mask so much
. . .
mask so much
. . .
here we go, another round in the
boxing ring. you against me this time
goody for you, I think you may have won.
how dull, hum drum, just another woman
who loves you. set the doll aside, its
weeping eyes can put out a fire before
it combusts. I heard energy cannot be
destroyed, only transformed, and this
woman, too, like the fruit flies who pop
persistently in and out of existence from
nowhere. off to find another painful body
to experience, hopefully one a bit better
suited this time, or at least with some very fine
armour. one with white white teeth and some
plump, pink lips that you’d happily bleed
to be swallowed by.
after all you’re that kind of a guy.
I think that last punch wasn’t
even thrown by your good side.
save the worst for last, like someone
else I used to know. strike low blow
after low blow. hey, here’s some space
for you. I have miles of it, you couldn’t
find me with the Hubble telescope.
how’s this? can you feel me again?
can you taste this waning love on your
tongue like yesterday’s leftovers?
pack it up and don’t forget to toss
it in the trash after the fact cause
you never meant to bring it home in
the first place.
oh, young heart
On one of my first nights in Toronto, when I was feeling particularly overwhelmed and vulnerable, I was wandering aimlessly up and down this busy downtown street near my sublet apartment like a stray cat. I was eyeing everyone and everything with suspicion, walking stupidly in and out of shops/bars and just generally hopping around from place to place like a little bird who just hit its head.
I was in one of those hopelessly pathetic post-breakup states where you are incapable of focusing on anything other than just how impossibly alone you are. (It’s not just me, right? I have no idea.) Anyways, the streets were packed with people socializing, loitering on the corners, smoking outside of bars, and just generally enjoying the company of others. Another exciting night in downtown Toronto.
Not for me, though. I was busy clinging desperately to the enormous welling tears which I could feel ready and eager to claw their way out of my eyes and torrent down my face. I didn’t want to go back to my new apartment to cry awkwardly in front of my new roommate. Actually I didn’t want to cry, full stop. But it was inevitable and I knew it. I felt confused; empty. I had no one to talk to and had no where to go that I felt comfortable, so when I stumbled upon a sign that read “PSYCHIC READING, $20”, I thought okay.. what the hell? I will try anything right now to feel better.
She lived above some bar on the main stretch and I had to make my way through a group of rather curious and rather drunk patrons to ring her doorbell. I waited at the bottom of the stairwell, surrounded by this group of men asking me why I needed a psychic, telling me what a scam I was in for, etc. Of course I know, of course I do, I’m not stupid. I’m well aware that I’m about to waste my money. I don’t care.
She could probably read the desperation on my face from a mile away. We locked eyes through the door for a moment before she buzzed me in. I turned the knob and made my way up her ominous stairwell with a good dose of trepidation… no turning back now. I sat down cautiously and observed her room. It was exactly what you’d expect from such a place: dim lighting, tarot cards and signs, granite palm figures on the desk, incense burning, curtains dangling around us, candles burning everywhere, and some testimonials framed on the wall describing how marvellously she changed her client’s lives and how amazing she was. Comforting.
I was still fighting to keep it together when she took her seat across from me. We sat in a bizarre moment of silence that seemed to drag on and on before she finally asked me how I was doing. I just stared meekly in her general direction. I knew the next sounds coming from me would not be pretty and so I responded with a haphazard shrug.
“You’re hurting,” she said lamely. And I say lamely because anyone could have looked at me and seen that I was on the cusp of a compete breakdown. Leave it to a psychic to state the obvious.
No shit, I thought, and then it was over.
I sat across from this woman whose name I didn’t know, in her strange apartment, in a new city, feeling desperately lost and alone, and cried like an idiot. I cried and I couldn’t help myself. Too much had happened in too short a time and the finality of it all was catching up with me. I’m sure she saw a dollar sign for every tear that rolled down my cheek. She had hit the jackpot with me.
I started to tell her everything that had happened in the last month between my (ex) partner and I. She listened so sweetly while I spewed all the frivolous thoughts in my head about how confused I was, how lost. But of course, crying is therapy and more I let out, the better I felt until finally I was able to think with some semblance of rationality again. (It seemed to slip away so easily for a while…) When I finally finished my sob story she took me by the hand and stared intently into my eyes.
“I want to be more than your psychic,” she said, “I want to be your spiritual advisor.”
Well actually.. you haven’t really done much psychic-ing up to now, if I’m honest. But I didn’t mention that.
She started to explain that she could help me. She knew what had to be done and she could get my partner and I back together in two months tops. (Guaranteed!) Relief was mine if I wanted it, she’d carry the burden from now on. She would give me her number and be at my beck and call whenever I needed her. Anytime of the day or night, all I had to do was call or text and everything would be alright. All I had to do was trust in her to do her work.
Oh, and dish out 800 dollars for a special candle.
Uhh…. what’s that now?
Yes, you read right, eight hundred dollars… for a candle.
I explained to her that that was impossible as I couldn’t even afford the twenty dollars I paid for the sheer pleasure of crying in her company. But she continued…
“I’m so worried for you. If you don’t do this, you’re going to become more and more upset. The crying will never stop. You will be more alone than ever.”
A bit harsh, I know, but she was only doing her job. In any case, I needed to shut this perceived avenue of revenue down for her ASAP. I mean I know I looked desperate, but there was ZERO chance I was willing to give her 800 dollars to burn a candle in the hopes of rekindling my relationship with my ex.
The interesting thing was that as I sat there listening to her try to convince me otherwise, I started thinking… What if I’m not supposed to get back with him, though? I’ve just moved across the country to start this new life, I can’t turn back now. I can’t dilute my energy like that. Isn’t there a reason why I’m here and not there right now? Why can’t you be telling me that there are great things ahead for me HERE?
These thoughts took me a bit off guard. I mean, hadn’t I been crying over my ex for the last twenty minutes because I missed him so much? Wasn’t I so upset because our life together was over? And then I realized that no, that wasn’t it. Not to say that I didn’t miss him in that moment, because I did, but it wasn’t him that was leaving me crying in a stranger’s house at 1130 at night. I was just overwhelmed that so much was happening all at once. I was in a free fall with no idea where I was going to land, and I was scared. Of course I was. Nothing wrong with that.
Suddenly it seemed entirely silly to be sat there, crying over my ex with a strange woman, when I had so much to look forward to. I’m not exactly sure what I expected to get out of the encounter. Some guidance, I suppose. A hint that I’m on the right path. Truth be told all I really needed was a friend with a shoulder, and to her credit she gave that to me and I’m grateful for it.
Crying is like writing sometimes, you just need to get it out in order to make sense of things. I thanked her for her time, she gave me her card, and I left. I left having gained everything I needed to in that moment. Just a little clarity, a little piece of mind. And she gave that to me in the exact opposite way I imagined she would.
If you guys haven’t been to see a psychic yet, I highly recommend doing so. It can be quite the experience.
I realise I’m
no more lonely
than when you
A little over a month ago I split from my partner of six years.
We’ve shared a bed, a bank account, a mortgage. We’ve shared trips to faraway places. We’ve supported each other through good and bad, we’ve laughed until we cried, we’ve shouted until I cried. We’ve put up with each other’s annoying habits, talked about our days, exchanged absurd and pointless texts when we were bored. We’ve window-shopped for a ring he’s never going to buy me and we’ve planned a future together that isn’t going to happen.
Because we’re giving up on us… and that’s hard.
I’m not trying to make this out to be a woe-is-me post. Of course there are a lot worse things in life than splitting up with someone. I mean, people are breaking up all the time so there must be something to it, right? I also know there are people who have been together way longer and gotten divorced who would look at this post and go “Just six years? No kids? Pffffft.”
But to me, six years is a very long time. He was my first serious relationship, my first love, my confidante, and above everything— my best friend.
These are just some thoughts on breaking up…
It’s utterly bewildering how someone can go from being everything to you one day, to absolutely nothing the next.
I mean, really. Breaking up is just plain weird. It’s the strangest thing when you have to morph this person who has been so important to you for so long into just somebody that you used to know (as Gotye would say). The sheer force of will it takes to overpower the instinct to call/text him when something funny or peculiar happens is, in and of itself, a massive feat. Who do I share all the developments of my day with? Who will help me get in and out of particularly challenging yoga poses when I practice at home? Who do I call when I need a pick-me-up? Not him. I can’t call him anymore just to say hi. I can’t call him to ask how his day is going or what we should have for dinner. I can’t call him to ask him to pick something up from the store on his way home from work. I have to, like, get everything myself now… every time. Man, life is so hard.
For so long he has been the person that I shared everything with, and now he’s not. And that’s bizarre.
My brain is now a war zone for endless, senseless, hyper-active and totally irreconcilable emotions.
It’s like all these sensations are vying for power in my head Game-of-Thrones-style, and I’m the lowly peasant caught in the cross fire. Everyday somebody new is on the throne and dictating my mindset. It’s a laughable roll of the dice. Will I wake up full of pep and optimism? Will I wake up a miserable, lonely, sobbing mess? A pillar of strength, starry-eyed with dreams and determination? A jaded bitch without trust in anyone? Who knows! But you have to play to win, so keep rolling those dice!
And I do. Every single night.
Letting go of “us” and becoming just “me” is the most devastating, gut-wrenching part.
I’ve expended so much effort trying to make something work that wasn’t going to work. I dedicated so much of my energy and all of my heart to this person because when I committed to forever, I meant it. Realising that forever could end so easily is a possibility that I never allowed myself to consider, and every day has been a struggle to cope with that. To accept it. But I have to let it go. I have to let go of the hope, I have to let go of the dreams, I have to let go of the possibility of a future with the person I intended to grow old with. Somewhere inside me is this heaping sigh of relief brimming with anticipation to be released. I don’t know that I’m ready to release it just yet, but… hopefully soon.
We are over. We were something once, but we’re not now, and we won’t be later. That’s enough watering dead flowers. Enough wasted tears. I’m covered head to toe in battle wounds that I earned fighting for love. I’ll never regret that, but I guess sometimes love just isn’t enough… and maybe that’s okay.
Not everything works out as we expect. Life’s all about moving forward. We should never regret loving someone. Even if they ended up not being “the one”. You can give a lot of love to someone, and get a lot of love from someone, and the fact that it didn’t last forever doesn’t mean that it wasn’t real, or worth it.
Change is just an opportunity to become a better person, and because of all this I’ve decided to take a leap of faith: I’m moving to Toronto. Actually, I’ve moved to Toronto. As of two days ago. I’m starting a new life, in a new city. And while it’s scary to be on the other side of the country from all my friends and family and everyone I’ve ever known, I’m excited.
It’s time for me to create a new home for myself.
Wish me luck. I think I’ll need it.
as we were something,
we were nothing.
all of these silly poems
written about you lining up
like unnecessary soldiers
to collect dust for me
in a random journal waiting
arbitrarily to be tossed
one day in the bin by
some stranger who never
knew what it felt like
to cry over the words.
Part of me is still
lying on that floor, weeping.
Life gone from your eyes.