tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-217962172024-03-12T02:18:13.505-07:00I'm Letting GoIt's just too much.InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.comBlogger225125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-37281448014218730522014-08-14T01:04:00.002-07:002014-08-14T01:15:15.460-07:00Nine Months<div class="MsoNormal">
I never knew it could hurt so badly and so long to lose you.
Had I known, would I have done our life differently? Maybe. I don’t know. How
can one answer that question? There’s no go backs. There’s no second chance
that I know of. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tonight, I have cried so hard my lips swelled, my throat
hurts, my eyes can’t focus on this screen. I have sobbed for nine months. Wept,
wailed, hated myself, cared for myself, evaded with alcohol and cigarettes,
dealt in therapy, given into prescriptions to numb me in a socially acceptable
way, called out to you in silence, begged you from across the table, prayed,
cursed. Still, I am lost. Still, I miss you every day. Still, I wonder what
became of your heart. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How did our souls get
ripped apart in the blink of an eye?</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I washed the last shirt that smelled like you yesterday.
Nine months later. Pathetic, huh? It stayed up in my closet. Why you left that
one and not the one my dad gave me is beyond me. I have them both back now, but
the other one I washed immediately because it smelled of some cheap cologne you
tried to wear. Something you donned for some other woman, no doubt. I don’t
care about her. She was your numb. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am so incredibly lonely. I play the part of good mama,
recovering sister, sweet daughter, attentive friend, compassionate ex. Inside,
I am wishing for the end. I am wishing to understand the lesson that was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am wishing for the sun to shine and me to feel its warmth again. Or
not. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sometimes, I just wish
you never happened. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But there are no second chances that I know of. I am stuck
with the knowledge that I have loved and lost. No one else has taken me to this
place for so long. No one has taken me to heaven and hell in such a short
amount of time. No one has given me so much, just to rip it from me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am lost. Even my physical body is a slight reflection of
its former self. The curves are gone. New pants; now twice in three months. I
don’t know what I am doing here, on this planet. I am unsure of my purpose or
the lessons I am to learn. I am wandering aimlessly, robotically. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Numb, except some
nights. The nights I wonder where your heart went. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Where did <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">always</i>
go? I can’t believe you lied. If I believe you lied, then I believe that I fell
for your lies, that our life was lie. And to believe that would be worse than
the hell I am feeling now. But not to believe that means that you just stopped
loving me. And to believe that means that I was unworthy of love. What’s worse?
<o:p></o:p></div>
InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-22258763332387800152014-08-07T13:11:00.001-07:002014-08-07T13:24:17.343-07:00Remember? Do you remember that story we were going to tell out grand babies? That one about how we met? I'll remind you because you seem to have forgotten that our love ever existed.<br />
<br />
It was Christmas night 2008.<br />
<br />
"Come meet my new girlfriend!", my bestie in that time said to me.<br />
<br />
I walked into Misty's and there you were. Looking straight at me. Or rather into me. Our souls connected in a split second of fate. I saw you. I saw love. I saw my future. I saw your past. The only thing I didn't see were the demons you fought so hard to keep away. Those came just months later. I loved you from the moment I saw you.<br />
<br />
I looked away as fast as you could bore into my soul.<br />
<br />
Five months and two breakups later, I invited you on a hike. Your smoker's body was slow, sick, and so perfect to me. You lumbered along the trail, our hiking companions became frustrated and left us behind. You and I laughing. You and I taking pictures. You and I trying hard (not) to touch. You and I watching the sunset on Camelback Mountain.<br />
<br />
That Philosophy paper weighed heavy on my mind, but so did dinner. You cooked; potatoes and onions. I existentialized. You drank beer. I marveled at how many you put down. You stayed the night. We didn't touch.<br />
<br />
The next day, your truck battery was dead. That red truck took us to so many places. Alaska, camping, home, your move, my move, ins and outs, then finally to your sperm donor in Minnesota. It's bum battery gave me that moment I needed to kiss the physical body of the other half of my soul. That kiss was perfect. There was no urgency because it knew forever. After our respective obligations, we were together for the night. "No funny business," I said. I didn't stick to that. You made love to me.<br />
<br />
There was that first real date. The train to Tempe. My third favorite picture of us, our first together. Too late to catch the train back. We had to call a friend for a ride.<br />
<br />
Later that month, we camped with the boys, my boys became our boys. That love was so natural. Watching you parent was so beautiful.<br />
<br />
And now, you don't talk to me. You dropped all of your other bests too. My soul has been torn in two again. The pain is unbearable. My heart beats because it has to.<br />
<br />
Do you remember walking into love with me? Do you remember ALWAYS? Do you remember how to love? Do you remember me? Do you remember our family?<br />
<br />
<br />InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-37701324094242739152014-07-17T18:32:00.001-07:002014-07-17T18:32:30.903-07:00Numb<div class="MsoNormal">
My grief is real. It’s bone deep. My heart is shattered into
a million pieces and each time I think I am starting to heal, the scar tears
wide open again. It can be a random text from her brother telling me that he
loves me, or her mysteriously knowing that I am on a (requisite) date and
texting in the middle of it, for no apparent reason. It is the sound of her
mom’s voice and knowing that, in time, I will be gone from their lives,
replaced by someone new in hers. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think I have this notion that it should be different or
the grief should not be here, still so real. Or that I am not allowed to grieve
anymore because she doesn’t. I should be better by now. How do you grieve a
baby or a marriage or a life that was never real? It’s not like the dream was
real life. And yet here I am, missing work today, crying for the third time
this week for a baby that isn’t real; missing dreams that were thrown out with
the trash over eight months ago.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t care about what the future holds in the way of
romance. Whatever bullshit comments you want to leave telling me that time
heals all wounds or that I will find someone. I just don’t care about all that.
I care about what is lost. A whole life planned. That is what I lost. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am coming up on the wedding date we planned. A wedding.
Because I thought she loved me like I love her. It wasn’t true; I was
delusional and too trusting. The wedding was supposed to be in Minnesota with
the family who loved me from the start, unlike my own, who chooses when they
feel like sharing love. We picked the date very specifically. Even my
biological family was very excited. They love her too. She helped them love me
again. Instead, I’ll be running away. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am so numb so often. I am a robot on good days, void of
most feeling. Those are the days I like. I have been called broken, emotionally
unavailable, and, once even, cold. I just don’t care. I prefer to be closed off
from the world. I wear that smile on my face for eight working hours a day
because I don’t want the questions. I barely even feel my physical body
anymore; I am that checked out. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Mind you it’s not the loss of her I am lamenting. She and I
have a soul connection that I cannot seem to break. She will never be lost from
me. It’s the hope she instilled. The safety and security. The dreams. All that,
she took. Yeah, yeah, “Take it back”, I hear you saying. I am independent. I do
not need her to take care of me, but parts of me are gone. Those parts. So, if
time heals, she sucks at it. She’s a slow bitch. <o:p></o:p></div>
InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-87712025992807915832013-07-08T18:11:00.003-07:002013-07-08T18:11:38.376-07:00Five years later Y'all may remember about five years ago my mom's brother sexually harassed me and outed me in front of 20 or so family members and family friends. I chronicled it <a href="http://imlettinggo.blogspot.com/2008/08/dirty-uncle.html">here</a>. After a week of family members ignoring the problem, I took matters into my own hands and wrote the above mentioned post, which is anonymous to my family, but then I took it a step further. I posted the same piece on MySpace. That was the end of my relationship with that side of the family and the beginning of a fragile relationship with my own mother. On my side because I could not forgive her for making excuses for Gerard and not sticking up for me and on her side because she believes the blog post to be "so damaging that if it was one of my cousins, I wouldn't talk to them either" and in the same breath, "Family is the most important thing."<br />
<br />
This past weekend, I spent a few days with my parents and my sisters. The beginning of the weekend got off to a rough start, but it got better. The highlight was my mom telling that she set a boundary with her family regarding me. They are not to talk about me or ask after me or my kids to her or my dad. It was as close to an apology as I will ever get from her, but I felt so light. On the flip side, I am not allowed to say bad things about her pervy brother to her, which is what I had done the night before.<br />
<br />
I love that my mother was able to draw this boundary with both sides, because, ultimately, she was the one who was getting hurt. I admit, I never thought about this before two days ago. She told me there is no hope of repairing my relationships with Mary Pat or Gerard. That was such a relief to me. I have been dreading making amends to them because I didn't feel like I did anything wrong, besides hurt my mother, which I made amends for after she said her peace.<br />
<br />
The parts about this talk that didn't sit well is all the stuff they make up to blame me for and the things they said about my boys. My next step is to talk to my sponsor about writing an amends letter to my mom's other sister who seems to get it. I am feeling so much relief and a bit of excitement knowing that I won't ever have to be part of that mess again. I also have a bit of fear about writing the letter because if she blabs about it to the others, they will assume that I just want to stir up more trouble for them. I guess that assumption will be inevitable no matter if I write a letter or will a Nobel Peace Prize. It will always be about them. I know I still have days more processing to do, but this is a nice start.<br />
<br />
**I want you to know that I googled searched my mother's brother to link his profile to this page, but I thought that would be immature and spiteful and I am trying to be big about this.InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-6831262156950384532013-06-19T23:39:00.004-07:002014-07-17T18:32:57.673-07:00Home<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
It's been far too long since I have posted. I have
been writing, but mostly in my journal. I've been extremely honest in my
journal, which is new for me. I am honest on this blog, but my journal leaves
me much more vulnerable than this anonymous blog. My journal sits on my
nightstand, begging someone to open it and read my thoughts. When I was
married, I actually used to write what I thought he would want to read, so I
wouldn't expose myself or hurt him. I don't think he ever read it, but I still
lied to myself to make sure he didn't know the true me, and for that matter,
neither did I. Now I don't lie to myself. I don't lie to her.<br />
<br />
I don't really want to recap the last year. It's
not been the same old though. There have been so many changes, especially in
me, where all changes in my life NEED to originate from. I am happy. Maybe
that's why I haven't been posting. Ha.<br />
<br />
She's moving home. The same she it's been for the
last 4 plus years. The same she that has had me on a roller coaster ride. The
same she that moved out to pursue her dreams. She is the love of my life today.
She is that same she that has broken my heart in many pieces. She is that same
she that picks me up. She is that same she that has cheered me on right through
graduation day and into a masters program. She's moving home.<br />
<br />
Our home is small and right now, messy. It's new to
us. We just downsized. My bedroom window overlooks the community garden we
sowed our summer yums in. Our art is on the walls, including the two new pieces
we bought at Pride last weekend. Her smell is on her pillow from the last night
her head rested in dreams upon it. Our worm bin has no place in this tiny
space, but so much room in my heart. The boys have the master bedroom, so they
can fit easily together. My houseplants are thriving in the sunny
living-dining-family-office-room. My yarn's in a storage shed. My books are in
boxes. Her stuff is waiting to mingle with mine, to become ours in this tiny
new home.<br />
<br />
I am part of a community here. I want so much for
her to be part of the community I have built around myself, but she has to find
her own place here. I'm the PTA treasurer this year. I know parents at both the
schools the children attend. I am asked to help volunteer and I do. I am
terrified that she will be like him. Not liking to do anything I want to do,
but doing it grudgingly. I know people when I walk down the street, just
because I walk down the street so often. I have met neighbors. I am respected
at the University. I am afraid she will be angry at not fitting in
immediately.<br />
<br />
I don't want to push her into doing anything. And
yet I want her to feel at home before this is even her permanent home. I want
to skip the bumpy transition and move straight to the smooth sailing. So many
changes to be grateful for. So many fears to swallow, hold back, fight, quash,
and never let creep in to take over my brain. I just need to have patience with
the process. Once I finally let it go that she was ever moving back and moved
on with my weekday life, the Universe decides it's time for her to come
home.<br />
<br />
She is my home. She is my last four years of struggle and growth. She is
my today and hopefully my tomorrow. Here's to new beginnings. Here's to
home.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment-->InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-41795248504057215482013-01-19T19:23:00.002-08:002013-01-19T19:23:41.919-08:00My Friend Needs Your Help<br />
Until now, what I knew about anorexia and bulimia was learned from After School Specials and biology classes. What I know now is that my very lovely friends daughter may be dying because of these eating disorders. What I know now is that mom and daughter and sisters are suffering. What I know now is that our community is suffering.<br />
<br />
I am pleading for anyone who may read this post to follow <a href="http://www.youcaring.com/medical-fundraiser/treatment-expenses-for-asia-canaday/38797">this link</a> to her fundraising page. If you can't donate money, please consider sending love and light to them. This mama and this child are our sisters and daughters, our wives and mothers, our friends and members of our community. Her story may be yours, her daughter may be yours, her mother may have been yours, struggling to save your life. No amount of support is too little.<br />
InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-76897624231098658082012-10-09T17:58:00.001-07:002012-10-09T17:58:21.799-07:00My Secret Is That I Have A Secret<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">If I told you, what would you think of me? Would you call me a pervert or disgusting? Would you tell me I needed serious help? Would you say that you know exactly what I am talking about? Maybe you would tell me I was normal. Maybe you would tell me that sometimes you do that too. Or maybe you wouldn’t. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This thing I hold onto is dark. It won’t hurt anyone but me. It doesn’t see the light. Ever. It’s just in my head. It just festers there. It makes me feel good, then it makes me feel very bad. Without it, some things would be impossible, or I think they would be, because it’s been there since my memory began. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What little memory I have of times before recent, I hold onto tightly. I don’t know where the other times are. There must be other times. I can’t remember when my secret started. I can’t remember the first time it made me feel good, then it made me feel bad. I can only remember that it has been forever. I can only remember it being inside of me. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Today I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone. Today I will bottle it up again for another day. Today I don’t have the courage to tell. I have tried. Only bits come out here and pieces come out there. But the real stuff is stuck behind my teeth, on the roof of my mouth, like peanut butter. I push it forward and out with my tongue, but only a little comes. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Eventually I give up trying to tell someone. I am ashamed. I am bad. I am afraid. I don’t want you to think less of me. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I don’t want you to look at me with disgust hidden in your eyes. I want you to love me like you always have, oblivious to my darkness and shame and fear and secret. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I can imagine once it is out, it won’t be a big deal. I can imagine that you will understand. I can imagine that you will empathize. I can imagine a day that I am free of it. But I still can’t tell you. My mouth opens to tell you, then I pretend to yawn. My brain says go ahead, it will only bring you closer, not having any secrets between you. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Don’t try to guess. The answer is no to all you are thinking. This thing, this secret, is dark. And nobody should know it. Not even me. If I tell you, will it leave me alone? </span></div>
InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-53983369802016400482012-10-03T00:29:00.002-07:002012-10-03T00:29:09.282-07:00Coming Out: My story in full<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Junior high. In the locker room, I looked at boobs like any other teenage girl. Sounds like a line from <i>But I’m a Cheerleader</i>, doesn’t it. In this case, it’s not. Audra Valaro had the biggest, perkiest boobs, with the sweetest little nipples, and her locker was right next to mine. And she wasn’t afraid to take her bra off, or get totally naked for that matter. Every day. God bless her liberal parents! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was 16, masturbated to the painting of the Virgin Mary outside my bedroom door, and thought about Allison Whitter. What it would be like to play soccer with her, run my fingers through her long brown hair, smell her close-like. Never had a boyfriend. Never really cared, except I thought something was wrong with me. I was ugly or lumpy or smelly or something. I mean, by this time, I should have at least been kissed, right? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The girls in the ads, I was just looking at them a long time so I could see why people, me included, looked at them to define beauty. And because they were girls, in short skirts, tight shirts, no skirts, no shirts, flat stomachs, curvy hips, lovely breasts, round butts, that line that follows the hips, you know the one that gives you goose bumps when she follows it with her finger tips.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I told my mom. She said it can’t be. I’d never even had a boyfriend. How could I possibly know? My mom, I don’t often think she knows me well, appealed to my logical side, that’s to say I’m 99% logical side, got me thinking. There was this one guy. I actually only saw him a few times. He wouldn’t go for me anyway. Why not? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A year and a half together, I was 17 and 364 days old before I had sex with him. It hurt. But it always does the first time. Although I did get over the initial pain, there was never anything right about sex with him. I would fantasize, lose myself, disassociate. I remember only a few times that we actually did it, but I also know it was many more than I remember. I don’t even remember the first time, just when it was and that it hurt. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We were together for three years. After him, I thought about Joylynn, my co-worker. I thought, this is my chance, but what do I do? I thought I’m finally free! I thought, well God, if I don’t have a husband by the time I am 21, I will be gay. I worked at a record store. I went to college. There was no reason I should be afraid anymore, yet I was terrified. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In walks Ryan. Not particularly attractive, very short. Nasty disposition. Negative from day one. Six weeks later, I have a baby growing in me. God answered me, didn’t He? My mom went apeshit and pretty much disowned me for making a baby before I was married. She insisted we marry, I refused. When Ash was 8 months old, I finally married Ryan. Then came Aiden soon after. I don’t remember but a handful of times that I had sex with Ryan. Sometimes I am amazed that it was enough times to have three kids with him. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was doing everything right. I was married. I had two kids. I worked at an office and put my kids in daycare. We rented a house in an okay neighborhood. Something was missing. It must have been another baby because I decided another was just what we needed to make this thing work. Because we were falling apart, if one could say we were ever together. I was mean. I was sad. I was missing something still. My beautiful blonde headed, blue eyed Kieran stole my heart. Three happy, healthy, amazing children and still not fulfilled. What could it be? A house? Yes! So we bought one. Not a house. Need to be at home with the kids full time? Yes! But no. I was so alone. With everyone around me, I was desperate to tear out of skin and shout SEE ME! I’m here! But I didn’t know where I was really. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Things I tried to save my marriage:</span></div>
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<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Being a subservient wife. That lasted about a week.</span></li>
<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Church. He hated it and I felt mad having to drag him.</span></li>
<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Medication. Nice, but no. </span></li>
<li style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Fuck Fridays. The worst of my ideas. Pretend I wanted sex. Seduce him home for lunch and lay there under him while I let him mercy fuck me. That’s the shittiest thing I could have done; though, at the time, I was sure it was the nicest thing I could give him. I hurt him badly.</span></li>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then came Erin. Short, dark hair, smelled good, obviously gay, though weirdly she always tried to hide it. I thought, this is it. She can answer all of my questions. She can see me for who i really am, if indeed that’s who I am. I fell in love with her. I let her tell me how to transition from marriage to separation, even though she really didn’t know the first thing about it. I made the guest room mine, asked him to move upstairs, watched every episode of the L-Word until I was caught up, horny as fuck, and fairly sure that when it came to sex, I’d know what I was doing. Then it came to sex. Gulp. I was so fucking scared. I didn’t touch her at all. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Six months. I was drunk or high for six months. I went out every night. I went on trips to San Diego Pride and made out with girls. I drove to and from Palm Springs. I pretended to be a mom still. I lost friends. I gained friends. A few friends stuck by me, mainly my Tribe. I was a crappy parent. I was lost and floundering in this new world. The only sure thing was that I did belong here. I knew it. I felt it. I just wasn’t sure where my place was in it. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I met Tara, who is now Trey, at the bar. We hit it off and had the sex a few days after we met. In Lesbanese, that means we were insta-girlfriends. Here came my first boost. The first time we slept together, I went down on her. She came. Like actually came. Like I made a girl cum. Me. And I came just doing it. I was inside her, outside her, on top of her, under her. Many weeks later, I told her that was my first time and she didn’t believe me. Can you say ego boost? Damn. I was a full-fledged, hot-shit, girls want me, I can make them cum with a look, LESBIAN! But don’t call me that. I still hate to be called a lesbian. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We broke up. Tara and I. Then there was Jen, for just a night. Then the golfer who would prefer to remain anonymous. I can still remember the sex with her. It was good, Especially because I got to do so much of the work. That didn’t last either. There were many tears and swears and why not me’s. There were thoughts of giving up and going back to men. They were easy. Sex gets you what you want and to get through that you only had to close your eyes and pretend it was a strap-on. In the end though, I chose me. And I finally chose my kids. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I met T on Christmas in 2008. I never knew what love at first sight was until then. My heart knew. My soul remembered hers from months, years, decades, centuries of lives we lived together. I couldn’t look at her. If she saw me, she’d know. When I saw her, I knew she knew too. I was still with the golfer for another week (unbeknownst to me) and T was with our friend, Missy. We spoke on and off. After my break-up with the golfer, she rode her motorcycle to the coffee shop. I asked her take it all away [my pain]. She whispered in my ear, in a sexy, raspy voice, that she could, but it’d only be for one night. I still make her say that to me. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Months later, it was time. The first time she was in my arms, it was familiar and right and safe and perfect. The first time we came together was like so many times before that we can’t remember. Her lips fit mine. Her body held mine in perfect shape. Her arms are my safety. We are not perfect. We have many issues to sort through. Three short years in this lifetime together and we are just now truly falling in love. That deep love that will bind two people forever, no matter what. We are a family with the boys. We work together to make our dreams come true. This is what I was missing. This is why I hung onto the life I wanted to throw away all those years. This is what living feels like. </span></div>
InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-44072278654210866532012-09-20T14:07:00.001-07:002012-09-20T14:07:27.005-07:00It'll be you that leaves me.Would you be happier with someone who knows your struggles, your fears, your nightmares, firsthand? Would you be happier with someone who can't be touched either? With someone who lived your terror? Because I am not that person. I just don't know.<br />
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I want so much for this to be normal, but I have a hopeless feeling that there is no normal in this. I am hopeless that you will never be able to meet my needs the way I wish for. I will never be totally confident in you always having the control. I have already given you so much control. I have found peace and acceptance with giving over what control I had. Can I find that same peace and acceptance with giving the rest of it, all of it? Can I ever find peace in in knowing that you will never meet me halfway because you are broken?<br />
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Because someone broke you. Someone left you bleeding and hopeless. Someone stole your trust and wellbeing. Someone took all control from you.<br />
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I joined yet another support group to help me through the demons you brought into our life. All I see there is the hopeless lives others have led with the broken ones they have loved. I haven't posted because I don't want to believe ours is hopeless. I want to believe that all the work you are doing will help. I want to believe that you can be glued back together so you don't bleed anymore. I want to believe that we will be our dreams.<br />
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Your past, your crises will always be what we deal with first. My own sadness and hopelessness will always be hidden from you and forever mine to sort through alone. My happiness will always be shared with you to keep you from feeling hopeless. How can I leave you for something you couldn't stop? Something you are actively trying to sort through and patch? I'd be a selfish asshole to leave.<br />
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How much more can I deal with? As much as you can. As long as you continue to heal, so will I continue to support you. (There's that stupid hope again.) Though my head tells me to honor <i>me</i>.<br />
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I keep thinking the next thing we have to overcome will be the thing that breaks us because it's always worse than the last thing. Then we don't break, we get stronger. How strong do we have to be before the Goddess believes we are worth a life without struggle? How much more until we break? I am tired. So very tired of there always being a next struggle. I expect them now, so I do not get blindsided.<br />
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Chasing the storms in your heart is the worst and best job I could have had, but even those jobs have to end sometime. Will our end be our deaths, in 60 years? Will our end be this next struggle? The next revelation? The next year on constant battle?<br />
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Always questions, never answers. Not even in the silence.<br />
<br />InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-3233240229777999442012-08-06T10:33:00.000-07:002012-08-06T10:33:58.173-07:00realization and gratitudelast year, this time, she was almost gone. i had to plead with her to come home for her birthday. she tried to get out of the small celebration to go drink. i told her to go. i wasn't going to beg her anymore. i was ready to let her go. last year, this time, 18 beers in three hours was a good day, 18+ beers and a bottle of jack daniel's was a bad day. last year, this time, she would call me and tell me what a miserable person she was. that i didn't deserve her. that she would never be good enough for me. i was beginning to believe her. i was ready to say goodbye for good. it felt like giving up. what a failure and yet how strong i was. i did it. i told her goodbye. i told her no more. i gave up my soul mate because i no longer recognized her soul. i gave up the strength, peace, safety and happiness i once knew in her arms. i did it for me. i did it for the boys. i did it for her.<br />
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that wasn't what she wanted. in december, the bottle stopped touching her lips. the cans stayed at the liquor store. the stores were dumped. she wanted me. us. as much as she wants the alcohol. eight months later it still whispers, calls, screams, begs, pleads, for her to just try one more time. it won't hold her so tight this time. it will let her have the life she wants at the same time as she has it. it will make her stronger, smarter. it lies. she knows it. she knows the untruths it spouts to get its way.<br />
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this year, 2012, we have had rough patches. we have had moments of doubt. but i realized that last year she was all but lost to me. to us. this year, 2012, she has accepted that it doesn't want what's best for her. i have accepted that i don't know what's best for her. this year, so far, our biggest blips were her falling off a few times. her getting help with the underlying. me realizing the helpless to help her isn't totally helpless. the kids understanding why. our dreams are coming true slower than anyone would want dreams to come true, but they are. i can hold onto that for today. i got to hold onto her last night. and for the two nights before. this is what i realized. this is what i have today.InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-85256651154216519342012-08-02T22:16:00.001-07:002012-08-02T22:16:50.872-07:00the aftermathmy heart hurts in a way i can't describe. i feel the heaviness of resigned acceptance sitting hard on my chest. she is the way she is and i am helpless to fix, heal, or even patch. i just have to stand by and watch the destruction. i have to hear the cries and pleas and not do anything. because what is left for me to do? i have tried to listen, but she no longer talks. i have tried to invite, but she never accepts. i have tried to outright stop the destruction, but the force is too strong.<br />
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i can only stand by helpless. and watch. and watch. as it eats her alive. it's all up to her. i can only wait and accept the heaviness that is settling.InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-14258552879782271092012-07-31T23:04:00.000-07:002012-07-31T23:04:58.219-07:00why her?i don't always ask why her, but tonight i am. why her? why was it that this person, the other half of my soul, was made to suffer and stumble and struggle her whole life? it's just not fair. and for what? i'll tell you. so someone else could feel in control. so someone could turn a blind eye. so someone could pretend everything was alright. she suffers because others couldn't. wouldn't. we all suffer now.<br />
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if it meant she wasn't in my life. if it meant i never knew her love. if it meant, as she believes, that she wouldn't be her, i'd accept that. if tomorrow her pain went away, but so did she, i'd say goodbye and never look back. <br />
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why her? why was she abandoned? why wasn't anyone watching over her? why today does she suffocate? does she choke on words she needs to scream? why can i only stand by helpless? always helpless to abolish her pain. always helpless to filter her dreams. helpless to numb. helpless.<br />
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how could a god allow something so fragile to break? to be broken. shattered. something so precious and priceless to fall into the hands of someone so careless? so ruthless? so oblivious? and how does this keep happening. not to her, but to other hers. other little ones. other fragile souls.<br />
<br />
most days i don't think about it. most days we love. we fight. we wish. we dream. we stumble together through regular life. most days it's not on my radar. but hers. it's always blipping. the rage. the sorrow. the betrayal. most days it's nearly muted.<br />
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but some days, it takes the light out of her eyes. and that tears the breath from my lungs. the days she isn't here. isn't her. the days she believes her struggle is private. but i know her soul. i know her struggles. i know from watching her fight demons in her sleep. i know from watching her fight rage in wakefulness. i know because the other half of her soul belongs to me.<br />
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why her? she suffered so someone else wouldn't. couldn't. her soul is strong. she isn't broken. she isn't damaged. she is strong. she knows why her.<br />
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<br />InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-5659456542886259522012-04-03T08:14:00.006-07:002012-04-03T08:52:28.925-07:00Adventures in SproutingAs if I don't have enough to do with the end of the semester just 4 weeks away, I started sprouting alfalfa. I was in my local expensive store, you know the one, when I came across their home sprouting section. All I had to buy was the special lid with holes (it fits the wide mouth mason jars I recently acquired) and some seeds. Initial cost: $15. I have been soaking and rinsing since Sunday night and my sprouts are beginning to sprout! I am going to buy another lid and some different seeds today. I may actually be able to sell my sprouts at the farmers market this summer if I can master growing them!! Here are pictures of soaking and day two. They're boring, but the daily chronicle should be cool in the end!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ATWnN3Tw8KFwzZ2UD2xp1XHJRJc413TvPCho7B1ry6RjftaRqm1GijQaGSTtSqL94fl2_56G6abtPpuIqyyaR-sCqWz5vszu0VLAOwQrkxuJ4DaJ4E6AhsTcZ9L-S3lg1azm/s1600/SoakingAlfalfa.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 184px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ATWnN3Tw8KFwzZ2UD2xp1XHJRJc413TvPCho7B1ry6RjftaRqm1GijQaGSTtSqL94fl2_56G6abtPpuIqyyaR-sCqWz5vszu0VLAOwQrkxuJ4DaJ4E6AhsTcZ9L-S3lg1azm/s320/SoakingAlfalfa.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5727201719210226770" /></a></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Soaking</div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJhyTjnTxQ31Vn_Vd4-7-12iebSbNE03RJlcaX31NJ3DOYBrJojqnbiUWokOTs0HDgv-fwwGN150_TYPLolIWa0UUuUtHfDWT3qyKnJFgREwVkOrb5Mq-H1iSlHn_PVtBjHKNb/s1600/Day2Alfalfa.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJhyTjnTxQ31Vn_Vd4-7-12iebSbNE03RJlcaX31NJ3DOYBrJojqnbiUWokOTs0HDgv-fwwGN150_TYPLolIWa0UUuUtHfDWT3qyKnJFgREwVkOrb5Mq-H1iSlHn_PVtBjHKNb/s320/Day2Alfalfa.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5727201961716204962" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Day Two</div>InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-43227016874686941752011-09-30T20:03:00.000-07:002011-09-30T20:04:32.453-07:00how do you do it?A few weeks ago, after a customer commented on my new tattoo, I realized that I am growing up to be the person I wanted to be when I envisioned growing up. I have tats and piercings. I go to college and frequent my favorite coffee shop. My pants haven't fit my waist since I was seven, and I have the body to pull off LOW rise jeans. There are a few things that still don't work with my 15-year-old version of my 34-year-old self, but I'm getting there.<br /><br />One huge component is how I live and raise our kids. I live a very modest life. My rent is my biggest bill and I gladly pay it because I love the home I have made this house into. The kids go to a laid back "hippie" school, it's a Steiner school, for anyone who wants to know. They are versed in all forms of art, music, drama and get to play in the sunshine, rain, snow mud and anything in between. They play sports and Number 3 is joining the Earth Scouts this month. I work only three days a week and go to school five days a week. My loans pay for most of my expenses right now. I weighed the consequences of taking out so much money to the benefit of being able to concentrate on my school work and, most important to me, being able to be with the kids.<br /><br />My friend emailed me today and asked for advice. She is thinking about quitting her job and working from home. She's scared to death and asked for tips on how to do it. Without too much thinking this is the advice I gave her:<br /><br />Sheer will, perseverance and faith that you can do it. Honestly, I'm not sure how I do anything anymore. I just believe that I can, take what comes and own it; good or bad. That doesn't mean I don't struggle, cry, scream, give up or complain, but at the end of one of those moments, I wipe my snot and remember that I have felt like giving up before and it's all worked out.<br /><br />Most of the time, my plans are basic, not thought through. I'm not sure if that's good because I don't have expectations or bad because if I don't really have a plan, then I really don't have a back-up plan. Except I do have a back-up, I suppose. It is faith in my convictions, faith that, once again, I will be okay, faith that I am supposed to be where I am right now, no matter where it is. This isn't based in religion or God, just belief in magic, I guess. The magic in me.<br /><br />I guess what I am saying is super-cliche, but follow your heart. Do what's right for you. In my case that meant breaking apart my family, losing my home and my car, leaving my friends and living without running water for 7 months. And that doesn't include what I have done to keep my relationship with Tris thriving. I believed that leaving [the kids dad], so many years ago, was what my heart was telling me to do. I believe that doing everything in my power, without giving up myself, is what I have to do for my romantic relationship. I believed that moving to Flagstaff was the best choice I could make for my family.<br /><br />On my hard days, and I do have them, I remember what I believe. I make a list of the things I am grateful for and do not pause to mourn the things I have lost in my journey. If working from home is what you want to do, I support you. You may have to make a list of the things you are willing to give up to make that dream come true, but if you are willing to put them on the list in the first place, then you are probably willing to part with them. Simplifying my life was the best thing I have ever done, but that is just me. I know you will take the next step in the direction your life will take, just be willing to accept whatever direction that is.<br /><br />Oh. And I make my bed every day because there is subtle satisfaction in doing one little thing for myself, even if the rest of my day is devoted to everyone else. (I learned this from my friend, Katy. In fact, she practically made me make my bed every day. Now, it's a habit and I relish in the fact that I get to slide into tight sheets every night. )<br /><br />I retyped this mostly for myself. This is what I tell people and what it probably true, but from my perspective, I am only doing what I have always done. Maybe it's ordinary, maybe extraordinary, maybe it's just mi vida loca. Anyway you see it, I make my life the way I want it because, to me, there is no other option. I hope you are realizing your dreams and not letting fear hold you back from the reality that could be yours if you just jump. So plug your nose, when you are ready, and be prepared for whatever temperature that water is when you hit.InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-35046819471135291242011-09-01T12:54:00.000-07:002011-09-01T12:55:28.453-07:00talk to me about lovetalk to me about love. there are different kinds of love.
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<br />there’s the love of a child for a parent. it is reverential, mystic, magical, necessary, obligatory. it grows with awareness, shrinks with stubbornness, then grows again with age and understanding.
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<br />likewise, the love of a parent for a child is obligatory, sacrificial, educational, so strong it can break a soul, and mostly unconditional.
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<br />friendship love is different. there’s no obligation, no ties that bind, in every moment, a choice is always present to continue loving. you can choose to sacrifice for her, be loyal to her, turn your back on her when she’s wounded, suffer through a loss with her, or feed her soul.
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<br />the love you can give to a partner is much the same, by choice. sometimes we feel morally and legally bound to suffer with and sacrifice for our lovers. sometimes we just want to; maybe for comradery, martyrdom, self punishment, empathy, sympathy, or simply because we don’t know what else to do.
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<br />all of this may (or may not) lead to love for self. love for self should be, well, selfish. there should be no comprise, sacrifice, obligation. it should always be unwavering, magical and even reverential.
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<br />there is a price to pay for other loves; and it’s mostly self love. compromise. you give a little of you, she gives a little of her; and not even at the same time. who’s the score keeper of comprise? the one with the resentments? do you have resentments because you are keeping score or are you keeping score because of your resentments?
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<br />wants and needs of a loving relationship...is there a difference? do you really need her to sleep by your side most nights? or do you just want her there? it’s nice to be warm, comforted, safe and companioned, but it is possible to fall asleep without her. do you need her to help with daily life? or do you just want her there to share in the joys, work, rewards and sorrows of family life? of course you want her there, but as proven before, she doesn’t have to help in order to get the job done. do you need her to answer the phone in a crisis? or do you just want to hear her supportive words and strong voice? the crisis will pass regardless.
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<br />do you stay in a love that is heartbreaking at the worst of times and soul changing at best, even if her soul is closed for renovations for a while? or do you choose to overlook that her soul and yours have been intertwined since heaven? when her eyes looked into yours for the first time, they read your fears and dreams. when her hand touches your body, measurable electricity is created. when she laughs, you know there has to be a God. when she cries, your heart tears open. when you make love, you know there is a possibility world peace. can you overlook these things?
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<br />you can choose to walk away. you can choose to find another, who will be all these things that she is not, but may also bring a new set of wants to the relationship. you can let go of all those what-if questions and move on. or you can keep them and wonder for the rest of your separated lives. will you always think of her when you walk into the forest? or feel her hand on your hip when a warm breeze blows your shirt? will you always feel her touch in another’s caress? smell her in a foreign place? will you always long for her arms to protect you in their strong embrace? will you remember how you fit into the c shape of her body when you two curled into each other and gave into asleep? will you regret it? or will you forget all about it?
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<br />would it be easier to never have loved her or anyone for that matter? would it be better to live an isolated life, void of any kind of love; distanced from all with the potential to love?
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<br />all love changes a person. all love is painful. all love is a choice, in the long run. what will you choose?
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<br /> InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-6150569176606132312011-07-19T09:53:00.000-07:002011-07-19T11:06:05.105-07:00fifteen monthsI have been dealing with alcoholism and all the behaviors that accompany it for a little over a year. I have loved my alcoholic for over two years, but did not recognize the alcoholism for almost a year. It's quite a touchy subject to write about because some of you who follow know the person that I am effected by. I have wanted to share my story for a long time, but I know that I have to be in a non-emotional space in my head to do that. It seems that today may be that day. The purpose of this post is not to bitch about my life, it is to enlighten everyone, whether or not you are affected by alcoholism. <br /><br />Being consistently drawn to people afflicted with the disease of alcoholism is a disease in itself. It is a form of co-dependency. Co-dependents often feel the need to help anyone and everyone, even, and maybe especially, when they don't ask for help. For me, in the beginning of this current relationship, I would just pop up with lunch when she didn't have any. I would research some herbal way to get her through some medical ailment, then purchase the supplies. I would take charge of her recovery, when she decided that going dry was a good idea. All of this I did without her asking. I felt that I anticipated her needs and hat made me a good girlfriend. I ignored the problem, then I stressed about it. I paid for doctors visits, before we were serious. (Let's be real, we were serious from the beginning, after all, we are lesbians!) Then I played the victim. I do all this for her and she can't even stay sober at such and such event. I hold her barf pan and stay up all night making sure she doesn't die of alcohol poisoning and she can't even (insert whatever I felt she should be doing here..) I felt entitled to be listened to and have my advice followed because I did all these things for her. <br /><br />Then one day, after almost a year being together, but only a few months of feeling inadequate and less important than alcohol, it clicked. She has a problem with alcohol. My dear friend had been telling me this for a while now, but I didn't listen. I made many excuses for her behavior, another symptom of my disease. I lied to myself and to others. She only over-drinks on the weekends, she only really drinks beer, I've only seen her drunk only a handful of times and so on. I began talking to others living with/in alcoholism. Their stories were mine, although some were not. My alcoholic is quite functioning compared to others. (Even now, I feel the compulsive need to defend her. She's a good person. Those that know her can attest to that, those of you who don't can just take my word for it.) <br /><br />I decided to seek help for me to deal with her problems. Can anyone see the problem there? I made a decision to be completely honest with my councilor, which seems like the logical thing to do, but I had gone to see a councilor before, but only told half the story. During the intake, after only an hour, L, the councilor, told me that I was co-dependent and that I was most likely in a relationship with an alcoholic. I was freaking out. I kept saying "I can hang out alone. I can go to the movies, out to eat, to the bar, and whatnot, alone". I came home and relayed the info to a friend who confirmed with a "Duh!". Friend after friend said the same thing. They were all wrong. They had to be. <br /><br />Upon insistence from L, I read <span style="font-style:italic;">Facing Love Addiction</span>, by Pia Mellody. Are any of you familiar with the <a href="http://www.memorialhospital.org/library/general/stress-the-3.html">5 stages of grief</a>? Stage one is shock and denial. I was shocked that there was something wrong with me! Afterall, I went to the councilor to get a diagnosis for her! Then I quickly accepted and five minutes later, I denied it again. This has happened continuously throughout my 15 month journey. I was even in a state of denial last week. Stage five is acceptance. I would say that I am there...most of the time. Owning up to my shortcomings has been extremely humbly and sometimes even makes me feel a little self righteous, because I can see my addiction in others so quickly. <br /><br />I started going to Al-Anon meetings. Al-Anon is a twelve step program based on Alcoholics Anonymous (AA). I have been slow and thorough going through my steps. Just as I committed to honesty with my councilor, I also committed to honesty within the program. I am not going to push Al-Anon on anyone. It's not perfect, neither is anyone who goes to meetings. We all have short-comings, we all fall back into our holes of self-pity and self-righteousness and we all still enable our fellows to depend on us. The difference is that now, I see my shortcomings, I can crawl out of my hole faster and sometimes even sidestep the hole in the first place and I recognize my enabling and ask for help to contain it. I don't take on the world, only biting off what I can comfortably chew. It feels good to be in those rooms. I can be myself, in all my sadness and joy. <br /><br />I also attend an AA meeting once a week. Hearing the stories of recovering alcoholics gives me hope. They still struggle. Even though the disease is under control, they still have it. I have seen women I love fall in and out and, humbly, back in to recovery. I have heard the stories of debauchery. I have been to some of the places they describe with my alcoholic. I find hope in that room that recovery, mine and hers, will be in our home someday. <br /><br />She still actively drinks. I am not ready to give up on her, although I sometimes think life would be easier without her in it. All I can do is continue to get some sort of recovery myself. When I feel the angriest or lowest is when I have to force myself into those rooms. When I am happy and have joy to spread, I need to be in the rooms, because there may be someone who is at their lowest who may see me and feel hope, as has happened to me. I am not cured, not even close. I have not even begun to dig deep, but healing is beginning to happen for me. I feel an ounce of strength and hope today and that is better than yesterday.InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-85431765305407432752011-03-29T15:23:00.000-07:002011-03-29T15:29:37.362-07:00Thank You!I know I haven't written on this blog, or any of my others for that matter, in forever, but I am grateful to everyone who follows my rambles. <br /><br />Moving has been a little rough. More than a little I guess since I haven't even been able to write, but today the sun is shing and I can smile. My friend Leaner, who comments frequently on this blog had her third lovely baby this morning. It was a home birth. Congrats to you, love, and I wish you and your family my very best. I can't wait to read your birth story. I wish I could be there to meet little N! <br /><br />Pushing for positive. I may be boring and non-emo for a while. Well, let's hope so. This is my life afterall and I can make it whatever I want.InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-38790188600540476032010-12-13T18:59:00.000-08:002010-12-13T19:04:27.840-08:00Status UpdateSometimes I want my status update to say, "Hating myself right now." But I don't really want to hear from people regarding that. I just want to get it off my chest. Not really loving myself lately. Feeling like all I do is not really right. It's wrong in fact. Except that I know I do things that are good and right, but I let the screw ups over shadow them. I haven't been like this in a long time. It's a familiar, sickening feeling. Unwelcome and uncontrollably here. I am 33. Shouldn't be in control of my emotions by now? Shouldn't I be able to resist the urge to cry? I feel like a damn teenager.InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-36836965479047730242010-11-16T19:42:00.000-08:002010-11-16T20:49:57.860-08:00In SilenceThat's how I spend much of my week. I keep my mouth shut and my ears open. I learn about the people around me simply by listening. I still make judgements, but I don't do it out loud as often. In my silence, I listen to my own inner voice. I really pay attention to the thoughts in my head. I rationalize in a more rational manner. Being silent has it's draw backs. I question myself regularly. That's a very uncomfortable place for someone who is always right to be in. I make peace with myself more often and more quickly now. In a way I mourn the loss of my silence during the weekend. Alone, but not lonely. Ok with myself. What a place to be.InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-81522936567822867022010-09-15T23:04:00.000-07:002010-09-16T23:59:25.572-07:00The Next Right ActionIt has become apparent that I am the cause, root and be all end all of my problems. No surprise right? But nobody likes to look at themselves and acknowledge that. I did and now I am confessing it to all of you. I am it. I make my problems. I solve them, in by no means the best way possible, but with the only tools I have ever known. <br /><br />Some words one never wants to hear, "I love you, but I don't know how to feel. You make me feel so guilty." And I do. I have done it to all my lovers. The only tool I have to fix that is silence. I just won't talk about it. That way the other person thinks all is peachy, while I struggle to convey my feelings without anyone feeling guilty. That actually doesn't work either, but what else do I have? <br /><br />This isn't a poor me post. I am responsible for making men feel small, pissing off all of my relatives and pushing away my girlfriend. Just me. Not her. Not anyone else. <br /><br />So tell me, what is the next right action?InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-25630843643943410052010-08-10T01:20:00.000-07:002010-08-10T01:38:54.724-07:00changesIt's been a month of intense changes, true honesty, heartbreak, love, friendship and decision. We are doing well. Al-Anon is working out for our family, for me. I have a sponsor and I am working on working the steps. There are preparations that need to be done first; mainly reading reading reading. <br /><br />She and I have had some amazingly emotional days. She supports me and my quest for health without admitting a problem herself. I question whether it really is a problem or not. I liked being in the dark and ignorant bliss almost as much as I am beginning to like being upfront and honest with her and myself. She is my life, my grown up life. We have the boys. We are a family. <br /><br />She is taking a job in far far away land; like four hours away land. The kids and I are moving to two hours from here, two hours from her land. We chose this place to be closer to making our dream of homesteading a reality. I will continue to go to school, a slightly different major, or should I say majors? Forestry coupled with an applied environmental science. It's a good place for me to be. <br /><br />I am scared shitless about selling my house. It is worth nothing and I did nothing to deserve a house worth nothing. I bought before the big housing boom, I read my paperwork, I knew what my budgetary limits were, I paid on time every month and I am the one being royally screwed. For NOT screwing up! On top of the "housing crisis", I have to contend with my hispanic neighbors, nearly 90% of my neighborhood, fleeing because the idiotic governor signed an awful bill making racial profiling legal! Bend over, insert bureaucratic cock! I have nothing to lose by not paying my mortgage anymore, I suppose. <br /><br />I haven't told many of my friends that we are moving yet because it won;t actually happen before this semester is over. I have told him that we are moving and that we are taking the kids, but he hasn't responded. It could get ugly. Tomorrow is a big day for he and I. I am filing child support papers, which should surprise the shit out of him because he thinks that he doesn't have to pay. I really never thought this would get ugly. I am also, finally, filing for divorce. I know, I know. And I can tell you why I didn't already, but it really doesn't matter. <br /><br />So there is the last month really wrapped up tight in a nutshell. I want to write more, but i seem really blocked right now, so a short update is all I have for right now. Even the other blog is suffering my word block. Sigh...InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-39584609278243220572010-07-22T14:02:00.000-07:002010-07-22T14:31:30.544-07:00On HonestyWe returned from Alaska a week ago. The trip was good. Well worth the really dismal state of financial affairs we are wading through. She and I spent 9 days completely with each other. We talked, we cried, we took photographs and we laughed. I heard her laugh. That song I love so much. Her smile shined like the sun that was stuck behind the clouds through most of Canada. She was sober. She was guarded. I was very guarded. I told her about going to Al-Anon and liking it. I did not tell her I wanted to go back. I felt ashamed to be needing to feel that connection. I felt sad thinking that she would be feeling judged. I felt scared that she would leave me because I couldn't deal on my own. <br /><br />Fast forward to present. That lovely sobriety has ended, but this time, I was able to self-talk my brain into believing that it was solely her choice and I have no control over her in any way. How can she hit rock bottom when I stand in her way? I have good days and bad days. I finally told her that I was going to go back to Al-Anon weekly. She agreed that it may be good for me, but not because of her. I am working only on me. I am establishing boundaries where ones were just assumed. My assumptions were correct for some and dead wrong for others. Up until last night, I was not being completely honest with her. She hurts me sometimes, though never intentionally. This hurt has nothing to do with the drinking. Curbing this hurt is another area of self-talk I am becoming proficient in. What it is that hurts is of no relevance on this blog, but what came of last night may be. <br /><br />She asked me if I was frustrated by it. She knew I was, but it was a huge elephant in the room that we both have tried desperately to ignore. I said yes. No hesitation, no more guarding, just simply, <span style="font-style:italic;">Yes</span>. I told her all I have been feeling. All the thoughts of self deprecation and the self-talk to leave those thoughts behind. I told her my observations and asked if I am wrong about them. I hurt her. Or rather a pain she has been hiding came forward. Neither of us is at fault for this. Neither of us has brought this pain, but we both retain it. Especially her. <br /><br />I woke up this morning lighter than yesterday, which was heavier than normal. I woke up today knowing the weight of my honesty on her. How could I have been so selfish as to have thought I was dropping my load when really she was right behind me picking up my honesty, piece by heavy piece, and placing it square on her shoulders. Another load to bear. Another person she feels responsible for hurting. Any one of you can tell me that she chooses to carry this burden, she can choose not to. My logical brain knows this, my emotional brain has just begun new growth and still lingers in it's old ways. I love her. This millstone was to be unloaded by me, never to be picked up again by either of us. How can I tell her to drop it? How can I be honest while still being sensitive to her propensity to take on the hurts of loved ones?InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-70288458957169239762010-06-17T08:52:00.000-07:002010-06-17T09:05:20.240-07:00It seems like:All I ever do is bitch about the negative things in my life on this blog, huh? Well I kinda do. This is more my super secret hideout for when I feel so bad I am not sure what to do, so I write. I want to let my few readers know that I do have another blog that is kept much more current and is a little less emo. It is called <a href="http://twoqueerhippies.blogspot.com/">Two Queer Hippies</a>. I am not just a pile of mushy emotional crap, I actually do things too!<br /><br />Also, after my super emotional weekend, I realized that I have hit my rock bottom with her drinking and I am now, at the insistance of my friends and therapist, going to Al-Anon. I chose to go. I do not feel forced and, boy, after my first meeting, I felt better. Even though it seems like I am all alone in this, even after I hear others stories, I for sure know I am not now. I know that it is ok and good to love her, I just need to find a different way to show her. She is my soulmate. For better of for worse, that's what I am signed on for. I just hope she still feels the same way. <br /><br />I am going on a solo roadtrip to Alaska, starting tomorrow afternoon. I will try to be updating as I go. Some of the posts may be the same on both blogs, but you know there will be emo stuff on here. Haha. Akthough the roadtrip portion is solo, I am meeting her up there. She is also taking a roadtrip of sorts, She is doing a motorcycle endurance race called <a href="http://www.hokaheychallenge.com/">Hoka Hey</a>. Seven thousand miles on a Sportster! She's crazy and I love her. I haven't told her that I am going to Al-Anon. I plan to tell her on this trip. I am pretty sure she will support me, since she doesn't dispute having a problem. <br /><br />Viva Alaska!InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-66609126030663613692010-06-13T09:29:00.000-07:002010-06-13T14:22:58.725-07:00A Letter To All Bar Owners and BartendersTo All of You:<br /><br />You dispense a killer liquid. If it doesn't take the body off this earth, which eventually it does, it takes the mind. It takes families and breaks them, shatters them, ruins them. And I am not so naive to think that it's you. I am fully aware of the responsibility of the drinker themselves. They ask for it. But in some ways then, doesn't the drunk girl at the frat party when she acts promiscuously and gets raped? Neither is informed coherent consent. Both are taking from the body and the soul and the mind. One is a blatant violation, the other is also a violation, but one we as a society believe can be chosen by the drinker. <br /><br />We want all these freedoms to choose for ourselves what is good for us and what is not. I am not even sure what I am trying to say. I am angry. I am angry that you keep serving after a person has clearly had enough. I am angry that you ignore the part after they leave your bar. I am angry about how many people I see driving away after having asked for and been served way too many. All in the name of what? Freedom to choose? Sustaining a business? Greed? Ignorance? Why do you keep doing it?<br /><br />My life is being destroyed. The woman I love can't stop. You have the power to tell her no. It may not be her choice. She may be mad at you. It may not even save us. But it could save her. A person you call your friend. Please. And don't worry, I have also spoken to her. I have asked her to stop, but she can't. It's this driving force. It's this demon. It's this fear that you won't all love her if you don't have that liquid toxin in common. <br /><br />From the outside I can see that you won't remain friends when she stops ingesting your poison, but I don't tell her that. I don't tell her that in the end, it will be her eyes opening to the fact that she really has nothing in common with those who see no other way. Right now, I don't even tell her that if her eyes don't open soon, she will lose us. And we will lose her, more. We have already lost whole parts of her. So how about helping me? How about helping all of us? You could have a clear conscience and fall asleep right away, knowing that your "friends" made it home safe. You can know one family survived. One family is thriving. One family is pushing through recovery. Because we are a strong family, but right now we are on our knees, even the little ones, trying desperately to hold onto what we know we had, but can hardly remember. <br /><br />I know you are not a cold person. I know that the demon is in the drink. I know that she chooses it, she chooses you. I know that she alone can make the decision to quit. She did last night, at the lowest I have ever seen her. Which, by the way, was very low. I have also made the decision to not enable her anymore. The only things I did last night for her were to drive her home, get her water and get her a pan to puke in. I watched her puke. I watched her pass out on the bathroom floor. I watched her struggle to get her shoes off. I watched her pass out on the ground. I watched her struggle to get to bed. I watched her pass out again in her clothes on the bed. I watched her to make sure she was breathing. I watched her dream and have nightmares. I watched her all night long, knowing the person I love is in the empty shell on our bed. This is what you close your eyes to, what you can never possibly see. <br /><br />I ask of you to please consider the people who are at home, suffering. Please read my words and ask yourself why you are in an industry that destroys lives? It affects all lives. In an instant of distraction after a night at your establishment, a life could be changed, lost, altered. Even if that person is not possessed like my love is. Then ask yourself why we are like this? What is it, as a whole, that we are running from? And is harboring the runners the only stance you can take? Are you a runner? <br /><br />Yours, in complete disbelief my life has brought me here, <br /><br />JInMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21796217.post-72070977484294037642009-12-26T17:15:00.000-08:002009-12-26T17:33:49.721-08:00I Just Can't Seem to Shake ThisI am trying not to still hate Christmas. I think for the first time in a long time, the kids had the full magic of Christmas morning. I didn't though. They let us sleep in until 7. Exactly. Then when they came to wake us up, TK got mad. I had to whisper in her ear that it was her idea to get up then and that it was Christmas. So she was grumpy from the moment we woke up. I was trying to keep a light tone, but she kept bringing it down. Was a super hard day for me. Normally, I would have been sad to let the kids go with him, but yesterday it was a relief. I will be happy when all this shit has passed. I made a wagon wheel coffee cake, a tradition for my family, another thing I haven't done in several years and I made breakfast. Was OK, but there is this heaviness that is hanging over the house. Something uncommunicated. Something so sad. I hate it and I hate Christmas. I guess I was really hoping she would be my Christmas star, some light on this shitty time of year, but she was darker than me. I just want to be normal. I don't want to think about what I am eating, how many resources I am consuming, my kids exposure to brain numbing media. I just want to be the same as everyone else, just for a bit. Then my family would like me. Then I would not be so alone in a world that thinks all I ever do is preach. I want to wake and and be back in classes and worry about that stuff so I don't have to deal with this stuff. I hate Christmas. PS Jesus wasn't even born this day, so all those stupid cards are just an ad ploy.InMyHeadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17188858893699855916noreply@blogger.com3