.

We are the ones who are put into books. Who love the great loves and be as we are, happy and ourselves. 

I have less than three weeks. If I think about it, if I didn't know, I wouldn't be impatient. But I am. 

Yet at the same time I'm in this weird limbo. I'm about to start something normal. Something epic. Something that may last the course of my life. Its daunting. Its the idea of achieving something amazing and beautiful. Its about to be normal! It's about to be something I can speak and talk about. Something I can have pride in. Something I can share with others. Someone. I am about to have someone in my life. I'm about to go through things I've only read about.

The last year has proven something to me. Has shown that there is someone out there, worth it. Worth the work and love. That someone out there needed me, someone needed my love, and that my love changed them. 

It did. Patience is a virtue, as I have always been taught. Its taught me, and taught others. Trust. Patience and Love. I have these things. 

28 and the Sadness in Other's Hearts.

I wish I could help everyone.

I wish I could, but I know I cannot. My help isn't always as helpful as they feel they need or want. Some people want from me just sex. Some people want a friend. Some people want to be more than that.

The sex one is easy. Its not something to give away, and often its the most easily dealt with.

The friend seems easy. Its easy to be friends. But for me, I can be weary of how much I give a friend. Some people require a lot of effort, and though we love them as friends we know they drain us, and that its important to put some distance so the enjoyable parts of the friendship don't suffer for it.

Some people want to be friends, and I want to be their friend.

Its hard then, because often, my mannerisms are seen as flirtatious, or they just connect because I want to be their friend.

I remember when I was young and I don't really recall a time when rejecting a friend was something easy. When you do this, you're risking the loss of a friendship. Its something important and I'm so sad when it happens.

Some people want to be more than that. Its something I cannot offer, save for one.

Its only... 38

It's Only....

Its only a few days. It's only a few weeks. Broken down things do seem so much smaller. Or do they add to the weight of the whole? Is a bird still just a bird when you account for all its feathers, all the strands in its feathers, all its cells? Yes. It doesn't change that its a bird. It can alter the perspective of what makes a bird, but it doesn't change the fact that it still sings and flies.

Let's see if I can break the Five weeks down it to bite sized chunks.

12.5 days worth of freedom for me. 12 phone calls.

That's 5 banking days. 5 busy mornings.

1 inspection. A visit from the boss and maybe focus my mind on work. I drift more when I'm anxious and it's much harder to work and socialize than it usually is. I do socialize, but its strained.

2 new staff.

One excellent gift.

8 days with my mother.

One trip away North.

One trip camping.

4 day trip to see my sister.

1 visit.

1 full celebration.

1 empty celebration.

30 morning cries of the steam train.

38 sleeps.

The day before.

The day after.

The days after.

Its the thought of the day after, and the days after, that keep my head and my heart together. The smiles it will bring. The warmth, truth and freedom. Your little whispers to me, through our fingers. The quick engage and I know for a moment that there's only a hazy world consisting of you and me. That we're touching each other's hearts, trying hold them, keep them safe in warm when bitter winds threaten to chill.

You are my favourite person. You are the one I dream and whisper for in the night. You're the warm wind in my hair. You're sun on my back and the rain on my nose. You're the purple heather, the green grouse, the golden leaves, the red grass. You're the stillness on the water. The sparkle in my eye :)

Hold. 41.

Waiting. 42.

My nights are cold where they had once been warm. Cold and yet not with out a light to come. No wavering, no uneasiness. Forwards, slowly. The tide has returned. It splashes over my warm shoulders, sending a cold shock through my body, fading the luster, the warmth I've been holding so close to my skin.

There has been an ax dropped. With teared eyes it will end in six weeks time.

Can I last that long? Is it different now? It is I suppose. Nights I weep for the absence and in the day, I revel in the warmth I had, the things I've done and the memories I've shared. Perhaps my past experience will help me get through this as I did before.

He said once, this would be my year. I suppose it is. It is my year to reach my full potential. It is my year for reaping happiness from seeds of patience and loyalty. Its my year to see another person happy. I am the Anne Elliot. I am the bended knee. I am the quiet bloom waiting for its first ray of sunlight. I am the sunlight, waiting for the clouds to part, so I might see my mountain.

More than Tricky. 43.

The L word.

I've never said it before. Not until a few days ago.

Ironically it was a year ago, the same day, that I sent off for my visa, determined to make a new life for myself. Determined. My loyalty was unbroken and I sensed there was something inherently wrong with what was going on. I was right. And now I'm here. One year later, nearly.

Its resolved now. Nearly. I have one more stretch and then sweet freedom. And I've said it. The L word.

Its a beautiful word. It holds all the power and beauty of a thousand words. It has the power for world peace and the ending of human, animal and earthly suffering. Yet its power creates a vacuum. I am conscious of its prescience of its two and fro. It rises and falls dramatically. No ease, no subtle movements. The glorious heat of a rising sun, or the cold saddening chill of the moon. Yet not. I've always loved the moon for its chilly beauty. It casts the most glorious light, reflected from the sun. The moon is a face shining with the love it knows is there, though cannot always see it. I need this. I need the feeling the moon has.

I am lucky, some would say if they read my story from the pages of a fiction book. And I am. In the end I will get to explore a feeling no one else has, with a person I've never been more comfortable with in all my life. The only person I've ever shared the L word with. His words to treasure. For his ears and eyes alone I write and whisper it. Such a year.

I want right now, for strength and grace to carry me to the end of this. For the L word, in all its happiness to hold my heart high enough above everything that it won't burn. It won't choke or weep. I want the L word to fill me with happiness.

I said it. We said it. In the fragile moment, it was said. For a tenative moment I waited.

"Really?"

"Yeah, of course."

"I ____ you too."

Fear, Love and Greatness

Your fear is not what defines you. Its what you think defines you. But it is only what you are looking at. It's not what defines you in my eyes. It's not what I see. I don't see the fear. I see the wonderful goodness, and the strength to overcome it.

Of course we are weak in moments. Of course there are moments when we are afraid. Pain is not a good feeling, even if we recover from it after, pain is still pain. It is your boundless passion for what you want and what you love.

Your love is what defines you. It creates you, the structure you truly stand upon and builds this magnificent greatness. Your flaws are what make you perfect.

I know why you were scared. You were  hurt so much, that you wait for it and expect it. Its okay. I'll show you its all right. You can take my hand with out fear. We can learn to do this together, to help each other.

In short. Elephant Juice.

Tide

The tides have ebbed and our drowning has passed for a time. Might it be easier to swim next time? I'm unsure.

I've been overwhelmed in the last two days. From a barren absence, from a quiet loneliness, from despair, fear and distance to a step into the light. Dry eyes, wide smile and a restful slumber. A gluttony of basking in the presence of each other. Of quiet time, of excited time. Of overwhelmed, over grateful. Peace. Its such a wild swing.

The far, far a head is always an uncertain creature and we can't know where her serpent tail twists and turns beyond the moment in our hands. Still we remain the hopeful. The grateful. The happy. The excited. Excited. If it's great now, imagine it later.

My desire to learn, to share and grow, to be there, passive or active in my actions. Is to be there. For you. To learn what its like to not fight, to not have to struggle for something, but to have and care for it.

At the same time you fill me with an amazing fire. An energy, a blazing eye that seeks no more but focuses. Fueled by this great joy, it surges towards some kind of greatness. My bones mend in the flames. My skin is knitted and I am reborn in the fire.

I am happy.

I

I poison and mend myself at the same time with my choice in music.

Remember?

Do we remember struggle as we once did? Do we recall that the world was never meant to be easy for us? Do we recall that those lucky enough in one aspect of life may not be in another?

We don't have dragons any more. We don't have Vikings. We don't have savages or cruel masters. Not those who read this. And if they do not in the way the books, and the movies show. Not the way the world wants to paint itself.

The monsters are the men and women in clean pressed suits and tall glass towers. The Vikings come as emails or neat paper notices in the mail.

Struggle comes different and this world was meant to show it struggle.

Remember fighting for something? I don't.

Remember feeling oppressed and subjected and fearing for your life? I don't.

Our struggles come different, glamorized, nevertheless we were meant to struggle for we are human and we err and we struggle in our errs.

The world is painted and yet I see through the paint. I see the canvas and board beneath.

What is more beautiful and right then something that is fought for?

We, humans who idolize love, expect it to come neatly, beautifully upon our laps. No shining knight. No fair maiden. The knights come with tarnished armour and worn horses, splintered shields and dulled blades. The maidens come with torn dresses, ragged hands and breath, with a wild look in their eyes, fearful or angry. Not the glimmering. Not the shining. The world, broken and beautiful as it is.

Why do you think we invented fiction? Because it doesn't shine and someone, some poor writer in a dimly lit road watched the world struggle and wished for once no one did so wrote about the happily ever after story in love that we all seek.

They wrote the gritty in-between. They wrote the struggle, the sadness and the tears. The pulled hair and hems, the fists clenched and beat against a wall, a door, a pillow before weak hands unfold in laps and the tears drip into them. They wrote of the fight with the great beast. Of the screaming horse, of the shattered shield and the horror of near death. They wrote of life. Of love. Of the human spirit, beautiful in its imperfection. Its the making of the greatest story. Because of the struggle in-between.

Immediate satisfaction. Immediate resolution. Resolve and you will be absolved. There was a time when these things would take time. When kings and queens would rise and fall for the sake of a lover. For the sake of the heart. To do what they believed was right because we are people and bound by what makes them who they are. They would wait in the world, with the dark around them.

So quick and perfect we expect the world to be in the modern age, that we forget that hearts are for ever the same. They do no evolve. They have always desired the same thing. Love and kindness. Love and kindness. Love and kindness.

We forget that it does not come in a neat package. We forget it does not arrive as a small green frog. It does not come as a easy ride through the woods to kiss the princess. We forget that it does not come as simple and easy. It comes as something to work with and work for.

It comes as a struggle.

Something worth a thousand fights when you know its right. It comes as something so much more special.

Isn't it the fairytale we read about? Isn't it the patience and the most beautiful struggle, of seeing two people who want to be together, come together? Two people defend and love one another is something in fiction made real. It is a struggle, but it will make what will be so much more beautiful.

Salt and Peper

I've been sexually assaulted three times in my life.

I use this term more broadly then most people would.

Each time I didn't think it was at the time, I just knew after the fact, that I didn't like it and felt ashamed of myself.

Most of the shame comes from me thinking myself a coward. My envisioning of myself is often as a strong woman. Most of my female characters are fiercely independent one way or another.

The first time it was something minor. Something sprung on me, and I didn't care for it, but it last only a second and after I said that I didn't like it and it was never done again.

The other two times time were related. I was heavily intoxicated on both occasions. What I was after was companion ship. After months and months of feeling rejected and abandoned, and largely isolated from men, I craved the attention, something to make me feel a little more human. But the person I sought comfort with wanted something else. Whether or not he was too drunk to realize it, putting his hand over my mouth as I drunkenly tried to protest was something I'm not comfortable with. Something that still lingers when I recall that instance.

It lingers when I saw him there after with other women.

There was an ignorance afterwards, and it was because of the shame brought about him. The shame of being a notch on the belt. The shame of having succumbed. The shame of being thought weak, when I was only reaching out in the wrong way.

I thought laying with him was taking the choices of my body into my own hands and in a way it was, for I chose to lie next to him and be associated with him.

No one should be shamed for their choices. What I didn't get to choose should not be my shame, but his.

Emotionally, I didn't know what was happening and afterwards, I really came to realize who I wanted to be as a person and how much making a stand for what I truly wanted, and hiding behind farces was not going to make me happy. It was going to make me quiet and ashamed of the person that I was, rather than proud. I am proud of what I did after, of how I it made me change my decisions afterwards what I wanted in life.

There is a sad a bitter silence I've noticed about this topic. Women unsure, startled by what has happened and feeling ashamed they let it happen to themselves when it shouldn't have happened. When we go into the arms of another human, we seek and desire comfort and trust. If its taken from us, then we should hold no shame for what someone else has done to us. We should be proud, always.

I've only ever spoken once to one other person about all this, properly and more than this piece lets on.

You

I miss you right now. I missed you in the moment just past and I miss you in the moments to come. I miss being next to you. I miss holding your hand and whispering quietly in the morning. I miss a shoulder to lean on.

I miss you. I miss you so much.

Back to Jack

I was fourteen when I had this need to make alternative worlds. It gave me comfort in the nasty school hallways, with vicious women and wicked men. There were at least people as good as me. I had stranger people around them. I needed to be a hero, but I'm not a selfish person and couldn't do it alone. I needed a team. I needed support and people to interact with, who would help me as much as I helped them. People who had more confidence then me. People who had less.

This world was of course very different from my own. There were many more characters and their powers were much more advanced and fantastical. In my stories now, I remain largely human. It makes the struggles so much more exciting when you have to face them not with wings and super strength, but with personal intelligence and ingenuity. But at the time having wings and a tale was exciting. Most of my real life friends had a power or two. Blessed by some Buffy the Vampire Slayer esque fluke that allowed each little story to run across my high school life and create them. Very few of those people and character transcended the change and dimensional shift I created in my mind, when I wanted something more real and I wanted less baggage to go with it. Yet Jack, with his roots in one of my very first stories made it through.

According to my story, I met Jack at the Library. My home library, where I used to volunteer. His family recently moved him away from his old group of friends. The previous friends had introduced him to drumming, music, alternative religions and people with alternative life styles. Fearful of their son's mental safety as well as the safety of his immortal soul, they moved town. A smaller town, where there were less children, fewer streets and a more conservative town. Why not mine?

Holding the hand of his little sister as they made their way to the restricted Harry Potters, Jack realized he was being watched by myself. Seeing the wild fear ebb slightly with a flickering flame of curiosity, I offered him some help in checking out some other titles like that of Rowling.

I was lucky. He was still angered by his parents taking him away from his new found friends and so decided to warm to me. He expressed his sin-sear interest in  A few nights later, while introducing him to a shared friend, I discovered his gift.  It violently assailed my other friend, but he remained in tacked and there after Jack was protected, often becoming the source of knowledge for a coming adventure or solution to one I had placed myself in. He was protected at all cost and his struggle with a deep foreknowledge was enough. He needed no wings, no tail, no super strength, no fangs. It was the greatest and most terrible gift.

But he came at a time of my early transition from Public School to high school, from writing fan fiction to becoming a writer, and my constant story writing with him helped flesh out and mature my ideas. And he would end up being the thing I strived for, fantasy, but tempered with human struggle. Of course I didn't know it then. All I wanted was a friend to come on adventures with, who was the same as me physically.

It's kind of a simple meeting, but what  started was my writing journey. My friend Jack's protected me against everyone, taking me into hiding when worried I was threatened. He's struggled to better himself despite his disability and fear of people, so that the world does no harm to them as it has to him. Often, when the chips are down, he is the most reliable.

He's been shot in one adventure, made hero in another and was the first one to be given a girlfriend, Lola March, who is still around the outskirts of my story.

Four Other Mes: The Fourth Me

The Fourth me....

Recap, the four characters I've created represent an aspect of my personality and I use each of them in different scenarios of my life to explore ideas, fears and help face things I'm unsure of. I've made the first when I was 14 years old and carried them in my life in one format or another since then, which include University and various personal crisis. I'm writing about them in the order they were created.

The fourth me...

How do I explain Brandon?

Brandon is unfortunate. The most unfortunate in plot, in responsibility and yet I find so much comfort in his character. Especially with the foolish wave of vampire hatred. Stupid Twilight.

At 6'2, Brandon is tall and lean, leaner than Jack, with dark brown, nearly black hair, and the same sand colour eyes as his brother, though they are often seen as darker. His face is more pointed than Oliver's with a thinner mouth, paler skin and shadows under his eyes. His hands are often seen as longer than average. He is two years older than Oliver.

Brandon is part vampire part werewolf. He does not transform into a beast, nor does his heart not beat. He does lust for blood, though less frequently then most vampires. His powers include teleportation (though not as strong as Cody's), telekentics, super strength (on par with Oliver as a human), super healing as well as a grasp of martial arts. Sunlight does not bother him and no food bothers him either. Of the four, he is the most deeply immersed in the ideas and fantasies of other worlds.

Brother to Oliver, Brandon was the other survivor of the family massacre, abducted by those who perpetrated it at the age of fourteen. Genetically, he carries the werewolf gene, but it's recessive, but none the less active. Prior to his abduction, he had a slightly stronger sense of smell, but that was as far as it went. He was abducted by an old line of vampires, who attempted to turn him, but it failed due to his recessive werewolf gene. Stuck between vampire, werewolf and human, he was kept on by the three vampires as a servant, forced to kill on command, once slaughtering an entire village. He was reunited with his younger brother at the age of 19, having finally been released from his bondage. Realizing he could make amends for his actions by caring for his new family, he took upon the duty of herding Oliver when he transformed, being the only one unaffected by his bites.

Brandon is the leader of the four, initially by age, but then as well by experience. He is currently running a security firm, often financing the schooling for the other three by this means. He was the first to drive, the first to own property and the first to have a child, Eli.

Brandon is quiet. Reserved, and much like Jack, he does not trust people completely.

He represents the more animal in me, the primal things I need. The aggression both physical and sexual. Growing comfortable with ideas of sex was something I used Brandon for. But it wasn't just that. It was ideas of new responsibility. He is the one who learned to deal with things, dark things, alone in the dark, and take a clear mind away from it, to make hard choices, for the good of those around him, to protect and guide to safety. He goes into trouble, with careful calculation and thought placed into his actions.

But it wasn't just that. He is the leader, and its that stillness I try to emulate. Brandon is the cold eye in the dark, the watcher, the loner, who, while loves his family can function alone, can meet me in a dark street and walk me the rest of the way home.

Four Other Mes: The Third Me

Recap, the four characters I've created represent an aspect of my personality and I use each of them in different scenarios of my life to explore ideas, fears and help face things I'm unsure of. I've made the first when I was 14 years old and carried them in my life in one format or another since then, which include University and various personal crisis. I'm writing about them in the order they were created.

Thus we have the third. Oliver.

Oliver, Oliver Oliver.

Truly, the abuse of my characters is manifested in Oliver and his family, and yet Oliver is an interesting representation of myself. He is my kindness.

Born in the highlands of Scotland, Oliver lived a happy family life until he was twelve, when his family was killed and he was placed into the foster system. After one failed family after another, he was given the chance to move over seas at the age of fourteen to live in Canada. It was there he forged documents to live independently in the same town as Jack, and by proxy, Cody. Both became very much his family life. He has a deep love for dogs, owning three at one point, but now only one Pyrenees/German Shepard cross named bear. He went through school to be a social worker, but found the work unfulfilling and turned instead to firefighting.

Oliver is afflicted with a more fantastical "gift" then either Jack or Cody's who are both able to hide theirs. He is from an old line of werewolf. His transformations during a full moon are violent and painful, and once changed he has a blood lust for human, though once slated with another animal, such as goat, sheep or cow, will no longer hunt so vigorously, but merely prowl his territory for prey. When in his human form, his sense of smell, hearing and over all strength are increased, though weakest at the new moon. Due to the painfulness of his transformations, he has a high pain threshold, high metabolism, veracious appetite and quick healing properties.

In human form he stands 5' 11, initially a thin boy from malnutrition through the foster homes, is now a well developed, broad shouldered man. His hair is a dark, chestnut brown, though sometimes alters, depending on his transformations, to sandier colours, matching that of his light brown eyes. His hands are rough and calloused from work. His skin veers towards olive or tanned because of his outdoors interests. His hobbies include down hill biking, wilderness marathons and occasionally guitar.

Oliver represents, as I said above, my kindness and need for security. In every job I've ever been in he's "shared" the work. My defender if I'm scared or feel unsure of my place in work. If I travel, I have him there too, sitting in the seat beside me.

You'd think this would go to Cody, based on the relation to Jack and his "Martial skill' but Oliver holds this spot for the kindness and outgoing nature he still shares with Cody. Friendly, trusting and often a shoulder for everyone to lean on. The sturdiest and most reliable in most aspects of life.

His only down fall is the aggressive monster inside of him which forces a more closed off life to those not closest to him, however, few questions are asked of others as it generally only once a month.

Oliver is my Kindness and security.

Four Other Mes: The Second Me

Recap, the four characters I've created represent an aspect of my personality and I use each of them in different scenarios of my life to explore ideas, fears and help face things I'm unsure of. I've made the first when I was 14 years old and carried them in my life in one format or another since then, which include University and various personal crisis. I'm writing about them in the order they were created.

Then there's the second ever created. The exact counter to Jack. Cody.

Cody is short, 5'6.5 with ice blue eyes and raven black hair which was once put into a shaved mowhawk, but now put into a faux hawk. He has a more pointed face, oval with a nose which has a slight nick in it from being broken a few times. His skin freckled more when he was younger but faded and smoothed into an even pallor and tans poorly. At one time he sported more than 27 body piercings but now only has 7- 13 of them including one nasal, three in each ear lobe, a viper bite, and the lower lip in the center. Additionally he has seven tattoos, of hamlet's scull, native bear, the celtic tree of life baring his sisters' names underneath, Hades and various others.

Son of a wealthy, abet spineless architect and abusive alcoholic mother, Cody spent large portions of time away from home, hanging about on the streets with poorer street kids until his younger sister Jennifer was born. During this time he learned the guitar and to do tricks on a bike. After this his mother grew resentful of him as he defended his younger sister against the abuse. He developed the ability to teleport. Following this development he quit smoking and began learning martial arts, which he still continues to this day, as a means to refine his skill. At the same time he started traveling over seas, learning 7 different languages, including Mandarin, French, German, Spanish, Russian, Norwegian and Portuguese.

Despite these improvements in himself, he was still forced to remain with his family to protect his sister Jenny and their baby sister Rosie until at the age of twenty two, an accident in the house resulted in child services being called. Cody now has full custody of both siblings.

Cody is the fun side of myself. His enthusiasm for the world and trying new things is what he represents. He is out going despite his troubles and maintains a youthful exuberance against anything that tries to bring him down. Even war, blood and death roll of his back.

He also maintains my sense of loyalty. While he goes off on adventures, he never forgets his family and they are his first priority. His family and Jack. Aware of his friend's weaknesses, sheltered youth and the abuse they both faced, and is the first to defend him. He tries to encourage Jack to trust while taking head of his friend's advice. He thinks before he speaks and leaps before he looks, but he always does it with good intentions. He learns things I've always wanted to, he does things I'm limited to.

Often, when I'm going to a party, I find myself in Cody's company. He'll warm up easy to a crowd. He'll make friends and do cool things and they'll accept him for who he is and he wont listen to the pressures of a crowd, but be himself.

Cody is my friend. He is the outside energy I want to show more often. The confidence in life.

Four Other Mes: The First Me

How do I explain my most precious coping mechanism?

I write, this is clear enough, but why did I get into writing?

It was usually to deal with some aspect of my life I found overwhelming in my head; an event to come, a new job, traveling somewhere, sadness, exploring my own metal state, and loneliness.

I didn't do it though, by writing a best seller, but by developing characters, that are, for all intensive purposes, imaginary friends. I use them in all sorts of stories. Fan fiction, my own stories, novels and various day to day imaginings.

I never expected to carry these characters along with me, nor did I expect them to help me through my troubles. With them, I can project ideas and imagine how they would react. Bounce ideas off them. Or I can use them in novels, where I don't want to be the only one in on the adventure. Of course, because I love fantasy, they're not completely human. They each carry an aspect of me. Of something I wish to be, and of something I am. Some have more of these, some have less.

Clockwise from the top: Cody, Oliver, Brandon, and Jack. Not all descriptions apply. 

They're names are Jack, Cody, Oliver and Brandon. This is the order I created them in.

Jack is very tall. The tallest, and created when I was 14 and he's the same age as me. He was created as a friend who could see the future, raised by evangelical parents who tried to cure his fit like visions by sending him to an experimental psychological, resulting in a deep psychological issues, including anxiety attacks, sever mistrust and occasional paranoia. This combined with the visions result in an anxious man, wild around the eyes.

He's tall, six foot six in total with lean build, though inclined to muscle in the last four years. His hair is hay blonde and with wide, blue eyes. A squarish jaw, straight nose, and straight mouth to match, often serious, but with neat white teeth when he does smile.

His visions come in violent, fit-like spams, and he is not to be touched when they happen or he risks losing the vision.

In his teens he was much more anxious, and this seemed only cured by physical activity, including drums and skateboarding. He would avoid friendships with anyone save his sister, often bullied in school. When he was 14, he abandoned the religion of his parents, after making friends with a young group of rockers and punks. He fell in love with music at this time and discovered his skill in drums.  Despite this, he still maintains his love for them, and his younger sister Elizabeth. Once moving away to school, and therefore out of their stern hold.

In university he studied to be a doctor, but turned towards psychology. During this time he took time to become more physically fit, taking a few combat courses and gun training. He is skilled with long range weapons and the human art of stealth when he wants to. While studying for his Masters (at the age of 22/23), he had a psychotic break and was forced to take a years absence from his work. During this time he found it difficult to leave home or the security of the other three friends. He has returned to school part time.

Jack is interesting, in my imaginary interactions with him, its almost always platonic, and, more often then not, I am more protective of him than he is of I, but of the four he has the greatest potential for leadership, his mental illness being the only thing holding him back. The other three, especially Cody, guard him fiercely and his skill is the most unspoken of, for risk of its discovery.

When I feel fearful and scared and suffer from psychological breaks my self, its his over arching plot path that becomes the most disrupted. Yet it is he who comforts me when I'm mentally lost and alone. If he can get through it, with everything he's been put through, then I can. I have someone who needs me to be strong because they need to keep going because of it.

My trust is most reflected in Jack. I don't trust immediately and it may seem that I do, but I don't completely. My deepest secret is his deepest secret and we share it only with those we know the most and know won't break us.

As I've grown, Jack has gotten better about his anxieties, and his problems are as much a problem as mine. He's a reminder I need to take care of my self, but in the right way. Trust when its right, and my humanity. To struggle against things I think are wrong, and to watch and listen, for it is watching and listening that Jack does best. He's the one I go to in trapped situations, because for him there is no escape. He can either panic or figure a way out and it needs to be the same way for me.

Jack is the most of me, the most deepest of my insides.

Night x

I went away for the night. To the big city. It was nice, though anxious. The last time I went to this city on a bus, I was taking a plane and the plane lead to this last year of troubles.

It wasn't bad, but I immediately found that I am no longer a city person. My desire to lie on grass, sit beside a bubbling river and listen to the wind in the trees was over whelming. But I had instead only to look at concrete walls and hundreds of loveless faces.

Of course old buildings are magical and beautiful. Of course when the sun hits the white marble, Neo-classical building side I'm supposed to be captured by its beauty and marvel at human ingenuity. But it was only for a second. It left a hole in me afterwards. Where's the fresh air? The clear water? Where are the mountains, dominating the skyline, making sure we know that we are human and can achieve more than a fat bank account.

I got to hear from him. Its been 13 days. The first stretch was agony. I was not myself and struggled to control impulsive messaging. Not to mention that I cried at the drop of a hat. Keeping it together has been work. Its still work and when I was in the city, it was nice not having to worry about where I walked. I could even message, about nothing heavily personal, just comic books and such but it was enough for me then. My smile was that of a patient, nearly zen woman, who could stand the test of a few more weeks.

I guess I'm that way now, but being back only brings reminders of what I feel I'm missing.

I had a big empty bed all to myself there, as I do here, and I couldn't help but immediately think of him. Not of sex, but rather of quiet holdings. Of soft touches and low mumbled words before tickles ensue.

The struggle we're both facing is different from each other. Patience and strength are my lessons, the last stretch of it, while strength and courage are his.

He sent me something that keeps my hopes up. It was not the day conversation, quiet and nothing particular. It was the message at 11:53 pm. Night x.

Did you miss me? Did you think of me in the big empty bed, away from the world, where we don't have to worry about running into someone? Where all our struggles are put aside for a deep breath of peace. It wasn't until the early hours of morning that I got the message, but it was nevertheless a warm ray of sunshine on a grey city day.

Strength and patience. The thing you need most is a soft place to land when all this is over and it cannot be done if my strength doesn't hold. So many people have given up on you, failed and abandoned and I won't. I can't.

My strength won't hold if I see you, I know that. I'll melt into a puddle. Not because I'm not strong, but around you I can be myself most. You and me get to share our truthful selves and that's pretty beautiful.

But right now, I miss you.

Last Week I Went On A Date

I went on a date a week ago today.

I feel like I should discuss something positive here. Nothing flowery. Nothing full of longing and despair. I will discuss all the great things for the next two weeks following.

As always, it involves a touch of stealth. Can't be found out yet. Not yet but soon. We met and decided to go about a half hour outside of the main town. He was going to take me to this burger joint over looking the valleys and lochs.

We held hands the whole way, chatted and discussed how things were.

We arrived, but it turns out the burger joint was closed, not quite ready for the season yet. Luckily I made sandwiches, avocado, bacon and cheese and we enjoyed a sweet kiss afterwards. No. Not sweet, the greatest kiss. A kiss I hadn't experienced since last July.

Part way back we stopped off in a pub, shared a pint or two, another amazing kiss. We played pool, chatted to people with no fear. Not a fear of getting caught or found. I was free for a moment. The way he touched the nape of my neck, smooth, gentle touches. When we needed to go, he kissed the top of my head, and we pinky swore to it.

I wanted to give a good day. No tears. No sadness. A glimpse for him, of what it would be like.

It wasn't going to be easy and you knew this. You knew this from the start. You knew, that the end would be the hardest part, for you have to watch him struggle through this as much as you, but apart. You each have to fight your own battle. Yours in patience, true patience for something great. And for him… truth? Strength? Understanding? You cannon know until he tells you. You have to trust him and hope he trusts you.

Your the one I want.

This is Your Start

Three weeks. Three weeks.
It feels like an age.

I have every hope and trust, but I have fear and envy clawing at my heart.

You don't have to hope.

I know. I know, from that sweet gift you gave my mouth.From the smooth touch of your hand. From the words you've whispered endlessly to me over the last three weeks.

I'm relying on those around me to keep my spirits up, to keep my chin from my chest. Of course the tears will come. Longing is painful and waiting is hard, especially

Did you think this would happen to me? Did you think at the start, through all that pain? Did you think I would get a chance? Maybe I did believe. I knew I suppose. I makes me happy, teary to think of what's to come. To think of the shot I get at love.

Of course the final stretch is the hardest, with the goal just in sight. With my heart just right.

Love is always worth it. You are always worth it.

Magic, Shake, Light

Your song to me.

The Fire in my Belly

The Song to keep me going.

Magic 

Call it magic

Call it true

I call it magic

When I'm with you

And I just got broken

Broken into two

Still I call it magic

When I'm next to you

And I don't and I don't and I don't and I don't

No, I don't it's true

I don't, no I don't, no I don't, no I don't

Want anybody else but you

I don't, no I don't, no I don't, no I don't

No, I don't it's true

I don't, no I don't, no I don't, no I don't

Want anybody else but you

Call it magic

Cut me into two

And with all your magic

I disappear from view

And I can't get over

Can't get over you

Still I call it magic

Such a precious jewel

And I don't and I don't and I don't and I don't

No, I don't it's true

I don't, no I don't, no I don't, no I don't

Want anybody else but you

I don't, no I don't, no I don't, no I don't

No, I don't it's true

I don't, no I don't, no I don't, no I don't

Want anybody else but you

Want to fall, fall so far

I want to fall, fall so hard

And I call it magic

And I call it true

I call it magic

And if you were to ask me

After all that we've been through

Still believe in magic?

Yes, I do

Of course I do

No Light, No Light

You are the hole in my head

You are the space in my bed

You are the silence in between

What I thought and what I said

You are the night time fear

You are the morning when it's clear

When it's over you're the start

You're my head, you're my heart

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes

I never knew daylight could be so violent

A revelation in the light of day

You can't choose what stays and what fades away

And I'd do anything to make you stay

No light, no light

No light

Tell me what you want me to say

Through the crowd, I was crying out

And in your place there were a thousand other faces

I was disappearing in plain sight

Heaven help me, I need to make it right

You want a revelation,

You wanna get it right

But it's a conversation,

I just can't have tonight

You want a revelation

Some kind of resolution

You want a revelation

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes

I never knew daylight could be so violent

A revelation in the light of day,

You can't choose what stays and what fades away

And I'd do anything to make you stay

No light, no light

No light

Tell me what you want me to say

Would you leave me,

If I told you what I've done?

And would you need me,

If I told you what I've become?

'Cause it's so easy,

To say it to a crowd

But it's so hard, my love,

To say it to you out loud

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes

I never knew daylight could be so violent

A revelation in the light of day,

You can't choose what stays and what fades away

Shake it Out

Regrets collect like old friends

Here to relive your darkest moments

I can see no way, I can see no way

And all of the ghouls come out to play

And every demon wants his pound of flesh

But I like to keep some things to myself

I like to keep my issues drawn

It's always darkest before the dawn

And I've been a fool and I've been blind

I can never leave the past behind

I can see no way, I can see no way

I'm always dragging that horse around

Our love is pastured, such a mournful sound

Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground

So I like to keep my issues drawn

But it's always darkest before the dawn

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh whoa

And I am done with my graceless heart

So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart

'Cause I like to keep my issues drawn

It's always darkest before the dawn

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh whoa

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

And given half the chance would I take any of it back

It's a fine romance but it's left me so undone

It's always darkest before the dawn

Oh whoa, oh whoa...

And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't

So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road

And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope

It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat

'Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me

Looking for heaven, found the devil in me

Well what the hell I'm gonna let it happen to me, yeah

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh whoa

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

So shake him off, oh whoa

The Sun

Its like rain and sun. 

I like rain, but it can't be rain every day.

I promise not to burn you.

I know it now. You're the one I want to be with. You don't need to worry about hoping anymore. I'll be there [taps my heart], through the last of the fire. I promise, then we can be together.

I know it. I know this feeling.

And all the blood rush to my heart.

And there-with kest I doun myn eye ageyne,

Quhare as I sawe, walking under the toure,

Full secretly, new cummyn hir to pleyne,

The fairest or the freschest yong{.e} floure

That ever I sawe, me thoght, before that houre,

For quhich sodayn abate, anon astert

The blude of all my body to my hert.

And then I cast my eyes down again,

Where I saw, walking under the tower,

Secretly, newly come to lament,

The fairest and freshest young flower

That ever I saw, I thought, before that hour

Which suddenly made my body start

And all the blood rush to my heart.

The Long Way Home

I recall the way you tried to smooth my brow. To calm my nerves and draw out the pain that was causing it. There is, at this time no way to do that.

We had a picnic on the floor in the evening. Chips, a few sweet things. A brush of my hair, as Game of Thrones and a movie of true friendship flicker across the screen. We lounge against one another.

Long talks about the Fire to come. The one we both must walk through, though not hand in hand. Through the gaps in the flame I might see your eyes and hear your voice but I will not touch your skin or hold you in my arms. The last of it perhaps?

You told me a great thing, and how you finally came to believe in me. When you finally came to believe in me. I didn't realize how long I was fighting for, the heavy long fight. Its not over. There is still a long walk before me.

I starred into your eyes, sweet and green, with an amber middle. I wanted the colour. I wanted to see the brightness. And when nightmares got the best of me, you pulled me close and said it would be okay, as you do every time you find us parted, and wake from it.

I can give you a few things right now. Time, security, and a ear that will listen. A friend that will comfort and a hope.

You told me things, of when to be ready. Of what would happen if things were to brighten and Dawn to rise. Time. I promised I would give you time. I promise time. For you say to me I have all the time,

Our whole lives. 

You asked me to be strong, just a little longer for you, and in return, you would be strong for me in my hard times.

I wont forget the words you said. I Promise to be good in this :)

Sleep

I'm shattered, emotionally, after a storm of words took hold in my heart and failed to surrender, but instead tried to burn it down from within. The flames in-sighting fear in my soul.

I pour over book, text and recording in an attempt to quell the cold fire that creeps.

Soon, one day soon I will not have to tremble, silent and alone. One day soon I will wake up and you'll draw me back into your arms, kiss my head and murmur sweet words before we fall back into a warm sleep.

I'm exhausted. The walls of my strong hold are down. How do I do this?

I'm trying to maintain, feed off the words and the moments and seconds, hours, even days--if I was lucky enough to gain them. The soft, gentle touch. I want to lounge against you, soft, warm and safe. Safe. Safe.

Saved

I dreamed of Him again.

I dreamed I was running from my grandmother, who had sent her dogs to hunt me through the bitter cold snow. The snow was deep, to my knees, and I was dressed in boots and skinny jeans and a large hoodie. I ran from the dogs. Send the dogs. Her words echoed in my ear.

I run in the bright snow. I need to go somewhere safe. I see the minsters house. I know they're not there. I know that He's there, inside. I ring the door bell, and collapse into the snow, trying to hide from the dogs and to tired to stand.

He answers, wearing his glasses, jeans and a t-shirt, but I remember the glasses well, and brings me in the warm house. Sits me down and gives me tea and smiles, continuing with his painting.

No one could get me in this white house. I was safe. He saved me.

Sunshine

I had an interesting encounter. But it has a story behind it. Three years ago, in my final years of University, I met a man, and for the sake of the story we'll call him Perseus.

Perseus and I met at a party a year before. He was friendly and charming and I'd had run ins with a string of dick heads.

I had very little in the way of emotional confidence. I was new to the idea of relationships, a late bloomer as it were, trying to figure out how people worked and how far out I should stretch my hearts hand. Burning myself out for a year on an unrequited love, followed by two shitting flings, one with a strangling racist (he got off on that stuff/surprised me with it), and the other by a dirt bag military man, who never spoke to me again.

So when a nice acting guy, and good looking, came along with nice words and wanted to speak with me, before getting into my pants, I fell pretty fast. Turns out though, after 3 months of perpetual conversation, he had a girlfriend. Yet he maintained a flirty relationship esque conversation with me. I was heart broken at first. And I suppose that's where my sign should have started.

But then I went home. I went home to a string of crap jobs, living with my parents in a place where I was uninterested in any of the men. It was all not so bad, but he maintained conversation, to the point that I went back to my Uni City, where we met, he took me for dinner and he proceeded to kiss me on the cheek good night.

It moved a little faster after that.

I got a fancy job in my home town and he was going to Uni again, on the other side of the world. I came back one last time to visit him, and that time he kissed me. It was a nice sweet kiss.

I had sunk in deep by then. I was emotionally dependent on his attention, which he continued to maintain, even after he left for the other side of the world. I held on to the fragments of text I was handed, saving every nice thing. I delved into things he liked, Metal, football (which turns out are interests of mine, but not nearly so intensely) and blocked out things he didn't, like hippie stuff and being anything but Posh and doing posh things. It sullied me with false pride. Desperate. Like I was in an emotional dessert and he was my lifeline to water. Anytime he was having a problem, I was there to try and help.

Perseus would tell me about the crap he went through with his girls too, how they never shared an interest and how they never got him. I always wanted to shout that I got him.

I got a little better by the summer of next year. My job had paid well and I'd taken a little trip.

What a trip. I wanted to see him so bad, but I didn't want to look as desperate as I felt. So I went a little north. Little did I know what would happen to me in this land, that I would fall for its rugged mountains, kind people and the new start I felt I could make if I stayed.

But I didn't and I went home with out seeing him, for he made no effort to meet me part of the way. I went home weeping.

Summer wasn't so bad though. I made money, saw friends and finished, at the end the fancy (and hated) job.

Fall, I started new work, in a place I loved, surrounded by books and good people. I learned my love for serving people and working with the public a bit more. It was good and I was getting closer to better again, stronger again.

And it was then, with the new job, that the messages started again. Perseus had broken up with his girl who'd gone over with him. Not only that, but with school done, he was in desperate need of a job. He needed me to help him, to get him through the day, to pass the time and send the affection I so desperately wanted returned by someone. He started with old nicknames, his favourite being Sunshine.

One of those emotional lows.

He spoke to me again. For months he chatted, until he got a job, then, he was coming back to the country for a visit. I was elated. He wanted to meet! I was even more excited. Finally, it was falling in my lap.

So when the time came, I met him. There was the potential for a relationship I thought. I slept with him. I was set for it to be something more than that. I wanted something akin to a relationship, care and love. I would come over in three months, once my money was finally settled. It would be a nice time of year and good to see a bit more of the world. Perhaps we could start something more settled.

I should have seen myself then, weak and shaking, and on the edge of tears. I was cloaked in my own fear and couldn't see it, dependent on someone who could see it, and used it when he wanted. The last day was strangled by tears, and heartache. It was my mind, my own little heart trying to tell me the truth, and I didn't know it. I couldn't hear its voice over the din of smooth words and loveless sounds he handed me. I should have known. Yet we cannot. Not in that state.

Then he went home, and the messages slowed fast after his first week of being back. After the second week, he told me he'd met someone over there. That's when I came up with his current, and forever nickname, Heartbreaker.

I spent three months in a deep state of depression. There were not thoughts of suicide, but I cried every day for nearly a month. At least twice a day. It took my dad's strictness and unwavering love for me to get me out of bed everyday, to be an adult and woman and try and take control of the life I felt was slipping through my hands. He worked so hard that winter, taking care of my mother, but I don't think he realized (or maybe he did) that he was saving me too.

I was determined to still go across the ocean though. It was at my mother's encouragement. She's the one that always makes me feel like my wild adventures are good, even the best ideas. Seeing the world would help open my eyes, and she pushed me, even through her own struggles, to look forwards to that. To hold on to my hopeful goal.

My plan was to Go to Germany, then Scotland, then make my way south to Heartbreaker from there after a week in the Highlands.

When I left, I didn't cry so much. I was getting better. My family was around me more, and their happy laughter was a great relief. They built upon the foundation my mother and father started.

A few friends came out of hiding too, and their love reminded me of what love was. Of what kindness and true caring was. Of what it was to have fun again. To laugh.

I had my last cry for him, alone, in the basement of my loving Aunt and Uncle's guest room.

After that I grew stronger, new experiences, and new people filled my life. I went to Scotland, but after 4 days, my plans to travel south were pushed back and pushed back. I started taking control in my actions. I started letting myself live again.

He came to visit me.

At the end of my trip he journeyed north, for two nights staying with me and meeting my friends. He noticed it, as much as I noticed it myself. The glow. The happiness. And it was in the first leg of our trip north, I realized I was no longer tied down to him. He'd become just a friend. I would not begrudge him for what he'd put me through. What's the bother in doing that? Hate and anger take up to much energy.

He's contacted me again. The next girl broke with him. I know his patterns pretty well, and I feel bad, as a friend does for anyone who is broken up. He started asking me questions about coming south, about why he didn't date girls that mirrored his interests. He called me Sunshine again. I don't care for that title. Its not mine. I'm not your sunshine anymore, not your sustenance. I'm your friend.

Its been a year, almost, since I left for Europe. I live here now, but not down south. I have a good paying, new job doing something I think I really enjoy, in the very house that I first came to. In the cradle of the home that was my final repair. The place that took the broken creature and taught her new and wonderful things. That introduced her to some of the most amazing people in the world. The place that house my own personal liberty. My freedom. I thank him for that.

Or should I thank my own heart? For being there for me, for teaching me a lesson in what love is? Yes. Perhaps I thank my heart, and the people inside it.

Song Bird

I was happy enough today that I cried. Right when I was feeling at my lowest, a little song bird hummed. Song bird. Don't chase them, feed them, love them. This song bird likes me.

Things are changing. For the good. For the best. Nothing will stop me.

Romantic comedies are a hateful creature to me. I don't like the way they show suffering. It is no great suffering. Perhaps its the reason I like Jane Austen's Persuasion. They sit somewhere between painfully offensive and far more fanciful than even Lord of the Rings. At least in Tolkien the love interests died happily ever after... eventually.

Eventually...

I don't really have much to say here outside of that.

I can't get you out of my head, menace. I want to just come across and kiss you. I want to do nice things to you.

I want to, too, but I want more to wait until its right. You bunhead. 

He has every confidence in me in my up coming work.

Sometimes I just want to run away. - M

Don't run away. Don't go. - B



Thank you for taking care of me. - M

You were stinkin'. Garlic and what ever shite you ate. Made me bock[gag]. And you kept saying sorry. But I wiped your spewy hair and face and carried you to bed. I'll always be there for you. To take care of you. -- B

And we almost kissed again... Yeah. Almost kisses are pretty intense. Its like denying a pair of magnets, this buzzing draw between the two of them. Instead he held me on his couch, close, kissed the top of my head enough times to make my lips jealous of my hair. Enough times to dry away my worries. There's someone who cares in all this. He does. I know he does.

I laughed at some point, and you asked why. It's because you were trying so hard to cheer me up. Every time you do that you make me smile more.

I don't deny its nothing shy of a nightmare. But the whole world stretches before me, and I can see its long and far. Patience has always been my lantern and hope the fire inside. Don't make it to big or it burns through your fuel. Don't set it to low, or it will go out. But hold it high when you want to guide your way through life. Let it be the light that guides your steps. Let it be the smile at the corner of your mouth.

Menace.

New Art

Going

Winter Walk

Hold me Close

Test Subjects

The Shadow Calls

Lead me Back/Come with Me

Hold On

Nanny

Thank you for taking care of me. And inviting me out.

Visitation

My legs hurt. I ran to His place at 5.

There was some comforting. Sleep.

Strong together. So soft and beautifully warm. Cradled and wondrous.

Strength. Warm cuddles that wash the worry away, and help me with my heart. All will be well.

So tired.

Only Tears of Happiness

I was quite surprised that a show such as Downton Abbey would inspire me.

I will be, as Anna and Branson. I can play my part for a time. I will grace my part.

I feel the pieces cracking and I must now take a true step back, and let them fall.

Last night I was saddened, heavy in my chest, because I let my pain into my heart. I felt weak suddenly, and he felt so much stronger. All my walls start falling then, and I just wanted him to hold them up, as I will his.


You are an incredible person. And I'll always be there for you.

I'll always be there for you, too.

Promise, one day, at the end, when this is all resolved, that there will be no more tears.

What about tears of happiness?

Only tears of happiness.

A Little Hug

Moist eyes long for a quiet hug. A stroke of the hair. That's all.

Requited

J's eyes were all over you. -B

I know. He was a bit pissy by the time we left. - M

Poor J... - B

I do feel bad. I mean I know how he feels. - M

Huh? - B

I just understand the way he feels. Of liking someone and -      - M

Its different with you though. Your feelings are reciprocated. - B

Society

Breathe. Relax your mind. 

But it’s the moment about an hour and a half before hand. When I'm lying in his arms, my body rife with panic, and terror, coming in the form of heavy tears and an aching breath. Somehow, you know what to do to settle my soul.

Laying on an old flowered couch, covered in a drop clothe, plaster and saw dust, you cradle my head, hold my temple. Relax your mind. Relax your mind. I could hear your breathing deep. It reminded me of something from a movie. Your breathing. The soft tone of your voice. I wasn't better. Not one hundred percent, but the slow, even rise and fall of your chest against me made it feel.

I think my need to stick this through, is as much to help you as it is me.

(The movie I'm referencing is Hit and Run, the intro scene to the couple)