goddess era over
field notes on self sabotage
Currently experiencing some of the most intense heartbreak of my adult life.
This is still shadow work and an illumination within I guess. One written on a walk down Atlantic Ave outside of Marshal’s.
Thank you in advance for reading….
I am…
HAZY, DELUSIONAL, FERAL, MISERABLE, HUMBLED.
I want to over share and feed the internet’s belly with my shortcomings.
I’m too scared to let love in. I am astonished it even makes an appearance, a small subtle silent one. I am angry when it doesn’t. I am surprised people are checking in on me, everyday. I am saddened by the ones who haven’t. The button inside me says I’m unworthy, ugly and unloveable. It is red. It is ON.
I type out a text to my therapist - can I have two sessions this week, I erase the message. Turn my phone off.
I retype my message, text her anyway. This time in a people pleasing tone. God help me turn this button off.
I’m the embodiment of a tantrum. Maybe all the BRAT propaganda is getting to me. Anything will make me cry and everyone who is around me knows that i’m going through heartbreak. Some show up out of thin air, some disappear leaving traces of their shadows.
I feel like I failed a test that I prepared for. I prepared for this didn’t I?
Did I?
Does everyone go through this?
Why does it feel much harder to grieve someone who is alive than someone who is dead?
How did I go from loving astrology to now hating it and blaming it for the position I’m in?
Why is there a stick taking photos via sound waves inside of my vagina? I look at the screen, there is now proof. I am an alien in there.
My feet are spread wide, my back is flat. I hate this position.
I breathe and look up at the styrofoam ceiling.
I think about my high school best friend who had a baby. She hated my tantrums. And I guess that’s why we stopped speaking. I wonder if she was in this position when she gave birth. I wonder what she named her baby.
I wipe off the lube in the bathroom. There’s so much.
I walk down Atlantic Ave. My glasses are honestly so cute no one would know I’m crying as I write this. The street is busy, it’s sunny, there is a little breeze. Cars, buses, trucks whiz by. Fitness heads rush to one of fives gyms on the block.
I see a dog with two colored eyes, which feels like good luck because of Practical Magic, but I don’t believe in luck rn.
I think about my cousin who just turned 40 and I miss her.
I think about how much I hate life rn.
I think about how I can’t ask for help but I need help so by the time I’m desperate for help i’m a full on BRAT.
UHHHHH (insert sound bite from killing in the name of).
I can’t believe I’m waiting outside Marshal’s, it’s 930AM. I can’t believe I thought one suitcase would fit all my belongings. I need another one before I fly out in a few hours.
My tunnel vision won’t allow me to just find a 99 cent store.
I walk towards the sun.
I turn the corner and see suitcases through a window. I feel like Audrey Hepburn in the opening scene of Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
The store is closed with a lock. I take a picture and put it in my album called chains and locks. They are really stupid photos but I love them.
I think about my best friend calling me before the dyke march. GO he says. You have to celebrate your queerness.
I’m crying and he stops me to show a plastic bag floating in the wind from his hotel room.
AMAZING he says! LOOK AT IT. We pause and I watch.
He is in full wonder.
I wipe my tears and take a pic.
I wear skirts now. Long flowy ones. Mid size ones, skirts that make me look like i’m from the 50s and listen to Etta James.
Something told me it was over plays through the phone while i’m on a call with my mom.
It took me so long to get my parents to accept me as I am.
I will never tell them what i’m going through.
Is it protection? Is it a healthy boundary?
My friend says it’s ok to be vulnerable.
But she hasn’t met my dad. But I also haven’t met her dad.
My mom repeats - be happy - as if it’s medicine or something. Bad medicine. Medicine that makes me want rip my hair out.
The inner goddess archetype that I’ve so carefully crafted within me wants to say / be positive, law of attraction. Blah
I look up at her with wide sunken eyes and my tongue out.
I find god instead, in the plastic bag that flies beside me.
I go against my rules of only writing newsletters after my period. I write while I cramp, my blood is days late. My hormones are in control now.
I wish I could erase everything. But then I would have to mourn everything.
I look at pictures and cry myself to sleep. The first time I see my eyes swollen shut I am shocked. We are back here. I feel used to it now.
On one of the darker nights of my soul, I awake from a soothing dream. All my friends are jamming together including her.
I hate Marshal’s.
I feel like an idiot waiting outside to buy new baggage.
This chipper seasoned white man exits 7 eleven with a coffee. His nose looks like mine. He looks like my baba.
The wind picks up and I feel a wet glob hit my thigh. I missed some of the lube from the radiologist.
I know I just have to connect to my heart energy and then all the goddess stuff will flow. But for now GODDESSES ERA ON PAUSE
NO
GODDESS ERA CANCELED.
10 more minutes till Marshal’s opens!
I get a whiff of NY trash. It reminds me of my mechanical lead pencils from the 4th grade.
Marshal’s is now open.
I grab a yellow suitcase, the only one of its kind, and a travel tag with aliens on it.
The music is all about love and moving on. I hate it here. Did I say that already? I need to leave.
I’m the first in line. I hear one of the employees say -
He was my best man, and I literally haven’t seen or talked to him since my wedding. That was 3 years ago.
The lady at the register know’s it’s too early.
She smells good. I tell her, she says it’s coach.
Oh no wonder, I say.
You smell like my mom. I guess Marshal’s isn’t so bad when it’s empty.
My therapist texts me back. Let’s talk in a few hours.
Just as Tara would say, BOOM.
My fingers have more rings on them now. Moonstone and 3 dolphins gifted by Ashley. I guess I am a little bit lovable.
I put the sterling silver bracelet that I’ve worn for the past 5 years on my left wrist, next to the tattoo of a heart on my sleeve.
This will stay here I say.
I hope I come back soon. I put on my sparkly NYC hat on my freshly washed hair.
I hate being ripped away from NYC. It always feels like i’m being ripped away from her.
I’m coming back for you I say.
Just you wait and see.
X
Ending with this piece from young pueblo:
