30. Breathe in…

Breathe in…
I accept my pain.
Breathe out…
I realize that I am not my pain.

Breathe in…
I accept my past.
Breathe out…
I realize that I am not my past.

For some reason during these past few weeks, my mind unwittingly ventures into that deep little closet located somewhere near my left frontal lobe (i just made that up, i really don’t even know what a right frontal lobe means, but somehow it makes me feel smart) where I keep all of the negative memories of all of the things that have hurt me. Things that I did with no regard to how it would effect me in the long run. Things that I allowed other people to do to me because of my low regard of self worth. For one reason or another, I have recently allowed those memories to come forth and slip into my dreams. I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. I look around my room and at the wonderful man sleeping next to me, and I feel like I’m living a lie. I feel like I don’t deserve to live where I do, to be in such a loving nurturing and supporting relationship, to not need like i’ve needed my entire life. I’ve somehow allowed my daddy issues to resurface. He pops his head in to remind me how unloved I am, and that no matter how it may seem otherwise, the truth remains.
I have to remember how much he lies.
Today, based on a developing family storyline, I’m realizing that I have no control over what people do, or what they’ve done. I am trying, and I think that what i currently have is wonderful. I love the life I’m leading now, and I cannot change the past. I cannot change the stupid mistakes that I’ve made. I can do nothing about what people think of me now, or have thought of me. I can only do what I know to do. I can only give the unbroken pieces of myself to those who are willing to take it. I cannot allow my father, my exes, my failed friendships, my failed jobs, my stupid mistakes, embarrassing moments, or my old insecurities that resurface uninvited to influence my present life.
I’m not my father.
I’m not the same Arie that I was when I was in other and more immature relationships.
I’m not the same Arie that needs to please you at the expense of me.
I’m not the same Arie that follows.
I’m not my past.

I AM my art.
I am opinionated.
I am learning.
I’m loving freely and responsibly.
I’m taking care of myself, and not at the expense of anyone/thing.

And I’m also letting go. I don’t want to be angry anymore. I don’t want this dark little closet in my frontal lobe. I want its contents to mix with my other realities, for everything to be relative. I don’t want to harbor animosity. I want those who have hurt me in the past, to no longer have any hold over me. I want those people to move on and lead their lives. I don’t want old Arie to have any hold over me. I want to go on and lead my life. I want to keep all of those memories as fuel rather than a burning fire that hinders me from moving on. A fire that burns the word ‘failure’ over every inch of my skin until I can’t take the pain anymore and I need to purge purge purge…

I’m trying.

1. I can hold my own hand

I have had a myspace account for a few years now, and mainly have been utilizing it for the sake of blogging. Sure, it was good for staying in contact with old and new friends, but I found phone conversations to be significantly more effective than ‘comments’.
Now that I’m four years older than I was when I opened the account, I’ve begun hearing my bones crack when i stand up, I found a gray hair on my boyfriend’s head, and I’m only 3 years away from my ten year high school reunion…I’m beginning to feel like I’m a tad bit too old to maintain a consistent myspace blog. Something about it just feels weird.
I’ve recently moved out of state, so the myspace is actually a good tool to keep in contact with my friends and family back in California. Therefore, it wont get deleted. However, as stated before, blogging on myspace is lame. Hence wordpress. The funny thing about this site is that I’d never been here before, and as I’m maneuvering around attempting to ‘customize’ and whatnot, I’m feeling like my boyfriends 67 year old mother who doesn’t know how to check her own email…which isn’t to say that’s a bad thing. It’s merely a well known fact that people over a certain age have a hard time with computers.
I’m three years away from my high school reunion, and I can’t for the life of me, figure out how to make my own customized heading.
In my defense, I’m pretty sure I’ve been an old lady my whole life. I love the dusty, plastic smell of library books, and would rather spend a day there than at the beach. I like prune juice. I read in the bathtub. I take midday walks to the lake. All I need is a pair of orthopedic shoes and a purse full of butterscotch candies, and I’m good to go.
I digress…
The point is, starting this new blog paired with my recent move across the country to live with my very committed boyfriend, working on overcoming years and years of a disgusting eating disorder, starting a new job, finally having a solid plan as far as how I intend to spend the rest of my life…well it all just screams renaissance. This blog, in essence, marks the beginning of my new grown-up happiness.