Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 17

What is this desperate feeling?

I have everything I need.

My dog. My dude. The sun. The beach.

All the comforts in the world

And yet here I am continuing to reach out.

Are my dreams of friendship unrealistic or borderline Hollywood?

I want someone I see every week.

A friend to grow with.

To learn from.

To laugh with.

And I have beautiful friends here.

But I feel I always initiate.

And I’m starting to think that is my burden to bare in order for me to meet my friend quota.

But it does hurt a bit.

Not feeling wanted.

I know people are busy.

They have partners and other friends and work and all the bullshit we all have.

I guess it’s just easier when you live with your friends or live in the same neighborhood as them.

I lived with my friend Sarah for two years back home so it was easy to become best friends with her.

Friends through convenience I guess.

Why are people so fucking lazy now days?

Anyways, here’s me telling the universe I would like a best friend in Sydney who is responsive and initiates drinks and wants to go on trips and who wants to go deep man. Because I’m ready for that deep friendship here.

Amen.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 13

I’m speechless.

I come home exhausted and defeated after a two hour walk with my psycho dog

And there in the house is my boyfriend.

My boyfriend who is suppose to be at the job site.

The boyfriend I just got off the phone with.

He’s in the house.

With a bouquet of roses, dinner made, candle lit and music playing.

I’m not joking.

I started crying.

I was so shocked at this huge display of love.

I lost it.

Sometimes a person’s love for you will do that.

It will just sneak up on you and reintroduce itself.

Hey Brooke, my name is love.

We met a while ago, but you’ve gotten a bit comfortable and have forgotten me so I thought I’d reintroduce myself.

It was gentle.

Soft.

And the biggest relief to have dinner made.

Because Fuck I love food.

And he nailed it.

Truly, I am so honored to be his partner in this lifetime.

What a fucking legend.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 12

So far, I’ve met two Americans through facebook this week.

Both very lovely women.

Both married.

And I hope they last.

I mean, I hope our friendship lasts.

This is always my fear.

Rejection

Or even worse

Apathy.

I’m always the initiator in relationships.

I am always searching for that Grey and Yang relationship.

And I actually found it once, in North Carolina, with my roommate Sarah.

But can I find it here?

Will someone let me be their Grey?

Because I miss sleepovers damn it!

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 11

I get it now.

The drinking

The writing

The addiction

It feels good to write intoxicated.

I feel free

Uninhibited

And yet I’m lucky

I don’t have the addiction bug

Like my father

Like my brother

Like all the men in my family

Is it a man thing?

I don’t know

But I’m lucky

I know when to stop

Thank god

Or the devil

For skipping me

I appreciate it.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 10

So I’ve been called a sadist.

But I’d like to describe it more as

A controllist.

I like to believe I have the upper hand.

But what this person doesn’t know

Is this is my wall talking.

He doesn’t know I’m full of shit

He doesn’t see me crumble

in therapy

Or cry with joy from being loved for three years by the most forgiving man I’ve ever met.

He doesn’t know me.

He tried to pull that perceptive card,

But I’ve met his like before.

Confident on the outside

Insecure on the inside.

Like all of us.

So don’t tell me, you can read me.

Because I know you’re no fly on the wall.

You’re just like every other psychology cock sucker thinking you’re the next Freud.

So bye boy.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 7

Today I’ve been thinking about home.

Craving familiarity.

I’ve been listening to country music.

Christian music even though I’m not Christian anymore.

Ya it got that bad. 😂

Craving mac and cheese

Tacos

Friends

My whole being is feeling this pull to reconnect with Americans again.

Being in Australia, I’ve only met 3 Americans.

One was a flake.

The second was too loud.

And the third is an adorable Cuban from Florida who is also very loud but we were able to work on it.

Other than that, I’ve met only Brits and Asians.

And don’t get me wrong, they’re very lovely people. But the Brits want to hang more with the Brits and their slang always throws me for a loop anyways.

So my only friends are Asian. And they’re amazing lovely women, but we can’t relate on everything. There are certain things I want to say, but I know they won’t understand.

Just like any group of people, your group knows you. They see you. They can relate with you.

And I miss that.

So I problem solved.

Where can I find Americans in Sydney?

Facebook.

So here I am today, posting on Facebook if any Americans in the city want to hang.

I don’t care if I sound desperate.

Because if you’re on facebook, you’re desperate too.

We’re all fuckin desperate for friendship and making the first move is my forte anyways.

So if you’re out there Americans, I just wanna say hey!

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 2

Damn those dog farts stink!

Almost as bad as my dad’s coffee breath in church.

Rancid, dude.

But at least they’re both honest.

I wonder if my soul stinks as much.

Because as of late, I haven’t been honest with myself.

I go back and forth between pain and pleasure.

Thinking of my dad…

Buy a donut.

Thinking of my mom…

Buy a dress.

Escape escape escape.

Distract distract distract.

It’s so easy to pretend it’s alright.

I’m across the world from them.

They can’t get me here.

But my credit card says otherwise.

I am buying to distract myself from my stench.

Because this wound is festering, brother.

Yet I just keep slapping band aids on it.

Except today.

Today I’m getting a whiff of its misery and I’m not pulling back.

I’m not pulling back today because yesterday I promised I wouldn’t.

So here I am.

Raw.

Open.

And honest.

Posted in My Poetry

Dear Diane

I feel aligned with you.
I see me
In you.
When I first met you,
I knew.
I could feel your energy too.
The perfectionism, pride and potential
were swimming around you.

Me and you.
You and me.
We’re bonded.
Don’t you see?

Our past pain
Has brought us together
In hopes
that one day
We’d find to be,
What I would consider,
The key.
For your forgiveness of your trauma has unlocked the mystery.

Posted in Reflections

Cat calling

The horns would honk

The whistles would blow

And the men would stare.

It started when I was fourteen

Walking down the street

in Sacramento.

I felt the attention.

Part of me liked it,

I’m not gonna lie.

But then part of me also felt scared

I was being sexualized and I didn’t even know what that meant.

But it kept happening.

I’d walk

And they’d drive by.

For years this went on

When I was a kid.

It was weird

But it became normal.

And now as a grown adult,

It stopped.

Which some would say, thank god.

But in my fucked up head

I’ve been conditioned to think

“Am I not beautiful anymore?”

Whick makes me wonder

How any woman survives puberty

Unblemished

When they’re taught as children

That only their looks are worth attention.

Instagram : @harleyray.blog

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Last Book Review of “Sorry I’m Late I didn’t want to come” by Jessica Pan

The biggest obstacles Jess took part in within the book were joining an improv class and a comedy class, two separate classes. She chose these classes because she had a huge fear of public speaking and didn’t know how to solve it so she sought professional help. Though I have never taken on such a daunting task as that, I did adopt a puppy back in Charlotte, North Carolina after having no friends for three months. And I would like to think this could be seen as a huge commitment similarly to agreeing to perform a comedy skit on stage at a bar, which is what Jess did.

My puppy was amazing at filling the void I had back in North Carolina, but it came with a cost. The cost being she was not potty trained nor did she ever want to be. That girl would piss and shit every day on the floor. I tried everything, but that girl just loved to make a nice pile of dung on the floor for when I got home. It was great.

But what I lost in cleaning supplies, I gained in friends because Harley knew how to work a crowd. She was a people pleaser and my ice breaker to making real friends in Charlotte. I started taking her to the dog park every evening after work and slowly but surely I became friends with the other dog parents at the park. We would talk about their personalities and training tips and use dog voices as dog owners do to describe their dog. Yes, this is a thing. Just ask one of your friends if they talk for their dog or assume what their dog is thinking and watch as they give you that goofy guilty smile. It’s real.

Cat owners do it too.

Anyways, these dog park people became my people just as the improv class became Jess’s people and the only soul to thank for that is Harley.


And that wraps up the series! Hope you liked it.

Cheers!