Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 17

What is this desperate feeling?

I have everything I need.

My dog. My dude. The sun. The beach.

All the comforts in the world

And yet here I am continuing to reach out.

Are my dreams of friendship unrealistic or borderline Hollywood?

I want someone I see every week.

A friend to grow with.

To learn from.

To laugh with.

And I have beautiful friends here.

But I feel I always initiate.

And I’m starting to think that is my burden to bare in order for me to meet my friend quota.

But it does hurt a bit.

Not feeling wanted.

I know people are busy.

They have partners and other friends and work and all the bullshit we all have.

I guess it’s just easier when you live with your friends or live in the same neighborhood as them.

I lived with my friend Sarah for two years back home so it was easy to become best friends with her.

Friends through convenience I guess.

Why are people so fucking lazy now days?

Anyways, here’s me telling the universe I would like a best friend in Sydney who is responsive and initiates drinks and wants to go on trips and who wants to go deep man. Because I’m ready for that deep friendship here.

Amen.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 15

Today I feel encouraged.

Excited.

Thrilled for the evolution of women.

Because lately, I’ve been meeting more and more women who are okay with not having children.

And people, this is a big deal!

Because when I was growing up, I was surrounded by young, christian girls who believed their soul mission was to find a man, wait for sex, get married, and then pop out some babies.

And it was fucking discouraging for me to live up to such a mundane existence. And such a stringent one at that!

1. Waiting for sex? Shit I tried and I even pat myself on the back for getting to 20 years old at least. But it wasn’t for me. My libido was insane growing up and I wish someone had told me it was normal, that it was okay and even went so far as to hand me a vibrator. Because that would have been alot more fruitful than seeking dick for seven years and thinking I was a slut or worse, a bad christian.

2. Marriage? Nah bitch. This girl is too traumatized for that shit. I was raised with fighting, miserable parents staying together for god and the kids. I don’t want that.

3. Babies? Now that I’m thinking about once in a while, but the difference is I actually feel no pressure about it.

I feel very okay with having one or not having one.

And I even feel more okay having one and not being married first.

I know.

Shocker.

But yeah, meeting all these strong, beautifully capable women tell me they are pretty “meh” about the whole idea, is actually really exciting for me. They don’t feel rushed. They don’t feel confined.

They feel free.

And isn’t that a fucking victory for us?

I mean, it feels like it to me god damn it!

So let’s raise a glass to all the women out there deciding their life is more than just a vessel for children and pray those around them have the eyes to witness this evolution without being absolute fuckwits.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 12

So far, I’ve met two Americans through facebook this week.

Both very lovely women.

Both married.

And I hope they last.

I mean, I hope our friendship lasts.

This is always my fear.

Rejection

Or even worse

Apathy.

I’m always the initiator in relationships.

I am always searching for that Grey and Yang relationship.

And I actually found it once, in North Carolina, with my roommate Sarah.

But can I find it here?

Will someone let me be their Grey?

Because I miss sleepovers damn it!

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 11

I get it now.

The drinking

The writing

The addiction

It feels good to write intoxicated.

I feel free

Uninhibited

And yet I’m lucky

I don’t have the addiction bug

Like my father

Like my brother

Like all the men in my family

Is it a man thing?

I don’t know

But I’m lucky

I know when to stop

Thank god

Or the devil

For skipping me

I appreciate it.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 10

So I’ve been called a sadist.

But I’d like to describe it more as

A controllist.

I like to believe I have the upper hand.

But what this person doesn’t know

Is this is my wall talking.

He doesn’t know I’m full of shit

He doesn’t see me crumble

in therapy

Or cry with joy from being loved for three years by the most forgiving man I’ve ever met.

He doesn’t know me.

He tried to pull that perceptive card,

But I’ve met his like before.

Confident on the outside

Insecure on the inside.

Like all of us.

So don’t tell me, you can read me.

Because I know you’re no fly on the wall.

You’re just like every other psychology cock sucker thinking you’re the next Freud.

So bye boy.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 9

I’m getting a new tattoo tomorrow.

Water color.

It’s my first big color tattoo.

I’m a bit nervous I’ll hate it.

The tattooer sent me her sketch and I hated it.

But I didn’t tell her I did.

I told her the things I liked about it and the things I liked about my inspiration picture I sent her and asked if it’s doable to implement those specific likes.

She said she’ll be free handing it and yes it’s easy to implement.

I responded, I trust you.

But fuck I’m nervous.

But I’ve seen her portfolio.

I like her work.

I really do.

So I know it won’t be shit.

But trust, man.

That’s hard for me.

I’m controlling at best.

More leaning ocd.

I waver between impulsive and compulsive on the daily.

So for her to say she’ll freehand it

Is like me saying let me just eat everything in the kitchen and see if I get fat.

It’s insane to me.

Yet, I’m attracted to it.

I want it.

I want to be open to trust.

To releasing my control.

I want to be free to receive her art.

So

Pray for me

Or

Whatever

Because I’m about to pay almost $1,000 for freedom.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 7

Today I’ve been thinking about home.

Craving familiarity.

I’ve been listening to country music.

Christian music even though I’m not Christian anymore.

Ya it got that bad. 😂

Craving mac and cheese

Tacos

Friends

My whole being is feeling this pull to reconnect with Americans again.

Being in Australia, I’ve only met 3 Americans.

One was a flake.

The second was too loud.

And the third is an adorable Cuban from Florida who is also very loud but we were able to work on it.

Other than that, I’ve met only Brits and Asians.

And don’t get me wrong, they’re very lovely people. But the Brits want to hang more with the Brits and their slang always throws me for a loop anyways.

So my only friends are Asian. And they’re amazing lovely women, but we can’t relate on everything. There are certain things I want to say, but I know they won’t understand.

Just like any group of people, your group knows you. They see you. They can relate with you.

And I miss that.

So I problem solved.

Where can I find Americans in Sydney?

Facebook.

So here I am today, posting on Facebook if any Americans in the city want to hang.

I don’t care if I sound desperate.

Because if you’re on facebook, you’re desperate too.

We’re all fuckin desperate for friendship and making the first move is my forte anyways.

So if you’re out there Americans, I just wanna say hey!

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 5

I like to be naked.

So Fuck Adam and Eve

For their punishment.

I want to be free

And forget lent.

Life is about honesty

Commitment to choice.

Not living in serenity

Forgetting the noise.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 4

Working from home today.

That means hanging with the pup.

My new source of joy.

We saved him from the shelter a month ago now yet somehow it feels like I’ve always known him.

I had a dog before him.

Harley.

And she was my baby. My world. But I couldn’t afford to bring her across the world with me.

It broke me.

I thought it would be many years till I could replace her, yet it only took two.

Now this cuddle monster is my world, my baby and I couldn’t be more grateful.

His morning cuddles ease me.

His upside down smile warms me.

And his sneaky behavior brightens me.

He is nothing like Harley yet everything like her.

And I hope this time is different.