“Till now I always got by on my own, I never really cared until I met you”

 

“Till now i always got by on my own, I never really cared until I met you” Heart could literally have entered my head and stole my words with this song. How is it that your life before was so much easier, where did my comfort zone go. The darkness was my friend simply the absence of light nothing more nothing less. I had demons but they were accompaniments to me by this time and I had spent so long in solitude that I was actually one with the dark, a grey matter sat smoldering within.  Like a lighthouse beckoning with the light I was unmovable but curious. A moth drawn to a flame I wanted to know what blinded me until my eyes no longer looked, but my heart seeked the joy it could be promised with a toy of its own. Being the ever skeptic I had no notion to believe the drivel of the world of love and wanting and I was happy being alone, not happy within myself but happy that I did not have to depend on anybody.  In time possibly my independence was a flaw of mine but life had made me strong enough to be a pillar of my own, a en fortress of unmovable warm stone, only close enough to see worn parts where blood circulated.  It was easy being single in a mediocre world where the romance was dead and the norm was for you to be passionless, married and with children by the age of 25 or you did not fit into society.  I was looked at as a spinster pretty much from the early stages and received my cats at the age of twenty, that was fine by me “She’s odd that one” “She’s one of those” they would say, I would smirk and shrug my shoulders wondering what exactly they meant by “one of Those” My general attire of black jeans, biker boots, rock tshirts, tattoos and piercings and electric blue ish hair labelled me as something of a anarchist or rebel instead of me being comfortable in my own. Now I did wear the odd dress on occasions or dolled up with make up on nights out, but spending hours in the mirror applying layers and holding myself in a manner where people would approve of my appearance wore thin when I was no longer controlled to do so.  I by no means came across as a slob or someone who did not look after themselves just a messy by design rocker who wanted to be seen as attractive, who does not want someone to desire them? yet would not chase you to think so. I did not enjoy the time wasted  looking at myself in the mirror applying layers and layers onto my skin that would only be wiped off in hours and gave people the illusion of me being something im not.  You are never taught the value of inner beauty, society shows you pictures in magazines and those blessed enough with money to follow the latest trends would often set the trend for that town or school and if you did not have that make up or clothing you would be labelled ugly regardless of what made you beautiful. Only when your older and in your own skin do you realise what makes people beautiful is their confidence in their own, beauty just shines off them like glitter.

I grew up reading and writing, it still is a favorable pastime to me the wonderful worlds you can enter and be apart of when you sometimes feel you do not always fit in in reality.  Lyrics, poems and fairy tales were studied so lovingly by me that it became a boundary in my standards, I would not settle for less.  Im not delusional I know a prince would not ride up to me on a horse and sweep me off into the sunset, and im not 100% I would want a prince id be equally happy with a princess with a horse. But I did and still do want the feeling.  I want to be swept off my feet, im not sure if i have just a unnatural view of love or whether im the only one still searching for hopeless romance. Write about me, for if you date a writer you can never die as we will always pen blood to paper about you. I want someone to be so moved or pained by me that they have to get it out and cry as they ode or lyrically scream rhymes about me, am I asking too much? “Your’s , that’s all she simply wrote” Even that would make my creative heart flutter and sigh.

I have wrote in all my blogs about love and the abuse of love I suppose its now my niche, now im in a bit of a different stepping stone I can breathe a little when talking about it. They do say once you can tell your story without crying your healed, so I am writing with sellotape under my eyes in case a spare reminiscent tear makes a bold escape, but none the less I am able to write about it and include the good parts instead of gargling the bad points.  “Years of love lost in the hatred of a minute” We can  all agree this happens and most often than not the good parts become something locked away and we just focus on the downfall as we are seduced by hate.  The good parts for me are still something im deciphering, im struggling to believe some were real. Im struggling to let some go and also struggling to know how some of the most poignant moments of the relationship were so easily let go by the other.  Yet a year has passed since my heart was broken and I now sit with some of the aches and pains of pining but I also feel stronger, im not sure if we ever do get over the loss of someone or if it just takes some time for us to modify ourselves enough to live without their presence and only them as ghosts that every so often howl echoes through our veins.  I do thank the lesson. Even though it caught me off guard and I was quickly consumed with the love of love, I did work out that my standards of what I receive were not satisfying enough and I needed more, I needed to value myself more.  I simply settled for someone who would question my demons while they tortured me, not fight them with me. I held too close till I could barely breath and in turn most likely neither could she.

Now im still on speaking terms with my ex, I do not honestly believe the outcome was something she was ready for even though it was her who chose it. I know for certain I was not ready.  Yet we kept this facade of we will help each other through and we do still care so general chit chats about ourselves would be deemed appropriate.  I ask myself can ex lovers remain friends, surely the general consensus is you either still love each other or one of you never truly loved the other, there will always be one who still aches loving you through a periscope, and that fool would be me.  She is the only one for me who has stayed even though she left, and that in itself, even in the ashes is special.  You have to stay till the end credits and find the truth, I will always respect her, I will respect the pain and forgive and learn to love again.

So heading back to musical theme, I went through the early stages of sobbing “All by myself” whilst laying on my bedroom floor with mini eggs smeared all over my face waiting for my cats to come along and eat me, did the rock/metal stage and screamed “The kill” or “People equal shit” as loud as my flatmate and neighbors could bear and now I have gone back to my old soul routes and lay with gems like Leonard Cohen, Eva Cassidy and Etta James.  These artists for me were my muses, I love alot of genres and punk rock is normally my go too but when mood struck and I would fall into a dark funk I would find myself quiet and alone in a room with a empty note book and Mr Cohen in my ears simply holding my hand as we both waited until creativity would return to me and I could sing through my pen nib.  Music for me is a huge part of my identity, for a long time it was the only identity I knew and I would use it to keep me grounded.  For every single person in this world is fluent in the universal language of music even if we do not all enjoy particular genres.  Much could be said for the rest of life, we are all into the different genres of life that others are not but should appreciate as just another multiple answer to a option, if only it was that simple.

“You don’t need to surrender, I’m not taking aim” So the moral of my thoughts this tuesday evening with Mr Cohen in my ears and the distant cries of my cats demanding food, is how the aftermath of love effects you. Whether it be a lover, family, friends or something in general you gave your love to. It changes you and when it goes your left for a long time unable to see the world as it was, maybe your not supposed too. I was so angry after I lost love, almost saddened that she would not be able to see the world through my eyes anymore. Not really regarding how I would see my own world without her. Every person you meet gives you a different view on things.

“One’s destination is never a place,
but a new way of seeing things.” Henry Miller

I asked myself for a long time even before I felt love why people wanted to be in love, why pine and beg for something that ultimately breaks you in two when it goes. For many its a destination, its where your supposed to end up, you have success because you finally made it to the love train unaware that some of the stops are not really what you deserve or what you signed up for.  The reason I found was simply they wanted to feel, feel the euphoric sense that everything is going to be alright, the universal comforter. Your promised in songs every day that your going to paradise, its a better life over here with the lovers and its what we all need ect ect even i sing along to those… There is not really alot of songs out there about just loving yourself “One Fine day” Chiffons that song has become my mantra these days. Maybe one day I shall write one, although my song writing skills often turn into short stories or blogs so a 37 minute song coming up.

You are not taught or encouraged to love yourself, be your own liberator and waste removal from life. Your identity, sexual being, general passions and loves often leave you  harboring some shame or guilt as its not societies norm and in all fairness im sick of seeing people forced to conform, I struggled for so long and had unnecessary pain remaining under my skin hiding as I did not want to disappoint by being different. Now I think the “normal” is the minority, as people begin to openly show who they are.   We’re all so astoundingly awesome, amazingly unique, gorgeously beautiful and we all deserve to love ourselves — in love or not!