i'm going through changes (yay)

and it hurts like hell

It feels like the more I love myself, the more it hurts. It’s fucked man.

---

Taylor Swift may have coined I can do it with a broken heart, but I feet to the fire’d it. Changes by Donna Missal remains.

As I question if I will hold onto the good feels, I think of James Baldwin’s quote:

“Not everything that is faced can be changed. But nothing can be changed until it is faced.”

Or this random insta photo:

Or the entire Scrambled album.

And it’s this feeling of being healed is so damn fine. It makes me a hot girl.

Even if I wrote this in my journal yesterday:

You’ll never walk into a room, lean over, and kiss me again.

And that realization makes me breathless every time.

I miss you.

But I don’t miss you enough to respond:

It’s okay.

I forgive you.

We can figure it out.

I love you. I miss you. I’ll be here forever.

Is that healed? Yes. Yes it is. And I will not accept any counterarguments about it.

I don’t want to be with anyone else. When I abashedly say to people, I’ve known you in every lifetime. I know it’s true. In this lifetime, it was a year. In another lifetime, maybe you’re my best friend or my rabbit or we end up in that really cool, totally not unhealthy twin flames cult or we have a car accident, exchange insurance information and never meet again. Maybe this is delusion but the second sentence of this paragraph says that I feel I’ve known you in every universe so 🤷🏾‍♀️🔮. I need this as part of my healing. As part of my letting go.

I don’t want to be with anyone else. But I also don’t want to be with you. Lol okay that is a flat out lie. But I will not be with you. And that’s a strange feeling. I’ve always wanted to be with someone.

---

During my meal, I watched season 1 of Married to Medicine. Comforting. But now it’s time to go buy a car. As I finish my drink, I think what is my hype song. What tells me I can do this?

Because Someone Tell The Boys they’re not important anymore. More importantly, someone tell a young me.

This isn’t the first time I’ve solo got a car. Actually the 4th which is super weird because I don’t seem old enough for that but here I am.

All of this to say, I was so focused on the important and leaving myself behind.

Grad school. Working. Interning. Crying. Growing. Learning. Experiencing. Becoming. the medicine.

I don’t look down on these women. Quite obviously. It seems like a fun lovely life.

But I never want to pick up the phone and be like, “yes. My husbandddd Dr. Eugene will be paying for this.” cut to confessional “I plant the little seeds for my husband and then eventually he catches on.”

I want a partner. Is that why we fell in love? I was the medicine and you were the escape. I was the ???. No that’s not quite right. It’s more like I was partner and you were partner. You were partner and I was partner.

---

The truth didn’t hurt until I knew what it was.

The hardest part about being healed, or healing or whatever. Is the coping. I literally thought to myself, I wish I could deal with this like when I hated myself. I didn’t think I hated myself. I guess I didn’t really think about it at all.

But I did. I certainly didn’t love myself. Or even like myself really.

Now I hate everything else. I love me. I’m obsessed with me. My aura is bright pink lemonade sunshine while the aura of everything else is black hole and not the pretty galaxy kind.

So I guess this next stage of healing is loving me and not hating the things I have to accept. Not hating that the world goes round. I used to work with a child that would literally just scream at the top of their lungs when things were unfair. And every single time, I wanted to scream with them. I wanted to get down on that ground and scream. But there sat their parents and a building full of people. So I therapized it. I bright pink lemonade sunshine’d it.

---

I thought you text me. I was driving my brand new 7 miles on it car with my best friend in the passenger seat. And she screamed….no no no don’t do it. And i thought…you’re thinking of me…on a Friday night. Isn’t that the worst statement of it all? 8 months…an infinity of lifetimes…and I’m surprised that you text me because at this time, you should be deep into a depression sleep that lasts an entire weekend.

So yeah, I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t even a good emotion. I was surprised. I was worried. I was, this is a brand new moving 7 miles on it car and I am looking at this text even if it kills me and my friend both.

What the car notification didn’t clarify was “maybe: David.” It simply said David. And maybe: David isn’t you. It’s the guy who sold me the car. So for 30 seconds of time. There was a universe where I thought you were thinking of me on a Friday night where I had spent an entire night thinking about you.

To be clear, I put on an amazing display. Showed up hot af. Socialized. Showed off. But it was you. Isn’t there a song? It was always you (was anyone full on guessing if it was gonna be Maroon 5 or Shawn Mendes. It, honestly, was a tough toss up of which to choose).

I feel pathetic writing week after week about a man. And if I’m being honest. Day after day. It’s like a MAN. Disgusting.

But it is what’s in my heart. In my head. In my healing.

---

What is it they say about your 30s?

You have more money and something something.

But you know what? They also say ignorance is bliss.

It wasn’t. I mean, objectively, this is better. Lonelier while also not. The roster is empty but it is so nice to not be attempting to force myself to like men I most definitely hate. Truly. It’s not a dislike. It’s a hatred but damn did I do my damnest to like them. So yeah less gaslighting guys to text but not lonelier.

More satisfying for sure. I’m so well rested. I’m not waking up in the middle of the night to check my phone. DND remains on without a second thought. If you wanted to see me, you should have made the plans before 4pm my brother in Christ otherwise 🤷🏾‍♀️.