Yesterday I went to a bridal shower for my friend. I have done these a million times. Played the games and drank the white wine, and eaten the little sandwiches all while showing off how well you know the bride and asking painsakingly detailed questions about The Big Day.  I turned to Mari and I said to her, “This is not my world.”

I cannot quite explain how incredibly far I feel from the world of love and romance and weddings and…a shared life. Not only does it feel like walking from here to Africa, but its a walk I have no desire to take. It is like once I ended my last relationship  nearly two years ago I have had no desire go there again. Ever. Even though I might have said otherwise, I feel soooooo disconnected from it. 

I don’t really realize it until I’m face to face with it. But yesterday looking it in the eye, all my entire body was screaming was, “GET ME OUT OF HERE.” I think in the Summer of 2011 I died a little. Okay, maybe a lot. Its scary to think that I–the great lover of love–was so unwilling to even consider the possibility of love. Noticing myself in that moment I thought, “You need to see someone.” Not a man. A therapist.

You ever feel like…I feel like I am covered in a really thick scab. That sounds gross, but its the most accurate description. I can’t figure out, for the life of me (literally), what I need protection from? From hurt? From rejection? I have no idea and nothing seems viable or big enough to warrant the kind of heavy artillary I seem to be guarding myself with.

When it came to guys I never wanted to do anything wrong. Because if I did something wrong, if I wasn’t perfect they might leave. Perfect at first was a picture I drew in my mind and it was edited moment by moment with input from him. Various hims.  I was a me for my dad, for my step dad, for my guy friends, for my partners. Have I ever really just been myself in a relationship with a man? I think at times I have tried. I can remember specific instances. I remember talking, just talking to my dad and having him be annoyed enough to make a quippy remark that I still remember.  I remember my ex calling me broken. I remember P2AD…and feeling like I desperately needed his approval and him never giving it. I remember E and feeling I was somehow a better, prettier, cooler, (insert word)-er because of my affiliation with him. I was probably the most honest with him, but there has still been so much left out.

Beyond anything, I guess, I just want to know REALLY know that its okay to come out. To tear down the walls I’ve built and to be able to connect to people, men, in a real way.

I had a dream I was pregnant. Five months pregnant. So I googled, naturally. and the first link said this:

What can I learn about myself from dreaming about being pregnant? “Pregnancy dreams are often multi-layered and speak about something inside — represented by the fetus — that has not yet been acknowledged or presented to the world,” Mead says. “I find that people who have disowned goals and desires often dream of pregnancies. For example, someone who might have wanted to act, but chose the safe path of being a lawyer, may be plagued with pregnancy dreams until he or she takes steps to at least connect with that earlier passion.

Her name was Jemma Grey, and I think I owe her my life.

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