Saturday, June 1, 2013

1 a.m. Confessions

I woke out of a dead sleep at 12:58 this morning.  It’s too late, and I’m too tired, to doctor this.  I can’t sleep because it’s on my mind, so I’m writing it out.  Celie Johnson (The Color Purple) said she couldn’t sleep because she’d sinned against someone’s spirit.  I believe it.  I did myself wrong, and now I have to pay.  Excuse me while I dig through my pockets…aaah, here it is…my two cents.

Sometimes people find out more about me than I realize I’m showing.  For some reason, I try harder instead of giving in.
I get into relationships too quickly.
I’ve been broken more times in the past six months than in my whole life previously.  I think I had to catch up to the rest of the world.
I hate that I’m braver on a blog than in person.
If I wasn’t such a good liar, I could get the help I need.
Most times, I just need a hug.  See above confession.
I don’t have the courage to ask for a hug anyway.
My two year-old is my best friend.
I put too much into the wrong people.
I do for others to the point of exhaustion, then have no strength left to clean my house.
I’ve been a wife, the Other Woman, a girlfriend, sister, daughter and a good friend.  The only time my heart wasn’t broken was when I became a mother.  See #8.
I’m busy because I’m lonely, and lonely because I’m busy.  I’m sick of being both.
I’m torn between letting my child experience growing up and keeping her locked in a tower.
Even after losing 115 pounds, I assume I can’t fit most clothes.
I have absolutely no idea how to balance.
Even as I type this, some things are still too hard to write, but... See #5.
***
Love is still on the brain.  I think more and more that I need to learn how to uplift myself and be stronger, learn what loving myself means, so I can show the right kind of love to other people.  That's got to be it.  Otherwise, tonight wouldn't have happened.

I promised plenty of updates on the mistakes I make in my first post.  I don’t like it when I can’t sleep.  It means my mind is not at ease.  Something is not done.  The thing is, I am going to hear from someone who reads this, and they’ll whisper that I must have read their mind.  It always happens—that’s why I do this.   I like to think the sin is in the secrecy.  As much as I have to be ashamed of, I will give myself this pat on the back.  I didn’t take a Unisom to get back to sleep.  At least I came out with it.  That’s one small victory.  I’d clap for myself, but I don’t want to wake the neighbors.  It’s still 1 am.