The Rise of Whelm

My tastebuds linger of yours
The smell of your scent that always seems to stay the same
My hands in your hair, wrapped around the strands I braided for fun
16 months ago.

You had opened up the door before I had even reached it
shut it and you stepped out and you took two steps toward me
with a pained expression on your face
and for a second, I thought you were going to hit me.

But you sweeped me up without caution
and pulled me so close
your arms around my back, my legs around your hips
your hands moved under the back of my shirt
just to feel my skin.

Your hands moved to my head
feeling the tangles of my hair
to my face you felt my cheekbones
and I whelmed right up to the brim

 

 

and then it spilled over.

 

 

A Long Post on a Meet Up

Yesturday after you were done with your stabby’d foot, and after texting on my break, you walked into the store.
I saw you before you saw me and my heart burst a glow and my face went insta’grin.

I came up to you and we flirted words and smiled shy and it brought me immediatly back to our first weeks of dating. It was like we fell into a pool of pre history. History that was new but known and I swam in it for the rest of my shift.

YOU CHOSE TO COME SEE ME AT WORK!!
That’s big.
Three weeks ago I wouldn’t have dreamed you’ve ever choose to see me again.

And before we parted ways, I squeezed your arm and said, ” Cya tonight?”
I had asked earlier if you would mind if I brought over a chicken pot pie I was going to make.
” No, I wouldn’t mind.” you reply.

So there I am after work, quickly working on your dinner.
And an hour later I am at your place with pie in hand and I ask,
” Do you want me to stay?”
We stand for 30 seconds well I try and gauge you.
“Hasn’t stopped you before”
” Well yes, but I think I learned my lesson.”

 

You guessed it.
We sat and had a drink. We moved to the couch.
You asked if I wanted another drink.
I said, ” Just water please”
“That’s the best answer I’ve heard all night”you say happily.

We talked about everynothings.
” Do you feel different now? Like a weight or an uneasiness is gone now? With you, with us?” you question.
” Yes, I suppose. I still felt clear to myself though,before, and happy with self, but it was just suffocated under all the stuff that was loaded on top. All the assumptions and supposed occurances. So then yes, I do feel lighter.”

It was a sliver into what I feel we will talk about in greater eventuality.
A solid healthy talk that we would need before getting back together. Weeks, months.

We ate my chicken pie together and you bought a dessert for us- my favorite cookie cheesecake- ( you are a beautiful soul ) and when i called my brother for a ride in two hours, your lips went into a frown and I came to you and you said,
” I wanted you to sleep over with me.”
Overjoyment gets wrapped around my intestines and comforts my heart and brain and I hug you and then we’re kissing against the fridge and clothes are coming off and then we’re in bed and then eventually we’re wrapped around each other and our eyes are facing each other and they’re getting sleepy and we lay there getting sleepy and pretty soon we’re asleep.

I rub your back and your head in the middle of the night when I know you are having trouble sleeping.

” I feel like I’m mad at you-like you just did something wrong” you say.
I sigh.
You tell me thanks in the morning for the backscratch.
We have coffee together and you’re always a bit more distant than me but I know that I’m to be extra huggy so that you don’t feel even worse.

And you drive me home in your truck that I crashed a month ago.
And you drive slow and before pulling into my parents driveway, I unbuckle my seatbelt and get to your side and wrap my arms around you and kiss your cheek.. Long and slow and you sigh and reach for my hand.

Then I’m getting out and we’re saying ‘cya’ not ‘goodbye’ like we were a month ago.

We know we’ll see each other again. We’re still best friends.

 

 

The Millionth Chance

How many times will it take?
How many chances will I get?
Why can’t I get a grip on living a good life.
I have failed so much and it hurts my heart to death. I keep messing up.
And I don’t even fucking know why. I barely know how.

I think I can move forward while holding on to stuff from the past?
That is one of the lousiest thought orders a human being can have.

Realizations come in giant waves that have me speechless. I can’t explain myself. I’m just a knotted rope full of threads and unravelling dishevellement. I don’t understand me much anymore and it’s getting me further into a darkness I will not be able to breathe in.

On the other hand, I just made red play-dough with my child and that was rather amusing and made my heart feel beats of light life.

Where do we go from here.

Get Weak

I don’t remember feeling this emotional over a grey squirrel or from seeing water spray up from the concrete waterpark floor, onto my sons underpanted kid body.

I don’t remember when I felt like this last; listening to songs I just learned. I feel I’m an emotional ball of sheeps wool. I feel weak with life.

I feel fricking weak with life.

Maybe we get so stuck on being strong. On holding our ground, landmarking our opinions and building them onto even higher grounds. But you know, I think it’s pretty darn special to get weak.

To let life kind of fill you up with oats of tears and to sit in that bowl and just, cry for how happy sad things can be.

Because feeling is a gem.

Feeling is a wonderful.

Put down your muscles and let yourself get weak with life.

Gurd

You go to a five stages,three day camping festival event and you come back feeling like you were on a euphoric emotional high two of the three days and you understand that it’s been 5 years since you’ve been around that many English speaking people at once and that it is your first time you have ever even experienced bands and people and closeness the way that you did.

You see the tents come down and the piles of garbage bags and the dust from the cars driving out.

You arrive home and you play a song from the CD you bought of one of the bands you saw-one of the members of that band you went to public school with and whose mother taught you in grade 6.

And you cry.

It’s not a drop of the system. It’s not happy slid into a hole of sad. It’s an overwhelming mixture of memories and time and realization. That you just experienced all that. And the photos run your heart wild and before you fully understand,you’re craving to do more of things like this.
You can have lived on the other side of the world for years, visited multiple countries and drove through 90% of the states in America; but when your travel bug has gone mute, it is mere evidence that something will take it’s place.

Maybe you won’t figure what’s supposed to fill it up right away. But something will.

It might click when you’re dancing in a great furious next to a girl that you met 12 hours ago, or when you’re in a group of 7, having lost the three people you knew. It might click when you get home and your heart yearns to do it all over again.

To start an addiction of something new, because of a space that held something old.

Oh, that is a marvelous life particle to have obtained!

The Point in Breaking

Six months ago:

One night I was sobbing on the floor of the living room. And he looked at me with such pity and disgust. I couldn’t stop.
It was probably one of those anxiety attacks that I never have-now that I look back on It.
My breath was all over the place.

It was feeling I was powerless to, except to feel it’s power. Uncontrollably.

I had snot dripping down and my eyes were so bloodshot and he said, and I said, I had to go.
It wasn’t good if Zeek saw me this way.

And so I walked out and down to the park inside the village and I laid on the grass while my heaves subsided and ten minutes later I felt panic.
He had left. He must have left with Zeek. I ran back and saw the car gone and I called him and told him to come back and I wanted to hurt myself if he didn’t. I begged him to come back. I needed Zeek.
He listened in silence.
And said okay.

I have never felt more panic for my son than that night.
The only man besides my father, that’s ever seen me that way.

And now I am in Canada,not Thailand.

There is a point in breaking, because if their isn’t, we wouldn’t reach a breaking point.

Tearfully Letting Go

I knew the weeks leading up to the move would go fast, but not like last week.
Last week feels like a blink.
And that’s blinkin’ fast.

I’m basically packed.
And these next few days I will be saying goodbye to this country.
I will light candles and close the lights.
I will turn on slow music and let all the memories, all the life I lived here, go. It will still be a part of me, but I will no longer hold them as if I am living in them.

To move on with as little weight as possible. With little baggage.
With only my suitcases of my most valuable possessions and my son.

I will let go,
I will cry
and in every tear, there will be a memory from here
that I will wipe away.

How Bad Does It Have to Get?

I laid on the grass of the park late last night and I looked up through the branches of a wide tree and thought, ‘ This will be the last time I am in this country in August.’
I laid so still in that thought and it rambled into the stars I could not see.
The stars I knew I would, this time next year.
I know I will get through this.
It’s a low I suppose I had to get to, in order for me to really change.
There is a lot of fear but a question of wondering I have, is this really an adequate low?
Am I going to fight against it? Am I going to be too strong? Where the bottom is bottomless and my emotions must be strained more and upheaved more. Where my life has to completely flip upside down, parts where my entire vision gets distorted and not just foggy when I wake in the middle of the night because I cried myself to sleep the night before. It’s perception. If I thought this was flipped up already, then the process to change would have started. Has it already and I don’t know it? Wouldn’t I know it?
How messed up does it have to become, for me to believe it is what I need to change who I am?

Making Good from ‘ Bad ‘

I write differently to different people because everyone is different and people need to hear things differently or read them written that way instead of the other way and each way makes you pick up snatches that aren’t the same.
People make me figure stuff out about myself.
I only have my own self reflection here in Thailand so going to Canada and being exposed to mirrors that talk back is incredible. It makes me feel more like a person instead of a shell and it is scary to think that I may think of myself as a shell in Thailand and only that. But there is so much to feel in Canada. So much to give and so much to take and I have to stay sensible and realize that it is only because my time has been limited each and everytime I have went back,for the past four years. It affects these things so much so, that breaking down isn’t so much of a surprise. Because these are the life sized things. For me. These are the things that pinch my heart and stagger my thoughts and wind my ideas so that they go walking across the carpets on missions to unknown destinations.
That is me dealing.
There are always many tears when I say goodbye in Canada and I am always trying my best not to drown in them. Being conscious of it. It is good to feel that way even though it is hurting.
If I felt none of this, could I really sense the better in the good? If I had nothing to compare. Nothing extreme to relate it to, then the good wouldn’t be so good and the value would be non-existent.

A Powerful Hospital Visit in Thailand

It’s odd seeing people dressed in bar clothes in a hospital.
At least not in the asthma and allergy center.
As I’m writing this I realise I really could make a valid stand on why bar girls may be in this part of the hospital. Even more of a valid point if they’re with their 75 year old partner.
The real reason I write this post is because of what you’re about to read.

I hated every nurse in the room for the minute ( which seemed like 9 ) that they held Zeek down and took his blood. They wrapped him tight in a blanket and there were three of them standing over and while he began to wail, before I even felt anything,tears formed in my eyes.
I wasn’t expecting to feel what I did. This helplessness. This anger. I just wanted to rip him away from them and hold him. I looked around at everything and I felt hate for Lilo and Stitch. They were on the wall dancing away and they were far too happy.
My stomach turned and I felt thin and almost that I could faint.

And then he was handed into my arms and he stopped crying and put his head down on my shoulder while I wiped away the last of my own tears.
He was sleeping 3 minutes later. In my arms.
And I looked at his face,all blotchy and red and I said, ” I love you beyond what I can tell you, and that will never change.”