you're not going but you may be there

For weeks it played on my mind.  The idea toyed with my avid expectations.  I'd set them in place in my dreams and closed eyelids.  It took my mother's wise words verbalised and pushed onto me that would unsettle it all.  Deep down the reluctance that was keeping my eyelids shut did not want to make the call.  I did not want any outcome other than the one I had set myself up to expect and deep down I knew making that call would unsettle it all out of my hands and my will.  My mentality has always been to never openly ask for permission, I was leaping off from what I'd always done.  My damnable instincts were screaming at me, hesitant in the moment and all the moments before then.  I lept. I called.  I took the power of outcome out from under me and gave it to the other person on the line.  My expectations were hanging on every word that he said and they were infernally battling to escape his calm collectiveness and remain in my dreams and closed eyelids.  The fury, the southernmost pit of forsakenness, had me and my wants desperate.  I matched his cool calmness externally but on the inside I was screaming like a small child on fire.  Internally begging to be given the power back.  To restore my expectations to a reality I like.  With a slight chance, a numbing hope, I reluctantly agreed for his decision to be thought about and call back later.  Immediate regret.  Immediate realisation that I was not going to get what I wanted, not this time.   The mix of panic and hope is quite a strange emotion.  It's frantic and it's needy as all hell.  I needed to be comforted.  I needed to know I hadn't just screwed it all up. 
At this stage my stomach was spewing it's conditioned self-doubt and namely self-hate.  Oh what would the other think of me now?!  I had just messed up our plans for a weekend away to the Drakensberg.  Building these plans up and now single handedly I had taken them away from both of us.  It and I felt like a failure.  Frantic and waiting I followed further in my implosion of inefficiency.  My thoughts and heart raced to the one question that plagues me most, what would he think of and feel for me now?  I attached to the answer being that he'd probably be thinking Shit Rox, you're stupid. 
The phone rang again and if there was a glimmer of hope it was fleeting and blurred.  Not only was the outcome thrown between counsellors but it was given as a cornered option to the other.  At this point all I heard in my head, in his voice, was Shit Rox you're stupid.  My defence mechanisms were up and although the person on the other line was impressed by the others answer, there I was hanging.  Hanging onto the feeling that they cornered and shaped his answer with skill, the same skill that they disregarded my feelings with.  I was frantic and needy as all hell.  But my want for sympathy did not come out of that phone.  He dashed my expectations without a care of me.  The decision was made. WE were not going away to the berg.  Devastated, contempt and regretful.  I was polite enough but it was obscured.  His comfort did not come as I wanted, instead it was talk about how impressed he was with the other and the outcome.  The other has always been more logical than I and it seemed like logic was the driving force behind his decision but I hung up the phone listening on repeat to my mind, Shit Rox you're so stupid. 
Needless to say, I harboured this feeling of failure and pushed it into every cell in my body as that is what I do.  When you're broken and you fail, you don't take it as "I just failed" you take it as "I am a failure".  Fishing gone, horse riding gone, fireplace gone, replaced with a paradoxical reaction of non fulfillment, rejection and confusion.  I went to every self loathing conclusion I could get to.  Begrudging my mother for making me call, furious with myself for calling and re-thinking that maybe I should have worded my question differently.  Acidity towards the person on the other side of the phone, and then resentment towards all the people on the other side of that phone and around me.  Seriously?  Could no one care how much I wanted to go away to the berg?  It seemed like they didn't and ultimately only thought about the other.  But that wasn't my main concern... it always goes back to the question that plagues me most. What would he think of and feel for me now?
I went back to work, wounded and worried.  Roxy a month ago would have stayed in that mindset for as long as she could in order to fuel her wounds.  Surprisingly, my rational brain soon came back to the surface and I realised that my initial thoughts and reactions were not absolute and hardly fair.  On myself and to everyone else. 
I balled my eyes out on my drive home that day, crying is not something I do regularly.  I cried partly because I was a small child dealing with being told no.  But mostly and more importantly because I had a revelation.  My very own moral inventory had been put on display that day and it had shaken me to my core. 
I had put off calling, knowing that it was the right thing to do, as I wanted the power to control.  I had put in the effort of making the booking and I didn't want anyone to take that away from me.  To take away the vain effort of proving myself worthy and to be needed. 
Heaven forbid it was my mother who would be the one I initially blamed - it was her pushing that made me call.  The mother who in all aspects gives me everything I so selfishly want all the time. How shamefully convenient it is to blame the one person who you know loves you most.
The counsellor's job is not to sympathise, offer me comfort or give me what I want, and it's not because he couldn't care less, it's because he has the others best interests at heart.  Why should I resent him if he ultimately knows what is best.  I was projecting my disappointment onto him, hearing and interpreting only what would make me feel better about myself at the time.  Responding in a way that would project the misconception that I was okay.  But I wasn't okay, not necessarily with the situation, but with myself. 
There is a raw reality to this all.  Recovery is a lifetime not a weekend holiday.  This is bigger than fishing and fireplaces.  Whether it be a family Disney World trip with future children in the very far and presumptuous future or a simple weekend in the mountains, recovery will and always come first.  No matter how I felt and what my initial retaliations were - there was so much more that I took from this. 
For all I know, the other could feel so far from Shit Rox, you're stupid and he too could feel regretfully sorry.  Sorry that he put on me the responsibility and on us both the expectation of a berg trip.  I very much doubt he would want us both to be dishonest, as the growth in him is worlds away from running from the truth. 
Shit Rox, have more self respect and respect for others.  Knowing that I only did what had to be done, and letting it go.  Accepting myself with or without the others' thoughts and feelings is like breaking a bad habit.  Challenging an insecurity that benefits nothing and no one.  Restoring self love, a synopsis pathway that will only get stronger the more I use it.  As I cried my tears cleansed themselves into pure love.  The unconditional love that is now, for both myself and for the other.  No matter where we are, go or stay.  
I am no longer a small child getting whatever she wants and knowing how to manipulate people's thoughts and feelings of me.  It was easy as a child, so simple to say the darndest thing in the cutest way to get away with murder.  The berg trip would be the crime scene.  The victim being recovery.  The culprits being selfishness, stick-it-to-the-man mentality and my insatiable desperate need to be needed.  
From this I may not be going but I sure am growing. 

no fate awaits, powerless

The sun slips like honey off a table

Melting into tarnished and wasted sweetness

Stooped down, hand out, the other stabilizing the unbalance of night. 

Too much too soon and I can feel the stickiness and buzzing of my head fighting the dark.

Too little too late, and I stoop lower into the catacomb of the hive that is my life

Swarmed and stung

Pollinated and pollution-ED

I slip with the sun.

__________

So, throughout my blog I've discussed the frontal lobe fuse - when you actually become aware of consequences and ultimately become an adult.  Supposedly this happens at the tender age of twenty-five.  Today I am closer to twenty-eight.  I don't think it's a switch that flips, scientifically or timely.  I now believe it may start to slowly turn opposed to just flip and while doing so it consequentially takes your whole life flipside, inside out.  It feels scientific at times, uncontrollable and inevitable but at the end of the day - it becomes based on choice.  The adult chooses.  Timshel - thou mayest.  That gives a choice.  And not necessarily always the best choice but rather the harder choice, which is synonymous with right at that time only to be learnt for what it really meant later on.  When you fall but get up better for it.  Or one learns this immediately compared to ignoring it as the child would have.  It's called a number of things; regret, doubt, self-reflection, honesty, truth.  Namely consciousness.

_____________

I'm beyond the precipice.  I'm free falling into it all.  I've become powerless in the fall, but the safety is in the grace.  Of which I allow myself to give and to receive both significantly outward and securely inward.  I'm not getting any younger nor is anyone around me, and this propels me closer to the ground, the reality.  That we're all falling but not farther, instead nearer to who we are.  However we never really hit the ground.  It doesn't smack us in the face.  It's not that obvious.  We hover, we touch, we skim, and we grace the surface ever so slightly - which awakens our sense of selves momentarily.  As much as we hate near misses and love them at the same time, they're both exhausting and adrenaline fused, our whole body braces and our eyes focus on that ground.  Always.  Continuously.  Repeatedly.  The other surroundings get blurred as we fall, they're inconsequential - instead we keep our heads down and plan, overthink of escapes or contrarily we don't think at all (we actually never leaped in the first place) or, we can relinquish all control to something else.  To the actual fall and what happens at the bottom, the very pit as well as the last moment of control, when you give it away.  You give it to something greater than you.  And only then do you realise you weren't falling all this time.  Alternately you were being pulled closer to that something else.  You were being guided; you were being swooped up to and by the creator not the creation.  To be more spiritually grounded.  To be more whole.  To be more you.

beggin for thread, but i dont know how much

So I got edges that scratch

And sometimes I don't got a filter
But I'm so tired of eating all of my misspoken words
I know my disposition gets confusing
My disproportionate reactions fuse with my eager state
That's why you wanna come out and play with me
Yeah
Why
Why
Why
Stooped down and out
You got me beggin for thread
To sew this hole up that you ripped in my head
Stupidly think you had it under control
Strapped down to something that you don't understand
Don't know what you were getting yourself into
You should have known
Secretly, I think you knew
I got some dirt on my shoes
My words can come out as a pistol
And I'm no good at aiming
But I can aim it at you
I know my actions, they may get confusing
But my unstable ways is my solution to even space
That's why you wanna come out and play with me, yeah
Stooped down and out
You got me beggin for thread
To sew this hole up that you ripped in my head
Stupidly think you had it under control
Strapped down to something that you don't understand
Don't know what you were getting yourself into
You should have known
Secretly, I think you knew
(Secretly I think you knew)
Hold it out, whoa
Try to hide it out but my tracks are better
Hold it out, whoa
Try to hide it out but my tracks are better
Hold it out, whoa
Try to hide it out but my tracks are better
Hold it out, whoa
Try to hide it out but my tracks are better
Stooped down and out
You got me beggin for thread
To sew this hole up that you ripped in my head
Stupidly think you had it under control
Strapped down to something that you don't understand
Don't know what you were getting yourself into
You should have known
Secretly, I think you knew
(Secretly I think you knew)