Synonyms

When I have trouble sleeping, which is more and more frequent, and no longer can muster up the energy to read whatever book I have been working on, I skim through random quotes online to help quiet my mind.  Somehow other people's random little thoughts and words soothe my frantic and exhausted mind when the rest of the world is off in dream land.

I stumbled across a quote online a few nights ago that says, "A passionate woman is worth all the chaos."  I reread the words a few times and at first I thought, of course we are, why would anyone think otherwise?

But then I thought about it a little more, because of course that's just what I do.


Synonyms for Passionate:
ardent. loving. romantic. wistful. aroused. concupiscent. desirous. erotic. heavy. hot. lascivious. libidinous. lustful. prurient. sexy. steamy. stimulated. sultry. turned-on.
                                                                           = The root of all my problems

I am too gosh darn passionate.  I never half-ass anything.  Once I make up my mind, that is absolutely it.  There is no going back.  Sometimes mid-plan I actually realize that perhaps my initial logic was potentially flawed but I still carry through with it, because that was the plan.

Truth be told, my husband is lucky (or actually maybe not since now he is stuck with me as much as I am stuck with him) that I am stubborn or let's say passionate.  Passionate sounds better then pig headed.  When I first started seeing him, his brother also my best friend told me, "I know you both.  If you don't fuck it up he most certainly will.  I give it a month."

He didn't say this kindly or even with a friendly intention of giving either of us a heads up.  It was spiteful... which provoked me.  Where I might have typically booted a man for certain behaviors I stuck it out.  I rationalized, compartmentalized, and then eventually got even in my own twisted way, but I did not give up.  We had both sacrificed a lot to be together and refused to give it up that easily.  This sounds almost romantic.  Trust me though, it wasn't.  I lost my best friend and he lost the respect and love from his little brother.  His family resented the situation and pleaded with him to break it off.  Some days I wish I would have let him.

Passion guided me into his arms, kept me with him, and is now provoking me to tear our lives apart just so I can feel it again.  It's my addiction.  I found it elsewhere and now I crave it.  Not necessarily the exact situation, but anything that gives me that feeling.

On the flip side, my passion for life has kept me going in less than desirable childhood situations and allowed me to forgive my mother when it was all said and done.  It fueled me to improve myself, and has given me the strength to stand up for myself and go for the things I want.  Without that motivation who knows where I would be.  I still love my husband more than anything in this world and despite my recent restlessness I would still fight like hell to keep him if I felt like he was in anyway slipping away from me.  Sadly I am torn between what I am and who I want to be.  

Is the passion worth all the chaos?

"No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness" -Aristotle

So this time it was my fault.

One day I was driving along, a typical weekday morning, when quite suddenly I started to feel odd. Not a physical kind of odd but it was like a certain clarity washed over me.  I was about twenty minutes into my forty minute commute and I felt like I was waking up from a nap that I wasn't aware I was taking.  My chest began to tighten, my pulse quickened, and my mind raced.  I almost had to pull my car over.

I wasn't aware just how numb I felt about my life until the panic set in.  I had been on a type of autopilot for so long I forgot what it felt like to feel anything else. My life was very much like my daily commutes.  I was so familiar with my route that there were times I was unaware of driving at all.  It was similar to how you can arrive at your destination and cannot remember having actually driven there to begin with.  Wake up. Go to work.  Take care of my husband.  Clean my house.  Go to bed.  Repeat.  It never occurred to me that I was unhappy. Maybe unhappy wasn't even the word for it.  Discontent, restless, lonely, or unaware would all fit a little better.

I don't know what stirred those emotions in me that morning but what I do know is from the moment that realization crossed my mind I was unable to stifle it.  It bled into every aspect of my life. Rapidly.  I felt the life being sucked out of me.  I have never in my life felt less attractive, more tired, or so alone. I was practically crawling out of my skin.

I tried several things to make a change.  It started simple.  I was unhappy with my job, I got a new one.  Why not change my hair?  That might be fun.  That was certainly an impulsive and stupid idea too.  Not only was it not flattering to have semi-blonde hair when I was used to rocking longer dark locks, but it also did little to suffocate the beast growing within me.  I started to run.  Religiously, obsessively.  The literal act of running slowly eased the frustration from the inability to actually run from the perfectly decent life I created for myself that I suddenly resented.  I lost some weight.  I ate healthy.  I started remodeling my house. It all distracted me briefly, but it was exhausting, and at the end of the night while I was all alone with my thoughts I couldn't deny it.  I was sinking and no one but me knew I was going down.

My husband is a good man.  Oblivious, but a good man. By oblivious, I don't mean dumb.  He just doesn't notice things, and when he does, he doesn't think to say or do anything to show he is aware. If he knew something was off, he didn't let on that he knew.  I started to become furious with him for not seeing me.  I was lucky if he noticed the physical changes let alone the ones raging the war within me.

The night that could have been avoided...
It was a late, cold, Saturday night and I was feeling more anxious than usual.  I wanted to be out in the world.  I needed to be near other people.  The problem is, I don't like a lot of people, so I didn't have many choices as to what to do.  I opened a bottle of wine and went to work on consuming it.  My husband had long since went to bed, and I was wide awake.  Again.  Insomnia was a new addition to my mental state.  I logged onto my Facebook account and opened my messenger.  Impulsively and feverishly I typed his name in on the search bar.  It popped right up as if it remembered or predicted what I needed to do.  I didn't think one thought as I typed three letters that would successfully fuck up my life all over again.  Hey.

I bit my lip as I watched the three little dots dance along the screen indicating that he was typing back to me.  Part of me wants to believe that I wasn't planning on what I inevitably would end up doing when I sent that message, but the other part of me knows the feelings that rushed through me as I hit send.  Excitement.  I forgot what it felt like to feel anything but content at best.  It was obvious even in my semi-intoxicated state that I was up to nothing good.

I bit my lip while I waited. I smiled a smile that no one could see when he responded seconds later.

"What a pleasant surprise, how are you tonight neighbor?"

And with that we talked for hours.  He was in another state on a job.  This made me feel safer that he was so far away.  It was still potentially innocent.  It took a little more than an hour before he asked about why I decided to talk to him.  At first I didn't have an answer for him.  I typed several explanations ranging from innocent and quirky to slightly mischievous.  I deleted them over and over again. I knew every time I typed and then deleted that I was showing up on his end as three indecisive little dots. He was satisfied though with my simple response of, "I'm bored."

He didn't ask for a clarification as to what I meant.

From that point on there was nothing innocent about our conversation.  He was being blunt and I felt like I had nothing to loose, despite in all reality I had everything to loose.  He told me all the things I had longed to hear since the last time he left me broken and bruised.  We never talked about how we ended last time. We spoke only of the time that had passed since then.  He asked about my husband.  I was honest.  I asked if he had a girl.  Who knows if he was honest.  Probably not.  He told me he didn't.  He then tacked on that even if he did, I would still have dibs.  His words.  Not mine.  There were big red flags all over this horrible conversation and I was all too aware of them, but I chose to shove them aside and plow on through.  It was closing in on two in the morning and he had already mentioned to me he had to work at five.  I was out of wine and tired, but I was wired at the same time.  I playfully told him to go to bed, he said he was going to, and that he planned on dreaming of me.

I know how lame of a line that is.  I hate that I feel like a sixteen year old girl when it comes to him.  I told him I would certainly be thinking about him too.  With that, we said goodnight.  I sat for a moment absorbing the silence in my dark living room.  My head was still spinning from both the wine and our words.  I felt a pang of guilt when I thought of my husband upstairs.  It quickly disappeared as my phone went off one last time.  He sent me a picture of a dancing minion.  I had mentioned that they completely cracked me up earlier in the night.  My guilt lay forgotten as I responded, "Goodnight neighbor, it was really nice talking to you."

Part of me really believed that I would be okay if I never talked to him again.  I got what I needed.  That little bit of attention would surely hold me over until I found a way to make it work with my husband.  I wouldn't be messaging him again.  I was still desirable to someone who wasn't obligated to want me.  That was all I needed.

I woke up the next morning and reread my conversation from the night before prior to deleting away all evidence that it ever occurred.  Sober and coherent I still felt a rush as I reread the flirtatious banter between us.  He was in another state.  I am married.  What was I thinking could happen?  Worse yet, he seemed like the guy I fell for all those years before.  Not the asshole he had become later on.  That was dangerous.  Of course, people change all the time.  Right?

Almost on cue, my phone lit up and made a familiar chirp.

"Good morning dear.  Have a good day."

It wasn't my husband who thought to send me a sweet message to start my day.

Honesty

A Little Bit of History

For the sake of blunt honesty, I am choosing to remain semi-anonymous.

I don't know that anyone will ever read this, I am okay with that. This is for me and possibly some other messed up individual who stumbles across my words and can relate to the random twisted thoughts and emotions.

I am not a good person.  I don't claim to be.  I used to think I was, but as time passed I came to the conclusion that we are all secretly not as good as we pretend to be.  I'm not saying that everyone in the world is evil, just that we all hold pieces of ourselves back from others in an attempt to fit in or to appear to be something that we are not.  Maybe not everyone.  But I certainly do.

I am told that I have a beautiful smile. (No doubt if that's true it's because of the money my mother invested in orthodontics)  I smile often. People ask you what's wrong if you don't smile at the appropriate times.  I don't have the time or the patience to tell them a lie and I surely cannot tell them the truth. So I smile.

Let's talk about the truth for a moment.  My truth changes daily.  The truth about myself that is.  Sometimes it changes by the minute.  I am not a liar.  I omit details.  Not like that is any better of a thing to do really.

I find myself omitting details from myself when I am trying to rationalize my thoughts and actions.  Lately there has been a lot to rationalize.

I could be the girl next door to you for all you know.  I am that basic and seemingly normal.
-Well again for the sake of honesty I will clarify, I am not the girl next door to you because I am the girl next to him.  

The Other Boy

Ever find yourself sort of lost and unsure if your living the life your supposed to be?  I make impulsive decisions that I end up questioning after the fact.  (Secretly of course.) I consider this my greatest weakness because it is the root of most of  my other weaknesses.

I got married at a respectable age, after dating for a respectable amount of time, to a semi-respectable fella.  Seems well thought out doesn't it?  When you look at the big picture my decisions look sound, reasonable, and practical.  However, in reality the whole situation was made up of several little impulsive questionable decisions that I find myself revisiting frequently.  

I have been living with the man that I married for over five years now.  I met the boy next door on a cool late summer evening about a year into that relationship.  

Let me make something clear.  I don't believe in regret.  There is no point dwelling on that emotion.  I instead prefer to think about how I will next time do something differently.  I am a firm believer that we can choose to recreate ourselves instead of just wishing we had.  With that being said, you cannot unmeet someone (that isn't even a real word for that very reason) so I could not have done that situation any differently nor do I see a possibility to redo it better in the future, thus I regret ever meeting him.  

Ironically enough, I didn't even meet him at either of our houses.  He sought me out at work.  His cool, slightly shy introduction makes me physically sick when I think about it now.  Had I not been having a bad night at work, or had been on better terms with my significant other before heading in for my shift that night,  I wouldn't have even given him the time of day.  I don't believe in fate, but I do believe in bad luck.

"I have been wanting to say hello to you for a while," he began.  He noticed my look of confusion and added, "We live next to each other, my father said that I would never stand a chance with you but I thought I would give it a shot and say hello."  

And then he blushed.  Goddammit.

That's what sold me.  The sweet, and total bullshit, act of being bold enough to show he was interested but shy enough to blush about it.

It started slow.  A wave or a smile when we were both outside.  Then I noticed that I was aware of him being home or not.  Again, it started slow but accelerated quickly.  He started visiting me at work.  Casually of course, as he was interested in the establishment, not me personally...despite him being there for hours at a time just talking.  During these weeks my boyfriend and I were fighting over various things and drifting farther and farther apart from one another.  I was letting it slip because I was distracted.  He was letting it slip because he is (notice the current tense) a liar.

This weakness in my relationship started to seep into my innocent encounters with my neighbor.  I let him have my number, which led to many sleepless nights just talking, via text messages, my heart racing every time a text would come through.  I never started the conversations.  I felt that made me seem less desperate for his attention.

I never lied or omitted the fact that I was in a relationship and he was aware, based on our geographical location, that I didn't live alone.  It didn't phase either of us.

The first time I realized I was a shitty person... was a cold rainy fall night.  I was closing the store.  I was tired and I felt sloppy.  I saw his truck pull in the parking lot and I instantly felt my stomach begin to flutter.  When was the last time I felt this way in my real relationship?  I remember how dark the store was and how aware I was that it was empty.  I unlocked the door and let him in.  I continued to finish up my work as he followed me around and teased me about my preference of the PS3 over the XBOX 360.  I remember as we talked thinking, what in the hell am I doing?

The store was cozy at night and he was so close to me.  I found myself feeling nervous.  I wasn't sure why.  I needed to get out of that store where we were not so alone.  As I led him out of the door and locked it behind me, I felt him standing very close behind me. It was raining gently.  More like misting, but it was chilly so I could feel how warm he was.  I remember how awkwardly I moved out of his space and began to walk to my car.  His truck was farther than my car, yet he stopped at mine.  He gently pulled me in and then grabbed my chin gently.  He kissed me.  It wasn't shy or hesitant.  He seemed to know that I wouldn't reject him.  I am not a romantic and I hate gushy shit.  But he certainly had my attention.  The rain no longer seemed cold.  The soft streetlight barely outlined us as he pulled me in closer.  I felt a type of passion that was lacking from my current situation at home.  Home.  Where my guy was probably at.  Waiting for me.  I pulled away, bit my lip, because that's what I do when I am sad, stressed, or anxious, and said goodbye.

I got in my car and drove. I drove home slowly, and I took the long way.  I didn't want to be pulling in our driveways at the same time.  For whatever reason, that's what I thought would be awkward about what had just happened.

I came home to an empty house that night.  Just as well.

I didn't even tell myself I wouldn't see him again.  He came by after my shift later that week and asked if I had some free time.  I did.  We went for a walk in the woods.  Now even as I write this I am judging myself.  Not only because of how big of a jerk I was being to my guy, but because I hate the woods especially when it is cold.  But I wanted to be near him.  He held my hand, whereas my guy didn't, and he kissed me.  My guy only kissed me when he wanted sex.

Long story short, I was spinning out of control, and I was unable or unwilling to slow down. I let him into my house one night when my guy had lied about being at work but was really drinking with his friends.  I felt justified.  I was feeling impulsive.  He didn't even let me shut the door before he attacked me.  I say attacked because it was fierce.  Like there was nothing else in the word but what was about to happen.  I don't even remember how we made it to my room.  I remember very little about our encounter honestly because I was so in the moment.  I remember it was fast and urgent.  It wasn't some epic sexual triumph, it was fierce and impersonal.  He told me I was hot and that he wanted me since he first saw me.  What girl doesn't want to hear that?  I neglected to notice however that he changed.  Instantly.

I saw him like this several times.  Each time I noticed his behavior changing from sweet and warm to cold and distant.  I started initiating our conversations and he began to not message me back if I wasn't able to meet up with him.  I'm not dumb I knew what being brushed off looked like.

My home life was in chaos as well.  Something had to change.

I decided not to talk to the boy next door anymore, just to see what would happen.  I felt desperate.  I longed for him to contact me.  I felt pathetic and small.  I have never felt small before.  My guy began to notice something was wrong, he assumed it was his behavior so he started to change up his act.  I cried a lot.  One guy noticed while the other left me without even letting me know.

Simple logic guided me through the next few months.

We just didn't know each other anymore.  My heart would sink when I would see him coming and going, and it took a daily battle for months to stop wanting to contact him.  I threw myself back into my relationship and we both worked on our issues.  My guy stopped his crazy drinking and lying and I was supportive and loyal.  The neighbor eventually took a job out of town so he was gone most of the time....It was like it never happened.  I never told a soul.

My husband-to-be asked me to marry him Christmas eve of 2011.  Nothing showy or overly romantic, very typical of him. He just whispered in my ear that we should get married.  So I guess technically he didn't even ask at first.  I was almost asleep so I had to turn over and ask him to repeat himself.  He put it in question form that time, he didn't have a ring or anything because it wasn't planned, but I said yes.  We picked out a ring at the beginning of January and it was official.  I was engaged.  Naturally I shared the news with my friends and family via facebook, complete with pictures.  That's when I got the text.  I deleted him to prevent myself from ever being weak enough to text him again, but I recognized his number instantly.  Did I somehow know that he might contact me if I put something up there that would get his attention or did that dawn on me after the fact?  I don't know.  I'm pretty messed up that way.

"What does that mean for us?" He asked.

I didn't answer him.  How could he feel that he had the right to even talk to me again.  Did he even notice that over a year had gone by?  I had played the scenario over and over again in my head as to what would happen if I were to talk to him again, but in reality I was right back to feeling like that small pathetic girl full of butterflies and impulsive thoughts.  I deleted the text and his number along with it.  I thought that was the last of it.  I was married September of 2012 and I was certain that I would never ever stray again.  And I most certainly wouldn't ever give that asshole another moment of my time again.

Two years later I'm right back to where I started.