Grilled cheese
It is 11 pm -ish and I am sitting on the floor of my friend’s kitchen. We left the bar at a reasonable time and thank goodness. It was a Monday after all.
Grilled cheese with an egg is being dished out on navy blue plates, and veggies a dip appeared out of no where.
“I buy groceries like I have a family of 5,” C says. Next to me, my friend’s legs dangle off the counter they’re on, and a golden retriever is trying her hardest not to beg.
I don’t play Mario kart long. I’m a big sore loser ( attractive, I know) but choose to watch this group of people sit quietly, talk shit and complain that F keeps winning. H asks for someone to just beat them already and I start falling asleep next to M.
I think,
This is kind of like a family.
But actually, it’s much better than that.
On the bus to work, someone is FaceTiming. It’s more forehead and ears than anything else, and I wonder what’s the point? But I know what it’s like to want connection that badly. To want that badly in general.
Lately, my abusive relationship has been on my mind. And by that I mean it’s floating somewhere behind my eyeballs, just out of reach so that I don’t sink.
T terrorized me as much as he fascinated me. Stole me flowers with the same hands that would later hurt me. Told me I was special, I was different from my family, that I didn’t deserve what happened, but later told me it was why I was “fucked up.”
Beautiful but not racially ambiguous enough to be worth a second look.
Smart but not smarter than him.
Hot but a slut.
Everything in the universe but worthless.
What parts of this have I internalized?
Abusive relationships don’t always start out that way. I knew I was running toward something bad, but I needed to run to something. I’ve gotten better at not running. At not avoiding my big hurts. Lately I feel like an ostrich with its head in the sand. I’d rather feel it all
I haven’t seen my immediate family in three years or more. I feel like I’m punishing my siblings for something they didn’t do. My unwillingness to experience homophobia and reminders of my trauma are valid reasons to stay away, but I don’t want to that to always be the case. I feel like I’m ready. I don’t need the approval of my parents nor their safety. Not anymore. My friends make me feel like I can do anything, but more so I feel like I can do anything. Being strong on my own is when I feel the safest.
Internet strangers are really annoying most of the time. But sometimes they hit the nail on the head.
You don’t have to be anything. You don’t have to be ok.
They responded to a since deleted thread I wrote at 1:55 am. I dreamt and woke and wanted something heavier than my weighted blanket.
I miss her.
I worry our friendship is fading.
I figure this is what being exes is all about but it feels wrong. I worry that I’m the only one who doesn’t get some universal truth.
This is the way it is, Rainn.
I’ve told others it’s hard because it’s hard not because you’re bad at it and I can’t make myself believe the same.
I’m allowed to be happy and sad at the same time, but it’s my first time trying to do so. Like most things worth doing, it’s difficult.
I don’t know why I insist on being good at everything, but I when I look back at my past, trying to be good at things was how I wanted to save myself.
I think it’s time to be kind of shitty at things.
