What I wanted to do was to turn out the lights, curl up in a ball and shut out the world.
What I really wanted to do was to turn out the lights, curl up in a ball with my sweetheart, and shut out the world, possibly hearing those magic, fairytale words, “It’s ok”.
I don’t have a sweetheart to curl up with, and I can’t sleep. Right now, it’s not ok.
You see, today, despite always trying to be kind, loving and the world’s greatest promoter of open communication, I was hurt by two people very dear to me.
Call it what you will; lying, omission, whatever.
Being played for a fool, and not being trusted with emotional content is the emotional equivalent to tunneling through my heart with a grapefruit spoon. It’s messy, and it hurts like hell.
When someone isn’t honest with me, I figure it’s for one of two very basic reasons; They’re afraid of being judged, or they’re an asshole.
Very few people I care about would fall into the latter category. So that makes me think that it’s something that I’ve done wrong. I must make them feel like I’m critical…They must think I’m stupid…They must be ashamed and are afraid to tell me…I’m a terrible person who makes people feel like they can’t talk to me….
And so it goes. I beat myself up and feel like my best just isn’t good enough. I feel like I’ve failed the people whom I care the most about.
Guilt, sadness and feeling inadequate; The trifecta of feeling like crap. There is never any rejoicing in being lied to or taken for a fool.
I practice what I preach when it comes to matters of the heart. I leave it all out there every day. I don’t miss an opportunity to let someone know I’m thinking of them, and I always, always, always tell them I love them.
Life is, by the way, a matter of the heart. Just in case you forgot what being a human being is all about and have mistaken it for a game of who can acquire the most stuff, the quality of your character matters, not the quality of your clothing.
I know that being able to open yourself to love is the cost of being loved. In other words, if you put it all out there, like I do, it’s a risk. But it’s a great risk. If you don’t allow yourself to be seen (in the spiritual sense), you don’t allow yourself to be loved, nurtured, or to grow in the warm light of relationship.
As my humble roots might mutter, “If you half-ass it, you’ll get half-assed results”.
For wearing my heart on my sleeve, I’ve had it beaten up, mocked and treated like hell. It’s a tough old heart, but it’s just as tender on the inside as it was when I was a school girl with the school girl crush, and that’s the way I plan on keeping it.
After all, if you don’t put it out there, the right people will never be able to capture and care for it.
When your best isn’t good enough, it’s ok to be sad, to cry, to feel alone, and to dig your heels in and battle on in the name of all that you believe to be good and true.
I read a very short blog entry this morning at kelzbelzphotography about people criticizing the blog, topics and the writer.
It’s true, not everyone loves everything we write. I even get nasty comments from people I know, and people who only have the courage to identify as anonymous, the poor feckless arseholes.
I’ve even had a few rather threatening comments, and a few blog-stalkers, of whom I know their identities and whereabouts thanks to my obsession with the statistics page we have access to.
It’s important that we feel safe here, in the blogosphere of free speech that we are damn lucky to have. It’s also important to be brave, courageous, and supportive to other writers we feel a kinship with. For the others, in my case, the bigots, morons and close-minded, I either ignore them, or leave my opinion in a non-threatening way. You know, something delicate like, “Pull your head out of your butt hillbilly.”
You see, in this little space, many of us post our heart’s desires. This is where I come to tap out a few lines because I’m too busy to crack open the notebook on a new novel I’m writing. These few minutes launch me into my day and sate my proclivity to daydreaming and wasting my days away leaving the mundane to pile up like a big wad of anxiety in my mind.
We show you our stories, works of art and poetry. This is where we come to live out our creativity, and as you know baby-cakes, creativity is no mere sixth sense. No, it is the sacred expression of the human spirit.
The weekend blog-posts are written at my little writing desk with the morning sun streaming through the lace curtains and falling on the hearty green leaves of my beloved shamrock. From here I see the world and my future unfold where others might only see a weathered obelisque and the hyacinths beginning to poke their green heads through the grey-brown muck of early spring.