I'm just a They, singing to a Boy about being a Girl who loved a Man who loves a Woman who hates the They and They leave the Man and the Woman never knew and in the end none of it was true.

Song Writing is hard.

Have you ever written one? I'd love for you to tell me about it.

Was it easy? Did it flow through you like water?

Do you fill journals with song after song and have no words for them?

Do you sing melodies in your dreams and try desperately to hold onto them when you open your eyes and then cry those hard tears that sting for some reason when it's gone forever?

I find songs come up like burps from the depths of heaven. When the gas passes, i can't fake more.

Rarely do I know what I'm writing of. The context will be a surprise for myself months later when I realize I was singing emotionally relevant things without cognizance.

Fun little party trick when literally everyone around you with ears and half a brain can tell you why your ex girlfriend was so mad when you sang certain lyrics around her. It stung. Of course it stung. How could I have not seen that it stung?

I imagine from the same protective place my reflex to run and hide when I feel rejected comes from. The primal place that saves us from men in the woods and makes telephone calls difficult. That place that dissociates at the sight of one particular face or perceived gesture and crumbles this behemoth viking warrior in to a puddle of feeling like a burden who will incite relief in all who knew them at the news of their departure (cue opening scene of Amelie including soundtrack).

Just your very regular Complex PTSD-induced OCD diagnosed- Autistic -Formally Exceptional- Grown Child RSD battling ARFID survivor. I probably just needed to eat, I'm sorry guys. Also, I'm sorry I made it funny all those times. Not really, but I probably should be for what that's worth.

Love,

Opal