Gina

Today was rough and frustrating and exhausting. I am okay, but basically, I had to be Hella Tough in a hard moment with a bully. And now I am feeling the way I usually feel after I put on my Tough-Ass Bitch Face. Which is freaked-out and exhausted and very small.

And (I promise this is related): I feel less lonely every day, for sure. The break-up grief feels further away every day, for sure. And, after a day like today, I’m also just like “Shit, when I had this kind of hard day when A. and I were together, he’d come over with tacos and tell me I was strong and get me stoned and tell me jokes till I laughed so hard I got a stomach ache.” And I miss all that especially bad tonight.

(Other things I am trying not to think about: Halloween last year, and how we both got so giddy about planning out our costumes together. How sweet it was to be falling in love over autumn. How much amazing sex we were having.)

So. I’m being sweet to myself tonight. Listening to Antony & The Johnsons, going for a walk, treating myself to tacos, reading my homework (which sounds un-fun, but it’s actually a lot of fun, the readings for this class are hella interesting). And maybe I will pour myself a glass of fancy bourbon and watch a silly movie before bed.

This too shall pass. I know. I know.

Seattle has been extraordinarily healing for me. In a lot of ways, I am happier than I have been in a long, long time.

And? Last night, in bed, I still could not fucking sleep. I tossed & turned & gnashed my teeth & generally flailed about and saw the sun rise through my window and finally fell asleep after dawn and woke up around 10. I had a lot of Sad Sad Missing My Sweet Sweet Boyfriend thoughts, and a lot of angry “Why did it have to go down like it did & why did he have to be mean & adolescent & try to make me hate him towards the end?” thoughts, and a lot of “WAAAH, why does it have to be like this in general?!” thoughts.

And. It can all be true.

I can be getting better, being happier & more productive, finally writing again, seeing sweet old friends & cuddling their cats, walking all over Capitol Hill, telling stories & cracking wise & laughing hysterically. I can pop into the leather shop & have a sweet conversation about John Preston with the cute faggots behind the counter & buy my first orange hanky. I can write 1,000 new good words. I can talk shit with Qwo-Li & Colin over iced mochas & cigarettes at the Gay Old Man Cafe that is basically the Seattle version of Twin Peaks but with coffee instead of booze. I can walk for miles and feel really good in my body and NOT have an awful fibromyalgia pain day and be joyous about being alive, moving & zipping around on sturdy legs that know how to get me anywhere. I can get cruised the way I always get cruised in Seattle, and smile back, even if I don’t take anyone up on their offer. I can get myself a red velvet cupcake at Cupcake Royale & sit next to a hot punk fag in eyeliner & give him a flirty smile. I can eat lemongrass pork w/ Elisabeth & Meagan, and we can see Ivy out the window of the restaurant and I can shout to her like the loud bitch I am, and Seattle can feel small & tender to me in the way that San Francisco does — so many of my old friends & history, all in one gorgeous place. Elisabeth & I can sit in Cal Anderson Park watching the moon get bigger & brighter, catching up on our last year like it has only been five minutes since we’ve seen each other. She can stop me on a street corner when I tell her how sad I’ve been, and say “Oh, Gina, can I just give you a hug? When you say that, I wanna give you a hug.” And it can be the sweetest moment, being held by an old friend like I didn’t even know I needed to be held, out on the middle of Broadway Street while drag queens bitch outside the bar & teenagers roll up to Dick’s Burgers. Later, Elisabeth & Meagan & I can drink apricot cider at their apartment late into the night, tell stories that make us laugh so hard we get stomach aches.

It can be a Perfect Day. And, then it can still be a hard night. There can still be the parts of me that are messy. That feel cracked and hurt and mad and fucked-up and wounded and hesitant to trust and scared. All of it can be true & real, the messiness & the happiness. The joy over what we had, and the sadness & anger that it’s over. If I am learning anything new from this break-up, it is just how incremental & slow healing is, and just how much there is still sweetness around me, even when some things feel awful & rough & lonely.

It is so simple, and it is so new, not giving myself a set of “Shoulds” about how I need to be. I don’t have to be Over It, and I don’t have to be Miserable. I get to be everything that I am in the moment. Angry & sweet, sad & joyous. Tender. Open to whatever comes next.