I’m coming back, mah babeeeees!

What does it feel like? The first thoughts in my head in the morning are still anxious, but I’m able to talk to that scared kid and help her not be scared and therefore angry and reactive.

I’m able to see the Matrix. And by that I mean, all the woo woo. If you don’t believe in it, that’s ok. This post isn’t for you.

I can sense my purpose more clearly. I can feel other people’s energy more clearly as well. I don’t have to be annoyed. I don’t have to to absorb anything that isn’t meant for me. Sometimes that energy is important because it allows me to translate the message they need to hear in the language they can understand.

I heal myself. Sometimes through writing and reaching out. And sometimes that healing gets perpetuated because you need to heal too and whatever I’m doing has some purpose in your life. There’s a method to my madness that’s been proven time and again. This is how my reluctant faith was born.

I just have to trust.

To the non-believers (Samy and John…both nihilists who would repel each other violently if they ever met for their sameness, and Mikey to a lesser extent), I have these vicious obsessions with men. That’s totally understandable given that they don’t believe in higher purpose. They think I’m playing out dead end repetitive patterns with men who don’t deserve me. But that’s because they don’t understand that I have all these lessons to learn and these guys all play a role.

Guys more than women because there’s just no way I can have that intense connection with women when sex plays a huge role in how I understand a person.

How does the Israeli play into this…I still don’t fully understand. What I know is his continued presence in my life is meant to teach me lessons. About jealousy. About self worth. About my strengths. All the karmic Gordian knots I have to detangle.

I daydream about him intensely after we talk because of how he wants me. It’s sex plus intellect and understanding. I need to see me the way he sees me and there’s deep insight in that. Being understood means that he’s seen truths about me that I need to wrestle with.

John understands me in a different way. And I understand him in ways he can’t intellectualize but he feels them. It brings him comfort.

That is what I do for men. I allow them to be themselves by listening, by seeing the size of the cloth as well as all the individual threads and reassuring them fundamentally without them even having to say the really deep, heavy stuff they’re so afraid to say but aching for someone to catch. When it isn’t disconcerting, it’s the most comforting existential feeling they could possibly have.

Very few people understand me, and even then they only understand parts of me. It means that I get hurt. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

I have so many litmus tests for trust with men. There are layers to my deception. I will throw down every gauntlet to see if someone is ready for the next level. Until then, I can control who I am to them. If they don’t pass, I don’t write them off like I used to because I’ve learned that there are others doing exactly what I’m doing.

Tyler’s the main example of that. Anytime I’ve mentioned him to mutual friends, they say…”Tyler?” in this way that lets me know they’ve written him off as just Travis’ friend. It’s endlessly amusing.

Andrea told me the other night that her biggest fear is being invisible. I don’t worry about being invisible. That’s never been my problem. I’m too bombastic to be ignored. If anything, what I’ve struggled with is fitting in. What I think holds true is that I can’t fight my nature. I’m going to stick out. I’m just going to make sure it’s for the right reasons.

I love being underestimated. If I am a tabula rasa it means that I can attack from angles no one expects (much like the Spanish Inquisition). Test defenses. And then reveal something about myself. Sometimes those tests are me intentionally trying to repel someone with something untrue to see if they catch the lie. If they don’t catch the lie, they carry on believing it to be true and I don’t mind if it makes me look bad because they were never going to understand the truth anyway.

Even the people who do love me and understand aren’t capable of taking in all of me. I’m too much. I’m uncontainable. Men act as bumpers and borders to let me know where my edges are. It’s proprioception: the sense of self-movement and body perception. What it looks like to those who don’t understand is a need for validation. I don’t need to be validated. I need to be reflected back to myself or I lose touch with that vastness.

I’ve been mad at Tyler for even longer than he knows and it’s not even mostly his fault. I was angry at him for not reflecting me back to me when I needed it most. But there’s simply no way he could do that accurately when all my systems were down and I was malfunctioning. He can reflect me to me when everything is working as it should. I have to understand that about him. It’s not a fault of his. It’s his nature. In the tool box of friends, he reflects good me to me. When I break down I must go to others.

This is why it is important to have a varied toolbox of friends in my life. They wouldn’t necessarily get along with each other. They wouldn’t form a squad. But I don’t run in a pack. I don’t know what to do amongst a cadre of likeminded people.

Women are social creatures who look for group approval. It’s a useful skill, evolutionarily speaking. I’m not like that. I knew it when I was in first grade. My purpose is different. I have to stand outside the circle to be able to tell others what is going on. I give perspective. Either you love this or you hate this. Perspective isn’t always pretty. Some people just want the pretty.

I want the truth; good, bad or indifferent. It’s the only way change for the better can happen. It’s the only way I can heal others. It requires sacrifice and suffering. Like all the best things do. I can’t identify with the suffering or it becomes who I am. What I need is to be reminded of the suffering, in touch with it, so I can know other things by contrast.

Told you I was back.