Melanie

The world really said let me take an OCD woman & give her a home to remodel with lots of saw dust & dry wall dust to clean. Then let me give her poison Ivy & lots of contaminated laundry. Then let’s add a kitten with fleas & lets give the kitten ring worm after the fleas clear up

Ever since I was 13 years old, I have had a device that I have scrolled on every day and every single night. Throughout those years, there were times I was on a device less. But not once was I not on it before bed. 2 days ago, I decided to turn my phone off. It sounds like no big deal. But to me, it was. My husband, daughter, and I live alone in our state, and without my phone I was disconnected from my entire family, many communities, and even my best friend whom I’ve spoken to every single day for 6 years. I wanted to do this because I felt as if I had no idea who I was. Not in a dramatic way, but kind of. As the youngest of 7 children, I was always told who I was. There are childhood memories I have that are not raw memory, but stories told to me about myself so many times that I’ve accepted them as memory. I accepted my fate as the youngest, the loud mouth, the outspoken one, that one who probably didn’t follow the rules. I watched 6 siblings grow up before me, and it naturally matured me quicker than anyone else my age. I quickly learned personality traits to mirror to make someone laugh, I quickly learned how to act to make specific friends. I went to college at 14, and I tried my best to fit in with people between 4 and 8 years older than I was. If someone were to ask my family or friends how sure of myself I was, they’d say “oh Melanie? She’s sure of herself.” Frankly, I was not. When i became a mom, there was a still whisper in me that kept saying “this is who you are.” The woman who can be so gentle of voice even when the whole house is falling apart. The woman who is so patient even when she’s nursed all day and night, has a cold, and hasn’t had a piece of a private moment for 2 years straight, could still calmly say “don’t worry. Mistakes happens. We can clean up this broken glass in no time.” I noticed how nurturing and calm I was around my daughter. Frankly, it was Guinness book of world records level. It wasn’t that Italian girl who was outspoken and crazy. It was someone else. I didn’t fully realize that until these last 2 days. These last 2 days, I will be honest, have been some of the most lonely of my life. I cried a lot, and to be candid, i am not someone who cries very easily. I sat staring at the ceiling for entire hours. I didn’t whistle a tune or doodle. I thought. A lot. I thought about the fact I may be the most sensitive person in the universe. I thought about how easy it is to hurt my feelings; how easy it is to make me sad. How much I do want to be liked and loved. I thought about how music makes me feel as close to meeting the Divine as possible. I put on Debussy and stared at the fingers of men and women pressing the keys to some of my most favorite songs. I listened so hard I think I may have forgotten to breathe. I remembered how much I loved to play piano. When i was a child, I learned to play canon in D major. I was 5 years old. I used to play piano until 3 in the morning. The whole world was asleep. But I couldn’t stop playing. I thought about the fact when I’m all alone, melancholy is the most vivid emotion i have. I thought about the bridge between happiness and sadness, and how often i cross that bridge when i think of childhood memories. I searched and found a piano I want to buy. I want to play again. In the meantime, I composed a musical piece already. I used to compose music a lot. My mom used to laugh and say how sweet it was anytime music played, I’d hum the background instruments instead of the main vocals. I sang Love Never Dies maybe 40 times. I lay awake for 2 nights. I simply could not sleep. Maybe it was because I was anxious that I had not talked to my mom. Maybe I had too much to think about. Maybe I was going through cellular withdrawals. I don’t know. All I know is I didn’t mind it. I liked thinking.

Not to schizopost, but I really think the issue is modern men, especially white men, have been beat down so much by feminism and the like that their masculinity is atrophied to the point they feel uncomfortable with the basic reality that they are attracted to women a lot.