In the Dream I Shot Myself

I first started with apologies to my mom. Then to my ex from the beginning of the year. Last, to the man I visited in Vienna.

Somehow, in the tapestries of human subconsciousness, this all took place in an unassuming grocery aisle.

aisle
While googling this photo, I came across the liquor aisle. I wish my subconscious was that cool .

The dream came to me fast – the way light travels faster than sound. I could feel my physical body catching up to the helms of fleeting imagination, like I was being lifted, and it felt like the whole story unraveled within the condense few seconds my conscious mind took to register the sunlight.

7:56am, I opened my eyes and saw my phone.

I first apologized to my mom.With foreshadowing remorse because I knew what I was doing. Then my ex was brushing against my backside in the grocery aisle, looking over my shoulder at something. I felt his approval. I felt our excitement. The kind of lust and young puppy love attraction. The feeling seemed to melt or dissipate in an abstract way, much like Picasso’s art [Scream]. Then he was there, whom I was most sorry to. Note: *I am overwhelmingly sorry to my mom to be sure, but I think I have gone through this process too many times for the thought not to wear.

Laying in bed, I looked outside my bedroom window and saw the grey cast of a sleepy day. Mind ticking away to grasp the reclining dreamscape that always seems to want to say something.

It was the thought that they wouldn’t believe I am sorry. So I apologized one by one in due diligence.

“I am sorry, Mom.”

“Hey you, you were a great guy. I’m sorry.”

“And you.” I can only smile sadly. Bravely. “I’m sorry.”

Then I shot myself.

I thought about this dream while I brushed my teeth this morning and wondered whether it was supposed to be a sinister indication of my mental health. I didn’t think so. Not so much holding in mind the subject matter, but rather the sort of ecstatic imprint it had left behind. I felt like I had come upon an epiphany without knowing what the revelation was.

On the bus ride home from work I thought about my ex again. I found our last messsage in my phone and wrote a simple paragraph to apologize and wish him best of luck. I think about the last 5 days – when I had first begun the challenge to put myself back on a ‘core’ run. Back to reading the books, plunging into healthy thoughts and putting your mind at ease all the while. Sometimes I do indeed narrow into a bit of a pickle with myself and doubt the integrity of this impassive calm that has come upon me since. I felt good and in one breath of air I wanted to laugh aloud.

What a load of escapism, these thoughts of death.

I ran through a mental dialogue of explaining this revelation to someone else (as one does). I thought about his reaction. Maybe I’m still working on the incline to not feel the need to prove my sincerity, but today I feel good. And somehow this odd, disturbing dream had been the pivot point, in the dream where I shot myself.

Betting My Happiness in a German Espresso Cup

Lots of time people say that happiness is a choice. I thought about that two days ago while peeling garlic and crying – note, garlic. I was just sad. Wondering what it was I was missing that didn’t seem receptive to the eye brightening impact that statement was supposed to bring me. A few hours after that, I had the best day ever.

Let me start over.

As with my second to last post, my first ever trip to Europe was not what I had imagined it to be. So a week after returning and lots of pondering and tears, I made a deal with myself and with this man I don’t even know if I will ever see again (that’s mostly said for dramatic effect – I’m sure this whole voodoo self granted happiness wouldn’t work as well if I wasn’t at least half sure). Anyhow, I made the challenge to teach myself positive thinking for 30 days. That’s what I told him anyway. His only job/input in this is just to be excited to hear from me. Excitement from him x3 of course, in order to equal mine. Fair deal. Words and trust were exchanged.

What positive thinking meant was not just the decision to simply up and stop crying and stop selling myself short. Those were and are my worse self and it won’t take just the miraculous month to solve them. Instead, I devote these 30 (now 28) days to give this man my unconditional respect. Even writing that seems to have the weird effect of sounding wrong in my very feminine mind, hard wired as we females are to give unconditional love and affection, statistics has been defacing all I feel natural for in relationships. Fact is, the book I first selected to prove my own words – citing: “…people are worth it…and someone will believe that I am…and I will do everything I can to make this person feel special.” in said video confession, wasn’t just a self-image improvement book. I chose a relationship, ahem marriage book – and now this may either be taken to be over achieving or just insane based on the short amount of time I have known this man – but let’s be positive shall we. And the absolute positive fact I have gained in this book so far is between these two sentences, lies the secret explaining the difference in men and women (again, spoken for exaggeration, but quite close I tell you)

  1. “I love you but I don’t respect you.”
  2. ” I respect you but I don’t love you.”

You tell me to which abject horror you can imagine it is to hear these words from a woman’s versus a man’s eardrums. It’s been 2 days and I feel the first 100 pages of this book has provided me enough mental tools to feel empowered enough to sustain a suspended disbelief of all my otherwise very real doubts and insecurities. I tell myself this each time a loose bad thought comes about, “but what about how you felt/feel about this? Aren’t you worried/scared that you aren’t good/fun/interesting/important enough?” – the list could go on – and rather than denying my fears, I tell myself all I need to do is fulfill my promise to give this man my unconditional respect in his natural comfort-ability, his decisions, his way for affection etc for the next 28 days. The rest of those doubts, I will deal with at the end of this. Already, we have communicated a lot better.

I draw back on some silly battles we picked when I was in Vienna and looking at it through my newly acquired and still being adjusted, men’s lenses you could say, it is quite laughable how completely misunderstood people can be.

The last day I was there before the flight, we were up at 4am in order to catch my insanely early flight. He went into the kitchen on auto-pilot to make his morning espresso. Already I had anticipated in my mind that he would forget to use the espresso cup I had bought him yesterday as a gift. This is my first fault, as a woman, to anticipate, and thus actively look for forgetfulness and faultiness. He, of course, returns with his regular glass espresso, to which I glance at and quietly mutter, “You don’t like my cup.”

“Oh no, of course I do. I just forgot. It’s not in my daily routine yet.” He laughs a bit  and goes about to find it. “Now where did I put it.”

“In your bag when I gave it to you last night.”

“Right.”

And right there, such a simple exchange could have been made to be excitable; fact is that he had ended up using my cup when I asked. Silly a deal as it was. It made me feel valued/special that he would use it, and though he forgot on pure accident, my pouty reaction to it only further proved to him in his mind that we are forever speaking on different wavelengths, to which he may feel he will never be able to satisfy my need for assurance or attention.

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Just like that, I feel assured of everything.

All of this I thought about and laughed aloud at while reading this book. Feeling increasing light-heartedness in only beginning to see why we do the things we do. I can see the pit fall of guilt however that may capture me for a short while. Regrets for making someone feel so hopeless, left feeling criticized for their life and innate self. Most of all forgetting to express my admiration and respect for him – the very feedback that translates better than all my puppy love notes – for his hard working attitude, for his kindness (even if I am learning to spot them in the ways he expresses himself), for his patience (mostly with me, not in the least with public transit, ha!), and for many other attributes that I had and still feel in his presence. I let insensible doubts and fears alongside my personal want for security shadow that, and I am sorry. Sorry as I am, I dedicate these next 28 days to you. Certainly, assuring a gal of her special status proves to be quite shamefully shallow. Namingly, he remembered to use my cup.

Yourself First

It’s been a  long time everyone.  A lot of things happened.  I came back from Vienna last week after being in Europe  with many firsts: getting my ass to Europe for one, a destination all North Americans say they want to go but end up not going to. Travelling alone (and how lonely that is – more on that later) and booking the flight to meet someone across the world. I decided to videotape myself as self-consolation for all the emotions with no edits, both good and bad that I’ve felt. Some of them private and self-depreciative in afterthought, as well realizing now I’ve used their first name since I hadn’t filmed this with the intention to share it with the world. I’m glad now however I’m able to look back on it and own all these emotions without shame and share them, with maybe slim hopes that it would touch somebody out there by hearing what needs to be said because there is something powerful about videos after all.

Cheers

p.s these videos are massive, if anyone knows the thought to get them smaller. I need a techy.

 

 

Alone

What is the study of being lonely? By the hundreds and thousands I’m sure. After having sped through a lonesome self-proclaimed non-protagonist by Douglas Coupland and now a quarter of the way through another spiteful yet so incredibly lovable character by Wally Lamb, whom I had first been introduced to in Grade 8, by not my English, but my Science teacher; at the end of all this nonsense I find myself contemplating the universal idea of being alone.

Maybe it’s the damn Vancouver rain.

In any event, it’s an uphill battle starting the weekend…Now just strictly caught up on the off handed comedy in When Harry met Sally. So it really boils down to this romance thing. Not even 12 hours into my day and got bootied call superficially by the count of 3. Boy, you can say alcohol and loneliness has sent me on a good hunting in the last few months.

Having waddled through the morality, the principles and any amount of social stigma, it’s not a matter of expectancy that leaves me rather vacant. What else do I expect in the manner I meet these people? Sex doesn’t scare me no longer, it became a motion, and I will stand for the account to milk the cow before you buy it any day still. Maybe that is why I am so drawn to Wally Lamb books, the way he drafts his characters to be not just deliberately spiteful, as if the idea of a anti-protagonist-protagonist had not occurred to writers to psychologically backflip the small part of ourselves that is equally petty and disturbing to be perversely drawn to these creative figures…but that they simply are. Backed up with enough self talk and cut off dialogues that makes you reel at their self portrait. They’re simply quite terrible people with a lot of flaws mentally torturing themselves like the rest of us.

The obvious result of this a lot of people like to tell me is because I am selling myself out short. I ought to just stop letting myself go at the sleeping and hold off and enjoy being single. For the most part I don’t mind it. The last time I was a girlfriend it was fairly miserable for half of the relationship, so no, I don’t particularly mind. And with all my lustrous exposure to self dissection in counselling sessions counting the multitudes of years, I wonder if I’m in denial or simply impassive, at least at the present, to the concept of being alone.

Point being, I’ve finally turned 20 and feel equally as ready to meet the world as I am still to roll over and be a little girl again, underneath a big man to carry things over for the next little while at least.

No, I get it, girls don’t happen to ruin themselves on account of good self esteem.

However so, I find myself pointedly comparing experiences and thinking time and time again that same older family friend of mine whom I had written about here and posted in forlorn fashion…to finally get without trying a year later and realize it wasn’t that great. Then I wonder why is it that even in recalling the sensation of laying in someone’s arm, no matter whom – the guy that I’ve met once and have not seen again nor heard from in the last week alas…how another individual can be so warm, how easy it is to fall asleep that way. Shocking lonely hits your gut like that under sheets that are still warm from your embrace and now you try to tell yourself to just go to sleep.

Sensual | Sexuality

Suspect
Trampled losses
Amongst my unfinished breath to
Nullify my sex, in the recess of absolution

This nakedness presents you
A stillness to thoughts unheard
Lithe weight in deadened hands

Tear drops pearl at night

 

 

 

*To the me who did nothing to perpetuate, yet nothing to stop things from happening. At what point does our sensuality divide from our sex?

Have I Become Independent?

I wonder if it is ever possible to be self-denial to the point where on the one hand you can relish in the scent of someone’s old t-shirt and also still feel detached enough to know you’ll be okay to never see that person again.

Perhaps self-denial is the wrong term for this oxymoron. Is it more like indulgent or just less co-dependent?

While coaching my fellow girlfriend on dirty wordplay and how it can be empowering for the female sex, I listen to her description of once again the perfect engaging relationship. The whole sharing, connection and universal stars aligning. I almost swear to myself that I see her eyes glistening.

It’s not that I’m against the monogamous relationship. Far from it; those who had read my last last post witnessed me through a bad break up. Certainly there is the trend of young adults nowadays that participate in the growth of open relationships, or less formally known as ‘taking it easy’. If somebody can’t forwardly confirm the status of their relationship with another, they shouldn’t be in one.

That being said, coming out of my break up, I wasn’t very healthy about it. Apart from being a functional alcoholic,  I also decided to take that enchanting life motto to get over somebody by getting under somebody else. Now that I’ve rolled over onto the other side of the bed (is that a bad pun?) I’m just taking a look around to see where that landed me now.

I hear the term, why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free. That’s neither here nor there for the sensible argument of being 19 and free versus esteeming yourself higher than the social norm and waiting out for ‘the one who cares’.

What if caring came in a lot of different levels? What if the depths of compassion for somebody is as inherently selfish and inwardly concerned for oneself in the sense of ensuring your mental survival through the worse case scenario (as girls will entertain in their head – guys, feel free to jump on board), but could also mean that you still actually genuinely like that person as well. What if the alternative was being single for the majority of your twenties – the golden age – they say, wasted. What if you just like feeling attractive and slutty in the patriarchal sense because it’s purely fun and addictive.

The point of the matter is that I stand between two friends on very different platforms. The one who was my age at one point and slept with people to which both parties openly admitted did not like each other, but was attracted to each other. Pit against the one who is only a few years older and feels cautious against the advances of modern guys because who knows what’s real and what’s not anymore. I’ve alas gotten myself to the mental state where I no longer feel the need to incessantly check my phone and wonder at which point of their day their usual schedule lands on. I just want to relish myself for a little bit – like how the porcelain in my bath tub shines to the effort of a very determined functional alcoholic.

Now, all I can think about is the fact though I have this guys’ t-shirt, when will I get my watch back if this doesn’t pan out? Does that make me a bad person?

 

Shit.