what if memory lane is more like memory interstate highway???

"HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE A MASTER?!??!!!111"

pretty fuckin terrible when i really think about it, at least on one level. all that i have lived, breathed, loved, hated, needed, attempted to escape in the past three years has been this degree. it alluded me, it taunted me, it flirted with me, it cheated on me, it let me down... ultimately, i caught her, i made her submit, i fucking WON.

i told myself that for better or worse, no matter what, once i won i would be ok.

and now here i am, sitting again in a web of lies to myself that yet again, i have spun.

and whether it is true or not, i feel that the rest of my cohort now gets a chance to do what we all dreamed of -pausing- whether that means bike rides, or video games, or chasing boys or bottles.

and here i am again, in some t-shirt on a school bus doing work that "matters" but is not what i lost years of my life and all of my soul for. and i know it is to be expected and normal and that part of getting this degree is questioning it's validity, or even it's pragmatism in my day to day life.

i feel it now, haunting my steps, tormenting my thoughts.
this is all i will ever be.
i can never be more than what i've been.
i deserve to be low-income,
i do not deserve a career i have worked so hard for...

and i know it's not logical but i can't fucking exorcise the goddamned demons in my brain that never cease to SHUT THE FUCK UP.

if only my thoughts were bitches that i could intimidate...
if only my feelings could mean the same as hoes and tricks... heh.

alas, not my fate.

and that's okay, it really is. although i am a fun addition to the Game, i'm not meant to live in it. realizing this scares me and makes me feel that a whole image i have constructed for myself shatters and reveals a very tender, very vulnerable inner self.

but that is another journey, another exploration, yet to unfold.

no one could ever accuse me of handling transitions well, and this is yet another example. when i think of where i was even a year ago- i know i am in a much better place than i was then- but still.

perfectionism does not allow for pragmatism as the goals differ... one demands immediate standard fulfillment, one allots for one's context in a given time and space. and while for others i am willing to overlook even blatant and scary flaws, when it comes to me, i am more than willing to shove a log into my own eye to be blinded to your issues. it's who i am, and it's what i do, and this is to be expected from me...

and in fact, i do expect it from me so it's whatever.

"it's whatever" of course being a convenient way to absolve, or temporarily absolve my issues. which has worked, at least somewhat for many years.

i left in june 2009 and didn't look back. or if i did, it was hard to attend to what i might have seen due to all i did to obscure my own vision.

to fathom where i once was in this same body... more chilling than i can offer words to a page, just trust.

how much i have let people in, only to push them completely out baffles me as a person who only can appreciate and respect clinging with fierce loyalty to those who i cherish, if only a little bit...

but to be able to say goodbye forever to the one who rescued me, who stepped in when other stepped out? for him, the guilt may never die. and perhaps it never should.
'you're a terrible person" jen said in jest upon meeting him. his manners, his kind eyes, his generosity of spirit speak for themselves. his intentness to my words betrays the disconnect he attempts to speak to by no longer paying our storage after two years of $180 payments for nearly three years. she's joking, of course she is. and she is as compassionate as a cuban companion can be throughout the day as i lose my shit repeatedly after being confronted with my freeze-dried wedding bouquet, pictures of me- an innocent virgin 20-year-old bride with hopes to the skies.

no idea that a decade later i'd be healing wounds that will one day be my speedy reminders of mistakes gone by, with PTSD features, prone to rage, isolation, and suicidal ideation when hormones, circumstance, and social support or lack thereof so has it...

she speaks to the unreasonable nature of turning one's back to a "sure thing." at least, that's what i imagine. who gives up financial security, loving support, committed loyalty, humorous companionship, unconditional love- for financial ruin, horrible feelings of abandonment, isolated terror, lack of family, and feelings of helplessness??? is it merely the masochist in me that has chosen this life?

when you're hungry it's easy to think about a fast food meal that you once ate and how yummy it was. you don't recall the heartburn, or the saturated fat... yet that's not a good metaphor, perhaps more like delicious apples, peaches, plums, cherries, any fruit with a pit and skin. all studies say my diet would benefit with their increase. and they taste so good, too. but when i eat them my throat itches, starts to close and it is so uncomfortable...

an unavoidable, unchosen allergy. that's all i can scrape together to explain how i could walk away from the last decade of my life.

and knowing, and hoping that one day his heart will yearn for much more than me. i'm proud of him for getting rid of our storage, even if it has brought me so much pain. it's not all about me. and sadness never killed anybody. right?

not that it matters, if i could nearly starve myself and lose everyone but but gwen and not die i will make it through a storage issue. but it's more than that.

it's coming to terms that that ALL HAPPENED. every single married year happened. every smile, every hug, every night, every mutual dream, every inside joke, every inside sound, every piece of what made the fabric of me and him- ALL OF IT HAPPENED. and there is not enough bong rips, bottles of booze, lines of blow, or puffs of shit that can undo it. it is true in any drug-induced state, and it is true sober as a sunday morning...

and really, we are both doing ok, in spite of it all. i remember when he would cry on the couch at night grieving the loss of our family- me, baby, and kitty. and i would pray to god to end my life because the pain and the guilt was more than i could bear- i know he's so much stronger for it. i hope that one day we can be friends again, but as it stands, seeing him wrecks me, but not in the way that a wife that misses her husband does... that was the problem all along.

if only there were an I'M SORRY good enough. if only i could be less loyal, less compassionate- the qualities that will benefit my career may cost me my sanity.

if indeed, i settle in a career. i hope that i do. it is terrifying to have gone this many years always knowing at least a new semester is ahead, new books, new assignments. and now, nothing but a big question mark, and a burden on my back.

after all i have been through it seems weird that this should feel so scary and so impossible, and yet here i am, terrified...

more honest than i have ever been in my relationships, more able to express my needs, display my overt sexuality, more comfortable in my (too thick in my opinion) skin, willing to fail, willing to apologize, hopeful for connection and family- apparently willing to take risks and even hang up my playa playa fo real hat- it's a lot to do when i'm this fucking sober.

but nights like this i look back on the live (s) i've lived and realize i certainly am a cat- and nine lives may not yet be enough for what i've got on this bitch.

sometimes i have to remind myself that whether my haters are external or internal, the response must be the same- haters gotta hate, it's they goddamn job. shows you doin something right. hate on. and for me, hope on.

please.