Time prioritization had never been my forte.
Inevitably, procrastination gets the best of me or play is put before work. And for some reason, I remain eternally at a loss when my actions hold consequences.
I have come to the realization that the world owes me no favors. Deadlines must be met. Punctuality is not as negotiable as I may have perceived it to be.
My studies last quarter slowly slipped down my list of priorities.
And somehow, it still managed to come as a shock when my grades weren't up to par.
This quarter, I began with a renewed outlook and the same habits, as old ones die hard.
However, I refuse to let this be a repeat performance.
I will approach this quarter as the Grateful Dead, who played their songs differently each concert, refusing to fall into routine.
However, the longer I have been at the Art Institute, I have noticed a great deal of the pretentiousness I initially expected to find upon enrollment.
I've met several individuals who feel that simply a degree from the Art Institute, along with the required portfolio for graduation, is enough. They're "gifted" and therefore, opportunity will fall into their laps upon graduation.
This attitude irks me to no end.
If a person wishes to achieve something, they must work for it. The art world is competitive and vicious. It is as much about who you know as what you know. Making connections is vital. Outperforming your peers and achieving noteriety BEFORE graduation is imperative. THAT is why I work so hard outside of class on my side projects. This is my dream, and I will work as hard as need be to live it.
I'm not going to succeed because in addition to hand-rolling cigarettes, listening to the most obscure music, quoting Bukowski, being an active member of PETA, and acting elitist, I also happen to be pretty handy with a camera.
Make the most of your life.
And, if you have a dream, fight like hell for it.
Grab onto it.
Refuse to be torn from it.
Kick and scream.
And most importantly, believe in it to your dying breath.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
No matter what males may come and go from my life, it's a blessing to have my best friend, Kimber, who will always be there to call me to say goodnight and "I love you."
I am truly thankful to have had her in my life for the past five years and for many more to come. I want her to be the godmother to my children, whenever that may come to be.
We always seem to reach the same epiphanies and go through the same phases simultaneously. I'm very glad we've both sorted things out for ourselves, prioritized, and are living happier, more focused, purer lives, now.
I have found my soulmate.
Thank you.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Everything In Its Right Place...
She tenderly hung her collage on the wall, careful to ensure that it remained uncreased. This collage consisted of photographs with her boyfriend, frozen memories. Smiles plastered across their faces in each one, I couldn't help but wonder the reality of it all. My focus shifted to their eyes, which I studied like textbooks, desperately searching for some iota of sorrow or suppressed emotion, but I found none. I envied their seemingly-genuine contentment to the point of resentment. I wanted to tear it from the wall and shout to all those in hearing range that temporaryism is real; it is love that is an illusion.
Jaded. The moment of realization came. The walls of my heart have caved in upon themselves, sealing the entrance to its cavernous depths. Though I have long since let go of him, I had yet to let go of the idea of him. While I loathe him and still remain unable to forgive him for all that he has done, I have nothing but sorrow at the loss of what he represented. I do not miss his presence in my bed, but I miss there being a warm body to press me against his while we drift off into dreams of the other. Yet, how can I expect to ever start anew if I keep the entrance to my heart sealed off in mourning?
"It is going to take leaving all of him behind. And I mean all. The more you hang on him, the more you end up hanging yourself on the rope he leaves behind."
[I hope you don't mind my quoting you. And, you couldn't be more correct.]
As I was driving this evening, I passed the location of our first kiss...the old abandoned hospital up the street. However, months ago, construction finally began upon the site. I had not had the opportunity to see it since. When I looked at the ever-so-familiar skyline tonight, it had changed vastly. There was no hospital to be found...just a pile of ash and rubble. And so the memories must become to me. I shall grab the ashes, handful by handful, and toss them into the wind, freeing them and simultaneously freeing myself from the noose constricting my breathing. Ash suffocates, and so it must be scattered to dance in the air and land where it may. Only then may I once again breathe deeply the pure air of the dawn, the cool air of the night.
"Earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make his face to shine upon him and be gracious unto him and give him peace."
Be gracious unto him, as his soul is heavy with sin. I beg of your mercy to be gracious unto mine, as I also feel the weight of sin upon my shoulders.
From this moment on, I shall continue without the noose upon my neck, and leave behind my executioner. Breathe, Lexi...because, now, at long last, you can.
Jaded. The moment of realization came. The walls of my heart have caved in upon themselves, sealing the entrance to its cavernous depths. Though I have long since let go of him, I had yet to let go of the idea of him. While I loathe him and still remain unable to forgive him for all that he has done, I have nothing but sorrow at the loss of what he represented. I do not miss his presence in my bed, but I miss there being a warm body to press me against his while we drift off into dreams of the other. Yet, how can I expect to ever start anew if I keep the entrance to my heart sealed off in mourning?
"It is going to take leaving all of him behind. And I mean all. The more you hang on him, the more you end up hanging yourself on the rope he leaves behind."
[I hope you don't mind my quoting you. And, you couldn't be more correct.]
As I was driving this evening, I passed the location of our first kiss...the old abandoned hospital up the street. However, months ago, construction finally began upon the site. I had not had the opportunity to see it since. When I looked at the ever-so-familiar skyline tonight, it had changed vastly. There was no hospital to be found...just a pile of ash and rubble. And so the memories must become to me. I shall grab the ashes, handful by handful, and toss them into the wind, freeing them and simultaneously freeing myself from the noose constricting my breathing. Ash suffocates, and so it must be scattered to dance in the air and land where it may. Only then may I once again breathe deeply the pure air of the dawn, the cool air of the night.
"Earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make his face to shine upon him and be gracious unto him and give him peace."
Be gracious unto him, as his soul is heavy with sin. I beg of your mercy to be gracious unto mine, as I also feel the weight of sin upon my shoulders.
From this moment on, I shall continue without the noose upon my neck, and leave behind my executioner. Breathe, Lexi...because, now, at long last, you can.
Friday, July 6, 2007
What a Literal "Buzzkill"!
After a long day at work, I joined Paul at Young's for a few beers, where, as per usual habit, we exchanged witty banter while maintaining a mild interest in what was on the bar's TV. [Well, I amend that statement. Paul paid more attention than I, as FSN was on, which I have little to no interest in.] Post-sports, the nightly news came on, during which I heard one of the most singularly disturbing stories every broadcast: a man was just sentenced to a term of between 7 and 30 years in jail for repeatedly shocking his newborn baby with a cattle-prod, beginning when the child was FOUR DAYS OLD, smashing her skull, and breaking her leg. Are you serious? Does that much evil really exist in the world? That child will spend a lifetime dealing with the pain of knowing what this monster did to her. In my humble opinion, thirty years is not long enough. I believe that chemical castration is a more apropos consequence for such behavior. In instances such as this one, regarding those who behave so atrociously as to abuse a defenseless child, I, for one, am heavily in favor of re-instating Hammurabi's Code: "If a man put out the eye of another man, his eye shall be put out. If he break another man's bone, his bone shall be broken."
A child is not a possession to toss about once you've tired of it. If one has made the conscious decision to procreate or made the conscious decision to have sex [knowing that doing so could lead, whether desired or not, to procreation], then one should have the capacity to raise a child. It's inconceivable to me that someone could pick up such a fragile being [of one's own making, nonetheless] from its crib, a mere four days after its arrival into this world, and proceed to bash its skull off of a bathroom sink .......incredible ......DISGRACEFUL.
I promise to post a more positive blog, soon.
[I must be coming off as such a pessimist. I'm truly not. Things that disappoint/anger me just seem to be what naturally comes out when I sit down to write for the night.]
Pray for baby Candice.
A child is not a possession to toss about once you've tired of it. If one has made the conscious decision to procreate or made the conscious decision to have sex [knowing that doing so could lead, whether desired or not, to procreation], then one should have the capacity to raise a child. It's inconceivable to me that someone could pick up such a fragile being [of one's own making, nonetheless] from its crib, a mere four days after its arrival into this world, and proceed to bash its skull off of a bathroom sink .......incredible ......DISGRACEFUL.
I promise to post a more positive blog, soon.
[I must be coming off as such a pessimist. I'm truly not. Things that disappoint/anger me just seem to be what naturally comes out when I sit down to write for the night.]
Pray for baby Candice.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
"Half our life is spent trying to find something to do with the time we have rushed through life trying to save." - Will Rogers
It's a rarity that I get a 'restful' sleep. Ever since childhood, I've had a great deal of trouble falling asleep and staying asleep. Also, I've been plagued with 'night terrors' since a young age, and from time to time, I still wake drenched in sweat and screaming. The other night, I was once again victim to my subconscious. What I had dreamt escapes me, but it was clear that I would not be going back to sleep.
I decided to watch a documentary on the National Geographic Channel that piqued my interest on the Zo'e tribe, one of the few Amazonian tribes still in existence. One portion of this documentary really resounds in my head and forces me to ponder the American way. The Zo'e hunt the indigenous primates with spears, and this is their main source of nourishment. They crouch silently and wait until the primates come out of hiding [Crouching Zo'e, Hidden Monkey]. They spend quite a bit of time plotting, wordlessly, as to the best route of attack. However, actually accomplishing their goal and killing one of these creatures takes a long time; they sometimes hunt all day for just one meal. Yet, they have the admirable patience to do so.
In America, everything revolves around instant gratification: fast food, eight-minute abs, rush-delivery, sound bites, one-liners, instant coffee, frozen dinners, the Internet, leaked albums, "spoilers," credit cards [buy now, pay later], pay-at-the-pump [we can't even walk to the cash register], products that are faster than their competitor, win the war NOW. It's an 'atrocity' that one must wait for anything, whether it's in a five-minute line at the bank or post office or for a few brief seconds at a red light. People will even get up and walk out of a film that they have paid $8 to see if it does not instantly strike them as being of quality.
Ralph Waldo Emerson took note of this frightening tendency, even 150 years ago, when he spoke of "this shallow Americanism, with its passion for sudden success."
Whatever happened to hard work, a job well-done, earned success, home-cooked meals, saving up for something desired, libraries, reading the newspaper, reading AT ALL? If the average American were told they would have to work all day for one meal, imagine the response. They would most likely scoff, jump in their SUV, and have a Big Mac in their possession in five minutes.
I can't deny a slight hypocrisy, as I have been raised in "Generation Me" and have been surrounded with this American instant gratification for the majority of my life. I enjoy digital photography, as I can instantly see my photographs on the display and make adjustments to my camera settings. However, I adore the black and white film process and feel a deep satisfaction when a print that I have spent an hour developing and fine-tuning is finally completed. When I come home and am exhausted, the convenience of a microwavable vegetarian burrito is a comfort. I conduct the majority of my research on the Internet and my credit card is currently as good as maxed out.
One of the most important lessons I've ever learned was in Jamaica. I was [as cliche as it may be] getting my hair braided by one of the locals. I knew that the time was fast approaching that I was to meet up with some friends. I questioned the woman as to what time it was and how much longer it would take to finish the braids. She laughed, a deep belly-laugh, and said to me, "Girl, you Americans so preoccupied. You in Jamaica, darling. No worries about time, here. You relax. Forget the clock." No wonder Americans are so stressed out and unhealthy, as a whole. With such a focus placed upon time, how can one's time on this earth every truly be enjoyed?
I challenge every individual reading this to spend an entire day without looking at a clock/time-telling device even ONCE.
I challenge you to go on an aimless walk, soaking in everything around you, with no ultimate destination. I challenge you to take the five-minute walk somewhere, instead of the 30-second drive; it's good for the soul in addition to the environment. I challenge you to get lost in conversation with someone. I challenge you to spend a day [or more] volunteering with a charity, rather than completing items 6, 10, and 72 on your most recent "to-do list." I challenge you to meditate.
Our time on this earth is precious and the one thing that cannot be recovered once it is lost.
How are you spending YOURS?
I decided to watch a documentary on the National Geographic Channel that piqued my interest on the Zo'e tribe, one of the few Amazonian tribes still in existence. One portion of this documentary really resounds in my head and forces me to ponder the American way. The Zo'e hunt the indigenous primates with spears, and this is their main source of nourishment. They crouch silently and wait until the primates come out of hiding [Crouching Zo'e, Hidden Monkey]. They spend quite a bit of time plotting, wordlessly, as to the best route of attack. However, actually accomplishing their goal and killing one of these creatures takes a long time; they sometimes hunt all day for just one meal. Yet, they have the admirable patience to do so.
In America, everything revolves around instant gratification: fast food, eight-minute abs, rush-delivery, sound bites, one-liners, instant coffee, frozen dinners, the Internet, leaked albums, "spoilers," credit cards [buy now, pay later], pay-at-the-pump [we can't even walk to the cash register], products that are faster than their competitor, win the war NOW. It's an 'atrocity' that one must wait for anything, whether it's in a five-minute line at the bank or post office or for a few brief seconds at a red light. People will even get up and walk out of a film that they have paid $8 to see if it does not instantly strike them as being of quality.
Ralph Waldo Emerson took note of this frightening tendency, even 150 years ago, when he spoke of "this shallow Americanism, with its passion for sudden success."
Whatever happened to hard work, a job well-done, earned success, home-cooked meals, saving up for something desired, libraries, reading the newspaper, reading AT ALL? If the average American were told they would have to work all day for one meal, imagine the response. They would most likely scoff, jump in their SUV, and have a Big Mac in their possession in five minutes.
I can't deny a slight hypocrisy, as I have been raised in "Generation Me" and have been surrounded with this American instant gratification for the majority of my life. I enjoy digital photography, as I can instantly see my photographs on the display and make adjustments to my camera settings. However, I adore the black and white film process and feel a deep satisfaction when a print that I have spent an hour developing and fine-tuning is finally completed. When I come home and am exhausted, the convenience of a microwavable vegetarian burrito is a comfort. I conduct the majority of my research on the Internet and my credit card is currently as good as maxed out.
One of the most important lessons I've ever learned was in Jamaica. I was [as cliche as it may be] getting my hair braided by one of the locals. I knew that the time was fast approaching that I was to meet up with some friends. I questioned the woman as to what time it was and how much longer it would take to finish the braids. She laughed, a deep belly-laugh, and said to me, "Girl, you Americans so preoccupied. You in Jamaica, darling. No worries about time, here. You relax. Forget the clock." No wonder Americans are so stressed out and unhealthy, as a whole. With such a focus placed upon time, how can one's time on this earth every truly be enjoyed?
I challenge every individual reading this to spend an entire day without looking at a clock/time-telling device even ONCE.
I challenge you to go on an aimless walk, soaking in everything around you, with no ultimate destination. I challenge you to take the five-minute walk somewhere, instead of the 30-second drive; it's good for the soul in addition to the environment. I challenge you to get lost in conversation with someone. I challenge you to spend a day [or more] volunteering with a charity, rather than completing items 6, 10, and 72 on your most recent "to-do list." I challenge you to meditate.
Our time on this earth is precious and the one thing that cannot be recovered once it is lost.
How are you spending YOURS?
Monday, July 2, 2007
And Thus Begins My Romantic Hermitage...
People never cease to amaze or disappoint me.
After a month or so of singlehood, it would be an understatement to declare myself "jaded."
I have never felt so objectified in my life. It is one concept to be "sought after" and an entirely different one to be sought after purely for aesthetic and physical purposes.
I suppose I never saw this side of the male species before as when I was walking down the street, my hand was placed within the hand of another. I was the "property" of another male. The gesture marked territory. However, it has been some time since the scent of the alpha male has worn off.
Whatever happened to the act of falling in love? A pox upon ye, concept of communication. It seems as if I'm the last of a dying breed. Romanticism is antiquated; temporaryism and instant physical gratification have taken its place in the genetic code.
I have been on a few "dates," which I deem to be spectacular failures. Upon attempts at conversation beneath the comfortable surface of pop culture and "want to hear a funny story?" I was left with a one-sided conversation, receiving grunts or single-syllabic responses. On one such "date," I, God forbid, broached a somewhat-theological topic. That conversation crashed and burned, and soon led to blatant attempts on his behalf to get me to return to his apartment with him that night. I politely excused myself, thanked him for the coffee, and made my exit. [And my apologies to him if he is currently reading this. 'Tis but honesty.]
I feel as if relationships are no longer expected to have any substance to them. I need a partner who can teach me something, who I can have intellectual discussions with [or intellectual debates when our opinions differ]. I need a mate who views me as more than simply that...a mate; where are the men who seek out women of intelligence, substance, and character?
I think I'm going to abstain from a relationship for quite some time...at least until I stumble across someone who I'm positive encompasses all of the aforementioned, which, based on this past month's experiences, I'm assuming could take years. Focusing on and bettering myself has done a world of good. Therefore, I believe that any time spent 'alone' [by societal standards] can only further my growth as a person.
This is the only male I need in my life right now.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
I. Me. [The First Quasi-Intellectual Blog]
I am Lexi. Lexi is me. I am the sum of my accomplishments. I am a composite of my experiences. I am simply the most recently-released version of myself. I am not the walrus. The walrus was Paul.
So, what's one to do when one finds oneself in the midst of an identity crisis? Am I in the midst of an identity crisis? What are the technical parameters that define what an identity crisis is and is not? Does one really have one, solid, absolute identity that one must identify to really have a chance at self-awareness and preservation of self? Is it self-centered and egotistical to spend so much time focusing on this concept?
I am Lexi. Lexi is me. I am lost. Was I ever "found"? Did I simply live in a fantasy world for the past few years that precluded me from realizing how lost I was? How can I be lost? Here is my body...solid matter... my fingers are typing this. They're attached to my hand, my hand to my arm, my arm to my torso, and so on and so forth. Voila! I found me.
Perhaps this is a "transitional period." However, that draws me to question from what into what am I transitioning? And isn't existence really one, big transitional period? It is the human condition to be ever-changing, ever-learning, ever-absorbing like a sponge.
I am Lexi. Lexi is me. I am disillusioned. I am disillusioned with humanity. I am soured on what we as humans do to one another. I once saw beauty in abundance. I was naive. I was happily in possession of a pair of those blinders that carriage horses wear; I could view and concentrate upon what was directly in my line of vision, but oblivious as to what was on my left, right, all around. Before my face was beauty, love, happiness, a fairy tale existence; I wasn't concerned with peripheral vision. What is one to do once those blinders are suddenly yanked off? I feel as if I am a newborn, seeing the world in its entirety for the very first time.
I am Lexi. Lexi is me. [I am still not the walrus.] I am a dreamer. I am a lover. I am passionate, fiery, vibrant. I have so much love to give. The love within me bubbles over the meniscus line of my heart til it spills out onto the floor in front of me. For the past few years, there was a storage receptacle to catch all of that overflow. Without that receptacle, I now scurry around desperately seeking another, misplacing the overflow in unworthy vessels, simply to have a vessel at all. But these vessels are not mine. They come to me to receive their self-indulgent fill and want no more. My overflow serves as a temporary ego boost for these vessels, but they do not seek permanence.
I am Lexi. Lexi is me. I am in love with love. I love to love. I am never more content than when I am loving. Giving love unto another gives me self-fulfillment and makes me feel as if I have served my purpose in this world. What IS my purpose in this world? Have I already fulfilled it unbeknownst to me? Have I already affected that one life in the way that I was intended to? And if so, where do I go from here? With my divine goal accomplished, what am I to do with the rest of my time on this earth?
"If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches; for the Creator, there is no poverty. " - Rainer Maria Rilke
Am I poet enough? Am I currently poet enough? Was I formerly poet enough? Can I ever again recover the piece of myself that was poet enough?
TRUTH:
I used to have a solid sense of what was of importance to me. I read. I read with ferocity. Literature was prey to my hungry mind and heart. Rilke was one of my personal favorites. I learned. I sought knowledge in every experience, person, location. I traveled. I saw England, Wales, New Zealand, Australia, Jamaica, etc. In each country, I was not merely an observer. I sought to make my mark while I was there. I worked with charity. I changed the native perspective of what an American is. This was the case especially in New Zealand and Australia, as I was there directly after we entered into the war with Iraq. I enabled the hatred in the hearts of the individuals I met in these peace-seeking countries to be transformed into an understanding. I have always devoted my life to intellectual pursuits.
Then, enter: the person who became the world.
This person was not for the betterment of the mind or soul, but rather the raping of the present for everything it was worth. This person stood for selfish, unfettered indulgence, with not a care for consequence or the effect it would have upon others. This person masked this side. The exposition of these attitudes was slow and gradual, and therefore slipped past my radar. A symbiotic relationship developed. Symbiosis became co-dependence. Co-dependence resulted in my sacrificing my values, beliefs, priorities, loved ones until I was a shell of my former self and a carbon copy of him.
Then, exit: the person who became the world.
Humans are temporary. We grow, die, change, and become monsters. Never allow one individual, especially your lover to become your world. That is not love. Love is growing side by side; if you feel the growth process come to a halt, your love is unhealthy. One should always be growing, learning, giving. If your lover does not enable and encourage you to do such things, it is for their own selfish reasons. By halting your growth as a person, they are able to feel better about their own growth ceasing long ago.
I will resume my growth and plodding of my own path.
I will read again. I will learn.
I will resume my work with charity.
I will allow my overflow to spill upon those deserving vessels I left dry and wanting for years: my family and friends.
And perhaps in the process, I will finally feel that sense of self that I'd been willingly robbed of.
So, what's one to do when one finds oneself in the midst of an identity crisis? Am I in the midst of an identity crisis? What are the technical parameters that define what an identity crisis is and is not? Does one really have one, solid, absolute identity that one must identify to really have a chance at self-awareness and preservation of self? Is it self-centered and egotistical to spend so much time focusing on this concept?
I am Lexi. Lexi is me. I am lost. Was I ever "found"? Did I simply live in a fantasy world for the past few years that precluded me from realizing how lost I was? How can I be lost? Here is my body...solid matter... my fingers are typing this. They're attached to my hand, my hand to my arm, my arm to my torso, and so on and so forth. Voila! I found me.
Perhaps this is a "transitional period." However, that draws me to question from what into what am I transitioning? And isn't existence really one, big transitional period? It is the human condition to be ever-changing, ever-learning, ever-absorbing like a sponge.
I am Lexi. Lexi is me. I am disillusioned. I am disillusioned with humanity. I am soured on what we as humans do to one another. I once saw beauty in abundance. I was naive. I was happily in possession of a pair of those blinders that carriage horses wear; I could view and concentrate upon what was directly in my line of vision, but oblivious as to what was on my left, right, all around. Before my face was beauty, love, happiness, a fairy tale existence; I wasn't concerned with peripheral vision. What is one to do once those blinders are suddenly yanked off? I feel as if I am a newborn, seeing the world in its entirety for the very first time.
I am Lexi. Lexi is me. [I am still not the walrus.] I am a dreamer. I am a lover. I am passionate, fiery, vibrant. I have so much love to give. The love within me bubbles over the meniscus line of my heart til it spills out onto the floor in front of me. For the past few years, there was a storage receptacle to catch all of that overflow. Without that receptacle, I now scurry around desperately seeking another, misplacing the overflow in unworthy vessels, simply to have a vessel at all. But these vessels are not mine. They come to me to receive their self-indulgent fill and want no more. My overflow serves as a temporary ego boost for these vessels, but they do not seek permanence.
I am Lexi. Lexi is me. I am in love with love. I love to love. I am never more content than when I am loving. Giving love unto another gives me self-fulfillment and makes me feel as if I have served my purpose in this world. What IS my purpose in this world? Have I already fulfilled it unbeknownst to me? Have I already affected that one life in the way that I was intended to? And if so, where do I go from here? With my divine goal accomplished, what am I to do with the rest of my time on this earth?
"If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches; for the Creator, there is no poverty. " - Rainer Maria Rilke
Am I poet enough? Am I currently poet enough? Was I formerly poet enough? Can I ever again recover the piece of myself that was poet enough?
TRUTH:
I used to have a solid sense of what was of importance to me. I read. I read with ferocity. Literature was prey to my hungry mind and heart. Rilke was one of my personal favorites. I learned. I sought knowledge in every experience, person, location. I traveled. I saw England, Wales, New Zealand, Australia, Jamaica, etc. In each country, I was not merely an observer. I sought to make my mark while I was there. I worked with charity. I changed the native perspective of what an American is. This was the case especially in New Zealand and Australia, as I was there directly after we entered into the war with Iraq. I enabled the hatred in the hearts of the individuals I met in these peace-seeking countries to be transformed into an understanding. I have always devoted my life to intellectual pursuits.
Then, enter: the person who became the world.
This person was not for the betterment of the mind or soul, but rather the raping of the present for everything it was worth. This person stood for selfish, unfettered indulgence, with not a care for consequence or the effect it would have upon others. This person masked this side. The exposition of these attitudes was slow and gradual, and therefore slipped past my radar. A symbiotic relationship developed. Symbiosis became co-dependence. Co-dependence resulted in my sacrificing my values, beliefs, priorities, loved ones until I was a shell of my former self and a carbon copy of him.
Then, exit: the person who became the world.
Humans are temporary. We grow, die, change, and become monsters. Never allow one individual, especially your lover to become your world. That is not love. Love is growing side by side; if you feel the growth process come to a halt, your love is unhealthy. One should always be growing, learning, giving. If your lover does not enable and encourage you to do such things, it is for their own selfish reasons. By halting your growth as a person, they are able to feel better about their own growth ceasing long ago.
I will resume my growth and plodding of my own path.
I will read again. I will learn.
I will resume my work with charity.
I will allow my overflow to spill upon those deserving vessels I left dry and wanting for years: my family and friends.
And perhaps in the process, I will finally feel that sense of self that I'd been willingly robbed of.
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