Breakdown Lane

Sometimes I hate that the urge to spit words on the screen happens when my emotions are heightened. Tonight the darkness crept in. It whispered lies as single words slipped silently into my internal monologue to myself. “Isolation... unloveable... unworthy... unapproachable... awkward...”

I know they’re just lies... but they can be so damn convincing. They’re words I’ve heard sprinkled throughout the years. Words aimed at the glass walls of my heart. You try standing emotionless while those you love and trust most spew those words at you. I can’t trust anyone, not even myself most days. And what is love? Love is just a tapestry hung to cover the holes in the drywall,

I broke down tonight. I forced myself to take the trash out so I could sob quietly unnoticed in my truck. At one point, little “me” somewhere in my subconscious reached out and forced my hand. I found myself texting the one person I knew would understand when I told them my brain was lying to me. They talked me through it as best they could, but honestly... I just need a hug.

I need someone bigger and stronger than me to just come wrap me up and hold me. I’m burnt out from holding it together, running the shitshow both at work and home. I’m exhausted from having to wear the mask of a mostly functional adult. I know I started to crack last week when I fussed at my boss that it was some bullshit that I ask everyone how they’re doing and about their lives and not once has anyone in that office asked about me; asked how my weekend was... how I’m doing. And yes, I’m aware that it speaks volumes about who I’m surrounded by and nothing about who I am as a human. It just... it sucks. It sucks because I come home to my amazing children who need ME. There’s nothing left of me by the time I close my eyes at night. I can still barely fill my own cup of “needs” after filling everyone else’s.

I just need a back breaking, soul popping hug, I need time to ugly cry it out without having to worry about covering the swollenness of my face the next day. I need to be kidnapped and taken away from everything for a week.

But first, a hug.

Full moon lessons.

Some stories are meant to stay in my drafts.

There’s a good reason I didn’t drink for the majority of my adult life.

I should stick to cleaning house and meditating when the kids are away to avoid being consciously aware that a.) I don’t have a plethora of adult friends to have adult conversation with and b.) no adult conversations means no chance of hyper fixating (see previous posts regarding being neurodivergent.)

I can’t be trusted on Amazon while two glasses of wine in.

There’s a tiktok hashtag about over sharing in your underwear and I’d like to blame the full moon.

Back to my regular shit show of “shit I can’t make up” and surreal awkwardness.

Happy Monday, bitches!

Over (th/dr)inking.

What I can remember.

Your hands on the backs my thighs while you massaged me.

And then again as they slipped around my waist as I went to leave.

The feeling of you pressed against my back breathing me in.

A trail of clothing leading to your room.

The crispness of your sheets beneath my naked body.

Your arms beneath my thighs, pulling me closer.

The hair on your legs pressed up against my calf.

Your hands, your fingers... your mouth, my God your mouth.

The taste of me on your lips as I kissed you goodnight.

I want more, now, hotter, faster, more urgent.

You are rooted in me.

Sometimes I see you doing just every day tasks. I’ll glance your way and feel the familiar tug to just draw your silhouette with my fingertips; trace them across the curve of your jawline, run my lips up the hairless runway of skin behind your right ear, cradle your head in my hands and rest my forehead against your sternum. Feel your heart beating against my eyelids while breathing through the strong drum of my own heartbeat.

You’re just a friend.

You’re just a friend but I feel electric and alive when you grab my hand. A heat rushes up from the root of me when you hype me up with your compliments.

“You could have any man you want.” But what if I wanted you?

“There’s not one thing about you that needs to be fixed.” And I want you to keep telling me this, I want you to whisper this into my ear as I fall asleep, remove my layers and say it again… and again… each layer falls away and your words warm my skin.

“Everyone learns better hands on…” then lay your hands on me. I won’t stop you.

But then the door closes behind you as you walk into your home. The silence is deafening.