Suck it up kiddo. The train's already moving.

I've got a hot-rod boner for a boy.
It feels fun.
It feels exciting.
Nothing may come of it.
I have no preconceptions of what it should be.
I also sometimes don't know how to conduct myself when I'm around him.
I'm focusing on just being.
I’m not that scared though, cause there’s really no danger in failure for me anymore.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had a really bad habit of obsessing over my weight... for like 27 years.
Mostly cause I was so fat as a kid and suffered so much ridicule for it.
But I think this is something that really used to annoy Mr. 9.
For the longest time he was very good about it.

Mr. 9 – I think your body is awesome. I want to get up in it don’t I?

And of course this feels awesome to hear him say, but it doesn’t stop you from obsessing.
I think he got tired of hearing me whine about it,
And eventually he would get real cranky when I would bring it up.

Mr. 9 – If you feel so bad, then why don’t you just stop eating?

The weirdest thing happened when Mr. 9 broke up with me.
I suddenly stopped caring so much.
It’s the oddest side effect.
I find that I don’t have any fear for most things anymore.
Auditions, strangers, telling the truth.

On the same day Mr. 9 broke up with me a good friend died of an aneurism.
Mark dying so young was a catalyst as well, I’m sure.
People always say it, but it really dawned on me when it was so close to home…
I really could die.
Right now.
Mark did.
Two friends of mine died on the same day… in a way.
With them that voice of insecurity died too.
It feels good.

Me (to myself) – “What took you so long to relax?”
Me (to myself) – “ I don’t know.”

I remember the first time I kissed Mr. 9.
We were lying on his floor mattress in his dorm room.
He was too pussy to make any move on me even though I was throwing myself at him like a baseball.
I was so nervous to do it.
Like if he didn’t want to kiss me back I might disappear and cease to exist.
As if my whole life rested on the breath between his lips and mine.
Of course he wanted it… I lived.

That exciting feeling died between us.
It must have at some point.
Even though I remember the exact moment that feeling was born, I can’t remember the exact moment it died.

I’m glad that Mr. 9 took control of his own happiness by getting rid of the thing that was keeping him from growing.
I think we were stunting each other.
Not always, just eventually.
Which makes me cry.
Which makes me relieved.

I used to lie on his back.
Back to back.
My body was just tall enough that I would fit into the curve of his back like a wooden doll fitting snuggly into its larger, wooden, hollow mother.
I used to think that meant we were created for each other.
And we were.
But just for 9 years.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am not afraid to move on… or to try to.
I am not afraid to be happy for him.
I am not afraid to learn from pain.
I am not afraid to see my faults for what they are.
I am not afraid to love unconditionally.
I am not afraid of my mistakes.
I am not afraid of my body.
I am not afraid to cry in public.
I am not afraid to care openly.
I am not afraid to listen with respect.
I am not afraid to give up and start again.
I am not afraid to be alone.
I am not afraid to risk it all suddenly.
I am not afraid of being honest.
I am not afraid of being rejected.
I am not afraid of what people think.
I am not afraid of being wrong.
I am not afraid of wasting time…. It’s not a waste, it’s making me a full person.

Mr. 9 helped me get here.
I’ll always love him.