Sick

My homesickness is similar to the flank pain of renal failure.  Throbbing… walking through my back and abdomen when I’ve lain still just a moment too long.  I wonder if I would’ve grown up here if I’d be on the east coast feeling the same thing.  I love it out here and want to stay as long as it will have me, but I wish those that I loved were here too.  I missed McCai being born and that hurt.  I miss Zander calling me Yee-Hee and giving me goodnight hugs, kisses, and expressing his wishes for me to read him a book.  I even miss him tiring of my storytelling, shutting it promptly and asking his mommy to take over. 

I miss sleeping on a friend’s couch.  Not only because she carefully made the bed with borrowed sheets and a loaned pillow. But because she is no more than a room away and raises alarm when she hears me blow my nose in my distinctly violent way.

I miss driving home around dinnertime and stopping by a neighbor’s house to pee and raid their fridge.  I miss glasses of wine dipped in the familiarity of years.  I’m exhausted with the thought of “putting myself out there” like the possession of some Hollywood madam.  I want to sit solidly in the presence of love and know that its kiss is only inches from placement on my skin.

I don’t miss Hershey, or Pennsylvania. I miss my people. 

I miss

… understanding the vocabulary of a toddler I’ve known since before his birth

… Middleswarth barbecue chips and all the unhealthy wonderment

… longboarding on familiar roads that didn’t, in the least bit, resemble the death trap hills of now

… remembered breakfasts at The Pantry with a friend who is more like a mother

… a grey haired beast of a puppy who is more needy than any child I’ve ever known

… the accessibility of love

I love

… being so close to the natural world that I love

… the proximity of possibility

…  the possibility of tomorrow with my people of now

…  the sudden simplicity of my wardrobe

…  the passion which bubbles the surface of this city

… the views

… how I feel

… the intellect of Seattleites

… the conversation with coworkers in the tiny moments

… the crisp Seattle air that bites when I breathe

… being here

I want

… nothing more than to acknowledge the juxtaposition of emotions that have graced me with their presence.  I wouldn’t change where I am, or how I feel for a world of gold.

Sometimes the only cure for this sickness is being grateful that you have something to miss.   

Really?! Really.

I loved yesterday -- until I went to leave work.  Two of my students, who always help me carry my stuff to my car, were performing our usual Monday evening ritual when I saw a post-it note stuck to the window of my car.  I walked up recognized the hand-writing and went, “ Are you serious?”

My life is intentional.  I prefer relationships and conversations I’ll remember instead of those that discuss the daily migration of the clouds and sun.   I’m more likely to ask my students “What sustains you on the inside when all else falls away,” than some random awkward time filler of a question. 

My jewelry is intentional.  I wear a silver necklace with a star chain.   It is the same one I gave one of my favorite (yes, we all have them) students.  My bracelets all have stories.  The silly bands are from my girls, I bought one in China, one in Thailand,  another at place in Chicago, another at the The African Art Museum at the Smithsonian, and yet another is from my trip to Jamaica.  My love for stories decorates my body like a Christmas tree.

Yesterday wasn’t difficult for me at all.   Well, I did tear up when I drove past the Reese’s plant and the smell of peanut butter and chocolate nestled into my sinus cavities. I almost cried again when a co-worker came in on his day off to give me gluten-free cookies and say goodbye.  But, for the most part yesterday was a blast.  My kids chased me with water balloons (some of which burst, a lot that didn’t), helped me create a playlist of their favorite songs so I can remember them, I skateboarded like a kid for three hours with shoes and even barefoot.  At devotions the girls shared their favorite memory with me. I was kinda surprised that 99% of them were violent i.e. “Ms. Whit remember when I stole your shoes, hid under a van and you drug me out screaming like a crazy woman and then we wrestled?!” When I see myself through the eyes of others I realize I’m a complete maniac.  The girls loved it when I was driving a van down Springboard drive, screamed at the top of my lungs, “ROADS ARE FOR PANSIES!” and drove off-road into a baby cornfield with my sweet little cherubs screaming like recently acquired kidnap victims.

That being said…

The past three years of work has been reallllly weird for me.  I dated a coworker (...yeah yeah I know don’t shit where you eat…whatever… lesson learned). I also became friends with another coworker.  During our relationship for reasons that are drizzled throughout this blog, their relationship became inappropriate.  I handled it well. We talked about it in therapy, discussed how he was just reliving the cycle of every other failed relationship, and then we tried to work through it. We broke up, got back together, broke up, got back together, broke up yada yada yada et al infinite.

They started dating 3 months after we broke up. That was hard, not gonna lie.  Something like four months later they got engaged. That was hard, not gonna lie. Granted, I did call it like 4 weeks into their relationship, and my coworkers were super sweet.  They called me at home so I wasn’t blindsided when I got to work the next day.  Even though I shook their hands and offered my congrats things were super weird …like really weird.  With the help of friends, my journal, and lots of conversations with myself in my car, I got through it.  I got to a really healthy place.  There are some things that stung. Like when I had to use a laptop at work, opened the lid and found a note that read, “You are loved,” in her handwriting. It was his computer, oops.  I remember leaving that same note and others like it throughout his things for him to find. I was lame. 

I’m a big believer in the “Woman code,” or the “Bro code.” Don’t get involved with a friend’s ex, sleep with their significant other, or use their underwear.  She violated that and it hurt for a really long time.  It hurt more than anything he’d ever said or did to me.  She and I sat down and talked about it and I asked her for the space and time to heal.  She consistently had a hard time honoring my requests.  She’d rub my back, or caress my arm at work.  She’d insert herself in my conversations.  She’d call me after work and say asinine things in an effort to rebuild our relationship.  She would talk to my coworkers about my relationship with him and tell them things he’d said to her.  It was weird she was weird. Because she didn’t give me the space to heal and be okay it took three times as long for me to get over it. 

So yesterday when I saw this note on my car window I was like Seriously?!  I read it and the words were nice, but really? Stop trying to hijack my day.

So I went over to the mailboxes, and wrote a reply that read exactly like this:

*insert her name here*

You don’t get it.

You’ll never get it.

Jéhan

Then I placed her printed oddity into an envelope along with mine and put it in her mailbox.  The end.

Seriously?  Get out of my life.  You’re like the gnat that flies in my face that I can’t swat because PETA will come after me with bloody paintbrushes.  When I’m not at work or on campus I don’t think about either of you.  When I’m there, your presence permeates my skin like an acidic lotion because you continue to spew yourself down my throat.  I’ve been mature. I’ve ignored the angry part of me that wanted to cuss you out, slash your tires, and put sugar in your gas tank.  I’ve reminded myself that you’re just naïve and I can’t hold it against you. I’ve remembered that we have to work together and I have to humor your stupidity for the kid’s sake.  I’ve kept the lioness behind the electric fence. But I’m not on payroll anymore.  Knock it off.  If you cross the line again like say I dunno show up at my door in Seattle, send me text messages, or even email me. I will weather the sting of that electric fence.  You will see me for who I’m completely capable of being.  You will understand boundaries.  All bets are off.  No holds barred.

Crocodile Tears

Today is my last day of work, weird.

I saw my girls yesterday and they presented me with a poster of pictures from this year by the dumpster where I was throwing something away.  How sentimental.  :)  They gave it to me and asked me if I was going to cry when I left. I went, "Uhh, probably not? I don't know. Why? That's weird, why do you want me to cry?" Their response, " I dunno...we cried making this."

They want me to cry so they can see how much I care about them.   I don't know if I'll cry. I'm not a crier, at least not in that sense.  There will probably be a salty oil spill on the plane on the way to Seattle that will terrify those around me.  I'll think of them and their poster and my dog and my friends and Middleswarth Barbecue chips and I'll be sure I'm making a big mistake.  While dating what's his face we would go to these pre-marriage therapy sessions (seriously, thank God for those) and he would talk about want to see me more vulnerable.  How he, in so many words, wanted me to cry more.  I remember being totally baffled like, wait, you actually want to see me cry.  Both he and the therapist tried to explain that it wasn't about the tears, it was about me needing him.  He wanted to feel needed.  That never sat right with me.

My goal for today is to write something so the girls will know just how much I care about them.  I'll urge them to measure my love, not by the tears on the last day, but through every interaction we've had over the past year.  I will miss them. In fact, I already do. I just wish they could understand that this is for me. Me leaving my alma mater to move across the country to a city I've never been is a decision I'm making for myself.  I want them to make similar decisions throughout their lives.  They should be loving, kind, benevolent, and philanthropic, but at the end of the day they need to make decisions that will benefit them so they can benefit others.

Hopefully, someday, they'll forget about measuring love by crocodile tears. They will, instead, recognize it in the words and actions of those around them.

 

I wanna go home

A friend recently wrote on my fb wall, "you have 650 friends...how loved you must be!!" Sidebar: The fact that I deleted 200 “friends" recently and I'm at 650 is a little weird.  Nonetheless, I am indeed loved by many.  J

The past two and a half weeks have been bananas, in a good way.  I've been traveling all over the place to visit friends and family.  I'm exhausted.  The kind of exhausted that greets you with morning with a vertigo handshake.

I drove to State College to visit an old friend...perhaps one of the oldest and most intimate.  She was in my student home when I was in middle school and I chose to go to my high school student home because she was there.  She was who I wanted to be when I grew up. She listened to the Doors, and Grateful Dead, and I'm pretty sure she's the reason I developed a crush on Kurt Cobain.  Somehow she got our houseparents to allow her to get a bird and keep it in our room.  I love(d) her dearly.  It's funny how some people just feel like home.  I like that.  People who feel like warm chocolate chip cookies and milk.  

I'm staying with a family who I met through work. She was my co-worker, then my friend, then my boss, then my co-worker, then just my friend.  She's pregnant with her 2nd child (I hope labor happens soon because she might just go nuts).  She and her husband have introduced me to what it's like to be amazing people and raise a child.  Their son is one of my favorite beings on this planet. Here's to hoping that baby number two graces us with his presence before I head out to the Pacific Northwest.  

On June 5th two of my friends from college got married.  The bride is one of my best friends.  I think it's because we both have a similar grasp on the frailty of human relationships. We expect the same kindness from the world that we give, and tend to take it personally when it's a bit stingy giving it back.  The wedding was comfortable.  It was gorgeous. It was them.  Friends and family were in attendance.  The music was straight from a playlist on one of their iPods if either of the had one. I met and got to know some of their L.A. friends and it was cool to put names to faces and spend time with the other bridesmaids.  It’s the people like that that make me want to live in L.A. But then I remember that the soul of L.A. is cracked and burned and would eat me alive if I spent too much time there.     

The wedding in Jamaica was quite an experience as well.  I stayed with family and went to the resort in the evenings for the festivities.  Capitalism is such an odd experiment.  It’s allowed the people of Jamaica to live in poverty while the foreigners with wealth benefit from the countries natural resources and tourism.  It’s hard to see.  I’m planning on spending a lot more time in Jamaica over the next few years.  I have to do something to benefit my country. I’d also like to help reconnect other Afro-Caribbeans in the States to their roots.  You’ll have to check out www.19more.org for updates.

I write this to say that even though I’ve been homeless, literally, since May 25, 2010, I haven’t felt that way.  Yes, it’s been a little hard to iron my clothes on a friend’s bathroom counter, pack for a three day camping trip from my car, and leave my dog with pretty much everyone I know in Central PA, but I’m still okay.  I’ve moved around more often than *insert famous musician here* on a farewell tour.  I used to feel lost and empty.  But in adulthood I’ve made friends with my lifestyle and have realized that the people who are supposed to be in your life will be in your life regardless of distance.  My definition of home transcends the Reaganomics era building surrounded by a white picket fence.  Home, for me, is a feeling not a place.  For once in my life I get that.  

Again

My mother is INFURIATING.  Out of nowhere, and I literally mean nowhere, I receive an email from her that says,

"Hello!

(Insert her first name here, yes, her first name, not  'mom'."

So I respond with,

"Hi..."

It's been about two years, give or take a month, since our last interaction.  We'd made plans to come together for lunch. I called to confirm and she forgot.  Now,  being forgetful is understandable. However, this is the same woman who forgot to show up to my childhood. I would spend entire performances looking for her in the crowd. At one show in particular I even waved to someone in the balcony because I thought it was her.  I almost missed the bus back to campus because I looked around for her.  I was finally forced on the bus.  When I returned to my student home I called her and apologized for not seeing her after the show, we'd had to leave.  She told me that she'd forgotten about the show and never showed up.

This is also the woman who, when I was 19, sent me an email saying, "...you're 19 years old I'm sick of walking on eggshells to pacify your attitude....have a good life."  That bitch has written me off more times than I can count.

Our last attempt at a relationship ended on my terms. She forgot me, like she had so many times before, and I told her how it made me feel.  She interjected some defensive statement of, "I will not be spoken to in this way... blah blah blah."  I hung up. Sent her a text message that read, "Fuck you," and that was it.

And now I'm trying so hard to be healthy. Scratch that. I AM healthy.  My relationship with what's his face is over and done, I've dated here and there, I have great friends, I don't run and hide when someone makes me angry. I've grown-up, without her.  And yet, here she is again.

My mother is the only person that can bring tears to my eyes without being present.  It's like there's a switch embedded in my already disgustingly putrid polluted DNA ( my ADPKD was a gift from her).  It's like she can flip that switch and make me shrink into a ball whenever she wants. She can cripple 27 years of strengh, and make me fall to my knees like Samson.

 I'm sitting here like a fool with tears running down my face because of an email.

The rest of the conversation went like this:

Her- Leaving work. Is it presumptuous or is it ok to say hello sometimes?


Me- That depends on what you're presupposing. 


Her - I am seeking permission to say “hello” from time to time.


Me - Why?


Her- Well, now that you have opened a pathway for others to contact you, maybe you will allow me to say “Hello” and by doing so I will know that you are alive. Instead of getting that information from second hand sources.


Me - I didn't open a pathway. You found, or somehow obtained my email address. I've never been in hiding, nor will I ever be. I have a website for crying out loud, anyone can Google me, and as a result, contact me. I'm not some Luddite who spends their life hiding from anyone.

As far as knowing that I'm alive, why do you need to find that out from me? Why aren't your previously sufficient second-hand informants adequate? 

I'm perplexed by your initial motivation to reach out. If you merely wanted confirmation that I was alive, my response of "Hi..." would have been enough and this discourse would not exist.

And so I ask again, "Why do you want to say hello from time to time?" 

I've kept her out of my life because she breaks my heart.  When she's in contact with me I can't help but think about the relationship I've always wanted, but can never have.  My thoughts linger on her Freudian obsession with my brother and equally Freudian dismissal of me.  

When she's in my life I want to sit in a corner and mope. I weep until my body shakes.  A long time ago I made the choice to live a different life.  Yet, time and time again she returns.  I don't know that I'm strong enough to have her in my life, and live it the way I want.

If this is some sort of test, or game, I don't want to play.  

:

The Dream

I remember it now.

I was in a car with some guy. He looked a lot like the actor who played a shut-in on October Road.  I knew he was going to kill me.  For some reason I was in love with him… I think he was in love with me too -- I’m almost sure of it.  But, he didn’t believe me… he didn’t think that anyone was capable of loving him. So he drove and talked about everything but the murder.  He would look at me with the sweetest eyes, but told me I had to die anyway. We arrived at his house and he had a circular saw and was about to saw into my left arm.  Coincidentally, that’s where my tattoo is…the one I won’t interpret to anyone.

Then a couple came from nowhere and we were able to fight him off.  I was so terrified about him coming after me again I kept saying that we needed to make sure he was dead. So we fought him and I beat him in the face, multiple times, with a rock. Then we ran, and I was in L.A., running down a street.  I found a building, ran inside tried to find the elevator but was stuck inside the boys bathroom stall. I remember trying to pee with roller skates on.   All-of-the-sudden, I was inside the green room of SNL and actors with wigs were rehearsing their lines and I hid behind a door watching them, but never getting caught. I knew he was coming after me though.  It was only a matter of time.

An old friend

We had lunch yesterday.  We arrived at the same time. I was able to see him walking into the restaurant first which was nice. It didn't make my weird feelings go away, but I felt like I'd cheated and gotten a leg up somehow.  

I walked in as he was being seated.  He saw me, but didn't recognize me at first....  He looked the exact same, just a bit older.  No eyebrow ring. His hair was longer, but physically, he looked the same.  They sat us at this oddly shaped table and it was like we can sit here and be "that couple" that sits next to each other on a date -- which this was not, or we could be King and Queen enjoying a feast and sit at opposite ends of the table from one another.  We chose somewhere in between.  Close enough to talk and prop our legs up on the seat, but far enough so physical contact was minimal.

I'd prefer to not do the dissecting thing.  Where I overanalyze EVERY aspect of this "meeting." Drive myself nuts, and eventually get disappointed. I want to chock this up to a great reunion with an old friend.  Which, I think is what that was.  While we were on the ship I had a ridiculous crush on him.  Ridiculous.  We're in an impossible situation right now... I say that as if there is even a "we" or "situation."  I'm just antsy to move on by dating other people.  Any single male that I'm around is pretty much fair game at this point.  

We talked about who we are now, who we were, and he remembered things about me that I'd forgotten long ago.  I realized how much I missed him. I missed how comfortable I felt around him.  How it was okay for me to be excited and passionate and silly.  He made fun of me for little things, I was nervous at first, but things fell into place.  I couldn't ignore that old crush’s second cousin that showed up for a surprise visit.  He’s cute and he reminds me of Marty… he still reminds me of Marty. 

I’m at a difficult place in my life.  I’ve fully moved on from a very serious, crazily unhealthy relationship. I’ve dated other guys who appeared to have potential, but did not.  I’m ready for something.  When I see babies I do the whole “biological clock is ticking” coo and long for one of my own. But, I’m not there yet.  I’m not ready for a heavy-duty relationship.  I am, however, ready to be attractive to someone again.  To have someone look at me with longing and sincerity… to have someone look at me and see me.  It’s been far too long, but that’s my fault. I can be over cautious. 

Emotionally, I’m tender and bruised. I can’t help but feel betrayed by two people I cared about.  I feel that they could’ve been more mindful of exactly what their decisions would do to me. But, because of how sinister one can be and the naïveté the other tends toward, they’re incapable of understanding exactly why, how much, and what exactly hurt me.   As a result, I’m being far too mindful of what others need and how I could possibly hurt someone else. I’m overcompensating by looking too far into far too many nooks and crannies of the future.  I want to live my life as carefree and happily as I’d always intended. But I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t think our joys are supposed to be at the expense of others.   Is it possible to be in a relationship that doesn’t hurt? Where anger,jealousy, and mistrust aren’t the prevailing sentiments?  I’ve only had that with my female friends.  It’s an unfamiliar tendency in regards to the opposite sex, hence my over analysis of minutiae.  Is it possible for someone to fall in love with me and I them and for no one to lay singed and broken?

Be still biznatch

"No."

That's essentially what I've told God. He's told me be still and I’ve pretty much screamed “No” like a defiant toddler. Occasionally I'll say "Eh, maybe...alright but only this once." But seldom do I say "Sure!"

There are times when I'm at peace with my life and I'm happy to be still and let God do His thang. But that's only when His plan is going according to my plan. Let’s take now for example. About a month ago I met *Dave. He’s a musician and periodically plays open mic nights at my favorite hangout. The last time I saw him, we connected. He’s funny, intelligent, socially conscious and nerdy; I’d like to get to know him better. We left that night with abstract plans (that was my fault) of "See you next week," and "Yeah, you should come hangout at ___ sometime."

For the past week I couldn’t get him out of my mind. I just wanted to see him. So, last night, like I usually do, I went to open mic to do some homework, "run" into him, and give him my number. To my dismay, he wasn’t there...at least when I was. I left early because of the creepy grandfather figures who continued to proposition endless love-making sessions that made my ovaries shrivel up and want to die.

Our conversations were simple and effortless. I can’t force it, but I also can’t force the thought of him out of my mind. Trust me, I’ve tried. This horoscope probably doesn’t help:

"It's time for whispers, Taurus, for secret thoughts and tender, romantic exchanges. Your own planet, loving Venus herself, has a surprise arranged for you, too. You know how much she loves romance, so prepare yourself for quite the week. You'll definitely need some privacy; well, to be honest, you'll need a lot of privacy, thanks to this lovely lady's plans. Someone you've been thinking about has been thinking of you, too. Together with some startling news from Mercury, the master of communication who will enter Libra and your house of intimate moments this week, you two may actually be able to get together and share those thoughts...."

The next time I see him I have to remember that he’s not feeling the same things I am. I can’t behave as if we’re on the same page. That will just lead to disappointment. I have to try and get to know him better. I just want to make sure this doesn’t fall by the wayside. I’m ready for this. But, I just have to trust God and, for the time being, be still.

I am the umpire

I called it: They're engaged.

My friends all called me to make sure that I knew before I came blindly into work; I'm grateful for my friends.

I feel badly for her. I can't fathom surviving in a marriage such as theirs. But I don't have to, because I won't have one such as theirs.

I'll have my own someday. The thought of that makes me smile.

For now, I'm driving to Carlisle to talk about my Phoenix tattoo.

I'm grateful for every single thing that has happened in my life.

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.

a difference

I'm at a different place right now. Although the same is true literally, that is not the context in which I speak.

We, he and I, had a conversation last night that scared me. Thinking about it now makes me nervous and fear-filled trembles take refuge in my body. He screamed at me. He was upset at something I said and he screamed until his voice cracked.

Last night, as I lay my head down on my pillow, the last thoughts were those of him -- us. I woke 4 hours after the original positioning to find myself full of fear. Riddled with terror I looked back to times when he would hit things, and slam his head against walls. I awoke very frightened. So frightened I wanted to cry.

He shouldn't treat me this way. I won't let him talk to me like that anymore. It's not fair and it's not nice.

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.