Je ne dois pas m'expliquer à personne.
I don't have to bend over backwards so as to not offend.
I can swear as much as I bloody well want to.
I don't have my hands bound to my neck with chains, nor are my legs shackled to a wall inside a Khoja-run mosque.
I don't have to initiate any more emails, online chat sessions, texts or phone calls. (Prank calls, my ass.) And I don't have to respond to them either, and eat up my pay-as-you-go credit.
I don't have to bleed my heart and soul dry for an emotionally frigid piece of meat.
I don't have to make up the perfect relationship in my head while completely rejecting and avoiding what was real because of my neuroses and fears and anger.
I can satisfy my highly idealistic and romantic daydreams without touching reality (or a man) for a while longer.
I don't have to send you metta or reiki or take out your I Ching anymore.
I can call and label you whatever I want: wanker, man-boy, mama's boy, Oedipus Rex, spineless bastard, lost and cracked Soul, a soul mate with whom I just could not connect. With whom I became helplessly obsessed, in complete disobedience to my logical mind and psychologically-sound and balanced core.
I don't have to chop off bits and pieces of myself for you any longer. I'm doing the opposite. I am enhancing all that I am and all that I can be, nurturing all that I currently believe in.
I will not, however, go back to being the virginal high priestess who made her vows of celibacy. Who hated men, was disgusted with them and feared them.
But, I shall live my life on my own terms.
If I am mercurial, and intense, and deep - I like it, I am equipped for it, that is who I choose to be. I can't live my life without loving, without beauty, honesty, intensity and knowledge.
Some people in my life can handle how I interact with the world: they are on the same wavelength and reverberate the same frequency levels. I can and I will support them in their throes of pain and their existential crises.
I may have been a blabber mouth, I may have gossiped and whinged and cursed non-stop.J'arrête tout ça.
I am succinct. I am an enigma. I am magnetic. I am attractive. I am attirant. I am powerful, yet I know better than to succumb to the tentation to abuse that power ever again. I am peace. I am love.
I am healing.
I just wanted to heal you, boy.
It's obvious I was projecting. I must heal myself completely and then, only those others who ask me to, who need it, who are ready for it.
You obviously have another life journey; it ceased to connect with mine on the 11th of November.
I will figure this out. God will let me in His knowledge of this entire debacle - shall I call it that? - this entire shock to the core of my entire being - this little taste of romance that soured as soon as it began, almost.... what did I get out of it? Pain... ouch. Wittingly, I put myself through the shredder, not you.
As they said to me, pain is comfortable, my masochist tendencies are reflected in this. If I had had enough self respect, if I was comfortable being in my skin, if I wasn't apologising to you and to everyone else for being me, for feeling as I did or for going through transformations and reformations and catalytic reactions: I would have left long, long ago.
Acting like a show puppy, jumping up and down, balancing on a wire and doing all other manner of antics in order to keep you "hooked" and interested and to "keep"you. I was drowning in the fear of "losing" you.
As though I owed it to you, I didn't want you to feel as crappy as this entire thing was making me feel. I didn't want you to feel abandoned, ignored, worthless, invisible when it was actually me who was feeling all of it, and thus it was me I had to protect and "save" and heal.
If I didn't want to bloody meet you, that's enough of a sign that I wasn't ready and this was definitely not "it".
I recognised the push and pull as unhealthy, but thought I'd be able to wise up and mature quicker and go ahead with something that was not only going way too fast for me, but made absolutely nada sense.
Grab, grasp: all the grains of sand shot out of my hand. And I knew I was doing it. I KNEW IT. But the patterns overwhelmed and took over. And, in my heart of hearts, I thought things would still go back on even keel.
I'm such a naïf. Consciously naive.
Not many people understand how I could feel what I felt, so trusting, so safe and so sure, without having ever met you. I know different. It was real.
I now don't give a crap anymore as to what you thought or think or felt or feel or did or currently do. You don't allow yourself to trust what you feel, anyway! Juste comme moi.
Plenty o' fish. I was settling. The same as I was settling with Sadiq.
Light bulb moment: trust my misgivings. Let go.... if it's meant to happen, if the love is there, the person will pick up his balls and apologise and grovel and come back.
I need to stop attracting screw ups into my life. I can't help them and, actually, it's not my job, now is it?
*side note: how on Earth can you be so good and kind and divine, yet so utterly fucked up? And, unfortunately, I can't hone my feelers enough to pin point what those "holes in which God's light must shine through" are. A conundrum that's driving me absolutely loco.
Oh well, don't know, don't care. If I'm meant to know, I shall.
Keep repeating until it becomes truth.*
Trust your intuition: don't settle for adequate. 60% is hardly adequate.
I have different needs to Sameera, and others. 95% is what I'm aiming for now.
C'est assez, hein? Je ne veux pas écouter or parler un autre mot. C'est finis.
Il n'a pas de dos, pas de genitaux. Je lui ai confondue, et il m'a confondu. Le petit gars.
Ah, ben... c'est ça.
Adieu, mon cher.
Meh.
Sleep well, Imran. Nite.
Irish has left the building.
(Exit stage right.)
P.S. I really hate that I still act like an unaware INFP and Enneagram 4w5. It makes my life more sucky than average.
I don't have to bend over backwards so as to not offend.
I can swear as much as I bloody well want to.
I don't have my hands bound to my neck with chains, nor are my legs shackled to a wall inside a Khoja-run mosque.
I don't have to initiate any more emails, online chat sessions, texts or phone calls. (Prank calls, my ass.) And I don't have to respond to them either, and eat up my pay-as-you-go credit.
I don't have to bleed my heart and soul dry for an emotionally frigid piece of meat.
I don't have to make up the perfect relationship in my head while completely rejecting and avoiding what was real because of my neuroses and fears and anger.
I can satisfy my highly idealistic and romantic daydreams without touching reality (or a man) for a while longer.
I don't have to send you metta or reiki or take out your I Ching anymore.
I can call and label you whatever I want: wanker, man-boy, mama's boy, Oedipus Rex, spineless bastard, lost and cracked Soul, a soul mate with whom I just could not connect. With whom I became helplessly obsessed, in complete disobedience to my logical mind and psychologically-sound and balanced core.
I don't have to chop off bits and pieces of myself for you any longer. I'm doing the opposite. I am enhancing all that I am and all that I can be, nurturing all that I currently believe in.
I will not, however, go back to being the virginal high priestess who made her vows of celibacy. Who hated men, was disgusted with them and feared them.
But, I shall live my life on my own terms.
If I am mercurial, and intense, and deep - I like it, I am equipped for it, that is who I choose to be. I can't live my life without loving, without beauty, honesty, intensity and knowledge.
Some people in my life can handle how I interact with the world: they are on the same wavelength and reverberate the same frequency levels. I can and I will support them in their throes of pain and their existential crises.
I may have been a blabber mouth, I may have gossiped and whinged and cursed non-stop.J'arrête tout ça.
I am succinct. I am an enigma. I am magnetic. I am attractive. I am attirant. I am powerful, yet I know better than to succumb to the tentation to abuse that power ever again. I am peace. I am love.
I am healing.
I just wanted to heal you, boy.
It's obvious I was projecting. I must heal myself completely and then, only those others who ask me to, who need it, who are ready for it.
You obviously have another life journey; it ceased to connect with mine on the 11th of November.
I will figure this out. God will let me in His knowledge of this entire debacle - shall I call it that? - this entire shock to the core of my entire being - this little taste of romance that soured as soon as it began, almost.... what did I get out of it? Pain... ouch. Wittingly, I put myself through the shredder, not you.
As they said to me, pain is comfortable, my masochist tendencies are reflected in this. If I had had enough self respect, if I was comfortable being in my skin, if I wasn't apologising to you and to everyone else for being me, for feeling as I did or for going through transformations and reformations and catalytic reactions: I would have left long, long ago.
Acting like a show puppy, jumping up and down, balancing on a wire and doing all other manner of antics in order to keep you "hooked" and interested and to "keep"you. I was drowning in the fear of "losing" you.
As though I owed it to you, I didn't want you to feel as crappy as this entire thing was making me feel. I didn't want you to feel abandoned, ignored, worthless, invisible when it was actually me who was feeling all of it, and thus it was me I had to protect and "save" and heal.
If I didn't want to bloody meet you, that's enough of a sign that I wasn't ready and this was definitely not "it".
I recognised the push and pull as unhealthy, but thought I'd be able to wise up and mature quicker and go ahead with something that was not only going way too fast for me, but made absolutely nada sense.
Grab, grasp: all the grains of sand shot out of my hand. And I knew I was doing it. I KNEW IT. But the patterns overwhelmed and took over. And, in my heart of hearts, I thought things would still go back on even keel.
I'm such a naïf. Consciously naive.
Not many people understand how I could feel what I felt, so trusting, so safe and so sure, without having ever met you. I know different. It was real.
I now don't give a crap anymore as to what you thought or think or felt or feel or did or currently do. You don't allow yourself to trust what you feel, anyway! Juste comme moi.
Plenty o' fish. I was settling. The same as I was settling with Sadiq.
Light bulb moment: trust my misgivings. Let go.... if it's meant to happen, if the love is there, the person will pick up his balls and apologise and grovel and come back.
I need to stop attracting screw ups into my life. I can't help them and, actually, it's not my job, now is it?
*side note: how on Earth can you be so good and kind and divine, yet so utterly fucked up? And, unfortunately, I can't hone my feelers enough to pin point what those "holes in which God's light must shine through" are. A conundrum that's driving me absolutely loco.
Oh well, don't know, don't care. If I'm meant to know, I shall.
Keep repeating until it becomes truth.*
Trust your intuition: don't settle for adequate. 60% is hardly adequate.
I have different needs to Sameera, and others. 95% is what I'm aiming for now.
C'est assez, hein? Je ne veux pas écouter or parler un autre mot. C'est finis.
Il n'a pas de dos, pas de genitaux. Je lui ai confondue, et il m'a confondu. Le petit gars.
Ah, ben... c'est ça.
Adieu, mon cher.
Meh.
Sleep well, Imran. Nite.
Irish has left the building.
(Exit stage right.)
P.S. I really hate that I still act like an unaware INFP and Enneagram 4w5. It makes my life more sucky than average.
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