Glory Box.


“I’m so tired of playing with this bow and arrow, gonna give my hide away, give it to the other girls to play.  For I have been a temptress for too long, give me a reason to love you, give me a reason to be a woman . . . I just want to be a woman.”

Lollipops & Razorblades.

Lately I have having some trouble processing, not, not understanding just specific issues with compartmentalizing.  There has been so much pressure and build up to what has become our life that I still kinda don’t want to see it, and there it is staring me in the face.  I am not unhappy, I am just slightly numb to the reality that has always been staring at me, the one that I always ran away from, the one that forced me to run back to dancing.  That has always been an escape for me, run away and become someone else, in all reality it was always me.  At the end of the day I could come back to the real world with some sort of accomplishment, something that I did on my own, something that not everyone could do.  My life became more manageable, I finished up college, all except one fucking math class that will forever haunt me.  Three fucking credits and my BA in English, choices, again.  I became for some reason grounded, I had a purpose even if it were secret.  My anxiety was at an even keel, I was moving forward, and functioning. I was happy and I was social.  Like I have said before stripping was my band-aid for everything else.  I had such hard exterior walls, walls that I had no idea were even in place such a magnificent creation of protection.  As the years had begun accumulating I just kept thinking how nobody can make this money, this money is what began to define me, my vanity.  Nevermind the fact that people that 5 years ago might have been farther down the pay scale then me make thirty grand a year working forty hours, learning how to work, being a productive member of society, paying their taxes and being broke.  None of that seemed appealing, how could it? I was working two days a week a mere 12 to 16 hours and was clocking 100 grand a year taxes withheld of course.  Nobody to tell me what to do, when to do it, show up, don’t show up, take a week off, whatever. The flexibility, the money, never making a real connection, walk away like it never happened.  This is  all what always kept me going back.  To this day my family has no clue what it is that I do, they think that I am incredibly misguided and have some emotional problems . . . wow, that dosen’t take a rocket scientist.  My father knows, my father loves me.  All of people that were making thirty grand are making around I don’t know, maybe sixty five grand now. They are making their mortgage payments, collecting their tax refunds and are thankful that they have a job, even if they hate it. They know they have pretty good resumes, also, there is a  guaranteed paycheck.   They have no issue working full time.  I on the other hand have never worked full time in my life, the thought of sitting at a computer doing office type work gives me an anxiety attack, not to mention the idea that I would rather be dead then do that kind of a job.  This is the only kind of job that I would get hired for at 12.75 an hour, thats right I have no resume.  Oh wait better yet, I can always get a job folding sweaters at the GAP, fuck, you. Oh and Sparrow mother told me I can clean houses . . . ok, enough said, that is a bigger fuck you.

When I made the conscious decision to stop dancing it was for the right reasons. I was ready to move on, it was time to close that chapter and become a productive member of society.   This was me taking baby steps to start teaching my own yoga classes get over the whole idea of being scared and anxious.  I myself with no pseudonym was terrified to get in front of a room full of strangers and teach yoga  . . . what the fuck is that about.  And here comes the fall. . .I was not able to tap into any of my strength anymore, I had created a form of myself that would seem to have all of the power, without “her” I could not do anything.  I was so scared of failing that I would not try.  I had no confidence anymore or maybe the only confidence that I had was fictitious, I am still trying to figure that one out.  The mind can do oh so much in any event to protect you and it can do that by tricking you.  I was in such crisis that I could not function.  Sparrow was working and all he cared about was making sure that I was ok.  I didn’t need to do anything except try to not have a breakdown and know that it was all going to be ok.  It was a withdrawal not being able to channel that energy anymore, without it I became depressed and felt like a part of me had died.  Sparrow and I were talking the other night about winter, he said he thinks that I was having some sort of identity crisis.  This all may be true.  After leaving the business I had no place, I still don’t but I don’t cling to it as much anymore.  I have had to start dealing with the piles of shit that I put aside for years, the emotional baggage that accumulated the mistakes that I have made and the consequences I have begun to face.  I practice my yoga and it gives me the ability to see that I am a good person. It has given the ability to see my inner strength and practice gratitude.  It mostly has let me move through some of the shit in my life, take steps even if they are baby steps into my future with a sense of calm ( at least a kind of calm).  I have worked so very hard on being just me, nothing more, that I am getting to kind of be ok with that.  Even though I really don’t have a fucking clue what I am to do next.  I think that is ok, at least I did until the recent situation that is just getting worse.

It is almost certain that I will be going back to work for a small amount of time.  Sparrow does not know if he can handle it, he is afraid of a relapse, this breaks my heart.  I am doing it all for the two of us to be ok . . . that is the only reason.  He worries that it will change me, make me turn back to the manipulating liar that I was, the hard, the I don’t give a fuck . . . fuck it default.  I have changed, I have learned to let go of “her” a little.  It challenges me . . . a bit.  Mentally I question if I still can do it and then I think of course you can, this is it, you make this shit your solid gold and get the fuck out.  Step back this last time to move forward . . . then, never ever fucking look back.  Just move on.



~ by applejaxe on June 5, 2012.

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