Archive for R

The Blog That’s Not Transparent

{ November 28, 2008 @ 8:02 pm } · { Me, R }
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I don’t quite know how to say how I feel.

Those three words…they’re said too much.  They’re not enough.

If I lay here.

If I just lay here.

Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we’re told before we get too old.

Show me your garden that’s bursting into life.

All that I am.

All that I ever was.

Is here in your perfect eyes – they’re all I can see.

I don’t know where, confused about how as well.

Just know that these things will never change for us at all.

I’m not sure how to begin this entry.  Obviously, there’s the lyrics above (taken from Snow Patrol’s “Chasing Cars”) but besides the words of others, I have no clear and concise way to start what it is I want to get out.  It’s been too long since I last wrote and a recap is something I’m hardly interested in providing.  I’ve wanted to write for the last week or two, but haven’t for various reasons.

I’ve stated many times before that I seldom act purely based on emotion.  Emotions aren’t always trustworthy and rise and fall like the oceans’ tide.  They’re powerful, and volatile.  Not always are they to be trusted at face value, and far too often do people allow them to take over where common sense and sensibility should rule and reign.  Recently, I’ve been presented with many rival emotions – some understandable and some not.  Just because I feel, however, doesn’t mean that anyone besides myself need be informed.  Since most of what I’ve been thinking and feeling is far more than trivial, I’ve kept it to myself.  If I’m honest, there’s probably more reason to keep quiet than that.

I hate drama.  I hate angsty bull shit.  I hate being misunderstood and things assumed about me and my intentions which simply aren’t true.  At the same time, I find it terrifying to be brutally honest with just about anyone.  Not too long ago I was getting to know someone who continuously was open and (perhaps overly) emotionally available to me…something not always true for a guy.  He gave me crap at one point for being walled up and reserved.  I held back and didn’t necessarily go for what I really wanted.  I stayed quiet when it came to how I felt or what I thought.  He encouraged me to be what we termed “transparent”.  I always used to fear expressing emotion (not that I never did, I was just more careful than most) so when I was upset or wanted something or simply felt something which would make me vulnerable to express, I used to begin the sentiment with something like “Can I be transparent?”.  It was a bit tongue in cheek, almost like an inside joke.  I did this with him on quite a few occasions – and the whole situation fucked me over worse than just about the entirety of last year did.

Transparency, at least for the moment, can kiss my ass.  The problem with where I am now…God, where to begin.

In this moment, in all regards I am quiet.  There is no real high or low, no excess of anything.  To the one I mentioned above (and the one attached) their situation is one I pity, if anything.  That’s another topic I don’t particularly care enough to go any further on.  Now I find that no one department of my life is speaking any louder than the other.  They’re all in upheaval, this is true.  I began a new job last week, I move tomorrow, and as for relationships…well, they’re interesting but not incredibly profound.

The job I have now I have no reason to complain about.  I’m making more money than I was working at the school…but that doesn’t make me happier.  I loved working where I was.  They only reason I left was because of the money.  Thankfully, my boss adored me and manufactured a ‘job description’ for me to be able to stay by.  I’ve mentioned Boss Man before (not the teacher from last year, though he went by several “names” on this blog…I mean my Big Boss) and like I’ve said, I cant say enough good things about the guy.  He’s amazing.  It seems, the opinion’s mutual, and perhaps I’ll be able to return to the school in the not-so-distant future.  I’d be happy about that.  Like I said, I can’t complain.  Making money doesn’t suck.

Home…well, I haven’t felt like I’ve been at “home” since the day I moved in.  I moved out under circumstances which soon changed.  The reason I moved out, however, is still the same and the reason why I remain apart from my parents.  I moved out last year to Costa Mesa (and LOVED living out there) for the simple fact that I didn’t want to be one of those girls who relies on her parents for everything and banks on some dude to come along and take over where Mommy and Daddy leave off.  Being fully reliant on parents and then some guy I’ve seen as pretty pathetic.  A grown woman should be able to take care of her own nonsense.  Still living at home past the mid-twenties (at the latest) I have little respect for.  Same goes for guys, obviously.  I understand the whole Orange County thing, and how everything’s expensive…I get it.  I just didn’t want to one day have circumstances demand me be self-reliant and not know how to be so.  So, I moved out.  Things aren’t easy, but they’re doable.  The downside is not having a permanent “home” for the moment.  Indeed, its something of a right of passage for many in my generation to live this sort of nomadic existence before settling down.  Doesn’t mean I’m all that stoked about it – but when compared to the alternative…uprooting again tomorrow to a new place isn’t so bad.

Relationships.  I realized last week that I honestly have little interest in being in a relationship at the moment.  I’ve been with someone for the last few weeks.  We met a decade ago when we were both modeling, became friends when I was 19, were closer when I was 21, and now…well, now we’re something undefined, I suppose.  He’s a great guy in all regards, but even in his arms I’m still detached.  Shut off.  I didn’t start my recent situation, I didn’t pursue it, I didn’t choose it, and the climax of it all was by no means my intention.  The byproduct is a different level of detachment than I’ve ever known prior.

No, it’s not all the fault of that.  In addition, there’s just too much going on – too much demanding my attention.  Besides that, though, if I’m honest my heart is elsewhere.

My heart is last year.  No, there’s little to be done with that at the moment.

All this has done the one thing I never wanted it to – it’s managed to take my eyes away from where they were so adoringly fixed.  For a moment, I was where I wanted to be.  I was completely lost in what matters above all else – Him.  After my time with The Shack, the world faded and through a new lens of perspective, things all made sense.  I want that back.  Ah, see that’s where the anger comes in…anger that someone masquerading as light could bring nothing but pitch black to my life.  But, never mind that.

The lyrics above I had intended for another when i first began this.  Now…I find them fitting for the One I should have aimed them towards in the first place.

This is why I write, for those who are curious.  I don’t write to gossip, or to passive-aggressively get at anyone.  I don’t write for attention.  I write maybe to be understood, and sometimes because I know that I can’t be the only one dealing with these things and maybe someone else can benefit from knowing they’re not alone.  Mostly, I write to process.  How these end is usually not how I intended from the beginning.  I edit out only that which is too specific of others involved, and perhaps the extent of a thought or two.  In the end, whoever reads these I hope gets the heart behind it.

The Blog That’s Not Lite

{ September 27, 2008 @ 3:25 pm } · { Not for the faint of heart, R }
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It’s quiet.  Asher’s asleep laying curled up against my side.  I sit here in bed in complete darkness, with only the computer screen as a source of light.  The only sound is that of my fan as it moves a cool breeze across my skin, and the methodical tapping of my keyboard as I write.  The stillness is welcome.  I myself, have been in an odd state of mind – both still and internally writhing, for the majority of the day.  Today.  Today felt like five rolled into one.  Much like the day before that.  And the remainder of the days prior in this week…and the two weeks before that.

Realistically, the last three weeks haven’t been as bad as today by a long shot.  They’ve been difficult, to be certain.  I’ve mentioned before my living situation and the issues surrounding that one.  I’ve also mentioned work to some extent, but perhaps not to the degree it has earned.  We started a new school year almost a month ago, and the time since has been a battlefield from 8 to 2:30 every day of the work week.  Some days have been better than others, but the majority have resembled a war zone.

Last year I was in a classroom with a completely different dynamic.  I mentioned my co-worker in many prior posts as he played a decent role in my life both professionally and in the influence his advice made over the rest of my situation.  I am sad when I remember the level of drama and ridiculousness that happened, and I wish there was a way to change the impression I’m sure I gave.  I enjoyed working with this guy – even though he frustrated the hell out of me at times.  He’s an awesome guy, and pretty cool to work with.  The kids we had in the classroom were also pretty decent.  There were between 10 and 12 depending on the time of the semester, but they were middle school and for the most part significantly more manageable than some of the other personalities at the school.  I loved going to work.  I enjoyed my job.

Then came this semester.  My former other work-half moved on to another school so I’m with a different teacher in a different classroom.  Fine. Fair enough.  The dynamic is what has been pushing me further and further.  The entire school has been a mad house with the new kids we’ve gotten and being understaffed.  I used to be a part of crisis situations maybe once or twice a week at max, and only had to give chase maybe once or twice at ALL during last semester.  This year, I’m lucky if I go a day without having to follow a student off campus and drag their asses back.  There hasn’t been a single day this year when I haven’t been called into a crisis situation, and few if any days where I haven’t been part of at least one or more restraints.  I’ve been hit.  I’ve been kicked.  I’ve been spit at.  I’ve been called every manner of profane and obscene thing you could think of, and insulted just as much to match.  Last year I faced some of this, but because of my relationship and the presence of my teacher, I never felt physically unsafe.  Our kids knew what was expected, and knew the result if they failed to behave.  No, it didn’t stop them from being turds, but they were seldom physically assaultive and weren’t stupid enough to try being assaultive towards me.

This year, it’s a bit of a different story.  I have a group of older, stronger, dumber, and more “high profile” personalities and behaviors.  The past two weeks specifically have been whittling away at my sense of security and safety when it comes to work.  I’ve had enough kids get in my face or push the physical boundary issue, and it wears after a while.  Yesterday was a day of exceptionally bad caliber.  I spent the last 45 minutes of the school day in a an empty classroom, alone, with a 15 year old kid who spent the entire time speaking obscene, sexually explicit, and incredibly demeaning things to me – about me, about him and me, and about me and various other members of staff.  I put up with the situation and ignored him for the most part, but I still ended up significantly bothered by that evening.  I wrote up the report that night and handed it in this morning.  Then, this morning happened.

I was again given supervision of this student in a room separated from the rest of the class and staff.  Today, his words were significantly worse.  I endured hearing the most violently sexually explicit descriptions of what he wanted to do to me, the most vile acts spelled out in graphic and profane form, and then asked to perform such acts while in the room.  It got even better when he started making threats about getting a firearm and “blowing [my] fucking head off”.  The icing on the cake?  The bastard actually dared to touch me.  More than once.

Once someone else took over supervision, I went into an office downstairs.  I had spent the last 30 minutes pretending to be indifferent to what he was saying.  The kid is looking for attention and a reaction…neither of which he will get from me.  I spent a while in the office not okay before tracking down my current co-worker and letting him know where I was and that I needed a bit to pull it together and work with the class again.  I had to fight through the words and broke in several places.  He was awesome about it and told me to do whatever I needed to do and not worry about the class.  I was thankful, but still pissed that I’d gotten visibly upset in front of a co-worker.

Eventually, I ended up in another area of the downstairs building and my main boss came and found me.  I’m assuming one of my other co-workers informed him of the situation and where I was, as he seemed to be there for the sole purpose of talking to me.  He stayed for around 15 minutes and was pretty much amazing about the whole thing.  My boss is someone who intimidates me to some extent.  He has a ton of experience in this field, is phenomenal at his job, is hardly difficult on the eyes, and is only a couple years older than me.  Today he proved once again his knack for adapting to the individual in each unique situation, but this time that individual was me.  Hardly a situation I thought I’d be in.  It bothered me to spend the first few minutes unable to look him in the eye as he sat next to me, while I stared blankly and relayed parts of the situation and what was going on with me through the choke of emotional nonsense.  Several times I had to stop mid sentence or take a longer than usual break between verbal exchange to try to keep from crying in front of him.  I failed a couple times, on that count, but eventually got to the point of being able to make eye contact.  It’s not that I didn’t want to, it’s the simple fact that he’s a male authority figure added to the fact that he’s the general Go-To guy who intervenes in the most difficult of crisis situations.  He’s someone who I feel safe around, but add that to the previous sentence, and the likely hood of me being able to not fall apart around him is minimal to say the least.

My point in writing isn’t really for the play by play.  I can’t go into details of what was said during the episode with the kid because it’s technically confidential, but besides that, the language and content is something I don’t think anyone should have to hear – ever.  I had to live it, re-read it, then write it in SIR form before eventually handing the final copy to my boss.  Just reading it while typing up the report made me feel as if I was going to vomit.

Again.  The play by play isn’t the point.

The point is I’m struggling.  I’ve been given the option to file a report personally and potentially press charges against the kid (yes, it’s THAT bad), but I’m not sure about that course of action.  For me…I just feel both numb and like wretching.  I don’t even fully understand why my reaction was so strong, and more importantly why I didn’t get over it quickly.  Even now, if I re-read the report which I have a copy of, I still get the choke of emotion and go into protective mode again.  With my boss, I know I went into the same mode.  His presence helped, as he’s someone I respect and feel safe around, but when he asked me what I needed or what he could do for the situation, I didn’t have an answer.

I still don’t.  I feel violated.  I’m confused as to why it’s become such a big deal to some extent, though I realize it’s likely because sexual violence is such a trigger for me.  I’ve pretty much decided not to file the report just yet.  if anything happens in the future, I have the paper trail of reports, and that would aid in potential legal involvement.  Damn it.  That’s not the fucking point.  The point is that this chapter in life keeps getting more painful, and any reprieve to speak of doesn’t even seem to be on the horizon.

Last night I realized at least partially why all this is building up to such a massive pile of pain.  I go from a hostile environment during the day to a passive and uncaring one at night.  In truth, when asked by my boss what I needed, the only thing I wanted at that moment was to be held.  No, I don’t have a thing for my boss.  That’s not it.  What I lack right now is the support and comfort I used to have in various relationships.  I’m obviously single, so the male aspect is lacking.  The one who claimed to be a close friend and is also the one I live with, I haven’t made a single mention of all this to as I know she honestly couldn’t care less.  Genearally, I leave work, pick up Asher, then head over to my parents.  It’s the only place where we both can go that feels comfortable.  Such a lack of comfort, support, and companionship…and it’s all becoming too much.  Work wouldn’t be nearly as hard if there was a secure home life to balance it out.

There are always placebos, as I have refered to them as in the past.  Random male relationships who could be called upon for a way to pass the time with company.  Fact is, there’s only one who I want around in that way – and at the moment he’s not an option.  Well, at the very least for another few weeks he’s not an option.  Beyond that, only God knows where things will go with that one – and I’m scared.  I don’t like feeling for people when I don’t know what the outcome will be.  It’s not comfortable.  I hold back on getting attached to people to protect myself, and when one gets through the armor and finds his way into my heart…I’m afraid.  I could either be in for someone amazing, or in for another round of heartache.  This also, is besides the point.

If God is trying to teach me the lesson once again to fully rely upon Him for everything…then fine.  I get it.  I know that’s the idea and I know in my head that I need to let go and trust Him for everything that is up in the air.  Right now, there’s just so MUCH in the air, that I can’t help but feel unstable.  Home.  Work.  Relationships.  All important things which require answers sooner rather than later…and I haven’t even a glimmer of an idea where God’s going with all this.  Right now, I’m just deflated.  I’m scared.  I’m lonely.  I want for one, and haven’t a clue how it will turn out.  As I say to everyone else, “This too shall pass”.  I just hope its passing is swift and perhaps less painful.

The Blog About Getting Beat Up

{ May 11, 2008 @ 11:50 am } · { Blatant Overshare, Me, Not for the faint of heart, R, Them }
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It’s far too late. Or, it’s far too early, depending on your perspective. As the 5-O-Clock hour looms ahead this Sunday morning I find myself needing to talk. I’ve already said some of what lies ahead, but the deeper stuff is something that hasn’t yet been voiced to anyone. Granted, it’s only been a day or two, but even so…

I went out to a movie with a good friend of mine on Friday night. Ironman is a great film, for the record, and I would recommend it to those seeking some decent entertainment. This friend of mine has been around for nearly two years. I met him and liked him instantly. We became good friends, nothing more, and the crush I had only intermittently reared its head and planted thoughts of distraction in my head and heart. Now, there have been maybe two or three incidents where the platonic friend boundary has been crossed. Nothing major, but still crossed. I never can figure out if it’s him actually having that kind of feeling for me or if it’s just lust. Well, that is until the other night.

The tension was there, as it so often is. I’ve always found him attractive, that much is nothing new. What is new is the way that he goes about treating me when those platonic lines are crossed. I used to mess around with guys and really have it merely be a physical thing. No, I never randomly slept with guys. That’s not what I’m referring to. The activity, though, was a physical one with little feeling attached. That was fine with me. As long as both parties were on the same page all was well and fair game. Apparently that has changed, because as he held me with zero feeling and pushed the limits I was trying to maintain – I felt a part of me break. I’ve never felt the kind of sorrow I did then as I once again refused to take things further and he once again pushed it. From my perspective, I was trying to protect both him and me. I know well how to escalate the moment and it would have been easy to do as such. The thing is I respect him enough not to. I care and I don’t want to steal from him what is not mine for the taking. Likewise, I don’t want to just be a body. I want to mean something. My recent relationship taught me the difference between lust and love. It was want with restraint. It was emotion which governed the moment and how each responded to the other, rather than just a pursuit of pleasure. Any sign of hesitation on my part would be a sign to him to alter his actions regardless of what he wanted. On this occasion I felt irrelevant and used again.

So I deal with that with God. I hurt. I needed to talk to someone but was really lacking the appropriate outlet. And that was then…

Now. I sit here in bed knowing that the moment I move, there will be a sharp pain radiating from my lower right ribs – an injury I sustained while being thrown on the floor this evening.

The night started out fun enough. My friends’ band was playing, the music was good, plus I got to get to know someone of interest a little bit better. Nights out with this favorite girl friend of mine usually turn out to be a good time – but also tend to be eventful when her band(s) are thrown into the mix. In this case, the band its self wasn’t the problem. In fact, the most enjoyable element of the evening had a great deal to do with the band. It turned out to be a friend of theirs which turned the night from enjoyable to something significantly different.

They’d been drinking. That one I throw out just to set what could have been the possible backdrop for what happened. We had been sitting on the sofa for a while; myself, the band member, my girl friend, and another one of the guys. There were several other people around, including the band members’ father. The evening was friendly and playful, and I had been talking to and joking around with most of them, especially the one to my left. There took a turn in the evening as someone sitting on the floor decided to pull and my leg, switch my position, and smack my ass. Not cool. In any way, really. What that began was a real-life UFC match between myself and this guy as he dragged me to the floor and began attempting to hold me down, or change my position, or whatever the case actually was. I can’t be sure of his exactly motivation as I was focused more on evading and gaining the upper hand of the battle. This went on for a few minutes and eventually I got free, flipped him onto his stomach with his arm behind his back and had my arm around his throat in a pseudo head-lock. He MAY have let me win, but it’s quite doubtful considering what other people had to say about it…though…

If that be the case, then round two makes a bit more sense. I had recovered and been back on the sofa somewhat cowering next to my former sofa neighbor, when this guy once again pulled me off the sofa and threw me to the ground. This round was rougher. He got violent and I was forced to fight. Each move he made I spent finding the weak spot of the hold and ripping myself free. He threw me back down. Like the first one, I can’t be sure of his motivation – but this time that’s because I couldn’t possibly be thinking about why he was doing what he was, because in my head I wasn’t in the living room of a friend. I was back on the bed in the pool house. Every time I hit the ground in reality, in my head I had hands around my neck once again gripping tighter and tighter…and the harder I fought the harder the grip tightened. He got me in a hold I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t move any longer, and I found myself completely helpless to his actions. I tried to tap out, to get out “let me go”, but it did nothing. I knew in a minute I was going to be somewhat less than ok as my mind finished its flashback. Someone in the background may have told him to let me go, I don’t know. I got up and adjusted my clothing, acted as calm as possible and headed for the bathroom.

Where I stood for the next five minutes leaned over the sink in tears. Arms wrapped around myself, I tried to process what the fuck had just happened and how I was reacting. I knew why I was reacting the way I was. I knew the source, and the source its self has been over and done for a long time, but that doesn’t take away the instinctive reaction. I hated it. I hated showing what I felt to be the damaged side of me to people I hadn’t known long enough.

Don’t get me wrong…it’s not the tumble match that bothered me. I grew up with brothers and have spent the past ten years with significantly more male friends than female. Yes, I’ve been thrown over a shoulder or two in the past. Yes, I’ve got my ass kicked by a friend play wrestling on the floor. The difference is, the ones who’ve been allowed that close to me before are quite few. There’s a level of trust that has to be reached. Really, only two or three that I can think of have been given the trust of my physical wellbeing. This ass from Saturday night is certainly not one of them…and that makes all the difference in the world.

When I came out, the one I’d been sitting next to asked me if I was alright. I said my usual “I’m fine” while pretending to look for something in my purse. He moved slightly so he could see into my averted eyes and questioned me once more. I tried halfheartedly for a moment to show my indifference to the situation, but I failed and we went out of the room for a moment. I stood there in the hallway, ribs already aching, a few feet from someone I barely know and wishing for nothing more than to be held. As odd as it is, as much as guys are the source of the issue it’s also guys that can fix it. We talked for a while, a bit about my past and present…and as time passed the slight tremors lessened and I left with my friend thereafter.

After everything that’s been going on for the last few weeks and the changes in my mindset and heart it makes complete sense that I would be challenged in these areas. They’re my weaknesses, my struggles, and memories of conflicting pleasure and pain. And it’s all being pulled to the surface. Now I bare some mild physical signs of this nonsense: painful ribs, bruised back, sore neck and shoulders, skinned elbow…and the feeling of being alone once again. The physical will heal and fade, and God willing the rest will as well.

The Blog About Boss Man And A Totally Unrelated Talk About Sex

{ May 2, 2008 @ 6:37 am } · { Blatant Overshare, Me, R, Them }
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Fuck You.

The parting phrase granted to a character in my life as I bid him farewell for the evening. A phrase I reserve for special occasions, really. I may use the abbreviated “F U” in a text – ironically mostly to the one who received the full version tonight, but other than that it is seldom a part of my vocabulary. Tonight wasn’t a spectacularly special occasion. It wasn’t earth shattering or life altering. It was, however, painful. It’s a culmination of a series of interactions, both good and bad and everywhere in between, which have managed to illuminate every single button on the switchboard-o-Natalie. This character possesses the unique ability to push every single damn button I have. This fact likely remains unknown to him, though he certainly is familiar with a few specific issues. The interesting thing is really a couple of interesting things which make me pontificate to a ridiculous degree in attempts to decipher what the hell is going on. First of all, does he realize how much these things affect me? Second, does he realize that several of them are more than just mild joking jabs, and that they are more akin to a swift double edged sword slicing through the chink in the armor of my facade to make a direct and devastating blow to the heart? And third…which, granted, makes it more than a literal ‘couple’ of things…why does he do it?

And why the hell do I enjoy it so much?

I’ve been trying unsuccessfully for the last few months to conceal any and all real emotion and feeling around this one, whether they be about him or completely irrelevant to his existence. Like a few others from the past, he is someone who possesses just enough jackass to make things interesting, but there’s is something else incredibly appealing which balances out how much of a prick he can be and makes him endearing. Oddly enough. Then there’s the sad (not really, but for our purposes it is) reality that there’s an incredible amount of things we have in common, most which he likely doesn’t care to know or see. In addition, I have a huge amount of respect for this guy (something rarely given to men from me) for several major reasons. This doesn’t bode well for a girl like me. Actually it can bode quite well given the right circumstances, but those in this case are more that slightly irrelevant. The thing is, this has all become a one way ticket to Fuckville, of which he is Mayor.

It’s a love/hate thing, really. It makes a good portion of my day much more enjoyable since there’s the element of ‘normal’ human contact and almost commraderie. I’m a relationally driven person. I thrive off of human contact. I need it. But the flip side of that is that which nourishes me also destroys me. My job revolves around people. Juveniles, that is. The environment can be hostile and violent, with both the psyche and body at risk. Instances today, where I’m in the hallway nearly in tears watching a kid I have a good amount of contact with lay there crying having been in a floor restraint a few minutes prior. He had our assistant site director (who I can’t say enough positive things about. He’s amazing and words don’t do it justice) laying next to him in a protective and comforting manner, and watching this broken kid be tended to by someone incredibly strong, but able to comfort even the most violent of kids. It killed me, watching this kid hurt (emotionally, mostly) even though just a few minutes before he had landed a hard and painful kick to my throat and jaw. The physical pain passes, though even now there’s a small amount of pain when I swallow. Whenever these situations happen, though, I find myself having to hole away in an abandoned room. I’ll stand there, arms folded around myself, and fight the tears…and wish I had the human comfort there with me.

My history with men is mixed, to say the least. Violence can be a difficult one for me to deal with at times. When emotions and physical safety are compromised I often end up vulnerable and scared. I need. I need the comfort. At work, this stuff happens all the time and obviously what I need I can’t have. It’s something I have to learn to deal with, and I can usually handle it just fine. There’s been a handful of moments where I’ve not known what to do with myself – I’ve been a mess. I get over it, obviously. And I love my job. It just means that when there’s so much possible psychological input, the consistent human contact I have is what I end up relying on for stability. It’s probably not fair to those around me. I don’t know. It is what it is.

And I’m not sure where to go with that. The whole subject leaves me feeling scattered and adrift. Not work. Once again, I love my job. The question is, what’s the deal? And why?

Since this is turning into a purge fest…on a completely different note.

Something interesting happened the other day. Since my experiences began when it came to guys, I’ve only felt true remorse and sorrow about things that have happened on a few occasions. I’ve half heartedly felt bad for messing up what God intended, but the other half of me sees it as gaining experience and prowess which society tells me I’ll need for that future relationship. I’ve also lived with the assumption that whoever I’ll end up with will have experiences to rival me, so I better know what’s up. So what’s the relevance of that? The interesting this is, a few days back I felt the heart wrenching sorrow for what was stolen. That’s the thing. I can’t ever know for sure what my story would have looked like had my induction into the world of sex been by choice. I’ve often thought, and especially now thought, that if the first hadn’t been taken without my choosing then what followed wouldn’t have happened. Not that there’s a huge track record here (there’s not), but the fact that there’s a record is starting to break my heart. I honestly am at a point where I wish none of it had happened. I can’t cherish the memory of something which tarnishes what the whole experience was created for. It also leaves a perpetual craving for it. No, it’s not a craving that gets entertained. So, it remains a craving – a torturing need which can’t be given into. And that perpetual need is no fun.

As it turns out, there’s still a few good men out there. I mostly count myself out of the running for these ones, figuring they deserve someone of equal caliber. I dunno. I’m likely wrong for taking this stance, at least in God’s eyes. Or maybe not. Wow. This hurts a bit.

The above doesn’t go together. I’m sure I’ll either be deleting this post or doing some heavy editing. But for now…