I find it interesting that the days that I actually make time to write here are the days that my card is charged for the domain. Maybe it makes me feel guilty. Maybe it’s just the right time. Maybe it’s just a reminder. I don’t know.

I do know… that I’m tired. And it’s the type of tired that sleep doesn’t fix. The type of tired that meds don’t fix. It’s the type of tired that community fixes. I don’t remember the last time I sat with a group of friends and laughed until my stomach hurt. Most times I see friends now are rushed updates and hoping we can squeeze months worth of updates into a quick chat.

The hardest part of moving from California to Arizona was that in California I had my people and in Arizona, I don’t. And making friends has never been my forte. The friends that I’ve made are always friends that I met through friends that I met with that specific activity. I’m the quiet girl in the corner at the party with a drink & my book. But, it’s weird because I wasn’t ALWAYS that girl. I feel myself crawling deeper and deeper into metals these days.

The loss of identity. The loss of community. The loss of me. All of those suck but I think what I hate most of all is the loss of vulnerability. I used to be so free. And now here I am in this cage of doubts. Over analyzing words, thoughts, facial expressions- hoping to give the best image of myself. But is that me?

That’s hard. Because, I don’t think I even know who I am anymore. Or, maybe a little more honest… I don’t think I ever knew who I was. I was always molded in the image of who everyone wanted me to be. Everyone gets a mask that fits their needs. Except me. Mine are never met. Because praise quickly becomes critical. Someone is always wanting more. Someone is always trying wanting better.

Pleasing them has always been the goal. In hopes that perhaps, perhaps one day they would please me too. Somehow see me sitting and begging for just… a smidge of attention. Just… for once to see me. And not the me who is pleasing you. But, ME. The loud, the messy, the brash, the dry. Every part of me that makes me, well me.

Sometimes I wonder if people notice that I’m just a mirror reflecting what they want to see. Or if they can see underneath that. That I’m just begging for validation, for… someone to see me under it all.

But, I’m so scared to ask. So scared to be too much. So scared to be needy or overbearing or overwhelming.

And then he brings me a cup of coffee. Or he notices that I haven’t ate all day & hands me a sandwich. Sometimes it’s him asking what I’m reading & remembering if it was a book I was really excited about. It’s the way he tells me not to worry about it & is the first to jump up.

Sometimes I don’t feel seen until I really watch him. And see all of the things he’s seeing in.