we should be able to write our ex's dating profiles

I'm dabbling again, seeing who and what is out there in the dating pool, cautiously sticking my toe into the water to find out if i will go swimming again.

It's not looking good, but honestly, i'm not trying very hard.  I almost feel like i've done my time, as it were, in romantic relationships.  When i say this to any of my female friends i get "you haven't had your great love yet.  it will come"  When i say this to my male friends they say "don't even bother, we are all assholes".  

Well that's the gist of it, if not the exact words. 

I feel that i have had two great loves, and that neither one was meant to last forever, and that they probably lasted a lot longer than they should have.  One, to have my beautiful children with, the other, to find my SELF with.  I don't know what i gave to them, or how i added or subtracted from their lives, and that is not for me to know.  

Maybe love really is like that plant i'm always hearing about, the one you have to water and fertilize forever, sometimes cutting the roots so it can flourish.......and sometimes it just withers away no matter what you do just because it is simply done.

Parting always hurts, but can i just say, dating is a different kind of pain?  Its like waxing.  Quick and uncomfortable and before you know it, you have to do it AGAIN.  The good part is you eventually develop a resistance to the discomfort however, i have yet to look forward to it.  Dating, or waxing.  To be clear.

I've come to the conclusion that dating sites are bullshit.  Pick one, they are all the same.  Women get flooded with "hi,hey,hello" and comments on "your lovely smile" or something to that effect.  Sometimes you get a stock letter, like when you are sending out resumes.......which no one reads either.  OR, maybe you get a smart alec who is trying way to hard to be funny, or endearing.  The same one will go on a warpath if you do not respond to said witticisms.  I don't think they have any idea how NOT original they are and how unattractive whiny "why won't you talk to me" is.  So it can get scary as well as tedious. 

Once in a while I hit on a man who is funny and articulate, who appears to be happy and have his act together.  Really.  It's true, i'm told they do in fact exist out here in dating world.  And then.......you find out why they are single.  Their dating profile failed to mention a few key facts.  Important ones.

This is why i feel like we should be able to write our ex's dating profiles, so that the details don't get conveniently lost.  Also, when they DO find a woman who will talk to them, and go out with them, they will be a match made on truths.  I find that truth saves time.  Here is my fictional man, made up of the dates and relationships i've had, explained to the average women who is just getting started out there.

Tag line:  Guess who's back?  Shady's back. 

Age:  a lot older or younger than what my pictures are showing

Location:  however far you are willing to drive to meet me

Intent: I would like you to have a relationship with me, just me, while i continue to search for the next best woman.  OR, i want to be exclusive with you for as long as you agree with me, and do everything for me.

Height: 2 inches shorter than whatever I tell you I am

Body type:  I, am balding but holding on to the hair i have left, have a flat ass and sagging balls. My legs are skinny with knobby knees topped by a beer gut.  My arms aren't strong enough for missionary for more than a minute or two so you will need to always be on top.  I hope you like it there.  

I am seeking: A model. She should be tall (or short) and blonde (or brunette, redhead) she should be slender but have a big butt and big boobs.  She should dress slutty, but not be too comfortable with her own sexuality.  She should be smart, but think what i tell her to.  She should have friends for when i want her out of my hair, but not expect me to actually know them.  She should be able to make any and all plans, which i will back out of if something better comes up.  Also, she should always be available for whatever I want to do, with a smile and no back talk.

Marital Status: Don't trust me on this, you will need to do a background check for sure

Interests:  Smoking copious amounts of weed, sitting in front of the television or on youtube, hanging out in the garage smoking more weed, hanging out with my buddies, smoking weed, Fixing muscle cars, bikes, motorcycles and snowmobiles.......as long as they aren't yours. Driving muscle cars , getting tickets, doing smoke shows, breaking parts, spending more money on muscle cars, bikes, motorcycles and snowmobiles.  I will always have money for muscle cars, motorcycles dirtbikes and snowmobiles, but i will never pay my bills on time or in full.  We will only go away for weekends or on vacation with other people. 

so why do i date at all?  Because i'm a romantic at heart, and I believe that someday.........maybe....i will find my third love.  For now though, i'm going to stop with the bullshit dating websites.  It feels more like i need to take a shower than swim with the fishes.... 

another one bites the dust.

I’m getting used to this.  Having another relationship break up, has not made it any easier.  But it’s familiar now, at least.  Not the end of the world like I used to fear it was.

He was as good to me as he could be.  I’m not sure he had a lot to go on, with how to treat a woman.  We both hadn’t been very successful in past relationships and this one was a really good try at it, but still no cigar.

I think some people THINK they want to share their lives with someONE, but they don’t want to sacrifice any of their wants or their time to the other persons wants.  There will always be one side that is constantly giving in to the other to keep things rolling smoothly.  And with that comes some frustration, and then bitterness.  I was getting really frustrated, so before I got to the bitter end, I ended it.

I moved away from my life to be with him.  It doesn’t seem like much but living an hour away from where you work and where your friends live, you minds well live in another state.  Getting together is a big deal.  Meeting for coffee isn’t worth the drive.  No more stopping in after work, or grabbing lunch on the weekend.  But.  I knew it wouldn’t be easy and I did it anyways.  I thought I was starting a new life. 

So, I did what I do and I cleaned, cooked, took care of the house as best I could.  I unpacked all my shit and decorated.  I bought what was needed to make life run smoothly.  And I contributed every month financially.  Then, I commuted two hours, five days a week in rush hour traffic.  I missed parties and gatherings I wanted to go to because I was going to be DAMNED if I showed up alone. Once, I had to trick him at the last minute before he could find a reason why he couldn’t go to a fire at a friend’s house with me.  But his family?  His friends? He was always available. No matter if we had plans or not.  I gained even more weight going out to dinner all the time because all he ever wanted to do was drive the cars……muscle cars that he restored.  If not drive them, work some more on them.  I teased that they were his girlfriends and THEN…… I wasn’t teasing anymore.

I started getting bitchy because the last thing I wanted to do was go for another long ass ride when that was all I did all week long. 

I felt like anything I wanted to do, never came to pass.  We were supposed to go on a trip to Niagra Falls- I’ve never been.  Guess what?  Still haven’t been.  Something always came up for him.  But he had been there with someone else before me, so.  If there’s one thing that pisses me off its being taken somewhere that used to be special with someone else.  Men can be so daft. And I’m too old to make excuses for it anymore. 

I can’t hold him being himself against him.  He’s a guy that loves cars and bikes. He said what he had to say to have me move in and I believed him.  I think he believed himself.  But that house was never going to be restored, and I was never going to be allowed to do anything to it without his approval.  And he didn’t approve of anything.  A few times I’d go ahead and do what I wanted, at my expense, to show him he could trust my judgement. 

He was never unkind to me.  When I had my surgery, he brought me.  He stayed with me.  He made sure I had what I needed.  That went a long way with me.  But he was set in his ways and my ways weren’t able to make an appearance to even try and merge.  What it came down to was that I was a pain in the ass tenant who wanted more than he was willing to give.  Himself.  Just a little.  Once again, I found myself in a situation where I felt invisible, powerless.  And this time, I packed my shit and left.

I felt horrible, but I knew it had to happen.  My timing also sucked, but that was out of my control.  I wanted to leave before it became what other romantic relationships had become, tears and screaming.  Just because we weren’t working didn’t mean I had bad feelings about him.  I wanted to keep it that way.

I did not keep contact.  I thought it would be unfair to keep interrupting his life when I had chosen to leave it.  I left it in his hands if he wanted to keep in touch.  Aside from asking about misplaced items he couldn’t find, he wasn’t.  I didn’t hold it against him.  I won’t say it didn’t hurt.  But, that’s what happens when people break up.

I love living alone.  I have more life now than I ever have before.  I go after what I want, no apologies. I do what I said I was going to do.  I won’t live the rest of my life waiting for anyone’s approval. 

I still have love for each of my ex’s for different reasons.  I love my ex husband for giving me my children.  I love my ex boyfriend of 13 years for showing me a side of myself I never would have found without him, and I love this last man, for making me take a leap of faith and proving to me that I was right to trust my gut.  True colors, they always show through eventually.

And that’s all I’ve got to say about that.

Dear Dad

 

 

I don’t know how many years it’s been since you passed. I don’t acknowledge your birthday, or death day because I can’t remember the dates.  I haven’t been to your grave since your funeral.  I might even have a hard time finding your grave.  I know I would.

 

But, I miss you. I think about you. I laugh about memories that come up, and so many have been coming up.  I compare men I meet to you.  I wonder if you would approve, or silently disapprove as you were so good at doing.  Would you be proud of me now? Or still waiting for me to “get serious”? 

 

You never told me you didn’t approve, your silence would be the message.  I knew I was in deep shit when you didn’t respond to me, acted like you didn’t see or hear me.  That worked better than any yelling ever could have.  It cut deeper.  Or you would tell my mother, “Kathy, blah blah blah” and then she would come at me with her screaming and hair pulling.  She never did that in front of you.  I think she knew you would stop her. 

 

You didn’t biologically create me.  You would watch me get picked up on random Sundays by my sperm doner and you never said a word in front of me about how you felt about it.  But you would be very quiet, while we all waited to see if he would actually appear.  And when it would finally become evident that he was NOT going to show this time (again) you would turn on again.  You would be your normal self and then I would be too.  I felt your relief as my own.  You never said you hated him, but I knew.  You never made me feel bad about him.  You never made me feel torn between you.  But you were always there when he was not.  Even when he was present, you were always “there”. No one could say you were not my father. You took me to court and gave me your name so you could legally call me yours, and so he could not leave me waiting for him on any more Sundays.

 

I moved back to New Britain after all these years and I’m perfectly comfortable.  At peace.  I find myself in Berlin most days because I’m so close to it.  I feel at home.  I remember living in Berlin with you and her on Porters Pass in the upstairs apartment.  I remember your friends and your roommate, Nate.  Oh I loved him so much because he gave me the Mrs Beezley doll.  He was so handsome, and his girlfriend was so pretty and nice.  Your other friends, The Greek, Potash…….those names stick in my mind.  Potash used to take me for rides in the Dune buggy on the sand pits down the street from your garage.  I have so many memories of that garage – of being sent to “find screws” in the back of the garage when  your friends on bikes would roll in, loud and exciting- the men riding them fascinating.  You didn’t like it when anyone swore or talked inappropriately around me, or my mother…….you thought women and children should be treated a certain way.  You were protective.  But I did get to go for rides on the bikes sometimes, so young that I sat in the front until I was big enough to hold on.  It wasn’t often, or far- but I believe it started my lifelong obsession with men who ride.

I don’t think you cared for that much. Or maybe you just wanted me to be treated well and kept safe.  You wanted me to “get serious” about school, about life

 

I remember waiting for you to come home at night hoping you would get there before I had to go to bed.  Your car would pull in and you would walk in the front door, covered in bondo.  I still love that smell.  You would pick me up and the dog, mopsy, would bark and jump and nip at my toes while you ran around with me laughing.  Then you would take me down the hall to my bedroom and throw me in the air to the bed, tuck me in, make sure my stuffed animal were in the correct place (I rotated) give me a big kiss and tell me to go to sleep.

 

Or the nights you came home at a normal time and would sit in your recliner, that yellow Lazyboy.  I would crawl  up onto the kitchen counter to reach the Calverts bottle on the top shelf of the cabinet and pour you a shot.  I felt important bringing you a shot and a beer.  That was my job.

I didn’t know what an alcoholic was then. I never knew the difference between drunk dad or sober dad until I saw you fling a plate of food at the wall during dinner one night and heard the words between you and her as I sat under the kitchen table where I automatically dove to be out of sight.  I have always learned so much when people have forgotten I am present.  “alcoholic” was learned in my kitchen sitting under the table.  And I knew it wasn’t a good word by the response it got.  Shocking and scary because it was totally unlike you to yell, to throw things.

 

I remember sitting at that same table in that same kitchen years later as a teenager telling you that you loved to drink more than you loved me.

And years later sitting at that same table in that sane kitchen smoking cigarettes with you while we discussed the people in rehab that I had met while visiting you there.

 

The drink got you in the end.  But that’s not what this blog entry is about.

 It’s about how many memories keep popping up because I’m living back in the area I first met you.  I went to the market we used to walk to the other day.  Its still there, owned by different people now.  I stood in the back ordering lunchmeat and looking at the same exact door to the meat freezer.  I felt like a little kid, with you holding my hand as you talked to the butcher.   I haven’t been able to drive by your garage- it’s still there.  I don’t know if Kenny is still running it- he has to be in his 70’s now.  The town is so different you wouldn’t know it as Berlin.  Central pizza is still there, and I got my sausage and mushroom pizza – thought about you. Its seems like most of my memories of you are in Berlin and thats weird because we didn’t live there a long time together before you and her bought the house in Middletown.  Maybe you were never at home in Middletown.  Maybe Berlin was yours.  Maybe that’s why I feel you there.

I was thinking I should go to your grave, find it. You are buried in New Britain as you requested.  But I’ve never been able to bring myself to go to your grave.

You were such an important part of my life, always there for me even when you didn’t have to be.  You and I had our quarrels, and I know that I pissed you off……..disappointed you with some of my choices.  And you disappointed me too at times.  I know you were sick, that you didn’t do it on purpose – that you struggled with alcohol just like your father before you.  I have your addictive personality even though we don’t share blood.  You raised me.  You did.  She maintained me, noticed me when it was convenient- used me, but YOU raised me.

I feel you everywhere like you are trying to tell me something.  I’m listening. 

here i go again

I'm reading a new book called "Power: surviving and thriving after narcissistic abuse" by Shahida Arabi.  I thought it looked interesting, and I've had it suggested to me by several people that one of my ex's is a Narcissist.  So i picked it up, thinking i'd take a quick look.

First chapter i can't help but take out a pencil and begin underlining what is reaching out and smacking me in the face -

You rationalize it, and minimize it, hoping it was just an off-color comment or misunderstanding (no one is ever going to mistake you for a model)

New people, as well as new forms of torment, begin to show up; he introduces them into the sacred space of your relationship.  He ignores you while he extols them; he demeans you while he praises them.  (Oh, I've been friends with her for years.  She's just a friend.  You over react.  You have me on a short leash.  Why can't you be more like her?)

You become needy for approval, for any scrap of kindness, any leftovers of sincerity, any inkling for the dream he once constructed of meeting someone who truly saw you.

Once, you binged on his affection, and now you are starving from his lack of praise.  You attempt to restrain yourself from feasting on the love of others while pretending to be satisfied with crumbs.

Closure is the only fairy tale, a myth, a legend.  The only true closure can come from within.

This is the type of love story where the happy ending lies in not finding Prince Charming.  Rather, it lies in the realization that he never existed at all.

After years of taking two steps forward and finding myself slipping back over and over again, of having people look at me with impatience and pity (if not outright anger) of learning to not speak of it, not out loud..........i am finally rounding a bend.  I'm taking active assessment of the damage that i allowed to happen to my self esteem, self worth. 

Because?  I didn't know any better.  I confused love with addiction.  Some are addicted to drugs, alcohol, sex.........i was addicted to him.  Still am.  Always will be.  Just like that cigarette I can never take one drag off without needing to smoke a pack a day.  He is something i cannot treat casually without the sickness returning.  I cant' have a phone conversation with him without him taking me to pain, or talking to me the same way he always did.....with disregard.  He reaches out to make sure i'm still trapped in the web.

I'm near it, but i'm running fast in the other direction.  I've hung around that web, trying to figure it out for too long. It's hard to realize that it was never about me, it was about my gullibility, my eagerness to please, my need to love and be loved....each of those characteristics an individual sticky strand that made up the web he wrapped me in. Until he decided to find a new web.

I believe people can change if they want to.  If they realize what needs changing, and growing and make that conscious effort to do so.  But sadly, many won't take a long hard look at themselves, let alone try to improve, or become a better person.  It's safe to say that men like him don't change themselves, they change their audience, their location........but not themselves. 

I'm always going to remember the love, (manipulation) and the times i was treated well (when he wanted something) and that is the part that has ruined my ability to love that deeply, that freely again.  These scars, this sadness will eventually disappear for good and stop popping up when i least expect it to..........but the trust, that will never return.

Women Only

 

My daughter told me I can be really mean.  I’ve learned to filter my “honesty” into gentler words, or better, simple silence.  Years and experience have taught me silence can’t come back and embarrass you at a later date.  Anger has a way of unlocking the ugliness and it comes out BIG and unforgiving. 

 

Anger is also a waste of time at this point in my life.  It serves no purpose.

 

So, when it hits me and becomes unreasonable, I talk out loud to myself.  Crazy?  Not the talking, but probably most definitely the content.  Then it works itself into sense as it circles down and the sides become smoother……...it’s almost always the same things that bring me to anger.  I’ve had practice.  I know how this goes now.  Without knowing, I’m going to say that this is part of being an introvert.  When I try and “work it out” with another person while this anger is in my throat all I do is escalate, and then…….shut down. 

It’s funny, in a not a haha way, that I’ve had two very serious conversations recently regarding friendship and changes.  Realizations.  These conversations led me to thinking about how I feel, approach, act in my own relationships. 

The last few years have taught me that I have a circle of women that stand by me through thick and thin, even when it’s difficult, especially when it’s difficult.  That they sacrifice, do not judge, offer comfort, offer wine – laughter and tears without me even having to ask.  And when the occasion arises that I do need to ask for help, they are there without question.

Friends I haven’t seen very often, but have known for decades.  Friends that I see daily.  Women that have been my backbone when mine was jello.  Women who get angry for me when I can’t muster it myself.  Also, women who tell me to knock it the hell off. 

If you cannot be open, honest, loving- with your circle why are you in it?  If I have to hear hard truth I want it to come from someone who loves me and has my back.  If I’m in need of redirection because I’m acting a fool, I want it to come from a friend.  And they do.  They love me enough to make me angry.  They love me enough to tell truth when it hurts.

When I obsess over the past, which I do tend to do, I am reminded by them of of how far I have come.  When I want to do things that I will certainly regret, I am warned that I will regret it, and of how far I have come. 

I don’t have to change who I am or be perfect or have a perfect life.  Nor do they.  We just are who we are and we accept that and more, love that.  We celebrate the differences and rely on them. 

I do not know how any woman gets by in life without her girlfriends. 

There was a time in my life that all I had was my husband.  And look how that ended.  Even after years of isolating myself from the women in my life, they rallied and stood behind me.

 

Because that is what we do.

 

 

When my life exploded 2 years ago, it didn’t matter that I was a hot mess that could barely put a sentence together without having a breakdown.  They rallied.  They took over.  They would have tied me up in a basement to keep me away from what I thought I needed.  They gave me time to see sense.  And light.

Because that is what they do.

When I want to write about things that have been a topic in my life for entirely too long and take up too much space, they stand by me, telling me to let it go.  Make space.  Let in the light.  The past is gone and has taught me what I needed to get where I am.

 

Why write this blog when to many women it is obvious?  Because not all DO know how important our female friends are.  How they are the difference between living a life and surviving one.  Because there are actually women out there that believe “women are drama”………….if so, it’s coming from you.   Truly.  If you “get along better with men” why not just admit that you only feel special when a man is paying attention to you.  And that you are intimidated by women.  That you haven’t found your own voice yet or the strength the use it if you feel like there won’t be agreement.  Or maybe you were born a man and just need to go ahead and get that changed.  Women who degrade other women with misogynistic comments like “women are drama” and “I get along better with men” have self-esteem issues.  I feel for you and hope that one day you find your Self and find sisterhood with your female counterparts.  

I want to shout this from the rooftops.  So, YOU……say what you need to say.  Be who you are.  Love freely and without reserve.  Let your girlfriends know you love them and are there for them and BE THERE.  Be strong. 

What if

What if I'm meant to be alone in order to be happy with myself?

What if, when i come home from work I cook myself a lovely dinner and sit down to it with a glass of wine and quiet contemplation.

Maybe even put on some relaxing music, lights some candles... rip off my bra. 

Dance around while i'm cooking?

Sing?

Clean up, if i feel like it.

Go to bed at 8:00pm because i like the warm softness of my blankets and the feeling of floating on clouds. 

Or stay up late watching "real" tv........because it's so ridiculous and entertaining.  Curled up on my couch in comfy pj's that are pretty too. 

Or search the web for more recipes to try, more life hacks, more decorating ideas, more projects i can do by myself, more places i'd like to go.......or stalk my ex's and try not to laugh.  Or cry.

Or......stare at a wall.

Maybe call a friend to come visit, so we can sit at my kitchen table and talk, laugh.  Or cry. 

Or call a friend and stop over their house to revel in the noise, the color, the activity of family life.  And then go home and appreciate my space of  one.

Long for my granddaughter.

My own children.

Maybe on Saturdays i'll get up early and go grocery shopping, take a walk on a trail, join an early morning yoga class....

After I can meet up with a friend for coffee before going home to do chores. 

Get dressed up, a little more makeup than usual, some perfume - go out.  To the movies, to dinner, to a concert, a show, a friends house..........it's the weekend, i'll go alone or with many.

Sleep in late on Sunday, hang around in pj's reading books, cooking or gardening.  Listening to music - dreaming. 

Talking on the phone, making plans to see people i love and miss.  Planning to travel.  So i can again come home to "my" space of peace and happiness.

It's time for me.  To be just me.  Boring, or dramatic, or needy or happy, sad, mad, glad.  Just. Me.

because its not about you

Some people have punching bags.  I have my blog. 

I’m looking for is a way to pop the emotional zit that gets larger and takes up more space than it should whenever I try to pretend it’s not there. 

Time to get popped bitch.

My present life? Can’t ask for more without being greedy. Situations have changed in my work so that I no longer need to barricade myself behind a sign, or dread the opening of my office door.  So that’s good.  Our home is slowly but surely taking on the look of a couple living there, and my relationship is the kind where fighting is anticlimactic.  We get annoyed.  We go to our separate corners.  We come back and appreciate that there is literally no drama.  It’s kind of weird and honestly I’ve considered going back to my therapist to help me accept that I’m in an adult relationship with a fully grown man.  Which requires me to be a fully grown woman.

Dammit.

Am I happy? I am satisfied.  Many times, more often than not, I feel a surge of appreciation and lightness.  I feel a sense of security – in myself.  Blind trust isn’t something I’m lucky enough to experience but thus far, that wall of protection has been steadily chipped away by his reliable presence of actually wanting to be here. with me. Sharing our life.  that’s good too.

I still need more time alone than what others might consider “normal”.  I am easily drained by other people. I’ve become more selective of where my energy is actually spent. I’m taking care of my needs and paying attention to myself. 

Like physical therapy.  Holy. Shit.  Yes, that hurts!  But then, days later I find that it worked so I go back for more.  They’ve made an incredible difference in how my body feels and works from the inside.  I can move in ways I haven’t been able to in…decades maybe?  Click click, poke and electrocute …..wam bam I’m almost a person who can do things again!  Like walk.  Without pain.  Most of the time. I’ve even added deep tissue massage to the regiment and let me tell you…..sigh.  I got the word today to join a gym and start moving. 

Not so a man will think I’m worthy or attractive enough for him.

So I can feel good and be healthy – you know.  For me.  Mike tells me I’m beautiful every day.  The gym is for me.  But still not cleared for yoga.  Yet. I can’t wait to feel physically good again.  I see it around the corner….

My pain is literally in my past and yet it keeps rearing its ugly head when I least expect it.  Its emotional.  I didn’t ask for it, or call it back.  It just happens. My dreams are vivid again and angry.  There is no peace.  There is no SENSE.  Just emotional pain and a whole lot of anger.  And embarrassment.  And anger.  A lot of anger.

So. Did I mention anger?

Below this I went on a tirade of fuck you’s and you did this and that and blah blah blah but I am smart enough to step away now because I know everything is temporary.  It felt good to type it out but not so good to read it back to myself. 

Here’s the lesson I’m learning on the daily – everything takes time and not everything needs to be said.  Especially when it doesn’t matter anymore.

It may take years for me to detox.  But it’s happening.  Most people are complex and can have feelings for many or more than one person at a time and still manage to act honorably.  Loyally.  I can have residual feelings for what I thought someone was to me. Seems like love is always the easiest to erase and anger just wants to hang on forever. But there is no such thing as forever.  Everything ends and then new things begin and the cycle goes on and on.  Someone with strong character and a loyal heart, that’s the person I aspire to be, that is my goal.  Not dwelling in a past that cant change.  That truly is a waste of time.

Who you are, what you think, how you feel and remember things is up to you.  Not mine to carry.  So – dreams be banished and replaced with goals for the future events, relationships, lessons and living……I’m on my way.

Finally

My voicemail has been full for .......a long time.  I haven't listened to messages in probably over a year.  Today, i not only listened to but deleted the majority.  I'm proud of me.

I didn't want to listen to what i should delete but didn't want to just delete everything without listening.  So.  I finally did it.

Now i feel stupid for stressing about something that was nothing.  Sometimes I build up things in my head to be a lot bigger than they are, or ever were.

I need room on my voicemail so i can get new messages.

On that note, i looked up my previous address online to see if there are still pictures and there they were, from when it went on the market.  My little house that i loved so much.  I showed Mike and while i was doing so i realized that I love our home.  It's old, it has character, it has details that others don't have and it needs love and attention.  Like us.  It's our, big home. 

Funny to think that things that meant so much, that filled my need in the past have been surpassed in my present.  I didn't even know i could hold so much in my life without having to fight for it.

Its when i stopped fighting and projecting that i finally found my happiness.  The fear of losing it is no longer larger than the joy of having it.

Finally.

It's a facial. Really.

Sitting at home literally, is making me a bit......not myself.  Surgery on my foot means hopping along with a walker (yes, a walker) because putting pressure or weight on my foot is a bigggg no no.  Fuck me.  I never appreciated being able to walk on two feet as much as i should have. 

My hands hurt more than my ankle, so sitting seems to be the goal.  I sit.  and i sit some more. It's not too bad when Mike is here because he talks to me, but once he goes to work i'm slipping into the coma of television, or ....Sims.  I admit it.  If i can't live in reality i'm gonna do it on the computer with made up characters.  I create the characters so i can build them houses.  Thats my favorite part so i'm not too ashamed or concerned.

Time alone gives you all this extra space to think.  Think, chew on it, get mad, get sad, feel relieved, grateful, bored, regretful and grossly happy.  Within the space of moments .  Because, normally that's all anyone really has to give to useless thoughts when there is SHIT TO DO. 

But.  When you are perfecting the art of sitting...thoughts take their time walking across your brain and sometimes they even turn into ideas.  Not all ideas are good ones.  Especially when in that moment you are visiting the past and you act on it in the present as if you can time travel.

Do not bust someones ass who you have not spoken to in a long time.  It isn't welcome.  It isn't okay.

See?   I learn something new every day even just sitting and staring at the wall! 

My sense of humor can be, harsh?  yeah.  Harsh.  But i think it's directed more at myself than outwardly most of the time.  No one can tear me down better than myself.

Blogging, writing it out, is mostly a good thing for me.  It might not be coherent to others, but thats fine, it doesn't need to be.  The problem with a lot of writing is a lot of thinking and mostly my thinking runs in circles, no cycles....it runs in cycles. 

And then i finally hit on a thing that has had scabs over it for so long that picking at it makes it bleed all over the place and i have to do something about it.  So i write, i rework, i remember, i forgive.  I don't forget, but i forgive.  It's all about releasing the toxins in my thoughts into writing and not holding it in my physical self taking up space. 

If you've ever had a facial you know that your skin feels fantastic when you leave the spa HOWEVER within hours your face can begin to break out in at least one of two pimples that were waiting there, below the surface, waiting for you to clear the way for their arrival.

Blogging is like that.  For me.  I take something out, look at it, put it into perspective, and then send it on its way.  The problem is, that makes room for more somethings to look at.  Again, and again. 

I'm kinda hoping that the somethings will eventually come to nothings so i can use that room to store the good things that are happening to me now.....for future reference.

So blogging is like a facial. Did you expect me to be poetic? 

Texting, is a privilege and  honestly, i'm putting myself on restriction.  At least until i can get to the spa for a full body massage.

She didn't want to

Harvey Weinstein.  I find it so perplexing that anyone would think what he did wasn't rape.  Or at the very least sexual assault.   Why didn't these women speak sooner?  They got what they wanted in return for sex.  If it was rape why didn't they call the police when it happened?  These aren't uncommon thoughts and questions from decent, intelligent people.  Unless you have experienced rape, or sexual assault or know someone close that has, it is difficult to wrap your mind around the nuances of what rape really is.  or can be.  

Rape doesn't have to involve having a gun held to your head, or a knife to your throat by a stranger.  I think everyone agrees that rape doesn't have to be perpetuated by a stranger.  It can be by someone the "victim" knows, trusts, even loves.  While that may be accepted as possible, the fact that no threat of death or serious bodily injury is not.  And yet...it happens. 

I lost my virginity without my consent.  There were no threats, no violence.  Nothing more than one minute I was saying no, no, no and he simply did not listen.  I knew him, he was my boyfriend for a short time.  He was experienced where I was not, he was assertive, where I was not.  Making out felt wonderful.  I had hormones that were beginning to rage but I still didn't know what to do with them or how to control them.  I didn't think ahead to what comes next.  I was having too much fun being a virgin and the idea of actual sex struck terror in my heart.  I didn't want to get pregnant.  I didn't want to get caught.  I didn't want him to go around talking about it after.  I didn't want to be labeled a slut.  I had a lot of reasons "why not" and none of them ever came to fruition.  My fears about having sex were not as bad as how I felt having him ignore "no" and go ahead and force himself inside me.   

Was it my fault?  I had been making out with him heavily, having no issue with it.  I wasn't shy.  I just didn't want to have actual sex.  So, did he have a right to do what he did?  Did I lead him on, get him too excited...did he misunderstand "no"?  Did I call the police or my parents or my best friend when he was done?  No.  I lay there feeling like I had done something wrong.  I had.  Not him.  I didn't cry in front of him or act like I was bothered in any way.  I pulled up my pants, went and cleaned myself up and didn't make eye contact with myself in the mirror as I chastised myself for putting myself in a situation where something like that happened.  And then, I carried on like nothing had happened.  I was never alone with him again and we broke up shortly after.  I didn't tell anyone but the man who would turn out to be my husband, now my ex husband.  It was years later and it was because I had some issues, who would have guessed.  I told my daughter years later, as a way to warn her of placing herself in situations where she might not be safe.   

Is that rape?  I think It's called date rape now.  I'm not sure what the difference is.  I had a dick in me when it wasn't invited.  Whatever it's called. 

There is no way for  me to be gentle about talking about , writing about, what happened to me as a teen.  A Long ass time ago.  But I will tell you for certain that the memory is crystal clear as if it happened yesterday.  And that isn't the only one. 

Without going into an entire novel, I will make this short.  My mother hated my boyfriend, who would become my husband.  She didn't want us seeing each other because she found out we were in fact sexually active and she had issue with it.  We found ways around her to see each other and one of them was to wait until she went to bed at night and he would come see me. I slept in a walk out basement. Sometimes I would go down to the park and meet him where he would wait to see her bedroom lights go off.  There were other people there sometimes and I knew most of them.  They knew who he was, and what we were up to.  It wasn't a secret among peers. 

One night there was a light tap on my door.  I hadn't been expecting my bf but it was part of the elaborate signals that we had set up so I opened the door.  There was this guy I knew from the park.  He was older, out of high school.  He had always been nice to me.  He asked if he could talk to me and I said yes and sat down on the stoop with the door open behind us.  He sat down next to me and began talking about what was going on in his life, and I listened, because that is what I did then, and what i do now.  He asked for a hug goodbye and I gave it to him........and from there it turned into a silent tussle of me trying to get out of his embrace and him backing me into my bedroom.  We hit the floor which was cement and i started crying with his hand over my mouth grabbing at me and telling me he knew I wasn't going to make a noise and get my mother down there....she would know I was having "boys" come to my room at night and then what would happen?  He hit the nail on the head, if i yelled, she would come and she would find out about me seeing my bf and put a stop to it.   

We struggled silently, him trying to get at me and me not being the docile girl he expected.  I was screaming in my head but silent during the altercation.  No. No. No.  Stop. Stop. Stop.  I was crying.  He stopped.  He got up, stood over me and called me a cock tease.  I told him to get out.  He did.  I got lucky.  This time, I told no-one what happened.  I didn't tell my bf because I thought he'd be mad at me.  I didn't tell my mother because i didn't want to lose the ability to see my bf and I truly believed it was my fault that it happened at all.  I shouldn't have opened the door.  I shouldn't have sat there talking to him.  I shouldn't have hugged him.  I made myself responsible for his shitty attack on me.  I'm not alone. 

I consider myself lucky.  I'm a 50 year old woman and aside from a few unwanted ass grabs and a few "accidental" brushes of my breasts, I've escaped any sexual violence.  I live in a country where women are supposedly valued and treated fairly.  Yet, even now, rape and sexual assault seem to be on a sliding scale of you asked for it on one end and you were attacked at knife point by a stranger at the other end. 

There is a a whole lot of middle there.   

Does that make it okay? 

I say no. 

What do you say?