Thinking too much

I'm sporadic in posting. I'm starting to think that I'm sporadic in my thinking, in my judgments within my own life, sporadic in how I handle my life. It's been with me for as long as I can remember. You don't rock the boat when it's sailing well. Least, that's what I feel like I learned from growing up. You don't raise your voice, sometimes you don't even voice your opinions. If a storm comes across the boat, you lash yourself down, hide below and wait it out, pretend that it isn't there and sink into your own little world of fantasies.

There's a little boy inside of me that doesn't get to really show is face much. For the most part, he shows up and is the smiling goofy kid. He's the dork with a heart of gold. If I was in a John Hughes film, I'd be the best friend character in love with the main character who loses out. Truth is, I always liked that character more in those movies. Just keep thinking about Pretty In Pink and how I fell so hard for Jon Cryer's character Ducky Dale. Probably I just identified with this guy who never got the girl. Relegated to being best friends with the person he loved. Ain't that a kick in the rubber parts? This little boy shows up around my friends and acts goofy and gets them to laugh. He's clever and witty with a sense of fun to him that even surprises me sometimes.

Inside though, there's the other little boy. There's the one that is sitting off in a corner alone, wanting to cry but being told that men don't do that. Be a man. What a rotten thing to tell a child. This is the little boy with the sad eyes that has a broken heart but can't run to anyone. He learns to take care of himself and shut everyone else out. It's survival technique. Turn a blind eye to all the wrong doings of the adults. Don't talk about it. The one that doesn't want to bring friends over sometimes, or let them see the darker secrets. He lives really deep down inside me. Craving affection, wanting someone to wrap their arms around him and make him feel safe without smelling alcohol on their breath. Wanting to believe in someone when they say "I love you", but somehow can't always believe it.

This second little boy has been cropping up again lately. I don't show that face in public anymore. I haven't cried from pain literally in years to the point that I don't know if I could anymore sometimes. Stupidly I know I can because dumb things like movies make me tear up, or passages from books, but you learn how to hold that back and keep it inside.

K will never find this site. I'll never tell him anything more than I have a blog. I doubt that he's even interested to tell the truth. I want to say so much to him, but it would be wrong. It would be wrong to tell him that if things were different and he wasn't married I would want to try dating. That would ruin whatever friendship I see between us. But like an invisible wall, I can feel that I've again been so stupid to believe in my own sporadic fantasies. It was a nice dream after all, but reality is he's married and I'm being stupid thinking these things. So I'm sorry K. I'm sorry for the things I can't say, sorry for the hope of what can't happen. Sorrier yet that I got my hopes up and continue to do so even when my logical mind tells me how incredibly dumb I'm being. Fantasies. I should be too old to be doing this to myself, but it's what I learned as a kid.

I don't have a hell of a lot in my life really. I have some really good friends that are the world to me. These are the people that have been there through the worst time for me and still call me friend. So why can't my broken little boy allow them to help me? "Be a man" "Men don't do that." "Men don't cry." Sometimes I feel like I am a thousand year old child.

I may feel different tomorrow, or I may just paste on the face that I show my customers every damn day whether or not I feel like smiling. I really don't know, and I really wish that I didn't think so damn much sometimes. But this is my space. The place where I can say what I want and how I feel. It's not pretty, nor am I sometimes. Matter of fact, sometimes I feel down right ugly in my soul. I know it's not true, but logic doesn't always work on a child.