Summer has been overcast, if not rainy. It’s great. I can keep every window open, and the whole day feels like it’s a dew-soaked morning on the verge of a sunrise. It’s enough to make me believe that the real summer is never coming.
These days I’m still recovering, still learning to treat myself with compassion. Sometimes it’s a blurry line between that and procrastination. I don’t know how I feel about parts of my life, parts I never questioned before, and it’s a strange uncertainty to be carrying.
That means I don’t know how to act around most people, something I haven’t had trouble with since I was a kid. I’ve been avoiding most social contact, while spending time with the few people who know me well enough to hurt me. Sometimes it’s like walking on a tightrope, waiting to fall off. Everything is an exercise in vulnerability. Luckily, they’re the right people to help me through as well, the right people to put my trust into. This is how I learn to love again.
I’m learning to be selfish too, especially at a time like this. I’ve realized how important it is to be obliged to myself, instead of constantly putting aside my feelings for the sake of others. That means understanding what I need out of my relationships, instead of trying to make them what I thought they should be. Sometimes that also means making sure I spend enough time alone.
Our reunion ended on a cliffhanger, where *Skins SPOILERS* Tony gets hit by a bus, Sid finds Cassie, and Angie breaks up with Chris. But finishing a season means we have the chance to start something new (or resume another show), and we tend to alternate between comedy and drama, sweet and savoury, while surrounded by kitties in the little nest we make for ourselves.
Cats warm their balls in your hair and make eye contact to show dominance.
I didn’t realize how hard it was to go a whole month without her until I saw her again. The time we’ve spent over the last few years has made me comfortable enough to let my guard down, and it’s good to be reminded that we’re capable of such things every now and then, especially when still dealing with trust issues and emotional trauma.
The things we share are often small and simple, as they’re mostly about pleasures and we’re easily pleased. Actually, it’s more like she’s easily pleased, while I’m pleased when others are happy. It’s a dynamic that works really well for both of us. I love myself when I’m with her cause she appreciates me in all the intricate ways I want to be appreciated, and that gives me a lot of the validation I need in my life right now.
Somewhere, I have notes on family and names, the infamy of Cuban fare, being alone together, breaking the seal, passing Damian on the way to Havana, salty hair from salty air, rum and brown, threaded fingers, not enough euchre, every life-guard trying to sell me lobster meals, patterns on palms, plus 20 minutes Cuba time, finding out how deep my scars run, blushing through my sunburn, sand everywhere and in everything.
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Heather left a package outside my door after trying to make plans and getting what must have been a distant answer. Organic herbal tea, 80% dark chocolate truffles, and not only sushi from my favourite restaurant, but my favourite kinds too. She knows me extraordinarily well for a person I barely get a chance to see, and she cares so much even though she has no idea what I’m going through. It’s helped me realize that some people are better at being what you need, that you can’t expect every person to fill all the roles in your life. I’m also trying to figure out what those needs are right now, and how to express those needs to others (or how hard it is for me to express them).
It always takes me a while to recover from these kinds of weeks, and this one was particularly difficult. When the cops showed up, I pulled the whole Drexl Spivey thing and ate my Chinese, carried on like I ain’t got a care in the world. I know what they need to hear, especially the second time around, and what’s more, I know that nothing they say will make a difference.
Everything has left me feeling numb and overstimulated. Almost all the hours are spent in Far Cry 3 with a bolt-action suppressed Z93, wasting time and lives in appropriate portions. Losing myself in that world and not getting anything productive done at all was an easy decision. I know I deserve to be okay for a little while, and we all deal with our damage in different ways.