Always an angel

Okay it’s been one week. I haven’t done anything tragic or humiliating or terrible. I haven’t messaged him. I’ve only driven by his house 14 times.

I’m kidding!

11 times.

No no no. I’m being silly. It’s been 8 times. I have only driven by his house 8 times and only twice have I camped out overnight.

I’m growing, being such an adult.

It helps that I’ve been keeping busy and occupied with work and gym and other boys and obsessing over my looming uterus removal.

Maybe I’ll go get some Botox and dermal fillers.

So I already knew this about me, but the past week has really driven it home. I need the approval and admiration and validation of men to feel good about myself. one boy doesn’t like me? I need three others to tell me how cute/funny/sexy/smart I am. It is pathetic and I am disgusted with myself. But I am who I am.

I skipped the national for this jerk. THE NATIONAL. I can’t even look at myself.

Maybe it’s not that I’m “too much” ERIKA maybe it’s that you aren’t ENOUGH. Maybe it is you who is lacking. Ever think about that? Huh? DIDJA?

What’s that Sia song? Only a genius could love a woman like me.

Ooh ooh! I’ve thought of a name for the new season. Hot heaux summer is gone. Now it’s time for me to fall into grace.

Pretty good eh.

In this blue shade

During the final full moon in august, the blood moon, the blue moon, the super blood moon, the Barbie moon, we did a ritual. I had three “wishes” (or desires or goals) to focus my intentions and energy.

First one was to be more grounded. To stop the crazy and find and feel the earth beneath my feet again.

Second, own and amplify my power, but not just any power, my sexual power. Really let it take over and give in to it. it’s such a part of me and I want to really bring it out into the crisp cool air of fall.

third and final wish is about building confidence. I need to learn how to have confidence in myself, value in who I am right now, in this very moment. I don’t want to just know my own self worth, I want the entire world to know it. I deserve it.

It’s nice because this third wish ties back into the first two, to have confidence that I can find the ground again; and that I can be a thriving living moving sexual being in whatever ways I want with whoever suits me.

Full moon magic can be so powerful. So beautiful. And so so difficult. Just really gut wrenching.

The magic has already begun. The knots are beginning to loosen. It makes me happy, absolutely thrilled.

But I am also very sad. There is a lot of work ahead of me to achieve the grounding I need, and some of that work means letting go of Erik and the pure madness that came along with him.

I don’t know what happened to me when he appeared in my life. Whatever it was, it completely overtook me. He undid me and he continues to undo me and I just can’t find my way back to sanity. Maybe it’s not him maybe it’s just a matter of time and place. But the point is that he is an obstacle for my first wish. (And maybe even my second and third.)

But see here. The universe knows what I’m capable of. She knows I can’t walk away from him. Not on my own. It is just not something I am equipped to do, I have neither the strength nor the desire. I would live in this miserable place with him till the day I died, because that is who I am.

So she took matters into her own hands.

And today it happened. He ended things. No more friendship. No more texting. No more anything. It’s over. He’s gone. And it feels wretched, absolutely fucking wretched. but I know that it was necessary. It’s hard now, but it will get easier. this is the best thing for me and my sanity. He did what I could not, he walked away. He said thanks and he said goodbye and that was it.

I need to find ways to distract me from this tight twisted feeling inside, this lump in my throat, the slow ticking of the clock. I hate him, I love him, I want him, and I can’t stand him. I need him but I need to let him go even more. What we had was real, this I believe wholly and truly, but it wasn’t meant to last. It was a lightning storm and now it’s over and it’s okay. It’s okay it happened, it’s okay it’s over, it’s okay I’m sad. It’s okay that I feel so so alone and so unnoticed and so so inconsequential. It’s okay that I’m unmoored.

It’s okay because I will get better. It’s okay because I am ready to do the work. It’s okay because I’m going to sink my toes into the soil and find my worth and not let my broken uterus ruin my sexual essence.

Movement is good. Love is clear weather. Weeping is time wasted.

I am siren, I am ivy

Let’s be friends, he says. So now we’re friends.

But here’s the thing. If you want to be my friend, then you’re gonna be my friend. After everything he and I went through, all we shared, he isn’t just a random dude in my phone that I maybe say hi to every couple of weeks. He knows this. Or he should know this anyway. WE TALK EVERY SINGLE DAY. I talk to him more often than anyone else in my life right now.

So yeah. He is a FRIEND friend. And I tell my FRIEND friends about all the things bothering me, in an open and frank manner. That’s just the way I am. And if I can’t be myself with my friends, then what is the point?

Tonight though… this fckn guy. He tells me that he’s not the “target audience” for some of the things I tell him. He literally used that phrase. Target audience. Like I’m a brand manager relaying a message to their customer base. Jesus fúcking christ.

So he says that to me, right? And immediately, IMMEDIATELY, the embarrassment sets in. Deep, deep heart-squeezing, stomach-clenching embarrassment. Taking over every ounce of my being. Godddddd. As if my ego wasn’t already bruised and battered.

Here I am thinking I’m talking to a good, safe friend about my struggles with this hysterectomy thing, but nope. While I’m being vulnerable and raw about a very emotional subject for me, seeking some measure of comfort from someone I care about, he’s over there feeling uncomfortable and awkward, thinking how he is merely a “male friend” that I keep mistaking for a girlfriend. Whatever that means.

Where is an earth-destroying asteroid when you need one.

It’s obnoxious of course, because he’s not wrong. He is allowed to be uncomfortable and not want or like that level of friendship or the sorts of details I often provide (in a very hilarious way might I add). And he’s allowed to express that to me, subtly at first, and then, when I keep ignoring his signs, become much more direct.

So now I feel bad. And silly. I tell him I’m sorry, that I’m embarrassed. And then I assure him that I see and understand his boundaries and I will try harder to respect them.

His response? He thanks me and says, “It’s okay. Sometimes it is just a level of graphic or explicit or female that I feel is not appropriate for our dynamic.”

Oh really erik? I’m too graphic or explicit or, sin of all sins, TOO FEMALE? what does that even mean, too female? He didn’t seem to mind me being graphic or explicit or female when he was on the receiving end, but when it’s about someone or something else, he’s apparently above such trash. He is too sophisticated for my low life. His pristine and delicate sensitive nature can’t handle it. my graphicness. My explicitness. my femaleness,

And let me ask you, male friend, what exactly IS our dynamic? Because you keep changing the boundaries, leaving me to blindly test those lines, so I can know where I stand. And I keep getting it wrong in your eyes.

After laying here for a bit feeling bad and kind of ashamed, something switched over inside. I started thinking about it and realized that I didn’t actually do anything wrong. I just talked to him about things I’ve been talking to all my friends about.

He just doesn’t care is all. Did he ever?

So I’m not embarrassed anymore. I am prickly.

Here we are mr tinder. I can’t communicate with you on a romantic or sexual level anymore. Okay. Fine. And now I can’t communicate with you on a close friendship level. Okay. Fine.

Then please please just tell me what I can do. Tell me exactly. What is appropriate for you, my target audience, my delicate little flower? What subject matter is acceptable? What topics are off-limits? What is too explicit and graphic and female? And what can I discuss that doesn’t strain or challenge or disrupt your perfect little life?

I did ask him. To give me a list of what is okay and what isn’t. But he didn’t answer me.

Because of course. he’s an arrogant, self-righteous, selfish prick. Why would he answer that.

I don’t know why I even bother with him. He has zero interest in me for dating. It now appears he has zero interest in a friendship. Or at least the kind of friendship I would like. Since everything has to be on his terms, that leaves no room for me. I guess I don’t get a say.

Fuck that noise. I’m a funny, smart and awesome friend. Some people actually like me and like being my friend. I am a strange poetic earthy spice. And he is just another average, boring, grumpy, self-absorbed rigid old white man who prides himself on those qualities. And yet he sees himself as a guy who shits golden turds.

It’s a surprise he ever liked me to begin with. Maybe he never really did. Maybe I fell for the oldest trick in the book. I am not going to beat myself up over it. He was charming and swept me off my feet. He had it on full blast, brightest light. Of course I couldn’t see. And even after he pulled it all away, I was still blinded.

But you know something? My eyes have started to adjust finally, I’m starting to get some function back again, things are getting clearer and more defined. I am seeing shapes and shadows, seeing dimension and empty space.

I am siren. I am ivy. But I’m gonna be alright.

Three dots and uterus-free sex

I tell myself I’m getting over him, slowly but surely, but damn if this is not one of my favorite things still. Those three dots.

Sooooo… I have less than six weeks to have all the sex I can get, because after Oct 17, I can’t have sex for like 2+ months and who knows if it will ever be the same again anyway. No-uterus sex can’t possibly be the same as with-uterus sex. Six weeks left for the only kind of sex I’ve ever know.

The internet says I can “relearn” how to have orgasms again and it should make me feel happy but instead it makes me mad. Not just mad. Like enraged. I want to break things.

I am very angry about this.

But seeing as I’m about to be on my fúcking period again for like the 25th time in the past month, maybe I’ll be less angry soon.

I do like feeling sorry for myself though.