Conditional Love: What I Want You To Be

You are my Lover. What does that mean? It means you owe me everything. I am entitled to your attention, affection and ass. Yes I said it; ass. It belongs to me. Ohhhh you don’t want to sleep with me tonight? You’ve pissed me off and misery loves company. I only love you when you give me what I want. You look the way I want you to; hence why I picked you. I want you to play the role I created for you. My movie. I am the writer and the director. You are a character. If you cannot act, I will move on to the next actor.

You are my mother. The creator of my life. You are suppose to nurture me, hug me, love me and support me. Why are you not doing these things? You dig a hole with a shovel of your negativity. You bury me alive with the words you use as grenades. How could I love that? You need to be proud of me. I came out of your vagina. I don’t need to be the same as you. Why would I be? You don’t like your life…don’t bring me down with you. If you can’t support my decisions, I will find other women that will.

You are my father. You are my strength. Why have you shown me weakness? What keeps you from learning from me? Insecurity? No security indeed. You were always a shoulder but never a home. I see your potential but you cannot see mine. I see your potential in the men that I am attracted to. I feel sadness knowing I could find these traits in you without strings attached. Now I am forced to give my body for what I never got from you; attention.

You are my sisters. You are ME. Each of us parts of our parents. My best friends. I expect you to invite me out, to tell me your stories and to share your secrets with me without having to ask for them. You don’t. I don’t either. I want to. I search for outsiders who will understand what it is that I am feeling. I never find them. There are similarities but it is not the same. We are not the same. We were raised together but I was raised differently. I want you to be what I need in a sister and in a friend. You cannot play that role. Where can I find these friends?

You are my extended family. You are stuck in the same loop as the rest of them. I stand out. I move with the sounds of the wind. You hate it. You hate yourself. You hate your life. You hate seeing my happiness come so easily. We could learn from each other. I learn from you… I’ve learned how to lie. How to make you believe I am what you want me to be. I am sick of acting. My love for you is becoming conditional. Treat me the way I deserve, or call me not.

You are a friend. You are there to listen. I will take your advice but don’t tell me what to do. I will nod my head when you are talking while I am gone in my own world. I may laugh at your jokes even when they are not funny. You best not tell me to calm down. I expect you to enjoy my high energy. I need you to allow me to enjoy my moments without interjecting; unless you come at me correct. Can that be exchanged? If not, there are plenty of fishes in the sea.

You are a stranger. You can smile in my direction, but don’t stare too long. You are allowed to ask me simple questions. You cannot invite me to your home because I have not had the chance to stalk your social media and determine my perception of you. You are a stranger until I “know” you.

I am myself. I am pretty when I am told. I am happy when all my conditions are met. I give love after I receive it. I never leave my comfort zone. I can only love myself when I know what I am going to feel.

What do all of these conditions have in common? LIMITations. I have been limited to the ideas someone else created to define these relationships. Time to recollect the ideas to recreate them into what we call Unconditional Love.

xoxox, real eye

Dear Thoughts…

A stranger at Lightening In A Bottle hugged me and said, “I wish I could help you.”

I did not understand at the time. Help me from what? Help me find the clues? Help me answer my questions? Help me Love?

I believe he wished to help me out of the hell I exist in… the mental illness.

H O L Y S H I T      if only my fingers could type as fast as the thoughts that just went through my head. Scrambling.

What is my name and why THE FUCK can’t I help myself? Why is it a thought will trigger the writing of this post then disappear? Where did it go?

These thoughts… the ones that roam the collective consciousness… they are damn smart. They have come up with a justification to all insecurity. They invented seat belts for the … well fuck I am not going anywhere with that thought.

Really, no where. I refuse to follow them down the Yellow Brick Road; only to lead me to myself behind the curtain.

Want to hear the most irritating thought I have?

“Save it for your book so you can make money.”

FUCK YOU AND YOUR FUCKING MONEY

 

xoxox, the one who can’t be a hero