Been thinking about…Girlfriends.

Today, I want to share the story of two girls.  One is Farrah* a life-long friend of mine.  Her heart is generous.  She’s sweet.  Special in all the ways you want a friend to be.  Thoughtful.  Funny.  Lighthearted.  She lets you be yourself.

The other is Harriet*.  I don’t know Harriet all *too* well but she is polished, older, very well put together.  Polite.  Calculated.  Seems very kind and concerned.  (Operative word: Seems.)

Farrah and Harriet became fast friends.  They traveled together.  They spent many afternoon teas together.  They shopped together.  They attended seminars together.  They were interwoven in one another’s lives the way good friends are.  Sure, they didn’t share history, but they certainly shared the present…and as one would hope, a future.

Harriet sorta kinda disappeared.  Not entirely.  But the way your insides sense someone has.  One day, she wrote an email to Farrah sharing the wondrous news of her engagement.   Hallelujah. Happy, happy, joy, joy…Harriet, in her late 30’s, had scored the one thing she always wished for: a diamond solitaire on her finger.

Farrah, never having been aware of Harriet having a boyfriend, much less a fiancé, responded, as any good friend would do, congratulating her, genuinely, wholeheartedly, but with slight reservation.

Days passed, weeks passed, months passed.  Farrah and Harriet re-connected here and there.  But something was off.  Farrah was pained by the distance and superficial avoidance.  Farrah reached out to her good friend (the Leegal Deeva) who put her resources to the test and in two minutes flat gave the news to Farrah of a) wedding date; b) groom-name; c) groom’s occupation; d) where the happy couple would be living…and e) [AS A BONUS] what China pattern Harriet had registered for.

Needless to say, Farrah was disappointed, disenchanted, sad.  Less than six weeks to a wedding and Farrah had not received any invitations…not to a bridal shower, a bachelorette, and certainly not a wedding.

Sadness ensued.  Insult.  Pain.  Confrontations came.  Harriet’s reasoning for the distance and strain were as follows: “It took you too long to respond to my engagement announcement email”…”I texted you over the summer to wish you a safe trip, you didn’t write back.”  Bee. Ess.

Leegal Deeva dug and dug…discovering that Harriet’s beau had dated a friend of Farrah’s…long, long ago.  No biggie.  But Harriet had pushed Farrah, pushed away the friend (Facebook deletion was involved)…yet, no true explanations were given.  Nothing believable anyway.

And there you have it.  Leegal Deeva wonders…is this how women are? Is this the type of insecurity that seeps deep through our souls that causes us to write off, ignore, push away, and toss good friends who’ve been there for you in your search, who’ve suffered through the yearnings, the romantic pursuits?  Is this how women are? Is this what we do? Do we toss competition to the curb? Really?

I’m certainly not immune to irrational behavior.  At the ripe, old age of 21, I refused to become too closely connected to an innocent, amazing, woman who simply, physically, reminded me of a girl that had dated a guy that I’d liked.  Crazy.  I know.  But, I was 21.  Within a few months, I gave in to that amazing girl who ended up being a good friend for many years!  Reminders were forgotten, ignored, whatever.  Truly.  As for Harriet, at 38? Certainly she could have acted more maturely. Or at least, more reasonably.

Let’s be fair, though.  Harriet has tried.  Exhibit A: a Christmas card was sent to Farrah…signed solely by Harriet, with a return address indicating it came from Harriet’s parents’ home (not Harriet’s marital home).  And later, EXHIBIT B: an email forward and a brief note stating that she remembered Farrah and missed her.  Six months post-wedding.  SIX MONTHS.

In examining this odd behavior, the awkward note, the reaching out…Leegal Deeva can’t help but think that all the much ado about a wedding has died down.  Newlywed life has lost its novelties.  Romance has dwindled and Harriet is reaching out to good, old, solid, loving, kind-hearted Farrah…

Why?  Have you no shame, Harriet?

We get it.  We get that friends grow apart.  People move away.  Reasons turn into inconveniences.   But none of that had happened here.  The drift was attributable to insecurity, a deficit in confidence, a crack in self-esteem, fear…irrational fear(s).

And what does one do to combat this break?  Do you forgive (obviously never forgetting)? Do you try?  Do you respond?  Do you engage, kindly?  Do you put your heart out on the line, knowing quite well, that it could get crushed (in that delicate way only friends can crush it…by dropping it, like you do a hot dish, coming out of the oven…and see the mess as being too much to clean up…and the meal impossible to salvage)?

What does one do? Having seen Farrah struggle with whether to embrace Harriet once again, to trust her, to care…I hurt.  I say, “Don’t give explanations.  Don’t dig too deep.  Be courteous and kind.  But don’t let you guard down.”

Is that a way to live? Among friends? Do you lift that friend out of your friendship circle and place her deliberately in your box of acquaintances?

And why? Why are women so weak and insecure? Why do we fleet and float with the tide of men coming in and out of our lives? Are we that fragile? Is our confidence that weak?

It’s tough being a girl, sometimes.  It’s even harder being a girl-friend.  And needless to say…good girlfriends are hard to come by.

*Names were changed to protect the identity of those involved.

5 things I’m grateful for. An exercise for when you’re feeling grumpy.

I was having a case of the grumpies.  My BFF  asked me to list 5 things I am grateful for.  All I could come up with was:

  1. Health
  2. Good Friends
  3. Gorgeous Eyelashes
  4. Nice Skin
  5. Speaking without an accent

I don’t know why it was such a stretch…but that’s all I could come up with.  I mean it.  The first three came easily.  But I had to try for the last two.  I seem ungrateful.  But I was feeling down, grumpy…and so, those were the five I came up with.

Let’s analyze, shall we?

The first is priceless…the only thing that often matters.  When you don’t have your health, you have nothing.  And so…it is the most important thing and it is never underrated.  But when you have your health…gosh, all the other problems seem daunting, still.  I will see a blessing in the NOT having the lack of it (double negative).  Thank God for good health.

The second is common (perhaps) yet rare to come by (I realize that was a pathetic oxymoron).  But I have a few people that I can always reach out to nurture my heart, mind, soul…they love me, unconditionally, and I am grateful that they don’t leave me lonely on this journey of “life”.  Truly.   Sure, there are tons of friends (1051 Facebook friends…just noticed.)  It makes me feel dirty.  It does.  The 1051.  But so many of them are on limited profile and so it doesn’t seem as awful.  Regardless, I have 4 or 5 (including my Mom) who I can reach out to via text, email, phone call, g-chat and get advice, love, a response, interest, and solid conversation.  I love these friends of mine.  Without them, my life would be EMPTY.  I’d be lonely.  Sad.  Sinking in despair.

Eyelashes…the bigger the better.  The fuller the prettier.  My Mom has straight lashes, not too long.  I have long lashes, they are curly.  I use 4 different kinds of mascara.  But it’s not about the mascara. It’s about the technique.  I love it.  I love eyelashes.  I love blinking.  I love what they do to my face.  I love how the femininize my face (I realize that’s not a word…but I’m coining it).  They are the thing that take me from looking ambiguous (post-shower, post-wake up) to looking like a girl.  I don’t do bold lipstick.  Eyeliner is not a common thing I use.  I avoid blush.  But mascara…it’s my go-to, if I had to pick one item of makeup, it would be my mascara…savior of all things vain.

Nice skin.  It’s dewy.  It’s generally blemish free.  For someone in her fourth decade of life, I have almost no wrinkles.  I try to maintain the laugh lines and crows feet but they are not too visible.  Generally, I have a baby face.  When people guess my age, they are off by a solid 8 years.  I like it.  I do.  Who wouldn’t?  I spent the first 20 years of my life being mistaken for an adult.  And now I am perpetually 22 years old.  No complaints.  Yet…I’m going to be honest…I don’t have perfect skin.  I can see my pores.  I have visible capillaries (sun damage—I promise I wear sunscreen EVERY day—except rainy days, I see it as an opportunity for my skin to “breathe”).  It’s not porcelain smooth.  I look at pictures online and think, “Wow, I wish I had that skin.”  But I don’t photoshop.  Never have.  And when I catch the occasional ruddy faced celeb, struttin’ the streets sans makeup, I feel superior to her because I look better, naturally…effortlessly.

The last one…I have no idea how I even came up with this! But…it’s…Speaking without an accent.  Boy am I judgmental, huh? I love languages.  I try to speak each one as much like a native as I possibly can.  I’m happy I grew up with Americans and that I was taught by native English speakers…to speak English.  Elitism at its best.  But I’m grateful, I am…that I speak clearly, confidently, eloquently, without hesitation.  It’s certainly true, that if I lived somewhere else, I’d be suffering through the language.  But thankfully, I live in America, and my English comes in handy.

So, that’s that for my list of five things I’m grateful for.  They are snooty items of gratefulness.  They are somewhat vain.  But they are what they are.  I could, of course, make a list of all the things I lack and all the things I possess…put it out there, take inventory.  But all she asked was for me to list 5 things…and I did feel a twinge better after I had.  What are the five things you are grateful for?

 

©2012, Leegal Deeva.  All rights reserved.

Been thinking about…reincarnation.

Been thinking about…reincarnation.

I never considered it seriously.  It seemed like a Hindu or Buddhist ideal…leading to Nirvana.  Not something I subscribe to in my obvious choice of faith.  But it’s surprising that certain inadequacies, a certain lack of satisfaction, random obsessions and interests in life could be so vivid, on the surface, yet I could so easily ignore.

I have always, always been interested in reasons.  Why? Why? Why? (My favorite question…one that so often does not provide satisfactory answers).  A good friend of mine, one who has one-third less years of experience, and possibly, two thirds more of life experience (sometimes I wonder if I’ve been stagnant in my evolution)…planted the seed in my head.  She said, “Perhaps in your past life…you were…” I don’t think she even got it right.  But it got me thinking.

Ever since I was a small child–by small I mean, 3, 4, 5 years old…then later as a 5th grader, a middle-schooler, a 17 year old…I had obsessions.  The Kennedys.  The British Royals.  Beverly Hills 90210.  Dynasty.  Grace Kelly…Princess Stephanie. Princess Diana. Natalie Wood.  Marilyn Monroe. Elvis and Priscilla.  Oprah. I’ve been drawn to [boring] documentaries on Queen Elizabeth (the original), Marie Antoinette (never caring about her great inability to sympathize with her subjects)…Catherine the Great, Tsar Nicholas and his family (remembering how unfortunate it was that his ONLY son was a hemophiliac), etc. etc.   I never stopped to think of why I was drawn to these people…but I was.  And it never stopped.  Celebrities, I don’t mean your every day perezhilton.com B-lister who makes dumb mistakes, I mean………..legends, pure legends through time…these are the people I craved to learn about…to learn about how they lived, how very detached they are from the plight of common folk (me).  How things don’t affect them…the economy, financial struggles, price tags.  How they are well known, popular, famous, infamous even.  I mean, I never related to Oprah more than the time she made headlines about not being allowed in to Hermes after working hours (DO YOU KNOW WHO SHE IS?!). Ahh.

Why this obsession? Why do I care so much?  Why do I want to be like them? Why do I want to get a glimpse into their personal and home-lives? Why?

Perhaps I was one of them.  In a past life, I was one a detached, distant, unsympathetic, haughty, frigid, rigid, spoiled, self-centered monarch, daughter of a monarch, wife of a monarch, or a celebrity who met her demise far too early.  Someone pained, internally, yet someone who lived in the lap of luxury, was catered to, and had the affection and attention of the masses, without ever giving them a glimpse of her internal turmoil.  Truly.  Someone envied, admired, adored…without just cause.

Is this the reason I’m so concerned with perceptions?  Is this why I am concerned with material possessions?  Is this why I am so damn unsatisfied with my day to day…why I always daydreamed as a child and wished I was somewhere else…why I wish I lived in Camelot, in Tara, in a world of spiral staircases, chauffeurs, elaborate gowns, jewels, and servants?

Maybe I’m not the only one.  Maybe a lot of people obsess and show interest in these things.  Maybe as humans we love to get a glimpse into something that is so far fetched from our every day-reality…maybe this is why we have obsessions with stars and politicians.  But, then again, my obsession has been deep rooted toward deceased legends.  Not mere celebrities.

Whatever it is…the thought of having been among them, is an easy reason for my lack of satisfaction in the here and now, of who I am and what I possess, of where I come from and where I’m going.

It is contradictory.  It causes a lot of conflict, internally…as I am torn between Christian ideals (my unique soul, reflecting through my unsatisfying body, and some day [hopefully] living a euphoric eternity in heaven] vs. Eastern thinking, Eastern Religion, Eastern everything else that I’ve been brought and taught to shun, pierce through, and ignore.   However, I haven’t been able to ignore them entirely.

 

©2012, Leegal Deeva.  All rights reserved.

Dear Hideous…

Dear Hideous,

I didn’t think you were ugly.  I really didn’t.  They all tried to convince me that you are.  But you looked happy, decent, put together.  Then I got the photo.  A photo of you two…a reflection.  And it was you…sour looking face, old-lady teeth.  There it was.  Objectively.  You are ugly.  I don’t want you to be ugly.  I’m sure you’re nice.  But you are non-cute.  Sad.  Despite that, I couldn’t help but wonder what is going through his mind.  Why you?  Why did he pick you?

It’ll be a few months before he confides in someone (it won’t be me!)…about how he thought you were ugly, but didn’t care ‘cuz you’re “funny as hell” and a total sweetheart (maybe you are!! The girls after me were self-proclaimed “bitches”)…what was I, you ask? 90% sweetheart.  Easily.  10% passive aggressive trying to always [cheerfully] keep it together ‘cuz he’s sensitive as HELL.  Anyway, he didn’t appreciate that, remember? I did TOO MUCH.  Mother effer.  He’s a lost cause.  Regardless, this isn’t about me…it’s about you.

So, let’s get down to it.  You met.  You liked him ‘cuz he was in the spotlight.  You secretly willed the pursuit and he reciprocated.  You liked it.  A couple of encounters (he’s the master of long distance relationships)…and you’re happy as HECK!  He texts you constantly.  That’s what you do.  You guys are in constant communication.  He gives you butterflies.  He puts a little bounce in your step.  Gives you something to smile about.  You exchange daily stories.  You send each other pics (all.day.long). I know how all this goes (remember, I WAS THERE, TOO!).  He basically takes over your life in a pleasant way that makes you feel super-connected, content, happy, in touch, giggly, excited, loved.

He’s attentive.  But only in an inversely reciprocal way.   It’s cuz HE wants attention.  To the point of it being bad.  I mean, HELLO! Have you seen his Facebook? Attention wh*re!! Anyway, back to what he sees in you…

What do you have? I mean, what do you have that he wants? What does he want to zap out of you that can compensate for something he, himself, feels insecure about?

It’s always something.  With one it was money and beauty.  With another it was intelligence, a solid family, loving, interested parents.  Another? A secret perspective into the “other side”…ambition, class, femininity.  Me? Aside from obsessing over my public, professional biography…it was my “Popularity”.  Apparent popularity, recognition, status.  Or so he claimed! I mean, he said it.  Not I.  ‘Cuz obviously, I was willing to throw it all to the wayside to devote myself to him completely.  That’s just who I am.  Ride or die.  Bonnie and Clyde.  As in, flashback to 2003… the Beyonce to his Jay Z.  As in, his thoroughest girl…his soldier…keepin’ him focused.  (That was obviously OUR song!) Doin’ his homework for that second degree he decided to get.  I can go on…ok, then came…the bitchy, slutty girl from 1999 who’d broken his heart but wanted to give him a second chance.  That was odd, short lived.  And then there was my replacement.   She was like a dude.  Almost masculine.  Spoke ghetto.  Despite being raised in the lap of luxury.  She had the career he wished he had.  She had money.  The ever present Dad to guide her and steer her toward success.  Financial and professional success.  He was jealous of her.  He wanted to be her.  He claimed she flaunted her success in his face.   Doubtful.  But despite that…he still wanted her.  He wanted to be her.  For her Dad to be his replacement Dad.  Sad.  I still don’t get why she ended it.  But she did.   That put him out of the game. For a while.  Maybe? I dunno.  I don’t keep up with his day to day.

Then came YOU.  Where was I going with this? Oh.  Ok…so I wanted to give you the run down, a so-called orientation.  Right now, it’s exhilarating.  Beautiful.  Happy.  But sooner or later, you’ll see that he lacks the capacity to empathize.  It’s all about him.  Right now you feel like you’re in “love” or the early stages of it.  He’s laying it on thick.  The reason why you two are so connected is because he wants to make sure that you don’t have an interest in life…not a single one, other than him.  He commands all of your attention.   He’s inflating you.  So you can confirm, for him, what he so deeply desires to think…that he’s “special”.  You are the perfect mirror. You stroke his ego.  You give perfect responses.   Careful to never injure or insult him.  He’ll isolate himself if you do (watch out!).

Once he’s charmed you, he’ll devalue you.   Remember how he told you he wants a 50’s housewife initially?  So you laid off your career a bit…started setting your accomplishments off to the side.   Suddenly he’ll say he wants someone ambitious, successful, a regular bread-winning, working woman.   This will frustrate you.  Don’t worry, it frustrates him, too.

It’s not about you.  It’s him.  He’s been criticized (by his mom, his boss, whomever).  He’s not performing to his expectations (or yours) and he’s trying to ignore the gloom of inability that is plaguing his heart and mind.  So he’ll fall into heavy drinking, smoking, driving fast.  Harmful behaviors.  You’ll feel helpless.  But you’ll continue to work harder to make him happier.  He’ll tell you he’s no good for you.  You’ll jump to his defense.  You’ll continue to lose yourself more and more in the relationship.  You’ll lose sight of your best characteristics and take on some of his worst.  It sucks.  It’s ugly. I know.

There will be an “end”.  But you’ll kinda miss his presence (the loss of excitement, an addiction to adrenaline…basically, highs and lows that he brought to your life).   You won’t get closure.  You won’t get any answers.  You won’t be able to put a lid on it.  He’s not going to worry about you.  Remember? He can’t empathize.  Even your pain will be about him.  How it annoys him. He hasn’t done a thing wrong (or so he thinks).  But don’t beat yourself up about it! In order to stay with him through this, you’ve either got to be a complete Saint, a Therapist, or a shallow dipsh*t…like the rest of his friends.  And you’re not.  I know.

You used to be on a pedestal.  Now you’re an object of disdain.  I’m sorry.  It sucks.  But that’s him.  He is the master of the short-term, intense relationship…and that’s just what you’ll have.  Welcome to the club, girly!

Sincerely,

Been there, done that

 

©2012, Leegal Deeva.  All rights reserved.

rain.

it happened. it was inevitable. i’m in a mental, “i dont give a sh*t” kind of place.  a tear just plopped down on my white shirt and all i can think is will my mascara stain it? i dont want to do anything today.  it’s possible that it’s monday and that’s the reason why. but i just can’t help but feel that i am the same on the other days…there’s just no excuse for it then.

perhaps it’s the rain.  it makes me feel so melancholy.  i love being inside during the rain. i nearly wished for it when i was sweating my butt of these past couple of days. wishing i was a skinny girl who could wear paper-thin sundresses, be tan (year-round without the risk of wrinkles, or worse–skin cancer), not worry about cellulite and jiggly arm fat.
why can’t someone love me for who i am? to look at me and think, i’m the ideal girl for him. cultured, intelligent, bright…beautiful.
i am all those things.  yet even at my best…in single digit sized jeans, perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect skin…”he” (whoever the “he” of the moment was) still didn’t want me. they’ve broken me.  to be rejected by people who never even had your heart or emotion? how would that make you feel? how would that work toward making u want to keep trying?
and that’s just it. i’ve stopped trying.  boys…i’d rather live without them. diet? a bowl of mac ‘n cheese (not that i’ve had mac ‘n cheese lately…but any comfort food will suffice) is always better than going out, feeling fat, getting rejected. catching a few episodes of a brainless tv show is easier than the routine of getting ready for the gym, sweating my butt off, showering, blowdrying, doing endless laundry…running out of socks and underwear b/c of my life-consuming gym habit.
friends suggest vacations. ok, i’ll go. but when i come back, reality always envelopes me with it’s mundane, unexcited, dead weight.
but what is it that really digs at me? i think it’s the boys.  the ones who didn’t want me. ok, they did…they wanted my information, knowledge, affection, interest, company, humor, advice…but they didn’t want “me”.  i wanted to give them all of it…and my heart, and my devotion, and respect, and love–forever.  but they handed it back to me.  the way you hand back something that’s too expensive and impractical…something that you’ve studied on the internet and read consumer reviews about but never actually consider buying.
instead, they go for the run of the mill.  the type they said they’d never enjoy. the blonde. the ditz. the smoker. the girl with wrinkles (no offense to anyone that has wrinkles). the one who speaks one language, and can’t spell.  the one who puts herself first. is selfish toward you. takes what you give without reciprocating. the one who absorbs all your love and affection but leaves you broken-hearted several years later, claiming: “i love you but i’m not IN love with you.” … “i love you but i love “him” more…” “i love you but i want to go ‘find myself'”
why her?
why not me? why can’t it be me? when i’m the one that’s IN love with you. when i’m the one who will always love YOU more (even than myself).  when i’m the one who wants to to create “me” around the concept of you and give you everything i have.
it’s not that i’m not enough.  it’s just that i’m too much. and i can’t forgive myself for always wanting to be “less” so that i can have “more.”

©2012, Leegal Deeva.  All rights reserved.

Unevenly Interwoven

14 years later and I still have a “my entire body is going numb and I can’t think straight for the life of me” reaction to seeing you with another girl.  Not that she’s the one…your one.  But it hurts.  It hurts like a bruise hurts when you touch it again.  Radiating pain.  Not like the fresh sting of an initial blow.  But a dull pain you try to curse away as it takes over your entire body…from your head, to your fingertips, all the way to your weak knees and electric toes.

It’s sad, isn’t it? When the one you want doesn’t want you.

How do you reconcile the feelings? The longing.  The moments of pure rationalization when you’re on top of the world, knowing your life is about to take off and you’ll be happy… someday…soon.  But waiting for that happiness can become your lifestyle.  Just waiting for it all to start, to get better, to take off, to have meaning, to give you the sparkle in your eye and the bounce in your step you know you crave, desire…you know you deserve.

And that’s where I am.  Where I have been.  Sure, I have had moments of happiness.  Ok, minutes, hours, days, weeks, and a couple months at a time.  But they were fleeting.  Never final.  Never lasting.  And the questions start…they taunt me.  My poor little, overwhelmed brain, the one that can’t let me sleep, can’t allow me to focus…bubbling over with thoughts like…”Do I expect too much?”…”Are other people just satisfied by simple things?” …”Should I be more like them?”…”Am I too picky?”…”Do I want or expect to much?”…”Are my dreams and desires unrealistic?”

I can’t help it.  There’s the “put yourself out there”…stop waiting, start living concept that I try to embrace.  But it means nothing.  It means nothing when all I want is a pillow to put my head on.  A hand to hold.  A body to lay next to.  A little girl whose hair I can brush, who I can sing to, play with, and teach.  Someone who I can spend my days with…and consider my greatest accomplishment.

Our history is interwoven in knots and snags and uneven bumps and lumps that are rough and awkward to the touch.  Yet looking back on it, it appears painless.  Whole.  Perfect.  Certainly the opposite of what my instinctive reactions were as I lived it.  What about our future? Will it be yet another uneven weave?  Will it be painful? Will it be beautiful? Will it be a masterpiece worthy of exposing to the world?

enlightened loneliness

enlightened loneliness

I’m all for evolution of self…knowing yourself better, improving, realizing why you do what you do…it helps you understand yourself, help yourself, heal yourself, control yourself (and your emotions).  But what happens when you become so enlightened that you find yourself in a bubble, a bubble that no one else can pierce…?  What happens when you find yourself surrounded by less and less fun, chill, unenlightened, “regular” people?  What happens then?

I am judgmental.  Severely judgmental.  One of my areas of acute judgment is when I judge people by the company they keep.  I can’t help but wonder what binds them. What do they see in one another?  What makes them want to continue to spend time together?

And…I pride myself in the quality of friendships I possess.  There is nothing in life I value more than communication, deep conversations, analysis, sharing…vulnerability, secrets, ideas, philosophies, seeking understanding, coming to realizations.  I love it, love it, love it.  I suppose the more you engage in that, the more enlightened you become.  The more you learn.  The more you grow.  The more you understand.  The depth of your mind, thoughts and soul can be limitless.

But do you also become lonelier? Do you find yourself less and less satisfied by the company of regular folks? Every day folks? The ones who don’t have the luxury of thinking, wallowing, analyzing, obsessing…  Mind you, it’s not because they don’t want to or don’t know how.  But truly, they are too busy living, day to day, paying their bills, making it from event to event, waking up, drinking coffee, showering, lathering, rinsing, repeating, getting in the car, parking, working, leaving, picking up the dry cleaning, grocery shopping, vacuuming, putting the dishes away, numbing their minds with a few hours of brainless television before the wake up to do it all over again.

I love enlightened people.  I do.  I admire them.  I do.  I respect them.  Truly.  But when does the desire for enlightenment and the sinking hole of enlightenment envelope you so tightly that you become isolated from regular people, regular experiences, and mediocre connections?  Life is short, which is why we must understand all we can in an efficient use of time.  But life is also too short to spend alone…

And so, my enlightened realization as of late is as follows: There’s nothing sadder than sacrificing company for enlightenment.  After all, it’s lonely at thetop.

 

©2012, Leegal Deeva.  All rights reserved.

Status quo…

There is a comfort in things staying the same. Yet how does one move ahead when they continually embrace the same old things? It is beyond a battle of emotions. It is beyond a battle of worry. It is one of those things that even an hour long chat with your best friend can never solve. You can dig and obsess and wonder and analyze. Constantly looking for a pattern, a formula. Trying to figure out what you’re meant to make your life purpose. Who will you end up with? Whether you’re supposed to keep searching in the world of unattainables or do you finally give in to a less intense version of what you envision for your love and for your life? do you finally give in to a nice guy? Or do you toss him back into a pile of the ones who got away… You know who they are. you toss em away and watch them move on with others. And you think…is being alone better? Is it preferred? Yes. Always. But why do we do so with such confidence and conviction? Why? Because we have a love that manages to find its way into the fold of the status quo. He’s also unattainable but the eerie thing is, you possess a part of him that no one else will ever touch. Not just that, but as much as he puts his best face forward for the world and shares his most authentic self with you… You save your idealism for him. And though you continue the pattern, one that never improves and merely suspends itself over all other realms of change in progress… You find that you’ll never be his but he’ll never be anyone else’s.

hate mail

….As Janis Joplin said…freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose. I write this now because I’m free.  I write this now because you have freed me from the necessity of walking on egg shells when it comes to you and my relationship with you.  I write this now because I can finally express myself without fear that you will retaliate against me.  Perhaps you’ve employed mignons to report to you. Knowing that there is no one on earth who has any loyalty to you, reporting is unlikely.  But if anyone does, and I certainly hope they do, I hope they’ll report to you verbatim and not with the flourishes and deletions which may reflect their inability to full grasp the intensity of my words.

So here it is….
You are a boy.  A child.  A mere child who changes with the seasons.  Not one expression from your lips has ever ever been in line with another.  Contradictions. Lies.  Why?
I used to hurt for you.  I used to feel sorry for you.  I used to worry.  When I came to terms with the fact that you’d never experienced love….not even from the ones you loved…when I full understood that concept, I felt bad.  I wanted to love you like you’d never been loved.  I wanted to shower you with affection and expression.  I wanted to drown you in my love….
But, because you have never been loved, you cannot love.  You do not know how to love.  You cannot love…in all truth, you cannot love anything that is not you, yourself.  You only love yourself.  You selfish prick.  Prick…ahh.  What an appropriate adjective to describe you.
Ahh…so your fault lay in your inability to accept love.  Inability, yes. For you do not know what true love is.  You have never been loved and so you are incapable of loving.  Your capacity for it is shallow.  Your level of comprehension for it, flat.
And there it is.  You are one of the most insecure people that has ever lived.  Insecurity seeps through your pores.  You are nearly identical to that parent which you so despise.  You are a carbon copy.  The vindictiveness.  The insecurity.  The inability to be present without being in the spotlight.  The inability to interact with comfort, disguised as withdrawn snobbism.  The offensive attitude. The inability to maintain relationships, even with the people you are directly related to.  Ironic, huh? The one person who is inconsistent, unpredictable, with whom you share the most volatile relationship…you are most like.

How could anyone expect you to be different?
It’s no surprise to me.  I should have caught on earlier.  I knew I shouldn’t give you the time of day when I saw you in that god-awful shiny t-shirt and matching hat that you paid useless money for.  I should have known.  I should have known when all you could talk about was your UGLY (yes, it’s ugly because of its color) “coupe” and cocktails. I should have known.  But I let you in.  I let you tear me down. There were days I didn’t want you to have my phone number.  I was afraid.  Afraid you’d harass me with your annoying (yes annoying) conversation topics.  I hesitated! That moment when I left you stranded in LA because I had no desire to spend time with you for fear that you had feelings for me that went deeper than I’d ever feel for you…that was the moment I should have embraced.

But it was you who told me to believe.  It was you who begged me to understand. I loved you against my better judgment.  I held back.  But no…you promised me a fairy tale.  You told me to trust you.  You assured me.  You said this was the real deal.  And…I surrendered.  Perhaps I was bored.  Perhaps I was vulnerable.

Perhaps I wanted to care.  Sometimes, I wonder if I ever really did.

You didn’t deserve it though.  You didn’t deserve my sentiment.  You didn’t deserve even a smidgen of my emotions.  I poured it on you.  Like lines that are rehearsed in anticipation for a big show.  And, so…I delivered.  You claimed I’d done too much.  And I had.  When I confronted my own demons in trying to discover why I had gone beyond what you deserved, I discovered I was literally trying to fool myself.  Not you.  But myself.  I was trying to fool myself into thinking I cared more than I did.  Why else would I overcompensate so extremely?
Classic overcompensation.

But have no fear.  I felt it the moment I lost you.  I felt it the moment your eyes caught sight of her.  You called her a slut.  You said she’d broken your heart.  You said she was a gold-digger.  But you truly deserve nothing more.  And so…you gave in.  How did she end things with you? I’ll never know.  I do know your version of the story.  But that version is, by default, false.  So, I’ll never really know.  And that’s alright…

I shouldn’t care.  The bottom line is…everyone who feigns emotion for you ultimately expresses their emotions to another…and by this, I mean they have no loyalty to you.  They are not faithful to you.  Me, being loyal—beyond loyal—to most…even I was in the arms of another the night you broke my heart.  But in being with you, that moment of surrender to another had not been the first.
Sometimes I still wonder why people put up with your idle chatter and your deceptive ways…then I realize, everyone loves to stop and watch a train wreck.

Don’t fret though.  You wear that look well.  The look of sadness…eyes wet with tears, feeling the raw sting of your fears.  It will always be your turn to feel the burn.  To wake up to a world that is ugly, to wonder and to worry…

You are on a crack-induced high now.  And by “crack”, I mean…#######.  (So what if you look like a million bucks? Even a million dollars is pretty much green and shriveled up.)  At the end of the day, you are hollow.  You choose to live in the world of the superficial.  And so, I know you probably won’t even read this all the way through.  You’ll merely use it as a bit of juice to get you through the next tough hurdle.  And that’s ok.  Use it.   It wouldn’t be the first time that I gave you the best of me.  Interestingly, you brought out the worst in me.  But thankfully, you are no longer mine.  My fickle friend.  No longer mine.  Resentment is the inheritance I bequeath to you, and you alone.

In my life…I have loved.  I have lost.  I have experienced ego-crushing, heart-shattering, soul-wrenching pain.  I have experienced envy and fear.  I have experienced appreciation and adoration.  I have endured life-changing affection and calm.  I have been stretched mentally.  I have been dug at—-emotionally.  I am chiseled, yet imperfect.  I know what I am capable of at my best.  I know how wretched I can be at my worst.

But you…you do not deserve the limitlessness of my emotion.  You are an error of my heart.  You are a glitch…in my reality.  You are beneath me.  These words, even at their simplest, are beyond what you can comprehend.

The pain you caused me is no longer raw.  My ability to soar and conquer is ripe again.  I bid you adieu. You overgrown child.  You miserable, soulless creep.  Good riddance.  Fare.thee.well.

the one who knows me best…

He throws out a piece of advice, on the heels of a casual “As the person who knows you best…” and I can’t help but be offended, not by his advice, but by his nonchalantness. The person who knows me best? As if it’s that simple, that uncomplicated. As if it’s an easy feat to accomplish. And I put up no defense. Why? Why defend yourself against the truth? How would you even begin?

If I am an onion, with skin, and layers, that go all the way down to the bulb, would I not be better recognized by the one who took the time to peel it all away…layer by layer? Until I was exposed? Complications being tossed to and fro. And what about the ones who come, take a knife at you, cut you down the middle and peer at all the layers that lay beneath you, in absolute symmetry. Do they see you for who you are? Perhaps. But do they recognize the reasons why, and where it stems from? Do they possess the ability to take that bulb, and plant it beneath the soil? To take you apart only to plant you on fertile ground, and watch you blossom, and grow….into a better, more beautiful, more refined, more flavorful ‘onion’…?
Ahh.

Perhaps not..

So why is it, I wonder, that the ones who know you best have seen you at your worst. Not once, not twice, not just “over the years”…but repeatedly, day in and day out. The ones who are exposed to every fiber of an existence that cannot be exposed or held out so readily to the masses of the world. Funny. Funny how hard we are on ourselves when we are in a constant pursuit of evolution, self-improvement, betterment. It’s amazing how hard we can be on ourselves. But the true value of that experience lies in knowing that we fully appreciate our abilities, embrace our faults, and accept that we can evolve past them. At least that is what inspires us to take a noble stance on it.

And so they say…they say that half of being smart is knowing what you’re dumb about. Interesting. Right? There’s a rare sophistication in realizing that the more you know, the less you need to show. It’s a rare art, to admit the things we suck at… So when he looks at me and prefaces his solid, resonating advice with “As the one who knows you best…” I want to walk away. I want to say “you don’t”. And no matter how many times we’ve argued the point, it is impossible to deny that this is why he is such a meaningful variable in the process of my evolution. This is the reason why he and I possess the experience of more than a decade of admitting what we don’t know and the wealth of sharing what we have understood. This is what allows us to see the world from multiple perspectives.

Our opinions collide and complement one another on the truest of virtues. Ethics, morality… But then come the why’s. The details about the why’s of attitudes, behavior, habits. And the debates escalate. But all it does, in the end, is allow us to be less ‘myopic’…less narrow-minded. It hurts sometimes to expand our way of thinking, to account for objectivity and subjectivity from the people who observe us, analyze us, and know us well…or in this case, “the best”…

So does it terrify me that he says it so casually? Does it bother me that he says it so nonchalantly? He’s the one who possesses the burden of knowing my heart and mind in a way he claims others cannot. The weight is his to carry…
Not mine.

When all is said and done, he’s challenged me to be the person I was meant to become. The person I’m still becoming. And who better to do that…than “the one who knows you best”?