A highly under-used word, in my opinion, maudlin. Sort of evokes a reasonable emotion without being too serious or depressing. It’s how I feel now. Naturally, literally.
Every month for the past year or so that I’ve noticed, it’s been getting worse. Pain in the ovaries, pain in the cervix; Mother Nature roto-tilling the tissue of my reproductive organs. Supposedly this is medically legit, strangely enough, that just a woman’s intuition about being pregnant is a sound early symptom of pregnancy. While obviously not pregnant, I’ve had this slowly sneaking suspicion that every time this happens something dire is occuring in my little egg plants. I already have decreased chances of successful pregnancy (assumed, that is, since I haven’t exactly been trying) but my fear is that whatever is happening to my body, it is slowly but surely picking off any chances left.
As I was talking to my mom yesterday, I hypothetically mentioned that if, for any reason, I was told that within the next five years I might not have any chance of becoming successfully pregnant, I would take what chances I have now and do just that. Not that my desire to have kids is this primitive, keep-the-line-going, creating-a-copy-of-me emotion. I just want to experience that part of humanity. I want to raise a child as I was raised because I believe that the world needs more of people who believe and hope and dream. The somewhat depressing part of this hypothetical is that I really want to have the whole package, a loving and good and passionate man who wants every part of me and a marriage to such a man that will last until the day we move on. Even so, I could forgo it. If my mom could raise two children from two different fathers on her own, I certainly could manage it.
A man who wants every part of me. Something very recent brought up some suppressed emotions about relationships and it’s been difficult to let it go again. I don’t think it’s vain to say that I’ve been told many times by the men (boys, guys, whatever) in my life how amazing I am, how beautiful, pretty, smart, funny, sweet I am. How sexual I am, among the best. How they want to be with me but for some reason or another couldn’t. I wonder why, if it’s only just sex to them, they feel the need to tell me those other things because when they do, it makes me want to scream THEN WHY AREN’T YOU WITH ME.
“Sexually you and I are perfect“ So he said. And numerous times before hand it was how beautiful, how funny, any man should be lucky, you deserve it, you’re such an amazing woman. Good, but not good enough. That was me, not him. That’s how I feel about them all. I don’t get why you don’t have someone. Maybe that’s a question for the men who’ve walked in and out of my life? Have I let them? More than likely. One taught me the lesson of why it’s best not to be honest about how I feel about men and the next, possibly the most important one, taught me what happens when you don’t tell him soon enough about how you feel about him.
And now, good friends we are still despite our three week adulterous romp, I can’t help but wonder if I’m just being a foolish, maudlin girl and imagining that there is more he wants to say than he lets himself believe or if he really does realise that he doesn’t have everything he truly needs or if maybe all of the accolades were just…politeness and it was nothing more than just curiousity and sex. I wonder why I feel like I don’t deserve more.
I put so much out there and care so much because I think, deep down, I want it to be returned. I want someone to feel that all of me is perfect for them, not just one part.
~~~~~
quiet night still bed only sounds a whirring fan and single heartbeat
she held her hand up to the dull yellow lamp light
palm open blocking the glowing heart, fingers spread
the spaces between her fingers were achingly empty
as were the rest of the spaces around and in her body
even though always aware, when she thought of it
it sort of squeezed her heart startled into holding fast so not to fall
her hand lowered to her chest, palm down eyes close in the sudden light
fingers spread and begin to fill those spaces between with herself
she knows her body well
