Once again I find myself sitting here in front of the computer but now I have the freedom of Dragon NaturallySpeaking. A program designed to let those of us who are completely and totally lazy write really really fast and say a bunch of stuff without actually having put our hands on a keyboard which gives me the freedom to do my nails while I'm talking. Oh, the fun of being a techy girl.
I'm starting to become a bit jaded with the whole Facebook culture. I don't know what's worse: knowing that I have people that I claim to be friends but aren't really friends or allowing myself to get caught in the social network. It's getting about as ridiculous as MySpace from a few years ago and that whole having MySpace friends. It all seems so high school as if the most signatures in your year book will make you any better or any worse than anybody else.
I'd like to think I'm one of those more logically realistic people. My therapist even tells me that. Lately, my therapist and I have been fighting over how I perceive myself and how I allow other people to perceive me and it's a fairly difficult process. I spent most of my childhood protecting and guarding myself against the entire real world. This is mostly because I didn't have hardly any friends growing up because my grandmother didn't care to take me anywhere and there were children for me to socialize with.She called it, "a waste of gas." So essentially, I spent my childhood alone. The few times I did get to play with children my own age, I didn't know how to play with them. I reacted so strangely that I was usually teased, picked on, taunted and then ignored. Eventually, I gave up playing with kids. I retracted and I isolated myself.
This isolation continues on. I keep telling myself I'm okay. Probably one of the best lies I know how to tell.
I find myself fighting with depression on a regular basis now. Most people seem to believe that I should be ashamed of the fact that I am seeing a therapist. My mother honestly hates the fact that I talk to my therapist. Sometimes, I think she's jealous. I don't think my mother could bear to see me cry though. Not the way I cry when I'm in therapy.
I notice now after I'm done with therapy, I have started getting migraines. They start shortly after my session and sometimes continue on for days. It's sort of scary. That my emotions becomes so bottled, so pressurized, so contained that with only a small amount of them is released that one hour every other Thursday that I am crippled for sometimes a weekend.I am definitely afraid. I don't want to be put on medication because there is a part of me that equates medication with weakness in myself. I guess there is a part of me that believes that I am somehow stronger and I should be able to tolerate more. And then, the vice of dread clamps down on me, and I am once again in pain. I don't like knowing that I am fallible, but I have to start accepting that sometimes everyone needs help.
There no superheroes. There are no supermen. No one is watching the watchmen.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Finally, the airing of the grievances.
This is coming about a week after Festivus and considering I live by the saying, "better late than pregnant," here goes.
You know, I'm pretty tired of people who think that every time they so much as fart or eat cheese that they HAVE to tell the world. You all know these people. They're the ones that talk about every time the change their kids diaper and they have to talk about how the "poopy smells" or how they're "sooooo happy to be a mommy and wife." You know I get being happy about having a kid (for me it would be the same thing as have a corgi or a big screen tv as far as pride level goes), but, dang, shut up for a minute.
I hate people that refer almost exclusively to other people in their life by relationship titles.(i.e. boyfriend, fiance, girlfriend) Do you want to be introduced to someone like that? You are not carbon based life form number 437,654,123,956. Use the name other people's parents gave them when you are talking about someone, especially when they are standing right there beside you. I can get using the title once so that the other person knows why this other mouth breather is standing around, but after that, the title is NOT interchangeable for their name. I mean I could give a flying fig if this is your darling daughter who just won the freaking tap dance championship of greater squirrel turd Georgia, unless she is blocking the platter of sausage balls. Then, and only then, do I care, and I want her to move because I get sausage balls once a year. That time is Christmas. Now move, and take your bronze medal of a child with you. You both reek of boredom, and I wish to drink my half spiked punch without you killing my sugar high/buzz.
To those of you with smartphones that play your crappy music as you walk across campus, STOP IT. I am floored by the absolute garbage that passes for music these days. I know I am officially a grumpy old woman because I looked at a professor and said, "Remember the good old days? You know when people wore headphones and didn't think people gave a $#@* about their craptacular taste in music?" I miss those days.
I also miss the days of hip hop and rap before auto-tune. Now every dimwit with a Mac and some vocoding software can rise to ranks of Soulja Boy and Lil Wayne. Ugh. What happened to musicians playing instruments and everything not being touched up and perfected in post? What happened to talent and skill and writers that have a sense of meter and rhythm and rhyme and consonance? Oh, wait, I know. It's in the crapper like everything else in the popular media.
VAMPIRES DO NOT SPARKLE. Someone smack Stephanie Meyer before she tries to ruin some other long running literary trope. Oh and have you ever seen a picture of Kristen Stewart with her mouth closed or where she doesn't look stoned out of her mind? Seriously. Go Google image search Kristen Stewart. I'll wait.........................
SEE?!?! THERE ARE NONE.
We need to eat cows so they stop burping and farting methane into the atmosphere and messing up the ozone layer. Then again, maybe some of your brain chemicals are so messed up that you think it's ok that it's 115 in the shade and you don't mind sweating like a fat guy chasing the Tastee-freez truck during your 90 second walk into work. It would be different if you were allergic to it or your body couldn't digest protein or even if it were against your religion. (FYI, humans have a harder time digesting corn than meat. Think about it.)
You know, I'm pretty tired of people who think that every time they so much as fart or eat cheese that they HAVE to tell the world. You all know these people. They're the ones that talk about every time the change their kids diaper and they have to talk about how the "poopy smells" or how they're "sooooo happy to be a mommy and wife." You know I get being happy about having a kid (for me it would be the same thing as have a corgi or a big screen tv as far as pride level goes), but, dang, shut up for a minute.
I hate people that refer almost exclusively to other people in their life by relationship titles.(i.e. boyfriend, fiance, girlfriend) Do you want to be introduced to someone like that? You are not carbon based life form number 437,654,123,956. Use the name other people's parents gave them when you are talking about someone, especially when they are standing right there beside you. I can get using the title once so that the other person knows why this other mouth breather is standing around, but after that, the title is NOT interchangeable for their name. I mean I could give a flying fig if this is your darling daughter who just won the freaking tap dance championship of greater squirrel turd Georgia, unless she is blocking the platter of sausage balls. Then, and only then, do I care, and I want her to move because I get sausage balls once a year. That time is Christmas. Now move, and take your bronze medal of a child with you. You both reek of boredom, and I wish to drink my half spiked punch without you killing my sugar high/buzz.
To those of you with smartphones that play your crappy music as you walk across campus, STOP IT. I am floored by the absolute garbage that passes for music these days. I know I am officially a grumpy old woman because I looked at a professor and said, "Remember the good old days? You know when people wore headphones and didn't think people gave a $#@* about their craptacular taste in music?" I miss those days.
I also miss the days of hip hop and rap before auto-tune. Now every dimwit with a Mac and some vocoding software can rise to ranks of Soulja Boy and Lil Wayne. Ugh. What happened to musicians playing instruments and everything not being touched up and perfected in post? What happened to talent and skill and writers that have a sense of meter and rhythm and rhyme and consonance? Oh, wait, I know. It's in the crapper like everything else in the popular media.
VAMPIRES DO NOT SPARKLE. Someone smack Stephanie Meyer before she tries to ruin some other long running literary trope. Oh and have you ever seen a picture of Kristen Stewart with her mouth closed or where she doesn't look stoned out of her mind? Seriously. Go Google image search Kristen Stewart. I'll wait.........................
SEE?!?! THERE ARE NONE.
We need to eat cows so they stop burping and farting methane into the atmosphere and messing up the ozone layer. Then again, maybe some of your brain chemicals are so messed up that you think it's ok that it's 115 in the shade and you don't mind sweating like a fat guy chasing the Tastee-freez truck during your 90 second walk into work. It would be different if you were allergic to it or your body couldn't digest protein or even if it were against your religion. (FYI, humans have a harder time digesting corn than meat. Think about it.)
Stop having kids. There are too many. Yes, I know, everyone should have the "joys" of bearing children, but humans are not brood sows. Way back in the day (like Victorian times), you didn't have kids if you weren't wealthy. Now, so many households have at least 3. Why? Who knows? It's not like birth control pills and condoms aren't free.
I can't get money to go to college because single moms are ranked higher than me for tuition assistance. I was told by the moron in financial aid at FMU that if I had kids I might get a grant. HECK NO. I already have stretch marks. I'm not getting more for the sake of getting some free money now. I'll take out a loan before that happens. A loan can get paid off. A kid is FOREVER. No, thank you.
Starbucks is not that awesome is never going to be worth sitting in that drive thru for 20 minutes or paying $5 a cup for coffee. I like my Ghetto-Mochas much more and they cost me all of $0.60 to make and that includes the cost of the paper cup I'm going to throw away because I'm too lazy/busy to hunt down a recycling bin for cardboard/#3 plastic.
Hey hipsters, stop wearing women's jeans drinking PBR and acting like Macs are the $%^&. Fixies are not the new Priuses. Your supposed sense of irony is only your own lack of maturity and willingness to grow up, get a real job and move out of your parent's house. Quit trying to be an artist/musician/barista and be a man.
Check into Foursquare or Facebook. Not both. I don't need double reassurance you're at McD's at 3am on a Thursday. (Don't you have a job?!?!)
People that don't speak English so much as chew on the words and spit them at you make me wish I could smack their parents. Learn to speak like you don't have marbles in your mouth and maybe people will think you are smart or at least not mildly handicapable (or whatever BS PC term is savvy this month).
Oh and the PC police has gotten out of hand. I'll be tarred and feathered if I'm going to learn a whole new set of terms for any race or creed at this point in my life when this all worked just fine until someone got their feelings hurt and decided everything had to have all the friendly over blown terms. Sanitation engineers were trash men. Food service staff are waiters and cooks. Those terms are supposed to sound special and give the job the respect they deserve but no one gives. I'm not going to be mean to my trash guy because he hauls off my trash, but the PC term makes it sound like he has a PhD in refuse disposal. I don't demand to be called a merchandising specialist at one job and a software support specialist at the other. I'm a stocker for the most part and tech support. Titles like that don't mean anything except for looking good on resumes.
Speaking of racism (back on a tangent a bit ago), everyone is discriminatory. If you say you aren't, you're a liar. Everyone has something about some race or creed that they don't like. Half the people I know say they aren't racists, but if you get them talking, they will say they hate Muslims or "A-rabs." Durrrr. Hey, dingus, that's being racist or at least you're a bigot. I have my moments and I think mostly it comes from my Southern semi-Republican upbringing that I have some of my ideals. We all don't like something about some culture or people that is not like us because we all want to be right. Just admit that you have moments of prejudice. You're not Jesus. He's the only person that has always loved everyone.
Finally, if you're going to unfriend or whatever me because of this, fine. I don't care. This is a long time in coming and I have been waiting until Festivus (or after it) to get everything said. I didn't want to point any fingers because that's rude and I haven't had a manicure in months.
Buy one of those little fellows above. He's cute and he's pudgy and he doesn't judge. Plus, he's squishy. Tim got him for me for Christmas and I love him. Tim and the toy. In different ways.
Happy new year.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Every once in a while, you just have to pray.
I know I'm not the most spiritual person in the world, but I do have faith in something much bigger than me. It's days that start off like this that make me really dig down and hope for something more. So I pray and ask for things to get better.
I was on time for work this morning. I had just taken some more cold medicine (since I've been fighting "The Ick" all weekend) and was on my way to work. I didn't pay attention because of the OTC med induced haze and was speeding. Yeah, I got a ticket. I hadn't had one in 8 years. I started crying, but I knew it was pretty well my fault. I just hate the thought of going to court and all.
Late to work. Confusing training. Backwards, weirdly stapled powerpoint. Meh.
I get to class. I got an A on my poetry assignment. Writing for that class is like pulling teeth. It's a creative writing class where I am forced to write a certain way every time. At least I can follow the creative formula well enough and the stuff that I write always seems to be A worthy. I don't get it. Maybe the teacher has low expectations.
Spanish class produced a surprise A on an exam that I panicked over and didn't feel like I studied enough for.
English class forced me to once again hate Victorian England for all it's bassackwards-ness. Here's the lesson kids: Yay! Penis. Boo! Vagina. Women are evil because they have feelings. God is all there is until Darwin then everyone is confused. Church is everything. Yay! Jesus. Boo! Logic and reason and free thought.
Work brings me to where I am. I paid bills. I prayed for nice clients. Then this lady called in. Julie, I think. She was the sweetest most disconnected lady I had spoke to in ages. She sounded like she was utterly confused, but willing to learn and listen. I wasn't really thinking about what I was doing. I was just doing my job. I was figuring out that she was on an exchange server and she couldn't email out of the software. She broke through what I was saying...
"Thank you. I like you."
I was caught off guard. I responded in kind and said, "Thank you. I like you too."
"No, I mean I like you. You actually sound like you care about me understanding."
"Yes ma'am. I do care. I want you to understand how to use the software and feel comfortable with it."
The conversation went back and forth like that. Apparently, she emailed my boss all happy about the work I did and will be calling back to ask for me. It sort of makes me feel nice to know that I have people that are total strangers that like me that much and want to talk to me again.
Needless to say, whenever I get worried or bothered by the stuff in life that I cannot affect, I pray.
I was on time for work this morning. I had just taken some more cold medicine (since I've been fighting "The Ick" all weekend) and was on my way to work. I didn't pay attention because of the OTC med induced haze and was speeding. Yeah, I got a ticket. I hadn't had one in 8 years. I started crying, but I knew it was pretty well my fault. I just hate the thought of going to court and all.
Late to work. Confusing training. Backwards, weirdly stapled powerpoint. Meh.
I get to class. I got an A on my poetry assignment. Writing for that class is like pulling teeth. It's a creative writing class where I am forced to write a certain way every time. At least I can follow the creative formula well enough and the stuff that I write always seems to be A worthy. I don't get it. Maybe the teacher has low expectations.
Spanish class produced a surprise A on an exam that I panicked over and didn't feel like I studied enough for.
English class forced me to once again hate Victorian England for all it's bassackwards-ness. Here's the lesson kids: Yay! Penis. Boo! Vagina. Women are evil because they have feelings. God is all there is until Darwin then everyone is confused. Church is everything. Yay! Jesus. Boo! Logic and reason and free thought.
Work brings me to where I am. I paid bills. I prayed for nice clients. Then this lady called in. Julie, I think. She was the sweetest most disconnected lady I had spoke to in ages. She sounded like she was utterly confused, but willing to learn and listen. I wasn't really thinking about what I was doing. I was just doing my job. I was figuring out that she was on an exchange server and she couldn't email out of the software. She broke through what I was saying...
"Thank you. I like you."
I was caught off guard. I responded in kind and said, "Thank you. I like you too."
"No, I mean I like you. You actually sound like you care about me understanding."
"Yes ma'am. I do care. I want you to understand how to use the software and feel comfortable with it."
The conversation went back and forth like that. Apparently, she emailed my boss all happy about the work I did and will be calling back to ask for me. It sort of makes me feel nice to know that I have people that are total strangers that like me that much and want to talk to me again.
Needless to say, whenever I get worried or bothered by the stuff in life that I cannot affect, I pray.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Life for Sale
Boxes of our old life
scattered on the lawn.
Strangers rifling through memories.
Their crumpled dollar bills
exchange for my pain.
I watch them pack you up
and haul you away.
A little past daylight,
my pocket full of singles
and my heart empty of you.
This came from the yard sale I had a few weeks ago with a friend. Some of the ex's stuff went. Shirts, a few other insignificant things. In the end, I was so happy to know I had less stuff. That I was no longer weighed down by all these things I wouldn't use. Sometimes, you have to really let go of everything physical and sell it all or give it away to someone else. I thought about some of those things when wrote that and realized, I didn't give a damn about him anymore.
I miss his dog, though.
scattered on the lawn.
Strangers rifling through memories.
Their crumpled dollar bills
exchange for my pain.
I watch them pack you up
and haul you away.
A little past daylight,
my pocket full of singles
and my heart empty of you.
This came from the yard sale I had a few weeks ago with a friend. Some of the ex's stuff went. Shirts, a few other insignificant things. In the end, I was so happy to know I had less stuff. That I was no longer weighed down by all these things I wouldn't use. Sometimes, you have to really let go of everything physical and sell it all or give it away to someone else. I thought about some of those things when wrote that and realized, I didn't give a damn about him anymore.
I miss his dog, though.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
A breath of hope.
I've been dating Tim now for what will be 6 official months today. Recently, I have had several people come up to me and tell me that they are thrilled to see me so happy. One person said, "I have know you for years, Alicia. I have seen your heart broken by some absolute trash and to see you smile now. Well, I've never seen you smile like that. I'm happy for you from the bottom of my heart."
Then, the fear creeps in. It's long fingers close around my throat and I am choked by it. I guess a part of me still lives in the past. That terrified part of me that believes all I will get is pain back for the love I gave out. Deep down, I'm a little scared of getting to know his friends for fear I will lose them the way I have lost friends before.
There's actually a part of me that is scared of making friends anyway. Fear of getting close, trusting people, letting people see me as I am inside. I have made so many friends only to have them fade away like scars. Then, I make new friends and they fade away. Eventually all that is left is the light pain from where they were when my thoughts graze the scar of memory. Some scars are still too fresh and tears fill my eyes.
When I arrived at work today, I walked in with Tim as he was coming in from his break. We spoke briefly of our little anniversary and smiled over it. I'm lucky to have someone like him that remembers what some people would consider so insignificant. Someone that brings me a diet soda without me asking for one when he goes on break. Someone that sees me despite my efforts to keep up a wall of protection from the world. Someone like him.
So even though the fingers of fear reach out to choke me from time to time, I still manage to keep a breath of hope within me. Somehow, I'll survive.
Then, the fear creeps in. It's long fingers close around my throat and I am choked by it. I guess a part of me still lives in the past. That terrified part of me that believes all I will get is pain back for the love I gave out. Deep down, I'm a little scared of getting to know his friends for fear I will lose them the way I have lost friends before.
There's actually a part of me that is scared of making friends anyway. Fear of getting close, trusting people, letting people see me as I am inside. I have made so many friends only to have them fade away like scars. Then, I make new friends and they fade away. Eventually all that is left is the light pain from where they were when my thoughts graze the scar of memory. Some scars are still too fresh and tears fill my eyes.
When I arrived at work today, I walked in with Tim as he was coming in from his break. We spoke briefly of our little anniversary and smiled over it. I'm lucky to have someone like him that remembers what some people would consider so insignificant. Someone that brings me a diet soda without me asking for one when he goes on break. Someone that sees me despite my efforts to keep up a wall of protection from the world. Someone like him.
So even though the fingers of fear reach out to choke me from time to time, I still manage to keep a breath of hope within me. Somehow, I'll survive.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
The fury and the sadness
The people that have gotten to know me, really gotten to know me, know that I can be a very furious person. I wear my aggression (passive as it may be) like a coat at all times. I find myself balling up my fists and biting my lips till they bleed some days. I get so angry that I cry.
In my Tuesday couch trips, I talk about this anger and how it stems for a sadness within me that I am finally coming to terms with. It's a pain I have hidden for years. Sadly, I have known it almost as long as I can remember. I first felt this way when I realized I was different from all the other little kids my own age. I was in kindergarten and they were going around the room asking what our parents did for a living. I knew my mother was a secretary for a judge, but I had no idea what my father did at the time as I only saw him a few times a year.(My parents had been divorced since I was 2) As I got frustrated to the point of crying because I didn't know the answer, the other children laughed and pointed and taunted me. "Alicia doesn't know what her daddy does!" I felt like I would never belong because I knew my family was broken and part of me probably was too. That's a horrible revelation for a child to come to at 5.
As I continued through school, I was always separated by teachers because of my intelligence and behavior. Other children were special because they were smart. I was...different. Part of me grew to hate that word.
It didn't really help that I was the only child of a woman that fought every man that stood in her way. Her anger and distaste for the way men treated her in the past rubbed off on me. Even now, I have a hard time trusting men. (Also when you consider my horrendous track record with some of the "winners" I have dated over the past 5 years, it sort of makes sense.) Still, I have a flicker of hope within me.
For 23 years, I have dealt with an anger and sadness that I have never known how to let go of. Sometimes, I wonder if I will always be this way. During my last couch trip, I looked over at my fellow voyager and said, "I think we're going to be doing this for the next two years." I want to get rid of this. I really do. I want to one day be something other than angry.
I want to be happy.
In my Tuesday couch trips, I talk about this anger and how it stems for a sadness within me that I am finally coming to terms with. It's a pain I have hidden for years. Sadly, I have known it almost as long as I can remember. I first felt this way when I realized I was different from all the other little kids my own age. I was in kindergarten and they were going around the room asking what our parents did for a living. I knew my mother was a secretary for a judge, but I had no idea what my father did at the time as I only saw him a few times a year.(My parents had been divorced since I was 2) As I got frustrated to the point of crying because I didn't know the answer, the other children laughed and pointed and taunted me. "Alicia doesn't know what her daddy does!" I felt like I would never belong because I knew my family was broken and part of me probably was too. That's a horrible revelation for a child to come to at 5.
As I continued through school, I was always separated by teachers because of my intelligence and behavior. Other children were special because they were smart. I was...different. Part of me grew to hate that word.
It didn't really help that I was the only child of a woman that fought every man that stood in her way. Her anger and distaste for the way men treated her in the past rubbed off on me. Even now, I have a hard time trusting men. (Also when you consider my horrendous track record with some of the "winners" I have dated over the past 5 years, it sort of makes sense.) Still, I have a flicker of hope within me.
For 23 years, I have dealt with an anger and sadness that I have never known how to let go of. Sometimes, I wonder if I will always be this way. During my last couch trip, I looked over at my fellow voyager and said, "I think we're going to be doing this for the next two years." I want to get rid of this. I really do. I want to one day be something other than angry.
I want to be happy.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Me within me
I spent a lot of time fighting myself when I was with someone from my past. I warred with myself to be someone that I wasn't. I tried to squeeze myself in a mold and into a size 8. I'm not that person. I can't be bent that way anymore. I damn near broke in two when I tried. I have learned that if someone does not accept you as you are when they first get to know you, you will never be happy with them. My happiness from that time was a farce and a show. I know that now and it's taken me a year to come to terms with the lies I told myself.
Now, just about every weekend for the past four months I have spent time with Tim. We talk about a little of everything and a good bit of nothing. I find myself sitting across the table from him or on the couch and I lose all track of thought. I start noticing the slope of the bridge of his nose or the way his eyebrows curve or the peony shade of his lower lip or how his mustache is a lighter shade of brown than the rest of his beard. I then have to force myself to listen to his words again because I found myself lost in the finest details of him. In those moments, I feel like I am experiencing a high school crush all over again. I am not after him for his looks, mind you. I rarely date people that I am physically attracted to. I find his heart and his mind most attractive.
We sit together, and even if we are not touching, I feel him there. I have been around people that I can be in a room with for hours and not feel their presence. It's comforting to feel someone's presence again. Without that sensation, a cold creeps into your soul that takes far too long to get out. That part of me had only started to thaw when I started to let Tim in. Now, when I sit with him, there is a warmth and a glow in my heart that I honestly cannot remember.
I think I once told Tim, "I forgot what joy was." The truth is, I never knew it. Not with the others. I spent so many years living for someone else's happiness, someone else's whims. I tried to be the woman they could love at the sacrifice of being able to love myself.
Then there was Tim. Someone I found myself being myself around and I scared myself by doing so. I found myself laughing, singing, living...being. Being me. I found myself being a person I had forgotten existed. It was hard at first because I was scared of myself and what Tim would think about me being me. He didn't realize I was still feeling my way in this new, but old, skin. The more I am with him the more I get in touch with myself. I don't want to let the feeling slip away.
Now, just about every weekend for the past four months I have spent time with Tim. We talk about a little of everything and a good bit of nothing. I find myself sitting across the table from him or on the couch and I lose all track of thought. I start noticing the slope of the bridge of his nose or the way his eyebrows curve or the peony shade of his lower lip or how his mustache is a lighter shade of brown than the rest of his beard. I then have to force myself to listen to his words again because I found myself lost in the finest details of him. In those moments, I feel like I am experiencing a high school crush all over again. I am not after him for his looks, mind you. I rarely date people that I am physically attracted to. I find his heart and his mind most attractive.
We sit together, and even if we are not touching, I feel him there. I have been around people that I can be in a room with for hours and not feel their presence. It's comforting to feel someone's presence again. Without that sensation, a cold creeps into your soul that takes far too long to get out. That part of me had only started to thaw when I started to let Tim in. Now, when I sit with him, there is a warmth and a glow in my heart that I honestly cannot remember.
I think I once told Tim, "I forgot what joy was." The truth is, I never knew it. Not with the others. I spent so many years living for someone else's happiness, someone else's whims. I tried to be the woman they could love at the sacrifice of being able to love myself.
Then there was Tim. Someone I found myself being myself around and I scared myself by doing so. I found myself laughing, singing, living...being. Being me. I found myself being a person I had forgotten existed. It was hard at first because I was scared of myself and what Tim would think about me being me. He didn't realize I was still feeling my way in this new, but old, skin. The more I am with him the more I get in touch with myself. I don't want to let the feeling slip away.
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