What I was is not who I was, and certainly not who I am – There’s a line in a NIN song, Non-entity, says, “the ghosts of what I was keep getting in the way.”
I have homework: one paragraph, my ideal woman.
Pen to paper failed me, so it’s music on blast and a blog. Lose a minute in deep thought, gain an hour’s perspective. Might need to back track or wonder where to wander this weak end. Yeah, I get that was a bit too obvious attempt at being adroit (okay, I used a thesaurus on that one because clever wouldn’t do, and hip, slick inevitably leads to ‘and cool’ but I like how my mind thinks these days), but this homework assignment has left me in a place of baffled befuddlement, and why the hell I am hung up on alliteration these days?
A single, solitary paragraph. Maybe preceding blogs have led up to this moment, a week ago I dumped my shit, step stuff, because after I finally got it- an unwinnable war isn’t worth fighting, but I battled to one hell of a bitter end- in that state of brokenness, utter gut wrenching despair and crippling pain when I gave the fuck up, I needed a fast dose of hope and some faith stat.
That’s 2 paragraphs right there about nothing, or everything really, because way too many are out there struggling, thinking like I did: this is all life has for me, it’s what I deserve anyway, such a scumbag, charring beautiful souls with a revolting, selfish precision. I get it. I threw that baggage off me quick, let the past be what it was…
What – not who. What I was…a junkie, a virtual disappointment, a broken boy that never grew up, none of that is who I am today. Used to look people straight in the eye when I lied, my tell though was looking down after my lips stopped moving, I could never maintain that contact, even then, I knew everything I was doing was wrong, until my mind would paint it right. By the end, the 180 took a split second, instantaneous, until I had no sense of decency left, so cut off from my spirit, I saw nothing remotely beautiful in life, so why bother stealing anyone else’s oxygen. What a difference a failed suicide attempt makes.
When I was briefly homeless, I hated the rain. It was always that extra straw on my fragile sanity’s back, today I walked home smiling as it poured, soaked me to the bone. It made me remember a girl from a long time ago, named Jess, always looking up, grinning as the drops kissed her face. Which I guess should bring me back to my assignment. I tried to find out the point of it, got denied, but that I can’t write about the right one, well, something inside has shifted, my preconceived notions of fairy tales and happily ever after love stories have faded.
That line of opposites attract, maybe if we human beings were magnets, I would agree. Like pulls like in life. We are moths bouncing off the light, curious the instinct involved there, but Google timed out. Commonality is attractive. If I see truly who I am, illuminated intentions, admissions to self, walk into the sunshine of your love, wait, never mind, I am clawing away at the truth. Here goes…
She would have a beautiful soul. She would be battle-tested, treasuring the losses for the wisdom gained more than the spoils of victory. She would be peaceful, seeing splendor in a miniscule moment, a splash of rain of a flower petal, yet she has a yearning to get out and explore the world. She would have eyes that connect to her heart and a smile that makes the worst day turn out perfect. She would have a quiet confidence; she would demand respect and respond in kind. She would know there is nothing random, that something out there in the ether has a dream life in store for her as long as she stays true to love and is grateful for the simple things. She can admit her wrongs and strive to do right. My ideal woman knows herself, loves who she is, makes her weaknesses strengths, and gets life is about kindness, helping out other human beings wherever possible. Not for acclaim, but joy. A helping hand’s worth is beyond a fool’s gold.