Touch

Insatiable desire to be touched. No, not physically touched... emotionally, and intellectually touched. Currently, I feel unreachable. Have I taken the dive off of the proverbial "deep end"? Touch, stimulate, move...

Neis Al Pi Teva...

Loner in a Claustrophobic Mind...

I have come to the conclusion that I am lonely. I am finding that I am really not ok with being alone anymore. I'm fairly certain that I do not rely on others to validate my existence... or maybe that's wishful thinking. Either way, I don't like being solitary as much as I used to. I have been living alone for about 8 months now, give or take. With the exception of the random squatters that have occupied my guest room, I have enjoyed the silence. It was a great opportunity for self discovery, and a chance to meditate on the events of the past year. I know that I should feel blessed to be able to afford a 2 bedroom condo on my own, and I should embrace the extra space, but I can feel it gnawing on me. I have been avoiding "home" as much as possible, which has led to a lot of long walks in the evening. 4, 5, and sometimes even 6 miles each night.

I feel blessed to be offered a chance to do some self discovery, but now it's time for a change. Time to rejoin the proverbial land of the living... Look out world. The winds of change are blowing...

Familial Envy...

I'm in a strange mood today... Maybe I've had too much caffeine... Who f'ing knows.

It's been nearly six years since I severed my relationship with my family. Before that, out relationship was crappy at best. A lot of painful hot and cold days, when everything was awkward. People always ask me why I don't have a relationship with my parents and siblings, my usual answer is that they made bad choices and as a result I made even worse choices.

In all honesty, I feel like my parents didn't want me. I am sure that I was an "accident". Which is fine with me. I think that because I was an "accident" my mother held an animosity towards me that she, nor I could avoid. I was also the first child. Knowing what I know now, I see that the first child is always the guinea pig... you know, the one that has to handle all the BS so the younger children can benefit from their parents initial failures. I was that kid. Her animosity, coupled with my guinea pig'ism made me an easy target. I can remember my mother's physical and verbal beatings from an early age, in fact, most of my childhood memories involve some form of her anger. Looking back, I understand why she chose to single me out, and why I chose to rebel against her. With every fit she had, I responded with rebellion. What I call fits were more like yelling, threatening, hitting, and verbal bashing... but for my lack of a better term, I call them fits. My early rebellions took the form of yelling back, running away, hiding in small spaces (usually under my bed, or on the top shelf of the linen closet) and a lot of crying in the fetal position. My later rebellions took the form of drugs, alcohol, and sexual escapades. I realize now that I was abused, but at the time my mother called it "discipline".

From my knowledge, CPS was never called. I suppose it was because of my ability to take a bashing and walk out of the room like nothing happened. It was normal for me. Even when we were having good days I can remember being on the proverbial pins and needles, waiting for her to get upset and have another fit. After a while it became a sick comfort for me, nothing felt right if she was content. After all, it was only a matter of time before it would happen again...

As for my family... I don't miss them as individuals, really I just miss the concept of having a family. With the digital age in full throttle, I can not help but notice the comments on my friends networks from their parents. The classic "I Love You", "I Miss You", "Call Home Soon"... ect. I get all of those messages from friends, but it's not the same.

I don't want them back... but secretly half of me wonders if I am to old to be adopted by a new family, or if I need to move on.

I'll keep you posted.

She wouldn't believe me...

If I told her I missed her, she wouldn't believe me. I'm fairly confidant to that respect. If I told her that I made a mistake, she might believe that. A part of me knows that if I found the ambition to go to her and tell her what I'm feeling, maybe then she would understand... Then reality sets in... When she was here, I went to her and told her. She told me she was too busy. Too busy to see me, too busy to talk to me, too busy to care. Just too busy. So here I am, surfing through her blog, wishing she would have had time for me, wishing she had time to care. She doesn't. She is a world away... I'm here, and I can not put my life on hold. I have to live for me, and in doing that, I must let go. I suppose my attachment stems from my instant attraction to her. That eye-locking shit you only see in the movies. I gathered the courage to ask her out, and that first kiss... the first time anyone has ever given me goosebumps. It was only one night, but that was all I needed.

There is a stark contrast between brain sex, and physical sex... We never ventured the later, instead we stayed up all night talking about everything from quantum mechanics to politics to the pros/cons of infrared photography. I have never been able to do that before, most people prefer to silence me.

I'll let you know when I spread my wings and learn to fly solo... in the meantime, I'm grounded.