Pulling and Pushing.

Earlier on in life I learned that the earth had a gravitational pull. This is why we can walk around and not just float about. This pull is powerful and although Man has been able to push from it, it exists. I learned to read doors that said PULL or PUSH, I learned that pushing someone down was mean, and pulling someone to their feet was nice. I learned what a push-up bra did, didn’t care for them. I learned that pulling someone’s hair would hurt them. I learned how to push my brothers stroller. I learned how to pull together as a team to make something else happen that would not have otherwise if I did it alone, if that makes sense. Among other things. . .

What no one prepared me for, and not to their fault, but that people have pull, and people can push. It resides inside them. It starts in their stomach, or their heart and it gets sent to you through their eyes, through their arms, their legs, their mouth, their hands, their chest. Some people have this. . .power. This gravitational pull towards them, you are drawn to them, you cannot deny it because the pull is stronger than you pushing away.

My first boyfriend, Ryan had this pull. He was the new kid at the school and every girl had a crush on him, including me. But somehow he wanted to play the role of boyfriend for me, and I would play girlfriend for him. And even after the drama, the heartache, the lies, he managed to always pull me back. He would reach out to me with his arms physically, his words would escape his mouth in perfection – just like in the movies. I never had to tell him the right thing to say, he knew all the right words, and the order in which to use them. No matter how hard I tried to push him away, I gave in to his pull and I’d fall for him. Then when he pushed me away, I couldn’t pull him back. I tried, I cried, and I tried and I cried. I didn’t have the power, I didn’t have his power. I was this great confusion of comfort to him. He knew he could always come home to me even after he took others home.

My second boyfriend was different. Somehow he handed me the power. He was cute and talented with bright blue eyes. He was younger than me and I, apparently, pulled him to me. I wanted to take care of him and when he though I wanted to take care of someone else he pushed me away with one hand and pull me with the other. That exists. People will push and pull you at the same time. They will yank you one way because they want to push you the other. All the while you are trying to use your eyes and arms and your legs to make it stop, to pull away, to push them off. Until finally, you’re free of their clings, but their words echo. Sometimes words will always hurt more than the bruise, or strike to the face because its internal. Our insides are so much more sensitive than our outside; our exterior can handle much more push and pull than our internal selves. It wasn’t until 10 years later we agreed to disagree and let the past live in the past.

My third boyfriend wanted to know we were going to eventually get married. Nope. I wasn’t ready for that, and I KNEW he wasn’t the one. He was someone I wanted to have around. No pushing, no pulling. It was the easiest relationship I’d ever had. But one question about the future and one disagreement pulled us apart. It was fine, we were never friends after that, we never had that pull towards each other – at least in my opinion we didn’t.

Then there were the boy-toys. The people whom you are drawn to and are equally drawn to you – but only for a short burst. It was a surge of energy that pulsed through me sometimes with the look from a specific gentlemen, and I am told it was the same for them. But all physical pull. We wanted to hug and kiss and touch and hug but they never knew who I was in my heart. I had pushed the doors closed on my heart, not because “i’ve been hurt before” but because I wanted too. I didn’t want to let anyone in, I wanted to play and have fun and flirt and live a little bit more from the outside. And what was nice, was no one really ever asked why or why not. They played along with me, right where I was and when I was done, or they were – it ended. But true to the statements of others when you don’t let someone in, they don’t stand at the doorway long. When you don’t ask someone to stay they will eventually just volunteer to leave, and if you don’t pull them to you, you may aswell be pushing them away. The stagnant relationships were the worst and the best. For a while nothing was more refreshing than just standing still and letting life happen around me. Nothing was better than karaoke night at sunset with my friends and the potential makeout buddy for the night. Nothing. But only for a while.

Then I moved to Burbank and I loved someone that would never love me back. That’s a lie. He would love me, but not until I left. He would love me more now than he ever would have then. It was the first time my insides snuck up on me. It was supposed to be external, it was supposed to be physical and fun. It was supposed to be hugs and kisses, or dinner at Heroes, or movie night with fajitas, or VO & 7up, or cuddling on the couch. But I realized after you do that for a certain amount of time, people creep in. Still, no pushing or pulling, but all of a sudden my heart was involved. All of a sudden my stomach would turn if he didn’t return my messages, as it would flip when he did return them. Soon I would reach out and attempt to pull him in just to be pushed back. Then time passed and I would leave Burbank and he would try to pull me back. Timing was perfect with us – read the sarcasm. He knew about me. About my life, my family, my friends – and all of this because I would sit at my computer and type it to him via IM. All of this because X amount of nights a week I’d drive the 45 minutes to see him and sleep next to him. All of this and it wasn’t until later I found out the pulling I did was working. All of this and it wasn’t until later either of us would admit that the world wanted to push us apart when we wanted to pull eachother with arms and hands. All of this to find that there was hidden poetry written, secret songs, secret messages but altogether, we were miles and a parallel universe apart. All of this and sometimes a piece of my heart still aches because at one point, and he knows this, if he had ever said “I am home” I would have gone home.

Then there was PCPA. A school I loved and hated. Classmates I loved and hated, teachers I respected and didn’t, rehearsals I dreaded and longed for, performances I stood in for and performances I was excused from. And there was a boy there too. And for no reason I fell head over heels for him. Face planting myself at his feet just to look up and see his eyes and chemistry – his pull would do more than metaphorically bring me to my feet, it would make me fly. I was defying some kind of gravity with him in mind. I never bothered with the idea of pushing him back for the sake of my school work, I would never consider staying up late to talk to him would hinder my performance and work at school the next day. I would risk it all. And I was sure if there was a God that he was pushing me towards this boy.

There is a kind of love that exists that is not about you when you are in it. There is a kind of love that exists solely to honor and obey someone else – I do not know this love. There is a kind of human pull towards those that push you away and a push when you are pulled. But following magnetic truths, two negatives will push against eachother, as two positives will also push against eachother. They will deny eachother. The attraction lies with in the negative facing the positive. The push has to be against the pull.

And then, there are those that you long to pull. You know that it would never work out, you know that it should never be, and yet you pull and you are pulled and you are welcomed. What then? Push? Go? Stop? Again? No? Yes? What happens when you are pulled in different directions for different reasons. What happens when you push it away, and they pull you in, or visa versa. You accept it? You deny it?

How can we grow up not learning this in textbooks. How can something so powerful not be studied day after day. How can we say we love one thing but long for something else. what will apease you. What will you allow to pull at you.

Adventure.

What happens when someone is pulled into a bathroom stall, or passionately slammed up against a wall.
What happens when we decide that our external form is in charge?

I believe that if we start from the inside and work our way out, it is safer – and I believe that if we start from the outside then it works its way in and this is where we get hurt. This is where we have longing, this is where lust lives, this is where we drive. This is where we don’t care if we are pushed against that wall because we infact want to pull them closer.

What happens to those that deny everything?
What happens to those that accept everything.
Is it dangerous to start from the inside out, or the outside in?
What happens when you decide to stand still, do you miss out on something?
What happens when you push to hard?
What happens when you pull to hard?

why must there always be a reason?
why must their eyes drive you?
why must their arms hold you?
why do your legs walk you towards them, or make you run from it?
Why does your chest ache when one leaves, or feel weighted when one stays?

OR. . .

I can say: Its my fault.

I pushed too hard
I pulled too quickly
I left so fast
I didn’t listen
I jumped too deep
I hit rock bottom
I fell.
I wanted to be caught
I wanted to be swept away
I was wanted.
I ran towards it too fast
I fled too quickly
I heard that song on the radio, and then I reacted
I wrote that song for you
I wished it
I dreamt it
I followed you
I am trying!
I am LOST
I am perfect
I am sorry.
I regret nothing
I take it back.
I wanted to hold your hand
I wanted to kiss you
I can
I will
I . . .

Because if I take responsibility for it, then I can say I learned from it.
Because if I make it my own, I can analyze it then move on
Because if I analyze it and break it down it will make more sense – to ME

Because if I admit that it was not in my control, then I am admitting I wasn’t myself. And I don’t know how to be anyone else. I don’t know how to change for you, I don’t want to change. I don’t know how to talk to you, to look at you, to think about you. I don’t understand what I feel for you – but its ALL ME. Its my own fault, and I’ll figure it out – and I will be a better person, a better daughter, a better sister, and a better friend because of it.

I admit it.

I admit to my faults, my promises, my lies, my secrets, my passions, my lusts, my external attractions, my internal affairs, my pain, my strengths. . .and I admit that it is for me, not for you.