I could love you… but would it make a difference, really? My love would be like a coin dropped down a bottomless well. It could fall for eternity and never even make a splash in the reservoir of your own self loathing. I’m trying my best to save you, but you’re too immersed in drowning to notice me throwing you this line.

I only had to see your shoes to know that I could fall in love with you. I’ll probably never have my dreams stepped on by someone with cleaner soles or tidier laces.

Sometimes I wish I was just a figment of your imagination. Even if it seems a little dark and sad in there sometimes. Sounds like home.

People never seem to understand that I’m not kidding when I say that most guys make me anxious. I guess it all goes back to the first boy I ever had a crush on. I nervously stuttered out, “I… like… you…” and he promptly responded by telling me I should mention it again after I’d lost 10 pounds. I guess I’m always expecting that level of ego obliterating disappointment…

So, if you’re a guy and you’re into me… you should try to be as obvious about it as humanly possible. Come out of the shadows with your hands up, not making any sudden or threatening movements. Bring a persuasive smile and a convincing erection.

Don’t let the machine gun fool you. I look violent and sly, but I’m a sensitive fucking girl… especially my trigger finger.  

She reminds me of a shooting star… and I’m a plummeting meteorite. She’s destine to make wishes come true. I just hope I can set the horizon on fire before I fizzle out and dissolve into the atmosphere. 

I thought I was done with you… but here I am again, tapping the vein of my libido until it strains painfully against my skin. Reaching out to you like a bottomed out junkie trying to claw her way back up to zero. The worst part is that you’re not even selling. I’m just rudely poking around in your pockets looking for something hardcore and stimulating, shoving the currency of my attention into your wallet like I’m greasing your palms as a proxy to bribe myself into wanting you to want me… I don’t really know what I want from you. Maybe just to want something tangible that can feel me back… 

And when you finally run your fingertips along the vulnerable curve of my throat, nevermind the puncture wounds that stare up at you like two suspicious eyes, scrutinizing your every touch. I’ve got a vampire lover who never sleeps, and those are just a loving reminder that he’s already sucked all juicy emotions out of me. He’ll be watching us on a surveillance feed that I broadcast from the basement of my memory. 

I imagine him grinding his fangs down while he strokes himself to the rhythm of my accelerated heartbeat when you find yourself inside of me… flooding my bloodstream… 

and I don’t know what I really want from you… but me? 

I have needs. 

I was standing on a platform, just waiting for this train to come through. It feels like I’m always waiting for this train, but it’s too busy accommodating other passengers — trying to solicit new business — to show up at my stop on time. Sometimes I think It’s just the bullet train going to nowhere fast… but I only say that because I bought a ticket to ride the line, but lately it feels more like admission to a haunted house. I’m starting to feel exhausted chasing forgetful ghosts and clearing forming cobwebs. 

I thought I had my feet firmly planted on the ground, but you manifested from the shadows around that busted streetlamp. The second I saw you, my breath caught in my throat, like a lump of anxiety right before I step off the side of a building, plummeting to my doom… But, this isn’t falling. This is me already splattered against the pavement, wondering if you’re going to bother to scrape me up off the sidewalk.

You look an awful lot like the edge that overlooks my void…

You have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?

— Me

I could be that rough patch of steel wool making contact with the tip of your battery. It just takes a little spark to start a wild fire. 

I’m busted like a fat lip. Depleted like a natural resource. Used up and uncertain, like the last sip of milk in a carton where the date has been smudged. Am I spoiled? Sometimes you make me want to curdle in your mouth, just to get your attention. I’m a lumpy goo of my own discontent.

You look like Jack Kerouac on top, but I bet you’re all Johnny Cash from the waist down. You look like a mistake I forgot to make. You look like a witness I accidentally left breathing. You look like a dark stranger riding in on a pale horse. And Lo! I saw Death… and my libido said, “turn off the lights.”… and in my mind, it was good. 

Polyamory is not a term that can be clearly defined. It’s too broad a concept. Its parameters are boundless, and it can’t be neatly contained to vocabulary; it’s less suited for vernacular; it’s more vascular. It’s fluid like blood or sex organ secretions. It flows through the veins of individual perception. There are too many instances and versions to capture it into a universal formula. It’s a complex equation of evolving variables, shifting horizons, and fluctuating expectations.

It’s easier for me to specify that I believe in love… with multiple people… in multiple ways. That love can come in forms that shatter traditional models and forces us to re-imagine pre-existing paradigms. That romantic relationships are intimate social contracts that are open for negotiation and supersede rigid norms (so long as the participating parties are consenting adults); they are not archaic rituals of predetermined value…

Or maybe this is all just a fancy way of saying, “I have a boyfriend, who has a girlfriend, and I care about them both… but I’d love to get your number and see if you’re the sort of digit that can integrate with our unit. I think you’re interesting. Would you like to have tea? Maybe stay forever? Do you play well with others? Could you feel comfortable if I nestled you inside the set of my affection? And if you would, I promise you’ll never be defined as a remainder. You’d be a vital portion of a whole number.”

There are so many things that I’d like to say to you, but… I don’t know how to say “hello”.

Love multiplies and divides, lovers add and subtract, relationships sum and fraction…. and I’ll be honest… I’ve never been good at math.

But I do know how to add it all up. I can count on my fingers, the reasons why I’d like to get to know you, if it gets too confusing…

I’d like to get to know you.

Would you like to get to know me, too?

Feeling motivated for “tomorrow” is kind of like talking shit while you’re drunk. It’s all good until tomorrow turns out being an angry looking bad-ass.

You write me the most beautiful, passive-aggressive love letters… except they’re always adressed to other people.

So how did I go from being a hopelessly depressed person to a manageably moody person? Truthfully, it’s a complex answer. There’s not a single factor that i can attribute all of my “progress” to. Also… I can’t really, in good conscience, suggest that anyone follow my process as a way to find self empowerment or fulfillment. Because ultimately, I took a less traditional path… and I took a lot of risky detours. Meaning that in many cases, I followed through on options that could have resulted in more “trauma”… I followed my instincts, which sometimes lead me to questionable situations, but for the most part led me here (to the place I am now) in tact. 

If I was hard pressed, I would say that the most influential factor was getting out of my parents’ house. Removing myself from the stress of the environment I grew up in and out of my mother’s reach (which I should probably clarify, she seldom physically abused me as a toddler, but as I got older her “discipline” got more intense. She also drank a lot more.)

Now, I achieved this by moving in with a guy I met on the internet. I got lucky in that he ended up being just a liar and a cheat, but not a psycho killer. I really wouldn’t suggest this method. There are safety issues, as well as social and legal obstacles. If you’re set on getting out, I highly suggest finding a family member you can trust, or close friends that can extend that sort of hospitality to you. In extreme cases, you may even want to research your state’s procedure for the emancipation of minors (many communities now have access to information and referral hotlines. You can typically dial 2-1-1 on your mobile phone and be connected. The hotline will help you find free resources, including legal aid). 

Getting away from my abuser didn’t change everything, but I don’t think I could have started the healing process if I had endured any more provocation. 

After that, I put in the effort to understand myself. I’m still putting the effort in. I read books on psychology, self help books, talked to people who seemed to be experiencing similar mood cycles, read philosophy books, mythology, anthropology, sociology, kept journals… I put a lot of effort into learning how to objectively and rationally try to evaluate and analyze my feelings, thoughts, insecurities, and issues. Meaning that instead of acquiescing to the voice in my head makes me feel impotent and worthless, I ask that voice, “Why”. What is it specifically that I feel is so terrible and wrong about myself? If you can start seeing the “why”s, you start to become aware of ways to cope with your perceived shortcomings. Sometimes the answers are things that you don’t like… okay, a lot of the time the answers are things you don’t like, but when the solutions are difficult and scary, I just remember how much worse it feels to just do nothing. 

Sometimes there really aren’t solutions, for instance with feelings, but in trying to understand where the feelings come from, and how they work, (sometimes just on a general level. Instead of focusing directly on my singular experience, I try to translate it into aspects of the greater human narrative), it allows me to be more empathetic with myself. I try to imagine, if this was something another person was going through, someone I cared for, how would I view them? Chances are I wouldn’t be disgusted or annoyed with them. I wouldn’t tell them that their feelings make them weak or pathetic. I would do my best to show them compassion, give them useful advice, or just be a shoulder to cry on while they work through their feelings. I try my best to apply that same kindness to myself. 

Other times, I know that I’m just going to break down. In many ways, my emotional philosophy had been “the only way out is through”. I don’t fight it. I just let it happen. I cry or sulk for as long as I need to. I write, if I can, but I’m usually too absorbed in my emotions to jot anything down. I’m pretty in tune with gauging where I am emotionally when I suffer from a dark spell. Just years of paying attention to my moods, being aware of my triggers, lots of introspection. I don’t know if this is actually the best method of coping? Truthfully, I could see how it’s dangerous if it’s wrong for your temperament. It certainly does put me in danger of being pulled into a funk I can’t escape from… but somehow it all balances out for me. Or maybe I’ve just had so much experience with it at this point, I’m used to it? 

Also… this probably isn’t a popular thing to admit to, but doing drugs actually had a really positive effect on me. No just the substances, but the particular variables that fell into place when I was doing them:

Ecstasy and the rave scene, for example, made me a more positive person, long after I stopped using the substance or going to the parties. In a way, it sort of taught me how to relate to people. That sounds really strange, but I had (still have) a fair amount of intimacy issues, but the sensation of feeling like I was connected to everyone (even though I was aware it was the effects of the drugs) totally challenge my perception of isolation. But, I also managed to find a group of people who weren’t trying to exploit or take advantage of me. I also didin’t have any adverse effects from the drug. It seemed to suit my brain chemistry? But, I was also pretty careful about who I got my drugs from. Unlike many people I rolled with, it never caused me to “bottom out” afterwards. This could have been a horrible experience, but it was great for me.

LSD: I’ve had amazing experiences and horrible trips. But I learned something profound about perception. Nothing is exactly as it seems. Meaning is mutable, depending on how you approach reality; depending on the context. A terrifying experience can be manipulated into a wonderful one; a wonderful one into a terrifying one. I found a lot of comfort in this concept; from the experience. It’s not for everyone though. 

Mushrooms: I can honestly say, I think tripping on mushrooms had the most positive effect on my psyche. Truthfully, I think it actually altered my brain chemistry, in a lasting and positive way. After a particularly large dose… and subjectively experiencing death and rebirth… it was sort of easier to laugh about all of my perceived problems and limitations. I dunno, man. It really just changed me. 

But, again, hallucinogens are different for everyone. Just because they had a positive effect for me, doesn’t mean that they won’t cause someone else to fall off the deep end. 

Drugs can be tricky things. I approach them with reverence and see them as a tool for “personal” work. Sometimes for recreation, but only if you fully understand the consequences and can truly use responsibly (and the truth is, a lot of people can’t and would be better off just staying sober and finding alternative means of self-exploration). 

They’re like training wheels for your consciousness, but eventually you have to learn how to ride the pathways of self-awareness without them… or at least that’s the attitude that’s always kept me out of trouble. I also avoided (still avoid) drugs that don’t seem to have much function, aside from sensual distraction. (Except I will indulge in drinking once in awhile. Though, I’m terrible at it… )

Fuck. I’m kind of rambling on like some sort of space cadet. Ha!

My point being… I think I had a point? We all have to embark on our own journey to self actualization. This requires taking calculated risks, pushing beyond your comfort zone, and a lot of time and effort to understand yourself; you as an individual being that is influenced by nature, nurture, environment, brain chemistry, circumstance, perception, and a million other variables. There’s no one size fits all when it comes to the unique experience of a life. What leads one person to true satisfaction can lead another to total ruin…

But my best advice is just to change something. No matter how small it seems, one willful change can be the catalyst for a whole series of events that can offer you a new way to view yourself and the world. Challenge your current models of reality, renovate your paradigms, alter your expectations, face your fears. 

Because if you manage to surprise yourself, just once, it can make you curious what else you’re capable of.

When I was a child, I found some ammonia. I’m not sure why, but curiosity got the best of me, and I took a deep whiff from the bottle. It felt like I had just inhaled fire. The sharp aroma shooting up my nostrils and making my eyes tear up.

It was one of the most jolting sensations I’ve ever experienced, sort of terrible and overwhelming, but somehow… refreshing. It was one of those moments when I felt truly awake. Later that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I never wanted to sniff ammonia again, afraid that I would melt my sinuses and burn away my sense of smell, but that wide-eyed feeling of recognition… the mixture of surprise, pain, fear, and reverence that something could elicit such a powerful and immediate response from me… always stayed with me. I think that I’ve been searching for it every day since then, in one form or another.

If you ever wondered why I fell in love with your writing, it has a lot to do with this childhood memory of learning something so profund, instantaneously. For acquiring a taste for things that entice me, even in uncomfortable ways, to feel… something. When I read you, it’s like a sucker punch to the face, or gut, something that makes me flinch or double over. It’s almost reflexive; whether it’s emotionally or intellectual. 

And sometimes you wrap your hand around the throat of my darkness, that primordial beast that struggles in tar pit of my shadow, and you pluck it from the ooze to let it run rampant through my consciousness… but still dictated by the will and pressure of your fingers, within the confines of your narrative and under your creative thumb. Which lets me feel safe, even if there’s real danger implied. 

No one else has ever dialed me in that way, channeling all the conflicted parts of me into a singularity of want… and that’s just your words that have this spectacular effect on me. Can you even imagine what the rest of you does to me?

Sometimes I can be fickle… but I know that as long as I sense there’s something between us to hold onto, I… could really feel this way for the rest of my life. Which is very uncomfortable… maybe even a tad embarrassing to admit… especially for someone who has a tendency to expect the ground to open up and swallow me down at any moment. 

But, I believe in you. And I’d rather just enjoy the time we’re together than being worried about if/when/how it will end. 

I’m just glad you’re not a pungent chemical… because if that bottle of ammonia had been you, I would have burned a hole in my face ages ago.