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Happy New Moon

As I was working out on the elliptical yesterday, I thought about dating and romance. Sometimes I wonder if this spiritual connection I seek—the concept of “the one”—is simply some fantasy I cling to, to keep myself safe because my standards are so high, they’re impossible for any man to live up to. But as I pondered that, pondering my past relationships and the possibility that this man I feel deep in my psyche and heart, may not be real at all; it didn’t sadden me to think I may never be touched romantically again. It didn’t sadden me to continue to invest in myself, in my healing, in my career, in my faith, in my values, and to continue giving me the love and nourishment I need. It didn’t sadden me to never go back on internet dating, nor did it sadden me to not be involved with someone who’s actively engaged in addiction (whatever that addiction may be), or who has unhealthy coping strategies (screaming/yelling and stonewalling/ghosting are not in line with my value of communication).

I’m so empathic, it’s hard, because I feel the energies of those around me; especially a romantic partner. Anger is the hardest. I can handle grief, sorrow, and pain, but anger and hatred, or hopelessness and constant pessimism, are hard emotions for me to feel from others as I go about my day. I get confused sometimes as to what is mine and what moods I’m absorbing from those around me. As I did my weightlifting routine yesterday, I prayed between sets for all the energies that weren’t my own to leave my field and return to the abyss.

I spoke to three trees as I walked home from the gym. One was new, I’d never met it before. As I entered the park, it was the first big tree I came across. I walked up to it, placing my sweaty palm against its rough bark. I was exhausted. I let my forehead collapse onto its trunk. My third eye felt weak as I allowed my physical eyelids to close. Then I breathed. And I breathed. And I breathed. And I thanked the tree for being so strong; for holding the full weight of my head and all of my heavy thoughts. I did that two more times, to two other tree friends, as I walked home, not caring who saw me nor what they might think. The trees didn’t mind. I sensed that they were happy to feel my breath. Before I went to bed last night, I gave the tree in front of my house a long hug.

Normal in this society seems to be miserable. It seems to be people whom are in unhappy relationships, working unhappy jobs, hooked into the unhappiness capitalism sells us about each other and ourselves. So many marinate in the fear, anger, and hatred that are constantly being pushed by the media (on both the left and right) and by the conspiracy theorists. People wonder how people can’t care, but there’s so many issues, no one can care about them all. Most people are just trying to survive. The constant anger being provoked is exhausting because people do care strongly about whatever their chosen cause(s) are. I don’t think people have the capacity to care anymore than they are. I understand why addiction is rampant; why so many reach to numb. It’s too much.

Normal is addiction issues (be it alcohol, sex, drugs, gambling, work, smart phones, the internet, pornography, shopping, external validation, exercise, video games, vaping/nicotine/smoking, food, starvation, self harm, and so much more). Drug addiction and homelessness are stigmatized as those on the streets can no longer function, where ‘normal’ people still function despite their addictions and overall bitterness and misery at life. They go to work, they do their job, they complain and complain, they numb themselves with their vice(s) of choice, with TV, movies, and sports games. They feed off the gossip surrounding celebrity lives, politics, and people they know. The anger keeps them fuelled; they fear to feel or express that secretly, deep down, there’s a void within them. “I’m good thanks” is the only socially acceptable answer when a stranger asks one how they are. ‘Normal’ outcasts anyone who doesn’t think like them (which happens to be all 8 billion of us, as when every issue actually gets broken down, we all have a unique perspective of this world and the things going on). Every single one of us feels utterly alone at times.

I’m okay with being seen as odd. I’m okay being seen hugging trees in public now. I’m okay if strangers see me talking to animals and respecting bugs. All my life I’ve been told I’m mentally ill, but I see what normal is and I don’t want it.

My mind goes back to this fantasy of a man. Psychology states that a secure attachment will seem boring as it’s the highs and lows of an inconsistent and unhealthy connection that gets people hooked and produces that feeling of fireworks; but I say no. I say that I can have an exciting romantic partnership that’s built on a foundation of consistency, stability, honesty, communication, and shared values because the excitement, the magic, is created from within me.

Never take advice from someone whose values don’t align with yours. People in miserable relationships scoff at my romantic heart; they say I’m delusional to keep dreaming of some fairytale-like love. They tell me I’m aging and wasting what little is left of my youth; to just find someone and settle down. Some male influencers say I’m already over the hill, that no man would find a woman my age attractive. I hear them, I do, but I also know that I am real. And if I am real and I’m working to do all the things that I am, like facing my pain and trauma so as to overcome my addictions; to acknowledge my shadow—my darkest, nastiest, most hidden parts—opening myself up to feedback and constructive criticism from others and myself so I may grow into the best version of me; to learn how to feel everything I feel as deeply and intensely as I do, honing my emotional regulation skills so that my actions and words come as a choice, not a reaction; to cultivate a healthy life of movement and nutrition, of solitude and companionship, of faith, inner peace, and hope while still seeing that most on this planet are caught in the wars. If I’m real and I’m doing these things, living up to my values and holding myself accountable when I see myself slip; if I am real, then surely it’s possible that there is a man out there whom is my match.

I’ve learned in my recovery that what’s easiest is not always the best path. That what I work for, I value. The harder something is to achieve, the more rewarding it becomes. It takes time to master a skill or to create a masterpiece.

I value curiosity and courage. My heart craves adventure while my soul longs to explore. In my last psychosis, I began testing the theory of manifestations. I decided that I was going to write a book, a love story. But this story won’t end when my man and I unite. Where the fairytales end is where a new story begins; book after book of how we live out our Happily Ever After.

After years of agoraphobia, addiction, and isolation, I’ve made it my mission to engage with the world. I’m awake now and I’m ready to live—truly live.

I don’t know what the future holds but I know that I am getting stronger. I burn down to ash again and again only to rise up more empowered. The wind and wood fuel my flame. The metals; my heat shapes. The water I cause to simmer and boil; it rises up

with me, as steam. Every star is but a sun, they are all a piece of me. While the earth, my ashes nourish and enrich. I am of this planet, this Universe, not separate from it. We all are. The salt within my sweat and tears is the same salt as the oceans hold. My heart creates a magnetic field, a gravity force of its own. It seeks the one, the only one, who can’t deny its pull, because he and I feel the same.

I am real. I am real. And if I am real, then it’s plausible that he is real too. There is a fine line between faith and delusion.

May all who read this have a happy New Moon. 🙏



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