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As I was backing out of my driveway yesterday, I accidentally backed into our trash bins that were placed behind my car for the garbage man to collect. It was just a little bump, not enough to knock them over. Nothing tragic.
“What the hell was that?” I say as I pressed the break pedal. “Oh, right. Trash cans. How can I not see the trash cans?”
My brother was pulling into the driveway just as I was pulling out of it and seen me hit the bins. I yell out my window, “Hey can you fix those for me? They got in the way.”
Brother – “You lazy bastard.”
I never ran into those trash bins before. Not once in all these years. Why is this relevant now? Because yesterday, as I was backing into the trash bins, my cousins husband was backing into their two-year old baby and killed him.
Holy shit. Big time holy shit. The biggest holy fucking shit I’ve ever holy fucking shitted about in my life.
How the FUCK?? Why the hell was he playing behind his car with nobody watching him? How the fuck fuck fuck can that happen?
My Uncle Al is having a hard time dealing. The baby was named after him. Little baby Allen. My cousin in-law, the husband, is on suicide watch. Everything is fucked up.
I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I don’t know how my cousin is dealing.
Do you see it too? Here’s a hint….follow his arm down.
If you follow his arm, It looks like it extends to rest in the middle of two monstrous legs. One leg has a towel draped over it.
I’m dangerously sleep deprived. I’m at my friends house and reading over my gibberish I wrote for the day.
Sleep will be sweet tonight.
Okay, it’s the same day as my last post. No, I have not started my taxes yet.
Instead of doing my taxes, I instant messaged people and texted people – all stuff that I had to do, not out of enjoyment but more like out of obligation. Work related crap and helping friends out kind of stuff.
Then my parents came home from the casino and my mom brought me home half her sandwich that she didn’t finish and she wanted me to add minutes to her track phone.
While I was eating her sandwich, I started watching what I thought would be a stupid documentary. It’s called “The Path Documentary Series Extra’s.” It’s all the garbage that didn’t make it into the real documentary which I’ve never even heard of.
I started watching it because I thought I can do my taxes at the same time a stupid documentary was playing in the background. I wouldn’t be tempted to pay attention to it. It would act as background noise to help me concentrate.
Now it’s 10:30 Pm. This documentary is astounding! I just wanted to write about it super quick. Not any details, just that everything these people say, agree’s with what I’ve experienced with ayahuasca. It’s incredible!
And it’s scaring the crap out of me. I won’t tell you why, I can’t write another 3,000 word blog post tonight. But man oh man. This shit is real.
I’m writing about it as a reminder to myself to watch the actual documentary when I have the time.
I’ve been falling asleep listening to audiobooks for a while now. Before my audiobook craze began, I had intense bizarre dreams beyond human imagination. Most of my weirdest experiences happened while in dreamland. But then I started listening to audiobooks and it all went caput.
Last night I decided to fall asleep au naturel. I wanted to have a dream. No audiobook, no distractions.
I was so tired, I don’t know why I was tired but I couldn’t fight off sleep. The images started appearing the instant I closed my eyes and they would not stop for 2-HOURS STRAIGHT!
It was a concentrated onslaught of symbols, textures, people, scenario’s. They kept coming no matter how lucid and calm I made myself. One thing after another, I didn’t have time to focus on or understand any of it. I couldn’t control it.
Things started getting dark and scary. It turns out that my worst fear happens to be a mad man covered in blood running around with a chainsaw.
Worst fear ever. And it’s not the first time he popped into my dream. But it’s the first time there were several of them, not just one man with a chainsaw, but an angry mob of them.
And the chainsaw man never chases me, he chases other people. My worst fear is not being able to help those other people. My worst fear is running from him to save my own life.
The first time I dreamt of him, he was chasing a woman down the street in a quiet neighborhood. I barged into someones home and grabbed their phone to call the police. I yelled in panic telling them that a woman was about to be murdered.
My worst fear is nobody doing anything about it. Not even me. Because we’re all too scared.
Last night when I dreamt of the chainsaw man, I was lucid. I knew it wasn’t real. But I wanted to wake myself up to “reset” my dreamscape. But I was super tired, my attempts were futile. Slightly opening my eyes only for them to close again and I fell right back into the nightmare. One of the images in my nightmare was a fish tank full of tiny men in black suits, all of them hanging morbidly from their own noose. Instead of seeing fish, it was a tank full of miniature business men who committed suicide floating in water.
I decided it was best not to fight or control the nightmare, so I let the journey take me. This decision changed the dreamscape to be less scary and it became one of my more regular lucid dreams of me seeking sex. And I found the most handsome man – incredibly sexy. No shirt, muscular, hair in all the right places and yeah, I totally orgasmed with him.
I have no idea how that’s even possible in a dream. Nothing is actually touching me, but I’m hypersensitive down there when a dream man touches it. I also don’t understand how in real life I hate sucking cock, but in my dreamworld I love it.
At one point in my dream, I was being pulled upward. Up up and up I went and out of the tall building I was in, and found myself floating towards a ginormous dimly lit moon. It was beautiful. Most likely this happened after the hot sex.
I have lucid dreams all the time of me floating uncontrollably upward. It’s never frightening. The frightening part happens when I descend. It’s not falling, but an accelerated gravitational pull down.
After getting a glimpse at the moon, I started to fall. I was lucid, but this feeling always makes me want to wake myself up. I decided to let it take me however, it’s not worth the waking up for. I was just too tired. Tired and curious to see where it led. My curiosity out-weighed my fear. At that point, I’ve seen so much morbid shit in my dream that I didn’t think it possible for me to see any worse.
How can I explain this…..it’s impossible to explain it. Being pulled down, you go through levels of fear. At first it’s no big deal, but as you go deeper, panic sets in. The further down you go, the more panic and the more courage it takes to pass through it.
Last night I reached a new level of courage.
When I stopped accelerating down, an old man appeared in a grey purgatory-type of place and told me I reached a new level. Then the dream went back to being ballistic, not making sense, and shoving one symbol after another at me until I said, “fuck this shit” and finally woke myself up for real.
I looked at the clock and it was 4:30 in the morning. I went to sleep at 2:30 after trying to keep awake for one more episode of Game of Thrones.
2 steady hours of ballistic lucid dreaming with a short spurt of hot sex and a short moment in purgatory. I was more tired than when I started.
I went to the bathroom, came back to bed and turned on my audiobook. I slept like a baby until 11:00.
I went to bed last night wanting to dream, but there was such a build-up of them. My dreams are never like that. Like a chimp with ADD on acid.
But the part where I was accelerating downward, I intuited that it’s more important to go down than it is to go up. Going down is where you find courage. I always thought it was an evil place, an omen of bad luck and that I should fight it, to control my direction and eliminate my fear of it but I was wrong. I was so wrong about it. It’s not evil at all. The journey down is definitely more important than the one going up.
Of course you have no idea what I’m even talking about.
I ask around sometime, seeing if other people have messed up dreams as much as I do and no, nobody does. In fact, more than half of them never even had a lucid dream before.
I don’t get it. I simply don’t get it. The stress it put on my brain last night was intense. Like a big knot looking in a thousand directions. I wasn’t scared during any of it, I’m not emotionally imbalanced or depressed or anything like that. It was like I was a voyeur getting a glimpse into someone else’s madness. But how can it come from me?
Everything has been really peaceful for me lately. Other than dealing with all the groupons (only 84 left to sell), I’m pretty happy these days. So I’m at a loss. My head still feels funky from it. Like a physical kind of funky, not emotional. Headachy and foggy.
When I was in high school, I thought about suicide a lot. Not me personally committing it, but thinking about other people who wanted to do it.
Me thinking – “How awesome would that be? To have absolutely no fear of death. I would be able to do or try ANYTHING without any fear of the consequences.”
My reasoning was that if you’re not afraid to die, that means you have nothing to lose. You’re at rock bottom. Complete and utter freedom.
But then depression hit me much later on in life and I found out the truth about suicide. It’s not about not fearing death, it’s about fearing life.
When you’re suicidal, you don’t care about anything or anyone but yourself, it’s selfish.
And it’s debilitating, like having a physical illness that keeps you in bed all day, keeps you from going out and doing things, learning things. It’s the opposite of bravery, opposite what I thought it meant in high school.
I had a suicidal friend in high school. She was a closet lesbian, in love with a girl in her class. I couldn’t for the life of me understand why she was miserable and wanted to off herself.
Me – “You have no fear of dying. Don’t you understand how freeing that is? You can do anything with your life, not fear the consequences, go anywhere, do anything. Why waste it on killing yourself? You have no fear now, so why waste it? Aren’t you curious to see what happens? You’re already at rock bottom so anything that happens to you would be better than where you are now.”
Her – “Have you been planning this speech?”
No, I have not been planning this speech, but I’ve thought about it a lot. And whatever I said to her made her think twice. She had no argument and actually started to feel hopeful.
I’m thinking about this now, not because I’m suicidal, but because it reminds me of what I’m going through with my business.
It’s like I keep fighting for selfish reasons and the more I fight, the more scared, anxious and depressed I become. Suicide is all about being scared, not brave. It’s not about being curious about where your journey takes you, it’s about being in control of when it ends. The ending is all you’re able to control and you want the tourture to stop.
I’m on a journey, that’s all. Curiosity is the key in this battle, not fear.
I was talking to an old friend with whom I worked with at the Aquaturf (a banquet facility).
Her – “I hated that job. I hated going outside to see how beautiful it was and I was stuck there working missing the day.”
Me – “I loved working there. I loved going outside to see how beautiful it was and I was appreciative that I was there working with people I loved, all in the same boat.”
I felt her mind shift and she said – “Yeah, I need to be more appreciative.”
I felt her entire perspective change in an instant. Just like it did with the suicidal girl in high school.
I have to remember who I am. I’m someone who appreciates and loves life and can easily love everyone around me. I’ve always been thankful, always thankful, always loved. I got freaking employee of the year at the Aquaturf my first year there (out of hundreds!). That shows you a bit of just how loved I was, and how much I loved the place.
Owning a business takes all that appreciation and thankfulness away and replaces it with anxiety and fear of losing it all, but my advice to the suicidal girl makes me think twice; Aren’t I curious to see what happens next?”
It’s like saying “fuck this shit” and going off to actually do something about your problems.
Since August, I’ve been doing everything I can to save my business. I started washing sheets, changed employee’s to independent contractors, cut hours, I’m in the process of downsizing to a cheaper place that just so happens to be an improvement to where I am now. And I’m not selling online deals anymore. Fuck this shit, you know? Shit’s gotta change.
And here I am on the brink of the precipice. Waiting for the zoning permit to go through, waiting until next month when the last of the online deals have expired.
I’m waiting for the last of my keys, my two last chances, to open new doors; No more online deals and a better, more visible location.
I just slept for 12 hours. It’s Saturday and I have no clients. But my employee’s have 10 altogether, 3 of which are online deals. I have to pull $60 out of my ass to pay the therapists who massaged them.
Four of the clients today are members – that money is already gone too, but one of them is paying extra for a bonus birthday massage and another is adding a $25 upgrade for a 90-minute massage. Two clients are random new clients and the last of the ten scheduled today bought a package of 3 massages at my old business, Massage by Melanie, and that money is definitely gone.
According to the schedule, I’ll make about $190 today. Plus I need to charge John’s card, a member client whom I massaged yesterday for his birthday massage so that brings me up to $245.
If not for the online deals, my employee’s would be massaging more birthday people and random new clients. I won’t be negative $60, but plus $120. And when we move to the better location, we’ll be massaging more new people due to better signage.
I strongly believe that my actions as of late has changed the fate of my business.
Where I went wrong:
- I let my broken armed therapist sit and answer phones.
- I hired Anthony to replace her.
- Sold more online deals to cover the cost of my broken armed therapist now turned receptionist.
- Had to hire another therapist to help with all the new online deal clients.
- Hired an esthetician and added facials thinking it would bring in more members.
- Rented the two empty rooms upstairs because I needed an extra room for facials.
One bad decision, turning my broken armed therapist into a receptionist, snowballed into making more bad decisions. These decisions cost me thousands upon thousands of dollars.
The upside is, I know exactly what happened. I know exactly what went wrong.
The first three bullet points are taken care of, now it’s just the last 3 to contend with. The forth bullet point won’t be cause for concern once the online deals are done with.
Once I move, I won’t be renting the two extra rooms anymore which leaves me with my last problem, my esthetician.
One remedy I thought up is to buy an inferred sauna. Clients who spend money to use it, will cover the cost of my esthetician to be there.
Right now my esthetician is giving facials to mostly online deal people and once those deals have expired, she’d be lucky to get 3 clients a week. Facials are not as popular as massage – something I wish I knew before hiring her.
I’m paying her over $800 a month to do facials on people who already bought their facial and who’s money is already gone. Over $800 a month I have to pull out of my ass, until that is, after next month when the deals expire. That leaves me with my only idea, the inferred sauna idea. And to have her preform mini eye-lifts to clients after their massage.
I can’t have her do mini eye-lifts now because I’d hate to have her come in only for a 10-minute session – the cost is too great and I’d lose money. But with the sauna, it’s more likely I’d get a return on investment. Plus she can answer phones.
Ugh, owning a business…..shit sucks. Well, right now it sucks.
You want to see what happens when you ignore problems?
Calcified plaque, hard as rock. A lifetime of not brushing your teeth.
I have to remember who I am. I’m actually quite obsessed with oral hygiene. I’m NOT this person.
And I’ll never give up on anything.
There’s a difference between being nice and being kind (I’ll get to the fear part later).
Let’s say you have a pair of really nice looking shoes. You look wonderful in them, but your feet feel awful. Those shoes are nice, not kind.
Now let’s say you traded in your nice looking shoes for a pair of orthopedics. The orthopedics are ghastly, but they are kind to your feet.
Outside appearances can be nice but that’s all they are – insubstantial substitutes for actual caring.
Common sense, right? Well, what I’m getting at is, why be “nice” in the first place? I mean, if you don’t really mean it? If it does nothing but make yourself look good.
I snapped out of it today. I came to that point of not giving a damn and all my niceties shit the bed. I snapped out of the illusion of being nice.
First I woke up to my brother and his girlfriend fighting. She stormed out and said she’ll never be back (she’s back). Then the detective called wanting to know if he can stop by the business today to go over loose ends, then one of my member clients complained that he didn’t know he was being charged every month and demanded his $350 dollars back.
And I had four clients and had to wash sheets.
One client was a borderline pervy old man from my old business. I loathe touching people like that. He wanted a hug when he first walked in.
Client – “Have you ever gone to New York to massage the marathon runners?”
Me – “No, I never did that. I never had an interest in it.”
Client – “Well, I’m sure you must have massaged many athletes with good muscle tone here.”
What the hell are you getting at?
Me – “Uh, er, yeah sure.”
I can’t massage anymore. I have NO niceties left in me. But while I was massaging him I wondered, why the hell should I be nice anyway?
And thus brings me to the topic of this post:
Because I’m scared not to.
Just like choosing those pair of killer heals over ugly Betty’s orthopedic pumps, you’re scared of what people might think.
Yesterdays post really left an impression on me. And today I felt it more than I did while I was writing it.
I am now entering the “truth” zone.
So are you kind, or are you scared (AKA nice)?
You’re nice because you’re scared people won’t like you, or that they’ll stop talking to you, or never come back to your business, etc etc…
Don’t forget that nice people actually don’t care about you. So while you’re trying your damnedest to put your best foot forward for a nice person, all the while they’re just looking to see what they can get out of it. They’re essentially using you.
I am a nice person. I’m looking to see what I can get.
I’m a master manipulator. I should be call Mel-ipulator. That’s the only reason why I know all this. I just don’t give a shit and I’m always looking out for number one.
We all have to hit bottom before getting to see who we are, but there are many bottoms to hit in various ways.
In this case, I’m hitting a nice bottom. I’m slapping that ass.
But now that I know this about myself, I can start working on being kind. To get rid of all the bullshit and to start actually caring.
I’ll never care about the marathon runner guy, he gives me the creeps (as most runners do), but I don’t have to sacrifice my authenticity for him either. Why? Because I’m not scared of him. I’m not scared because there’s nothing he can do to harm me.
He’s always looking for a deal anyway. He’s “nicer” than I am if you know what I mean.
Nice = Looking to see what you can get
Kindness = Looking to see what you can give
When kindness is involved, there’s a rub. A sort of friction. When two people don’t compromise who they are for the sake of one another, the heart sparks.
What if this is true love? The kind of unconditional love that I’m waiting for? Void of neediness, ego, validation….All the garbage that causes selfish pain of loss and not understanding. The pain of not getting what you want.
Nice = Pain
When two people are being nice to each other, where’s the pull? You know? What’s the point? There’s no heart or truth in any of it.
As for kind people, well, they’re the true beauty’s. Those are the people who don’t want or expect a damn thing. They are self-sufficient and whole.
I wish I was kind. I wish I can escape my niceness. I’m like a damn salesperson, but I can’t even do that properly.
Kindness isn’t about condescension either. It’s knowing full well that we’re all on an even playing field. It’s disrespectful not to acknowledge that, but it’s equally ignorant to assume a person know’s what they’re doing.
We don’t know shit, only our needs and desires. We only know what we want others to be, and not who they really are. Our fulfillment and unfulfillment relies on the mercy of others. That’s why we’re nice. We’re at their mercy without even knowing or acknowledging it.
I got a slight glimpse of kindness today. It was found in one of those transcendent moments of clarity that stays for 2-seconds before fleeting away. In order to obtain it, I first have to be kind to myself. That’s the only way to it.
Fear has taken me prisoner and it’s kindness alone that wields the sword to slay it. Or a Ginkgo knife would work. They’re pretty sharp.
People who’ve said “I’m done being nice”, or, “I’m done with these games,” they’re the one’s who know what I’m talking about. It’s an act of clarity, a reaction to suffering. You deserve to be kind to yourself in lieu of being nice to others (which is fake anyway).
You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. That is, once you embark on your heroes journey.
A minute into blowdrying my hair, I always find it the opportune time to check my texts, email, IM’s, take my Flintstones vitamin..etc. I never seem to quite make it through blowdrying my hair without finding something of importance that takes precedence.
“No no no, I can’t be doing this right now! WHERE’S MY VITAMINS?!”
It’s 2:30 PM on Thursday. I have a few things to do today like, go to the bank, the office, my friend wants me to watch her get a tattoo, and I have my geek book club meeting later. The first I’ve ever been to and, well, the book sucked.
Not only did it suck, but it was thee most boring gibberish I’ve ever laid eyes on.
One girl from the meeting posted, “looking forward to tonight! Really enjoyed the book!”
I want to fit in with these people. They are my kind of people. Geeks that love sci-fi, anime, and superhero’s. There aren’t many of us around but since we’re a vocal minority, you’d think we’re abundant.
But no. We’re not abundant. And since we’re not abundant, we’s got to stick together. How would it sound, especially since it’s my first meeting, if I barge in there toting a forty and explicitly discriminated against a book they all cherished?
“This shit is garbage, unreadable, nonsensical, complete waste of an Audible credit.” I slam my beer down. “You liked this book? What the hell’s wrong with all of you? Did we read the same book?”
Let’s hope I can control my initial reaction. In real life, I will not be drinking beer nor will I storm in there picking fights (at least I hope). I’ll try to keep my knuckles from hitting the floor.
Ancillary Justice is the name of the book. It won a bunch of awards and shit.
I’ve been watching anime incessantly for months now and learned a small arsenal of words during my loyal viewing. Hello, goodbye, good morning, thank you, I’m sorry, stupid, see you later, god help us, don’t you know, no I don’t, and of course, itadakimasu!
Japanese people say itadakimasu (you don’t pronounce the u at the end) at every meal before they eat. So like any fledging young adult, I started saying it – loudly I might add. Before every meal, after every meal, even when there aren’t any meals.
Finally I went on Google to see what it actually means and found this:
A word used by the japanese usually said before meals or by people who watch anime way too much.
Thank you Urban Dictionary for clearing that up.
I woke up early today to give a massage (which I didn’t actually do because I pawned it off on an employee [who da boss? Ain’t Tony Danza, it me!]) and wanted to take a shower to wash all the laziness and non-activity out of my hair.
Me – “Are you all done with the shower?”
I politely asked my brother.
Brother (in a high-pitched piercing cry) – “Shut up! Shut up!”
Me – “So you’re all done in there?”
Brother – “You’re an asshole. An asshole!”
Me – “Okay, I’m going in then.”
Brother – “That’s MY bathroom.”
Last night when I was making myself some hamburgers to eat….
Brother – “Those are MY hamburgers.”
I used up the rest of the mayonnaise.
Brother – “That was MY mayonnaise.”
I can’t compete with his humor.
Brother – “That’s my old bedroom! I want it back!”
I was PMS’ing when I wrote about my dear friend Kristi. There’s no possible way I can give her an ultimatum.
She’s a good person and I care about her.
I know sooner or later she’s going to ditch me again. I know it. For something stupid too.
Baka means stupid in Japanese. I scream it whenever possible.
I’m going to Japan in April and need to start utilizing their language you see. Itadakimasu and Baka help me get the juices flowing.
I have to leave soon to massage one of my weekly clients. A man who is, well, unlike me.
I’m a goofy-ass basterd. I take nothing seriously. I’m callous and aloof to others feelings when I’m at my best and at my worst, I analyze and judge. Don’t pretend you’re any different, this is how we all are.
One big reason why I hate massaging is because it’s a vaccination against my callousness. It impedes my ability at taking things lightly and forces me down into the depths of nether worlds that I normally don’t inhabit. The world of gushy understanding and warmth – bullshit stuff that I want to extract myself from.
“Melanie’s so nice. She’s so innocent.”
You don’t know me Baka. Eat your own food and stop leering at mine. Itadakimasu dattebayo.
You know what I mean?
And if I massage him whilst inhabiting my own world, I’m miserable. If I don’t return to that gushy place of unicorns and sunflowers, I’ll be more miserable massaging him than if I stayed true to my nature.
So I adapt to make myself less miserable. And fill my blog with rubbish taken from these nether worlds. I’m too damn impressionable and I like everything. That’s my problem. I’m too damn curious and open. And adaptable.
A girl from a spiritual retreat I attended said that she collects her menstrual fluid in a cup and uses it for her garden and since I was so gun-ho about adapting and surrendering that I wondered to myself, “is that something I should be doing? Should we all be doing that?”
Spiritual retreat girl – “It smells though.”
Me thinking – “Maybe it acts as a natural pesticide?”
I’m the opposite of stubborn because most of the time I plain don’t give a shit. I’m too busy being accepting and nonjudgmental thanks to these past 10 years of being a wellness provider and being forced into the world of organic wholesomeness.
But it’s not real. It’s not me. It’s not my natural inclination to think about collecting menses (did I just say menses?) to garnish a garden with. No, it’s my natural inclination to shout, “it’ll help with the blood oranges!”
It’s funny how mostly everyone wants to be a good “saintly” person while here I am running for the hills with my pitchfork and pointy tale. Chasing after money and freedom.
I can remain open, but stubborn when it comes to acquiescing my bodily fluids all over a vegetable garden. There’s got to be a line somewhere.
And it’s not even like I put on a fake smile for anyone – I basically surrender myself over and over again each time I give a massage. I surrender and it keeps me genuine.
But lately, since I’m massaging one or two clients a day, my inner demon is clawing her way out. It seems that the less I massage, the more I hate it.
That’s why massage acts as a vaccine with me. But the vaccine must be administered everyday in heavy doses in order for it to maintain its effect. Otherwise you get me, Demon Mel. The passive, selfish, narcissist who loathes whiny bitches. Suck it up Baka.
But Demon Mel still loves her parents and that alone makes me gush rainbows out my eyeballs. It’s just that…..the problem is…..
Boundaries! I meld with people way too easily. I lose myself every time I’m faced with the decision to either understand a person, or go my separate way.
I have to learn the art of understanding while remaining separate and intact. A bystander, a witness. I feel little pieces of myself chip off the more I’m surrounded by people I want to know better, or, who want to know me better.
And I’m left feeling like I can’t keep up. I have to keep sloughing away pieces until I’m forced to return to my domicile to recharge which happens to be all of the time since becoming an LMT.
So yeah, let us embrace our inner demon. He’s not such a bad guy. You’ll be rewarded with copious amounts of indestructible energy if you embrace your truest nature.
As for Kristi, she gets under my skin because of my trouble to remain separate from her. It’s like the time I had that lucid nightmare dream and even though I knew it was a dream, I couldn’t separate myself from it. I couldn’t remain conscious and in control.
My inner demon, no matter how obstinate and independent she may be, is my ticket to remain in control of my thoughts and emotions. Sure I may be miserable, but I don’t fear death when I’m miserable. There’s courage found in staying with the pain and refusing to adapt.
Be stubborn when it comes to keeping yourself unaffected by others. Surrender yourself to your true nature and not one concocted out of avoidance. Don’t feel self-conscious, ashamed or embarrassed because according to my high school nightmare dream, you must “own that shit”.
And by doing all this, I can keep caring about Kristi. I can keep her as a friend just the way she is until she’s forced into changing herself (or stop talking to me) simply because she can’t control me.
And I’ll be less inclined to continue this crusade of massaging people. I’ll be more adamant to journey forward and take the appropriate action to better my situation.
I’m so freaking tired right now. I have the next two days off so I gave myself the blessing to write tonight even though it causes me insomnia.