Posted in Being Vulnerable

Journal 20

Did I tell you I got a nutritional therapist?

I was afraid I was becoming addicted to sugar.

It runs in the family.

And I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be like my family.

I want to be better.

So I hired her.

And we took a deep dive into my family, into my trauma, and into why I sometimes emotionally eat.

And she started slow.

She suggested increasing my water intake.

And making healthy brownies instead of buying chocolate.

And that helped.

But that rejection the other day triggered another emotional response.

And the first day, I surprisingly didn’t eat my feelings.

I felt alright and I thought I talked it all through with my friend back home.

But then the weekend came.

And with it came the shopping, the distractions and the reach for old, happy memories.

And honestly I don’t feel shame about it.

Because I know why I did it.

I have pain inside me that needs to be seen.

I need to cry more and I’m really bad at making time to cry.

But I know I need to try because this pain has been with me for a decade now at least and I’m tired of getting so hurt when people don’t want to be my friend anymore.

It’s just getting ridiculous, you know?

Because I know my worth.

And I am a good friend.

And I am a good person.

So if I know this about myself, then I shouldn’t let these comments or actions stick to me.

I should treat them like rain on a duck’s back and just let it slide right off me.

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 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 My Poetry

Insecurities

I hear you whispering in my ear.
Knocking at my door.
Pay attention!
Pay attention!
There is something I have to tell you!
Something urgent, something true.
I turn on the light and squint with displeasure
"What is the password?", I say with amuse.
"Does it matter?", you hiss.
"Yes", I whisper back, "boundaries are a must. I don't just let anyone into my house, you see. Only I hold the key."
The darkness holds you still.
You're shocked!
What happened to the people pleasing girl I knew?
But after a ponder you quickly propose, 
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said last night. 
Will you please let me in?"
And from the depths of darkness you start hearing laughter calling
"Let you in?", I say. "You must be joking. I have nothing left to offer you. Time is of the essence and I cannot continue this game. Now leave me to sleep as I was having a good dream."
You shake your head with confusion
Our relationship had been your safest scheme.
Now what would you do? Rejection didn't suit you.
So you leapt from the porch in search of the next ear,
trusting she was near.