walking down this rocky road....

What would I do for love? Hmm well, a lot probably. I do a lot for so called love already. I'm pretty sure. Can you tell when you fall out of love? Am I in love? Is there an instruction book that I can own to see if I really am? When you say that you love someone, taking for granted gets thrown into the mix, a lot of, 'if you love me, you'll do this (insert request) for me.' I don't want to do things simply because it's what I'm supposed to. I will not be painted into a corner, I need to stand up for myself and the things that I want, the things I need. I've only just begun to peel back my layers, to expose the tender folds to the outside air, to dry out and harden like the fake shell that I've surrounded myself with. I can't go back to doing what I did before, being what I was before. I can see the road stretching out in front of me and all the potholes and sharp stones erupting through the soft dirt. I can see how painful it will be and I have no shoes. Only time will give me toughness. I need to stop thinking. And start walking.

It Starts Today

I am still editing myself! After having an enlightening conversation with one of my friends earlier today. (She doesn't live in the same state, but she can call me on my self editing crutches, she pulls no punches.) I came to realize that I am still editing myself and making excuses. When I should really be saying, I feel sad, I feel sucked dry, I am angry, I am frustrated, I don't know how to make it better, I know how to make some things better, but I'm scared. I even catch myself doing it, why do I feel the need to complain about something, but quickly follow it up with some kind of ridiculous disclaimer like "oh but at least I have a job, it's really not that bad" when really I want to say that today I really hate my job, and I wish I didn't have it, and everyone can take a flying leap because I'm tired. It's because it's easier to let things go, cave into things, less confrontation, and I don't want to bring anyone down. What I need to realize is that when my friends and family ask me how things are, they have enough insight and brains to see under my shallow words, to the deeper and more ugly ones. They can see the truth that I try to sugarcoat. I am not in this alone, I have spare sets of backbones and hands to hold, and shoulders to cry on, and smiles to return and laughter to share to the point of pants wetting. Why am I even doing it anymore? No one in real life is actually like this. Well, this Stepford train has come to the end of it's track, no more Miss. Shallow, no more worrying about if it might bring someone down, no more thinking I have to be the easy one. It starts today.