When you grow up, you realize how immature you were. And how your initial thoughts are the most base ones you have. And how overtime, they’ll continue to form until the actually make sense. I grow up all the time. Today, for example. Whenever I’m upset, my initial feelings are always about myself. How I feel in the moment. How fucked up the current situation is for me. Everyone else is the enemy, I promise you. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. I believe that I have the right to feel something. And however it comes out first is how I was feeling at the moment. But have you ever stepped back from a situation and reevaluated everything you stood for  a couple of days, hours, minutes ago? Then it all sounds so stupid. It was all so pointless. So many emotions reacting with one another producing unpredictable, uncontrollable results. This is what it’s like to be a woman. We are insane. 

     No one did anything to me. Someone told me that once. I was probably yelling about something or other and I don’t even remember who it was (I was once a big yeller) but I remember someone telling me that no one is doing anything to me. No one was hurting me. No one was out to get me –especially not him. I try not to think about men so much. I try to not concern myself with where he is and what he’s doing and who he’s with –because eventually, you’ve started envisioning him in places he shouldn’t be doing thing he shouldn’t do and… you drive yourself insane. You’ve quietly put together a scenario to play through your head as if desired and if you’re not strong enough, those thoughts will  begin to control you. You get nervous. You get anxious. You being to think about reasons why he might be somewhere else. You give him license. And as you slowly lose your sanity you show him your ugliest face: the needy, controlling version of you. But you promise that’s not you, that’s not the person you are. I mean you were. But you’re not anymore. I mean you are… but what’s so wrong with that? What so wrong with wanting more? When you get to that last thought… and agree with it, you’ve officially lost your mind. 

         I’m learning to relax. I’m doing well so far. I’m trying to empty my head of the thoughts in it. Somehow I’ve written about a topic I aimed to avoid. I began this piece trying to semi-apologize about my last post, but I don’t care enough about it anymore now that my insanity has taken a hold of me. 

Fuck. I dont like boys. 

I love ’em, though. That’s the problem.

          Men have such a great importance in a woman’s life. So much so that I was hating on a girl I don’t even know (and I’m a fantastic hater when I want to be, thank you) because I’m all alone and she’s not. Sheesh. What a loser. What’s my issue? lol.. but I mean, really. I needed to know. Part of me just wanted to prove that I’m a good woman, too. That the fact that my ring finger is bare means nothing. That I’m perfect for someone, too. Exactly as I am. Flaws and all.  As a grown woman… I’m ready and willing to admit that I was a little bit jealous. And I’m trying to understand why. I think… we all want to be chosen. And that is kind of what marriage means. Actually… I think I’m on to marriage because boyfriend sounds so… stupid to me. Like… I don’t want a boyfriend. I want a man. It’s a tough place to be in because you don’t want to feel like you’re giving yourself to someone who isn’t committed to you, yet… calling someone your “boyfriend” doesn’t make him faithful. You want to know. You want to be sure. But… if you’re not sure from the beginning, you never will be. (And you should probably quit while you still can.) I don’t want to fight for someone’s trust, I want them to just trust me. I don’t want to have to wait for him to prove himself I want him to already be who he needs to be. I don’t want the stupid beginings. I don’t feel like playing hard to get and figuring out if I like you, I want to like you. Immediately. I want to be excited by the thought of you. I want to feel something. 

     Do men have these problems? I don’t think they do. Men don’t care who thinks what about them.  Maybe there’s one or two guys out there who get jealous of their married friends but probably only because the wife is hot.  They don’t go home and reminisce about the day and who wronged them. The only people who can do this to them is women. We drive them insane so they’re just like us. The things a man will do for a woman if he loves her… I wonder. My diluted-jealousy only lasted but so long. I  can only hate on a girl for a short period of time for two reasons: 1. Her’s ain’t for me. She doesn’t have the one I want. Of that, I’m sure. So it doesn’t phase me. (This is where crazy calms down.) You can only envy what another has to a certain extent. It’s one thing to want something like that for yourself evetually, and another to want that exact thing at that very moment. The correct way to approach the feeling is to know that, one day, you’ll have something better than that. And it will be better because it will be yours. Your time will come. & mine, too. 2. I’m not a lesbian. It makes me uncomfortable to think about another woman for too long. I have no reason to. 

      I’m around too many older women and wedding dresses & its detrimental to my mental health. My mom works in a bridal shop. My office (full of women 30+) is bling central. I work in the garment district so it flooded with nothing but lace and dress shops. It comes to a point where you have to accept that your time will be your time. When you do, everything slows down. Your heart stops betting so fast. You can taste the air you inhale. Your fingers loosen. Your shoulders drop. When you accept it, you can relax. I get crazy spells every once in a while but I’m learning to talk myself out of them. It’s just the the world puts so much pressure on a girl. I need to be perfect. Perfect height, perfect skin tone, perfect track record, perfect taste, perfect wardrobe, perfect toes, perfect abs, perfect ass, perfect shade of lipstick, perfect morals, perfect hair, perfect… everything. And if your man doesn’t admit  that he wants perfect… he still does. Wouldn’t it be perfect to be perfect? At least perfect for him? To be everything he wants? So that he’ll never have to or want to look elsewhere? 

      But you know what would be perfect? If I can be perfect just being me. That 5’2 (and a half) is exactly what he dreamed of. That he likes his ladies to look like coffee with a splash of cream. #BrownSugar. #InTheRaw. And that he can accept my toes and my wearing heels 6 days a week. That would be perfect.  If I could just be me and to know that at any given moment he’d think I’m beautiful. The freedom not give a damn where he is and what he’s doing because he knows where home is because he’d be insane to leave me and crazy about me. 

And it will be perfect. 

I just exhaled for the first time in weeks. 

Fuck.