Ok, in that space again where I don’t want to write because all the stuff that wants to be written out if my head isn’t nice or pretty. … but it’s bugging me and I don’t want to bug people who might be affected— or might not …

I’m a shit. I can pick and choose whom I want for friends, who I want to fuck, who’ll just get teased or placated. I know what I want — mostly…

I’m incredibly grateful for my friends and lovers; the really close ones make me feel like a treasure they couldn’t live without… why isn’t that good enough? Why doesn’t that satisfy me? [Morning edit: because I treasure the validation they feed me, if I could help them move beyond a need for me, I will feel good but I would seek validation from new places…]

I want to be kind, genuine, authentic, honest. I do not want to be honest; honesty is blunt and has so much potential to be hurtful [& rejection!]

I love you, I want to see your suffering end, I want to hold your hand as you let the oxygen slip away and allow your spirit to be free from the painful boundaries of your body. I feel so hopeless, mean, apathetic? with that thought. Where is my faith in healing?]

I love you. It’s so hard to see you drunk on alcohol. You with your mind already pickled, how will you survive if he dies? And You, you haven’t pickled your brain yet, you can still hold a job, but again and again I see you choose alcohol for the fun, while it isolates you from relationships and I selfishly don’t want to watch but I can’t abandon you, because you haven’t abandoned me… but every week I am saddened by the escapism I see in alcohol and the effects it has on him and my heart breaks as I pray please don’t you take that path to a pickled body.

I love you, dear little brother, I can hold you and mother you, but please don’t pull on me. Don’t romanticize our connection, seeking approval, care and boundaries that only you can give yourself .

And you that I loved but now grieve, I don’t want to forget you, but I am happier when I do, and that makes me afraid that someday I might…so I hold just a little tighter to your memories weighing the value of guilt…

And you whom I don’t know if I know… I try to push the thoughts and feelings aside, I try to rationalize my way out, you give me nothing tangible, so I must be imagining it… but I can’t talk myself out of it, infatuation, obsession, irrational romantic feelings…

But really how fair is it for me to love anyone? to give my energy to anyone when I am such a mess?! Focus on my house, focus on my career and making myself whole… but I love want and need all these hurtful pieces of me… I want to be held and feel safe to let my needs be fulfilled , I will find satisfaction.

[morning edits continued] writing before bed was helpful. Once the lights were off and the lullabies were supposed playing but stopped after Que Sera Sera and I was too tired to start it again until sunrise. I drifted in and out of sleep to the music and dreamed I was running late to his performance – I awkwardly rush in past the diminutive piano where his face brightens with recognition then returns to focus on his performance; past the community audience who look large in their chairs, to an empty couple of chairs almost behind the stage…I take off my coat and shoes and even my socks, my pile of crumpled belongs in the chair and on the floor between me and stranger… I feel peace to just wait watch and listen, there is a hopefulness… the other comes in, he has shaven and dressed nice, he has come for me, but I don’t want to be here with you. I clumsily gather my chaos of accessories and tell you no, we have to go… the crowd is disturbed, the performer’s face falls with disappointment the room feels dark and sad as we leave… I feel trapped into harshly demanding awareness, truth, freedom but the panic wakes me up… bad dream! But I actually saw their faces, faces that haven’t been in my dreams so clearly before. Confusing