I am who I am who I am … but who am I?

I’ve written quite a few love letters of late but this one is different. How does one go about writing a love letter to oneself? I’m chaffing against this request and pouting and grumbling and employing all manner of immature procrastination tactics.

Having compassion for myself – admitting that I’m a “mere” human and that’s ok – is incredibly painful. It feels like admitting to failure.

Partly I think that’s because I have this idea that if I can just pour my heart out sufficiently, if I can just make him see the error of his ways, he’ll redeem himself (and grovel obsequiously) and it feels like this is the point where I have to let go of that fantasy. I have to come to terms with the fact that he may never figure out that he’s on the wrong side of this. And the solace of knowing that I’m right is pretty damn lonely.

God, I’m so sick of being lonely. I learned a long time ago how to be alone and, as someone who tends toward introversion, I’m often quite content in that state. But a few months ago I bought a dream that turned out to be false and I want my money back. I want to return this bleak hurt broken shell and get back the old me. It’s great to have been strong and resilient and whatnot through this whole mess of a shitstorm that has been my life since May or so … but I’m fucking exhausted.

Maybe that’s the point here. It’s ok to be tired. It’s ok to want to stop struggling. It’s ok.

I dropped a class this week and expected that to hurt more than it did. My plans aren’t really derailed, they’re just edited. I’ve been giving some advice about self-care and trying to take deep breaths and maybe implement some of those same strategies for myself.

For all that I’ve been screaming into the void a lot of late, things are starting to go right. There are bumps in the road, for sure, but things are moving more consistently in the positive / forward direction. As with so many things, positive energy is a spiral and it builds as you open yourself to it and allow it in. Being open means other things get in too but I’ve been living in that fear for far too long.

They say once bitten, twice shy and it strikes me that there’s a piece missing. Once bitten, twice shy implies that you won’t go after a thing again cuz you got hurt – but you will. I WILL. Not right away and not in the same way. The lesson of the bite will imprint and the scar will linger long after the pain subsides – but I don’t dislike dogs because I got bitten in a gnarly way once and I know that I will love again. Hell, I already do – even if it isn’t romantic love. Considering the household in which I grew up, the fact that I can love at all is pretty damn impressive.

I am so fortunate to have the friends that I have. I don’t always do a good job of maintaining those relationships but somehow I have connected with my people over and over throughout my life. I have a new friendship developing that is looking like it’ll be one for the ages. From inside the hurricane that is my life of late I have reached out and leaned on my friends in ways I never have before and I have tested the friendship of a number of potentials that didn’t come up to snuff –> but overall I am so pleased with my core tribe.

I’m not an easy person to get close to and I have incredible people in my life that have refused to allow me to push them away when things get dark.

I really like the person I’m becoming. I’ve liked myself more and more for the past few years. I’m working dilligently to be more conscious of the things I’m not pleased with about myself so that I can replace them constructively. It’s a slow process and very 3 steps forward, 2 steps back … and sometimes 5 steps back, or 29 … but it’s happening.

I’m living more and more in my true self and the fact that I can do that – that I can even get in touch with those long hidden and repressed parts of me, and that they have been so eager to be reintroduced, fills me with warm fuzzies.

I have a damn fine ass, great tits, a sweet hot tight lil cunt, gorgeous hands and feet, lustrous hair, smooth skin, and dimples in my smile. My body and I haven’t always gotten along but we’ve been on better and better terms as I move through my leather journey. I can take a lot and I heal quickly. I never understood people who cut themselves until I found kink. I don’t cut myself now – to be clear – but I absolutely understand how freeing it can be to have a physical manifestation of the inner pain and turmoil and how fantastic is is to let that pain go. I am a masochist and it is so wonderful.

My primal is coming closer and closer to the surface. Not my playful cheetah self. My deep dark dwelling beast self. The part of me that scares me a little. The part I kinda don’t even want to admit exists and yet the part of me I am actively calling to. In some ways it feels like a guardian. I don’t know its shape. I don’t know its name. I’ve tried my whole life to pretend she wasn’t there. I stuffed her in an oubliette and hid from her in the sunshine. She forgives but she doesn’t forget. I called her under the new moon and she is coming.

I’m also identifying more and more as an elemental. When I was younger, I was always drawn to elemental magic stories. There is something so pure and real about working directly with the elements. I’ve always thought I would be a water elemental. I’m a Pisces and just assumed that since I resonated with the two fishies striving against each other, the mutable nature, that it was my element. I recently learned that my Chinese astrology chart has a lot of metal in it. My primal is tied to the earth and in chinese five element theory earth gives rise to metal which in turn gives rise to water, so the three pieces of my astrological nature flow together so nicely … and yet. That’s not my element.

I am the lightning. Much like the deeper primal, that knowledge scares me a bit but it is also so affirming. I am born as a result of systems trying to balance disparate charges. I’m quick. I light up the dark places and reveal the things evil would like to keep hidden. I create and destroy. I burn. I purify.

My feet are firmly on my path. It winds and there is more backtracking than I’d like. But I’m still moving. I’ll keep moving. I’m also going to curl up into a ball and cry sometimes. That doesn’t mean I’ve lost sight of my path or myself. It’s just an acknowledgement that sometimes this shit is too hard and I need to take a break.

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