What’s My Lesson?

“A new chapter begins today – one that doesn’t require gloves.” ~Me

My most recent trip to my therapist left me with a new way of thinking – or rather – a new way of living life.  You see, I’ve spent most of my days beating myself up for one reason or another, and she insisted that I put a stop to that.  It’s self destruction at its finest, of course.  The thing that got her going on this subject was my admission of, and subsequent feeling of disgust with myself over, fantasizing about being with my ex-husband again.  You’ll recall that I not only called myself crazy for this, but I did it twice.  And I went to great lengths to push those feelings aside.

“So, you saw him in a new light and got turned on by him,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

There was something in those words followed by, “You need to stop abusing yourself,” that flipped a switch in me.

“But how, Mary?” I asked.  ”How do I just stop?”

“For one, you could write down the negative feelings you’re having, then add something that casts the feelings in a positive light,” She said. “In the case of your ex-husband, you could write ‘why the hell am I fantasizing about someone who hurt me once,’ then answer your own question with something like ‘because people have the capacity to change and be seen in a new way.”

“I have the writing part down, I just don’t think I’ve ever been able to cast things like that in a positive light.”

“You’re going to have to,” she said. “You’ve been abusing yourself for far too long.”

All that said, I went on my first date last night. It ended in shameless sex and a drive home at 6am.  And for the first time, I don’t feel this burden of blame or sickness in my stomach over it.  I’m not telling myself “you’re a whore” or “he’s not going to respect you” because in the end, judgments such as those don’t even matter in the first place.  So, why did I end up going home with him and getting my body ravaged? Because we were highly attracted to each other sexually, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, it was inevitable, and guess what?  It felt good, damn it.

(In case you were wondering, an entry dedicated to the first hash in the date list is forthcoming.)

(Title from “Mad World”)

Not a girl who misses much

You see that section up there called “When it’s me”?  Yeah, that one.  Believe it or not, there are entries which reside there.  Why?  Because I’m flawed…just like the rest of them.  I’ve spent the last 3 days home from work because I’m at one of those lows that would render me absolutely useless at my job.  How can I do this, you ask? FMLA. I never, in a million years, would have  guessed that my mental illness would be considered the kind to affect my job to the point where a practicing physician would sign off on 2, 3 day episodes per month and 1, 8-hour treatment per week, if necessary.  I will admit that when he filled out the forms for intermittent leave right in front of me, I didn’t expect there’d every be a time I’d use it, save for that last time when my meds turned me into a sick mess and kept me out of work long enough for my boss to suggest I put in for such a leave.  Yet, here I am.  On my third day home – a complete zombie.  And all I can think is that I’m doing my boss wrong… even though she is easily the most understanding of my condition I think a boss could possibly be…I still feel like a complete waste of space.

Having $5 to my name doesn’t help either, along with the fact that the pantry is empty and my refrigerator lacking in leftovers.  That $5 has now gone to a loaf of bread, eggs, and bacon.  I figure we can have breakfast for dinner and cross our fingers that the hardship 401K distribution I submitted for will hit the bank tomorrow.

And what of the men in my life?  The DWI’er doesn’t answer my messages, which leads me to believe one of three things: 1)He’s been taken into custody, 2) He’s skipped town, or 3)He’s gone back to being a self-proclaimed douchebag. For once, I don’t intend to give myself the blame for that line of communication breaking.  With each passing interaction, or lack thereof, I find I just don’t have the energy.  So, I guess we could go ahead and file that little tidbit under “it’s you”, can’t we?

The guy with the mystery girlfriend?  I haven’t heard from him either.  I suppose he’s trying desperately to decide if he wants to continue dating a woman with 4 hellion children, start dating a woman with 2 brilliant children, or be a sad singleton the rest of this life.

So where does the “it’s me” fall into all of this?  Well, I had a conversation last night with the last man whose heart I broke.  And it just so happens that I broke his heart over the previously mentioned not-so-singleton.  The irony isn’t lost on me, folks.  Not to worry.

So what happened, you ask? Well, I had been seeing this friend of mine on encounters of a more casual nature for about a month or so, when the prospect of getting together with the not-s0-singleton came up.  Remember, I had no clue of his being in a relationship at that time.  So, we spent the night together.  In the end, I felt somewhat guilty for doing so because I was in what my therapist would call a sexual relationship with the other.  Not a full-blown relationship, but a sexual one at least.  Honestly?  I didn’t know there was such a thing as a sexual relationship.  I just thought if you were committed to someone, you commit through and through.  And this particular sexual relationship? I thought had been established as friends with benefits from the very start.  The problem is, I think we both began to feel more than just casual toward one another – he having made it much farther past just casual than I, however.  So when I shared with him what I’d done (being the queen of honesty that I am) it sent him spinning.  And I have to admit, I wasn’t quite ready for his response.

Kind of interesting when you think I was all of a sudden standing in the very shoes of the guy who broke my spirit only months prior by doing the exact same thing.  Now, I’m not going to completely beat myself up over this because the distinction here is that I was in a committed, long term relationship with the guy who cheated, while the other was casually on the verge of becoming serious.  Still, I was an asshole in not realizing how deeply he was becoming attached.  How my actions were communicating something more than casual.  And maybe deep down, I wanted it to be more than casual, but I couldn’t tell you for sure even now.  All I know is, something prevents me from seeing myself with him.  Whether it’s fear of commitment or just a lack of chemistry, I don’t know.  What I do know is this: I enjoy the hell out of our conversations.  I love the way we flirt and I am absolutely in love with his intelligence and his sense of humor.

Could it be that I’m afraid to combine a sexual relationship with a meaningful one?  The fact that I was defining our friendship as strictly sexual from the very beginning might have had something to do with it.  Maybe this is how men feel when they have one-night-stands with women, then get turned off when the woman gets all mushy and wants more.  I guess for the first time, after truly being able to say I was engaging in a casual sex situation and able to take my feelings out of it, I got a taste for the conflict that can happen when closeness begins to develop.  Did Harry have it right? Can men and women never be friends?  Or should it really be, men and women can never be fuck buddies, because the love part always gets in the way.

What I can say is this: I’ve had a taste of the other side.  I’ve been the asshole.  And it really doesn’t suit me.

(Title from “Happiness is a Warm Gun” by the Beattles)

Pre-Cursor

I’ve been doing a good job of following Mary’s advice and staying busy, or “turning up the music”, to get my mind off the boys in my life.  There’s been a lot of outdoor work completed as a result, and I’m proud to announce that my book is finally in a shape worth sharing.  Not only is it in a shape worth sharing, but I’ve begun the fun and stimulating process of turning it into a screenplay.  In fact, I’ve been so obsessed with this process, that I find myself actually having to voluntarily shut my mind down before reaching a creative block.  But I didn’t come here to write about writing.  I came here to let out whatever happens to come through my fingers with regard to the previously mentioned boys.

First and foremost, I’ve been feeling that usual hormonal pull lately.  And I recognize more easily now, probably through the aid of medication, the things that I do during this time that can turn men off.  I reach out and invite them into my family.  Not literally, of course.  But visually, or narratively.  It might sound bizarre, but it’s an admission that I must make.  I know the reason I do it is biological…hormonal…chemical.  I don’t think any other time of the month I would have sent Jack (the boy with a secret girlfriend) a picture of me and my daughters with absolutely zero explanation for doing so.  My thought? It needed no explanation.  It was a gorgeous picture.  One I was proud to share.  The biological message was “look at this beautiful family – wouldn’t you like to be a part of it?”  Now you tell me, how many women in my position would even admit to something like that?  Granted, I didn’t come right out and say that, but the intention was there.  The feeling was there – buried deep.

And what of the waiter?  I sent him a link to some photos of how nicely our place has transitioned over the past year and a half with an underlying intended message of “run away and live here”.  Again, I didn’t attach those words to the message.  In fact, it was more surfaced than most messages I send him. “I thought you’d appreciate how far the house has come… oh and the fruit trees are going strong.”

I really don’t think either of these messages were taken so bluntly as my heart intended.  For one, Jack responded very sweetly that he loves black and white and it was a great picture.  And his messages that followed didn’t change in tone at all.  Granted, we got back onto the flirtation bandwagon, so that might have a little bit to do with it.  So why do I continue this charade? Is it because if he called tomorrow wanting to see me, I’d be all over it – girlfriend or not?  Is it because I just…need…sex?  And what of the waiter?  What if he did call me up and say “I want to play fugitive in your house”.  I have to admit, it’s a tempting prospect.

But here’s the deal: Neither of those things are going to happen.  It’s all fantasy…that thing we women do from a very young age.  We learn to believe in the fantasy.  We learn that our worth is wrapped up in it.  Who in their right mind would be okay with either of those scenarios?  Granted, I’ve been in a questionable state of mind many times in my life, but I’m definitely making a comeback.  If you’d have told me a week ago to have either fantasy about either of those guys, I might have laughed.  My sense of self-worth would have won the debate.  But bring on that thing we call mother nature, and all this woman wants to do is play house.  With anyone.

Just give me a week and I’ll be back to my normal, hormonally balanced self.

The Other Woman

Do you have those people in your life you just can’t shake off for one reason or another? In some cases they’re a constant intrusion on your time and your only recourse is to not respond at all? In other cases, it’s someone you kind of wish didn’t have the hold they have on you? I have to admit that for the first time I’m at a pretty even level in both regards. Boys seem to be getting the hint that I don’t like to be in constant contact, and conversely, I understand that men don’t like the feeling of a woman up in their business 24/7. Kind of interesting when you’ve finally found yourself on both sides of the fence, how easy it is to catch yourself being that person.

Okay, so where was I going with this?  Oh, right…. Jack.  Of Jack and Jill?  I’ve done a really good job of not being that person with him.  In fact, it hasn’t even been a struggle.  It just feels natural to not need to hear from him every day.  We talk when we talk still and the only time I ever found myself up in arms about not hearing from him was in that particular moment of weakness related in the above entry.  Another interesting point about this man is the lack of “future proofing” I’ve found myself doing.  What do I mean by that, you ask?  I mean, I don’t find myself trying to fit him into my life.  I’m not looking for ways to bring him into the mix.  I’m just glad to have the conversation I do have with him and the potential for more face-to-face time in the future.

So, why even have an entry dedicated to him? Because it’s new, that’s why.  I’m not used to having a sexual relationship with a guy who isn’t completely wrapped up in me and with whom I’m not compelled to wrap myself up with.  Granted, we’ve only seen each other once.  But the desire for more is evident on both sides (we’ve made plans to see each other this weekend) and our conversations are full and of a nice depth, as well as lightness.  I guess what bothers me is the fact that he was seeing someone when he initially approached me.  And then again, it doesn’t bother me. On the fence, I sit… which is usually when I find myself breaking shit down and coming to conclusions.  Popcorn anyone?

First of all, I like to think I have a great deal of self respect.  Actually, I don’t like to think that, I know it.  Regardless of crappy decisions I’ve made in the past, I always come out with my self esteem in check and a new badge of honor to my name.  So, does the fact that I continue to give this guy the time of day, in the knowledge that he’s having second thoughts about his current relationship, make me less of a person?  We’re always told the old standby “if he’ll do it someone else, he’ll do it to you”.  But I’m not even thinking in terms of being in a relationship with this guy at this point, so should it really matter?  I guess what I’m feeling uneasy about is the fact that, for all intents and purposes, I am the other woman.  And I don’t think I’ve ever been that person.

Here’s his deal: He’s been in a 2 and a half year relationship with a woman who has 4 children.  The relationship started mainly with just the two of them spending time together and before he knew it, he was knee-deep in kids, the ex-husband BS and future planning.  Until one day, he realized he was in too deep and feeling – from what I can see – suffocated.  Enter: Me. He says he saw in me a really cool woman and he believes his interest in me was a result of his own struggle to work through his issues – confront his demons.  He admitted that he’s pretty sure the family life is something he wasn’t ready for and he’s just looking for his freedom.  So, I guess you could say I embody that freedom.  Or at least, that’s my psychological assessment of things.

During our conversation today, I asked him what he wants and he flat out said that he’s not ready for the kind of everyday life a permanent relationship with this woman would mean.  So I did what I always do, and laid it all out there – brutally honest.  ”You’re being incredibly unfair not only to her, but to her kids.”  I think my honesty irritated him, only as much as he knows it, and has obviously been working out in his mind how he needs to proceed.

“So, I guess it would never work between us – being that I have kids, eh?” I asked.

He laughed.  We talked a bit about his views on it and I shared my understanding about the position that I’m in in that regard.  I don’t expect anything from this man.  A first for me.  I’m just glad that he’s in my life: friend, fuck buddy, whatever.  I’ve given a lot of thought to the fact that I am that woman.  And as much as I’ve mulled it over, put the shoe on the other foot, considered his reasoning, as well as my own… I’m okay with it.

The girl who couldn’t say no

Do you ever glance at your odometer and really take note of the miles? Not just the fact that you’ve accumulated almost 100K in the 2 years since you bought it, but also where those miles have taken you? I found myself on the way back from Austin this morning and noticed my little car had rolled over to 90K recently with very little fanfare. 92,000 miles? Where did the time and that distance take me? In that same moment “Dear Rosemary” by the Foo Fighters flooded through my speakers… “Truth ain’t gonna change the way you lie… youth ain’t gonna change the way you die.” And I cried. As hard as I’ve tried to change and make myself a better person, I find myself slipping back. I look back on the 10 years since I started writing – particularly the reason behind my decision to pick up the pen in the first place – and every time I have found myself in this space, it’s to deal with the fact that I am truly the kind of person who cannot say “no”. And I’m not talking in the illegal substances sense either.

I remember writing on my 35th birthday that I wanted to start slowing down and acting like an adult. I remember feeling really good about that desire and having confidence that I could, indeed, make it happen. Yet, I find myself quickly approaching my 37th, with a stomach churning in reflection of where those 2 years worth of “driving” have taken me. My six months of insane driving to and from Stone Oak I can chalk up to mere loneliness, but the rest of it? What the hell? Let’s put it this way… when your therapist looks you in the eye and says “that’s not normal, sweetheart” when she’s only been privy to a snippet of the entire 10-year journey, it makes you want to stop sharing all together for fear learning of how truly crazy you are.

My desire to write about my experiences has been as much about learning and growth as it has been about connecting with those who could relate, and maybe start a little community of heathens trying to pick up the pieces. But the more that desire to write takes over, the more I fear being judged, or worse yet, my children getting even a glimpse of where those miles have taken me. The fact is, the stories I have to share are the kind of stories I never want my girls to read and associate with their mother. Granted, I’d wish there were a way to use myself as an example of what not to do, but I don’t think I’m quite ready to have that happen. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about sheltering my children from reality. I want them to know that mistakes made are always an opportunity for change. I just feel like I’m living a lie sometimes and I hate myself for that. On the bright side, I know there’s hope for me. Each and every moment I’ve found myself in this position – this heap of self-loathing crap – I find a way to make something beautiful out of it and rise above. I suppose the key is going to be finding that moment when that beauty decides to leave and is replaced by something ugly and transient.

I’ve often thought that the key lies in the millions of words I’ve already written. Perhaps each time I’ve delved back into those words in various forms and venues, my reason for doing so was misguided. Maybe I need to search with the above in mind, that there is always a moment of darkness followed by a phase that brings me here – searching unflinchingly for a way to break the cycle. Something happens. After all, I’m not always an unthinking asshole. I know I’m a beautiful soul. I can accept complements about my depth of love for others and my ability to have incredibly meaningful friendships, because I know those are facts about me. They are innate. But I refuse to believe that the others can’t be killed off.

You’re impervious?

You know that moment when just a tiny bit of doubt creeps into your subconscious? It starts as just a speck. Tiny. Almost non-existent. But it’s there. You’ve felt it many times before. But you tell yourself that this time, your confidence will win the fight. You’re certain that any feelings of rejection or second-guessing that came before won’t this time because you’re in a better place. You’re impervious. No one and nothing can knock you down. But you’ve put yourself in this position by meticulously choosing how you think your relationships should look. By promising yourself that you really only want her for sex… or you really only want him for the friendship. Then reality hits and you were fooling yourself the entire time. What you really wanted was to just have someone.

Once upon a time there was a girl. We’ll call her Jill. Jill was a very strong-willed and intelligent woman (I know I said girl initially, but just roll with it) who happened to be in a really unhealthy relationship. One day, an acquaintance of Jill’s, we’ll call him Jack (creativity is lacking tonight as you can tell), reached out to Jill to see if she’d be interested in meeting him for coffee. There’s no doubt that Jill found Jack a bit intriguing, but being that she was in a committed relationship, she declined. He made a witty remark about waiting on the sidelines (more clever than stalker) and they kept in touch in a purely platonic way. Jack was very honest about his interest in Jill, but never pushed the issue and she liked that.

Time passed in this land of hills and pails of water, and before long Jill came to her senses and ended the aforementioned unhealthy relationship. It took her some time, but she eventually bounced back to life and for the first time Jack had the chance to see her energy and even commented on how much he liked it. Flirting ensued via text and phone, but there was never any great deal of pressure felt on either side to do anything about it. It was nice. Comfortable.

Eventually, the two made plans for a night together and what felt like the beginning of a clear-cut “fuck buddy” scenario. As an outsider looking in (more stalker than clever), the sex was incredible. And the next day had a very “ok it’s been great, time for you to go” feel to it. And they both seemed to be okay with that. There was zero weirdness. There was zero need for a phone call or a text. This was a first for Jill and she liked it.

After a visit with her therapist, Jill began to wonder about her approach to sex. Not the fuck-buddy part, but the fact that she rarely had a conversation with a sexual partner about STDs, birth control, etc. Jill’s approach had always been that as long as protection was used, that conversation wasn’t really necessary. Jill’s therapist was surprised at this and her surprise caught Jill off guard, mainly because Jill never really thought she was doing anything out of the ordinary, and the most recent person that this affected was Jack. So she felt obligated to drop him a text.

Jill: Do you think it was unnatural for us to just hop into bed without a conversation regarding STDs and birth control?
Jack: No silly! I’m clean, are you? Besides, I can’t have babies.
Jill: Well, I do have an STD, but I’m always safe. I’d never put another person at risk.

The conversation that followed via text was the most cool and understanding one Jill had ever had with a sexual partner regarding her STD. It was like she’d just told him what her shoe size was. Similar conversations with other sexual partners were very strained and humiliating. Jack… well… he was just laid back. Come to think of it, that’s how he seemed to approach everything.

More time passed and their communication was at the same level it had always been – not too much, not too little. She didn’t feel this overwhelming urge to hear from him, which again was a first for her. She’d always been told that the kind of guy who she didn’t feel like she had to hear from, would be a good one for her. And vice versa, of course.

Then something happened. It’s hard to pinpoint when exactly, but happen it did. If you’ve been there as many times as Jill has, maybe you’ve reached a point of knowing and can share your wisdom. Here’s the scenario going forward:

Jack sends Jill an unexpected and suggestive message to her work chat.
Jill doesn’t quite know how to respond, so she sends him a suggestive message via text.
Jack responds in kind saying he can’t wait for their next rendezvous.
Jill says Jack needs to get his ass into gear and make it happen.
Jack says “yes ma’am”.
…Aaaaand scene.

Nothing set in stone. No big deal. But the interest is apparent on both sides.

Until, a few days later Jill sends him a lighthearted message that she’ll be in his town on Saturday and he should put his money where is mouth is.

Jack doesn’t reply.

[Enter speck of doubt]

Jill sends another message a little later letting him know that she’ll be meeting some friends for drinks so maybe after?

Silence.

[Open Floodgates]

So why the silence? And why is her first assumption that he is playing games? But the million dollar question is… when did not hearing from him start to matter?