I say this enough for anyone who knows me to remember that sometimes, I like to remind myself that you have to hit the panic button. You have to blow the escape hatch and get away. You have to do this.
No ifs and no ands and no buts.
Sometimes life closes in, like the unwanted walls of some inescapable prison. Sometimes, you have to do what you can to try and break free.
But like most prisons, sometimes, real life can be inescapable or unavoidable.
This is why we have to find a way ‘out’ even if there is no escape. We have to build something or create a new way to blow off the steam, which builds up inside, and causes us to burst.
We have to find an escape.
Otherwise, you can lose more than your mind.
You can lose your heart and soul. You can lose sight of your truth and goals. You can lose your foothold in this place which I call Project Earth. While I understand the need to grip as tightly as possible, or while I get it, you have to hold on as tightly as you can, if not tighter, regardless of the pain, or how tired you are, because you can lose everything if you don’t — sometimes the only way to keep something is to let it go because if something is truly yours, just know that it’s not going anywhere.
There are items in your life that no one can steal.
No one can steal someone from you unless, of course, that person wants to be stolen. In which case, whatever or whomever this person was or is, just understand that they went willingly.
This was on them.
Not on you.
Not on me.
And not on us.
Even if someone is tricked or if they believed in a lie, which eventually unfolded later on or after the fact, the point is, they were open to believe and they were open to go.
This can happen with friendships, or this can happen with intimacy or with our love life.
This is not one of life’s happiest facts.
Sometimes, people are looking for an out, and they take it. Not only that, but they also take the chance and run. That means something.
When people run, let them.
I can say that I have run.
I ran quickly, because the weight of truth and the sting of purity can be tough when someone (like me) is or was dishonest, or simply not true.
I have experienced this firsthand and from both sides.
I have heard about books with titles like, “The Art of Not Giving a Fuck”.
I never read this book. Yet, I can wholeheartedly applaud the genius behind the art of not giving a fuck.
I love this idea, if only this were true.
But it’s not, at least not in my case.
I used to try to act like nothing could hurt me or scare me. I would train myself to be numb, to not feel, or to embrace and endure pain. I would train myself to be this way, as if pain itself were nothing or insignificant, like something flavorless on the tongue.
Not good or bad. Just mute.
I used to work to toughen my skin, or to act like I didn’t care.
Understand?
It didn’t matter to me who liked me or who didn’t.
I wouldn’t care about love, or if someone loved me or cared about me or my life. This would mean nothing to me. I wouldn’t allow for this. In the case that someone was foolish enough to actually care, I believed that this would be “On them.”
However and regretfully, I admit the cruelties from my past which, this is when I would say, I don’t care or I’m not jealous. Hence, I would have no tolerance for emotion or to be hinged upon joy or passion.
No.
I trained myself to embrace fear and thus, I trained myself to embrace the common and social tragedies like heartbreak. I trained myself to be numb to the foolish feeling which overwhelms us when we are lied to or played, like an idiot who came in too late to get the joke.
And even rejection, I expected this. I trained myself for this. So, in the face of something constant, I numbed myself to ignore the cut from the blade and thus, I would work to convince myself, “who cares?”
Not me, right?
Wrong . . .
I never wanted to admit that this was me.
I am timid and weak. I never wanted anyone to see this side of me. I never wanted to share or to give a gift, simple as ever, which proves that I noticed the little things, or that I cared enough to show you that you have my attention, or even deeper, I was always too afraid for anyone to know that you have my heart.
I am a child in this sense. I am like a little boy who wants to share his toys, but I’m afraid that my toys are not good enough and no one will choose to play with me.
I want to share my joy or the excitement I used to feel when chasing fireflies.
I was hurt, no different from anyone else in this world. I have been hurt the same as anyone else who played the love games. Or like billions of others before me, I never wanted to be hurt, or exposed nor did I ask to be rejected or to feel so foolish because I was gullible enough to believe someone when they said, “I love you.”
Maybe I am older now. Maybe I am tired.
Maybe I have grown enough to understand and to realize that true love and true intimacy extends beyond lust or the deeper pleasures of the flesh.
Maybe I have come to an age or to a point in my life when my eyes are open wide enough to see that the truest love is orgasmic in the smallest ways. This can be as simple as doing something like holding hands while sitting across the table from someone while out to dinner. This can be as simple and equally as orgasmic when performing something as easy as a public kiss, regardless of where we are.
Doing things like this is important and valuable to the soul and to our memory.
Go, be, do.
These are three great words
Trust me. They are.
While I do agree with the greatness of lying on the couch and doing nothing, except for watching a few movies or binge watching a few shows, and ordering in some Chinese food on a rainy day; I swear that sometimes, we have to find a way to let go.
We have to let ourselves go crazy and lose control, just for a day or so. We need the break, like some wild vacation to which we can come home, refreshed and repaired, or in the case of life and all that we hold tightly and dearly, sometimes we have to let go so we can come back and readdress our grip. This way, nothing can slip through our fingers. If something does slip through our fingers, then it wasn’t meant to be ours in the first place.
In fairness to the art of letting go or not giving a fuck, I can’t let go. The reason why is because I do give a fuck.
So, for now, my next move is to be true to myself. I am here to be honest and sincere; and more, I am here with hopes that you came here too, which means that you have found me, or we have found each other. Thus, you and me, and neither of us will ever be alone or unloved.
Not if I have something to say about it.
I promise.
The Written Addiction 