All hopeful women around the world have heard the myth about the man who was cheating on his wife, said he was going to leave, actually left her for the other woman and they lived happily ever after. Or the guy who was an infamous womanizer, player type who changed his stripes for the right woman. The guy who never did this or that and was given an ultimatum and then suddenly changed. These things never happen and are as likely as discovering the Loch Ness Monster or Sasquatch. Yet they serve as reasons many woman hold out, give chances and cling to hope. However, I found this flying pig in my dear friend. He actually did change his ways, has a baby and is finally living up to his potential, being the man I always knew he had underneath his scum baggery, treating his woman with love and respect.
I spent the day with them, at their new home and talked with her about my whole situation. She was very realistic and told me of all the trials and tribulations she went through with him. Her doubts, her fears, the crushing pain of walking away and having him come back. I tell this story not to give more false hope or disillusion myself with the idea that mine would ever change. But because it gave me hope that some men can eventually grow up. Although selling themselves out for a single life, depriving their lives from what is truly sustainable and fulfilling, can realize that its not worth it in the end. It was nice to see it for once. However, my friend and I both concluded that this is not something to look for, hope for or even consider. Because it's a waste of time and is usually a futile endeavor. Why go through all that when you can find someone who is on the same page as you and does not need commitment boot camp?
I have always considered giving the men in my life second, third, fourth chances. One day my Mom asked me what is the point? Why work on fixing what is broke when you can start fresh with someone who doesn't need another chance or who hasn't violated the relationship? From now on, when I am ready, I will pay attention to the red flags. I will walk away when I see them and not listen to the voice in my head that says not everyone is perfect. Because these red flags in the beginning become road blocks and, in my case, a 100 car pile up that one can only hope to survive and limp away from.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Day Twenty-Nine: Initiative (Sept 10th)
My ex's infidelity has caused me to experience constant anxiety. I am haunted by reliving days that I have recently discovered what he was really doing. What I was doing. Our conversations. His lies to continue his clandestine role of deceit and lascivious behavior. One thing I have learned, and am desperately trying to implement, is that I can control my thoughts, behavior and how I react to outside stimuli. I cannot control others, but I can work on controlling myself and take action towards healing. Part of my anxiety is not only due to the worry of what he has done to my emotional health, but to my physical and mental health as well. So I took initiative and made an appointment with my doctor to get tested for ALL STD's. I am also going to look into other some options to deal with my depression and its consequent friend named Anxiety. This worry is something that I CAN eliminate right now. I can control my actions, I can take charge and try to make a change. So I did.
Last time I went and spoke to someone about my depression and anxiety, they treated me like I was an alien and overreacting. Not exactly the best way to treat a girl who's father just died and is having a hard time coping. But this time, I was treated with compassion and felt like I was actually being heard. WHAT A CONCEPT! Listen and treat the patient. I had all the text book signs of depression and anxiety. I was prescribed the appropriate meds, one for depression, one to address my sleep issues, and one for my panic attacks.
It was a small step towards battling these demons, but I am taking it and doing what I can. This alone, settled me a bit. I found out in 15 agonizing minutes that I do not have HIV which was comforting. I will find out about the rest in due time. I have no reason to think I have anything, no symptoms...that is other than the fact my ex was having sex with desperate sluts and I doubt he used condoms.
After this my girlfriend picked me up and we went to a fashion night out on the town at Neiman Marcus. We had a ball looking at all the beautiful people and the silly examples of San Franciscans attempting to be socialites or at least emulate the image. The absurdity of people in this uber liberal city, clinging to hopes of resembling the upper-east siders or hollywood types, who have the velvet rope forever open, while going green and protesting against "the man," is ironic and increasingly entertaining with every stiletto that clicks by.
With this irony, we left all the fabulosity, went back to her house, equipped with burritos and just spent the evening dishing about all topics, laughing at it all. I felt a glimmer of happiness seeping back into my soul...and I haven't even started my meds.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Day Twenty-Eight: Steps Forward? (Sept. 9th)
Just like yesterday, I found myself completely losing myself in space and time. I laid in my bed, tears falling down my face, screaming with agony into my pillow. I don't know how long this continued but before I knew it, the sun was going down and night was beginning to fall. I was lost in an abyss of pain. So confused and bewildered at his ability to hurt me so badly. To be capable of such deception and how he could hold me, tell me he wants to work on being a better man to me while continuing to engage in such lascivious behavior. And how I could stand by my man, despite all his shortcomings, loving him for everything he is and isn't, trying so hard to make our relationship work.
All these thoughts dominated my every second. My world consists of only pain. It's as if my entire self doesn't exist. I am a walking sack of skin and everything inside has vanished. The only evidence that I am alive are my constant tears and feeling pain. Without the two, I could seriously convince myself that I am not alive. How was I ever going to get back to where I was? Who am I anymore? Will I ever feel normal?
My family is very concerned about me. My Mother calls me daily, hearing me answer the phone, barely being able to hold a conversation between my sobs. She told me that I should consider going to an Al Anon meeting so I could speak with other people who have been affected by addiction and the inevitable behavior that comes with being in a relationship with someone who is afflicted with the disease. I did not want to worry her, so I decided to give it a shot. Maybe it can help?
Reluctantly, I went to this all women meeting, rationalizing that I could not open up about a man that destroyed me in a room with another man present. In fact, I am terrified when a man speaks to me that I know is showing interest. I automatically think they want to hurt me or are only speaking lies and want to use me for their pleasure. I hope this fear dissipates. I do not like living my life in fear of anything that is so unavoidable and what used to bring me joy.
The meeting was very beneficial. I heard a few women share stories that I could relate to. In fact, they were pretty much telling my story. The reading we focused on that night, step one, was an eye opener. Basically, its the fact that we are powerless to their disease. We cannot control their drinking, their behavior or any of their decisions. And, it does not matter how hard we try. This was very freeing and made me realize I have been giving my life up to try and control everything in our relationship because I knew his drinking was ruining us. It was tearing us apart and all I would ever do is drop everything, be around, try to curb his drinking, be understanding, supportive etc. His drinking dominated my world and every effort and ounce of my energy.
Hearing this saved me from having all the doubts I have been carrying in my heart. It was not my fault. There is nothing that I could have done. And it didn't matter how much I tried: He was going to do what he was going to do no matter what. Even if I were the best woman on the planet, there was no stopping him from being who he is, engaging in destructive behavior and making the decisions he makes. This gave me a little comfort. These days, that is better than nothing. And just for a moment, I felt like I was actually alive. Relief briefly replaced my pain and I felt free. That was until I exited the meeting and saw him going the opposite direction on the bus, passing right by me. Then, all the pain came back. I feel like I am dying.
All these thoughts dominated my every second. My world consists of only pain. It's as if my entire self doesn't exist. I am a walking sack of skin and everything inside has vanished. The only evidence that I am alive are my constant tears and feeling pain. Without the two, I could seriously convince myself that I am not alive. How was I ever going to get back to where I was? Who am I anymore? Will I ever feel normal?
My family is very concerned about me. My Mother calls me daily, hearing me answer the phone, barely being able to hold a conversation between my sobs. She told me that I should consider going to an Al Anon meeting so I could speak with other people who have been affected by addiction and the inevitable behavior that comes with being in a relationship with someone who is afflicted with the disease. I did not want to worry her, so I decided to give it a shot. Maybe it can help?
Reluctantly, I went to this all women meeting, rationalizing that I could not open up about a man that destroyed me in a room with another man present. In fact, I am terrified when a man speaks to me that I know is showing interest. I automatically think they want to hurt me or are only speaking lies and want to use me for their pleasure. I hope this fear dissipates. I do not like living my life in fear of anything that is so unavoidable and what used to bring me joy.
The meeting was very beneficial. I heard a few women share stories that I could relate to. In fact, they were pretty much telling my story. The reading we focused on that night, step one, was an eye opener. Basically, its the fact that we are powerless to their disease. We cannot control their drinking, their behavior or any of their decisions. And, it does not matter how hard we try. This was very freeing and made me realize I have been giving my life up to try and control everything in our relationship because I knew his drinking was ruining us. It was tearing us apart and all I would ever do is drop everything, be around, try to curb his drinking, be understanding, supportive etc. His drinking dominated my world and every effort and ounce of my energy.
Hearing this saved me from having all the doubts I have been carrying in my heart. It was not my fault. There is nothing that I could have done. And it didn't matter how much I tried: He was going to do what he was going to do no matter what. Even if I were the best woman on the planet, there was no stopping him from being who he is, engaging in destructive behavior and making the decisions he makes. This gave me a little comfort. These days, that is better than nothing. And just for a moment, I felt like I was actually alive. Relief briefly replaced my pain and I felt free. That was until I exited the meeting and saw him going the opposite direction on the bus, passing right by me. Then, all the pain came back. I feel like I am dying.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Day Twenty-Seven: Drone (Sept. 8th)
In the morning I was woken up by my cell phone ringing. It was one of our mutual friends. He called to ask me to be kind and think twice before I retaliate against my ex or the woman who he slept with....Uh, excuse me? YOU ARE ASKING ME FOR MERCY?! I don't think so. He rationalized that he wants all parties to emerge from this unscathed and without any more damage. So forget about me and the fact that I am not only scathed, I was side-swiped, steam-rolled and shot in the chest!
This was all in response to an email I sent this old hag. I told her that I knew and to go the other way when she sees me (quick side-note: I have been beating up bullies and bitches for over a decade and this was not an empty threat coming from a chihuahua, I am a certified pit bull and everyone knows this)...and that I hope her papers are straight because otherwise she could soon find herself on the potato farm back in her homeland of Ireland. And that if I were as ugly as her, I, too, would use an icon as my profile photo on Facebook, and thank you for sparing us the trauma of having to look at her ugly, haggard face adorned with brown crooked teeth. Yes, I was angry. Yes it was a bit juvenile. But so is a 52 year old sleeping with a 27 year old's boyfriend. This woman pretended to be my friend. And what the FUCK is this chick doing hanging in the same places as people my age? When I am in my fifties, my scene is going to be the P-T-motherfucking-A, philanthropy or being a lady who lunches. Not rap shows, dive bars and strip clubs. So you know what? Fuck her. And fuck him and fuck this person with the nerve of trying to get me to show these heartless people mercy. Not a chance.
I did, however, realize that I am better than this. I remembered the monster this whole thing was making me turn into. I do not want to be this person. So I went to the gym, worked my butt off, ran 7 miles, did 1000 crunches and went home to the misery that was bound to follow me.
I found myself losing space in time. I came home from the gym, sat on my couch, pondering every detail of our entire relationship from beginning to end, not noticing the shows on TV move to commercials, to another show, to more commercials and so on. Before I knew it, it was dark. I had not moved, ate, drank or even noticed if I was breathing. Once I realized this, I was terrified. It felt like days had passed and I was in the same place, without even having shifted in my seat. If I had, I was unaware that I did. I looked at my cell and had 3 missed calls. Did I mention my cell phone was on loud?
Was this some sort of weird depressive zen state I had reached? No. There was no enlightenment or shred of peace. It was chaos. It was as if I had been screaming in my head, the clamor of pain and torture had made me senseless. I don't remember seeing, hearing, smelling or breathing. It was as if I was not on earth for the last 5 hours. But here I am. And all I can say is that at this moment, is I wish that I wasn't.
This was all in response to an email I sent this old hag. I told her that I knew and to go the other way when she sees me (quick side-note: I have been beating up bullies and bitches for over a decade and this was not an empty threat coming from a chihuahua, I am a certified pit bull and everyone knows this)...and that I hope her papers are straight because otherwise she could soon find herself on the potato farm back in her homeland of Ireland. And that if I were as ugly as her, I, too, would use an icon as my profile photo on Facebook, and thank you for sparing us the trauma of having to look at her ugly, haggard face adorned with brown crooked teeth. Yes, I was angry. Yes it was a bit juvenile. But so is a 52 year old sleeping with a 27 year old's boyfriend. This woman pretended to be my friend. And what the FUCK is this chick doing hanging in the same places as people my age? When I am in my fifties, my scene is going to be the P-T-motherfucking-A, philanthropy or being a lady who lunches. Not rap shows, dive bars and strip clubs. So you know what? Fuck her. And fuck him and fuck this person with the nerve of trying to get me to show these heartless people mercy. Not a chance.
I did, however, realize that I am better than this. I remembered the monster this whole thing was making me turn into. I do not want to be this person. So I went to the gym, worked my butt off, ran 7 miles, did 1000 crunches and went home to the misery that was bound to follow me.
I found myself losing space in time. I came home from the gym, sat on my couch, pondering every detail of our entire relationship from beginning to end, not noticing the shows on TV move to commercials, to another show, to more commercials and so on. Before I knew it, it was dark. I had not moved, ate, drank or even noticed if I was breathing. Once I realized this, I was terrified. It felt like days had passed and I was in the same place, without even having shifted in my seat. If I had, I was unaware that I did. I looked at my cell and had 3 missed calls. Did I mention my cell phone was on loud?
Was this some sort of weird depressive zen state I had reached? No. There was no enlightenment or shred of peace. It was chaos. It was as if I had been screaming in my head, the clamor of pain and torture had made me senseless. I don't remember seeing, hearing, smelling or breathing. It was as if I was not on earth for the last 5 hours. But here I am. And all I can say is that at this moment, is I wish that I wasn't.
Day Twenty-Six: Rage (Sept. 7th)
I woke up and once again, thought that it was just a nightmare. But no, it did really happen. He slept with a nasty 52 year old hag and lied. He lied about everything. He tried to keep me under false pretenses. Would continually say to me that he may have faults but he never cheated on me. That he never slept with anyone else. All LIES!! Anxiety and darkness crashed down on me. I was covered in sorrow. Feeling constant anxiety and doom. I could not understand how he could do this to me. Rage was beginning to step in and I wanted answers.
I incessantly texted him with insults, wanting answers, threatening him. I was consumed by this anger, his betrayal, questions of how he could be so deceitful? How could I have ever been so dumb to believe him? I was so angry.
There was nothing to fix this. I was broken and angry. I cannot even explain what it feels like to experience such betrayal. Especially from a person who you gave your entire life to. I gave him my everything. There was nothing that I would not have done. I was hopelessly devoted to a man who did not honor or love me back. These emotions are the worst feelings I have ever experienced. He ripped my heart out of my chest and was feeding off of it to get by...and never even gave two thoughts about what he was doing to me. How could he?
I went on Facebook, posted a picture of this nasty hag and captioned it with something to the effect of: She is hot and sexy. My ex thought so. I would cheat on me with her too! It sparked a frenzy of commentary, all about how sick this girl is, how gross he is for doing this to me and so forth. After 24 hours, I took it down. I had accomplished what I wanted: for him to be exposed.
The world needs to know what kind of man this is. And how low he is to do this to a woman who loved him. Every girl needs to know what he is capable of. When you are dealing with a person who clearly has no conscience or care for the affect their actions have on those in their life, the only thing left to do is to threaten their livelihood and their reputation. Because at the end of the day, all they really care about is themselves. This picture accomplished that. And I had texted him some things that made him think his boss was going to find out the kind of scum he has working for him. I never did this of course. I just wanted him to experience a smidgen of the mental anguish his actions have caused me by threatening his livelihood.
In the end, none of this helped me heal one bit. I don't have a clue how I am going to get through this and I don't know if I will ever be the same. I feel like I was walking on the road of life and someone came in, stole my resources and raped my soul. This is not what was supposed to happen. How will I ever heal from this?
I incessantly texted him with insults, wanting answers, threatening him. I was consumed by this anger, his betrayal, questions of how he could be so deceitful? How could I have ever been so dumb to believe him? I was so angry.
There was nothing to fix this. I was broken and angry. I cannot even explain what it feels like to experience such betrayal. Especially from a person who you gave your entire life to. I gave him my everything. There was nothing that I would not have done. I was hopelessly devoted to a man who did not honor or love me back. These emotions are the worst feelings I have ever experienced. He ripped my heart out of my chest and was feeding off of it to get by...and never even gave two thoughts about what he was doing to me. How could he?
I went on Facebook, posted a picture of this nasty hag and captioned it with something to the effect of: She is hot and sexy. My ex thought so. I would cheat on me with her too! It sparked a frenzy of commentary, all about how sick this girl is, how gross he is for doing this to me and so forth. After 24 hours, I took it down. I had accomplished what I wanted: for him to be exposed.
The world needs to know what kind of man this is. And how low he is to do this to a woman who loved him. Every girl needs to know what he is capable of. When you are dealing with a person who clearly has no conscience or care for the affect their actions have on those in their life, the only thing left to do is to threaten their livelihood and their reputation. Because at the end of the day, all they really care about is themselves. This picture accomplished that. And I had texted him some things that made him think his boss was going to find out the kind of scum he has working for him. I never did this of course. I just wanted him to experience a smidgen of the mental anguish his actions have caused me by threatening his livelihood.
In the end, none of this helped me heal one bit. I don't have a clue how I am going to get through this and I don't know if I will ever be the same. I feel like I was walking on the road of life and someone came in, stole my resources and raped my soul. This is not what was supposed to happen. How will I ever heal from this?
Day Twenty-Five: D-DAY (Sept. 6th)
As you may notice, there has been some serious delay in my posting. It is because I have been a complete wreck after what happened on day Twenty-Five. I have appropriately titled it, "D-Day." Writing about this is extremely trying on my soul. I have been striving to breathe and just keep it together since this day and writing, each time I tried, proved to be damn near impossible. So, I am just going to type and not even edit, hoping to get through this once and for all.
A few months ago, my ex went out to do a show (he does music) during the day and said he would come home to be with me shortly after. I was not feeling well and did not want to spend another night in a bar: I wanted romance, sex and a night of passion! I swear, I don't know too many men that would complain about their girlfriend wanting to stay in and service them...but for him, it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. Drinking and partying was the priority.
Needless to say, he did not come back in the hours preceeding his show. I called him over and over and over again. No answer. So I called my Mother, asked her to come get me so that I would not be home when he came home. This way he could see that I meant business, his behavior was unnacceptable and that he must put an end to all this nonsense if he wanted to be with me. Hours passed, 2 am came and there was no call from him. I began to get worried that he was passed out in a ditch or maybe just came home and passed out. I could not sleep without knowing he was safe. En route to our house, I called the police, the hospitals and all of our friends....No one had a clue where he was.
I came home, and he was not there. I continued calling him over and over and over again. No answer. Finally he calls me back, saying he is at his friend's house who lives right around the corner from us and that he fell asleep. My Mom and I hop in her car, drive the one block to his house and wait outside. My ex says he is walking out of his friends front door right now and he is walking home. Yet, we did not see him. He was telling me the streets he was walking down and we drove that way, not seeing him on any of the streets he said he was at. Then he appeared crossing the street to our home. I basically told him to fuck himself and that I was done.
In the morning, he realized what he had done. That he was out of line for not calling and so forth. He came to my mothers house in Sausalito, vowing to never drink anymore, say how sorry he is and says he was lying about being at the bar and drinking all hours of the night. For some reason I believed him.
Come to find out, word on the town is he was with the local haggard drunk 52 year old Irish slut of our circle of friends. He has told me that he got drunk and hooked up with her once years ago and was very embarrassed about it. Come to find out, he carried on with this very, very, ugly and very old woman, the entire time he was with his previous girlfriend and while he was with me. This was the one time I could point to as definite time he spent with her.
My heart stopped. I was crushed. Moments in time raced back to me, piecing everything together. It was hell. I realized, the night before he was with the old bitch, he lied to me and was with the fat girl the night before. His behavior was increasingly getting worse and he was willing to look me in the eye, tell me he never cheated on me and try to keep me under false pretenses. I texted him about this discovery, gave a few choice words, disgusting sickening excuse of a sub human comes to mind, and he tried to deny it. Eventually, I think he realized my details (drunk, going to strip clubs, your friend left and you went with her), were too spot on to deny. So disengage he did.
So tonight, yes, I drank. I drank a lot. I went to a gay bar with friends, and got very drunk. The queenie bitches were just what I needed. They kept telling me how pretty I was, what a loser he must be, chimed in with the appropriate "eewww," when I described this 52 year old hag. I stumbled into a cab, from what credit card forensics has told me, and came home. Somehow I lost my wallet but managed to pay the cab driver and get in my house. I am so devastated, my wallet is the last thing I care about. Now if I could only find my heart? Oh yeah, it's crushed into pieces, strewn about the city. Fuck.
A few months ago, my ex went out to do a show (he does music) during the day and said he would come home to be with me shortly after. I was not feeling well and did not want to spend another night in a bar: I wanted romance, sex and a night of passion! I swear, I don't know too many men that would complain about their girlfriend wanting to stay in and service them...but for him, it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. Drinking and partying was the priority.
Needless to say, he did not come back in the hours preceeding his show. I called him over and over and over again. No answer. So I called my Mother, asked her to come get me so that I would not be home when he came home. This way he could see that I meant business, his behavior was unnacceptable and that he must put an end to all this nonsense if he wanted to be with me. Hours passed, 2 am came and there was no call from him. I began to get worried that he was passed out in a ditch or maybe just came home and passed out. I could not sleep without knowing he was safe. En route to our house, I called the police, the hospitals and all of our friends....No one had a clue where he was.
I came home, and he was not there. I continued calling him over and over and over again. No answer. Finally he calls me back, saying he is at his friend's house who lives right around the corner from us and that he fell asleep. My Mom and I hop in her car, drive the one block to his house and wait outside. My ex says he is walking out of his friends front door right now and he is walking home. Yet, we did not see him. He was telling me the streets he was walking down and we drove that way, not seeing him on any of the streets he said he was at. Then he appeared crossing the street to our home. I basically told him to fuck himself and that I was done.
In the morning, he realized what he had done. That he was out of line for not calling and so forth. He came to my mothers house in Sausalito, vowing to never drink anymore, say how sorry he is and says he was lying about being at the bar and drinking all hours of the night. For some reason I believed him.
Come to find out, word on the town is he was with the local haggard drunk 52 year old Irish slut of our circle of friends. He has told me that he got drunk and hooked up with her once years ago and was very embarrassed about it. Come to find out, he carried on with this very, very, ugly and very old woman, the entire time he was with his previous girlfriend and while he was with me. This was the one time I could point to as definite time he spent with her.
My heart stopped. I was crushed. Moments in time raced back to me, piecing everything together. It was hell. I realized, the night before he was with the old bitch, he lied to me and was with the fat girl the night before. His behavior was increasingly getting worse and he was willing to look me in the eye, tell me he never cheated on me and try to keep me under false pretenses. I texted him about this discovery, gave a few choice words, disgusting sickening excuse of a sub human comes to mind, and he tried to deny it. Eventually, I think he realized my details (drunk, going to strip clubs, your friend left and you went with her), were too spot on to deny. So disengage he did.
So tonight, yes, I drank. I drank a lot. I went to a gay bar with friends, and got very drunk. The queenie bitches were just what I needed. They kept telling me how pretty I was, what a loser he must be, chimed in with the appropriate "eewww," when I described this 52 year old hag. I stumbled into a cab, from what credit card forensics has told me, and came home. Somehow I lost my wallet but managed to pay the cab driver and get in my house. I am so devastated, my wallet is the last thing I care about. Now if I could only find my heart? Oh yeah, it's crushed into pieces, strewn about the city. Fuck.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Day Twenty-Three: Make it S[t]ick! (September 4th and 5th)
It's one thing to know something, it is another thing to live it. I was determined to live with my choice. Yesterday I could be very strong and determined with the support of my friend and the high I felt from feeling empowered for the first time in months. But today, the grief and loss was sinking in of knowing that I truly had to let go. And I was putting myself to the test: We had plans to spend time together this evening ever since the morning he left.
This was an especially difficult day as it was a beautiful Saturday. On days like this, he and I would always go downtown, spend the day walking around and grab lunch or something. I just finished working a promotion, I was downtown, and, drumroll, I was completely alone. I had gone from being interactive with other people, smiling, taking pictures, laughing and now I was alone. The stark contrast was jolting and extremely lonely. I could feel the hope draining out of me every step I took towards the aimlessly wandering destination of no where. But I could not go home and spend another day miserable, alone and inside.
He called, texted and tried to understand why I was having second thoughts about us continuing to see each other. Basically, I could not stand the fact that he can continue to carry on, just like he was during our relationship, but now had the actual freedom to, and he could still have me. This is just unfair to me. This is not what I want, would ever want, and never did want. We have too much history and trauma to ever pretend that we can be casual. And this girl, kind reader, is anything but casual. Even with the few men I have intended on having a one-night stand with, I expect complete loyalty and undying devotion! Or else they don't even get close to my bed! But this was entirely different. And who was I kidding?
So I laid down a metaphorical line in the sand just by being very taut with my words and clear about my hesitance. Let me just say this: If I were him, and I had done what he has done to a woman who has still somehow tried to love me in spite of it all, try to forgive me and even just gave me the time of day, I would be at her door daily, begging to be seen as worthy, doing any and everything that it took. I would think, "damn! That is one amazing woman! To love me after all this! I am not letting that go!" But a man who is capable of thinking and acting like that, would never treat a woman the way he treated me. Although, my romantic side always thinks that my man could, should and will. But this man never does. And I remembered, "Oh yeah. It's him."
So I went to bed, distraught, remembering who this man really is and trying to kill the idea of who I have made him out to be. That was never him. It never will be him and I have to accept that. The only thing that this has to do with me is that I picked him and I believed every line he fed me. Love makes you do dumb things. Just like I said on Day One, I ignored all the red flags.
This was an especially difficult day as it was a beautiful Saturday. On days like this, he and I would always go downtown, spend the day walking around and grab lunch or something. I just finished working a promotion, I was downtown, and, drumroll, I was completely alone. I had gone from being interactive with other people, smiling, taking pictures, laughing and now I was alone. The stark contrast was jolting and extremely lonely. I could feel the hope draining out of me every step I took towards the aimlessly wandering destination of no where. But I could not go home and spend another day miserable, alone and inside.
He called, texted and tried to understand why I was having second thoughts about us continuing to see each other. Basically, I could not stand the fact that he can continue to carry on, just like he was during our relationship, but now had the actual freedom to, and he could still have me. This is just unfair to me. This is not what I want, would ever want, and never did want. We have too much history and trauma to ever pretend that we can be casual. And this girl, kind reader, is anything but casual. Even with the few men I have intended on having a one-night stand with, I expect complete loyalty and undying devotion! Or else they don't even get close to my bed! But this was entirely different. And who was I kidding?
So I laid down a metaphorical line in the sand just by being very taut with my words and clear about my hesitance. Let me just say this: If I were him, and I had done what he has done to a woman who has still somehow tried to love me in spite of it all, try to forgive me and even just gave me the time of day, I would be at her door daily, begging to be seen as worthy, doing any and everything that it took. I would think, "damn! That is one amazing woman! To love me after all this! I am not letting that go!" But a man who is capable of thinking and acting like that, would never treat a woman the way he treated me. Although, my romantic side always thinks that my man could, should and will. But this man never does. And I remembered, "Oh yeah. It's him."
So I went to bed, distraught, remembering who this man really is and trying to kill the idea of who I have made him out to be. That was never him. It never will be him and I have to accept that. The only thing that this has to do with me is that I picked him and I believed every line he fed me. Love makes you do dumb things. Just like I said on Day One, I ignored all the red flags.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Day Twenty-Two: Remember (September 3rd)
After he left for work early in the morning and my bed was finally mine again, I experienced a strange feeling of relief. I was relieved that my personal elephant in the room was gone: I knew I could never share a bed with this man ever again. I could not lay there, pretending to think that it could ever be healthy or normal. Forget what he has done: I never wanted to spend another night with these emotions, next to the man who had caused them.
I was never one to keep my feelings to myself. But at night, when they can sleep as if nothing is wrong, the woman is awake, analyzing, preparing, planning and anguishing over the details. The kicker is this is when I CAN'T express my feelings to the culprit! They are resting like a baby! This is what I did every night during the last 5 months of our relationship. Every night, I would lie awake, pondering every nook and cranny of our relationship and I was still doing it. Well, fuck that. I don't even have a commitment anymore. This was not my job! And you know what? All that thinking, pondering and attempts to converse about our problems, didn't help one bit. You cannot fix a situation between two people when only one of them is doing the work. Instead of repairing our problems, he was adding to them, feeding my insecurities and carrying on like a single man. No amount of talking is going to fix that if the guy isn't dedicated and is, quite frankly, incapable of telling the truth.
This realization was meant that I could no longer deny it and I had to follow through. I stayed home and sat with these feelings. I even beat them with the conversational stick with the help of a girlfriend and a bottle of wine!
Talking through things like this is not a waste of time. Because now, unlike before, there is only one player needed to make this play successful. And that player is me. If I could dedicate myself to this relationship, even when it looked as if a loss was inevitable, why could I not secure a win for myself and walk away?
I stayed awake, analyzed the details, argued both sides of my mind and heart, finally laying my head to rest at 5 A.M. There really is no point in participating in any shape or form in a losing game. It was time I started rooting for myself. And that is a bet I think I can finally get behind. I need to stay strong.
I was never one to keep my feelings to myself. But at night, when they can sleep as if nothing is wrong, the woman is awake, analyzing, preparing, planning and anguishing over the details. The kicker is this is when I CAN'T express my feelings to the culprit! They are resting like a baby! This is what I did every night during the last 5 months of our relationship. Every night, I would lie awake, pondering every nook and cranny of our relationship and I was still doing it. Well, fuck that. I don't even have a commitment anymore. This was not my job! And you know what? All that thinking, pondering and attempts to converse about our problems, didn't help one bit. You cannot fix a situation between two people when only one of them is doing the work. Instead of repairing our problems, he was adding to them, feeding my insecurities and carrying on like a single man. No amount of talking is going to fix that if the guy isn't dedicated and is, quite frankly, incapable of telling the truth.
This realization was meant that I could no longer deny it and I had to follow through. I stayed home and sat with these feelings. I even beat them with the conversational stick with the help of a girlfriend and a bottle of wine!
Talking through things like this is not a waste of time. Because now, unlike before, there is only one player needed to make this play successful. And that player is me. If I could dedicate myself to this relationship, even when it looked as if a loss was inevitable, why could I not secure a win for myself and walk away?
I stayed awake, analyzed the details, argued both sides of my mind and heart, finally laying my head to rest at 5 A.M. There really is no point in participating in any shape or form in a losing game. It was time I started rooting for myself. And that is a bet I think I can finally get behind. I need to stay strong.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Day Twenty-One: Failure (September 2nd)
I caved...AGAIN. That's the thing about balance and affirmations! They don't stick if you don't consciously apply them! Yes, I worked and was precise, all robot like. But coming home, that damn empty room, this fucking heart and the tears were eating me alive.
He calls me everyday. Tells me how much he misses me and loves me. How sorry he is. I naively thought knowing this was helping. I thought that seeing him every so often would help ease the pain. That I could ween myself off him. A little fix here, a little comfort there, his touch I wouldn't long for as much as I did.
But when he fell asleep next to me in my bed, none of this relief was present. It was pure torture.
Every night we spent together, him sleeping next to me, me awake, sexually frustrated, asking myself how much more of this relationship I could bear came back to me. Fighting the urge to look in his phone to uncover who he was talking to behind my back. Just like the last time we spent the night together as a couple when I looked in his phone and discovered his trolling craigslist casual encounters. But this time, I have no right. He is not mine. He was eating his cake and eating it too. And I was letting him.
It was me who is getting the short end of the deal. Me who was on the losing side. Nothing has changed. This was the way it always was. Me on the losing end, him getting to go about his business, live his life and have a woman love him when he was doing nothing to deserve it. I gave him everything. He gave me lies. And that is exactly what was still happening.
I knew in my heart that I could not do this again. No matter how much I love him, I could no longer fool myself into thinking that these bits of time we spend together were helping. It was not. So this closeness was yet another thing that I would have to let go of...for good.
He calls me everyday. Tells me how much he misses me and loves me. How sorry he is. I naively thought knowing this was helping. I thought that seeing him every so often would help ease the pain. That I could ween myself off him. A little fix here, a little comfort there, his touch I wouldn't long for as much as I did.
But when he fell asleep next to me in my bed, none of this relief was present. It was pure torture.
Every night we spent together, him sleeping next to me, me awake, sexually frustrated, asking myself how much more of this relationship I could bear came back to me. Fighting the urge to look in his phone to uncover who he was talking to behind my back. Just like the last time we spent the night together as a couple when I looked in his phone and discovered his trolling craigslist casual encounters. But this time, I have no right. He is not mine. He was eating his cake and eating it too. And I was letting him.
It was me who is getting the short end of the deal. Me who was on the losing side. Nothing has changed. This was the way it always was. Me on the losing end, him getting to go about his business, live his life and have a woman love him when he was doing nothing to deserve it. I gave him everything. He gave me lies. And that is exactly what was still happening.
I knew in my heart that I could not do this again. No matter how much I love him, I could no longer fool myself into thinking that these bits of time we spend together were helping. It was not. So this closeness was yet another thing that I would have to let go of...for good.
Day Twenty: Balance (Sept. 1st)
So balance is the word of today. I have to learn to balance the pain, the reality, and the absolute truth. My truth, his truth and the ACTUAL truth. I cannot jump into all of it and actually think that I can deal with everything and still manage to come out of this as a sane person. There is no way. There is way too much to process all at once. So today was filled with plans to keep my hands busy to hopefully get rid of the horrific thoughts in my mind and the constant pain in my heart.
Gym, work, dinner and drinks with my friend. I worked my butt off at the gym. Running six miles with ease, sit-ups galore and the pain of my screaming muscles was no match for the actual pain in my heart. Muscle pain is a cake walk so I beat that bitch with my heartache and put it to good use.
I applied myself to this promotion that I have been working for some extra money and was so precise you could swear I was a robot. I showed up, did my job, went through the motions to a tee and even managed to smile while repping the product. I was the prime example of what you would want in someone promoting your product. Underneath it all, I was dying inside. But I applied my professionalism and business ethics to just do what I gotta do and save the crying for later.
I met with my friend for drinks. Its weird that I felt guilty drinking. But why should I be the one who feels guilty? My drinking didn't turn me into a violent monster! My drinking didn't cloud my judgement to the point that I was making out with other people, carrying on entire relationships. My drinking didn't cause me to have HUGE lapses in time where I had shit in my pants and lost my 6th cell phone of the year...and it wasn't even July yet! So I told that guilt to shove it and enjoyed 3 coronas on this abnormally hot San Francisco day.
It was nice. But at the end of the day, coming home to this house, walking passed his empty room, my heart broke all over again. He is gone. I am alone. I was trying to hear my little inner voice tell me that I am okay. But it was drowned out by cries of loss and loneliness. That's the thing about balance: It can't all be fun and distraction. Pain, the other part of the equation, is there no matter what.
Gym, work, dinner and drinks with my friend. I worked my butt off at the gym. Running six miles with ease, sit-ups galore and the pain of my screaming muscles was no match for the actual pain in my heart. Muscle pain is a cake walk so I beat that bitch with my heartache and put it to good use.
I applied myself to this promotion that I have been working for some extra money and was so precise you could swear I was a robot. I showed up, did my job, went through the motions to a tee and even managed to smile while repping the product. I was the prime example of what you would want in someone promoting your product. Underneath it all, I was dying inside. But I applied my professionalism and business ethics to just do what I gotta do and save the crying for later.
I met with my friend for drinks. Its weird that I felt guilty drinking. But why should I be the one who feels guilty? My drinking didn't turn me into a violent monster! My drinking didn't cloud my judgement to the point that I was making out with other people, carrying on entire relationships. My drinking didn't cause me to have HUGE lapses in time where I had shit in my pants and lost my 6th cell phone of the year...and it wasn't even July yet! So I told that guilt to shove it and enjoyed 3 coronas on this abnormally hot San Francisco day.
It was nice. But at the end of the day, coming home to this house, walking passed his empty room, my heart broke all over again. He is gone. I am alone. I was trying to hear my little inner voice tell me that I am okay. But it was drowned out by cries of loss and loneliness. That's the thing about balance: It can't all be fun and distraction. Pain, the other part of the equation, is there no matter what.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Day Nineteen: (August 31st)
So, the thing about affirmations is, they don't stick if you don't repeat them. I tried. I really, really did. I worked the mental bone to a nub and it was a resounding drone that went from resembling Cannibal Corpse to doo-wop, sad songs headlined by The Platters. But today, I decided...I was going to try and listen to myself. Despite my obvious definceicies , I was going to listen to myself: I LIKE BEING ALONE. Remember, Self? You liked sleeping in the middle of the bed, with a book...the only comfort you needed.
In my bed, I relished in this memory. The words determining your emoitions, not a guy; a mass of presence does not make that void filled. This book. These words. They are what I used to cherish...and just a step away from where I am destined to be.
In my bed, I relished in this memory. The words determining your emoitions, not a guy; a mass of presence does not make that void filled. This book. These words. They are what I used to cherish...and just a step away from where I am destined to be.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Day Eighteen: Tact (August 30th)
I have been rereading this so-called blog and there is definitely a running theme: I am constantly trying to tell myself that I am over it, I have no hope left etc etc etc. However, it is always about him. Obviously, I am inextricably linked to him, but rarely does the theraputetic, "so now what?," moment arise. I am no sage, nor am I an expert at this thing despite the numerous assholes I have been with. You would think by now I would have a clue, but no, sadly, I do not.
One thing I am a master at, is trickery. I have tricked myself into this relationship; Believed all his words to justify my every breath, move, twitch and heart-collapsing incident. So why could I not trick myself to believe, nay, see the truth, and put this whole love thing to rest? The reluctant hippie in me had the answer: Affirmations.
My little pep-talk is very simple: You are okay.
I cannot make my heart listen to my mind, let alone reason and logic, love renders these abilities inert. But I can accept the facts: I love him. He loves me. We cannot be together.
This is a new addition and a necessity.
I love him. He loves me. We cannot be together. And that is okay. I am okay. If I can swallow that, for the time being, I can eventually move to, "I don't want to be with him." I know that this love will linger. But I know my desire to share a life with him, once the fog of love clears and my judgement arrives, will have caught up with my mind and be ashamed. How could I ever stoop so low to be so kind and affected by a man who disrespected and betrayed me the way he did?
A friend said I have to be a bit "Machiavellian" about my approach. Not manipulative per say, but tactical with my decisions: How do I want things to be? What role do I want to play?
It clicked: Don't be so impulsive. Sit, affirm, an try to believe. And when I falter in faith, get competitive. I never liked losing so I am competing with myself to stay strong, not break and keep stepping.
I AM OKAY.
One thing I am a master at, is trickery. I have tricked myself into this relationship; Believed all his words to justify my every breath, move, twitch and heart-collapsing incident. So why could I not trick myself to believe, nay, see the truth, and put this whole love thing to rest? The reluctant hippie in me had the answer: Affirmations.
My little pep-talk is very simple: You are okay.
I cannot make my heart listen to my mind, let alone reason and logic, love renders these abilities inert. But I can accept the facts: I love him. He loves me. We cannot be together.
This is a new addition and a necessity.
I love him. He loves me. We cannot be together. And that is okay. I am okay. If I can swallow that, for the time being, I can eventually move to, "I don't want to be with him." I know that this love will linger. But I know my desire to share a life with him, once the fog of love clears and my judgement arrives, will have caught up with my mind and be ashamed. How could I ever stoop so low to be so kind and affected by a man who disrespected and betrayed me the way he did?
A friend said I have to be a bit "Machiavellian" about my approach. Not manipulative per say, but tactical with my decisions: How do I want things to be? What role do I want to play?
It clicked: Don't be so impulsive. Sit, affirm, an try to believe. And when I falter in faith, get competitive. I never liked losing so I am competing with myself to stay strong, not break and keep stepping.
I AM OKAY.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Day Seventeen: Regret (August 29th)
Regret. Man, its a terrible thing. Heartache. An even worse emotion. Both intangible and inflicted somewhat by the self. At the end of the day, we are willing participants, we make the choices to enter these contracts, to act on emotions, to be the mover of our bodies. And somehow, it still seems like these outcomes are out of our control. But they are not.
I have experienced true heartbreak twice in my life. I think I have loved more than that but true, aching, will not go away, heartache, twice. The first time I was 18. This feeling of emptiness, cavity in the chest, complete devastation was foreign and I finally understood what motivated songwriters, poets, novelists and artists to create the works that describe this feeling. After reflecting on this, I got to thinking. Is heartache worse the first time or when you are older and understand the brevity and extent of its destruction (excuse me for getting all Carrie Bradshaw on you and yes, I have been watching old episodes of SATC It has bled over if you can't tell)?
Because I am in the present, experiencing this again, I have to go with that it is worse when you are older. Yes, the first time is earth-shattering and almost just as devastating. But knowing its depth, the length and weight of it, makes it much harder when you are older. For I know it. I understand it. And I know that it really never does go away. At least it never did for me. And I am pretty sure, this time, it will not go away and it is even harder.
The reason is because I still love this man and he still loves me. Last time, the man rejected me and did not want to share his life with me anymore. So to move on was my only choice. This time, I am tortured with the truth that it isn't love or the fact that we both don't want to be with each other, it's that we both do. But, if we are honest, know that being together is damn near impossible at this juncture and probably not right for me. Okay, it's definitely not right for me. And, its easy for me to blame his wrongdoings on his disease. The scapegoat opening more space for rationalization. Or better yet, irrationalization. Give in to it, I do.
The fact I was with someone else last night haunts me. I feel the need to be with my love. To feel him again. To have him hold me, tell me everything is okay. So I gave in. I let my heart think for my mind. I gave into the regret, the pain, the emptiness and let him come over. Somehow, I keep telling myself I can ween myself off him. Bit by bit, and eventually, I will no longer need him. Baby replaced by his real name. Hugs to pats, kisses to hand holding, my gaze to a glance. Then hopefully to nothing. I know this is dumb. I know this is wrong. I know this is setting me back. But I cannot let go and I do it anyway.
When he leaves, he texts me that he loves me. He even texts me some hours later, in bed, saying he loves me again. One would think that knowing he loves me should be enough to ease the steps forward of moving on. But it just holds me back. Still in his arms, still in my heart. I love him. He loves me. And that is okay. What is not okay is that I am not moving forward at all. I am still in the exact same place. Even though he is so far, no longer sharing a home, or even a life, he is still very much right here, in my heart and still in our home. I wish I could just stop loving him.
I have experienced true heartbreak twice in my life. I think I have loved more than that but true, aching, will not go away, heartache, twice. The first time I was 18. This feeling of emptiness, cavity in the chest, complete devastation was foreign and I finally understood what motivated songwriters, poets, novelists and artists to create the works that describe this feeling. After reflecting on this, I got to thinking. Is heartache worse the first time or when you are older and understand the brevity and extent of its destruction (excuse me for getting all Carrie Bradshaw on you and yes, I have been watching old episodes of SATC It has bled over if you can't tell)?
Because I am in the present, experiencing this again, I have to go with that it is worse when you are older. Yes, the first time is earth-shattering and almost just as devastating. But knowing its depth, the length and weight of it, makes it much harder when you are older. For I know it. I understand it. And I know that it really never does go away. At least it never did for me. And I am pretty sure, this time, it will not go away and it is even harder.
The reason is because I still love this man and he still loves me. Last time, the man rejected me and did not want to share his life with me anymore. So to move on was my only choice. This time, I am tortured with the truth that it isn't love or the fact that we both don't want to be with each other, it's that we both do. But, if we are honest, know that being together is damn near impossible at this juncture and probably not right for me. Okay, it's definitely not right for me. And, its easy for me to blame his wrongdoings on his disease. The scapegoat opening more space for rationalization. Or better yet, irrationalization. Give in to it, I do.
The fact I was with someone else last night haunts me. I feel the need to be with my love. To feel him again. To have him hold me, tell me everything is okay. So I gave in. I let my heart think for my mind. I gave into the regret, the pain, the emptiness and let him come over. Somehow, I keep telling myself I can ween myself off him. Bit by bit, and eventually, I will no longer need him. Baby replaced by his real name. Hugs to pats, kisses to hand holding, my gaze to a glance. Then hopefully to nothing. I know this is dumb. I know this is wrong. I know this is setting me back. But I cannot let go and I do it anyway.
When he leaves, he texts me that he loves me. He even texts me some hours later, in bed, saying he loves me again. One would think that knowing he loves me should be enough to ease the steps forward of moving on. But it just holds me back. Still in his arms, still in my heart. I love him. He loves me. And that is okay. What is not okay is that I am not moving forward at all. I am still in the exact same place. Even though he is so far, no longer sharing a home, or even a life, he is still very much right here, in my heart and still in our home. I wish I could just stop loving him.
Day Sixteen: Declaration (August 28th)
When I woke up today, I had a surge of determination. I guess you could say I felt my old self kick me in the face, urging me to snap out of it. This pathetic creature waking up crying is not me. Who the heck was this chick? Who the hell was he? He cheated on you! You are young, he is old, graying hair, fledgling health, body beyond his years. What are you doing crying over him?!!!! He should be crying over ME!
I was sick of being sad. I was sick of crying and feeling so helpless. So out of control. Self-esteem kicked in, beating the depression down into the depths of the self it came from and this determined, strong, resolve had replaced it. Say it with me ladies: FUCK HIM.
I had friends coming over to take me out, share some war stories, dance a little and just have fun. And that is what we did. For a while, I was actually having fun. He was texting me, telling me he is thinking of me, asking me what I am doing. So I sent him a picture of a fat girl with, "thinking of your future," attached to it. Yes, not my proudest moment. In fact, I am downright ashamed with myself. That is not me. But like I said, that monster rearing its head, was slowly resembling me.
He eventually wrote back that he loves me and that he understands I am mad and that he will always love me no matter what. I was ignoring his texts, just trying to do my own thing, replying with stoic one word answers and such. I don't even know why I was replying. I guess having some connection to him is better than none. I hate this separation. I hate having him and not having him.
We stumble home, back from the bars, making late night snacks, answering late night calls. The word has spread, I am single and the suitors are lining my voicemail with requests, suggestions to get out, offers for dinner, a friend to talk with, a shoulder to cry on, all saying the same thing to me: you are weak, vulnerable, sad and maybe I can do something nice and you will have sex with me. I am not dumb. I am not even flattered. In fact, this disgusts me and reminds me of the canine status of their species and am sickened by their relentless efforts. But, foggy, drunk, pathetic and lonely, I answered a call and allowed one to come over.
It must be noted that I shared a life with this person for well over a year and had a monogamous relationship with this person at one point so it wasn't as random as it seemed. Robotic, I went through the motions and just did what I thought I was supposed to do. The piece of the puzzle that is part of the healing and moving on process. It was all mechanical. I felt like a hooker, just doing her job, shut off to emotion, waiting for it to be over. Except I would collect a band aid, not money, and it was going to mend my heart. But, in reality, it was a knife, shoved in my chest, opening me to all my pain and opened a floodgate of regret.
I went to the bathroom and cried. It was not right. It wasn't supposed to be this man. His hands not belonging, the weight of his body, his chiseled muscles and perfect body were out of place. He was not the one who was supposed to be touching me. I felt crushed. I felt like I was cheating on myself. I felt like I betrayed my own heart. Will it always be like this? Will I always feel freakishly guilty? Of all the days and emotions I have felt in my post-breakup life, this was the worst feeling ever.
There were days that went by when my boyfriend would not touch me. I began to feel lust in my heart for other men. It got so bad that at one point, I even shared this with him. I told him our lack of a sex life has me noticing other men at the gym, the grocery store, on the street and I have been finding myself thinking what it would be like to be with them. Not even sexually. But wonder what shows they like, what kind of man would they be to me. And, okay, what it would be like to be with them physically. I felt SO guilty that I had to share this with my man. Having these feelings is so foreign to me and I felt so bad actually thinking those things. I felt like I was being calling my loyalty into question. But still, I had those feelings of lust and there was no denying them.
Now, acting on that lust, sharing my bed with a man I used to love, who's body is the sexiest thing I have ever seen in real life, and I was repulsed by the entire thing?! HOW CAN THAT BE?! I felt worse than I ever had and I was scared that it was always going to be like this. That I was always going to long for him. If this perfect specimen of a man could not do it for me, what will? I knew the answer: him. Right now, all I want is him.
I was sick of being sad. I was sick of crying and feeling so helpless. So out of control. Self-esteem kicked in, beating the depression down into the depths of the self it came from and this determined, strong, resolve had replaced it. Say it with me ladies: FUCK HIM.
I had friends coming over to take me out, share some war stories, dance a little and just have fun. And that is what we did. For a while, I was actually having fun. He was texting me, telling me he is thinking of me, asking me what I am doing. So I sent him a picture of a fat girl with, "thinking of your future," attached to it. Yes, not my proudest moment. In fact, I am downright ashamed with myself. That is not me. But like I said, that monster rearing its head, was slowly resembling me.
He eventually wrote back that he loves me and that he understands I am mad and that he will always love me no matter what. I was ignoring his texts, just trying to do my own thing, replying with stoic one word answers and such. I don't even know why I was replying. I guess having some connection to him is better than none. I hate this separation. I hate having him and not having him.
We stumble home, back from the bars, making late night snacks, answering late night calls. The word has spread, I am single and the suitors are lining my voicemail with requests, suggestions to get out, offers for dinner, a friend to talk with, a shoulder to cry on, all saying the same thing to me: you are weak, vulnerable, sad and maybe I can do something nice and you will have sex with me. I am not dumb. I am not even flattered. In fact, this disgusts me and reminds me of the canine status of their species and am sickened by their relentless efforts. But, foggy, drunk, pathetic and lonely, I answered a call and allowed one to come over.
It must be noted that I shared a life with this person for well over a year and had a monogamous relationship with this person at one point so it wasn't as random as it seemed. Robotic, I went through the motions and just did what I thought I was supposed to do. The piece of the puzzle that is part of the healing and moving on process. It was all mechanical. I felt like a hooker, just doing her job, shut off to emotion, waiting for it to be over. Except I would collect a band aid, not money, and it was going to mend my heart. But, in reality, it was a knife, shoved in my chest, opening me to all my pain and opened a floodgate of regret.
I went to the bathroom and cried. It was not right. It wasn't supposed to be this man. His hands not belonging, the weight of his body, his chiseled muscles and perfect body were out of place. He was not the one who was supposed to be touching me. I felt crushed. I felt like I was cheating on myself. I felt like I betrayed my own heart. Will it always be like this? Will I always feel freakishly guilty? Of all the days and emotions I have felt in my post-breakup life, this was the worst feeling ever.
There were days that went by when my boyfriend would not touch me. I began to feel lust in my heart for other men. It got so bad that at one point, I even shared this with him. I told him our lack of a sex life has me noticing other men at the gym, the grocery store, on the street and I have been finding myself thinking what it would be like to be with them. Not even sexually. But wonder what shows they like, what kind of man would they be to me. And, okay, what it would be like to be with them physically. I felt SO guilty that I had to share this with my man. Having these feelings is so foreign to me and I felt so bad actually thinking those things. I felt like I was being calling my loyalty into question. But still, I had those feelings of lust and there was no denying them.
Now, acting on that lust, sharing my bed with a man I used to love, who's body is the sexiest thing I have ever seen in real life, and I was repulsed by the entire thing?! HOW CAN THAT BE?! I felt worse than I ever had and I was scared that it was always going to be like this. That I was always going to long for him. If this perfect specimen of a man could not do it for me, what will? I knew the answer: him. Right now, all I want is him.
Day Fifteen: Alone (August 27th)
Home. These walls. I cried, cried and cried. I have no reason to get up. No reason to get dressed. No reason to put on makeup- it will just make a bigger mess to clean up. I was stuck to my couch and I had no motivation to face the day. I was not going to put on my happy face and try to appear to be okay. I could not go out. I really didn't want to.
After virtually not hearing from him yesterday, my hope had dwindled and the reality was coming back into my logic. I just needed this one day to be. This one day to recuperate. To feel sorry for myself. Sometimes, you just need a day. And today was that day for I could not let anyone see me this sad. I need to shut myself in, play the agoraphobic, and keep denying that it is this heartache that has me crippled. I cannot move and I will not try.
After virtually not hearing from him yesterday, my hope had dwindled and the reality was coming back into my logic. I just needed this one day to be. This one day to recuperate. To feel sorry for myself. Sometimes, you just need a day. And today was that day for I could not let anyone see me this sad. I need to shut myself in, play the agoraphobic, and keep denying that it is this heartache that has me crippled. I cannot move and I will not try.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Day Twelve: Regret and Hope? (August 25th)
As soon as he got home to his new house and new life, he called me. He said he KNOWS he made a mistake. He asked if there was ANY way he could come home. Make this right. I said the same thing that makes me feel like I am a broken record but put the needle on it and said it again: Go to a sober living house and get counseling and we can go from there.
This time he said he really wants to. He has a lot to think about. He loves me, doesn't want to lose me. His mistake, he fears, he cannot correct. I reassure him that it is never to late to get what you want in life. We are the leaders in our own lives. We make our choices, our future. No one else. Just ourselves.
So in the morning, he texted me all day, explaining how much he misses our life. How he keeps thinking he is going to get on the bus line to our home. But instead he goes another way home, is not having dinner with me, watching our lame shows on TV together. I can relate because I was thinking about what I was going to make for dinner, trying to recall if I have all the ingredients to make his favorite dish. Only to remember, I am cooking for one and I will be coming home to an empty house. He keeps texting me his feelings and wants to come by after his meeting to talk.
He comes over and speaks nothing of the sober living house. Only nuances, the patterns of his day, minor details and of nothing that holds any weight. My heart breaks again. I allowed myself to have hope again. And again, it was shattered and taken from me. I asked him to leave, ushered him out, and closed the door on him.
I have been rereading these posts and I have seen a pattern. I am always being so definite. So final. Saying I am done. It's my mind battling my heart. The one thing I promised myself when I started this blog was that I be completely honest. And the truth is, I am not done. I do have hope. I still love him. Even after all the things he has done to me, I still wish we could be together. My heart is not done. I can say I will never let him hurt me again. But he hurts me everyday.
Everyday and minute that goes by, I am hurting and holding on to hope. I have hope for his sobriety. I pray for him to take the proper path to his new life. I pray he does not falter. But most of all, I have hope that he will come back to me and surrender to all his wrongdoings and understand why I need this bold move. Why I need this commitment from him. Why his words mean nothing and how this move would validate his words once and for all. Validate them to me, his family and to himself. But he won't. And I just wish I could get it in my head that he never will. But I am still holding out. Dumb, dumb girl I am .
This time he said he really wants to. He has a lot to think about. He loves me, doesn't want to lose me. His mistake, he fears, he cannot correct. I reassure him that it is never to late to get what you want in life. We are the leaders in our own lives. We make our choices, our future. No one else. Just ourselves.
So in the morning, he texted me all day, explaining how much he misses our life. How he keeps thinking he is going to get on the bus line to our home. But instead he goes another way home, is not having dinner with me, watching our lame shows on TV together. I can relate because I was thinking about what I was going to make for dinner, trying to recall if I have all the ingredients to make his favorite dish. Only to remember, I am cooking for one and I will be coming home to an empty house. He keeps texting me his feelings and wants to come by after his meeting to talk.
He comes over and speaks nothing of the sober living house. Only nuances, the patterns of his day, minor details and of nothing that holds any weight. My heart breaks again. I allowed myself to have hope again. And again, it was shattered and taken from me. I asked him to leave, ushered him out, and closed the door on him.
I have been rereading these posts and I have seen a pattern. I am always being so definite. So final. Saying I am done. It's my mind battling my heart. The one thing I promised myself when I started this blog was that I be completely honest. And the truth is, I am not done. I do have hope. I still love him. Even after all the things he has done to me, I still wish we could be together. My heart is not done. I can say I will never let him hurt me again. But he hurts me everyday.
Everyday and minute that goes by, I am hurting and holding on to hope. I have hope for his sobriety. I pray for him to take the proper path to his new life. I pray he does not falter. But most of all, I have hope that he will come back to me and surrender to all his wrongdoings and understand why I need this bold move. Why I need this commitment from him. Why his words mean nothing and how this move would validate his words once and for all. Validate them to me, his family and to himself. But he won't. And I just wish I could get it in my head that he never will. But I am still holding out. Dumb, dumb girl I am .
Day Eleven: Progress (August 24th)
Today began just like all the rest: tears, sadness, constant reevaluation of all my decisions and mistakes. However, unlike my previous days, there was one thing there was no escaping, sugar coating or denying. Today he was moving out for good.
I woke up at 4 a.m. in my Mother's house, unable to sleep. There were no more questions to be answered and no more lies I could tell myself about the inevitable. I came home, dropped my things and made my exit to the gym as fast as possible. The dramatic slamming of the door, stomping down the steps and smoke from my feet as my getaway to the gym was my last saving grace. I could not let him see this discovery that I uncovered. Even though I have been telling myself that I have no hope left, I guess there was a bit more in me, stuck to a fragment of my shattered heart, that he would come to his senses and change his mind.
My workout was fueled by my pain. I pushed forward, fighting for strength, searching for some form of solitude. The tears of my pain and anger of my sweat coalesced to a mass on my face, shirt and down my body. Not caring if the health nuts and mass of muscles heard my moans I hoped to disguise and pass off as panting. On my fifth mile, I gave into the exhaustion of it all. I was trying to run from reality and I was ironically in the same place. Emotionally and literally. It was time to get off the treadmill of this life I have been living on and face the music.
Determined to conceal this smidgen of hope, I attempted to compose myself on the walk home. The closer I got, the weaker I grew. Even a complete stranger stopped me, put her arms around me, taking off one of my earbuds to tell me things will get better with time. I guess her maternal instinct sensed it was heartbreak. She had felt this before and knew sometimes all one needs is a hug and a kind words. She gave me a bit of strength from her heart. I could do this.
Opening the door, I was determined to keep it together. After all, I had bigger fish to fry: I had a telephone interview for a job that was perfect for me. I poured all my focus into this place I didn't even knew I had. I guess the professionalism I had always pretended to emulate everyday I came into work during our relationship. The Mondays after his benders, the Fridays I knew would bring more pain. I had crafted this game face and I was putting on the mask. And wear it I did. The job is pretty much mine after she gets my salary approved and the details are covered with the final in person interview. This was the boost I needed to remember who I was. Who I am.
I am capable. I am the problem solver this company was looking for. Now if I could only apply those business principles into my own personal life, I would be set. I could conquer this obstacle and move onto the next. But trying is in direct conflict of what my heart truly desires so it makes the job almost impossible because it goes against all logic in my heart. But it is time to shut my heart out of the equation.
Not only did I have an interview, but I had to interview others: for the now vacant room in my two bedroom apartment. I had about 7 people come and check out the place. The first girl I met was perfect. She, too, broke up with her boyfriend and needed to move out. They were roommates and she fell for him. But if she stayed, their routine would continue. And boy could I relate to that. I interviewed the rest, knowing she was perfect. Called her and made it official. All in a days work: a new roommate and a strong possibility of a new job.
He had to come back at the end of the day to finish cleaning his room. Little did he or I know, there would be an attempt to clean up the mess of our relationship. I guess you could say he finally realized I meant business.
The death of my Dad when I was seventeen has changed my whole perspective on how I operate. I never like to leave with harsh words. I always like to have a clear conscience, knowing I did all I could and tried my best to make things right. So part with kind words we did. One last hurrah. Momentarily, I foolishly thought it was the perfect end to satisfy the story. But I was wrong. I lost that business approach and allowed my heart's insanity to rule. Another big mistake to add to the list. Why does such a smart girl act so stupid?
Love. Motherfucking love.
I woke up at 4 a.m. in my Mother's house, unable to sleep. There were no more questions to be answered and no more lies I could tell myself about the inevitable. I came home, dropped my things and made my exit to the gym as fast as possible. The dramatic slamming of the door, stomping down the steps and smoke from my feet as my getaway to the gym was my last saving grace. I could not let him see this discovery that I uncovered. Even though I have been telling myself that I have no hope left, I guess there was a bit more in me, stuck to a fragment of my shattered heart, that he would come to his senses and change his mind.
My workout was fueled by my pain. I pushed forward, fighting for strength, searching for some form of solitude. The tears of my pain and anger of my sweat coalesced to a mass on my face, shirt and down my body. Not caring if the health nuts and mass of muscles heard my moans I hoped to disguise and pass off as panting. On my fifth mile, I gave into the exhaustion of it all. I was trying to run from reality and I was ironically in the same place. Emotionally and literally. It was time to get off the treadmill of this life I have been living on and face the music.
Determined to conceal this smidgen of hope, I attempted to compose myself on the walk home. The closer I got, the weaker I grew. Even a complete stranger stopped me, put her arms around me, taking off one of my earbuds to tell me things will get better with time. I guess her maternal instinct sensed it was heartbreak. She had felt this before and knew sometimes all one needs is a hug and a kind words. She gave me a bit of strength from her heart. I could do this.
Opening the door, I was determined to keep it together. After all, I had bigger fish to fry: I had a telephone interview for a job that was perfect for me. I poured all my focus into this place I didn't even knew I had. I guess the professionalism I had always pretended to emulate everyday I came into work during our relationship. The Mondays after his benders, the Fridays I knew would bring more pain. I had crafted this game face and I was putting on the mask. And wear it I did. The job is pretty much mine after she gets my salary approved and the details are covered with the final in person interview. This was the boost I needed to remember who I was. Who I am.
I am capable. I am the problem solver this company was looking for. Now if I could only apply those business principles into my own personal life, I would be set. I could conquer this obstacle and move onto the next. But trying is in direct conflict of what my heart truly desires so it makes the job almost impossible because it goes against all logic in my heart. But it is time to shut my heart out of the equation.
Not only did I have an interview, but I had to interview others: for the now vacant room in my two bedroom apartment. I had about 7 people come and check out the place. The first girl I met was perfect. She, too, broke up with her boyfriend and needed to move out. They were roommates and she fell for him. But if she stayed, their routine would continue. And boy could I relate to that. I interviewed the rest, knowing she was perfect. Called her and made it official. All in a days work: a new roommate and a strong possibility of a new job.
He had to come back at the end of the day to finish cleaning his room. Little did he or I know, there would be an attempt to clean up the mess of our relationship. I guess you could say he finally realized I meant business.
The death of my Dad when I was seventeen has changed my whole perspective on how I operate. I never like to leave with harsh words. I always like to have a clear conscience, knowing I did all I could and tried my best to make things right. So part with kind words we did. One last hurrah. Momentarily, I foolishly thought it was the perfect end to satisfy the story. But I was wrong. I lost that business approach and allowed my heart's insanity to rule. Another big mistake to add to the list. Why does such a smart girl act so stupid?
Love. Motherfucking love.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Day Ten: EX-cruciating (August 23rd)
I ended up having to leave my house last night and head to my Mom's house at midnight. He insisted on speaking to me and I somehow throught that was a good idea even though I knew better. I guess because I know he is leaving, I know I will no longer spend time with him. I suppose I just want the chance to look at his face and feel his presence. Even if it pains me. I swear I am a masochist because I have been willingly putting myself in positions that I know will cause me pain and I do it anyway. I put my hand in the fire, knowing its going to burn me and I do it over and over again. The pain, our twisted communication and this heartache, is the only thing I have left that connects me to him. And I know I have to let go, I know he is moving out tomorrow so I guess I just want to get all I can before I really let him go forever and close the door on this relationship. It is all so pathetic and fucked up.
So he kept fucking with me, telling me that I am the one who made it this way. That my stubbornness is the cause of us being broken up. That my unwillingness to budge on the sober living house is causing us to be over. He makes me feel like I am crazy. First he made me question my sanity when I KNEW something was wrong, that he wasn't being trustworthy, faithful and true, he would tell me I am tripping. And now this he is trying to turn this on me, taking my love and kindness for weakness as if I was going to cave. NOT THIS TIME.
He didn't even deserve the benefit of the doubt or another chance to be with me IN ANY capacity. But I gave him another chance, another option, he didn't take it and now it is somehow my fault. I could not hear it anymore. So I left.
But he continued to contact me this morning. Texting me about wanting to have a heart to heart with me tonight. About how he feels ashamed for what he did to me. And so on. It was at that point I had to use my brain and tell my heart to shut up. I let him know to never contact me again or I will get a restraining order. I cannot speak or communicate with him in any way: positive or negative. It is too hard and it still gives me hope. I was still asking him to go to the sober living house last night, hoping he would change his mind. But he never does anything on anyone else's terms but his own.
I have fought for him from the beginning, through the middle and right down to the end before the moving truck rolls up to my door tomorrow morning. Because this love has infected me, made me sick and it has consumed my soul. But at the end of the day, love should not require a fight. And if there ever is an issue, I want a man that is going to fight for me. One that knows what he has and will NOT let it go so easily. Clearly, he is not that man. And I am no longer the woman who will stand and fight tooth and nail for a man who could care less or not have have the smarts or drive to fight for me. I just want it to be over.
So he kept fucking with me, telling me that I am the one who made it this way. That my stubbornness is the cause of us being broken up. That my unwillingness to budge on the sober living house is causing us to be over. He makes me feel like I am crazy. First he made me question my sanity when I KNEW something was wrong, that he wasn't being trustworthy, faithful and true, he would tell me I am tripping. And now this he is trying to turn this on me, taking my love and kindness for weakness as if I was going to cave. NOT THIS TIME.
He didn't even deserve the benefit of the doubt or another chance to be with me IN ANY capacity. But I gave him another chance, another option, he didn't take it and now it is somehow my fault. I could not hear it anymore. So I left.
But he continued to contact me this morning. Texting me about wanting to have a heart to heart with me tonight. About how he feels ashamed for what he did to me. And so on. It was at that point I had to use my brain and tell my heart to shut up. I let him know to never contact me again or I will get a restraining order. I cannot speak or communicate with him in any way: positive or negative. It is too hard and it still gives me hope. I was still asking him to go to the sober living house last night, hoping he would change his mind. But he never does anything on anyone else's terms but his own.
I have fought for him from the beginning, through the middle and right down to the end before the moving truck rolls up to my door tomorrow morning. Because this love has infected me, made me sick and it has consumed my soul. But at the end of the day, love should not require a fight. And if there ever is an issue, I want a man that is going to fight for me. One that knows what he has and will NOT let it go so easily. Clearly, he is not that man. And I am no longer the woman who will stand and fight tooth and nail for a man who could care less or not have have the smarts or drive to fight for me. I just want it to be over.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Day Eight and Nine: Fun? Torture. (August 21st and 22nd)
I decided that I was not going to be pitiful and feeling sorry for myself anymore. So what is there left to do other than actually shower, put on some makeup with the intention of not crying it all off, throw on a cute outfit and hang out with some of my friends. Because alcohol has ruined my life, I wasn't too quick to do become the typical cliche' and go out, getting drunk with my girlfriends, complaining all night long. I knew that was not going to help. But sit at my Mother's for another weekend was out of the question. I figured I should at least try to not be miserable. It's worth a shot, right?
I had a few beers, had a few shots and went to a few bars. It was completely exhausting to try and appear to be okay and have fun. I am very fortunate to have friends who care about me and want to try and help me move on. But I don't really want to be around anyone. I just want to lay in my bed and cry. I am tortured with the concept that this will never go away. I have had my heart broken and its been 9 years. I have never really gotten over it. I no longer love that man but my heart never worked the same afterwards.
I have never loved anyone more than I love this man. It's so frightening to think that it will never go away. I know that is just something I am feeling now and that it will get better. But I just don't see that happening. How can I still care about a man who has done all this to me and hurt me so bad? Who has betrayed me in every sense of the word? There has got to be something wrong with me because it doesn't make any sense. Why would I even be willing to give him another chance and why do I even care that he didn't decide to take it? WHY THE FUCK DO I CARE? What the shit is wrong with me?
This is torture. I did not eat all day, drank an ocean, and now I am left with my body experiencing death by hangover and my heart death by mother fucking love. Each on their own a bad hand. But together, it's downright cruel. I don't think I will be going out anymore or even try to have fun. I just need to stop forcing things and take it moment by moment. There is no fixing this. I know I just have to endure it and just go through it. But man I wish there was a shortcut.
I wish I could stay here and be miserable without him in the same house. The sound of him packing up boxes of our life is tormenting and to see him is hell. I feel so pathetic admitting that I know these are the last 48 hours of him in this house and I don't want to miss a minute of him being here. But then I remember that is just downright dumb. He isn't mine anymore and I have to get that in my head.
I cannot wait for the day when I actually want another man to touch me. To feel relief that I do not have to put up with his shit. When I am fun again. When I am back to my old self. When I am not concerned or angry. Or when I hear about him being at a bar Friday, Saturday and now Sunday, "not drinking," I don't give a shit or have any emotions about it. Or even have any emotions related to him at all. To be completely rid of all of him in my heart, head and soul.
I constantly feel like I am dying. The only thing that reminds me I am alive is the excruciating pain of heartache and the warmth of my tears. I just want to be over him.
I had a few beers, had a few shots and went to a few bars. It was completely exhausting to try and appear to be okay and have fun. I am very fortunate to have friends who care about me and want to try and help me move on. But I don't really want to be around anyone. I just want to lay in my bed and cry. I am tortured with the concept that this will never go away. I have had my heart broken and its been 9 years. I have never really gotten over it. I no longer love that man but my heart never worked the same afterwards.
I have never loved anyone more than I love this man. It's so frightening to think that it will never go away. I know that is just something I am feeling now and that it will get better. But I just don't see that happening. How can I still care about a man who has done all this to me and hurt me so bad? Who has betrayed me in every sense of the word? There has got to be something wrong with me because it doesn't make any sense. Why would I even be willing to give him another chance and why do I even care that he didn't decide to take it? WHY THE FUCK DO I CARE? What the shit is wrong with me?
This is torture. I did not eat all day, drank an ocean, and now I am left with my body experiencing death by hangover and my heart death by mother fucking love. Each on their own a bad hand. But together, it's downright cruel. I don't think I will be going out anymore or even try to have fun. I just need to stop forcing things and take it moment by moment. There is no fixing this. I know I just have to endure it and just go through it. But man I wish there was a shortcut.
I wish I could stay here and be miserable without him in the same house. The sound of him packing up boxes of our life is tormenting and to see him is hell. I feel so pathetic admitting that I know these are the last 48 hours of him in this house and I don't want to miss a minute of him being here. But then I remember that is just downright dumb. He isn't mine anymore and I have to get that in my head.
I cannot wait for the day when I actually want another man to touch me. To feel relief that I do not have to put up with his shit. When I am fun again. When I am back to my old self. When I am not concerned or angry. Or when I hear about him being at a bar Friday, Saturday and now Sunday, "not drinking," I don't give a shit or have any emotions about it. Or even have any emotions related to him at all. To be completely rid of all of him in my heart, head and soul.
I constantly feel like I am dying. The only thing that reminds me I am alive is the excruciating pain of heartache and the warmth of my tears. I just want to be over him.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Day Seven: Validation (August 20th)
Conveniently, he locked himself out. So we had to speak. I asked where he was going on a friday night at 9 pm that he was locked out...hopefully a meeting. But NO. He was going to a bar to meet up with his friends. But rest assured, kind reader, he says he was not going to drink. How reassuring coming from a mouth who has exercised more carefully constructed deceit than a fucking lawyer. It was with this admission that I knew I was making the right decision.
Less than a week sober and he is already throwing himself to the lions. But like I said, I am not in control of his decisions. I only have control over mine. And I am no longer the ringleader in this circus and I no longer have to tame the lions.
So it was validation in its purest form. The sign I knew would come and needed, but didn't expect this soon. It was the shove I needed to help me continue down my destined path towards self preservation and reconstruction of my heart. I am just waiting for the relief that I know will eventually come. The peace I need to fully be free from the shame of standing by and watching the man I love continue to destroy himself. It is no longer my job.
Less than a week sober and he is already throwing himself to the lions. But like I said, I am not in control of his decisions. I only have control over mine. And I am no longer the ringleader in this circus and I no longer have to tame the lions.
So it was validation in its purest form. The sign I knew would come and needed, but didn't expect this soon. It was the shove I needed to help me continue down my destined path towards self preservation and reconstruction of my heart. I am just waiting for the relief that I know will eventually come. The peace I need to fully be free from the shame of standing by and watching the man I love continue to destroy himself. It is no longer my job.
Day Six: Fed Up (August 19th)
After last night, I knew I could never sleep in the same house while he was still in it. It was just too hard. So back to my Mother's, back to the pillow full of my tears, back to the dark room and back to picking up the pieces. I had to start to become determined again. The way I was before he expressed any remorse or willingness to get sober.
I had to remind myself of all his wrongdoings. Remind myself that his decision has nothing to do with me. It has everything to do with his alcoholism. Just how he is powerless to alcohol, I am powerless to the decisions he makes due to the disease.
My Mom, sober for 15 years, has become somewhat of a pillar of support. Her getting fed up with his chosen path to sobriety was beginning to catch up with mine. She was starting to see the signs of his half-assed commitment. His wanting to do it his way, gentle, subtle and slow. I, on the other hand, was done.
He kept texting me, telling me he missed me, how hard it is to be in our house without me. But I was having none of it. I told him unless he moves in a sober house, there is nothing to speak about except his moving out. I told him to stop contacting me, stop hurting me and let me move on. Because I am finally ready and I have finally come to terms with the finality and there is nothing more to discuss.
Today was just another day of emptiness, sorrow and pain. Nothing more to articulate other than the feelings of finality, the indefinite end and the mourning of the loss of hope. I have no more and this time I have let go. And I am starting to loosen my grasp. It's really over.
I had to remind myself of all his wrongdoings. Remind myself that his decision has nothing to do with me. It has everything to do with his alcoholism. Just how he is powerless to alcohol, I am powerless to the decisions he makes due to the disease.
My Mom, sober for 15 years, has become somewhat of a pillar of support. Her getting fed up with his chosen path to sobriety was beginning to catch up with mine. She was starting to see the signs of his half-assed commitment. His wanting to do it his way, gentle, subtle and slow. I, on the other hand, was done.
He kept texting me, telling me he missed me, how hard it is to be in our house without me. But I was having none of it. I told him unless he moves in a sober house, there is nothing to speak about except his moving out. I told him to stop contacting me, stop hurting me and let me move on. Because I am finally ready and I have finally come to terms with the finality and there is nothing more to discuss.
Today was just another day of emptiness, sorrow and pain. Nothing more to articulate other than the feelings of finality, the indefinite end and the mourning of the loss of hope. I have no more and this time I have let go. And I am starting to loosen my grasp. It's really over.
Day Five: Crushed (August 18th)
As soon as I woke up, I knew I made the wrong decision. I should have never gave into my emotions. I just proved I was the weakest link. A woman willing to give a second thought and share her bed with the man that hurt her, cheated on her, lied to her, always put others before her, and treated her like she was nothing. That was me? No, he was going to change this time and get serious about his sobriety and follow through with the plan I laid out for him. Why wouldn't he? He said he will do anything and that he is not going to lose me. He was going to follow through, he has to.
All day I had a nagging feeling of regret about what I had done last night. The shame behind it all. The wavering in my resolve. My complete elation and relief at our love making, the pleasure I felt for the first time in I don't even know how long. I could not let anyone know about this. What would they think? They would think of me the same way I did: how could such a smart girl be so stupid? There is only one answer: Love. Mother fucking love.
I have been telling him a simple rule to live by that I should have been shouting to myself: If you are doing things you cannot share or do in front of your loved ones, you should not be doing it at all. Clearly, I was being a hypocrite and not practicing what I preach. Because even when I was doing it, I knew it was wrong. But I did it anyway. Like I said, mother fucking love.
Just to provide some background, on day one, he made plans to move into a friend's house that he parties with. After he spoke with me and let me know about his desire to get sober, how determined he was, I said moving in with his friend was a very bad idea. He explained his friend wants to slow down on the partying, make this a positive experience and be supportive. Anyone in the recovery would tell you that is a bad idea, that moving in with someone you used to party with, who is not sober, is the worst thing you can do. My ex had already promised him money for the 1st but I explained that if he told him that he is doing what is best for his sobriety and to try and find someone else to move in, if he was his friend, he woudl completely understand.
I told my ex that I COULD NOT be a part of this decision for many reasons. The main reason being that in this environment, all I would have to go on is his word. Whereas in a sober living house, his ability to live there is contingent upon him being sober and being serious about the program. In the sober living house, they incorporate the partners into their recovery and make you an integral part of the process. You have professional help and the support of others. In his friends house, he has none of that. Not to mention, he could go on lying, having other women, saying he is sober, saying he isn't drinking and so forth. His word means nothing so this was not a choice I felt comfortable investing my heart in and being a part of. He knew that if he chose this, I would be gone for good. Sober or not.
So he came home, asked to speak to me and I knew right then and there, he made his mind up and decided to move in with his friend. How did I let him do this to me AGAIN? He gave me false hope and more lies. If he was willing to do anything to not lose me why would he make the choice that means he would lose me? Why wouldn't he? Because he says he isn't comfortable going into the sober living environment. He would rather lose me and suffer the loneliness of losing me than be uncomfortable. My mom said that he clearly isn't ready to get sober and he thinks that I will soften up and change my mind. Why wouldn't he think that? I always have taken him back and that is the pattern I have created. But NOT THIS TIME.
He has crushed me for the last time. I gave him the choice of having my support everyday, playing a very active role in his recovery, helping him through this very difficult time and the chance of a real future together. I even said he could keep his stuff in his room, I could get a sublet and we could revisit our living situation in 60 or 90 days after living in the facility. EVERYONE WINS. I do not have a job, I do not have a roommate anymore so I could have his prorated rent until I find a roommate and the sober living place said they would hold him a bed until we had things squared away and he was ready to move in. I even set up an appointment to tour the facility and meet the people that Saturday. I could not have made it any easier to pick this choice.
But he didn't. He didn't even see the place. All I knew is that my heart, my love, my plan was not one he wanted to participate in. He said he didn't want to go back on his word to his friend about the money. He said he could not just jump into the sober living home. WHATEVER. He gave me hope, I gave him yet ANOTHER CHANCE and he shoved it back in my face.
Clearly, he does not want to change. He is not willing to do whatever it takes to not lose me. He is not willing to go to any length for his sobriety. I am DONE having hope. I went to bed, cried until 3 am, woke up in the morning, packed a bag, and left. He has crushed me again. I will not ever give him the benefit of the doubt to do this to me again.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Day Four: Hope (August 17th)
My anger has bled over to today. I do have regret about reacting with violence. I should have never allowed someone to have my power and behave in such a way. This whole thing I thought was a monster taunting me but now I am becoming that monster. Revenge, violence, anger. These are all traits of a person that I hate. I guess I really am not the person I used to be. This person that I have become is not one that I would want to be friends with: weak, pathetic and reacting with out logic. But I guess love makes you crazy. And my guilt for acting like that made that crack open more and my will slightly defeated.
Just before I found out about his rendezvous with that woman, I had opened my heart to him. I gave him a fool proof way to still make this work. I had stuck to my bottom line of him having to move out but in light of his remorse and expressing a dedication to get sober, I thought of a plan. One that I could live with. One that would not make him gone from me forever. He cracked my determination with his words. My addiction to him, my love has infected my heart and gave me hope.
It was simple: he moves into a sober living environment, gets in an outpatient program, we get counseling and he offers me full transparency. He seemed open to this. He came back from his meeting seemingly high off the possibilities that this new life of sobriety will offer. A life where we could be together, happy, free from the lies, curing his disease. We would finally have a fair shot. I said I would be there the for him, supporting him, helping him through this every step of the way. He would not have to be alone. I would not have to be alone. We would finally have each other.
Somehow the thought of the other woman was a mere facade. It didn't happen. And when my logic screamed at me that it did, I told myself that it would have never happened had he not had been an alcoholic. That he was sick. He needed me. He didn't want to lose me. How could I walk away from a man I love that is asking for my help? A man that needs my help?
He sat on my bed, expressing his love, his will to get sober, his unwillingness to lose me. The apologies, the tears, this man I love was finally surrendering to our love. I was crying uncontrollably. Why now? How come he could not have just done this months ago? Why not one of the hundreds of times we have talked about how his drinking is ruining our life? Those times I said I was done if things didn't change? Why now? But I guess I was willing to accept anything he gave me. I thought, "better late than never?"
I was hysterical. He wiped the tears off my face and hugged me for what felt like forever. His finger to my chin, he tilted my face up towards his and kissed me. I let him and I allowed myself to get lost in the hope of a future. The passion clouded my judgement, my fix was here and it felt so good. I could not stop. Every emotion was now suddenly healed. All my worries of it being over, vanished. And before I knew it, he was making love to me for the very first time in our entire relationship. This is what I had been begging and waiting for. This is what it was supposed to be like. Just as easily as my clothes slipped off, we slipped back into our old routine. But this time, with love making and complete satisfaction. This was the future we were destined to have. Hope was here and I was not letting go of it.
Just before I found out about his rendezvous with that woman, I had opened my heart to him. I gave him a fool proof way to still make this work. I had stuck to my bottom line of him having to move out but in light of his remorse and expressing a dedication to get sober, I thought of a plan. One that I could live with. One that would not make him gone from me forever. He cracked my determination with his words. My addiction to him, my love has infected my heart and gave me hope.
It was simple: he moves into a sober living environment, gets in an outpatient program, we get counseling and he offers me full transparency. He seemed open to this. He came back from his meeting seemingly high off the possibilities that this new life of sobriety will offer. A life where we could be together, happy, free from the lies, curing his disease. We would finally have a fair shot. I said I would be there the for him, supporting him, helping him through this every step of the way. He would not have to be alone. I would not have to be alone. We would finally have each other.
Somehow the thought of the other woman was a mere facade. It didn't happen. And when my logic screamed at me that it did, I told myself that it would have never happened had he not had been an alcoholic. That he was sick. He needed me. He didn't want to lose me. How could I walk away from a man I love that is asking for my help? A man that needs my help?
He sat on my bed, expressing his love, his will to get sober, his unwillingness to lose me. The apologies, the tears, this man I love was finally surrendering to our love. I was crying uncontrollably. Why now? How come he could not have just done this months ago? Why not one of the hundreds of times we have talked about how his drinking is ruining our life? Those times I said I was done if things didn't change? Why now? But I guess I was willing to accept anything he gave me. I thought, "better late than never?"
I was hysterical. He wiped the tears off my face and hugged me for what felt like forever. His finger to my chin, he tilted my face up towards his and kissed me. I let him and I allowed myself to get lost in the hope of a future. The passion clouded my judgement, my fix was here and it felt so good. I could not stop. Every emotion was now suddenly healed. All my worries of it being over, vanished. And before I knew it, he was making love to me for the very first time in our entire relationship. This is what I had been begging and waiting for. This is what it was supposed to be like. Just as easily as my clothes slipped off, we slipped back into our old routine. But this time, with love making and complete satisfaction. This was the future we were destined to have. Hope was here and I was not letting go of it.
Day Three: Determination (August 16th)
Today is the day I had to face him. The R&R from day two strengthened my resolve and allowed me to solidify the plan of what I know I have to do and what I always knew I had to do deep down. I had my mental checklist of all the reasons why. I did not even bother with the pro and con list because there are some things that are just straight up unforgivable. He managed to find that deal breaker and run with it. So despite my addiction, my mind was speaking louder, telling my heart to shut the fuck up, and remain logical no matter what. I sat, machine-like, determined to repeat my script of the walking orders, discuss only the logistics of his moving out, and speak nothing of his trolling for craigslist casual encounters.
I am done. His words have always been lies and they have never fully been the truth. Not until I push harder, and harder and harder to finally uncover the real truth at the bottom that he was only partially willing to cop and admit to. So when he tells me, which I knew he would, that he never answered the craigslist ads, it doesn't even really matter. That is not the behavior of a man who is in a committed relationship who says he wants to work on his sex life with his girlfriend. That is not the behavior of a man who is supposedly so tired and stressed out that sex is the "last thing" on his mind, because clearly that was another lie of his. And this is not porn. It is a website of intent and given the history of his lies, I might as well just assume he was fucking the BBW's and tittie fetish whores' ads. I mean, he wasn't giving it to me so why else would I come to any other conclusion? My gaining weight should have been a turn on!? But like I said, whether he did nor not, doesn't matter. He knew this would hurt me, he know this would further damage the trust he has already broken and he did it anyway.
He tells me I am right and this his behavior is unacceptable. He surrenders to the weight and enormity of the pain he has caused me and I finally see it register, seeping into his soul. He, for the first time ever, is completely open about the extent of his issues, explaining to me details of his past, reasons behind this behavior and that he has a problem, how sorry he is, and that he really needs to seek professional help. He cries. He doesn't want to lose me, he is willing to do anything, he will die without me, he doesn't want to live a life without me in it.
My drug, my addiction, pulling me in, tempting me, dancing with hope, placing itself vulnerable on a platter begging me to take it. I cannot look the man I love more than anything in the world in his eyes and say no to him when he says he wants and needs help. I dabble a little in the wonder of hope and it has opened a crack on the fortress I was determined to keep up around my heart and preserve my will to do the right thing. But that crack was open and it was beginning to creak.
WOW. Sorry? He wants me? He finally wants help?!!!He is FINALLY serious. He even confessed to his Mother all his problems, even the sex stuff. How can I not compromise my plan and change it to incorporate this unexpected chain of events?
SIDE NOTE: After speaking with him on day one before he went to the party, not even in my wildest dreams did I think he would be sorry or even admit the extent of his addictions. So this was a shock to me. One I was not prepared to guard myself from. So I caved. I made one final attempt, one final offer, one last chance; an option that I could rationalize and feel good about taking one last risk.
But before we could jump into the details, our trust issues had to be dealt with. Full transparency was one of my conditions. He was no longer going to be able to hide his emails, texts and who he was talking to so he had one last chance to tell me on his own. I already knew. I guess I needed to hear it. And even then he was still not completely honest.
It was only texting. He only saw her once, he never touched her. They just talked on the phone, she is married for crying out loud. To me, that was bad enough. But as usual, with him, this is still not even the full truth. With him, its always half: half-assed attempts, half-truths, half-effort, half-commitment and probably half-love. So I pushed and pushed and pushed and pushed till I had to get the fucking bitch on the phone and set her up. "Everytime we kiss I like it. I love kissing you." I grabbed the phone and let the whore know my beef was not with her and that I am not her enemy, I just want to know the truth. He is the one who betrayed me and she has no loyalty to me. But she mistook my kindness for weakness, was rude, defiant, disrespectful and basically was taunting me: She fucked with the wrong bitch.
Have you ever had a time where you wish you could go back and say something to someone you were mad at but were so shocked or hurt the words didn't come out as planned? The tongue not as sharp, your wit not as quick? Well, this was not one of those times. "IF YOU EVER COME NEAR ME OR MINE I WILL SKIN YOUR FAT ASS AND FEED IT TO THE STARVING CHILDREN OF SOMALIA, YOU GOT ME?!!!!" She continued to be rude and speak with defiance. I swear, this old bitch, 14 years older than me (I thought men liked young chicks with youth not old saggy tits, wrinkled, fat, bitches?), clearly did not get the message.
I roughed up my old man. He lied again when he said he was coming clean once and for all. But he was still lying! He got a good one to the face, pushed around a bit and I stalked out the door to a friend's house 2 blocks away. It was there that I googled this bitch, found her on facebook and let every one of her relatives know she is a cheating whore. I also did some research, found where she lived, her email (personal and work), home phone number and sent her ALL the info I found out to let her know I mean business. I let her know that her husband is going to find out that she is a cheating whore. SO...she should tell him herself or find out from me, her choice. Well, not really because I already sent several letters addressed to him in the mail, and numerous messages on her land line. Whoops. Shortly after a very dry email response back from her, I got an automatic response saying she will be out of the office through the week. Probably frantically trying to locate her husband and beg for forgiveness. All this could have been avoided had she not spoke to me with disrespect and disdain.
Unfortunately, I have been the other woman. In fact, that is how I started with this man. Yes, the irony cannot be ignored and I definitely deserve what I had coming. Not so much as because of the pain I caused another woman, but because I was dumb enough to think that I was somehow immune to this behavior of his. If she ever wanted to call me out for what I did, hate me, shame me publicly, I think she has every right. I would never speak to her like she had it coming or be disrespectful. Because I know that I am responsible for my actions and I have to accept the consequences for them whatever they may be. This being one of them. I am suffering the consequences, so will this whore and so will he. He lost me forever.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Day Two: Distraction (August 15th)
I was up crying all night long. The devastation invaded my sleep. A thing that used to be safe from all my worries besides the occasional nightmare in my pre-breakup life. But now I was living it. I wake up every 2 hours thinking it was all a dream, only to realize this is my reality. This nightmare, all along under the surface, occasionally, okay, not occasional if I am being completely honest, reared its ugly head and now was the monster I always knew of, standing on its hind legs taunting me, torturing me, and trying to defeat me. This is real and this is really happening. But for today, I cannot go to battle with it. Day one drained me of all my fight. My armor broken to pieces at my feet and my arsenal to defend myself, depleted. I will face this, I will conquer and kill this fucking beast. But not today. Every warrior needs a break in the battle and today is that day. I will wait for reinforcements and eventually conquer that sonofabitch.
A friend came to my rescue. Took me to a her home in the countryside so I could escape the place I had tainted with the pain of day one. I could not sit in the same dark room with the marks of my tears on the pillow next to me. I had to change my geography even if it would not change my heart. So we left and started our journey to her sanctuary. But not before we stopped for the essentials: cigarettes, ice cream, candy, pizza, fried snacks galore, 2 dvd's (no love stories, of course) and the ingredients for a vat of sangria.
My addiction to him continued. The obsessive checking of my email, facebook online status updates, looking to see if he was online, looking at my phone every other second and even calling it from the landline to make sure I could get calls. My connection to him, although severed, is still holding out for hope.
When I left him early saturday morning, we did not speak. When we spoke at noon on day one he was very cold, matter of fact and manipulative. Why don't I believe him? If I can't believe him, he said, then we shouldn't be together. He was in public and meeting a friend for lunch, and said he would call me back before he left to go to a party. One we were supposed to go to together. Lucky him. While I am left crying and devastated, HE GOES TO A PARTY?! But this is typical of his selfish ways and the standard procedure of our relationship: me doing the work, him reaping the benefits. But he never called and I knew I would not hear from him until the weekend was over or the bars were closed- which ever came first. So that meant, today was a wash and my fix would not come until Monday. The withdraws did not happen because I knew I would be hearing from him after he decided to curb his bender.
The rehashing of the incident commenced. As my poor friend sat through the exhausting task of having to listen to all this bullshit, I could see her politely trying to hide her expressions of exasperation and disgust. Exasperation and disgust for the intensity of the situation or shock that I was putting up with this for so long, I do not know. Mind you, I have always carried myself as the one who has it all together.
A little about me: I am a mid 20's girl who is average height, weight and have been told I am good looking. Ok, I have been told I was beautiful and that I could have any man I wanted. I used to aim high, seek the unattainable types just to see if I could land them and never had a problem doing so. I am not sure if that is due to my determination, wit, or my sexual prowess. Nevertheless, if I set my sights on something I wanted, a job, a man, the lifestyle I wanted to live, I was never deficient in tools of the trade needed to attain what I sought. So you can imagine the confusion when I tell people of my predicament and am finally honest about how bad it truly was. I was never a woman who had to beg their lover to have sex with her. Plead for him to touch me, love me and fulfill my needs.
His continual rejection of my sexual advances, my pleas for change, attention and love, broke me down to a person who I no longer recognize. I do not know the face that stares back at me in the mirror. My old self would kick this bitch's ass and tell her to get it together. She would pity this weak person who put up with all this shit. And in response all this person could do is cower and think that I somehow deserved all this. That I was undeserving of his love. That I was ugly and no wonder he didn't want to have sex with me: you gained 8 pounds and are disgusting! He wouldn't even set a side a night for the two of us to connect...and when he reluctantly did the bare minimum to keep me, promising me romance, he would fall asleep, cleverly getting out of the chore of having to touch my repulsive body. Why else would he not want me? The only rational conclusion I could come up with is that he was no longer attracted to me because I was disgusting and downright pathetic.
So distraction from all these emotions and reality, for now, is my only defense. Stare at the flat screen, pretend to be following the plots of the movies and shove fried food in my increasingly fat and disgusting body. Why not? He didn't want me then, is not fighting for me now and I know nothing will change tomorrow.
A friend came to my rescue. Took me to a her home in the countryside so I could escape the place I had tainted with the pain of day one. I could not sit in the same dark room with the marks of my tears on the pillow next to me. I had to change my geography even if it would not change my heart. So we left and started our journey to her sanctuary. But not before we stopped for the essentials: cigarettes, ice cream, candy, pizza, fried snacks galore, 2 dvd's (no love stories, of course) and the ingredients for a vat of sangria.
My addiction to him continued. The obsessive checking of my email, facebook online status updates, looking to see if he was online, looking at my phone every other second and even calling it from the landline to make sure I could get calls. My connection to him, although severed, is still holding out for hope.
When I left him early saturday morning, we did not speak. When we spoke at noon on day one he was very cold, matter of fact and manipulative. Why don't I believe him? If I can't believe him, he said, then we shouldn't be together. He was in public and meeting a friend for lunch, and said he would call me back before he left to go to a party. One we were supposed to go to together. Lucky him. While I am left crying and devastated, HE GOES TO A PARTY?! But this is typical of his selfish ways and the standard procedure of our relationship: me doing the work, him reaping the benefits. But he never called and I knew I would not hear from him until the weekend was over or the bars were closed- which ever came first. So that meant, today was a wash and my fix would not come until Monday. The withdraws did not happen because I knew I would be hearing from him after he decided to curb his bender.
The rehashing of the incident commenced. As my poor friend sat through the exhausting task of having to listen to all this bullshit, I could see her politely trying to hide her expressions of exasperation and disgust. Exasperation and disgust for the intensity of the situation or shock that I was putting up with this for so long, I do not know. Mind you, I have always carried myself as the one who has it all together.
A little about me: I am a mid 20's girl who is average height, weight and have been told I am good looking. Ok, I have been told I was beautiful and that I could have any man I wanted. I used to aim high, seek the unattainable types just to see if I could land them and never had a problem doing so. I am not sure if that is due to my determination, wit, or my sexual prowess. Nevertheless, if I set my sights on something I wanted, a job, a man, the lifestyle I wanted to live, I was never deficient in tools of the trade needed to attain what I sought. So you can imagine the confusion when I tell people of my predicament and am finally honest about how bad it truly was. I was never a woman who had to beg their lover to have sex with her. Plead for him to touch me, love me and fulfill my needs.
His continual rejection of my sexual advances, my pleas for change, attention and love, broke me down to a person who I no longer recognize. I do not know the face that stares back at me in the mirror. My old self would kick this bitch's ass and tell her to get it together. She would pity this weak person who put up with all this shit. And in response all this person could do is cower and think that I somehow deserved all this. That I was undeserving of his love. That I was ugly and no wonder he didn't want to have sex with me: you gained 8 pounds and are disgusting! He wouldn't even set a side a night for the two of us to connect...and when he reluctantly did the bare minimum to keep me, promising me romance, he would fall asleep, cleverly getting out of the chore of having to touch my repulsive body. Why else would he not want me? The only rational conclusion I could come up with is that he was no longer attracted to me because I was disgusting and downright pathetic.
So distraction from all these emotions and reality, for now, is my only defense. Stare at the flat screen, pretend to be following the plots of the movies and shove fried food in my increasingly fat and disgusting body. Why not? He didn't want me then, is not fighting for me now and I know nothing will change tomorrow.
Day One: Devastation (August 14th)
There have been many red flags. Even from the very beginning. When you are in love, you find a way to rationalize the flags, make excuses, tell yourself that it's a coincidence, these things won't happen again. We believe the lies, we believe all the words and we give second, third, and in my case, 100 chances. But this was a flag, and a discovery I could not ignore or rationalize in any way. It was in my face.
Every time I pushed, looked for more clues, I discovered more. The all too familiar feeling of the lump in your throat, your stomach dropping, tears welling up and spilling over, makeup cascading down your face. And I would think to myself, "how can I go on and do this again? How can he do this to me?" The emails, the texts, the refusal to be transparent with his doings and the life we were supposed to be building together have culminated to this present. But before he had pulled me in, given me promises and had explanations for every situation. He was determined to change and give me all of himself. Or so he said. I was determined to believe him. It's not his fault he is an alcoholic. He loves me. I love him. What more does one need if we love each other and he wants to change? Promised me he would change?
These were ultimatums, things I previously did not believe in, and he was going to follow through because he did not want to lose me. "I cannot live without you." Those words were my addiction. My drug of choice that I did not want to live without. Much like alcohol to him, I kept my intake, my role, my guilt for doing things I would have never done unless under his influence, a secret.
But change he did not. The only thing that changed was his level of deceit and the length he was willing to go to cover what I have coined as his "double-life."When I saw it, I could no longer rationalize staying with him. It was there staring me in the face. And it was at that moment when the devastation made a home in my heart, wiping out all humanity and hope I ever had left of having a life with him in it.
The devastation has strangled me and I cannot breathe or even begin to bend over and start picking up the pieces of the life I thought we would have. And the pieces of the person I used to be.
Every time I pushed, looked for more clues, I discovered more. The all too familiar feeling of the lump in your throat, your stomach dropping, tears welling up and spilling over, makeup cascading down your face. And I would think to myself, "how can I go on and do this again? How can he do this to me?" The emails, the texts, the refusal to be transparent with his doings and the life we were supposed to be building together have culminated to this present. But before he had pulled me in, given me promises and had explanations for every situation. He was determined to change and give me all of himself. Or so he said. I was determined to believe him. It's not his fault he is an alcoholic. He loves me. I love him. What more does one need if we love each other and he wants to change? Promised me he would change?
These were ultimatums, things I previously did not believe in, and he was going to follow through because he did not want to lose me. "I cannot live without you." Those words were my addiction. My drug of choice that I did not want to live without. Much like alcohol to him, I kept my intake, my role, my guilt for doing things I would have never done unless under his influence, a secret.
But change he did not. The only thing that changed was his level of deceit and the length he was willing to go to cover what I have coined as his "double-life."When I saw it, I could no longer rationalize staying with him. It was there staring me in the face. And it was at that moment when the devastation made a home in my heart, wiping out all humanity and hope I ever had left of having a life with him in it.
The devastation has strangled me and I cannot breathe or even begin to bend over and start picking up the pieces of the life I thought we would have. And the pieces of the person I used to be.
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