A taste for extravagance…
It’s Sunday at 12:27 and I am writing in a cafe with my friend. I have had one of the quietest weekends I’ve had in a while and I think my body needed that, as much as I hate to admit it.
Yesterday, I saw no one but the person who delivered my food. The fries were pretty cold and the cheese cup was only half full and I wondered what else could go wrong.
I like to be dramatic in my sadness. It’s like I am making up for lost time. Making up for all the times that sadness or any emotion was “too much” or “too confusing.” I never knew how deeply my abusive relationship affected me until I allowed myself to feel things. Being told your feelings were not valid and actually causing your partner “harm”, will do that to you. The physical abuse, of course, had a place in this too.
I’ve been reading a lot about people pleasing. And by reading I mean going through the text posts of a Psychologist's Instagram account. I feel shame when I think of myself as a people pleaser, mostly in part to how it’s portrayed. I don’t feel like a doormat, per se, but I do identify with parts of it.
I over-give a lot.
I can’t help myself. It's part of my nature. But I do recognize the times that I have over-given as a means to secure my place in the hearts of others. Overextending myself without being asked to as a means to matter to someone is kind of my thing.
And I don’t want that anymore.
I can’t buy myself into someone’s heart. And if I could, I wouldn’t want to be there if that was the requirement. I love giving freely. Being there for my friends and finding ways to show my appreciation for having them in my life. I don’t have to doubt they care for me, even though it seems impossible that just “Rainn” is enough.
Which brings us back to dramatics.
I had no plans yesterday except to bike to a bar I haven’t been to in almost a year. It would take 30 minutes but I’m a slow biker and it was raining. I’m grateful when the weather matches my mood which has been rainy and grey. I sound like a 13-year-old who just discovered brooding and honestly, that’s kind of fitting.
I’ve been broken up with before, but I don’t think I’ve allowed myself to mourn…anything. If I let the feelings in then it will be real. What other feelings am I applying this logic to?
I think I am missing a key part of the human experience if I do not engage in dramatics. If I don’t want to throw things and smash fruit. It’s glorious, this sadness. Because it means I’m alive and I have lived and I have the capacity to love so so much.
The bar didn’t open until 3 pm and I was thankful for that. How else would I explain leaving dried flowers outside their windows?
“Oh sorry, I’m a melancholy little fuck who overromanticizes things.”
It was quick.
It was painless.
It was an acknowledgment of time passing.
It was a bit of magic.
I spoke the first words I said out loud all day:
“Thank you, Moon Girl”
I took even longer to get home because my bike is heavy and old. I was soaked by the time I stumbled into my home, loving the messiness of it. Being caught in the rain makes me feel like a real person. Like this isn’t a simulation. There are a million reasons for my chosen name and this is just another.
I don’t know if I have the capacity to fall in love right now, but boy would it be nice to walk with my arm around someone’s shoulder, giggling because it’s a really awkward way to walk but you just kind of can’t help it.
Someone who just can’t help it.
For Fall, I just want to make soups in my slowcooker and watch anime. I want to lay on my couch and read and feel very much alive.
