Wr1tt3n0ne

Bunches and bunches
2018-03-16 00:20:13 (UTC)

The One That got Away...

Yep, that's me, blowing kisses on my out.

I confess I certainly know how to capture attention, how to make an entrance, a scene, and how to leave others talking about my exit, the confession lies in that while I may flounce out like a woman fully possessed, I rarely know where I am going, I can get there with class, if only I knew which way to go.

I must've spent the better part of my life creating chaos I would flee from only to find, I had nowhere to go. Or, at the very least, no plan to get there. I was that kind of youthful, stubborn young woman. Artistic, dramatic, aching for stability that I often spent my time undermining. I belong to the time and place where a woman was valued not only for her ambition and artistry but the accompanying moods that framed them. I am all Sunset Blvd and you'd be surprised who plays along nowadays. My husband has been and will be my biggest cheerleader. Learning how to walk back my constant use of the nuclear option was his steady doing. The level of comfort I enjoy I try desperately not to take for granted because I can still recall what a mess I was without it. What a mess I am when I find myself even now with unsuitable partners. I am the one of delicate temperament, prone to wild bouts of self-expression, or worse, when I find my life out of hand and my hopes misplaced. I may well fail to take the realization that a happy ending is not possible with anything approaching grace, mostly because grace is homeless in my self-righteous angry assertion of being owed that smiling ending. My anger is a fire burning brightly those who might otherwise assist me. My words cut like a knife because I have noticed it, even when you hope I haven't. No one's failures of personality, of drive, not even my own, do I actually fail to see. I may not mention them in happy moments, but I will when I am displeased.

I wholly believed this d*mned me to a life of solitary being. Love was for those kind and gentle folks, not the h*ll I often left in my wake. My temper, my harsh words, my unforgiving spirit belonged to a plant, and possibly a cat in some tiny forgotten appointment in the city, where I would only be terror to my neighbors or the landlord. Surely, no soul would wish to be my rock, let alone cheer lead my paltry efforts at reining myself into a less regrettable mess. I never believed that I was worth the effort. I am. My life is a testament to the power of another's belief in the best in me. I've learned to stop my downward spiraling and mind my tongue when I so ardently wish to loose it. As time has passed, these tasks that once took everything in me to manage seem easy and natural.

So much so, that now I second guess myself before a tear. This is really something that never previously crossed my mind to do. Now I find myself less seeing red and, instead, slowly deploying proportional response. It is an odd sensation to let things go. Rather contrary to who I thought I was, but my ability to manage it, on occasion, is not a place I saw myself. Far from being a weakened place, I find it rather empowering not to be at the mercy of my emotions. The extreme emotions come less often to me, finding that I am not longer much of a willing host.

This is one of the primary reasons I find that Guy so dangerous. It all falls away with him and I am livid, homicidal, even. I see red, breath red and snort it out like a possessed bull. I fear myself in these moments. I also fail to see how going through them at all helps me with anything I am trying to accomplish in my life.

I know one I won't let get away, one that's already long gone, and then there's me...




Ad: