Therapy

Chain-smoking
in the dark,
watching
all that shit
exhaled
like it's
nothing,
not doing
anything
to me.
Wishing
it was
just
that
easy.

Darkened

Pray
for the breaking, for the crash, to just
come
and
consume
the pressure that's
crushing
that little piece of humanity
clinging
to the last innocent shard of your heart.

Roar
in defiance, to
push
that imminent breaking--you
know
you
crave
it more than breath, but you
know
you can't
clean
the inevitable pieces fast enough to
hide
the inside that will
burst
outside as soon as you
exhale.

Shelter
that small morsel of innocence before you
rupture
and all the darkened rest of you
floods
that tender, tough, tiny thing that
nudges,
oh, so gently, to
remind
you to
remain
true, clean and more than just a shadow of everyone else.

Breathe
deep to
rediscover
the lukewarm goodness
cradled
in that shrinking heart that
stretches
to keep
pounding
not so far beneath the surface,
whispering
weakly at whatever piece of you will
listen,
in the shimmering hope that you'll
wake
and
remember
that you don't have to
die
in the dark.

Patience

Patience. Not really my strongest suit.

There's this guy I've been seeing. It's been rewarding and frustrating at the same time: he's intelligent, attractive, hilarious and a gentleman. The frustration has come from the fact that I'm used to being chased, and he's not doing that. He's definitely making sure to hang out with me and make sure i know he's interested, but the pace is such that i wonder if he's genuinely busy or simply testing me. I don't enjoy being tested.

However, i am definitely, definitely interested in this guy. He's phenomenal. The conversations we have are intelligent, educated, and vary greatly in subject. The physical attraction is definitely there. The way he treats me is incredibly respectful, something Im not used to. When we hang out, he only ever looks at my face. Nearly identical sense of humor. Interested in the day-to-day details. Always texts me good night and good morning. Adorable. Pays for everything. Has his own place, car and job. No kids. Loves dogs. Ambitious. As interested in keeping his mind in shape as his body. Package deal.

But me, being impulsive, slightly insecure, and impatient....trying too hard. Gotta play the lady who knows what she's worth and is looking for the man willing to take his to get to know and woo her. (never really been wooed)

We've gone out a few times and he's never tried to kiss me. Slightly perplexed.

Gotta be patient. It'll be sweeter for it.

Stupid. Drives me crazy. Especially because i can't tell if he's doing it purposely to make me chase him, or if that's just how he is.

Don't care. Gonna breathe, keep focusing on work, and let it go how it's gonna go.

Also, he has an incredibly psycho ex. Hilarious to watch and hear about. Poor guy.

Ugh. I'll make it.

Fear.

Nothing strikes a little fear in the heart of a woman living alone like an overly persistant wannabe rebound showing up on your doorstep unannounced.

This is why I thank God for pit bulls and handguns. Douchebag tried being clever, talking about "how much tension he could relieve for me" if only i'd let him in the door. When "fuck off" fell on deaf ears, he informed me (with a predatory grin) that I was "lucky he was feeling polite and choosing to stay outside", to which I responded with a gun in his face, my big-headed pit bull snarling at my side (love how dogs pick up emotions, and love how outrageously protective Kilo is of me), and a clear-cut, no-bullshit statement letting Mr. Pricktastic know that he had 30 seconds to get his ass off my property before I pumped him full of lead and let Kilo have the rest while I called the cops. I also let him know that if I ever saw his face on my property I would assume he was attempting rape and would shoot first, ask questions later.

Douchebag. Did not know who he was fucking with.

Obviously, I've been on fairly high-alert since then. Luckily, spazztastic little Blue barks when someone shuts their car door three blocks away; he actually heard Pricktastic's car before I did and gave me the invaluable 15 seconds it took to get my gun and make sure there was one in the chamber. Blue's like a freaking alarm system, and Kilo's all muscle. Love my dogs.

I am more than willing to admit I am a prideful, stubborn and overly trash-talking woman. I do not tolerate threats, period. That being said, someone showing up on my doorstep unexpectedly and expecting to be able to simply talk and/or force their way into my bed shook me up a little. I definitely have spent the last couple days with my gun constantly within 2 seconds' reach, one in the chamber, safety engaged.

The funny thing about fear and my stubborness: I hate being scared. I usually get over my fear by getting really, really pissed off that I let something/someone have any kind of control over my life, my mind and my heart.

Pissed off Lace is not someone you want to mess with.

That being said, I'm off to sleep; mostly pissed as hell, slightly scared, and overall, blessed. I have a roof over my head, a dependable car, an income, food, and two stupid dogs who snuggle the shit out of me and keep me warm at night.

Amen.

Solitary

Here's the deal: Matt left me. It sucks. I'm learning I'm a lot stronger than I thought I was.

Living alone is one of the hardest things I've ever done. Seriously. The nights are hard, the silence is so deeply insistent on soul-searching that it burns, and the one-sided conversations with my dogs or my TV are... well... ridiculous. Right now, my goals are to PAY MY RENT, become a pool shark, and learn to rap. The rapping is actually coming along fairly well. I figure Eminem was the first really good white rapper, Nikki Minaj is one of the best female rappers, sooo... I should probably be the first amazing white female rapper. It's gonna happen. Don't worry.

In the meantime, I'm freaking out. Hours at work were cut to the point that I can't afford everything by myself, so I'm frantically searching for a room mate and/or a second job. The downside is that my newest four-legged brute, Kilo (American Bulldog/American Staffordshire mix), is absolutely horrid when left alone. Seriously. So he has to be crated while I'm gone, which means he's locked up while I'm at work.

Also in the meantime, apparently I'm a hot commodity. The rebound offers are nearly uncountable. It's ridiculous. I've never felt more like a piece of meat in my entire life. Have had a couple of bad (and fairly scary) instances, learned my lesson, and have definitely taken more realistic precautions against people who may decide to just show up at my house.

Ugh.

Stupid men.

Other than the incredible weight-loss inducing stress I'm trudging through every day, things are good. Seriously, I'm a lot stronger than I thought I was. There were so many things I thought that I couldn't do, and then when Matt moved out, I found out that I could. And it's incredible, though also humbling, when I find something I actually can't do. Having to ask my neighbors and/or friends for help has definitely brought my ego down to a more manageable level, though figuring out all the things I can do and deal with on my own have solidified what's left of it.

Pretty sure this is a good thing. No, I know it's a good thing, because it's hard. Despite the rumors, threats, trash-talking and loss of known foundation, I'm building my own self out of nothing but myself. It's tough. It's weird. I'm not looking to anyone but myself to be my example, and I'm discovering a lot of ugly things in the mirror.

Here's to flipping off that asshole in the mirror and walking away.

Disappointment.

Hard to not let it in and take over.

Struggle

As one of the only Christians among my very close friends and family, I struggle. Not that anyone makes fun of my faith or challenges me (though they could). I just...struggle. I am one of the few in my life that believes in (even I don't always follow) the Bible, and sometimes it's just...hard.

Today, when I walked into my dad's house, he yelled, "Lace! Thank (gosh) you're here!" like I was some kind of superhero. Typical of my hilarious father. Some time later, he said that I should do the same thing when he walks into my house, that it could be "our thing". I told him I couldn't. He had a confused expression on his face when he asked me why, and I explained, after some hesitation, that I don't take the Lord's name in vain. He told me, basically/in other words, that it wasn't, because I could be actually thanking God that he was there. I told him I didn't want to because I didn't like it.

He seemed upset and a little put off by it; I asked if he could remember the last time I took the Lord's name in vain. He countered with the fact that "God" isn't really His name, just the name we gave Him. I told him I still didn't like it. He (considerately) tried to think of an alternative but equally catchy phrase we could use once he realized I was serious, and even encouraged me to as well, so we could still have our "thing".

We didn't come up with anything.

The rest of my visit he seemed troubled--at the time I thought it was because of other things we were discussing, but looking back, I wonder if it really was because this is, quite honestly, the first time I haven't played along with my dad's games and jumped at the chance to have a "thing" with him.

My father means the world to me. For almost as long as I can remember, I've tried so hard to gain his approval, pride and respect. I thought, once, and you may hear me say this again and again, that I'd gotten beyond the point in my life where I wanted those things from him, that I didn't "need" it, that I didn't give a shit what he thought because it's my life and I have to answer only to myself (and God) at the end of the day. I felt that way and believed myself right in feeling that way for a very long time until I caught myself altering the way I was telling him about my life, every single time we spoke, so that he could more easily lean toward being proud of me. This, honestly, made me horribly and intensely ashamed for lying not only to myself but to my father, through omission or very selective phrasing. Struggling with that shame and desire for approval made me realize that it's okay for me to want my father to be proud of me as long as it wasn't to the point it had reached: denial and dishonesty.

I find myself struggling with this tonight, wondering if that's why my dad was acting so weird while I was with him. Was it my refusal to make it "our thing" because of my beliefs, or was it the personal things he told me about? Was he disapproving, unsure of what to make of his half-Christian child, or was he stressed and worn out from the rest of his life?

Tonight I find that I'm struggling not only with being the sole Christian in my immediate family, but also with my need for my father's approval.

I've decided that the best solution is to not ask him; not to avoid a confrontation (which is honestly highly unlikely), but to keep myself from inadvertantly belittling my decision (thus my beliefs) in order to gain his approval.

And so I lay me down to sleep...struggling and (mostly) silent.