ignorance is bliss

Every time he's come into my life, I've been able to figure out a reason, especially as it serves as some trigger/catalyst to changes I make in my life. This last time though has resulted in putting me in a very negative space. As Alex asked, do I wish I could go back to the time before? Yes.

It's made me a bit self destructive and I see it getting worse...constantly testing my limits. Perhaps this will make me better if I survive on the other side, but it's also pulled a lot of the 13 year-old girl who just craved to belong, really struggling to stay afloat after the decades I had spent working on her. I thought I successfully locked her away, or at least pacified her.

Sometimes, ignorance is truly bliss, and I'd like to go back to the woman from September 2014.

moments that matter (part 1)

One of my team members is planning on getting engaged this year and was showing me some pictures at lunch of some Cartier settings/rings he had narrowed down. It made me think of the first time I got a ring from a guy...

I'm not sure when I realized that I didn't really have memories prior to fifth grade. Many of the "memories" I may have have come from family members and others relaying stories over the years. Yet I had this one distinct "memory" that nobody else could have known about. For a long time though, I started to think that it was something manufactured, sort of like imaginary friends (although I do have a theory on what those are and whether they are truly imaginary or visions we see when we don't put up walls). 

His name is Toby. Toby Branson. It wasn't much of memories but a memory that involved receiving a ring made of grass and weeds in second grade. By the next school year, his family had moved away. Over time, it became fleeting and not real.

In eighth grade, as our bus pulled into a Christian sleep-away camp, someone yelled out, "there's Toby Branson". For a moment I held my breath as if encountering a ghost. One of the girls from our church ended up having a huge crush on Toby. During a hike with four of us (including one of Toby's friends), she did what many girls that age are apt to do...insult me to make her look better in the eyes of her crush. Yes, I considered her a friend at that time as well. What was said is irrelevant as the point was something in line with who would want me for a girlfriend (typical small town America mentality for anyone who is a different race). I only remember the response of "I did. She was my girlfriend in second grade." He was behind me as we were climbing up some rock so my only visual that accompanied the words was her face when her jaw dropped.

We never talked about it afterwards. She just asked me if it was true and I looked at her still in shock. I did send him a letter after the camp to thank him. I never did hear from him, but I indirectly got validation that the memory was more real than not. More importantly, he could have stayed silent but for a moment in time, he made me feel like I belong(ed). For that, I will forever be thankful. I hope the character of that boy is still with the man today.

ftale

It's been a very long time since I've fed this blog. San Francisco just hasn't been so exciting (ironic given los pechos de la chola), which is probably what's led me to do some experimenting. This past week I spontaneously decided to dabble in BDSM with a stranger and foreigner. Despite the stereotype of those in such lifestyles, he is kind, gentle and intelligent. What got him to dabble in this alternative lifestyle is probably similar reasons that draws me to the flame. He can just articulate it while I'm at a lost for words.

It wasn't until the sixth night that he introduced me to flogging. In my slightly drug induced state, I can remember a comment that challenged me to open up and let him in. While I'd like to think I'm an open book, I may not have parts of me that are even open to myself; after all, I don't have much memories before fifth grade. My New Year's resolution this year was to work on my metamorphosis.

So with that, and possibly with the hopes that nobody actually follows this blog anymore, I'm going to try...I want to figure out that spot in the center of my back that holds it all back. I still struggle with understanding why I'm still alive post 9/11 or what my purpose in this life truly is. I wrote the below post in 2012 but never published it. It's an honest reflection of the hopes and dreams of a little girl that just wants to feel loved and craves that sense of belonging which has always alluded her.

He asked me to count to 10. I couldn't voice the numbers but the thoughts that went into my head during the first two whips was that I just wanted to die and begging God to let me die. But after the third when my groin/buttocks were burning, there was some sense of self preservation that cried out 'red'. I know he's disappointed that I couldn't make it to 10. I'm disappointed in myself that I couldn't give that to him. In hindsight, it should have been 'orange'. Is hope red?

* * * * *

My first Disney flick was Little Mermaid. Ariel was different - she didn't quite fit in but it didn't stop her from exploring and seeking new adventures. As with any fairytale though, she found her Prince Charming and the credits start to roll. Since then, I've been enamored by the concept of love. I started collecting Disney movies after, and the sappy Hollywood scripts like Pretty Woman and Harlequin romance novels fueled the fantasy.

But reality is different. When I was 13, the thought of him out there, that there would be someone in the world in this lifetime that would love me unconditionally, kept me alive. I always thought I would be a one-man woman and mate for life. For a while I prayed for him everyday. Every spiritual location/moment, I would close my eyes, light a candle perhaps, and wish... 

In a brief moment in time, I was so sure with every fiber of my being, every bone in my body...that fate (God) finally led me to him. I took bold steps, I was willing to let go of it all...if only for the hope. But I didn't see the wrench that as fate gave me hope, it quickly dashed it away. I stopped praying for him daily - convinced that nothing I try would work. So while I cry less at night and haven't hugged the door in quite a while, it still hurts just as much.

While I'm no longer looking for Prince Charming and want someone to take care of me, it sure would be nice to find a life partner to share your joys and sorrows. And this post, just like every other journal I've started and trashed on this very topic, will eventually get deleted just like the wish of love.