A Queer Sober Love

I love you, and I hate you..

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My pens dry up when I get a new journal. They literally hate to be used because they know what fuckery I am about to waste time doing. Writing about yo’ ass. Too many journals have been filled with pages of my aches and pain for you. More pages on my repeated attempts of forgetting you, and letting you go. Then there are the many pages confessing my delulu love for you and waiting for signs when we would make it back to each other. The sad part is that the pens that are dried up already know I am about to repeat the same story in different words over and over on repeat. The pens literally said we ain’t wet bitch, please miss us with the bullshit.

The truth is I still love you for opening me up to a love I got to see and experience without a drink or substance, because you were my first sober love.

I feel like me being sober is my superpower but my kryptonite is fear, withdrawal and numbness.

How I long to numb all these feelings with something… anything. But shit you aren’t worth losing what I spent so long to face. You will never have that much power over me, believe that.

Tell me how does it feel….

Experiencing what real butterflies feel like fluttering in my belly was the first sign. The excitement and build up when I see you. The euphoria could be described like the buzz of that first sip of a shot of warm tequila. The ability to remember all of the details of the curves on your body to my forever memory. To be able to go through all the stages of love with clear eyes, clarity and wonderment. To be able to sit completely naked with you inside and out. I have never stripped my body, mind and spirit to be so free and open until with you. And it was the most beautiful thing I have experienced. No one has ever got that close to me. It was scary to feel that but also made me learn what love felt like without cloudiness or confusion or mixed with pain or without force. It was effortless, full of ease and magical. Until it wasn’t.

A Beautiful curse..

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Not the beautiful chorus. Not the happy joy joy of the lyrics you wrote all over my body. Not the hook when you made me cum that penetrated through my veins. The curse is a bitch that no other woman has been able to sing me a song like you have,YET. No one has been able to fill love notes to my heart and my mind like you have. And the ones who tried literally were one hit wonders. They never made it. Maybe in some ways I didn’t give them a chance. I didn’t give me a chance to let you go. I still somewhat feel cursed that I am being punished to feel all these emotions so I can learn to be vulnerable again. I love you for that, and I hate you for it. I don’t want to tell you that I found you at the beginning of my spiritual journey. I thought hmm maybe this is what real love is supposed to feel like. And for a while I thought I had to find you again and again to keep you. I tried to break this curse by avoiding feeling at all. I tried to break the curse by filling my time with distractions I thought. I can’t even listen to love songs because I refuse to think about you. I am blind to see love coming for me unless it is you. I wasted time overthinking the many ways I hated myself for being so stupid. I should have known better.

My truth, the sad fucking truth….

I hate that you were my first sober love. I love you for showing me it was possible. But now I don’t know how I will be vulnerable again.

You saw me raw, uncut and naked. You got every piece of me unfiltered. I am afraid I will never want someone to love me like that again. I am afraid my heart can’t take another heartbreak to get over where I can’t drown my pain in a bottle or a line of coke, or pop a pill. I almost relapsed once for you a few years ago but I knew better. But I was dumb and still thought you were part of my spiritual journey to learn to hold, cherish and develop real raw love. But it has really been a rollercoaster and a ride on many ships: relationship, friendship, situationship, maybeship, sometime-ship, on-the-weekendship, long-distance ship. And yes I am aware these are not real words but to describe this fuckery it is the best I got. I am in fear of moving on because there is a part of me that thinks one day we will get it right. I am in fear of finding better and then you come back. It has happened to us before time and time again we move on and always come back to each other. I allow it, you accept it and we do the same dance. I still see you like I did the first day. I wish I had the courage to choose me. Sometimes I do and sometimes I daydream of you. But things are getting much more clear because for once I am speaking on the hidden. This is how I am going to heal. It is messy but I don’t care. I refuse to believe love is found in confusion, doubt and maybe. That is not true love, and that is not what I want nor what I will choose. I refuse to believe I deserve this. I refuse to believe my worth lies in this bullshit. I refuse to believe I am being punished. I refuse to believe I will never find true love again.

Please don’t go. What am I really grieving?

Source: Pinterest

Confused with grieving you and the feeling I had when I was with you. The soul snatching love. The urgent love like in Love Jones. The way my pussy vibrated only to the rhythm of your tongue or fingers. I miss the way you looked at me when we fucked, where you fucked me in other worlds at the same time. I felt your love on all the planets. My climaxes were like the thousands of stars lit in the sky. You mind fucked me with poetic verses that melted my heart, and kept me smiling. I was on top of the world when I was in love with you. No other love compared. And I refuse to compare a new and better love to you because that would mean you would have that hold you still have on my heart. You don’t even know how much. I grieve for all the times I tried to move on and you came back and I fell in love all over again. I grieve a world without you in it. Is it sad, yes? Is it fair? No. Is it delusion? Yes. I am aware and at the same I miss that chaotic up and down. Like an addiction I can’t kick, you are my drug. I am addicted to the pain, and then you come back like that shot of vodka and that buzz that tells me to forget everything you ever did. Like the high of the opiates, that euphoric feeling of floating makes me stay frozen in time. I don’t want easy love, quiet love. I want loud, painful, desperate love. But I can’t numb those feelings. I grieve that sometimes. The numb feeling was my protection. I know better not to give into it, but I want it. I want to experience nothing. No feelings, no pain, no hurt and no reality. I can’t snort a line, pop a pill, or drown in a bottle.

I am going to feel wet again….

I am going to continue reminding myself that healing is messy, love is beautiful and I deserve and am worthy of a new love experience and that sober queer love is in me, it’s arriving for me. I’m open to seeing and writing with wet pens instead of dry ones. Knowing how excited I will be when my juices downtown start to overflow, and match the wetness of the pen I use to write on the pages. The words will be why it was so worth it to heal this grief.

The new chapters I will be writing about my lady WILL fill my heart with joy and I’m day dreaming she will write new lyrics across each piece of my body, I will sing a new tune and a new love song , and my pens won’t dry out of exhaustion. They will be delighted to welcome each adventure, each new memory and each page about my new queer sober love.