12 04 2013

Sitting in my bed on a Friday night eating a box of Thornton’s and smoking cigarettes doesn’t seem very rock n roll, unless you’re one of those people who abhor smoking in bed (don’t care, I sleep alone), the dog is curled up at my feet …and instead of reading heat magazine cover to cover I thought I would attach the keyboard to the iPad and write something, anything.

I’ve had a pretty lousy week, an incident with my car (not my fault), the norovirus (winter vomiting, is that as ironic as daffodils in the snow? I think not!) and my ongoing battle with paying the bills (not possible for me) so tonight I planned on sitting around and feeling sorry for myself.

An ex of mine, who is still a friend, popped around earlier with a ‘care package’ which included wine, chocolates, magazines and flowers – which I thought was a really sweet thing to do and in my weakened state nearly made me want to reach out to him and invite him back into my life. But I’m made of stronger stuff it seems, and I didn’t. Don’t get me wrong that girl I was is still inside of me and a big part of me firmly believes that sharing my bed, and my body would have been a massive stress relief for me right now but my celibacy remains a truth for the time being.

It got me to thinking about relationships and how as my age creeps up I look for so much more.

I’ve always been a bit of a romantic underneath it all, beneath the walls that I built around myself in my brazen years, I hid a lost and lonely girl. The only way to ensure that I didn’t feel vulnerable was to become the cold one, I ran from beds before I was pushed, as if being the first to exit made me the one in control. I balked at deep conversations in the dead of the night, preferring to silence the words with the warmth of a body. That warmth used to keep my own coldness away for a short time, the blackness of my eyes burnt like coal with physical lust but emotionally I stayed distant.

Or maybe I was just emotionally retarded…maybe I still am.

I find it very difficult now, experience has softened my edges, I find now that I want to talk in the dead of the night, but i’ve never met anyone who I feel would listen without judgement and try to understand. The truth is I don’t want a counsellor, I don’t want platitudes or someone to list all that I should be grateful for. I just want to tell someone my story, how I got to be the way I am without them running for the hills with the craziness of it all.

There must be a deep satisfaction to know that someone else in the world knows the complete truth about you, but accepts you anyway, and more than acceptance is willing to listen to your words of despair while the rest of the world sleeps.

I’m rusty I know, my words do not make much sense to me let alone to a passerby.




4 responses

12 04 2013
Duma Key

May be you should write your story here, sometimes helps to make sense of things.
As we age we grow, things change your words echo much my own thoughts, no longer as it was.
Good you have friends that care! Often means much more a little warmth from the cold…..and I too miss your words……

12 04 2013

I miss my words as well Duma, sometimes I am afraid that they will never come again. 2 years of being medicated to make me ‘normal’ seems to have taken the edge off life, and by losing that edge, by gaining normality I seem to have lost my own reflections. Its only now that I have stopped the dosage, that I finally realised I am the person I am supposed to be am I trying to find my depth once again.

It seems that we have both changed so much since we first started sharing our journey, yet in other ways we still stay the same — often I wonder if all of this time, we have been walking the right direction, even when we have felt lost.

I’ve looked for you so many times in the silence of the wilderness, in the stillness of the night – even when I haven’t been around I have dropped by and read your words.

Maybe you are right, maybe its time I found the courage to put my story into words. I wonder why is still frightens me so very much.

12 04 2013
Duma Key

Normal is over rated…….! You have always struck me as a deep and powerful soul, one who has forgotten herself in the struggle of life, but in my mind you are far from the “Forgotten Girl”.
Your beauty and elegance shows in your words and the power of your thoughts and medication to bring normality is like feeding the weeds whilst killing the beauty of the flower.
You are You, your experiance your passion, your thoughts are the reality of the normality you need……You bloom in your words… hold a light that transfixes the eye…..and a beauty that is rare and pure…….you just need to let that show.
Our journeys follow the same paths, often on some level in the wilderness we pass, rest at the same bars, pass the ashes of the previous nights fire from where one of us dwelt ! We grow and we learn and you are growning and thats what makes you the soul that I see.
You should write your words, tell your story I for one am keen to read the not so forgotten girls worlds…..and share this time with to see the real you….

15 04 2013

“There must be a deep satisfaction to know that someone else in the world knows the complete truth about you….”

no one knows the truth about me either. normal is over rated and loneliness breeds awareness… Lou-Lou. If there is one way to share… it is with this medium. because if not today or tomorrow… it may be 10 years from now some lost soul will wander here and look in wonder at the forgotten girl, who is not that lost, she is finding her way bravely in the night through self discoveries and musings… one day your words will reach who and where they are intended… it is a big picture we paint and we see little until the end…

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