Sweetness

I love talking about myself. It feels so good. Apparently talking about yourself activates the same part of the brain that turns on when you’re having sex. Maybe I just made that up. Fake News y’all, do your research. No, but really, it activates some pleasure center that lights up when you’re eating food or taking a dump or something. Google it. Or just have a small chat with some rando at the grocery store and you’ll see what I’m talking about. It’s no secret we all love to blab on and on about ourselves even if our conversation companion is clearly dying to excuse themselves to go walk on some tacks, still we persist because let’s be real, we all have a little covert narcissist hiding inside our wormy and lonely souls. 

But, the big but… I am trying, I am, to be more self-aware. I am aware that I can be boring. I tend to repeat myself on a loop in an effort to assuage my anxious feelings. My mom didn’t have the time or presence of mind to teach me how to self-soothe. My ego defense, my soothing technique was (is) storytelling; lies some might call it. I create a picture in my mind that is exactly what I want to see, all the love and acceptance I never received, that’s impossible for me to believe in, I make a story about that and I bask in its glow. I do it over and over, the same thing again and again, like a toddler watching the same Disney movie on a loop while sucking their thumb, learning every tiny part, remembering how to say every line, sing every song. It doesn’t need to be interesting or exciting, it just needs to calm my fears, convince me that I always know what’s coming next. 

I had my system down but once you found me and started reading all my stuff it was embarrassing, the juvenile concerns and constant repetition on display; boring, stimming, thumb sucking, not sexy. Suddenly there was pressure to perform, in my safe space. This place was for me and you invaded it. I guess the blog and reddit profile are like that, too. I invited everyone to follow, but it’s a performance when you know you have an audience. People are making demands and critiquing my writing and the story (a true story y’all, is your input supposed to change the truth?). Things get twisted. I try to remain impervious but it’s annoying tbh and this is in the face of my reluctance to be vulnerable, so I just get so sick of everyone and their sanctimonious assertions about shit they know zero percent about. This is life. This is what people are like. I’m learning that. The struggle is real. But maybe you can understand why I’m such a liar when everyone else is so insufferable? 

So forgive me when I dip out. Sometimes I stay gone for the health of my brain, whatever that means. I’m always here, My Love. I’m always watching you. I’m always listening. I’m never not with you. You never need to feel alone my sweetness, my valentine, please say the same for me. I’m saving you, please save me, too.