Let's Clear the Air.



Two weeks ago I fell in love: with myself.

I met an old friend for beers, exchanging small tears and long laughs.

I woke up the next morning uncharacteristically happy. I woke up not pretending, clearing the smoke from my eyes and liking what I saw.

I’ve always considered myself a self-aware and honest human being, perhaps a touch self-deprecating without much regard for how it affects my wellbeing.

I am in ‘too truthful a mood’ today and wish to confess my inability to keep my shit together after hosting a party. I noticed on both occasions people were leaving around the same time. My emotions at that point were drunk and compromised. I turned to the needle.

Hank Williams was in the room with me, singing to me as I cried on the hardwood floor. I turn inward, become ungrateful and unabashedly hard on myself. I think about how I’ve been sleeping alone for over two years.

Men don’t talk to me.
I’m not a relationship person.

No one is around to correct these things you’re so desperate to believe. No one else can convince you you’re full of shit.

I’ve realized that maybe I’ve been going about identity the wrong way. Looking through a peephole into other people’s lives and relationships, when I should be looking at myself.

Sometimes I am awestruck at my own naivete. I think about selfishness and what constitutes doing something good and doing something bad. As children we are taught that being selfish is bad. Sharing is good. My mind has a difficult time comprehending the adult version of selfishness, and that at a certain point this can be a good thing. It has to happen.

As I sat across the table from my friend, I realized I had things to say. I thought about how he always believed in me and I could never understood why. I’ve spent a lot of time wondering why a man would care about anything I had to say. I’ve never felt good enough.

Suddenly, over two dollar beers I realized I am good enough. I am a relationship person.

I had to pick myself up from the floor eventually.

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