I’ve been conversing with myself a lot these past two days.  I’ve been mostly alone, and just making up imaginary conversations with people in my head, which is probably the worst possible thing that any one person could do.  In your mind conversation, you can be SO melodramatic, and you always know the right thing to say, and the other person always says exactly the worst thing or maybe the perfect thing or whatever it is that you need them to say- so you just repeat the same conversation over and over again, changing a phrase, repeating a great moment, letting it spiral and spiral outward more and more until its a totally different conversation- and suddenly I am crying about something that never even happened.  I don’t know why I do it- or if it is something everyone does- and why I cannot just let it go, break it from my mind completely and be able to close my eyes and sleep- or move on to something more productive- but it never seems that I can.  I just want one peaceful night free of worry.  One restful sleep that is not mired in misery and fear.  If I had some drugs I would most certainly take them.  There is little I would not do to free myself from this feeling tonight.

There is a lot of writing to do.  I write for Suffolk, I write for Boston Theatre Review, and I write for me.  When I am done with those, if there is time, then I can write for the Urban Virgin.  Of late I have not had the time for all, and my heart simply wasn’t in it.  Of course a ton of things have happened to me both wonderful and terrible, there have been a multitude of gains and losses, and several new births.  I am skipping over all of that on the premise that most of you loyal readers, that is, perhaps, one person who still looks at the blog regularly, already know what has been happening to me on a day by day basis and you don’t need me to recap.

Instead, I am going to share this writing prompt that I picked up from Soleil Moon Frye’s Twitter, which I found because she is friends with Demi Moore who is friends with Elizabeth Taylor whom I just added to my twitter because I love her more than any other perfume maker with scoliosis.

If no one was left on the planet except for you and 1 other person, who would you want it to be?

It seems like a simple question.  Most people have an immediate answer that springs to mind, I know I did, and it filled me with wave after wave after wave of horror because I realized that person would not have chosen me.  I sit here, paralyzed by sadness and nausea because the person who I immediately and spontaneously decided I would rather spend every day for the rest of my life than any other human on this earth would not reciprocate.  What am I going to do?  How am I going to remedy this?  How do you stop your soul from wanting another?  I’m not talking love- ick- to assume I mean that I have romantic love for this person is absolutely ridiculous and unfair because it isn’t about love at all.  It is so much worse than love.  I don’t know what to do.
Perhaps I need to hold auditions.  Would anyone like to take the position of person I most wish to be with alone for the rest of my life?  The terrible reality is that I do not think there is a soul alive who would want to take the job.  I know that doesn’t make me a minority- but it sure makes me feel like a failure.  27 years on this earth and I have not one human that would want to choose me above all others?  Well for goodness sake what the hell have I been doing with my time?  It is like a globally epic failure.

Damn you Punky Brewster.  Damn you and your deep thoughts!

Look at that sardonic smile and sarcastic thumbs up.  Way to ruin my life.

Ever Virgin.

Sometimes I feel so used up.  I know that I have choices in this life- choices about what I can do and who I can spend time with and what I do and do not do for others.  I know, logic is present.  I know that I don’t have to bend over backwards in service to people.  But I do.  I do absolutely everything that is asked of me and more.  Then I get mad at myself for expecting in return, love and respect and companionship.  I am furious with myself that I get sad when people seem to not care about my feelings.  I should not care about them, if they do not care about me- but I do, I do care.

Then, I try to convince myself that I am a bad person, not worthy of attention or care- not worthy of praise and gratitude.  I try to extoll all my faults until I am convinced that people should treat me as they do- like I am nothing, like I am worthless.  Even though my logic tells me I am being irrational- it just hurts too much to think that I love someone so much that doesn’t care about me.

So ultimately I sit here, with tears so close to the surface of my eyes that I can actually feel them hanging under the lids, heavy and fuzzy, and stew in my anger and hate every minute that I feel so alone.  Why do I feel so alone?  Why do I feel so unloved?  How did this happen?  How did I become someone who feels like they have to earn the love that they give so freely to others?

I just want him to come home.  I hate being here alone and that makes me feel stupid.  I am a stupid, stupid, stupid stupid girl.

Ever virgin.

In my bed, it’s a quarter to three,
stuffing familiar sobs back in my mouth-
on my sheets an imprint of you and me-
tasting the bitterness of my own doubt
knowing with whom you’d rather be.

No good can come of a girl that for you,
would fall on her sword just to make you smile,
refusing to believe what is so obviously true-
that to you I am nothing more than versatile
a fun diversion when there’s nothing else to do.

Trying to shoulder your load and my own,
Pressing my face into the warm smell you leave-
the sweetest downfall I have ever known,
cannot tell if you’ve purposely meant to deceive,
I still cleave you to me like a precious stone.

Another ten minutes of panic, feeling my breath hitch,
lost and inconceivable, empty and racked with shame-
knowing it’s me that has been left in the ditch,
and I only have myself to blame-
I lean across the darkness and flip the switch.

There is only the memory of you I leave behind-
what it means to be “alone” has been redefined.

Ever Virgin.

I try to hold onto the moments when I feel absolutely secure.
When I know that I am an important, rich, beautiful, colorful human being worthy of attention and love.
I try to hold too, to the moments that spear me open with pain and crush the cockles that line the sandy shores of the inside of me.
I try to make a balance of pain and joy, to remember the smooth and buttery flavor of pleasure and the vinegar-sour pulse of a heartache.

All day I silently recite proverbs and poems, French curses and love songs, bible passages and poignant lyrics from songs, hoping to find some way to connect the hot river of words on the inside to the solitary beauty of the outside around me.
When I fall asleep at night I comb through the long and silky strands of my memory and tease out the tiny moments when it didn’t hurt to breathe, swaddle myself in the almost imagined thoughts of smiles and casual touches, create a thick cushion of possession to curl up on, gently easing me to sleep- and if there isn’t enough- if I cannot picture enough touches or smiles or moments of love to build my nightly bed, then I slip further into myself to some fantasy I’ve constructed for the occasion where I can simulate the feeling of being cared about and treasured by those unnamed and unfaced, until numbness takes me over and I sleep just the same.

Where are they?
The small but bosom kith to surround me, take me in, and tell me, yes, you are loved.
Yes, you are loved.
Yes, you.
Loved.

Ever Virgin.

It’s very romantic at 60 Rue De Woodlawn tonight- the snow has covered us with a white blanket, quiet music plays from the iTunes library, Lavan doses peacefully in her chair, exhausted from a previous romp outside, the Christmas tree sparkles in silver and blue, and Shannon lays, alone, on the couch and thinks about how much more alone it feels to be snowed in alone than if it weren’t snowing. I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I shouldn’t be complaining.  I saw Matt today, talked to my Mom, finally got a response from Amber, and spent a few hours hanging out with Joanna, Joanna, James and Chris tonight.  I wasn’t really alone all day- I had good company.  I worked on sewing, I watched some Big Love.  But I am complaining.  I am complaining and complaining because I cannot lock the door because it seems like maybe it is frozen, and I am here alone, with the door open, in a snowstorm, having to bear 100% responsibility of taking the dog out in the freezing wetness and that makes me feel like it is alright to complain.  I think it is really lame to be here alone right now. Lame and thoughtless.

Gloria had so much good advice for me when we last visited one another.  She told me all the things I did not want to hear, all the things that I know are true but don’t want to face.  Gloria is one of the best friends I have ever had because she refuses to allow me to put on a face for her.  She can access me almost instantly.  She can see right to the pain that I am good at hiding from others.  Maybe it is only that she cares about me a little bit more than most people.  Or that we’re just good at being friends.  But whatever the reason, Gloria is right.  I have to be responsible for the care and maintanence of my own heart.  I have to close the parts of me that are open.  In order to not feel this way anymore, I have to give some things up.  I cannot be good all the time.  I can not give as much love as I give.  I can not pretend things are good when they aren’t good.  I can not feel sorry for being sick, for being weak, for needing help, and for crying.  I have to focus my attention on scenereos and people who have my best interest at heart, and give me consistent, clear, unwavering love and attention- love and attention that can be counted on.  I have to give up relationships that are toxic.  I have to give up my inclination to care for and love people who do not give me proper care and love in return.  It is so difficult though.  I don’t know how.    How do you tell someone you love that they have failed you?

I do not have what I need right now.  I am not safe and secure in my home right now.  I am going to stay up all night, and no one at all will hear me, and sometimes I can almost fool myself into believing that I deserve it.  But only sometimes.

Ever Virgin.