One Taste

I was once offered a glimpse at what love was, a mere taste of the wonder and enjoyment that it can bring. The thing with the taste is that it left me pining for more, searching for the one that could offer me the endless stream to feed my addiction.

The taste was offered to me long ago. So long, that my heart and my body remember only the shadow of how it felt. The taste is but a ghost on the tip of my tongue, and I feel but a shadow upon the edges of my lips.

Often times, I feel that the taste I was offered was no more than a dream that my mind tangled together, and such a thing doesn’t really exist. Not for me, in the least. I have long ago decided that I may be one of those souls meant to wander alone, without a pair. I see others, and see, hear and read of their declarations of love, and I am unable to relate, or fully fathom the idea and emotion we call love.

How can it be, that someone you declare your love to can turn around and make you cry and weep? Is it love when your mind is busy thinking of a million scenarios when your lover returns late, smelling of another’s perfume and guilt of deeds done wrong? Does shouting and screaming at one another somehow solidify the love you share? Cement it and prove that you’re there through the thick and thin?

What is it about this thing called love that makes all of the bad emotions worth it? Do they suddenly not matter when you’re surrounded by that euphoric cloud? All I ask is an inside look of this drug, to see how your senses react and how it feels to be touched by the silky fingers of a lover who knows your body better than you yourself does.

One taste, to feed my addiction.

 One taste to rekindle my memory.

One taste to prove it wasn’t a dream.

 One taste to give me hope.

One taste to ignite the fire and release the passion.

Won’t you relent, and give me but one taste of you?

Wander

There's no rewind, no going back. So, I take up my burden and I carry forth; take with me the hopes of a better tomorrow. I cannot take back the mistakes I’ve made. My greatest hope is to learn from them, and to gain forgiveness from those I have hurt with my cruel words and thoughtless ways. I know if I asked, you would take my hand and go forth with me, but this journey is mine alone.

This is something I must do alone. I cannot hope to find myself if guided along by another. Too long, I’ve found excuses and reasons to stay in the rut I’ve dug for myself, making a comfortable home of patterns that were easier to follow than break free from.

We could journey, side by side, to be there to catch the other when they stumble, but I know that our paths are meant to merely intertwine and meander along from time to time, before parting again, leaving me empty and scared, my footing slow and unsure as I again teach myself how to go forth without you.

This is not good bye forever, my dear, but merely a good bye for now.

Two Years

Tomorrow marks the second anniversary of my best friend’s death. If someone would have told me two years ago today that I was going to have to face living the rest of my life without someone I considered to be a sister, rather than just a friend, I would have told them, quite frankly, to go fuck themselves. At that point, the thought of life without Carissa was inconceivable, and it was not something I was willing to give a moment’s thought.

Carissa was the type of person who defined a big personality. She had a big heart, big dreams and a big personality. If she walked into a room, she caught the attention of everyone there. In a way, we were opposites of one another, for as outspoken and loud as she could be; I was the quieter and quick witted one. We got along well, and could make each other laugh. Inside jokes were endless.

We were young, hell, I’m still young, and we often talked about wedding days and things like that. It was planned that we would stand up for each other at our weddings, and it was my intent to make her the god mother of one of my children. We were that close. It was the best type of friendship, because there were times that life got in the way, and we’d go days or weeks without talking and were able to pick back up as if no more than a few hours had passed.

I used to work in a hotel restaurant and lounge, and some of my favorite shifts included the ones that were dead, where she would show up, order some food and sit and visit me for hours. We’d share stories of angst over our parents and the headaches that they liked to give us, or love lives (or lack thereof, in my case), boys, music, clothes, make up. Anything and everything, nothing was taboo. She was one of the first people I  talked to when I was put on anti-depressants, and she patiently listened to me stress over the fact that I was facing a future where having my own children was uncertain.

I’m not going to pretend that I remember every detail of that fateful day, two years ago. I do remember coming home and reading Facebook- thanks a fucking lot, by the way- and seeing something about someone named Carissa passing away. Instantly, my body went numb and I was filled with dread. I got a call from my mother, wanting to know how a medical appointment went, but instead, she had a crying daughter on the other end. She was there within moments. Just as she was walking through the door, I got the call from Carissa’s dad that changed my life. All it took was his number on my caller ID, and to hear the tone of his voice from the first words to know it was true. It took all of my composure and strength to keep it together through that short phone call, and I was glad my mother was there to comfort me, along with my roommate and a good friend.

I tried to go to work the next day, and within a few hours, my boss found a replacement and sent me home. I was lost that day, and in the days that followed. There are still days when it hits me all over again, and I’m made aware of the fact that I will never see her again, never get to share a laugh, or a joke, a hug or a smile, a story or an inside joke. There is so much that I will never get to share with her, so much that I’ve already done, and know I will do that she will not be a part of. She won’t be there when I get married, or start a family. She won’t be there when I’m old and gray, to laugh and share stories of our youth.

Not only will I forever carry her memory in my heart, but I have a physical reminder of her on my wrist. That is one tattoo that I know in my heart I will never regret, and if anyone looks down upon me for it, I honestly do not care. It is my way of showing the world what she meant to me, and there are reasons why I chose to put my tattoo in the spot that I did. And, while it may make me a bit emotional, I have no problems with sharing the story with anyone who cares enough to ask. I usually get looks of sympathy or pity, and that kind of bugs me, but it’s worth it to be able to share that little bit of Carissa I have left with me.

There’s more I wanted to say, but I can’t write anymore, it hurts too much.

I Know You're Fine, But What Do I Do?

"I'm sorry for the distance. I just don't wanna risk a sure fire way to some broken hearts. You're on my fb to see the real me, not just me being charming. I want you to like me for me as a friend, that you would most definitely hump if given the chance."

Too. Fucking. Late. Maybe you're alright, but I'm not. I'm a stupid, foolish little girl. I should know better by now, but I don't, and time and time again, I pay for my stupidity. When will I learn? 

Coward

I am a fucking coward. That's why I am posting my thoughts and feelings here, rather than going straight to the source. Why is it that I always fall victim to the one that has no good intentions, and lies to me? I usually have a temporary loss of senses where I fall for those lies, and believe that this person is being genuine. I have a general distrust for people though, so when my gut tells me that something doesn't click, I become nosy and do a little snooping around.

Lo and behold, you're just like everyone else, and you were lying to me. I should have figured it out after you bailed on me the second time, but after you blew me off again last night, I finally realized that something had changed. Sure enough, you've found someone else, and didn't even have the decency to tell me. Started feeding me some lies that I only pretended to believe, because I wasn't about to go off on you when I didn't have any proof. Well, I do now and by the time I'm done with this, my thoughts will be clear and rational enough to call you out without flipping my lid.

I trusted you, and listened to you sob and cry over how bad your ex treated you and how your heart was broken. I promised to wait for you, not to rush you and to just be friends, because you weren't ready to be in a relationship and just wanted to be friends for a while. Well, fuck that. You were using me, just like everyone else, and I've gotten sick of it. I think the worst of it, is that it wasn't a man who broke my heart this time, but someone of my own gender. I thought I could trust you more because you knew what it was like to have a man use and abuse your heart, feelings and trust. I was wrong.

I now know how so many men turn into assholes, and so many women into cold, bitchy women. Both genders are equally awful to each other, and trying to find someone with good intentions becomes more and more difficult with each passing day.

"Oh, but Nikki, you're not being fair. You have feelings for someone else too!"

Fuck that. I didn't pursue anything, both because I had promised to wait for you and not to rush things, and because I knew that things wouldn't work out with this other person. It's something like a school girl crush. No matter what I feel for him, and how strongly, I'm positive that my feelings aren't returned, and there are several things that would make pursing the feelings illogical.

Know what the kicker is? I honestly hope that you're happy. That's a genuine sentiment. The worst thing is that you just didn't have the decency to tell me that you'd found someone else. Sure, that would fucking hurt, but it would hurt a lot less than finding out this way. All the lies and secrecy start to eat at you, and pretty soon, you're going to be a shadow of your former self. So, just come forward and tell me the truth already, because it's the best for the both of us.

And, if he breaks your heart...I'm sorry darling, I won't be here to pick up the pieces this time. I need to think about myself for once, and you're not a part of that plan anymore.

Confessions...

I confess…I am a master of wanting what I can’t have, and once it’s mine, I tend to quickly get tired of it.

I confess…I flirt too much, but I can’t help but be nice, especially if you’re cute.

I confess…I’m okay with not going back to school. I know I should, but I don’t know what it is that I want to study, and I like my job and where I am in life right now.

I confess…I’m not totally convinced that I believe I know what true love is, or if I’ll ever find it.

I confess…I get homesick a lot. Sometimes, I just want to rush home and never return to my new life, but I realize that, for as much as I miss home and my loved ones, I am happier here and have a better chance of accomplishing things in my life.

I confess…I am a huge cuddle bug. I love curling up next to someone and laying my head on my chest. It makes me feel safe and secure. Though, I always seem to have a hard time sleeping when there’s a new person in my bed. It takes a few days to adjust.

I confess…I get jealous very easily. It probably has something to do with my own insecurities, but on the other hand, if I don’t get jealous, I don’t truly care.

I confess…I hate when people start texting me, and quickly disintegrate into using one word or one letter replies. Like, excuse me, but you started the conversation, so it’s assumed you wanted to talk to me.

I confess…I have a potty mouth. Sometimes, you just really need to throw in an F-bomb to make your point.

I confess…that I have not come out as bisexual to my family, and unless I actually date a girl and bring her home to my family, it will probably never happy. The majority of my family is too religious, too uptight or both for me to alienate myself for no reason.

I confess…that when I get annoyed, I have the almost unbearable desire to chew my fingernails or grit my teeth together. I often get a sore jaw because of this.

I confess…I didn’t think I wanted to have children until I was forced to face the possibility that I may not be able to conceive on my own, or even have children of my own.

I confess…to being addicted to chap stick. I use it daily, it’s how I keep my lips soft and moisturized and looking awesome.

I confess…I miss having someone I can confide everything to. Things have not been the same since my best friend passed away nearly two years ago, and now that I have seem to have lost another close friend, I don’t have anyone I can wholeheartedly depend on.

I confess…I can be shallow and picky. I don’t find any need to defend myself and feel I owe it to myself to be choosy.

 I confess…I am extremely self-conscious and insecure. I think it’s part of the reason I post so many pictures of myself- I need validation that I am desirable. I don’t believe half of the compliments I get, though.

I confess…when I am tired, I will stop responding to messages or texts because the stupidest thing annoys me.

I confess…I hate idle small talk, and I hate when someone asks me to tell them about myself. I’m not in a fucking interview with you, and things need to come out naturally. That question makes a conversation too forced.

I confess…I like my brother way more than my sister. She’s irritable and hard to get along with, and I truly believe her boyfriend has the patience of a god.

I confess…I have many more confessions, but not the patience to type them.

Where Shall We Begin

Before I begin, I want to make things clear. I am an atheist. I do not believe in God, or any other religious deity. I know this offends many people, but my beliefs are my own and I do not feel guilty for them.

Maybe it’s because I am too literal minded, but I cannot make myself believe in something that cannot be experienced by any of the senses, and which has no proof. Don’t even bother with telling me that the bible is proof because the bible is a book that was recorded and written by man, and has since been altered over the years. Not to mention, like any book, its meaning can be interpreted different ways, depending on the person and situation. Not to say that it doesn’t make some very valid and useful points, but so does a cookbook and you don’t see me kneeling down and praying to that every night.

Don’t lecture me, for you don’t know how much I wish I could believe in a god, but I just cannot make myself do it. I want to believe that there is something other than this life that we’re living, a reason for going through all the pain and heartache that comes along with life. I just can’t do it; which makes losing people and working through the grief harder that it may have been otherwise.

I was lucky when I was growing up in the fact that I didn’t lose many people that I was close to and my family remained mostly intact. My grandmother passed away when I was two and a half years old, and a couple of sick and elderly great-grandparents passed on as well. Shortly after I turned eighteen, that all changed, and life decided that I had been coasting for long enough now and it was time to feel the pain of grieving.

Without going into too much detail in this initial post- perhaps I’ll go into more detail at a later date- I will outline the events of the past few years. What you do need to know is that I grew up in a small farming community, the kind of place where everyone knows everyone and their business. It can be a bad thing, but it also means that when the going gets tough, the community bands together and supports each other. That’s why I am proud to remain a country girl at heart.

It started at the beginning of October 2007 when my mom’s father got sick, and by Halloween, he was gone. It seemed to be a snowball effect from there. One of my (step)dad’s good trucking buddies died of lung cancer, passing away mere hours before his son made it to the hospital to say goodbye, but Rob wanted it that way. My (step)dad’s father was diagnosed with cancer a couple of months later. We watched him struggle and waste away for a year and a half before he finally succumbed to his disease. In January of 2009, two of my former classmates were killed in a car accident; one of them was a cousin of my best friend. Two weeks later, I got the call that forever changed my life; Carissa too had died in a collision. By the end of that year, a young girl from my town committed suicide, and two more young people died. We rounded that year out by burying my (step)dad’s grandmother. This year has been no exception. In March, my cousin died in a snowmobile accident, my brother lost two good friends in the same night, another young boy died two weeks later, my father lost another trucking friend to lung cancer and a classmate just recently committed suicide. And, the same day I moved to begin my new life in a new town, my father’s father, my grandfather passed away. It was the worst way to start a new life.

I cannot wrap myself around all of these deaths, especially the ones that involved the young people who were healthy, and had so much more to live for. How can I believe in a god who takes these amazing people, but leaves behind murders and thieves and pedophiles and sexual predators? It makes no sense to me that these people are allowed to live while good people are dying every day. There is nothing to be learned by losing my best friend, except for the fact that I can endure a great amount of grief and sorrow and come out alive. I could have done without that lesson for another fifty or so years, thanks anyways.

I’m beginning to heal and cope with the enormous amount of pain and loss that I have experienced in a short amount of time. And know who’s helping me through it? Friends and family. Not a god or some other imaginary being. It’s by the support of those who love me and my own stubbornness and determination to make them all proud that I am going forward with my life and making something of myself. There is no god guiding me along any path. I am following my heart and my head and making decisions based on past experiences and the knowledge of what I want in my life. I want to be happy and in love some day- another concept I’m not fully sure I will ever get to enjoy, but that too can be saved for a later day. In the end, the only one who is going to get me to the end point of where I want to end up in life, and once it’s all said and done, and my time on earth comes to a close, I want those left behind to be able to look back and smile through the tears. I want to be a good person, atheist or not.