Yelling

Okay, I'm back. Only because I can't sit with my emotions. My therapist said it was very hurtful that I missed therapy this week on the pretense of "I forgot" and to make it a priority, and she couldn't keep doing this. It was a kinder run on sentence expressed by my mother when I was just a teenager. I should turn on Frances Ha, I feel like the real life co-writer, the one with the average sized nose. I just keep collecting affections to feel something indefinite that needs to manifest from me and it can't quick enough. It makes me want to cry. I have indulged too passionately in my own girlhood. If I think about it hollowly, it really didn't need to be extended for this long. 

Breaking up with Him was right. I know it was right. But the loss still feels substantial. He was very good at reframing things. Nick is also good at reframing things. But in a less depressing and less relatable way. But I know I want that for myself. When I saw Him for the first time in a nicer hotel but not too nice because we both exist under the poverty line mostly by choice, (If you can consider the housing market and economic collapse a choice, but we need to acknowledge some of what our white parents provided for us before genetic mental short comings came for us strong.) it confirmed everything I'd been struggling with for a straight year with Him. He was a good friend always to me. But I do feel preyed upon in the name of friendship and I know that's not entirely his fault. Or maybe not his fault at all. Autonomy and self advocacy. 

Something I should of applied with Nick before falling obsessed and unhealthy with him. I keep believing sex equals love and I'm a thirty-two year old woman and that's so embarrassing to admit and realize exists within me so strongly I can't just deny it up front. I don't regret being with Him really, and I really don't regret being with Nick. Being with Nick needed to happen when we were kids. By the way, Nick was like only two years older than me. Why did he feel so much older. I guess, he was parentifed pretty fucking hard, but I should stop shouting therapy terms from high stories like they mean anything.  

I'm starting to feel bad for David again. Which sucks. But this last year, he's been really trying to make things work. I feel chained to him financially still and I think that's why I'm able to yell back so much now. That, and the co-dependency between us has shifted. I am no longer fearful of him leaving. I call his bluffs with pride now. So, he's switched gears. Kill them with kindness, an adage my father use to tell me because I was mean, angry, little girl. It's just, in ways when I talk to Nick I get upset for feeling how I do about him already. Because it's a little fucking Peter Pan coded. I'm very much like "Bitch Wendy, get your cunt ass through that fucking window already!!!" And Nick is all like I have a family to feed. And unlike Him, Nick actually wanted his family. 

Which makes me so mad that we didn't date as adults sooner. My biological whatever is detonating and I cry every day about it. I just want it to physically stop already. I can handle mental insufferable but not physical, never physical. I am still crossing fingers for advanced sciences to figure out a way to impregnate bio men. But I know I was meant to be a mom. And it hurts to think about how I'm really not in a place to be one. I'm five years too late. My shit has barely moved and I'm not even close to finishing my masters program to even create a viable nest egg to start feeling like I have choices for myself let alone to make thee choice of getting pregnant in the hopes of creating thee master project which is raising a child. 

It was also so haunting how much the roles were reversed between Him and I towards the end there. He denied his identity so solemnly for me and started to bend his convictions on having children for me too. And I know neither one of us should be procreating with the other at any capacity. Our shortcomings are so fucking similar. And I do believe opposites in a fundamental biology should attract. Plus, I know what his true dream was for us. To be trendy alternative ladies selling our wares by the roadside. I think I do want a husband for real. I think I might be straighter than I ever gave myself any real credit for. Because why haven't I gone down on a girl already? Or better question, why hasn't one gone down on me? So many guys have gone down on me. I can count on one hand how many dicks I've officially had in my mouth. I don't know why that matters to type, but it feels like it matters to type. Science? Something? Analytic data for what my real sexuality could be?