Such a Silly Girl

I would love to be able to tell you that I, for the first time in a long time, have made a smart decision based on intellect rather than emotion.  It however cannot be said, for that would not be the truth, and this place is all about honesty for me.

Laying in his arms catching our breath, I cling to him.  Physically I crave being with him, emotionally, he is choking the life out of me.

My hand on his chest, it rises and falls as he cools down, taking in the stuffy air around us.  He is looking elsewhere into the dim room so I am afforded an opportunity to look at him for a moment without him getting weird about it.  He turns his head slowly and looks at me.  He closes his eyes and either pretends to sleep or is actually fighting sleep.  He is on something other than just booze, but I am unsure what.  It doesn't matter really.

It has been so clear to me but I really need to do something about it.

This man doesn't deserve me.

I don't deserve my husband.

It is all a twisted up mess. 

Either way, this man right here in my arms, despite his beautiful words, the words that keep drawing me to him time after time, this man, despite how his time and energy have awoken a long since comatose girl that I had forgotten existed, he doesn't deserve me.

To have me cherishing these few moments, seconds really, that I have before he tenses up and proceeds to make me feel worthless is more than he deserves.  He opens his eyes.  I hate what I see.

Five, Four, Three, Two, One.  Time is up.  Reality Check.

Moving on for real this time.  No deleting him to reduce temptation, no reaching out when I am sad, no more waiting for the version of him who cares about me to be there.  over.  I don't have time for this shit.   

The whole situation disgusts me.  It is the same pathetic story, over and over again.     

Brand New-My Oldest Obsession

It will be okay, Just not today.

It is safe to say that I have trust issues, but in reality who doesn't?  Most of us, at one point or another, have come across at least one person, or situation, that makes us question the integrity of the world.

My trust issues came early.  

My father, a good person now, was not dad material when I was a child.  Suffering from manic depression and struggling with drugs and alcohol addiction, he would come and go from my life, and I grew up thinking this was typical father behavior.  I remember I always missed him and lived for the infrequent phone calls and the occasional brief inconsistent visits.

He would always apologize.  When I was really small he would pull me up into his lap, push my curly hair back from my face, look me in the eyes and tell me how no matter what, he loved me, and he was so sorry he hurts me.  He would buy me whatever he could afford at the time to make it up to me.  Expensive shoes, whatever toys were popular, my favorite ice cream.  I loved the presents, but I was always just so happy to see him, I could care less why he had disappeared to begin with or what gifts he brought back with him.  My mom never hesitated to tell me how shitty of a person my father was, but spared me the details.

He told me once not to be sad when he was away, because no matter what, I could always look up at the moon and know that he could see the same one so we really weren't that far apart.  To a child who didn't understand the universe, this was comforting for a while. It wasn't until I was older that the moon began to be a trigger for depression for me.  It still makes me feel lonely to this day.

I remember saying, "It's okay!" To his various apologies.

It wasn't okay of course, but I didn't know there were any other responses to an apology.  I was raised to be polite.

The gaps where he would disappear grew wider and longer.  As I grew up I began to feel that the absences were my fault.  When he would finally show up I tried so hard to be understanding and perfect so he wouldn't disappear again.

I remember listening to my mom yell at him over the phone about his behavior, so I also blamed her  as well for him being afraid to call or come around.

One year he called me for my birthday.  He asked me what I wanted for a gift.  Anything I wanted he would buy it.  I told him I just wanted to see him and I would think about a gift later because I couldn't think of anything on the spot.  He asked my mom if he could pick me up the next day, they finalized the plans, and I bounced around the rest of the day with the excitement and expectations of seeing him after so long.  He never showed up.  He never called.  It would be another year before I would hear his voice again.

That was the year my mother asked if I was okay with letting her husband adopt me legally.  I didn't like my stepfather, nor did he like me much, he was an angry, petty, man, so I was not happy about the situation.  It was posed as a question, but I don't think I had much of a choice in the matter really. She told me that my father had already signed the necessary papers but because I was twelve years old they needed my say in court on the matter.

She called my dad and put him on the phone. He then explained that he would still my dad but that this is better for my current family.  He apologized once more, and as per our routine I said it was okay.  This was where he gave me the only advice he has ever given me.   

It is not okay for people to hurt me, and if it is not okay, I don't have to say so.  
It is my right to feel hurt and I don't have tell people that it is okay to make them feel better about it.  

He said goodbye and moved to Texas.


This is why when my phone went off late last night with a series of apologies explaining away my secret guy's absence and behavior over the last week I didn't say it was okay.

I let him talk.  I listened.  I didn't answer.

I also don't like to kick people when they are down, and I had nothing nice to say, so I said nothing. He then confessed his fears about our situation, his insecurities, and he then told me personal things about his own issues he has been dealing with.  When he was finished I told him he hurt me and that it was not okay. 

He asked me to let him make it up to me.  He wants to see me today.  I told him I would think about it.

 

Selfish and Impatient

Tonight I tested a theory.   Don't judge me for it.  I just had to know.

I don't need just one person to make me feel better.  I cannot be alone.  I know this about myself.  I learned it early on and I have made a point to never let it happen.  That's why I hate that I feel alone when I'm with my husband.  I am my own worst enemy and left alone I will implode.

I can find companionship simply. Almost too easily.  Not cheap companionship either.  I value intellect and wit and in a state of drunken depression I landed yet another eligible fellow willing to take me on.

I ultimately passed the test of temptation of course.  But it was flattering none-the-less.  I picked the classiest  guy in the room and by the end of the night he was asking how to get a hold of me or if he could drive me home.  I politely declined the ride and just told him I would see him around.

I just had to know I could do it.  I don't know why.  Well no, I do know why.   I miss my secret friend.  I crave him actually.  In a moment of drunken stupidity I contacted him.  Pathetic.  I told you I couldn't resist.  I can tell he opened the messages, but chose not to respond.  This pissed me off so naturally I responded again... and maybe again.  Each being opened and ignored.  He will never stop being the one male I cannot figure out.  I think that bothers and interests me most about him.

Doesn't he know that I was the one who was going to brush him off.  Fuck.  I need to be in control and he took it from me.  He shredded it from between my fingers and is basically dangling it in front of my face.  I really lost my dignity there... all I can hope is that he was drunker and more messed up than me... maybe he wont remember again?

I have shitty luck... this is probably the one time he is sober.  Oh well.  Like I said.  Perfect way to end something so messed up to begin with.

This other guy was really funny.  He made me laugh all night.  It felt amazing just to laugh.  I was drinking and that might have contributed to the bliss, but it was nice to just let loose.  My brother-in-law/AKA best friend was close by so I knew I was safe to not make any more poor decisions that would be later haunting me.  He was watching me like a freaking hawk,

This party fella was really cute, with a killer body too I might add,  and he played ping pong with me until I was too tired and tipsy to play anymore.  I think I was actually using my Redds bottle as my ping pong paddle by the end which is when he said it was probably time to call it quits.

I fell up against him once while I was playing in a spinny chair, and yes to me that's the chair's official classification,  and his solid chest and strong arms made my mind wander.  It wandered to mischievous places, not going to lie.  I laughed and looked up at him, because hey, for once me being a tall girl, I found a guy taller than me.  I stared and smiled up at him.  He asked if I was checking out his Micheal C. Hall looks. Which is hilarious, because I had a huge crush on Dexter the entire time I watched that show and earlier that night I noticed the similarities between this guy and Dexter.  Like I said, he made me laugh, a rare quality.  I found myself wishing once more that I was not married and that I could explore other options.

A Micheal C. Hall/Dexter visual for those who aren't familiar.

Instead I asked my bro to drive me home.  God I love that boy, my best friend since I found him at fifteen years old.  Although I have let him down so many times I have lost count, he has always been my main man over the last eleven years.  But that's a long story to be told another day.

He gave my new sexy friend a back-off look as he steadied me so I could get my boots on.  I smiled at the boy and told him it was lovely meeting him, or re-meeting him for he said we have technically met before.  Whatever. Either way, I had a fun night.  I told you about my smiles.  Mischievous or misleading.  I was definitely up to no good this evening and I smiled the whole ride home.

What is left unsaid, says it all.

Let's hop back to last Saturday.  It may help clarify things a bit.  For all parties involved.

This was the last time I saw him.
And if I can just get myself under control it will remain the very last.

It is the perfect fucked up way to end something so perfectly fucked up as our relationship, or our non-relationship as he called it.

Clarification on our "non-relationship"
The conversation we have had a hundred times:

Him- This can't be a relationship.  It just can't.
Me- Okay.
Him- It just can't be if you wont leave him, I can't put more feelings into this.
Me- It's not that simple, and you know it, but I get it, so okay.
Him- Okay, it just can't be a relationship.
Me- Okay.
Him- Okay.

I added a twist in there one night just for giggles.  
Him- Quit being cute this can't have feelings or be treated like a relationship.
Me- Okay...You consider a friendship a relationship right?
Him- Well yeah?
Me- Are we not friends?
Him- (Delay) You are way more to me than a friend to me.
Me- Uhh... okay....  so.....
Him- (No Words)
I win.  Asshole.  

Back to last Saturday, or even Friday for that matter.

Friday:
I threw a party at my house and despite having a really good time, I thought of him the entire time.  I wished I could see him, but being the wonderful hostess that I am, I could not leave, nor could I invite him because he is a lousy drunk, and there is no way no one would not know that I wanted nothing more than to be only with him.

I sent him a few messages that were answered rudely or with little effort. He gets pissy when things aren't his way, and his way is me leaving my life behind, and being his....but only when he is being the version of himself that likes me. Who knows what I would be to him the rest of the time when he is that other version of himself, the one who hates everyone and everything, especially me.

That night I gave up on contacting him and decided to try my best to enjoy myself anyways. That was ineffective until I decided just to get drunk.  Me drunk in an ugly Christmas sweater was classic I'm sure, but was rather effective.

Saturday:
The next morning I got a simple text.  Come see me tonight.
I didn't see the text for a few hours since I was sleeping off the night before, so he sent a few more messages asking as well. Apparently he was fond of me that morning.

Hours later I finally answered.
I had plans with some friends, so I told him it would be late, but I would come see him. He told me he was excited to see me.  (Rare show of emotion from him.)

I didn't leave my friends until after eleven but I sent him a text to tell him I could come see him.  Nothing.  I drove the 45 minutes back to my house and tried calling him.  Nothing.

I gave up, washed  my face, brushed my teeth, stripped down and crawled into bed.  My husband was already asleep.  Thank god, I wasn't in the mood to deal with him either.

I put my head on my pillow and put my phone on vibrate.  I began to drift off.  Text.  Vibrate.  Text. Vibrate.  Call. Call. Call.  Lots of vibrations.  Come see me.

Annoyed, I sit up and read the series of texts that were blowing up my phone.  Seriously?  I told him I was in bed.  He said that since he couldn't come to me, I had to come to him.  I rolled my eyes in the darkness and pushed my hair out of my face.  Come see me!

I kicked my feet over the bed and rubbed my eyes.  What on earth would my husband think of my leaving at 2 AM?

Text. Text. Text. Call.  Call.  He never ever calls me.  He hates it when I call him, so for him to be calling it was pretty desperate.  Fine.  I throw back on my cloths I had stripped off a while before.  I re-brushed my teeth looked at my long messy hair in the mirror and said fuck it.  This is what he gets. A little eyeliner and mascara and I was out the door.

Where are you?  I asked.

A friends.  45 minutes from my house.  Ugh.  I plugged it into my GPS and drove.  I was so mad at myself the entire drive there.  Text. Text. Text.  Jesus.  I am on my way, shut up!

When I get there most of his friends were leaving. All partied out apparently.  I called his phone and another guy answered.  This other guy came out and found me, he walked me in to the house.  My guy was in a room by himself and when he saw me he reached out for me.  I let him pull me down onto the couch with him. He asked his friend, the one who had walked me in, if he thought that his girl was as beautiful as he said she was. Apparently he must have mentioned me to his friends.  I smiled at his friend awkwardly and his friend told us both that I was lovely but he had to go home to his wife.  He shut the door on his way out leaving us alone.

You finally came.  I thought you weren't coming.
-He was drunk, but didn't appear any worse than usual.  I have never not seen him drunk honestly.

He started to kiss me.  Sweetly.  He helped me take off my coat and hat.  He told me how pretty I looked tonight.  I just laughed knowing that I probably looked terrible.

Then he asked, "You know I love you right?"
I didn't answer, I just looked at him.  I should note, for those of you who haven't read any previous posts about this man, or who know nothing about this situation, we don't talk about seriously things, he and I.

Uncertain as to what to say,  I asked him how his night has been.  He just shrugged and then tugged at my scarf.  I took it off for him, he appeared to be struggling, and then I kissed him.  I never was the one to kiss him, he was usually the move maker, so it was soft and sweet.

Then we just laid there together for a few moments and he actually held me.
(This is totally against his rules.)

I kissed him again and then he retook his regular role and shoved me down and began to tear at my clothes.  I let him.  After a few more minutes he stopped and said again, "I'm serious.  I really do love you."  I kissed him to shut him up.  Sweetly so he wouldn't realize I was changing the subject in a manner of speaking, but he pushed my face away and repeated himself.

I told him that he didn't know what he was saying.  He sat up and pulled himself away from me.  "I am not fucking around.  I love you.  How can you not know that?"  Okay, Okay, I said.   I believe you.  (I didn't/dont.)

Come here.  I pulled him in but his body was tense.  We did our thing and then he pulled me down next to him.  (Totally cuddling.  Not allowed.)

I do love you he whispered slightly incoherently.  Secretly, I love that this was the last thing I heard him say to me.

Then he fell asleep. Abruptly.  I traced his face with my fingers.  I studied it.  I kissed him softly. After a moment I laid my head on his chest and fell asleep.  I am not sure how long I slept, but when I woke up I knew I had to leave.  I covered him up and got dressed.  I tried to wake him, but he was out.  I kissed him again softly on his cheek and left the room.  The night air was crisp but it was exactly what I needed to prepare myself for my drive home.  I drove slow and tried to figure out what I was going to do with my life.  I'm glad I didn't make any big decisions based on that night now in retrospect.

I was home sooner than I wanted to be.  My husband was still asleep and asked no questions.  I crawled into bed and slept for a couple hours.

Vibrate. Vibrate.

"Was I mean to you last night?  I didn't even know you were here.  My friend told me you were here and then I woke up and you were gone, I hope I was nice to you."

You were fine I told him, nothing out if the ordinary.

God, I am going to miss him.

Rewind. Pause. Play, but Slower This Time.

As a child I had these videos that my father had made for me before he left that I used to watch over and over again.  Something about reliving the good times through those home videos made me feel better about the mess that I grew up in.

They soothed me.  I loved listening to his voice in the background of the tapes.  Especially when I hadn't seen or heard from him in a while.  He very rarely was on the videos because he was always behind the camera, but I loved his presence.  It made me feel like he was still there with me, or like I still knew him.  I liked that I had proof that he once loved us.

He filmed bigger life events like my early birthdays and holidays, but my favorite tapes were those of just everyday life. He would just watch my mom and I go about doing random things.  Most of the time we were unaware he was there and he would just talk to the camera quietly.  My mom eventually took the videos away from me, she claimed that dwelling on the past was what was depressing me.  

I now do the same thing, but with memories rather than videos.  Unfortunately, no one can take those or make them go away.  My vivid memories replay themselves in my mind to the point of exhaustion.
Old memories and new, creep into my brain.  They haunt me.  They are like little phantoms that wrap themselves around the background of everything I do.  Twisted into the fabrication of everything I am, I dwell on the past, the present, and my expectations. I get this homesick feeling, despite being home.  I feel like I want to go, get out and do something, but I don't have the energy or motivation to do so.  I feel terribly alone, despite being right next to other people, people who are good for me, and who love me.

I crave what is destroying me.  I crave who is destroying me.  Much like those old tapes.  I need his presence much like I needed to hear my fathers voice as a child.  I hate that he just disappeared, but I hate more that I cannot stop dwelling on it, and replaying it over and over again in my mind, still trying to figure out what I missed.  

Excuse me, sir? You forgot to say Goodbye.

A smile is a beautiful thing.   They can be energetic, lopsided, imperfect, and tragic.  A smile can be used as a weapon, or to give reassurance.  It can tell a lie, be a crutch, or even say hello or goodbye. Sometimes a smile can be the simplest of little masks. I have said it before, and I will say it again, I smile a lot.

For those who really know me, they know not to trust my smiles.  For one, if they are genuine, I am most likely up to something mischievous or my sarcastic nature is kicking in.  In other cases I have just learned that smiling makes things easier.  People don't question a smile.  It's the lack of apparent happiness, or a smile, that makes people ask obnoxious questions that they don't really want to know the answer to.

"Oh, whats wrong?" -Oh you know, I'm fucked up and and I am shredding my life one area at a time, and I have no plan on stopping.  You?

Yeah...no one wants to hear that.  Nor do I want to tell it.  So I smile.

So here I am on Christmas day smiling like a fool because it is the appropriate thing to do.  My husband thinks its hilarious to pester me when he can tell I am anxious and annoyed.  Which is often lately.  Today he said jokingly after several minutes of harassing me, "I don't even know why you married me, you don't even like me!"  I just smiled back at him.  I didn't say a word.

People interpret smiles however they wish them to mean.  He took it as I thought he was funny, when in reality I was smiling because I was thinking the exact same thing at that moment, he was annoying the shit out of me.  I mean I like him obviously in general, but at that particular moment not so much.
My disposition is fake and forced currently.

I had plans for tomorrow that had given me something to genuinely smile about.  It was the I-have-a-secret giddy smile, but a real one none the less.   I was excited to see the boy I haven't seen since Saturday night, who as it turns out was too drunk to even remember he saw me, and during this time  he told me he was in love with me several times, but that is another story for another day.

Tuesday night we talked in our usual fashion, until the late morning hours, about nothing serious; what we were doing, who was watching the better movie, Christmas, etc.  We fell asleep after a few hours and since then he has disappeared.  Not a word.  I have sent him a few messages, which he has opened, but has not responded to.  I'm not the girl to hound, or beg for attention, so I wont be, but since this whole writing thing is all about honesty... Ouch.

But I will keep on smiling. Merry Freakin' Christmas.

Existing in Two Worlds

Today, while talking to a coworker, who I might add has become a very good friend to me, we discussed some of the little problems I have created for myself.  We came up with no solutions.  He assures me daily that I am not as bad of a person as I think I am.  He is just being nice of course, I am a terrible person.  Either way it is nice to hear.  He can't give me any solutions because really there is no simple solution at this point.

He asks simple questions, which you would think would have simple answers:

"Well what do you want?"

-I don't know.  Obviously.

"Do you want to stay with your husband?"

-I don't know.  Obviously.

"What is this other guy's end game?"

-I really don't know.  Clearly.

I did confess today my inner most desire.  I just want to start over.  No divorce.  No messy process of splitting up our processions, family and friends.  He could have it all.  I don't want to leave him for another man, nor boot him out so I can rebuild.  I want to completely disappear.  I am built to be able to disconnect, and have been bread to be able to sever connections effortlessly if properly motivated, I think part of me has already started this process.  

I want to leave it all.  My neighbor, fun and full of life, who brings out my adventurous side, who will forever toy with my life like a game. The other guy I have spent more nights with as of late, and still cannot figure out who he really is, who knows my sadness, and makes me feel something more than numbness, but tears me apart with his bipolar issues. And my husband.  My kind patient husband.  The man who one version of me loves more than I can even express.  It took years to convince him he had worth and that he could be something other than what he was when I found him.  He was broken and together we fixed him.  I know what I am doing would destroy him.

It sort of reminds me of this song that I think was originally done by Nine Inch Nails, but Johnny Cash redid it.  I listen to it a lot.  It is simple. 

"I will let you down, I will make you hurt"

-What have I become, my sweetest friend?

My favorite line is the very last:

"If I could start again, a million miles away, i would keep myself,  I would find a way."

I like me.  I don't want to change me.  I just don't want to hurt anyone else by being me.  My friend says I need to just start sorting through them and get rid of the ones I don't want.  Well shit.  I want them all in some way.  Obviously.  

A Work of Fiction

The book of him.

Every chapter is alarmingly different, like in any story that has the power to suck you in.  Each page is designed to make you turn it and keep reading.  To me, he is the kind where I keep looking for a good place to mark off my spot and put the book down, but no time ever makes sense to do so. I am forced to keep reading.  Each word having the power to change my life.

The only difference with this piece of non-fiction is you don't really know who the protagonist is versus the antagonist.  Technically speaking, in most dramas there should only be one true protagonist, but because there are so many different versions of him he plays both the role of the hero and the bad guy. It's just too exhausting to keep going but like a lot of people I refuse to bail on a story once I have started it.  I just have to know how it ends.   

Not really feeling the Jingling or the Bells

I am trying not to be such a scrooge this year.  This has always been a struggle for me, but the last few years have been by far the worst.  My immediate family has always sucked to joy right out of me with their childish self-centered approach to the life in general so the holidays are no different.  My happiness always came from my Grandma and Grandpa.

These two lived the Christmas spirit.  They did it because they liked it of course, but every single thing they did was to make the holidays special for us children.  They did it despite my mother selfishly trying to make everything into a hassle rather than a fun tradition.


It would start with decorating my Grandma's house.  We would harass Papa until he would go up into the attic and drag down the boxes upon boxes of decorations.  I know he dreaded this part of Christmas because he really did get a raw deal during this time.  While us kids opened up the boxes and reminisced about each of the treasured decorations and discussed where each item should be placed, grandma fixed up some hot cider and put on her old Christmas records, poor Papa was expected to do the dreaded job of hanging the Christmas lights, both inside and outside.  He would mutter under his breath and shoot my Grandmother dirty looks, but to us he was all smiles.  God I loved his  mischievous smile.  I always felt like it was a secret just for me.  I loved their relationship actually.  She would pick at him relentlessly, but he always handled it so gracefully.  It wasn't until I was older that I realized that he had his own way of dealing with her;  turning down his hearing aide and hiding in his workshop, which we lovingly referred to as "The Mole Hole."

There was also the Christmas cookies.  It was a grand ordeal.  My Grandmother did not just make them for us, or for her dinners, she made enough for every single person she knew, so when we baked, we baked for hours on end.  I never got tired of it though.  She always took the time to let me stir in the ingredients and to pass on the little tips that I still use when I bake now as an adult.  It would have been much faster I am sure, just doing it herself, but she never rushed me, and she always let me try to do it myself.  I would sit on her counter, wearing one of her aprons that was much too big for me, various powders all over my face and in my hair, and just kick my feet happily waiting for the oven to go off telling us that it was time to start another round.  My Papa generally hid away on these days, or he would spend his time sifting through the shelves at the Salvation Army looking for treasures to come home and share with us.

All of these things just seemed so magical to me as a child.  I still as a teenager went over to their house to carry on our little traditions, not so much for me anymore, but for them.  It was just how it was done.  My mother saw all of this as an encroachment on her freedom as an adult.  Apparently she thought that she should be able to do whatever she wanted for her holidays not what her mother wanted her to do, which would be fine, if she made an effort to do something rather then just pout and be dramatic about it, so she usually was not a part of these things.

One of my most cherished memories of my grandfather was down in the mole hole on a cold December night.  We had walked to some store near his house and I had found my mother the perfect present.  He gave me the money, but he let my pay the cashier all by myself.  I carried the gift all the way home and down into the mole hole.  He told me that since it was my present, I had to be the one to wrap it.  I had never wrapped a present before so I was a little upset that it wouldn't look right.

My grandfather was patient and kind, his smile always reflected this when he looked at me.  I miss it every moment of everyday.  He smiled at me that day and told me to pick the paper I wanted for my present.  I selected some festive color and he laid it out on his work bench.  I was much too small to see over the top so he pulled up a stool and helped me hop up on it.  He patiently showed me how to measure out the paper, and how to use the scissors as a blade rather then using them to chop.  He held his hand over mine and guided me through the process.  His hands were so rough.  He carved wood into figurines so the years of wood and widdling had toughened them, I remember how small and clumsy my hand felt in his,  He then showed me how to wrap a gift.  I have yet to wrap a gift since and not think of how he showed me to carefully crease each corner and how to line it all up neatly to ensure the perfect present.

One Christmas I told my mom I didn't believe in Santa Clause.  She shook her head, shrugged her shoulders, and told me not to say anything to my little sister.  That night while I laid in my bed I heard something at my window.  It started with a crash, and then a scrape.  I was scared at first, but I peeked out.  There was Santa Clause... climbing a ladder.  Now I realize that Santa in theory should have been able to fly or something, but let me tell you, I was so scared that he would see me out of bed I darted under the covers, scrunched my eyes closed and hid.  I peeked at the window, where I saw him looking in smiling.  I scrunched my eyes closed and breathed slowly.  Moments later I heard him climb down and then there was just silence.  I was panicked.  Did he know?  Then I head "Jingle Bells" playing through my floorboards from our piano that was in our living room.  Even years later my grandfather would not fess up to this act which bought me a few more years of believing.  My grandma eventually told me a year or so ago about how he tracked down the costume and how she couldn't believe that he climbed that damn ladder in the snow.  

My grandfather has been gone a few years now.  I haven't really enjoyed a holiday since, which I know would disappoint him.  Our loss was sudden.  No one knew that our last Christmas as a family was to be our last.  I am not sure if knowing would have been any better.  I cannot even remember it really.  I do remember our first without him and the ones since.  The joy is gone.  My only Aunt and Uncle moved south and took with them my cousins, and my grandma has lost her warmth,  We still
try, but the difference is, we now really have to try, whereas before it just happened.

So I am adding to my list of things I am currently trying to accomplish.: Not be a sourpuss about Christmas.

I Sometimes Think I Imagined it All....

This shit comes in waves. Tonight I am drowning in it. My chest is tight. My throat feels like I couldn't swallow even the smallest of pills. Eyes are burning, but I cannot even cry. I need to get this under control, but I am not even sure what I want or need. One minted I was fine, the next, the world was shattering around me.

So I called him.... he said to come over.

 I stayed less than an hour and left without even saying goodbye. I decided that would be a much classier way to end it rather than another tear filled pointless conversation. I closed the door loud enough for him to know I left and I didn't look back.

Unlocked car. Started engine. Drove home. Sunk.

My house is so warm and lit up for the holidays, but to me it feels overwhelming. I want someplace dark, quiet, and where my husband isn't. Not because he is doing anything wrong, but because I feel so guilty and sick of myself. He deserves much better than me.

I need a plan. Well, I have had lots of plans... I need a plan and I need to stick to it.  I honestly think if I am strong enough and stay focused on not contacting him, he is the type of guy who won't reach back out to me again. Both versions of that guy, both the sweet passionate one I fell for and wrote about a few days ago, and the cruel fucked up version who is more dominant these days, will both be too stubborn, and will be waiting on me. I can't keep being that pathetic girl.

I will have to make a plan tomorrow. Tonight I just feel like wallowing. this whole mess is my fault. I let it start, I let it carry on, and I'm too selfish to end it.

I'm going to wallow now.  

You and I Will Always Be Unfinished Business

The rug burn up my back is physical proof of my inability to make up my mind.

Last night was an adventure.  It was the kind of night that makes you almost forget who you are.

Our bodies were heavy with alcohol as we sat together on the sofa.  My head felt so thick as I rested it on his arm.  He reminded me of his "no cuddle" rule.  Apparently, according to him, this is how you prevent developing any "real" feelings.  I'm pretty sure it is too late for that on my end, but hey, whatever.

I looked up at him and smiled, I know it was a sad smile, because that is all I had to give him.  That was when I saw it though.  He broke.  His cold distant disposition that he has in person cracked.  He doesn't usually look at me,  Well, he looks at me, but not really. Like he sees my face, but never eye contact.  His eyes are so blue.  I love his eyes.  I have only ever really gotten to look at them a couple times.  Usually he looks away if I look too long.

His fingers found mine.  He wove them in between. He traced the line of my wedding band with his finger.  Take it off he said.  I didn't move, I just watched his fingers move over my band and after a moment they moved gently up my arm, slowly inching up to my throat, he held it there for a moment, my pulse quickened. He noticed of course, and grabbed my chin and kissed me hard.  I swear I am useless when it comes to him.  No will power what-so-ever.

He wasn't rough this time.  Well a little, but in a passionate sort of way.  Less angry.  Compared to the last two times this was a big change. (This isn't where the rug burn came into play....)

He took me to his room and turned down the lights.  He undressed me gently.  It was urgent, but careful.  Instead of pulling my hair like usual he brushed it out of my face slowly to kiss me.  Where he usually talks dirty he asked me if I was okay.  He whispered things in my ear.  When we were finished he told me he didn't want me to leave.

But again, after a moment, I saw the cold creep over him.  I literally felt him tense up.  Laying naked in his bed I felt vulnerable so I reached out for him.  He shook his head no and jumped up and began to get dressed.  I begged him to lay with me for just a minute and he said no.  He said something about going downstairs to watch TV and getting a beer.  Then he just left the room.  I laid there for a moment wishing that I wasn't too drunk to drive.  Pissed, then hurt, then defeated, I got dressed slowly, still in denial that he actually just left me there. I regained my composure and walked into the living room.

He had chosen to sit in the recliner, which is intended for one person only, and was working on another beer, he was staring intently at the TV.  I stared at him for a moment debating my options.  I don't even know if he knew I was in the room.  I was all about keeping what little pride I have left at this point. I was still trying to figure out how to go about doing that when I decided that since the room was spinning, and I craved being near him, I would sit on the floor next to the recliner and put my head on his arm that was hanging over the side.  In retrospect, not to graceful, nor dignified, but hey,  I blame the Sutter Home mascato.  That's when we had the conversation that has had my head reeling since.  I wish I was the type of drunk who forgot shit.

"Why the fuck do you let yourself be so miserable."  I looked up at him unsure as to what exactly he was referring to.

"If you were happy with him, you wouldn't be here with me."  The next line was where to water works started for me, "I'm fucking crazy about you and it is killing me because I don't deserve this.  You don't deserve this."

He went into how I shouldn't stay in a life that I am not excited about.  Especially not for other people.  He said that only I can change it.  He said it will be messy, painful, and that no one ever plans on getting a divorce, but that I needed to get my shit together.  He wouldn't look at me as he talked.  And it came in bursts.  I was careful not to interject because this was the first real conversation we have ever had in person, about something serious.  Every time I thought he was done he would add on another point.  Finally, all I could say is that I 100% agreed with everything he said, but that it isn't that easy.

He turned his head and looked down at me.  It was a look of anger at first but then he saw that I was crying.  He pulled me in close for a moment, and then pulled me up into the recliner with him.  He didn't hold me but he let me lay on him so our bodies were pushed together.  I cried softly to myself and he just let me.  Not a cold indifferent kind of just let me, but a patient, he knew I just had to get it out of my system kind.  Eventually I calmed down and we just watched TV.  I could feel I was sobering up which was a relief for me.  Finally he said that he felt like we were cuddling and began to twitch and move about.  I told him I should go anyways because it was so late.  Secretly, I just wanted to go cry in private.

I began to try to clean my face up because undoubtedly there was mascara everywhere.  He grabbed my hand and pushed my chin up so I was looking at him.  "I am not trying to be a dick.  I just can't get attached to something that is going to disappear. We cant keep doing this"  I shook my head yes because that god damn lump in my throat was making threats of more tears.

He kissed me gently and I lost myself all over again.  I told him I had to go.  He told me that he loved spending time with me, and in the moment it seemed fucked up to end it, but then in all reality we were just setting ourselves up for disaster.  I didn't look at him, but I shook my head in agreement.  I needed to get out of there.

I scrambled around to grab my coat, and as I was wrapping my scarf around my neck I was making my way to the door.  I was fumbling with my boots when I felt his body up against my back.  I stood up slowly, breathing in carefully, trying not to let out a sob.  I don't get embarrassed, but it was humiliating crying in front of him.  He put his hand on my waste and kissed the back of my neck.  His hand moved down farther and farther as I leaned into his body.  After a moment I turned around and told him that once again we could not keep doing this and that I had to leave, and this time not come back.

I began to rant.  I told him how he has the power to completely make and break my day.  I confessed all the things I have been too proud and too scared to say.  I talked until I ran out things to say.  He kissed me again and then pulled me to the ground.  He told me he never wants to let me go.  As he pulled off my jacket he told me I was beautiful.  He yanked off my scarf as he told me that it killed him when I told him not to speak to me anymore.  He shoved my sweatshirt over my head and told me that I am supposed to be his.  As he yanked down my pants he told me that he will make me his.

Insert the rug burn here.  It was hot and heavy.  I told him he needed to stop because of the lack of birth control situation.  He didn't.  I was out of breath and his mouth was all over mine. I was trying to keep a clear head, but I was too in the moment to speak clearly.  I told him unless he wanted a lot more complicated situation he needed to stop.  He stopped suddenly and looked down at me.  It was only a second but it felt like a lifetime.  Then he said, "But then you would be mine."  I had no words.   I tried to swallow but I couldn't.   My heart was still pounding from our physical activity, but it began to pound in a different way with the way he was looking at me.  He started to move slowly again and said, "Tell me to stop."  I did not.  He moved faster and harder and repeated it again, "Tell me to stop."   I didn't say a word, I just clung to him.

All About the Instant Gratification For This Girl...

"I know I shouldn't be sending you this...but here it is.  I miss talking to you."

"Aint no one said we can't talk."

...I did you idiot.  I said we can't talk.  And aint isn't a real word.  Fuck.

"Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind"

I have the  most over active imagination.  I both adore and despise it.  It is the most common cause for disappointment.  There are very few times in which my expectations actually match up with reality.  The moment an idea sneaks into  my mind, I run with it.  I picture how it will unfold.  I fantasize.  I hope. I plan and envision these vivid scenarios in my mind that often never come to be.  I have lived a thousand versions of fake realities all without having moved a muscle.  People are always so much more spectacular in my head.  I can fall in love a hundred times with different people who when I actually interact with them they never cease to disappoint me.  I see these qualities in them, qualities that I am ever hopeful will surpass all the ugly things about them.  Usually these qualities dissipate rather abruptly the moment I spend more time getting to know people.

This is why I have such a hard time of letting go of things that I actually enjoy.  Very rarely do people live up to my expectations, or do I find them fascinating after having actually spent time with them.  Words cannot express the worlds I have created in my mind where I was not married and I could have seen how things would have played out without that limitation.  Nothing is more painful than meeting someone special to you at the wrong time in your life.  I read once that you are supposed to trust the timing of your life.  I don't trust much, let alone timing.

I am trying to stop my brain from imagining what has happened and what still could be if only I ask for it.

Alice: How long is forever? White Rabbit: Sometimes, just a second. -Lewis Carrol

Spinning in circles with a six year old at work reminded me of how much fun I can be.  I spent fifteen minutes talking in a silly little British accent just to make the kids laugh before we decided we simply just had to have a fancy dance party.  Translation:  My cell phone pumping out 'Kids Bop' radio while we danced on the circle time carpet.  We waltzed and spun, jumped and twirled, shook and twisted, only stopping because another adult came in the room to pick up their child.  It was short lived, but it happened, I was enjoying myself.

Then the music stopped and I snapped back to reality.

"Been trying hard not to get into trouble but I got a war on my mind"-Lana Del Rey

There have been two days of silence.  Dull, listless, emptiness.  I am nothing if not efficient apparently.
It has been only five days since he last touched my arm and told me to drive carefully as I left his house.  It was dark so I couldn't even see him.

Part of me actually thought that I would still hear from him.  Part of his charm was his ability to never cease to amaze me so I shouldn't be surprised.

It has been about 20 hours since the last time I cried. It was the crumpled angry-at-myself kind that carried me off into my brief troubled dreams.

Two hours of sleep was followed by three hours of tossing, turning, and aches before I gave up on the whole idea. Four in the  morning is such a bleak time of day.

It has been twelve hours since my doctor told me she could help me.  I cried when she told me there were several things we can try and that everything that I explained was typical for someone with this disorder.  I'm crazy.  But it isn't all my fault.  Fucking serotonin or some shit.

It has been ten hours since the first little pill started to burn in my gut and it took another two hours after that to decide that I wouldn't actually be throwing it back up.

Two hours ago I ran for just three miles, so nothing monumental there, but the thought of not being so helpless is giving me hope.  I still feel like shit.  But I like the idea of not just self destructing. That is so not my style.

An hour ago I obsessively cleaned my house from top to bottom. -This apparently is no longer just a funny little quirk in me, my obsessive compulsive tendencies are actually a side effect.  Go figure.  I actually laughed when she told me this, knowing that this would amuse my husband to no end since he has been saying that since he met me five years ago and he first saw me flipping the labels in my pantry to all face out ....largest to smallest.

Sitting in my pristine house, music blaring to break the silence, still rocking my stretchy gym pants and tank, I still want nothing more to impulsively fill the void I feel needs occupied.

I have been aware of every passing moment.  Every. Single. One. My heart sinks when I realize that another chunk of time has passed and that I am either quickly being forgotten, or as he claimed, I am on his mind 24/7, and he is just respecting my wishes.  I am waiting for the time when my phone goes off and I am not disappointed by his ability to follow my explicit instructions.  Another ten minutes have passed since writing this.  How many more to go?

Today was a breakthrough kind of day.  It has yet to be decided the type of breakthrough we are talking about.  Three major events happened in the last few hours.

First, I made the decision to permanently extract my latest indiscretion from my life. It was surprisingly painful to do so given it has been such a short amount of time that he has actually been a part of my life.  I feel like I genuinely lost something important to me this morning.  It's not like last time where I said some passive aggressive things and deleted his number from my phone to prevent myself from talking to him in a moment of weakness or loneliness.  I made sure my words were exact and concise.  As I hit send on the text that informed him that I never wanted to hear from him again and a brief explanation why, I knew that I had selected the perfect assortment of words that would perfectly eliminate me from his good graces.  I made sure that they were not spiteful or cruel since really this was as much my fault as his, if not more.  The words probably cut me more, knowing that when he did not respond that the few parting words had been brutally effective.  I didn't share with him how much it meant to me for him to take the time to get to know me. The real me.  I wanted to tell him more than anything.  I didn't tell him how for a brief moment in time, I didn't feel so terribly alone, just knowing that he was out there and cared about me.  I hope he knows.  I am glad that I don't have artifacts or mementos to remember him by, just the vague twisted memories of what was and what could have been.  I didn't tell him any of this because I didn't want to let him know because he would know  that he could change my mind back so easily.  Just like the first time.  Even now part of me craves contact from him.  Even negative contact.  Anything to let me know that he hasn't forgotten me already.  This is just my loneliness talking of course, which is why I am sitting in the dark writing instead of reaching out to any real person this evening.

The next big step I took this afternoon was reaching out for help. I contacted my doctor to see about finding out if I need professional help getting chemically balanced out or if I am just fucking nuts naturally.  It was humiliating telling the stranger on the other line why I needed an appointment.  Her kindness made me cry.  I literally fought with the gigantic lump in my throat as I anxiously ended the phone call.  I will be seeing a doctor in two days.  My goal is to not make any more life changing decisions until after I see her.

Lastly, and most painfully, I started to picture what my life would be like without my husband in it.  There is the obvious first thought of how much I really would miss him.  Even now, despite him being unaware of the war that is raging in my mind, he is asleep only a few feet away from me.  His rhythmic breathing syncing with my keystrokes in the darkness. I have shared my bed with him every night for over five years and I cannot image it without him being there.  How would I even go about it?  I have been thinking about telling him about my life lately.  In clear detail.  He knows that I am sad, he has walked in on too many breakdowns at this point to be oblivious anymore.  I cannot imagine what he would even do.  He is not a violent man towards me, but I have seen enough to know that it wouldn't be good for anyone else.  So I could never tell him who, why, or when.  Would he leave me instantly?  I try to think about what I would do if I were in his position.  I am too much of a fighter so I would most likely try to work through it, just as I have with the rest of his lies over the years.  He is unreasonable when he is hurt or mad so I am guessing that telling him would quite simply be the end.  Which is why I am thinking that I might tell him.  Like I said, no more big decisions tonight.

Today has been exhausting.  Awake since 1:39 this morning. unable to keep my restless mind in check, I am now fighting back sleep as I write.  Write.  Vent.  Spew.  Whatever you call this drunken mess.

Let's hope for a better tomorrow because today has left me crumpled and defeated.

Ordinarily Typical

Today I found myself so confused, bewildered, frustrated, and terribly sad.  But given that I take such pride in being tough and unbreakable I have every intention of putting this story into written words and being done with it.  I apologize to the few people out there in this world who actually read these weird little ramblings I create, this one is going to be a long one.  I need to rid myself of this ugly plot and the characters within it.

It started a few months back.  I can't even tell you exactly when because it was that insignificant to me. A text woke me as I was slipping off to sleep.  It wasn't real late at night or anything, I just used to have a normal sleep schedule.  This was before I decided to let my life spin out of control and sleep began to elude me. I didn't recognize the number but the mystery person was referring to a test in one of the classes I am in.  Puzzled I answered the question and asked who I was talking to.  I should have just answered the damn question and been done with it.

It was a guy from class who still had my number from ages ago when I helped him get a job at the store I used to run.  He was the last person I hired prior to quitting my job, so I never really got to know him.  I found it a little strange that a year later he still had my number.  After politely answering his question I turned my phone to silent, told my husband that I thought that was kind of strange, and let myself slip back into sleep.

I hadn't noticed that guy in class prior to that random text, which shows how observant I am. There were 55 students in this class but he sat right next to me. I probably should notice things more than I do sometimes.  I don't talk much on campus, I am a non-traditional student, and I am there to get it over with, but I decided it wouldn't hurt to have a friend in class.  I am picky, but he seemed okay.  Small talk led to little jokes since we had a mutual distaste for the professor and her pathetic excuse of a class that we were required to attend.  So for two classes a week I would see him for a little more than an hour.  We would make faces and mutter complaints to each other under our breath to make one another laugh. I thought once that he was sort of cute in a shy, borderline rough around the edges kind of way.  He is witty, which is a trait that I hold higher than most others, so that was the extent of any potential attraction.  He sent me messages once in a while, but nothing abnormal, and they were few and far in between.

One morning about a month ago, this was right in the middle of this my-life-is-falling-apart chaos, I got a text saying he wasn't going to make it to class.  I told him I would send him anything he missed and that I too almost didn't get out of bed that morning.  He told me to turn around and "hangout."  I was halfway into my commute, the same commute he does daily as well, and I distinctly remember thinking that it sounded like he was inviting me to come see him.  I reread the text, set down my phone, and continued driving.  Once I made it to campus I decided he didn't mean hangout with him, he just meant skip class in general.  I told him I was heading to class and silenced my phone.

Its been about three weeks now since the messages started coming more frequently.  The first real conversation we had was late at night and I was as sad and lonely as I usually am these days.  I hide this well when I put my mind to it, so our conversation seemed light and airy.  We play bickered over silly little non-significant things.  He eventually said that he was letting me win because he liked me.  My heart stopped.  I cannot even begin to express the panic that I felt.  I could not be finding myself in another one of these messes.  Still married, wondering if I could ever fix that mess, still sick to my stomach about the asshole next door, and now there is this guy.  Does he not know I am married?  I never take off my rings, but maybe he didn't notice them.  Had I never mentioned it?  Well hell.  I promptly told him I was getting tired and said goodnight.  He said to have sweet dreams.  I most certainly did not.  I laid in bed feeling dirty and alone.

I woke up to my alarm the next morning, and decided that whatever that was the night before, just needed to stop.  I took a shower, drank my coffee, and got ready for my day.  I found myself thinking about how different my life would be if I could just learn to make up my mind and be happy with whatever that decision was.

One thing is for sure.  I need to just do away with my cellular device.  It gets me into so much trouble.  That morning when it went off, I knew I was heading down a bad path again.  My heart skipped a beat in that cliche, disgustingly girly sort of way when I saw who it was from.  It was just a simple good morning text, but the conversation lasted all day and into the night.  We just talked, about our day, about our lives, about our little quirks, things quickly became warm, comfortable, and easy.  This went on for days.  I never got tired of seeing him pop up on the screen, and hours might have passed, but I never wondered if he was going to respond.  He always did.  Within a matter of weeks I felt unbelievably close to this guy I barely knew for real.  He never asked about my home life but it was killing me not knowing if he knew what he was doing.  It almost seemed like he was purposely skirting around it.  I didn't want to hurt him if he really didn't know.  I never thought I would feel anything for this guy, but I could tell he liked me,  When he asked me to come see him I knew it was time to bring it up.

He responded differently than I expected he would. He knew and he stated that he couldn't help that he liked a married girl.  I told him I couldn't see him.  But we kept talking anyways.  I liked that unlike the last indiscretion I had, this guy was more interested in me, then trying to get me to be unfaithful.  He asked me questions, told me I was funny, and finally asked me why I am still in a life that I hated.  I told him the most honest answer I have ever said out loud.  He told me he wanted to hold me, that I deserved to be held.  I told him I wanted that more than anything else.  And I meant it.

I really liked this person on the other end of the phone, but it was so weird to feel so intimately close to someone I barely spoke to a handful of times in a class.  He had missed several classes in a row due to outside class activities so I hadn't actually seen him in weeks.

I had to know if I actually felt what I thought I was feeling.  I told him I wanted to see him.  We made plans to meet up the next morning.  As I was falling asleep that night my head filled with all the possibilities of how the next morning would go.  What if in person he isn't nearly as attractive to me as he is to me from miles away?  Or worse, what if I did actually like him?  I was in the process of having a mental freak out session when my phone vibrated once more.
'Promise me you wont change your mind' was all it said.   I don't believe much in promising things, so I just told him I would see him bright and early.

But the next morning, he never showed.
He called me a few hours later and explained that he thought he could ignore that I was married but that he couldn't, he could not be that guy.  It shattered me, but he was one hundred percent right.  I am married.  What the hell were we thinking?  What was I thinking?  He apologized and I told him repeatedly that it was my fault.  I hung up the phone and just cried. I went to work a mess, I ran until I couldn't run any farther after work that night, and then just cried.  I was not just crying over this guy but my life as a whole.  I felt the loneliest and lowest I have ever felt to date.  I was rock bottom.  The boy next door fucks with my head, but ultimately there isn't much depth to him.  My husband and I love each other, but he doesn't know me anymore.  This guy knew me uncensored and not only didn't judge me, but accepted me,  and wanted me, broken or not.  I didn't want any of them.  I wanted to just evaporate out of my life.  I stood in the shower balling, using the noise of the water to buffer the sounds of my sobs from my husband.

I had already deleted our conversations.  I deleted his number and any other connections we had.  I didn't do this out of spite or to destroy any evidence of my swayed morality, but as a preemptive attempt to stop myself from being weak.  Some part of me knew, that if I really wanted to, I could still have him.  I could change his mind.  The rational part of myself knew, that although seeing him would make this pain stop temporarily, no good would come of it.  I would hurt someone no matter what.

When he messaged me that night I was both relieved and frustrated.  What does he want from me?  I had just spent an emotionally draining afternoon trying to find out how to put my life back together and now he is acting like nothing had happened.   I told him he needed to stop talking to me.  I made it clear that I am fucked up enough without him coming and going and that his logic was perfectly sound about not seeing each other.  I told him that he started this and then justifiably ended it.   His response was simple, he said he didn't want to come and go.  When I didn't answer he said, "I changed my mind.  I want to see you."  So I went to see him.  

It was there in his room that I realized that this boy is as fucked up as I am.  He is just like me.  He pretends to have his shit together, but is really just a mess. I missed it because I had so caught up in my own shit.   He was undeniably drunk and he asked me if I wanted to smoke some weed with him.  Not at all my thing, I said no.  He took a moment and just looked at me.  At first it was a look of indifference, but then his face went blank.  He looked so sad for a fraction of a second and then he smiled a little.  He asked me if I was judging him.  The question startled me, but I responded honestly. No.  How was I in any position to judge him?

I could see in him the same sadness that I carry.  Its something you can see in people like us, only when we slip up.  Its in the eyes.  He later would tell me that he takes medication to keep him out of these moods, but he doesn't take it the way he is supposed to.

He came next to me and sat down.  I watched him as he moved closer to me.  We had barely spoken more then a few words since I got there.  It was a little awkward and uncomfortable for me.  The few things that were said didn't sound or feel like they came from the same guy I had spent so much time talking with.  They weren't mean, but they were cool and distant.  The smell of alcohol poured off of him.  Despite feeling like I knew him better then most people due to our hours spent talking, I had never been that close to him.  I suddenly felt uneasy, but at the exact same moment he must have felt comfortable because he pushed me down and kissed me.  It didn't hurt when he shoved me down, but I was caught by surprise.  At first it was too much.  I was pinned a little, and he was kissing me harder than I have ever been kissed.  Panic washed over me.  I tried to push him off but he pushed back, not just with his lips anymore, but with his entire body. I tried to get my hands in between our bodies for a little leverage but he grabbed them and pushed them above my head.  He stopped and looked at me.  The panic that gripped my body eased.  He studied my face a moment and then kissed me again. This time it was less forceful, but I felt his urgency.  It became my own.  I pushed back again, but this time not in an attempt to free myself.  He tore at my clothes and I let him.  He stopped suddenly and just looked at me again.  We were both out of breath and I felt so vulnerable, not just because he was looking at my body, but I swear he saw and recognized that I have been drowning and that he was in some way saving me.  He came in close and whispered that I was beautiful.  I reached up to his face and traced his lips and then chin with my hand.  I smiled and kissed him softly.  That was the last affectionate moment we shared.

He apparently knew exactly what he wanted and he took it.  Not that I tried to stop him, but I doubt I could have if I wanted to.  It was good, don't get me wrong, just not what I expected from the quiet and shy boy from class.  I really liked it actually, it has haunted my mind ever since.

I left shortly afterwards.  He helped me find my clothes, but we barely spoke.  I kissed him as I walked out but it wasn't returned.

Since that night, we have spoken very little.  His texts now come to me drunk and depressing, when he bothers at all. When I finally asked him about it, he told me about the medication and the habitual drinking and drug use.  At first I tried to be supportive, but I could feel that even that was not what he wanted from me.

He started to tell me to come see him just about every night.  He told me the things he would do to me if I was there.  Part of me loved the images he put into my mind, because they reminded me of how I felt that night, alive.  But the other part couldn't get over that this guy is definitely more fucked up than I am.  When I say I can't see him he gets mean.  Every night the messages continued to get worse.  I played along initially, because it was sort of fun and I liked that he was being attentive again when I responded in way that he liked.  Gone were the innocent conversations, he never asked about my day anymore, and would give me one word responses if I asked about his.

Last night he told me I am a typical girl. I told him I didn't know what that meant, I knew why he said it though, but I was in denial that he could be that cruel.  I once told him I feared being ordinary, and he had told me that I never could be.  He told me I was weak.  I told him he obviously doesn't know me if that's what he thought.  His responses were designed to hurt me.  The things he said to me were all loaded words custom tailored by the things I have shared with him.

I stopped talking to him late into the night when I realized that whoever I was talking to was not that guy I used to talk to.  Or maybe that other guy wasn't real.  Either way, as I fell asleep, I knew that I would be seeing him in the morning for class.  One way or another, I would be able to see him and actually sort this mess out face to face.  It was our last class of the semester and we both had to be there to turn in our final papers.  

He came in and sat next to me.  He was clearly high.  He never looked at me.  Not once.  When he had to pass me a paper he threw it in my general direction.  At first I was pissed, but maybe he was a little right about one thing I am a little weak because I sent him a text as the professor was talking asking him if he was alright.  He looked at it and then shut his phone off.  I was shaking mad.  What the fuck?  In what world was this okay?

It was an agonizing hour.  I went back and forth in my mind about either wanting to smack him over the head with his notebook and wanting to slink under my desk and die.  How could such a dramatic transformation happen over the last few weeks.  I mean I am messed up and my moral compass is certainly off, but at least I am consistent about it.  How could this sweet boy pull me out of my shell, get me to actually care about him, get me into his bed, and then be this awful thing that is sitting next to me.  As the professor dismissed us I looked at him.  He looked at me for the first time since he fucked me.  He didn't expect to make eye contact with me, that much was obvious.  He looked so sad and fucked up, and in the next second cruel.  I don't know what my face looked like but I am guessing my emotions were written across it.  Shock.  Disbelieve,  Sad.  I left the room and didn't look back.  I drove home.  I waited.  

I am still waiting.  I don't know for what.  He has sent me several messages.  Each one wrecking me more than the last.  I don't think I am waiting for him, in fact, I know that I am not.  I think I am waiting to feel the way he briefly made me feel again. Or at least I am mourning the loss of that brief bit of hope he lent me.

So today, I am going to be who I know I am.  I am not typical, ordinary, or weak.  I might break down, I might let people get to me that I care about, but no boy, no matter who he is, or who I think he could be, will ever be allowed to try to convince me I am less than exceptional.   

Imbalance

I am constantly wondering if other people have as many versions of themselves as I do.  

In one version of myself I give off the illusion of being confident, put together, professional, happy.  Some days I almost believe in that version.  In this world I am a good person, I love the people I surround myself with, and I can see myself letting my predetermined future absorb me into it.  I take care to dress nicely, curl my hair, line my eyes so I don't look so tired.  This is the girl people think they know.  This is the girl my mother thinks she raised, my husband thinks he married, and I wish I could be.   

Unfortunately there is this other reality.  This other sick version of myself that is seeping into that other decent part of me, slowly dissolving any illusion that I can control it.  This is the girl who yanks at her hair as she quietly cries into her pillow smearing mascara all over the rest of her made up face.  This girl is weak and foolish.  Two things I fear more than almost anything else.   I toy with the idea that maybe, like my father, I have a chemical imbalance that is causing this deterioration, but I doubt it.  I think I am just a fucked up.

This version of myself can see herself getting in her car and just driving, accepting that it will hurt everyone but her.  I was never supposed to still be here.  I was never supposed to be a crutch to my broken family.  I wasn't meant to get married.  I certainly was not meant to cheat on a man I loved just to make myself temporarily feel better. Over and over again.  

I think that everyone struggles with conflicting ideas about themselves.  What I want to know is do they ever balance out or at least does one ever just beat out the other and win?