It's Getting Boring By The Sea

Our eyes lock and I always think you will say something. Then I get the feeling, you think I am going to say something and then neither of us do. I just close my eyes for a moment and wonder what the hell is wrong with me. If it was anyone else, I would smile or wave or say hello. So I started to do that. But, you still catch me sometimes. Its like the wind getting knocked out of me, but more like breathed into me. I just forget who I am and I exist and I get very existential. I think the gold flecks in your eyes are too much to not stare at and then I realize I am. Then you have these soft freckles under your right eye that I like. They make you seem even more like a sweet and romantic old soul. At that point one of us has walked past and the realization I have said nothing sinks in and I feel like a fool. There's another man that I look at and it's like his eyes are darts. I never know what to say. He seems so sad. But, you don't seem sad. Just warm. You seem like a warm bowl of freshly made pudding. I want to dive in. But, I keep walking and then close my eyes. I shake it off. I wish I wasn't so fucking awkward, bud. 

You get quiet. I noticed it before. Awhile ago. I wondered what it meant. Did you subconciously want me to be closer? Or did I? Probably just me. I overthink everything. It probably doesn't mean anything. But, I thought about it yesterday. You are fine with laughing and chatting when I'm not around. I hear you sometimes. I can even hear some of the words you say in the conversation. Far enough away. I heard you yesterday. When my back was turned. I feel like you laugh at everything. It makes me smile. And I felt a little jealous. I want to tell my brain to shut up and then I heard you say my name so quiet. I stiffened. I bumped into the plastic tube with a soft clink. I strained my ears and waited. I might have made it up. But, you said it. I know you did because you said it quietly again, but slightly louder. Sure did. I turn my whole body and you are closer than I thought. Just speaking so softly, I can't hear you. I smile because I think, do you really think that I can hear that volume with all this noise in here? I yell at you for whispering. For being quiet. For being a quiet person. Dear quiet person, I purr. I'm not yelling. Externally. Internally, I'm screaming in pleasure. I want to grab your face and pull you in close because your words are garbage to me. I just cannot hear you. How is it that I heard you speaking to someone else moments before and you haven't done anything, but shifted your words to me. Suddenly, I hear nothing. I am deaf. You are mute. I ask you to say it again and I swear you geared up like you were going to be louder, but it's barely audible. Later, you come up to my ear and ask me if I'm going out later and I say yes. I know you won't go and it stabs me a little. I want a friend. I want someone to talk to and feel safe around. I let it pass through me, because I have nothing better to do and you're probably smarter than me for not going. Clearly, way cooler than I'll ever be. I'm fine with it. I like being a dork. I reserve myself all the time. I should come out of my shell, but I guess I'm a coward and that makes me less cool than anyone I know. Later, my thoughts are voiced by the least likely candidate. You are missed. Your opinion is valued. The contrast you must have, according to them, in your objectivity. I struggle to hold back my thoughts. My smile. I don't know if she realizes that you are a romantic, as much as you may keep it layered. I see right through it. Imagine if she has a crush on you like I do? I don't doubt it. You are undoubtedly crazy hot. The fact you were mentioned at all outside of the box means you are on the radar. She looked over at me and I looked back, dead in the face. I cannot deny the fact I wanted you there, too. But, I don't say a word. I change the subject. Bring up someone new, as soon as I can. You are definitely cooler than me, dear quiet person. 

Sometimes you stand really close to me and I stare at your chest like you should have a name tag on, but it's clearly lower and I can't look now, but I know I will anyways, but then I'll probably act weird about it. Sorry I looked at your dick. Not sorry. You held a book up once on your thigh and I watched you move in your chair, unsure what you were thinking, but you left quickly. Maybe I made you uncomfortable. I'm pretty sure you know I was looking at your happy trail while you stretched. I can't help that you're a total babe. I wasn't trying to gawk. Just glance. Sorry. Not sorry. 

You joke with me like you haven't before. Maybe it's going to be more common now that you admitted that you do the same thing I do. Or I may have assumed correctly. You can joke with someone you don't like right away. But, when you really value a person, the jokes are different. And they come later. I made a joke at you, teasing you a bit. You thought it was funny. Or at least, I hope you did. So I went all in. Balls deep. Probably said something you hear all damn day. I'm gonna smack you. I was probably just looking too into Victra's character. I wonder what you would do if I came up and grabbed your ass. Do it, you incited. You laughed. I laughed. Oh, okay. Damn, I let out. Unable to control that reflex. The arousal I heard at the end of your voice and the one that slipped out of mine. That kind of teasing will drive me mad for days. I thought about it later and I couldn't help but laugh out loud. Damn. This is quite a crush. There were innocent bystanders and I had to make like a teen movie and bite my lip under my mask and change the subject. I couldn't look at you in the eyes. Because I started to and your fucking eyes, dammit! Your freckles. Then the wall. The floor. Anything else. Any fucking thing else. I dove into my work and pretended I didn't have a giant boner. It was lost quickly in the work. The sweat of me. I had to take off my sweater. Because. I got heated. 

The more people I talk to, the more vulnerable I feel. I am wide open here. All my thoughts just waiting to be read. People do read this. I don't fucking know why. Other than to pick my brain. I'm generally mute about my thoughts and feelings. I would probably die of emotional overload and get depressed if I said everything on my mind all the time. But, I'm not entirely sure I'm all that interesting. I have the libido of a teenager and the words of a mute. You're welcome. Thanks for reading. I miss my posts when I was describing sexual experiences. Those are the best. I was thinking about that earlier. It has been quite a long time and too far in between that I felt the chemistry that makes me tap away. It makes me wonder what would happen if I did grab his ass... Probably would get fired. But, what a hell of a story!

I have some thoughts about some things. I know your type. The type who moves but doesn't really move on. The kind that thinks, I'm just doing this to get ahead. Because you want to try on new things, but you get bored because you can't stand the idea of moving forward. So you linger in your old world and move to a new one. But, you never quite open up in the new one, because you are too afraid to let go of the old world and jump into the new one. I felt like you maybe were going to over the summer. It seemed like you had a bit of the ol' Def call me and lets do that thing you just mentioned. But, then you sort of lost your phone. I don't really know the whole story there. I'm just assuming. I'm assuming everything. Because I think that you should try here. Maybe I'm biased. Maybe I want to give you a reason to have a tie. Maybe I just want you and that's my selfish bias. Maybe I don't even really know you at all and I guessed completely wrong about you. Wouldn't be the first time. You seem like a gem though. Seems awfully convenient to be outgoing and then lose your phone for a few months. Good thing I didn't ask for your number. That would have hurt my feelings a bit. Quite a bit. I almost wish sometimes that I did ask for your number and you lost your phone and then I can stop liking you this way. Just be mad and let it go and then be able to be a functioning normal person again. Yey..... I still find it sad and funny that I would rather think that you'll reject me in a hypothetical or that you wouldn't even try even if you did like me, because it makes more sense to me. It makes more sense that you don't like me at all. You showed me your phone a few times. Talked about following other people we know. I just glossed over it. If you want to follow me. Then... do it.... If you want my number... then ask for it.... Or look it up on the directory. That's how other people have gotten it before. Because they needed it for work. I gave my number out to three people I liked and wanted to text me. One has. It's okay. I am not offended. It stings, but it's okay. I'm just talking myself out of having a crush on you because it's easier for me. It'll be easier all around. I'll reject myself so that you don't have to. You said you didn't let one person follow you, but the other you were fine with. Well. I didn't ask to follow you. Because you could very well reject it. That would suck. I'm not that brave. I think too highly of you to find out you don't think I'm that cool. I mean, I know I'm not. But, still. It would sting. 

It brought up the feelings around how much I have changed. How much I have grown. How much the universe has met me. I don't have that app anymore. Why? Because I had multiple guys showing dominance over me. It felt... exciting at the time. I was vulnerable and it was exciting to get attention. I was desperate for attention. I didn't think I did anything different, but I was met either way. The energy was engaged, whether I meant to put it out there on purpose or not. So. I had to block my ex-husband's co-worker. He was fucking hot as hell. He had a very lovely dick. One I didn't want to see in person. I had to block my ex boyfriend. The one who was married. There was enough commotion and no one else was reaching out to give me attention at the time. So. I deleted the app. Why would I keep it? I kept one app. I started posting again on another to avoid my ex-husband. To avoid him humiliating me like it was a fucking old fashioned amish shun. Calling me a whore and tagging everyone that he thought I trusted. Sending private messages to everyone I trusted. Saying he thought I was crazy. I was reminded of what it feels like to be gaslit. To have someone tell other people you might hear that she will say I did horrible things to her, but I swear, you know me, I would never do that. I think she needs help. I think she has gone crazy, I don't know what to do, please help me... To have my mother and sister believe him. Over me. To feel, finally, isolated completely. And have to start over. And in that starting over... eventually, they felt like I was that crazy, too. That I should be fired for being snarky. To have a cunt inbox me, a woman I looked up to like a maternal figure. One that would let me take hits off her one-hitter like we were pals. She inboxed me and told me to stop being so negative. I started arguing back. Then she said she didn't have the time for it. That fucking bitch didn't have the time to lay in her own fucking bed. So I politely told her that if she didn't want to read my social media posts, she didn't have to. Unfollow me. Unfriend me. Fuck off, you ugly on the inside cunt. So she did. A lot of people were pushed away or they left. I have felt a lot of things in the last few years. Healing from gaslighting. Healing from trauma. I laid in bed for days wondering if I would just die, would it matter? I welcomed it. I just wanted to cease to exist. To just... Melt away into nothing. Vaporize into the sky and never have to face anyone or anything again. Science has been my salvation. School was my goal. I had this goal. I was aiming. Get a degree... get a degree... just get a degree... I just wanted to be a scientist. To say to myself, hey, you sure did have another ADHD goal and met it! You sure showed... you....? But. Now? I'm a scientist. I started over. I filled the very vast void. I didn't stuff it with dicks. I didn't stuff it with lost causes or charity case friends. I didn't fill it with trauma. I helped. I healed. I moved the fuck on. I'm not sure what to do with myself right now. Do I still have that drive to get my degree? Do Cs get degrees? But, I still get mad that I don't have As. I have another month in the semester and I'm just. melancholy. I broke my back. I barely was alive a few weeks ago. My mom has been slowly back in my life again, thanks. I'm still a little bitter you chose my fucking ex husband over me for a period of time, fucking traitor. But, I'm grateful to have my M O M. My actual mom. The one I knew my whole life. The one that has a deep grunt and stern words when necessary, because she did what she could being a single parent. The one that will bend over backwards to cook and clean and take care of my kids because she actually wants to see me not struggle. Because, she was here once. She had to bend over backwards to get ahead. Make a career. Make a life for herself. She still picked asshole abusive as hell husbands that abused the hell out of me for too long and she still hasn't stood up to this asshole yet. I still have to know every time I see him, she chose you over me. But it's a fucking start. A fucking fresh start. An opportunity for me to get this shit out here, rather than bitter and to her face. Because it would sting. It still stings. But. Still. It's better than holding onto resentment. There's nothing to do but wait for her to come to her senses or for him to fucking die. How horrible. But, it sure beats not having her in my life at all. Because that was worse. Did I ever have to choose my mother over a man? No. Did she? Yes. Did she choose me? Not always. Not when it counted. 

I wish I could move and move on. I wish I could start over. The feeling has risen lately. Just apply to some fucking outlandish program. Overseas. In another country. A biology research team that needs to be in another fucking country. Anywhere else than this house. In my feelings. In the pain. Fuck. Maybe that's why I keep fixating on an insanely hot guy at work. Rather than voice these feelings. The escape is so palpable. It's here! Here's my escape. The big plan. Get a degree. Crush on someone I don't have a chance with and then when I can't stand it anymore: move to another country! Anywhere warm. Somewhere far away from my asshole ex-husband. *UGH!* Away from my family. So they don't have to choose. I made the choice for you. I guess that's why people decide to commit suicide. They make the choice that they feel everyone else wants to make. You clearly don't want me to exist, so I will stop doing that. It's a choice. A choice to stop coexisting with pain. Trauma. With the emptiness in our hearts. It's just gone. The pain is gone after that. It's why I could never do it. Even when it was very strong. The feeling to stop existing. Because, if I stopped existing, some people might actually be sad about it. I still cry when I think about Alaina. She couldn't escape her addiction and I cry over it. I cry over her. I cry over the guilt of not letting her move in when I was pregnant. That maybe I could have helped her. Maybe she wouldn't have used. Maybe I could have helped her open up to me about why she felt like she had to try heroine. Why did it seem appealing at all? It hurts thinking about it. I can't imagine I've never touched anyone at all. At the very least, I know my kids would lose their mother. That was the sole reason for staying in existence. If I stopped being here, then they would live with their dad. I couldn't do that to them. Then they would have a life like I did with an absent mom and an absent dad. He wouldn't have grown up like he has. I would have been a martyr and him a hero. Fuck that asshole. He doesn't get to be the hero. I was sad and I laid in my bed and my son brought me a snack. He picked a cheese stick apart with his fingers into lumpy pieces. He pulled frozen raspberries out of the freezer. He broke up a biscuit. He put it on a plate for me and said, here momma, I thought you might need a snack. Because he saw me do it for his sister or for him countless times. He thought that if he brought me a snack, I would get my energy back. That I would get up. That I could move on. I cried. I ate the snack. I got out of bed. I got out of bed a lot after that. He cared for me in a way I couldn't see doing for myself. So I got strong little by little. So that I could be strong for him. So I could fight for him. So I could help him. Like I never got help. I would fight for him like my mom never fought for me. I wake up everyday and choose to get up and fight everyday the urge to stay in bed and cease to exist, so that I can fight for him to have a chance. For him to live fully. For him to be saved and whole and loved. So that I could love myself so I could show him how to love, too. I could never choose anyone other than them. Never. No man alive is worth more than them. Those sweet babies deserve everything I have to give and I would never show them that they are #2 to anyone, but me. My son did save me in a way. He didn't know he was saving me, though. He was just a sweet little boy of five. He was probably bored and needed attention. Who knows, but he changed my life that day, just by being himself. I chose to get up. I let the tears fall down my cheeks and I hugged him and his sister as they were just so pleased with themselves that they got me to get up out of bed finally. I got up and I saved myself. I had a five year old hero so I became his hero. And now I am the hero in my own story. 

So what does the hero do next? 

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