Ramble: It’s 3AM I Must Be Lonely (Word to Matchbox 20)
by pronounced "ahhh" like a sigh
Last week was a bad week. It was filled with all types of triggers from the shooting to the anniversary of Peter’s death, followed immediately the following day by his birthday. I couldn’t seem to help but to sink into that pain place. I was sad. I was hurting for the world last week and I know myself well enough to know that I just can’t stay there. It’s not a good place to be. I stayed inside all last week and I was in bed more than I was out of it. I gave myself permission to feel. Even if what I was “feeling” wasn’t the best. I gave myself that permission so I could tell myself when enough is enough and Friday, I had to do that. I could feel myself sinking lower and lower and my brain was starting to present its own triggers. My writing wasn’t going as well as I wanted. I couldn’t remove thoughts of this man that had appeared out of nowhere and taken up real estate inside me. Pause. I was spinning and I had to stop the spinning. Put away the writing. Evict the man from the lobby of my heart (Word to Marty McConnell). I had to remember that because Peter was no longer with us, we got Boogie. And Boogie’s being here is directly connected to Peter. Don’t let anyone tell you different.
So yesterday, I took Boogie to my best friend’s daughter Jola’s birthday party. When I saw he was settled, I ran to the mall really quick (except for the part where I got lost) to handle some Christmas presents and buy some things for myself. Gorgeous New Year’s Eve dress that I’m so in love with. I have a party in New York. I’m hoping for one in DC. I’m also hoping for a date this year. I decided with all the ups and downs and back and forth my relationships have been through the years, something connected this time around and I realized that I’ve been settling for less than I wanted because I was afraid I might actually get it and then what was I supposed to do with it? Especially in the position I’m in now. I convinced myself that I had nothing to offer anyone. And I made that my reality. I realized yesterday, in the middle of trying on shoes (isn’t that usually when magical things happen?) that all I was doing was dressing up my fear. Calling it everything but what it actually was– straight up afraid. I’m scared of not being lovable. I know I”m adorable and funny and cute and people genuinely like me but I think in the back of my head (front of my forehead) that I wouldn’t ever be loved in that way. The way that’s all italics and squiggly lines and arguments and make ups and I was just thinking about you… I want to be loved in calligraphy not regular ass cursive. And it took a lot for me to admit that. I’ve never been in love. I figured that out over the summer. It’s always been this manic induced rush that ultimately goes away. I know what it’s supposed to feel like, taste like, look like, I’ve just never seen it or felt it. I’ve seen other people love. I saw the exact moment a friend of mine fell in love with her now boyfriend. And watching people fall in love or that are in love is such a beautiful thing to witness. It really does bring joy to the entire world. Don’t get me wrong, I love and I love hard. I love my friends and my family and people on Twitter that I haven’t even met in person. Let’s pretend that last bit didn’t sound insane.
I think I’m just finally admitting that I’m human and I want another human in my life whose job is to stay. And who isn’t afraid of how they feel about me. I’m not saying I want to get married or have a bunch of babies. I don’t and I don’t. I just want a chance to feel that thing at the same time someone else is feeling that thing for me. I want calligraphy. I think I deserve calligraphy. I deserve full middle of the dining table centerpiece type love. Not backburner, I’ll get to you when I can. I understand that that’s all some folks have to give. And I respect that. I know what I can and can’t give right now. But I also know that one day, I will be able to give that and I want that balance. Not that “I’ll take this for now.” I don’t want good enough. I want perfect. Like my shoes. I liked the ankle boots. I could wear them no problem. But I loved the thigh high suede stilettos and I LOVED the cognac riding boots. So I bought them and returned the ankle boots I didn’t really love, I just thought they were good enough.
This analogy went clear off the rails but I’m going to assume you know what I’m talking about.
It’s 3AM and I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. Since the shooting, actually. It’s something I’m going to have to talk to my doctor about. Lack of sleep is usually the first symptom of hypomanic period for me and I need to stay grounded and stable. I don’t have time for the high and then the crash that ultimately follows. This thing is constant work. Meds that worked perfectly months ago can all of a sudden just quit on you. And you have to start again. Someone on Twitter the other day asked me if it was “worth the fight”, especially if you’re constantly having to fight and start over and fight again and start over. And the answer is simply– yes. It is worth the fight. If I can fight over the last 8.5 in the shoe store, I can fight over this shadow that threatens my brain. And it is worth it. Feeling good is worth the fight. I appreciate my illness because it does make me this full of quirks and neurotic little monster and that’s some shit I like about myself. It doesn’t hurt. I like how quick my brain is with the one-liners and the jokes and the writing and the remembering trivia like it’s nothing. I like that. I don’t like the other stuff it does but I can control that and still keep me in tact.
I have no idea what I’m talking about. It’s 3AM and I can’t sleep. I have to be up in 4 hours to take Boogs to school. Then I have to return a jacket and a pair of shoes. Then NPR at 3. So no real time to nap or make up for the hours I’m wasting right now.
I should try to sleep or watch something really boring on Netflix.
One last thing, it sucks when the one you want is the only one that’s not available. I’m not going to live in an emotionless box. I feel things. I feel them deeply and I don’t want to have to hide that so someone else is comfortable. So if I ever fall in love with you (general you), prepare to get drenched in it. Bassey Ikpi has never been a drizzle.
Word to your life, son.