Blog Pride Day

I'm coming out of the blog closet-- soon.  I've hidden this little puppy from everyone except Amy, Kim, and Barb for many reasons.   One, they don't judge me ... ever, at least not to my face.  :) Everything I write here is something I've already told them about over the phone, or in Kim's case g-chat.  I just need the catharsis of typing/writing it out. I'm choosing now because apart of hiding in the closet was because I was afraid of what people will think.  Will they judge me for my anger or my longing?  Will they think less of me?  They might and that's alright.

I'm moving in seven months, that's actually a nice amount of time, and people will want to know what I'm up to.  I'm going to get a prepaid cell phone for emergencies.  I'm not going to part the Red Sea trying to find a job.  I figure a monthly cell phone bill costs as much as Garvey's dog food from this wonderful establishment and if I have to choose a phone or my best friend, I'm gonna choose le pup.

Going through my old blogs wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. It wasn't hard at all. It didn't feel like anything.  I fixed a few glaring grammatical mishaps, deleted one sentence, and that's it.  I was proud of myself.  I didn't feel the need to hide anything from anyone.  When I started this blog with "I saw at sea a great fog bank between two ships that struck and sank..." my heart was crumbling.  I felt like life had ended and forgotten to take me with it, gosh was I pitiful.  I needed an anonymous outlet.  The profile information, the email address, the picture, all faux material.  But no more, I've been hiding in the closet because I was used to it; not sharing my story because it involved other people.  When I was going to group, it's been like a year since my last visit, one of the women whose husband's behavior had damaged her so severely she lost sight of her self and attempted suicide, told us she's not going to hide because "...it's her story to tell."  Those words rang out and resounded in me like a toddler with a musical triangle walking through a cave. My life is my story. I have never, nor will I ever post disparaging remarks about anyone.  That would defeat this blog's purpose.  I write to reflect.  I don't need to mow anyone over for my own self-actualization.

My Icebreaker baselayer pants are coming in the mail today. Yay!  I'll wait to go for a run until they arrive.  I think my trekking poles will also arrive so I may go to the rails to trails and do a test run.  Rasta's front paw is injured. She's not putting any weight on it so she'll probably have to stay here.  :(  She's so much fun. I think I like her more than I like Garvey. Uh-oh.  It's just apart of her charm.  I think Garvey loves her more than he loves me.  So we're even. She does resemble Buckeye (the SBA three- legged dog) as she runs. That is unfortunate.

While I'm waiting for my Fed-Ex boyfriend I'm going to sit in my down sleeping bag (I turned the heat off last night so I could test it out: A+++) finish some planning for MLK Jr. Day, take packing boxes to the basement, vacuum shards of tile from my carpet and take a shower, maybe. My apartment is freezing and being cold and wet are a combination of my two least favorite states of being.

All-in-all I'm feeling mighty fine.  :)

Make believe

I had a great day today. I didn’t do things as a reaction to him. I didn’t long for him and what we had, could’ve had, or should’ve had. I didn’t hate him for what he never gave me. When I talked about him --if I talked about him -- I discussed him as an entity separate from myself. I spoke, I think, objectively, not void of emotion, but without emotional affect. I spoke of him in the past without possibility or hope for a future. He was something that happened to me, no longer something that defined me. Last night and today I had conversations with people who fed the intellectual cravings I’d desired for so long. I got to share my philosophy impart my ideologies, and feel the way I felt without fear of judgment or abuse. I hadn’t had that for quite some time.

Today was growth. I sat in my favorite chair journaling with my dog at my side recalling a conversation that had just occurred and feeling my growth but incapable of acknowledging its need for a name. I felt more satisfied than I had before because satisfaction was born from a moment and not a search. Over the past few months I’ve been searching for happiness, for satisfaction, for peace, for me. But those things are lost in the seeking. They lie quietly in the moments of serenity. They are the spawn of acceptance -- not complacency -- acceptance in the purest form: “the fact of being accepted: approval” I approved of myself today. I stamped a red rubber stamp, sans the bureaucracy, on my flesh. To say that I loved myself would be doing an injustice to what transgressed. I have always “loved myself.” Yet did not approve, at least, as I should have. To approve of oneself, one’s history, reality and response to the preceding is the greatest peace. That was gift to myself.

Thinking of the joy that I hear in Emily’s voice when she speaks of her wife is ecstasy. To think that someone who went through so much has found what they have desired is exhilarating. Not because I hope to find that someday, but because someone already has. I hear in her voice the love that I dreamt existed before I met him,  felt as I loved him, and began to forget and as he ignored his love for me. Hearing that truth, that clarity in her voice was a soothing relief to a heart that lay singed and wizened from pain. I’m glad that she has found what she has, because now I know that what I craved as a little girl doesn’t only exist in the land of make believe.

Fictional characters

I went on a hike with my dog this morning. After my hike I decided I was going to grab breakfast. I pull in and who's there? *Bruno. I see his car so it prepares me. I walk in he's sitting right by the door. He doesn't notice me. I order my food put down my things, he still doesn't notice me. I have to walk by him to pick up my things so (he's furiously writing in his journal) I put my hand on his arm. He looks up (and looks terrified as if he's been caught) and says HEY! almost too excited. I smile, say hi, and walk away. I didn't want us to sit in a restaurant that we both frequented without even saying hi.

I get my things. Sit down and begin to read my mail. He walks over with his jacket on. He says "I have to go meet Poppa Smurf" (an HR guy). I respond with "Uh, okay" why does he feel the need to tell me where he's going? He makes some stupid comment about how my Pumpkin muffin top (the pastry not the disgusting blemish peeking over my jeans) looks like a bagel with a filled in middle (What?! Who says that)? Then repeats "I have to go meet with Poppa Smurf something about my Master's degree." I respond with "Ok..." He's like okay, see ya. By that time I'm not even looking at him. I just want him to go away. Because he's being the Bruno that he was at the River. The awkward Bruno who wants to be intimate but can't be and as a result gets all goofy and ridiculous.

It made me sad.

On my walk with my dog I thought about how this isn't the right time for either of us. I'm not ready to be in a relaionship with him either. I have some shit I need to workout. However, I feel like it needs to be worked out in a relationship -- if that makes any sense. When I'm single I do all the things I need to in order to keep myself healthy. But, when I'm in a relationship I need to find a way to do what I need and get what I need without depending on the person I'm in a relationship with.

I thought about *Mary on my walk too. Well, I thought about her in regards to Bruno. That whole situation makes me sad. The fact that it crippled him is disheartening. I wish he was stronger. It's disheartening in on a global level not just in regards to Bruno and I. I wasn't in the relationship so I don't know her thoughts, but she didn't have the decency to wait. He was hospitalized and alone and she left him. He became an emotional paraplegic instead of rising above. People face harsher events and yet they overcome. He faced this event and dug a tunnel under himself and sought solace.

I don't want someone who's stronger. I want him to be stronger. Is that wrong?

He turns into this person who is the furthest thing from who he is. It's a necessary mask for him to don; I just wish he didn't have to.

*names and faces have been changed because they're unimportant

Eight "I's" and one "When"

I wish I wasn't crazy. I wish I didn't sit here and think about all the ways this could've gone right. Last night, after a conversation about us, out of nowhere he said "Who did you tell? Who from work did you tell?" I can't help but think he wanted to try it again... I know him. I know he did. He wanted to have another go at the same relationship with the same problems. He wanted to prove to me that it wouldn't work. He's right. It won't work because he keeps doing the same things. You can't fake intimacy. That's what he would try and do. He would say "See, we tried -- again -- and it didn't work. No, we didn't try. You pretended to try. Not until you release your fears of hurt will any relationship stand a chance.

When I told him that the next time we broke up it would be forever, I meant it. ... I think. I hope. I know that right now it would be bad. In all honesty, I think it would be bad regardless of when it happened. But I can't help but romanticize our ending. It will happen like Definitely Maybe. We both move on but the move isn't permanent, more like a rental agreement or a sublet. We find each other in the end. Music plays, fade out on passionate embrace.

I know he's not right for me. I remember sitting in his therapist's chair and asking him "So you want me to be more vulnerable? What happens when I become more vulnerable to you? Will you lose respect and cast me aside as you have others?" His therapist said it was a good question. I don't remember his answer -- if he answered. There's not a doubt in my mind that that is what he did -- subconsciously. He's not an evil person and wouldn't have done it on purpose but he still did it and it still hurt.

I think he viewed my vulnerability to him and his actions as weakness. The action of being vulnerable isn't weakness, it's a strength. The act of closing yourself off to intimacy and humanity is the bosom in which weakness lay. I read an article that says when I a guy is ready to marry he is ready. It's not the with whom but the when. He asked me to wait, to be patient and wait. I was more than happy to wait and be patient, but I wasn't willing to do it and receive nothing in return. I wasn't willing to sit in relationship hiatus whilst he figured himself out.

I have to stop using him as a vessel toward my healing. If we keep having these conversations about us and our past it will kill me. Instead of asking myself "Why." I will just ask myself "Why not," and "Why didn't we?" I need to turn to my journal and reflect there rather than with him. But it still hurts so much. I'm haunted by our possibilities. I have to reflect on the relationship using the light of reason against the mirror of self rather than irrational hope against unrealistic expectations.

I don't want him back. I don't want to deal with his neediness, his illness, his depression, his therapy sessions, his hurtful words, his past, his family issues. I don't want that back. I can't stress that enough. What I wanted was his desire to commit to me the way I committed to him. I'm angry that when he was "ready" he was "ready" with the wrong person. I can't help but wonder what we would be like if he was "ready" with me. However, he said he was ready before and he wasn't that marriage died seven months after its birth.

I may regret this; I believe we could have had a very successful and long-lasting relationship. The forever kind. But there's one big snafu. Him. Yes, I know it's a more like a glaring cancer but it's true: He was in the way of us. When he allowed himself to let go of the crap ..the baggage, we were wonderful together. It was when he sat back and over-thought and took inventory of how his love for me was growing that we plummeted rapidly into failure. He is more comfortable living in fear than in happiness as many are, I hate that I fell in love with one of them. He was afraid of leaving the baggage at the check-in desk, boarding the plane and taking hold of the wonders of love. The flight may have been turbulent at times but glorious nonetheless. It is fear that keeps him stranded in the airport on an emotional layover. It is fear that prevents him from forgiving those that hurt him. It is fear to which he is wed and will never divorce. "Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure." He's afraid of letting go and being successful because success isn't safe, its worthwhile.

I don't want that. I want someone who is afraid of love but wants it anyway. Someone who recognizes their circumstances and doesn't succumb to them. Someone who is as resilient as me. I don't want to date my twin -- that would be an atrocious failure; two people who lose their keys, forget their phones, and over pack. I want someone who is equally passionate about something, anything. Someone who wants to experience the world with me, not just talk about it. Someone who isn't afraid fighting for what they believe in, fighting for me, fighting for us. I want someone who sees the good and the bad even when the latter outweighs the former and proceeds (with or without caution) anyway. I want someone who knows fear and doubt but isn't crippled by them.

I don't know if that person exists. But, just because my previous "one" wasn't my final "one" doesn't mean I'm going to love at a lesser volume. I'm not going to go looking for love. I'm not going to go looking for me. I've already found both of those things. I'm not interested in looking for anything. I'm interested in the experience.

Happy Chrismahanakwanzucompletelyunnecessary

I don't hate the holidays; I just don't see the point.


When I was 14 my mother became a Jehovah's Witness. As a result we stopped celebrating all holidays and birthdays. It sucked. I no longer got gifts on the days of celebration but around instead. My mother gave me a gift box of nail polish on December 23rd as a gift instead of a present. As the years progressed I grew alienated from both my family and holidays. I went to school on the other side of the state and after graduation moved halfway across the U.S.. I've since celebrated holidays 1) alone 2) with friends or 3) with friend's families. It's more painful to sit with family members who don't belong to you and smile and laugh with them as if they do, than it is to rent movies, cook a "non-festive" meal, and do whatever the hell I want. Except his family was different. I felt welcome, wanted, and at home. I'll miss that.

Just yesterday his mom said I could stay at her place whenever I want -- I don't think I can do that.

I don't understand. People earn money, save money, improve their credit score, apply for more credit only to spend that money, damage that credit score, and eat into their savings for "things." Buying gifts they can't afford and they're not quite sure the recipient will like. Things the world can do without. I don't get it.

So, I spent this past holiday watching movies, eating food, and working from the comfort of my own home with le pup at my side. I liked it. I'd love to spend my holidays that way with someone I love. Doing nothing that involves stress or traveling. Just eating, sleeping and doing nothing. Except maybe a hike. Yes, a hike; I'd like that.

If I were a psychologist I would look at my imaginary case file and say "Ahh, zis (apparently I'd be Eastern European) iz unhnt klassik kase of awfwoidance. As child you experienced mush tkrauma. You are awfwoiding celebrations because it reminds you too mush of your troubled past."

Yes, that is damn right. I'm avoiding my troubled past because it sucks ass. I hate that my family sucks. I kinda wish that I had a great family and a well adjusted childhood. But, I don't and so I have to be a peace with my dysfunctions. Whoever loves me also has to be at peace with them. Because more often than not I appear to be completely normal and well-adjusted. But, sometimes, in the privacy of my own home and the intimacy of my own relationships I lose it. I pity myself, cry, wish for a better past, and mourn the one that never was. I go to a very bad place. But, that's just sometimes. Not often.

I'm glad my dysfunctional familial machine created a strange android such as myself. All-in-all, I like me. I'd be lying if I said I love me, but like will do just fine for now. If I could erase some of the things that happened to me I would -- but not at the expense of who I am. I'd only do it If I could be a better version of myself. And, seeing as though I'm not in control of that I'll stick with the me I have and my Eastern European psychologist can take his imaginary case file and shove it.

Crying is good. My rent is late. Next month's rent will be late. I called my landlord and left this long rambling message about how embarassed I was and I almost cried. Almost. I held in my tears.

He had just walked out the door, and didn't want to cry over him or over us. He got the tv, I got the couch. I didn't watch tv before we were together but I miss it. I wish I had it to fill the space where he once was. To fill my head and heart with thoughts other than my own. Jerry Bruckheimer has good thoughts. I'd like to fill my head with his or even Donald Bellisario's. But, instead, I have my own.

My landlord called back and told me I was being silly. That I didn't have to pay any extra money because I ran short this month. I started to cry. I'd over spent on things I didn't need to compensate for what my relationship wasn't giving me. I sat on the floor and cried because of her kindness. Then I allowed myself to cry over what I really needed to; months and months of bottled tears. Frustrations over us. Frustrations bred by him.

Weary with no time to sleep I sit here craving relief. I am rid of him. I am free. But now, I'm afraid of my potential. "Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure." -- Marianne Williamson. I am now free to do whatever I want with my life. The only thing standing in the way is me.

Something new.

My first real relationship ended yesterday. I live in a small town and can't get my mind off of how quickly the word will spread. I don't want it to spread before I have my chance to heal... on my own. Without the pain of everyone else drudging up the past. I just want to get better before everyone knows. We said we'd keep it to ourselves for awhile and I think we can hold true to that.

I'm embarassed. We should've ended it before, but didn't. We kept fighting for what could never and should never be. I'm just glad it was. I'm glad I got to love for the first time. That I got to experience those feelings for the first time. No one can replace those memories. I loved being in a relationship. I loved being loved. He just couldn't love me more than he loved himself. He is so filled with the past that he can't see anything else.

I can. I'm capable to learning and loving and living. Right now it is so painful, but I have my dog and my job, and my future. I have to look to the future. This is good because it's completely empty. Cliched as it is; I'm the one who will write it.

Right now, I have to take a shower put on clothes and try to get on with my life. Because life exists without him and without us.

"I woke up this morning you were the first thing on my mind, don't know where it came from..." Can I Walk With You by India.Arie.

It's hard to get out of bed this morning. Last night was rough. Draining. I've always said that we can make our relationship look however we want. Friends have reminded me that you're going through a lot. I've tried to be sympathetic. I've tried to empathize but you've got so much baggage it makes it hard. I'm trying to be the partner you want me to be when, instead, I think I should be the partner you need me to be. After all:

"Love is a commitment. Love that lasts is a commitment of one imperfect person to another imperfect person. It means that no matter what, I am committed to you and to your growth. I will be what you need me to be – not necessarily what you want me to be. If you need me to be loving and affectionate, I will be loving and affectionate. Or, if for your growth you need me to be tough and firm, I will be tough and firm. Within the bounds of my own imperfections I will always strive to do and be what is best for your growth."

I think I've been the partner you've been wanting me to be rather than the partner you need me to be. Or not. Maybe I am being the partner you need me to be and I'm just not happy with that. I have a lot of thinking I need to do today. I've tried so hard to be patient with you. I've tried so hard to be there for you and that has been met with hostility, anger, and indifference. Care and affection have been crushed by 8 months of bad.

I want to be your partner, but right now I can't. I need more than you can give.

"I saw at sea a great fog bank between two ships that struck and sank..."

My entire life has prepared me for this moment, the moment I've realized failure. Failure in all things. Personal, professional, spiritual, emotional and relational. Everything. I sit here surrounded by the things my mother craves, and currently envies, but none of the things of which I've dreamed. A family. A lover. A child. None of those things are here, nor will they soon come near. I am alone and will be for the forseeable future. Although that future seems bleak.

There is, and has always been a sadness in me...around me. Like a bubble of fog clouding my view of possibilty. I've tried to reach through and others have grasped at my hands but none have stayed connected. I grow weary and let go of their grasp. Its easier to spread my fingers and fall than to clench them and hold on. I have always fought against only to, eventually, succumb to its call. The secession is now.

I've grown tired and need to speak. Not with my lips but, instead, the tips of those outstreached fingers. Hoping that others will hear and feel and share. Hoping. Wanting to no longer be alone.