A leaf of doubt,

a pinch of fear

a tablespoon of stories

with obsession near

Fold in worry and my past

Blend well with ego and and the spell is cast

Abracadabra.

The spell starves me of any joy.

It usually starts to kick in on Thursdays.

A stirring. Similar to a tiny sore throat before a possible cold comes on. Thursdays I start feeling a little anxiety about Mikey. I wonder what he is doing this weekend? I wonder if I’ll see him? I wonder if I should reach out? But I just reached out 5 days ago. Maybe I should wait 14 days or even better 21 days. He will think I am chasing him. Maybe he is with that blonde up North that he loves and took to Mexico – the one that pressures him. He’s caved in to her.Maybe he can feel my energy so I won’t hear from him. Maybe the last time I saw him was the last time I’ll ever see him again (I’ve been thinking that for 5 years). Maybe he has a dinner date with some woman he met on a plane recently. Maybe he is traveling. Maybe he is seeing his girls. Maybe he is with his Mom. No no he’s texting with some other woman. But even if he is, it’s okay because I love him. Love is free, no expectations, right? Where is he? What’s he doing? I need to know. I need to know.

A cauldron brewing with a concoction of made up stories, too much time, fear, and my past. I drink the brew and a spell of obsession, rumination, racing thoughts and anxiety take over me. It’s EXHAUSTING. Yes, EXHAUSTING.

Like a run away train. An 18 wheeler barreling down the highway. A Ferris Wheel that’s gone haywire. A car alarm that won’t stop. THAT is what my brain feels like.

It’s not Mikey. Let’s shoot Mikey to the moon. It would be someone else. You see I have felt this before, way before I met him. I have felt this with Mitch( high school) Jon (after high school) Mike F. (the sexy Lucky’s man) and who can forget Saro (The Armenian) just to name a few. It started with my Dad and has never stopped. I guess he was the OG.

My head feels like it’s going to blow. I get into an altered state. My brain has been highjacked.

I make up delicious stories. He met someone. He got turned off because I didn’t know how to cut a tomato. He is with that blonde and she is super smart, has a perfectly decorated home, and can whip up a 5 star meal without a hitch. The flannel sheets that were on my bed seemed childish so he has decided I am not womanly enough. The list goes on and on. The stories feel so real in my head and my body.

My nervous system gives me a run for my money. It’s in cahoots with my brain and the stories it makes up. The grooves are deep kids. I get some chemical rush from the stories.I get stoned out on stories.

If Thursday is the tiny sore throat. Friday’s are the sore throat that feels like razor blades. If I am not careful the spinning gets stronger in my head. Similar to the teacups at Disneyland or a car burning out and doing doughnuts over and over and over and over and over and over and over.

The thoughts gain steam. The 18 wheeler is now without brakes and flying down a hill, the merry go round has malfunctioned and is spinning and spinning and spinning inside my head.

He must be with “her.” He’s driving up north to see her. She is so cute. Petite and blonde and wears button down shirts with a scarf and loafers. I don’t wear loafers. Her button down shirt is open just enough to show a hint of her white lace bra by La Perla. I wear Natori’s. Her breasts are perfect sculpted by a top surgeon. Mine are natural. They too are OG’s.They talk about the children they each raised, she whips him up a delicious lunch while they laugh and fool around. Stop brain stop. Red Light! HALT. Danger

When Saturday rolls around the sore throat is gone and I have the sniffles. I go to yoga, I quiet my mind, I walk the dogs and I clean the shit out of my house. I fight the temporary paralysis of my heart and hands and I reach out to my Mikey. Just like that the spell is broken. Poof.That’s the antidote to the poison that flowed through me. Reaching out to Mikey. He is always responsive and I am so proud of myself. Proud of myself for being vulnerable and reaching out. We often get together, But even if we don’t that doesn’t matter. It’s that I fought through the hard wiring of my past and broke the spell.

Love, truth and a little vulnerability and the spell is broken.

Me, I’m exhausted. Yes, exhausted.

O