Why is it that people who don’t know me love my blogs, and people who do refuse to read it? :)

Which I must admit holds a bit of irony, because what is one of the most attractive things about blogging you may ask? well..... the internet has no face. At no point in this conversation am I worried in any way about your reaction, your emotions, your facial features crumbling....before my very eyes.... There is nothing personal about the internet, and that lack of closeness takes away from my fear of opening up. It totally removes every brutally hurtful aspect about being honest with the people you love. you can't disappoint the internet. You can't make the "internet" cry, and the internet will never be disappointed in you. For every one person who responds to this in a negative way, there will be 15 positive responses, and those responses will fuel my fire. They will keep me going, they will make sure that I don't feel like I am doing something taboo by letting my heart out through the quick typing of fingers, and the easy access that the publish button allows. The internet lets me share myself without necessarily feeling like I have opened myself for retaliation. As long as I'm honest on the internet, and people respond honestly through said medium, I will never be hurt. 

These are the thoughts that run through my head before I go to sleep. 

I only blog at night when I feel like I have accomplished something throughout the day. 

If I blog in the morning, all I have to talk about is my dreams, because by then, I have already gotten over the bullshit of the previous day, and the only thing that has happened is a little bit of dreaming. 

My dreams have been fucking me up lately, and I don't now how to let it go. 

For instance: the night before last, I had a dream about one of my x-boyfriends. I have many x-boyfriends, yes, it's true, but there is ONE who stays with me. Through sickness and health, till death do us part, there is one man in my life of whom I just can't seem to let go. His name? Well....He was the one. "The One". Capital O. The one in every way possible. I dated him from my 16th year (of life) till my 20th year (of life), and I have a feeling that breaking up with him and not being with him had a little bit of a hand in my drug usage. My desperate need to fill the "void". That empty space inside that I tried my hardest to complete....with cocaine. And I don't know that I've really made this connection before, but I must admit, if not just to myself (which goes back to the intro paragraph about me feeling more like I am talking to myself when I'm blogging, because I don't really think that anybody reads my shit....which is what I feel in case you haven't noticed...) I think the reason that I developed a cocaine problem is because I was incredibly lonely, and depressed. I was lonely because the one and only man that I have ever allowed myself to love and be enamored of was gone from my life. Like a Bic with no fuel. A zippo and no fluid. I was a Flame, and no well...."the one". So I dream of him instead.

When we broke up, it was difficult. I kept trying to come back to him although I had broke up with him and swore up and down we were through. He let me back into his life until one night. I went to his house, (actually his parents house, but it makes no difference) and did my best to seduce him. We started fooling around, he started to go down on me and then from in between my thighs, as I watched his face waiting and needing some sort of reaction, he looked up and smiled this "we both know its over" smile. And he was right. With tears in his eyes, he met my lips with his. Tears in both our eyes, we spoke honestly, candidly, and for the first time in our relationship, all the bullshit that I had tried to feed him over the years died in the air like a fish out of water. Gasping for that H20, and finding only.... oxygen. 

"what are you doing?" he asked me. 

"I don't know....." was my honest but terrified answer. 

"You can't keep coming over like this. You said we are done. Why are you doing this?" he asked again, just as afraid as I. 

"I don't know (the one). I just don't want to let you go." and tears rolled down my 20 year old cheeks. 

"I know." and he looked at his hands, which rested in his lap. 

He took my face and kissed my tears away. Took my hands and held them until I quit shaking. I was positive that THIS was the man I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with, and to this day, I'm not quite sure he wasn't....

I stood and smiled at him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I have to go."

"I know." and again, his eyes fell to his hands. 

As I walked down the stairs, away from his parents bedroom, (who's bed we were about to fuck on), he watched me in awe. I'm not sure if the look in his eyes translated as that because he actually was in awe that I finally understood what he meant, or that we had finally connected on the most honest and fundamentally human level possible. True love acting accordingly. If you love, let it go. If its meant to be, it will come back......

Now, five years later, I still dream about him. I dream that I am at his parents house and there is something different that I could have done, something I could have done to make him stay and love me. Something I could have said that would have changed, not his mind, but our situation. I dream about him, and every morning that I wake up after dreaming about him, I feel lost. I feel like I fucked up somewhere along the way. Like somehow, at 20 years old, I had found the only man I could ever love (and who could ever love me), and there is just SOMETHING i could have done different. 

But these are only dreams, and as the sun rises over the San Bernadino Mountains, I find that there is nothing left but "shattered pieces of my heart". So what do I do? 

Mornings where I dream of him, I have started to wake myself from the dream in attempt to escape the heartbreak. I do everything that I can to avoid that love-ending experience, even if in my dreams he is telling me that he wants to be with me again, and that he doesn't hate me. Even if I dream quite the opposite of what happened, which would be that he still loves me and that after all this, would kill for, die for and dream of me, I wake myself up, because nothing can be worse then waking up to the thought of a man you knew you were supposed to spend eternity with only existing in dreams. 

What a sad blog Penny! (you may say in a fit of agony, tears and sorrow).

NO!!!! No sorrow. No pain. These things make for excellent blogs amigos! What would I have if not my honesty? What would I have if not my heartbroken dreams and brutally honest words and thoughts? All I ask? 

The One? If you are reading this.....(which I have a feeling you are not, because that isn't your style, and that is why I love you....) please please please please.....Let me sleep soundly tonight. Please don't come into my dreams and tell me you love me again. Because it fucks up my head. And if you are going to invade my dreams, please let me invade yours. Its not fair if you get to come and fuck with my subconscious if I can't fuck with yours. Maybe you're involved, maybe your married, but sugar? In dreams we still belong to one another. In dreams, I still love you and would change every thing in my life to be with you for another ten minutes. 

but once I wake up, please leave my mind. Please let me go about my day like a normal woman, with normal issues, and normal desires. Please don't make me fall in love with you all over again (even if only in dreams), because it was hard enough to let go the first time. Besides, I occasionally get to wake up next to someone I love and I can't handle dealing with both of you.  I can only have so many men in my life, and being a pornstar......I already have a full plate.