Remembering a moment of happiness~

I was surprised that this was what first came to mind with the prompt, "Tell me about a time you were happy." I've been happier since then, but I think that this was when I started to blossom, the moment the wall of darkness around my heart began to crack and give way....

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The first thing she did when she brought an exhausted, nervous me with all of my luggage home with her that first night from the airport was sit down right behind me. She pulled my hair out of it's messy pony-tail and proceeded to brush it gently for about ten minutes. We didn't talk, she just brushed and I tried not to cry. I could feel each brush stroke radiate warmth over my entire body. I was here, I was safe and I was being touched. I couldn't remember the last time someone had just touched me, hugged me, loved me. I felt happy in a raw, hopeful sort of way. Later I was happiest in the car with her, holding hands while we both sang at the top of our lungs. She was as physically stunning as she was kind. People would turn to get a second glance because of her long, silky brown hair and her full breasts, but they'd keep staring because of her deep aqua-green eyes and friendly smile. It was as if she wore her kind heart on the outside, instead of keeping it tucked away and protected on the inside like everyone else. I loved looking at her. I never got over the amazement I felt when she'd reassure me that she was my home. I remember all the songs we sang those years together in Texas. Everytime I hear music from that time frame I'm reminded of her and it brings me mixed emotions. Mostly happiness and a little pain as all things seem to bring in life. We ate out at restuarants nearly every night. She was tired after cooking for her ex-husband seventeen years. She bought me new clothes, she dressed me like her little doll and every day felt like a celebration. We lived in a fantasy world, our own separate little fantasy worlds, but gosh was I ever happy. I wouldn't trade any of it for a minute.

Begin with "No Thank you," and see what flows....

This is what came out of my pencil (the tool of my heart)

I've been letting go of some former friends this year. I've never really let go of people before now. I've always been the one to keep calling, keep sending cards, keep hanging on. I feel like in letting go I'm growing up, moving on.

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No thank you, I dont need one sided relationships anymore. I'm not going to be the only one who calls to check in, the only one who writes and the girl who sits there pathetically waiting for signs that you still care. My life is full of surface relationships and a few deeper, more connected friendships. I don't need to hang on to you just because I love you. I don't need to constantly remind you I care. Who said this was my life's duty anyway? No thank you.

I'm giving up, I'm letting you go. I crave the deeper connection we once experienced together, but I recognize that if I hang on to those who can no longer give back, there won't be room for future connections. I pray that by releasing these former soul mates, my own growing soul will have the room to embrace new ones. You have served a purpose in my life and have made an impact, I can only hope I've done the same for you. I will always love you for the person you once were, but I need to be seen now for the person I am today. I am only open to relationships with people who are able and willing to take the time to do that. I'm setting you free with the hopes that by sending you off with love more will return to me. If it doesn't, well I'll be okay anyway.

Thoughts on Halloween

My little Vampire And my little cowboy

There is a tiny actress who lays curled up at the bottom of my heart. She's so small in comparison to the mother, the friend, the saboteur that she's rarely given a chance to rise up and play an active role in my life. Halloween has always been the one day I celebrate her, honor her and let her rise above all of the other clutter I carry within.October is my favorite month. It's like a month of foreplay with that inner actress. In the past I would start dreaming of costumes as early as August.

One year when I was thirteen I dressed as a pregnant, dead bride. I wore my mom's old wedding dress. She never seemed to care about it and had given it to me months before. I think I wore vampire fangs with that costume too, just because I like the way it felt when I slid my tongue back and forth across the little plastic points. In fact, I liked fangs so much that I dressed as a vampire on several Halloweens. It always seemed to make my costumes better. Sure, I could be a clown, but wouldn't it be better if I were a vampire clown?!! When I bought my fangs, I'd never get cheapy plastic molds that covered all of my teeth. I wanted the real deal, so instead I'd buy the fangs that came in a black, coffin shaped jewelry box. Inside two pearly fangs rested on top of a silky pillow, with paste to attach them to my teeth stored underneath. I think those fangs were about fifteen dollars, a good portion of my twenty dollar a week allowance. They were worth it though. I'd buy them again today if given an oppurtunity to dress up.

I wanted to dress up as a princess a couple of different times as a little girl, but that wasn't viewed as creative enough for my household. One year my mom agreed to the princess costume, but to make it more creative she stuck a big, sparkly white horse body on the princess pants. I remember feeling very impressed with that. It reminds me of the vampire clown theory. I wasn't just a princess, I was a "princess riding a horse." My favorite costume I've worn so far as an adult was little red riding hood. I wore a sexy little dress with thigh-high stockings and of course a hooded, red cape. I filled a basket with Halloween candy, covered it with a checker patterned cloth and passed treats out to all the drunks at our local gay bar. By the end of the night I'd had so many drinks bought for me, I'd danced with so many strangers that I had become one of the drunks. It was actually a pretty fun night, certainly memorable. These days I love dressing up the boys and taking them trick-or-treating, but that actress is still inside of me craving release.

What I thought was ugly (a writing exercise)

Me, nine years ago.

My skin clammy and white stuck in disgusting clumps of fat all over my bones. I'd tilt my chin to the left then to the right, studying my full cheeks and my double chins. Pulling the flab on my thick arms, I hated myself. "Look at yourself, you fat bitch. You are so gross!" Tears would stream down my face as I looked at the piercing rage reflected in the mirror. "How can you even stand to go in public when you look like this? No wonder nobody wants you." These toxic words I'd once been told, all the hurt that had ever been inflicted on me had somehow wedged into my mind like a parasite. I'd become my own worst enemy. I'd screech in misery, fling myself on the bed. "I'm not going anywhere!" I'd call out.

Marian and Maxine would walk into the room all dressed up for our dinner out. They'd sigh, they'd stroke my back and Marian would press her lips against my ear. "You're beautiful," she'd coo. Her warm breath sent chills dancing all over my body. Eventually my crying would subside and I would join my friends on their outing. I was never really better. Even now nine years later, that voice will creep into my head and though I've learned how to manage it, there are times it's still a battle to silence it. I've never felt at home in this body, when I see myself in the mirror it's as if a stranger is staring back at me. Years ago I would have said the ugliest thing I'd ever seen was myself. Now I think the fact that I thought that is what's truly ugly. The fact that I even care about what this shell, what this body looks like drives me nuts. I wish I were stronger.