The Realest Fake: My Truth About Transparency

As I write this now, my life is in the process of a series of fast, huge changes. For these changes I worked and prayed for, and for these changes I am grateful. 

For the first time in my life I have a purpose (see: found a purpose outside of seeking refuge in another human being). I know my life's purpose, and I'm driving forward with it. 

Ever since connecting with my Higher Self, I have been able to attract everything that I need in life to meet my goals (I've also been playing around with attracting people into my life, which has worked as well. So far I've done it a small handful of times - one person twice, even). This has been a tiring but divine process, that I want to dedicate my whole life to. Managing, creating and growing my production company, is what I was placed on Earth to do. Through my work, many people will be helped, and social consciousness will change and have different array of conversations - some for the first time.

Now, let's be clear. As of right now I'm broke as a joke, but it won't be like this forever. I understand a lot more now, and through this knowledge I'm not worried about material success. That will come, and will come in abundance. 

So then why aren't I happy?

The obvious answer, though cliched, is that money doesn't buy happiness. We obviously know this, but in my case, money will offer mobility and a wider, grander scale on which to help other people and my community. And I know with 1000% clarity that that will happen. 

So, again: why aren't I happy?

I don't fucking know. 

Or maybe I do. 

Overall, I'm a fairly happy individual. I count my blessings constantly, I choose to live in positive mindsets, only surround myself with good and loving people, and make sure to side-step any drama. I like to call myself "chill". 

And I most definitely am. 

To know me is to recognize a vague "mmmhmmm", or "true" as markers of deep listening, and to know that I choose very wisely what (and who) to invest my energy into. 

In this way, I feel as though I have an automatic filtration system. I now understand the markers of unhealthy attachment, and know the difference between that parasitic process and "love". Real love is steady, but ever-changing. Real love flows like the tide, and can cleanse and release on a continuous cycle. Real love is hard, but it's the rawest natural resource that we can pull. This does not mean that this is a pleasant or comfortable experience all the time. Sometimes the opposite, but sometimes neither.

This, I know and I understand. I relish in being able to spot bullshit, happily smirking a "wow, that seems unhealthy" at every amatanormative internet post within my radius. I invite all of my lovers to leave me at whim, to see and connect with other people, to cut me off and ignore me if its in the best interest for their health and peace of mind. 

These ideals I believe to my very core. But I have also been hiding behind them, sneaking right under my own nose, and slipping into a stealthy new defense mechanism. 

The kicker is that I'm not wrong. And I give the people in my life free will to do those things because it's necessary and healthy to do so.

What is not healthy and necessary, however, is the low-key reasons I choose to live and love this way. 

I suppose in some ways I want to be left. I want my partners to leave, and leave again. Every time my lovers hurt my heart, it does a little sigh of relief. I'm addicted to the sting of knowing that no one (so far) has wanted to stay seriously committed to me. Thrilled that my love to these people seems like a vacation - a break from the sucky shit they're used to. Love knowing that I'm not the only lips they're kissing, the only ears they're whispering in. I draw the line at lying, but everything else goes.

I was promised a grand love, a serious partnership, on some "us against the world" type shit, only to realize that that was a) not real love, and b) a lie the whole entire time, anyway. So now, I don't want that love anymore. I don't believe in it.

I want to be broken and cracked and bruised into the understanding that love is elusive, and does not exist the way I want it to - The way we've been taught our whole lives. I love being switched up on randomly. Told that they've changed their mind, told that on second thought, this isn't what they wanted at all. Love sleeping with the knowledge that my beloved is resting in another set of arms.

Masochistic, most definitely. I flipped to the complete other side of martyrdom. Now, I couldn't be loved even if I wanted to. 

And that's the gag. Aside from literally one person, I've not allowed absolutely anyone to get close to me. Instead, I cheat.

I bare and crucify my struggle for the entire world to see; scrub my skin until it's transparent enough to be oooh-ed and ahhh-ed at and everyone falls for it because no one else is doing it. Bloop!

Which is why I retch at the people claiming to be "in love" with me because of my online presence, cause if they observed closely they would know that transparency is my nature, but transparency has also allowed me a full-proof way at making sure that no one can get under my skin. 

Every time I write something, I purge myself of all the ick, then crawl back to the comfort of my bed, weed, and three friends. 

I'm no fucking hero. I'm not "brave", and I love the praise but it wears on me sometimes because I feel like I don't even deserve it. 

Because even after speaking my truth, the shit still exists. Externalizing it into a blog post may garner discussion, but without hard introspective work, it does not heal or solve my issues. 

And maybe that's the point. 

I write these things to share, but to also acknowledge the now, and in the now this is me. I don't know what the fuck that means but what is is what is is what is. 

Until then the most I can do is take it day by day, but I won't lie, sometimes I feel like a burnt out skeleton. An ice queen with lava marrow. The realest fake. The saddest joy. The duality that is me and the entire universe. 

I'm trying to ride with the shit, I really am.