Broken Bella Donna

{January 19, 2013}  

Why is it so hard to formulate what you want to say into some sort of coherent, wonderful collection of sentences to explain something so important – unless you’re about to drop off to sleep, or in a situation where you cannot write them down?

I am in a world of butthurt at the moment.

How wonderful to have  someone who understands you and who you connect with, someone with whom you can waste 5 hours of your night when you should be sleeping just to chat to and not even know that long has passed. Someone who just seems to ‘get’ you – without it being a sexually driven thing. No strings, just comprehension. It seems – in my life – to be a magical, amazing thing, something I realise I couldn’t have ever understood without having experiencing it. And now I feel it, I want more of it.

I can admit my failings, my insecurities, my fears without feeling like I’m being judged. I can admit to mental issues without feeling that they are reading it thinking “it’s all in your head, get over it”. I can admit to anything and know I wont be treated differently. I get listened to and I can listen. I can learn and (hopefully) teach. I feel… like I mean something to someone. After spending what feels like my whole adult life in a bubble of my own, with no understanding, no appreciation, no respect and certainly no affection (that wasn’t being driven by sex), that perhaps at long last… I’m worth something to someone. This, I suppose, is what most people feel like when they meet ‘the one’. It just so happens that in this situation, A) I’m not designed mentally for relationships and B) he’s married.

If we ceased talking today, and never communicated again – I would be infinitely thankful for the time we have spent getting to know one another.

And I can’t tell him any of this. I’ve never been so driven to try to tell someone how much their friendship means to me before. It’s either been taken for granted or just irrelevant.

It makes no sense to me – why do I suddenly HAVE to tell him? I feel needy, clingy and pathetic. We so rarely speak – these long, rambling crazy conversations have occurred a handful of times – but every time we do, we learn more and I realise that… it’s crazy. He is like me, if I was born a male, and a braver person.

I wish he was a female, and then there would be no question as to whether this was fuelled by understanding or something more primal. It would simply be a wonderful opportunity, having met the other half of your mind. I could shout it from the rooftops and everyone would be jealous of my wonderful relationship with the other half of my brain. Instead, because he’s and he, I’m left wondering:  can I say any of this without seeming like I’m going to start claiming ‘soul mates’ and demanding more?

Instead I’m leaving little comments that go read and ignored. I’m left wondering if what is said in the silly hours of the night was in fact meant sincerely. I am left wondering – am I the only one feeling this? I am a human clingwrap.

We can go months… many many months between conversations. This does not play well with my insecurities. It leaves me a long time to speculate and wonder if I’m inventing things in my head. The moments we are talking, everything is pure and simple, and I know that he knows, and we are fine. The days following I’m tearing my hair out, and attention seeking, I’m desperate just for a conversation with someone who follows my train of thought, someone who understands – instead of the people who surround me day-to-day: those that don’t listen at all, they just wait for you to stop to take a breath so they can start talking. After a week of this, I settle back into regular routine of thinking I imagined it, or denying it, or just ignoring it, until next time.

It would seem I have come up against someone as broken, as complicated and as complex as myself. In different ways, but equally as fractured. I now know how hard I am to be friends with. Sorry everyone-whose-ever-tried-to-get-close. I now understand the frustration.


I keep wanting to point him to this blog and tell him to just get it over and done with – learn my inner brain. Learn how fucked up I am. Learn all the things about me that I don’t want people who judge me to know. But he knows most of this anyway. And seems to like talking to me in spite of it.

I’m fearful of looking lame.

This is just rambling. I’m making no sense (unless you’re in my head).

Normally in this situation I would sit down and write you a long letter. It would be easy and I could say what I wanted. But… I really am struggling to put it to words. I don’t know why. Is it lack of experience? Understanding? Or lack of belief?


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