Am I really so unique? I think I’m pretty ordinary. A person caught in the race of life. I was talking to a friend today and realised that when we find a person that we consider unique or different this can have life enriching but also damaging effects. You can get caught up in moments, thinking you will only ever experience this once. You can become so caught up that you start believing this is the end all and be all of what you’re worthy of.

I have been in similar situations. I have another friend that says nothing lasts. And this is probably true as well. But I’m a strong believer in choice. I don’t believe in destiny. I am not destined for unhappiness. Although I feel like this a lot, I keep reminding myself that life is all about choices. We choose how long we will let people control us. There is no denying it. You can reason and debate and wallow in self pity and destroy your life, your mind, your heart, and through doing so, think that you’re in control. You’re making the decision to hurt, to use, to discard all in the name of hurt. But the person that hurt you, they are still in control. No; control is actually making positive changes, even when you’re only seeing darkness and hopelessness. That is taking control. Starting the process of making choices that enhances your life, not taking steps back into the past. Yes, the past hurts, but moving forward is all you can do. There is no rewind button on life’s remote control. “What if’s” and “what could have been”  are negative, self destructive ways of thinking.

The only choice I don’t have is when and how I’ll die. I often think what people will say when I die. With the recent death in the family I was overcome with guilt for not wishing my family member happy birthday. For not messaging more frequently to find out how things are. I know life is busy, but I’ve realised that death brings people together. Isn’t that ironic? When we’re alive, we don’t have time to send a message or check in with a friend or family. When they die, we wish we did.

When I die I believe only a few people would have known the real me. The one I hide or keep under control. I know a lot of the people I’ve been close to this past year that will probably miss my body or my mouth, maybe my jokes. But will they feel as if something is missing from their lives? I think not. I know this because if I was a priority to them, they would feel me missing from their lives right now, while I’m still alive. My death would therefore not create any sense of “missing” for too long.

What I know is that some people was put on this earth to help others. Some think “I AM helping others” while others think “i am HELPING others” See the difference? Helping others can be a selfish act too. It’s all about the reason behind it. If not a selfless act of love or compassion, it’s not help. It’s stroking of ones ego. And this way, when you get tired of helping or being there for another person, you can just stop. Because your intention was never to help them. I know this, because I’ve done it. I’ve listened and helped others, but when they keep coming back and not “listening” to me, I got annoyed and tired and give up…because my heart was never in it. I feel bad for doing this. And those are the people I’ll try to reconnect with again. Because they really needed me, even if I didn’t need them.

My love language is physical touch and quality time. I score equal highest marks on these two. Receiving gifts scored the lowest. I don’t want to be showered with gifts, neither do I need words of affirmation. I need to be touched. It fosters a sense of security for me and I feel that I belong. When I touch, it’s an extension of my love. I love my piano. When I play, I’m making love to the keys. Touching them softly or hard depending on the emotion I feel. When I make love my hands and mouth and body are extensions of my soul, my love, my passion.

Time; there is no more precious gift than giving someone your time. Time spent together doing things that you and I enjoy. A walk, a meal, a meaningful conversation.

This is who I am. I do not touch lightly. I do not give my love easily. But when I do, you will know by my  touch, my kiss, my time.

I long for your touch

I have felt it before

I’m sorry, so sorry

I failed to say

My love is my hands

Your time is my joy

Without touch

I will fade away

For love to me

Is silent and cozy

Just like your presence

And body so warm

If this love is not

The love that you seek

The love that you need

then happiness with me

never will be

The last year can be summed up in one word. Confusion. Every aspect of my life is filled with confusion. Today left me confused for various reasons.

I lost a family member today. He committed suicide. I haven’t seen him for probably ten years, but I connected with him on social media and I have many many fond memories of family holidays spent with him. He was the youngest of four children. Very quiet. A loner. He didn’t say much but he smiled. He was happy. Or was he? He was going through a divorce. Why is it that relationships fucks a person up so much that they are driven to take their own life? I would never ever have put him in the at risk of committing suicide group. Never. It’s left the whole family in a state of confusion. He never spoke about it. He didn’t tell anyone what he was experiencing that drove him to this act? Why?? Why the fuck do men think it’s ok to keep and hold all the crap that they experience, bottled up inside. Whey are men emotionally so unsure of sharing their fears and their feelings? Especially with the people that loves them.

I am so torn by my role as a mother. There are so many days that I feel that I’m not a  good mother. I’ve lost connection with my maternal instinct. I always judged people harshly that abandon their kids and run off. But I can see how that is possible. Not because you don’t love your child anymore. I would lay down my life for my child, but there is always the nagging feeling that I’ve messed my life up so bad that I can’t possibly be a good role model for her. I live a strange life now. One of confusion.

Writing this I realise this is the one thing I yearn for so so much. Security. I don’t have it. I am left unsure and confused many times. And when I’m uncertain, I act differently. I make snide remarks, I drop hints. I fucking hate that. I’m a great believer of NOT dropping hints, but asking directly. Maybe it’s the few answers I do get, that I don’t like.

Confusion is changing me. For better or worse, I don’t know.