I’ve blogged before about my depression and anxiety. In early April, I went to my doctor for a check-in about my medicine, and at that time things still weren’t that good. She told me it was probably time to go to a therapist, and she gave me some names.
I never called them. I meant to. I had highlighted the ones that took my insurance and told myself I’d do it on my late day, before I went in to work.
But I weirdly started to feel really good. I still can’t pinpoint what changed, and I’ve kind of decided to stop trying to figure it out. Whatever it is, I’m glad it happened. Of course, I’m a person, and I still have bad moments and bad days, and I’m still sad and panicky and upset, but by and large I’ve felt great the last few months.
I’ve never been an outside person. I got hot easily, I burned easily, and the heat and brightness gave me headaches. I still get hot and burn, but I don’t get headaches anymore. The breeze and the sounds and smells of outside are worth the heat and the need to wear sunscreen.
It was always hard for me to make and keep plans. Whenever it got to the actual day of the plans, I’d get nervous, and half the time I’d end up cancelling them. The other half I’d go out, but be nervous the entire time. Lately, though, I want to do all the things. I want to go to trivia and dances and shows and fun dinners. I want to make positive memories with my friends.
I’ve always been self-conscious about my body. I internalized a lot of Western beauty standards. My face was never pretty enough. My smile was never symmetrical enough. There was too much fat in too many places on my body. The least I could do to make myself more bearable to look at was shave my legs. I did an experiment in the Fall where I stopped shaving my legs, to see how long I could go without being annoyed by it. I ended up shaving them in late February in an attempt to impress someone (it didn’t really work), and I haven’t shaved them since.
You know what I’ve found? No one noticed. Only people that I told about my shaving strike noticed my legs at all. I’d also read many times before that we see ourselves as less attractive than we are. Somehow, it just clicked with me. Sure, I don’t think I’m anything to write home about, but I’ve stopped worrying about what I see in the mirror and started just thinking about how I feel. I own a fair number of rompers and jumpsuits now, which are two styles of clothing I wouldn’t be caught dead in for fear of looking chubby. But who cares? I feel good in them, and my friends think I look good in them, so fuck everyone else. Those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.
Another thing I’ve had trouble with for a long time is trust. No one recently has done anything to warrant me being suspicious of them, but past bad experiences have made me naturally distrustful. This has made me act clingy and ask ridiculous questions. This is something that also clicked with me lately. I’ve taken care for the last four or so years to surround myself with trustworthy people, and it’s finally sunken in. No one that I’ve gotten close to since I left the bad relationship is lying to me. Every one of them wants to be around me. None of them are talking to me or hanging out with me because they feel bad. I’ve also been able to internalize the fact that not everyone shows affection in the same way. Just because someone doesn’t message me the amount I want them to doesn’t mean they don’t like me. It just means they don’t message very much.
I hope that this isn’t temporary. I hope that I stay a happy, confident, out-in-public person. I have a sneaking suspicion that one day I’ll wake up and have snapped back into my old personality. I’ll go back to being a nervous wreck and a Debbie Downer. But until then, I want to be outside feeling pretty and enjoying my friends!
Sunday, July 15, 2018
Saturday, December 30, 2017
Four Years Ago Today...
I was assaulted.
It started innocently enough. I made plans to hang out with someone I went to middle school with. I had also seen this person throughout high school, even though I went to public elementary and middle school and Catholic high school. My high school was all-girls, so naturally we needed to ship in boys to perform the male roles in plays, and this person was a drama person. We were also both hosts at the 99 (where I no longer worked when this happened). I’d been to his house for several parties, and had gone to see Les Miserables with him when it was in theaters.
Anyway. We made plans to hang out at his house, which, as I said, I’d done before. I got out of work at 5, and I was going to go right there and we’d order dinner.
I got there, in my sweater, leggings, and nearly knee-high boots. He let me pick what movie we watched. I picked Adventureland. We talked for a while, and I was getting hungry, but I didn’t want to be rude. We talked about a lot of things, among them my abusive ex-boyfriend. He asked why nothing had ever happened between he and I when we worked together, and I explained that I had a boyfriend, so the potential attractiveness of other people wasn’t even on my radar. Perhaps I should have left after that.
But I didn’t. We kept talking. I’m assuming it was harmless stuff, because I don’t remember it. But maybe I blocked it out.
Out of the blue, he tried to kiss me. I backed up, and suddenly he was on top of me. To paint a better picture, he is at least twice my weight. And I am now stuck underneath him. He keeps kissing me, and suddenly whispers in my ear, “The best thing about absolute power is giving other people the illusion that they have any power at all.” At this point, I’m crying, and can’t get any words out because I’m freaking out. He is, after all, twice my size. Which means he’s almost three times the size of my ex-boyfriend, the abusive one. I know what someone 1/3 his size is capable of, and I’m horrified by the potential he has to hurt me. Plus, no one else is home. No one can come help me anyway.
This part my brain definitely blocked out. He somehow got my pants and underwear off, and was going down on me. I’m still crying and freaking out, because I obviously know what he’s going to do next. He moves his head away from me and starts to unbutton his pants, and suddenly he’s apologizing because he can’t keep it up. He’s handing me my pants and underwear back. I throw them back on quicker than I’ve ever thrown them on before, and while I’m putting my boots on, he tells me that we should do it again sometime. All I can manage to do is shake my head, because no no no absolutely not. So he tells me I owed it to him, because he listened to me talk about my life. I didn’t even put my coat on, I just grabbed it and left.
He did bite me while he was going down on me, and I had a teeth-shaped bruise for almost a month. It hurt to drive and walk for a few days, because of how high up it was and the fact that I don’t have a thigh gap. The next day, as you may have guessed, was New Year’s Eve. My brother and I had already planned to watch the girls (A, A, and S, who I’ve mentioned in previous posts), so we did that, but I’ve never felt like doing anything less in my life. Shortly after that, the next residency of my graduate program started. I told my friends there what happened, and I presented it as funny, because I hadn’t truly processed it.
I didn’t let anyone touch me for a year and a half. I probably still haven’t processed it enough, because thinking about it is scary and painful. Sometimes I feel like a poser for being so affected by it, when other people’s assault stories are worse. But I’m trying to get better about knowing that other people’s bad experiences doesn’t mean mine wasn’t also bad.
I’ve been asked why I didn’t press charges, and it’s because I honestly just want it to go away. I don’t want to spend time and money to likely have nothing official come of it, and I don’t want things I did when I was younger used as proof that I somehow asked for this.
I did, about five or six months later, ask him to apologize. He read the Facebook message, but never responded to it. Now I have him blocked.
The reason that I’m posting this is so that other people this happened to might be less afraid to say something. We all deserve to be treated with respect. This is also why I don’t like New Year’s.
However, Happy New Year.
It started innocently enough. I made plans to hang out with someone I went to middle school with. I had also seen this person throughout high school, even though I went to public elementary and middle school and Catholic high school. My high school was all-girls, so naturally we needed to ship in boys to perform the male roles in plays, and this person was a drama person. We were also both hosts at the 99 (where I no longer worked when this happened). I’d been to his house for several parties, and had gone to see Les Miserables with him when it was in theaters.
Anyway. We made plans to hang out at his house, which, as I said, I’d done before. I got out of work at 5, and I was going to go right there and we’d order dinner.
I got there, in my sweater, leggings, and nearly knee-high boots. He let me pick what movie we watched. I picked Adventureland. We talked for a while, and I was getting hungry, but I didn’t want to be rude. We talked about a lot of things, among them my abusive ex-boyfriend. He asked why nothing had ever happened between he and I when we worked together, and I explained that I had a boyfriend, so the potential attractiveness of other people wasn’t even on my radar. Perhaps I should have left after that.
But I didn’t. We kept talking. I’m assuming it was harmless stuff, because I don’t remember it. But maybe I blocked it out.
Out of the blue, he tried to kiss me. I backed up, and suddenly he was on top of me. To paint a better picture, he is at least twice my weight. And I am now stuck underneath him. He keeps kissing me, and suddenly whispers in my ear, “The best thing about absolute power is giving other people the illusion that they have any power at all.” At this point, I’m crying, and can’t get any words out because I’m freaking out. He is, after all, twice my size. Which means he’s almost three times the size of my ex-boyfriend, the abusive one. I know what someone 1/3 his size is capable of, and I’m horrified by the potential he has to hurt me. Plus, no one else is home. No one can come help me anyway.
This part my brain definitely blocked out. He somehow got my pants and underwear off, and was going down on me. I’m still crying and freaking out, because I obviously know what he’s going to do next. He moves his head away from me and starts to unbutton his pants, and suddenly he’s apologizing because he can’t keep it up. He’s handing me my pants and underwear back. I throw them back on quicker than I’ve ever thrown them on before, and while I’m putting my boots on, he tells me that we should do it again sometime. All I can manage to do is shake my head, because no no no absolutely not. So he tells me I owed it to him, because he listened to me talk about my life. I didn’t even put my coat on, I just grabbed it and left.
He did bite me while he was going down on me, and I had a teeth-shaped bruise for almost a month. It hurt to drive and walk for a few days, because of how high up it was and the fact that I don’t have a thigh gap. The next day, as you may have guessed, was New Year’s Eve. My brother and I had already planned to watch the girls (A, A, and S, who I’ve mentioned in previous posts), so we did that, but I’ve never felt like doing anything less in my life. Shortly after that, the next residency of my graduate program started. I told my friends there what happened, and I presented it as funny, because I hadn’t truly processed it.
I didn’t let anyone touch me for a year and a half. I probably still haven’t processed it enough, because thinking about it is scary and painful. Sometimes I feel like a poser for being so affected by it, when other people’s assault stories are worse. But I’m trying to get better about knowing that other people’s bad experiences doesn’t mean mine wasn’t also bad.
I’ve been asked why I didn’t press charges, and it’s because I honestly just want it to go away. I don’t want to spend time and money to likely have nothing official come of it, and I don’t want things I did when I was younger used as proof that I somehow asked for this.
I did, about five or six months later, ask him to apologize. He read the Facebook message, but never responded to it. Now I have him blocked.
The reason that I’m posting this is so that other people this happened to might be less afraid to say something. We all deserve to be treated with respect. This is also why I don’t like New Year’s.
However, Happy New Year.
Monday, November 6, 2017
I miss my uncle
My mother went to URI, where she played cymbals in the school band. On her way to band practice at the beginning of her first semester, she met another young woman who twirled baton in the school band. That woman’s name was Holly. She and my mother became best friends, to the point where my brother and I called both her and her sister Auntie.
Auntie Holly and Auntie Donna were super fun. I got to sleep over at their house a few times. They had a fluffy cat named Lacey, and the guest room was called The Disney Room. It was, as you might guess, covered with Disney paraphernalia, most of it found on one of their annual trips to Disney World. Most of the time when she came over, we went to the Disney store. She was always down to talk about princesses, and always found the coolest gifts. Her and her sister even accompanied us on our family vacation to Disney World when I was in fifth grade.
Auntie Holly never had a boyfriend (or a girlfriend, for that matter). She’d had some before (and was apparently not into girls), but she was single my entire life. Until my mom’s 4th of July party after my junior year of high school. She brought a guy with her, whom she’d been dating for a while (I think almost a year). Since she had been single for so long, she wanted to wait to make sure it was *for real* before she told everyone. I feel her, but I’m so impatient I would never be able to keep a secret like that for any length of time.
Anyway. This man’s name was John. He had a nice smile, and a deeper voice than I expected from someone so skinny. He seemed nervous, which was silly to me because nobody on that deck was intimidating in any way.
My high school boyfriend and I were instantly won over, because he had a tattoo of the devil on his left arm. He talked with us about music we liked and tattoos we wanted, and it was great.
After that party, he came over every time my aunt came over. I liked him more and more each time I saw him. I’ve never been a super touchy person, and after I was sexually assaulted I was even less so, but I never minded a hug from him. I made mistakes as a young adult, some of them pretty big, but he never made me feel like I was a bad person.
He and my aunt got married six years ago. They’d already moved in together, and their wedding was at their house. They’d found a house with enough space for her father and sister to move with them (all three of them had lived together before). I also learned that his oldest daughter was not his biological daughter, but he had adopted her when he married her mother. He has something like seven or eight daughters (with several different ex-wives), and he has good relationships with all of them.
About a year ago, he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. My aunt waited to tell my mother, because it happened right after my grandmother got diagnosed with ovarian cancer. He found it earlier than people usually find it, and thus he was given more time. He decided to try some sort of off-the-books treatment which required him to do super fun things like get coffee enemas, and also required a trip to Mexico for surgery and a bizarre diet of basically nothing that tastes good.
I think he expected it to be a magical, miracle cure, but it wasn’t. He still felt like shit, and he still had to keep up with the diet and the coffee enemas. (I’m sorry to harp on that, I just can’t imagine what that must be like. It probably smells so good, and it’s a pity that such a delicious smell must have been associated with pain, or at the very least discomfort.)
On Friday night, my Uncle John died. The last time I saw him was my mom’s 4th of July party last year. He didn’t come this year because he didn’t feel well, and every time my mom and brother went to visit him I was working. I regret that the last thing I ever said to my uncle was that I was a pickle. I was skipping out on the party to go to Cirque du Soleil with my then-boyfriend, but I also just plain hate my mom’s 4th of July party. He still gave me a huge hug, though. He still didn’t make me feel like a bad person for doing something different than my parents wanted.
I feel sad for my aunt. It took her a long time to find love, and she only had it for twelve years. She built a life around a man who is now gone, and she has to figure out what pieces of that life she can afford to keep.
I feel sad for my mom, who lost a good friend.
I feel sad for Uncle John’s daughters. He was undoubtedly a great dad.
But mostly I feel sad for me. I didn’t get to see him often, but I loved my Uncle John. He was cool and funny and smart in a way that seemed so effortless. His presence was so casual and comforting.
I have never felt such unconditional love from anyone, let alone a man who didn’t have to love me at all.
I miss my uncle, and it’s not fucking fair. There are terrible people who do terrible things, and they live to be old and grey. My uncle was great, and he was in pain for a year and died before fifty-five.
Auntie Holly and Auntie Donna were super fun. I got to sleep over at their house a few times. They had a fluffy cat named Lacey, and the guest room was called The Disney Room. It was, as you might guess, covered with Disney paraphernalia, most of it found on one of their annual trips to Disney World. Most of the time when she came over, we went to the Disney store. She was always down to talk about princesses, and always found the coolest gifts. Her and her sister even accompanied us on our family vacation to Disney World when I was in fifth grade.
Auntie Holly never had a boyfriend (or a girlfriend, for that matter). She’d had some before (and was apparently not into girls), but she was single my entire life. Until my mom’s 4th of July party after my junior year of high school. She brought a guy with her, whom she’d been dating for a while (I think almost a year). Since she had been single for so long, she wanted to wait to make sure it was *for real* before she told everyone. I feel her, but I’m so impatient I would never be able to keep a secret like that for any length of time.
Anyway. This man’s name was John. He had a nice smile, and a deeper voice than I expected from someone so skinny. He seemed nervous, which was silly to me because nobody on that deck was intimidating in any way.
My high school boyfriend and I were instantly won over, because he had a tattoo of the devil on his left arm. He talked with us about music we liked and tattoos we wanted, and it was great.
After that party, he came over every time my aunt came over. I liked him more and more each time I saw him. I’ve never been a super touchy person, and after I was sexually assaulted I was even less so, but I never minded a hug from him. I made mistakes as a young adult, some of them pretty big, but he never made me feel like I was a bad person.
He and my aunt got married six years ago. They’d already moved in together, and their wedding was at their house. They’d found a house with enough space for her father and sister to move with them (all three of them had lived together before). I also learned that his oldest daughter was not his biological daughter, but he had adopted her when he married her mother. He has something like seven or eight daughters (with several different ex-wives), and he has good relationships with all of them.
About a year ago, he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. My aunt waited to tell my mother, because it happened right after my grandmother got diagnosed with ovarian cancer. He found it earlier than people usually find it, and thus he was given more time. He decided to try some sort of off-the-books treatment which required him to do super fun things like get coffee enemas, and also required a trip to Mexico for surgery and a bizarre diet of basically nothing that tastes good.
I think he expected it to be a magical, miracle cure, but it wasn’t. He still felt like shit, and he still had to keep up with the diet and the coffee enemas. (I’m sorry to harp on that, I just can’t imagine what that must be like. It probably smells so good, and it’s a pity that such a delicious smell must have been associated with pain, or at the very least discomfort.)
On Friday night, my Uncle John died. The last time I saw him was my mom’s 4th of July party last year. He didn’t come this year because he didn’t feel well, and every time my mom and brother went to visit him I was working. I regret that the last thing I ever said to my uncle was that I was a pickle. I was skipping out on the party to go to Cirque du Soleil with my then-boyfriend, but I also just plain hate my mom’s 4th of July party. He still gave me a huge hug, though. He still didn’t make me feel like a bad person for doing something different than my parents wanted.
I feel sad for my aunt. It took her a long time to find love, and she only had it for twelve years. She built a life around a man who is now gone, and she has to figure out what pieces of that life she can afford to keep.
I feel sad for my mom, who lost a good friend.
I feel sad for Uncle John’s daughters. He was undoubtedly a great dad.
But mostly I feel sad for me. I didn’t get to see him often, but I loved my Uncle John. He was cool and funny and smart in a way that seemed so effortless. His presence was so casual and comforting.
I have never felt such unconditional love from anyone, let alone a man who didn’t have to love me at all.
I miss my uncle, and it’s not fucking fair. There are terrible people who do terrible things, and they live to be old and grey. My uncle was great, and he was in pain for a year and died before fifty-five.
Tuesday, March 7, 2017
Well, I learned my lesson
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| Me right before the fateful dye |
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| Right after the dye...see, it looked really good |
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| Tuesday before the burlesque show. I didn't know anything was wrong yet, but my face actually is pretty red |
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| My neck Wednesday morning |
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| My face Wednesday afternoon |
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| My face Wednesday night when I woke up from my nap |
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| My face Wednesday night after my shower |
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| More swelling Wednesday night |
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| Right before I went to bed Wednesday |
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| Thursday morning |
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| Thursday after being awake for about two hours |
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| Thursday right before I left for Urgent Care |
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| Thursday, immediately after taking my first dose of meds |
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| Thursday night |
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| Friday morning |
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| Saturday morning |
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| Sunday morning |
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| Sunday after being awake for a few hours, and showering |
This time, I thought I’d try to cut costs a little and have my mom do it. I also thought I’d spice it up a little and get a *crazy* red. I got Splat brand hair dye, and the color was called Crimson Obsession. Different enough to be cool, but not fire engine red or anything.
The hair dye was already mixed, which my mom and I thought was a little weird. The dye itself was also really thick. I washed it out, and even though I scrubbed the shit out of my head, I couldn’t get it all. We’d put Vaseline around my hairline and on my forehead and neck, but there were still stains. My mom had to go out anyway, and while she was out, she found hair dye removal towelettes, and she helped me go in for another round of extraneous dye removal. My scalp was itchy and the back of my neck felt kind of raw, but whatever, right?
In the morning, I noticed that there were a lot of raw areas on my scalp, and they were starting to weep and scab over. It was still itchy as hell. A parent suggested coconut oil, so after work I booked it to Target and found a sample pack of a coconut oil hair conditioner. I showered at J’s apartment, then got ready to meet him and go to a burlesque show - which was fun, but I was still itchy, weepy, and scabby.
Wednesday at work I started to go downhill fast. I was out of my brain with itchiness, and there were huge scabs and tons of scab liquid. My co-teacher also noticed that I looked a little puffy, and generally not good, and the back of my neck was super red. I got someone to cover in my classroom and went home. I took Benadryl and slept all afternoon. When I woke up, my pillow was covered in blood and scab liquid that had been turned pink by the dye. My hair was also this disgusting matted mess that I needed my mother’s help to comb out. After dinner, I had my mom put a lemon juice and yogurt mix on my scalp that I’d read about online. Then I showered, took more Benadryl, and went to bed. I felt better, so I planned to go to work the next day.
I woke up and couldn’t open up my right eye at all, so I texted my boss and told her I wasn’t coming in, and was going to the doctor. Unfortunately, their earliest appointment was 2:30, and my face was getting more and more swollen, so my mom took me to urgent care. They prescribed me prednisone, and told me to also take Benadryl and Zyrtec.
After starting the prednisone, I finally felt better. It took a few days, but my scabs all went away, and my neck and face calmed down. Everything is back to normal except my neck, which is still kind of itchy, but I think that’s more because it keeps being touched than because of any actual reaction.
Of course, I was a dummy and didn’t do a patch test. I’m trying to make an appointment with an allergist to find out exactly what I had a reaction to, because I want to stay a redhead and maybe experiment with funky colors, but I most certainly do not want to have a reaction again.
Monday, January 2, 2017
Happy New Year!
Well, 2016 was...a year. I’m glad it’s over, but I suppose some good things did happen. I kind of fell off the wagon as far as my good things jar goes, but I’ll try again this year. Also, I would have written this yesterday, but the new year kindly greeted me with a vicious stomach bug/food poisoning at 5 in the morning.
So! Good things. I visited my friends in Seattle and Spokane in the Spring. I went to my first Anime Boston, my first Comic Con in a few years, and an Anime Con in New Hampshire. I got a new job, courtesy of a former co-worker, who is now my co-teacher. I met a student of mine who is beyond my favorite. My new job is great and super laid back and the company cares about the children and the families (and the teachers!), not just academic output. There is always more to life than academic output. I was introduced to a distillery that I quite enjoy. A new Harry Potter book (sort of) came out, and a new Harry Potter movie came out. I bought plane tickets to go see my friends in Spokane in both April and October (when they will be married). I have developed a very solid and meaningful connection with my co-teacher, which was there before, but now is that much stronger.
I’m sure there are other good things, but this is what stuck out. It is my goal to focus on the good things, which is an important goal because, as far as my own life goes, I tend to be the very definition of Debbie Downer. I can always see the positives for other people, and usually try to help them see it, but I’m pretty bad at doing it for myself. I’m going to do my best to stay on top of the good things jar, but at the very least to keep the good things at the front of my mind.
Happy New Year, everyone, and good luck in 2017!
So! Good things. I visited my friends in Seattle and Spokane in the Spring. I went to my first Anime Boston, my first Comic Con in a few years, and an Anime Con in New Hampshire. I got a new job, courtesy of a former co-worker, who is now my co-teacher. I met a student of mine who is beyond my favorite. My new job is great and super laid back and the company cares about the children and the families (and the teachers!), not just academic output. There is always more to life than academic output. I was introduced to a distillery that I quite enjoy. A new Harry Potter book (sort of) came out, and a new Harry Potter movie came out. I bought plane tickets to go see my friends in Spokane in both April and October (when they will be married). I have developed a very solid and meaningful connection with my co-teacher, which was there before, but now is that much stronger.
I’m sure there are other good things, but this is what stuck out. It is my goal to focus on the good things, which is an important goal because, as far as my own life goes, I tend to be the very definition of Debbie Downer. I can always see the positives for other people, and usually try to help them see it, but I’m pretty bad at doing it for myself. I’m going to do my best to stay on top of the good things jar, but at the very least to keep the good things at the front of my mind.
Happy New Year, everyone, and good luck in 2017!
Sunday, October 2, 2016
Torture Dream
Friday, I had a headache all day. I ended up falling asleep for the night at 7:30, which is a little lame but whatever. I’ve been having pretty fucked up dreams lately, and I guess that night should be no exception.
At first I wasn’t sure where I was, but it became obvious to me pretty quickly.
It was a room full of tables. Very rustic looking. Wooden tables, chairs, benches. You were there, with one of those vests that’s satiny in the back. Your hair was down, which I love. Well, let’s be honest, I love it up, too. I just love how long and blonde and curly it is. You had a satiny-backed vest. The back was purple, and I feel like the shirt you had on was dark green. Whatever it was, you had the sleeves rolled up. You came up to me with a huge smile on your face, your eyes crinkly in that beautiful way they are when you’re happy. You put your arm around me, which I suppose should have let me know that I was dreaming, since you almost never do that without me prompting you. PDA isn’t something you’ve ever been into. But you did it, with the crinkly eyes and the beautiful hair and you kissed me on the mouth and told me I looked beautiful. That you’ve done before, though still not often.
You want to know the best part about you telling me I looked beautiful? I looked down at myself, and I actually did! Or I felt like I did. I realized my hair was curly, but it’s been doing that on its own more and more lately. I was wearing a white mermaid dress, and it was all meshy and ruchy and had a sparkly belt. I must have been wearing some sort of heel, because I was closer to your height than I normally am.
I looked around and saw that I knew some of the people at the tables. They were my family, my friends. Your family, from pictures I’ve seen. Your friends.
I turned back to you, and you were trying to peel fondant off what turned out to be a styrofoam square. You kept reaching to a shelf near us, and kept picking styrofoam squares. You gave up, and told me this must not be it.
We split up, to walk around and talk to people. Despite the fact that I was obviously not my normal 5'6", I had no trouble walking. I felt amazing, and my face hurt from my smile, which is cliche, but I had obviously figured out what was going on. I remember really soft lighting, but it wasn’t difficult to see anything. I was saying hello to someone that I “knew” was your aunt, and suddenly there you were. And there was the cake. It was definitely Beauty and the Beast themed, which sounds lame, but I promise it wasn’t. I honestly don’t remember much about the cake, aside from us feeding each other and me not giving a sweet flying fuck that the cake didn’t actually taste like anything. People clapped, and then they weren’t looking at us anymore. You had your shirt unbuttoned a bit at the top, and I could see the little bit of your chest I can always see, and I leaned in and told you that I loved the cake, but it must have cost an inordinate amount of money. You kissed me cheek, smiled, and shrugged.
Then I woke up.
For my entire adult life, I have been “the type of girl” who doesn’t want a big wedding. The anxiety that blossomed in my early twenties has made it hard for me to have an entire room’s attention focused on me, and that same anxiety gives me heart palpitations thinking about all the planning and people that go into a *traditional* wedding. I have long supported the City Hall wedding, with only the necessary witnesses. I have always wanted a “cheap” wedding. In fact, I own a wedding dress that I bought on Etsy for $40, that someone made from upcycled materials. It is in no way shape or form the mermaid dress I had on in my dream.
I still don’t want an expensive wedding. I still don’t want a lot of people involved in the planning or the execution. But at that moment, I didn’t give a sweet flying fuck who was looking at me. I cared about how happy you were to be looking at me. I want that. I want to see you look at me that way, unhindered by the anxieties you yourself have.
I know you. I won’t be so bold as to say that I know you better than anyone else does, but I know you very well. We are best friends. You have told me about things that you haven’t told other people. I feel like I have seen the essence of your being. I know that if you were able to get past how much you hate yourself, and how much you think you can’t make me happy, that this dream could come true. If you were able to internalize that I am happy with you the way you are, and all I want in turn is to work with you every day for our mutual happiness, then that could be us.
When I look at you, I see my husband. Not just when I see you coming to get me in the elevator, or across the table when we’re out to dinner. Not just when you’ve carefully curated your outfit and hair. I see my husband when you’re at your computer playing your game in a hoodie with unbrushed hair. I see my husband when you sit on your chair on the balcony, smoking a cigarette and trying to “fix” your hair. I see my husband when you’re asleep, with a pillow covering your eyes and your mouth hanging open.
You think that us continuing to have sex is making the break-up harder for me. I’m obviously still sexually attracted to you, and it actually makes me feel better to know that you’re still sexually attracted to me, too. It makes me feel less crazy. It’s everything else that’s hard for me.
It’s hard for me to watch you be so into your videogame.
It’s hard for me to hear you comment on the show going on in the background or something I say to you while you’re playing.
It’s hard for me to wake up in the middle of the night to you cuddling up to me and wrapping your arm around me.
It’s hard for me when you lean in to hug me and kiss me on the mouth when I leave your apartment.
It’s hard for me to look to my side and see you walking with me when we go somewhere.
It’s hard to hear the sound of your voice, especially on the phone.
It’s hard for me to talk about “issues” that we both agree on and are passionate about.
It’s hard for me to watch you sit on your stool and smoke a cigarette.
It’s hard for me to listen to you talk to your friends on the game chat.
It’s hard for me to hear you talk about going to shows together that haven’t even been announced yet.
It’s hard for me when you make dinner for me.
It’s hard for me to make dinner for you.
Bottom line: I can’t just be friends with you. Eventually, I will break, and I won’t be able to do it anymore. I love you and I am in love with you. You are life. I haven’t felt this way about someone since I was sixteen years old. Which is odd, because you actually remind me of him a lot. With you, I feel safe and respected and validated and good. I feel like I am pretty and smart and funny and worth listening to. I feel like I am worth being told things, and I am worth your time. My heart beats for you, and if there was a way for you to understand that that is ok and you deserve that, then this would work.
You told me today that you are too old to get married. You said it in a joking way, but deep down I know you are somewhat serious. There is no fucking age limit on marriage. And if there is, you haven’t reached it yet. You told me the other day about how you avoided giving money to a fake-sounding charity by blaming your “wife.” You can’t possibly imagine how much I want that title. I want you to buy one of the rings I’ve favorited on Etsy, and I want us to buy two rings of power, and I want us to be married. I love you so much, and if there is no way for you to work past the state we’re in now, then I’m going to have to go away. I don’t want to. In fact, it’s the last thing I want to do. But I can’t be friends, let alone best friends, with someone I know I belong with, but can’t have.
At first I wasn’t sure where I was, but it became obvious to me pretty quickly.
It was a room full of tables. Very rustic looking. Wooden tables, chairs, benches. You were there, with one of those vests that’s satiny in the back. Your hair was down, which I love. Well, let’s be honest, I love it up, too. I just love how long and blonde and curly it is. You had a satiny-backed vest. The back was purple, and I feel like the shirt you had on was dark green. Whatever it was, you had the sleeves rolled up. You came up to me with a huge smile on your face, your eyes crinkly in that beautiful way they are when you’re happy. You put your arm around me, which I suppose should have let me know that I was dreaming, since you almost never do that without me prompting you. PDA isn’t something you’ve ever been into. But you did it, with the crinkly eyes and the beautiful hair and you kissed me on the mouth and told me I looked beautiful. That you’ve done before, though still not often.
You want to know the best part about you telling me I looked beautiful? I looked down at myself, and I actually did! Or I felt like I did. I realized my hair was curly, but it’s been doing that on its own more and more lately. I was wearing a white mermaid dress, and it was all meshy and ruchy and had a sparkly belt. I must have been wearing some sort of heel, because I was closer to your height than I normally am.
I looked around and saw that I knew some of the people at the tables. They were my family, my friends. Your family, from pictures I’ve seen. Your friends.
I turned back to you, and you were trying to peel fondant off what turned out to be a styrofoam square. You kept reaching to a shelf near us, and kept picking styrofoam squares. You gave up, and told me this must not be it.
We split up, to walk around and talk to people. Despite the fact that I was obviously not my normal 5'6", I had no trouble walking. I felt amazing, and my face hurt from my smile, which is cliche, but I had obviously figured out what was going on. I remember really soft lighting, but it wasn’t difficult to see anything. I was saying hello to someone that I “knew” was your aunt, and suddenly there you were. And there was the cake. It was definitely Beauty and the Beast themed, which sounds lame, but I promise it wasn’t. I honestly don’t remember much about the cake, aside from us feeding each other and me not giving a sweet flying fuck that the cake didn’t actually taste like anything. People clapped, and then they weren’t looking at us anymore. You had your shirt unbuttoned a bit at the top, and I could see the little bit of your chest I can always see, and I leaned in and told you that I loved the cake, but it must have cost an inordinate amount of money. You kissed me cheek, smiled, and shrugged.
Then I woke up.
For my entire adult life, I have been “the type of girl” who doesn’t want a big wedding. The anxiety that blossomed in my early twenties has made it hard for me to have an entire room’s attention focused on me, and that same anxiety gives me heart palpitations thinking about all the planning and people that go into a *traditional* wedding. I have long supported the City Hall wedding, with only the necessary witnesses. I have always wanted a “cheap” wedding. In fact, I own a wedding dress that I bought on Etsy for $40, that someone made from upcycled materials. It is in no way shape or form the mermaid dress I had on in my dream.
I still don’t want an expensive wedding. I still don’t want a lot of people involved in the planning or the execution. But at that moment, I didn’t give a sweet flying fuck who was looking at me. I cared about how happy you were to be looking at me. I want that. I want to see you look at me that way, unhindered by the anxieties you yourself have.
I know you. I won’t be so bold as to say that I know you better than anyone else does, but I know you very well. We are best friends. You have told me about things that you haven’t told other people. I feel like I have seen the essence of your being. I know that if you were able to get past how much you hate yourself, and how much you think you can’t make me happy, that this dream could come true. If you were able to internalize that I am happy with you the way you are, and all I want in turn is to work with you every day for our mutual happiness, then that could be us.
When I look at you, I see my husband. Not just when I see you coming to get me in the elevator, or across the table when we’re out to dinner. Not just when you’ve carefully curated your outfit and hair. I see my husband when you’re at your computer playing your game in a hoodie with unbrushed hair. I see my husband when you sit on your chair on the balcony, smoking a cigarette and trying to “fix” your hair. I see my husband when you’re asleep, with a pillow covering your eyes and your mouth hanging open.
You think that us continuing to have sex is making the break-up harder for me. I’m obviously still sexually attracted to you, and it actually makes me feel better to know that you’re still sexually attracted to me, too. It makes me feel less crazy. It’s everything else that’s hard for me.
It’s hard for me to watch you be so into your videogame.
It’s hard for me to hear you comment on the show going on in the background or something I say to you while you’re playing.
It’s hard for me to wake up in the middle of the night to you cuddling up to me and wrapping your arm around me.
It’s hard for me when you lean in to hug me and kiss me on the mouth when I leave your apartment.
It’s hard for me to look to my side and see you walking with me when we go somewhere.
It’s hard to hear the sound of your voice, especially on the phone.
It’s hard for me to talk about “issues” that we both agree on and are passionate about.
It’s hard for me to watch you sit on your stool and smoke a cigarette.
It’s hard for me to listen to you talk to your friends on the game chat.
It’s hard for me to hear you talk about going to shows together that haven’t even been announced yet.
It’s hard for me when you make dinner for me.
It’s hard for me to make dinner for you.
Bottom line: I can’t just be friends with you. Eventually, I will break, and I won’t be able to do it anymore. I love you and I am in love with you. You are life. I haven’t felt this way about someone since I was sixteen years old. Which is odd, because you actually remind me of him a lot. With you, I feel safe and respected and validated and good. I feel like I am pretty and smart and funny and worth listening to. I feel like I am worth being told things, and I am worth your time. My heart beats for you, and if there was a way for you to understand that that is ok and you deserve that, then this would work.
You told me today that you are too old to get married. You said it in a joking way, but deep down I know you are somewhat serious. There is no fucking age limit on marriage. And if there is, you haven’t reached it yet. You told me the other day about how you avoided giving money to a fake-sounding charity by blaming your “wife.” You can’t possibly imagine how much I want that title. I want you to buy one of the rings I’ve favorited on Etsy, and I want us to buy two rings of power, and I want us to be married. I love you so much, and if there is no way for you to work past the state we’re in now, then I’m going to have to go away. I don’t want to. In fact, it’s the last thing I want to do. But I can’t be friends, let alone best friends, with someone I know I belong with, but can’t have.
Monday, August 29, 2016
For now, this is helping
Being without you is hard. I feel empty, and also heavy. I feel like my inner scaffolding is gone and I never knew what dense material I was made of and now it is threatening to crash in on itself. It is hard to breathe, and hard to get through the day without telling at least three people that I am sad. I am just so sad.
My parents were talking about older relatives at the dinner table tonight. I remembered a story you told me about “your old man” when he was little. I liked hearing about your parents and your siblings. I assumed that one day I would meet all of them, and that one day they would be my family, too.
I think I have some sort of emotional fever going on, because I keep going from hot to cold and back again. The cold is unbearable, and the hot is always accompanied by embarrassment, so I know people can see it in my face. My cheeks always betrayed me that way.
It hurts without you. I would say I didn’t realize how much of both my current and future life I had built around you, but I did. I just didn’t consider it much. I simply kept building, precisely layering each brick of my heart and our future.
You are my best friend. You tell me the same thing, and you told me when I left on Saturday that we would still be friends, still hang out, still do things. I know you said you would never lie to me, but it feels like it’s taking forever for you to want to make plans with me, even though it’s only been two days.
It was hard to leave your apartment that afternoon. If I hadn’t had to babysit, doubtless I would have stayed. If I hadn’t had to babysit, I probably would have tried to get you to say I could stay over that night, too. I am a firm believer in leaving the room when an argument is stupid and never leaving the room when a relationship might be dying.
It feels like more than the relationship is dying. It feels like I’m dying. Me being wrong about where this was going is making me question everything. I was so sure of where I stood with you. What else did I take for granted that I’m wrong about? What other relationships do I engage in that are ticking time bombs? Who else is going through the motions with me, afraid to hurt me by telling me they can’t be what I want them to be?
You said you needed time alone to get your shit together. I respect that, I really do. I know that I’m being incredibly selfish by so insistently wanting you back. I’m trying to tamp it down, I really am. I know you don’t believe me. I wish that I could help you get your shit together. You helped me so much, it only seems fair. But now I feel like I’m stuck on a jetty in high tide. I kept moving along, thinking we were in this together, and now you’re waving at me from the shore, miles and miles away.
I feel useless. Like I said, I was so sure of my use to you. What else am I wrong about? It is driving my crazy that you really do need to hang out less and talk less. You need time alone - who knew you had to actually be alone? I know, I’m just having trouble accepting it.
I keep lashing out at you when we hang out. I’m sorry. I know it’s petty and selfish, but part of me wants you to be in as much pain as I am, and I want to see it. I want to see your face reflect the way I feel.
You tell me that, if it makes me feel any better, I’ll move on. You even think I might move on quickly. You promise me that “when” this happens, it will hurt you. I tell you that hopefully there is that crucial bit of overlap, where I think I’ve moved on but I haven’t, and it hurts you and you tell me. If this moment exists, we will be together. I know that this is basically the plot of half the romantic comedies out there, but whatever. I make you pinky promise me that when your shit is together, you will tell me. I tell you I know that it won’t be for a long time, but you need to promise me anyway. I think that even if I have “moved on,” I will always carry a torch for you. I think that I won’t be able to get engaged or married without checking with you in some way first. If we are not together, I need to give you every possible chance to change that.
I am sad that I am eating dinner at home tomorrow. I should be eating with you, on your couch, watching mindless TV.
I am sad that I am going home after work tomorrow. I should be going to the beach, to read in a pavilion until you get out of work.
I texted you today about something that I forgot isn’t your problem right now. You were nice about it, but when I remembered that it’s probably not super appropriate to talk to a “friend” about scary body things, I was sad. I want it to be ok to talk to you about anything and everything.
Sometimes I wish I never met you.
“I’d like to buy you dinner and get to know you better,” you said.
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” I said.
What I should have said was no. I should have been a bit less optimistic about the outcome of talking to people who were “mutual likes.” I should have somehow known that this would happen.
That’s just me being angry. I would probably do the exact same thing, even if I knew the amount of pain I’d be in. Nobody is perfect, but your imperfection is beautiful to me. I want to keep it for myself and watch it grow and bloom every day for the rest of my life.
I miss you. I miss us.
My parents were talking about older relatives at the dinner table tonight. I remembered a story you told me about “your old man” when he was little. I liked hearing about your parents and your siblings. I assumed that one day I would meet all of them, and that one day they would be my family, too.
I think I have some sort of emotional fever going on, because I keep going from hot to cold and back again. The cold is unbearable, and the hot is always accompanied by embarrassment, so I know people can see it in my face. My cheeks always betrayed me that way.
It hurts without you. I would say I didn’t realize how much of both my current and future life I had built around you, but I did. I just didn’t consider it much. I simply kept building, precisely layering each brick of my heart and our future.
You are my best friend. You tell me the same thing, and you told me when I left on Saturday that we would still be friends, still hang out, still do things. I know you said you would never lie to me, but it feels like it’s taking forever for you to want to make plans with me, even though it’s only been two days.
It was hard to leave your apartment that afternoon. If I hadn’t had to babysit, doubtless I would have stayed. If I hadn’t had to babysit, I probably would have tried to get you to say I could stay over that night, too. I am a firm believer in leaving the room when an argument is stupid and never leaving the room when a relationship might be dying.
It feels like more than the relationship is dying. It feels like I’m dying. Me being wrong about where this was going is making me question everything. I was so sure of where I stood with you. What else did I take for granted that I’m wrong about? What other relationships do I engage in that are ticking time bombs? Who else is going through the motions with me, afraid to hurt me by telling me they can’t be what I want them to be?
You said you needed time alone to get your shit together. I respect that, I really do. I know that I’m being incredibly selfish by so insistently wanting you back. I’m trying to tamp it down, I really am. I know you don’t believe me. I wish that I could help you get your shit together. You helped me so much, it only seems fair. But now I feel like I’m stuck on a jetty in high tide. I kept moving along, thinking we were in this together, and now you’re waving at me from the shore, miles and miles away.
I feel useless. Like I said, I was so sure of my use to you. What else am I wrong about? It is driving my crazy that you really do need to hang out less and talk less. You need time alone - who knew you had to actually be alone? I know, I’m just having trouble accepting it.
I keep lashing out at you when we hang out. I’m sorry. I know it’s petty and selfish, but part of me wants you to be in as much pain as I am, and I want to see it. I want to see your face reflect the way I feel.
You tell me that, if it makes me feel any better, I’ll move on. You even think I might move on quickly. You promise me that “when” this happens, it will hurt you. I tell you that hopefully there is that crucial bit of overlap, where I think I’ve moved on but I haven’t, and it hurts you and you tell me. If this moment exists, we will be together. I know that this is basically the plot of half the romantic comedies out there, but whatever. I make you pinky promise me that when your shit is together, you will tell me. I tell you I know that it won’t be for a long time, but you need to promise me anyway. I think that even if I have “moved on,” I will always carry a torch for you. I think that I won’t be able to get engaged or married without checking with you in some way first. If we are not together, I need to give you every possible chance to change that.
I am sad that I am eating dinner at home tomorrow. I should be eating with you, on your couch, watching mindless TV.
I am sad that I am going home after work tomorrow. I should be going to the beach, to read in a pavilion until you get out of work.
I texted you today about something that I forgot isn’t your problem right now. You were nice about it, but when I remembered that it’s probably not super appropriate to talk to a “friend” about scary body things, I was sad. I want it to be ok to talk to you about anything and everything.
Sometimes I wish I never met you.
“I’d like to buy you dinner and get to know you better,” you said.
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” I said.
What I should have said was no. I should have been a bit less optimistic about the outcome of talking to people who were “mutual likes.” I should have somehow known that this would happen.
That’s just me being angry. I would probably do the exact same thing, even if I knew the amount of pain I’d be in. Nobody is perfect, but your imperfection is beautiful to me. I want to keep it for myself and watch it grow and bloom every day for the rest of my life.
I miss you. I miss us.
Sunday, August 28, 2016
Long time, no post
Quick update: my boyfriend broke up with me almost two weeks ago. Our anniversary would have been September 7th. I'm pretty messed up about it. Maybe this will help. I feel confident enough posting this because he didn't read my blog when we were together, so I doubt he'll read it now.
This is the first Sunday we haven’t hung out, besides last Sunday when you were home. It’s weird. I miss you, but I know that if I tell you that you’ll only feel more guilty and it will drive you further away.
We’ve been broken up for 12 days. I don’t like it. I feel the tiniest bit better, but on the whole I still feel like shit. I didn’t see it coming at all.
I didn’t realize how much of my decisions were made with you in mind. Every time I think about pretty much anything I think about you, and it hurts. I used to wonder what you would think of a new shirt I bought, and now it just makes me sad because you don’t care. You might not even ever see it.
I felt safe with you. I felt like you could and would protect me from anything I couldn’t handle on my own. Now I feel vulnerable. When I drive to your apartment, I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t belong there anymore. The lump in my throat grows as I drive closer and closer, because now I feel like an intruder. I feel like one day I’ll come over and you’ll tell me to go away. I’m afraid that you’ll want to take away my parking lot key. I truly am afraid that you will never text me again, let alone ask me to hang out.
I desperately want there to be something I can do to make you as happy with me as I was with you. I hope that someday you’ll wake up and miss me, and I hope that if that happens, it isn’t too late.
I could see a life with you so clearly. Maybe that’s why I feel like I don’t belong in the space near your apartment. I used to think that eventually it would be my apartment (or that we’d have a different, bigger apartment in the same building). You were so nice and supportive. You told your friends and your family about me, you were going to let me meet your mom if she came out, you let me stay over all the time...and I don’t know why you say that you told me it made you uncomfortable that I left things at your house. You said that you didn’t want me to bring my board games over because you had enough “extra” stuff in your apartment already. Which is fair, and to be hurtful I almost told you that is was fine, because it would only be more stuff I had to pack when we broke up.
But I didn’t seriously think we would break up. Hell, when you first moved, you were going to try to get me my own key. I know it was mostly so you didn’t have to come down the elevator to get me every time, but a key is a big step in the seriousness of a relationship, and you were acting like it was a totally natural thing for me to have a key to your apartment. And you didn’t react negatively when I told you I’d go to Ohio with you if you wanted. You were using that as an excuse for why our relationship couldn’t be serious, and then you said, “Ok, good to know,” and from then on you seemed much more into the relationship.
I feel foolish for trusting you. I wish you had broken up with me earlier, because you’re right, I did spend the whole relationship developing more and more feelings for you. I just couldn’t fathom that you weren’t doing the same thing. I’m desperately, desperately hoping that once you feel better about yourself/your life, you’ll want to be with me again.
I’m sorry that I put pressure on you to be together in a permanent way. I tried so hard to be patient with you, because I honestly thought that you cared for me as much as I cared for you, but that you were having trouble coming to terms with it. I didn’t want to scare you away, or make you feel like I forced you into anything. I thought you just needed time and support, and I tried to give it to you. I know I got impatient, and it had nothing to do with you or the way you acted toward me. It had to do with the underlying anxiety I have about everything. I need constant reassurance from everyone that they actually do like me and aren’t for some reason just pretending to. I am terrified that everyone around me secretly hates me and is waiting for the perfect time to pull a humiliating, painful prank on me.
I kind of feel like that’s what happened here. I know you said you never lied to me, but I wish that these hesitations you had could have bubbled up to the surface one of the million times I asked for reassurance about the status of our relationship. You said you’d been thinking about this for a while, but you never told me you were having second thoughts. You always told me “yes” and “ok” when I asked if I could keep things at your apartment, if I could come over, if I could stay over, if I could shower. You should have said no. You should have had conversations with me about how I was overwhelming you. If you’re going to say that you tried and I didn’t listen, then you should have tried harder.
I had fully incorporated you into my life and my future plans because I thought I could. You made me feel like I could let my guard down and be who I really was. You made me so happy, and it makes me so profoundly sad to know that I didn’t do the same for you.
I also feel foolish for doing so many sexual things with you that I normally wouldn’t have done. I figured, given the way you are in every other area of your life, that you wouldn’t let me go out of my comfort zone unless it was going to pay off. Now I feel like you have dirt on me, and can come back and make fun of me for the things I did later. I feel like you can make fun of me to other girls you date/sleep with. I don’t like feeling vulnerable in this way.
You are my best friend, and I feel like I am going to lose you for good. Everything feels hollow and meaningless now. I unpaused my okCupid profile, because I know you want me to get back out there and forget about you, but I just don’t have the heart to use it. It’s too soon. I don’t know how long it’ll be too soon, but I thought you were going to be the only man I was with for the rest of my life, so it makes me feel sick to think about going out with someone else.
I am frustrated for many reasons, but one reason is that I keep thinking of things for us to do together. Then I remember that you don’t want to do things together. I don’t know how I could have been so sure that this was going well when clearly, I was wrong.
I guess I feel like I don’t know you, if I wasn’t in tune with you enough to see this coming. On the other hand, I still really want to have the you I know back. I’m still really all over the place with this whole thing, and I’m hoping that I get myself sorted out soon.
This is the first Sunday we haven’t hung out, besides last Sunday when you were home. It’s weird. I miss you, but I know that if I tell you that you’ll only feel more guilty and it will drive you further away.
We’ve been broken up for 12 days. I don’t like it. I feel the tiniest bit better, but on the whole I still feel like shit. I didn’t see it coming at all.
I didn’t realize how much of my decisions were made with you in mind. Every time I think about pretty much anything I think about you, and it hurts. I used to wonder what you would think of a new shirt I bought, and now it just makes me sad because you don’t care. You might not even ever see it.
I felt safe with you. I felt like you could and would protect me from anything I couldn’t handle on my own. Now I feel vulnerable. When I drive to your apartment, I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t belong there anymore. The lump in my throat grows as I drive closer and closer, because now I feel like an intruder. I feel like one day I’ll come over and you’ll tell me to go away. I’m afraid that you’ll want to take away my parking lot key. I truly am afraid that you will never text me again, let alone ask me to hang out.
I desperately want there to be something I can do to make you as happy with me as I was with you. I hope that someday you’ll wake up and miss me, and I hope that if that happens, it isn’t too late.
I could see a life with you so clearly. Maybe that’s why I feel like I don’t belong in the space near your apartment. I used to think that eventually it would be my apartment (or that we’d have a different, bigger apartment in the same building). You were so nice and supportive. You told your friends and your family about me, you were going to let me meet your mom if she came out, you let me stay over all the time...and I don’t know why you say that you told me it made you uncomfortable that I left things at your house. You said that you didn’t want me to bring my board games over because you had enough “extra” stuff in your apartment already. Which is fair, and to be hurtful I almost told you that is was fine, because it would only be more stuff I had to pack when we broke up.
But I didn’t seriously think we would break up. Hell, when you first moved, you were going to try to get me my own key. I know it was mostly so you didn’t have to come down the elevator to get me every time, but a key is a big step in the seriousness of a relationship, and you were acting like it was a totally natural thing for me to have a key to your apartment. And you didn’t react negatively when I told you I’d go to Ohio with you if you wanted. You were using that as an excuse for why our relationship couldn’t be serious, and then you said, “Ok, good to know,” and from then on you seemed much more into the relationship.
I feel foolish for trusting you. I wish you had broken up with me earlier, because you’re right, I did spend the whole relationship developing more and more feelings for you. I just couldn’t fathom that you weren’t doing the same thing. I’m desperately, desperately hoping that once you feel better about yourself/your life, you’ll want to be with me again.
I’m sorry that I put pressure on you to be together in a permanent way. I tried so hard to be patient with you, because I honestly thought that you cared for me as much as I cared for you, but that you were having trouble coming to terms with it. I didn’t want to scare you away, or make you feel like I forced you into anything. I thought you just needed time and support, and I tried to give it to you. I know I got impatient, and it had nothing to do with you or the way you acted toward me. It had to do with the underlying anxiety I have about everything. I need constant reassurance from everyone that they actually do like me and aren’t for some reason just pretending to. I am terrified that everyone around me secretly hates me and is waiting for the perfect time to pull a humiliating, painful prank on me.
I kind of feel like that’s what happened here. I know you said you never lied to me, but I wish that these hesitations you had could have bubbled up to the surface one of the million times I asked for reassurance about the status of our relationship. You said you’d been thinking about this for a while, but you never told me you were having second thoughts. You always told me “yes” and “ok” when I asked if I could keep things at your apartment, if I could come over, if I could stay over, if I could shower. You should have said no. You should have had conversations with me about how I was overwhelming you. If you’re going to say that you tried and I didn’t listen, then you should have tried harder.
I had fully incorporated you into my life and my future plans because I thought I could. You made me feel like I could let my guard down and be who I really was. You made me so happy, and it makes me so profoundly sad to know that I didn’t do the same for you.
I also feel foolish for doing so many sexual things with you that I normally wouldn’t have done. I figured, given the way you are in every other area of your life, that you wouldn’t let me go out of my comfort zone unless it was going to pay off. Now I feel like you have dirt on me, and can come back and make fun of me for the things I did later. I feel like you can make fun of me to other girls you date/sleep with. I don’t like feeling vulnerable in this way.
You are my best friend, and I feel like I am going to lose you for good. Everything feels hollow and meaningless now. I unpaused my okCupid profile, because I know you want me to get back out there and forget about you, but I just don’t have the heart to use it. It’s too soon. I don’t know how long it’ll be too soon, but I thought you were going to be the only man I was with for the rest of my life, so it makes me feel sick to think about going out with someone else.
I am frustrated for many reasons, but one reason is that I keep thinking of things for us to do together. Then I remember that you don’t want to do things together. I don’t know how I could have been so sure that this was going well when clearly, I was wrong.
I guess I feel like I don’t know you, if I wasn’t in tune with you enough to see this coming. On the other hand, I still really want to have the you I know back. I’m still really all over the place with this whole thing, and I’m hoping that I get myself sorted out soon.
Friday, January 1, 2016
Good-bye, 2015!
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| Front view of the jar |
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| Side view of the jar |
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| Back view of the jar |
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| Other side view of the jar |
So I think I’ve mentioned this on here before, but last year I saw something on Facebook that offered an alternative to making resolutions. I’ve never been the type to make resolutions anyway, but I decided to check it out. It said to take a jar, decorate it, and every time something good happens, write it down on a piece of paper and put it in the jar. At the end of the year, you’ll have a bunch of positive things to look back on instead of possibly unmet resolutions. I did not decorate my jar, as I am lazy. And I think I slacked at the beginning of the year. But once I got the hang of it, it was cool to sit down and think about good stuff so I could write it down and put it in the jar. Here are some of the winners (not in chronological order):
- Sweet notes from parent in Christmas cards
- My boss wrote me a note thanking me for being flexible
- Went to Dave and Buster’s for Halloween
- My boss messed up my time clock hours one week, and apologized when I called her on it
- Harvard Square has a store that is both a jewelry store and a candy store
- Went to Salem a bunch
- Went to Star Wars night at the Zoo Lights
- Got meds
- Started going to therapy
- Met J
- I fit into size 8 jeans
- S drove me home from work when I got sick, didn’t have a car, and no one else was around to pick me up
- My first Teacher Appreciation Week as a teacher
- S’s daughter calls me “A-Da”
- I had to essentially buy all new clothes (and give pretty much all the old ones away) because I lost so much weight (50 pounds)
- S asked me to be her daughter’s godmother
- I had a bad break up, and everyone was really nice about it
- Discovered Lush
- Cooked a dinner that actually tasted good
- Saw Star Wars Episode VII opening weekend
- Had my first sleepover with J
- Started allergy shots
- Saw Goosebumps
- Saw Inside Out
- Rode a camel at the Zoo Lights
- Went to Seattle
All in all, I had 224 things in the jar. I’d say that’s a pretty good year. And I already have 3 things in the jar this year...
Thursday, December 24, 2015
So, Christmas? Christmas.
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| My myriad hair bows |
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| My Nutcracker collection |
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| The girls, two weeks ago |
Christmas rivals Halloween for my favorite holiday. I have really fond memories of Christmas when I was a kid.
We would decorate the tree one Saturday while watching Christmas movies, and even though we got distracted, it wasn’t a big deal. We always got a new ornament from my mom, and I always got a new Nutcracker to add to my collection. I don’t quite remember how old I was when this started, probably in the vicinity of five or six. I got one each from my grandmother and great-aunt, and I’ve gotten at least one every year since. I now have thirty-eight, but only thirty-four are in the picture. I ordered a Dracula one and an Elvis one off Amazon, and I couldn’t resist the dirt-cheap Santa and Elf set where the Elf’s hair looks severely windblown. I have quite a few, ranging from a snowman to a pirate to a jester, and of course the crazy new ones.
We would also spend quite a bit of time making cookies, but I don’t remember it feeling like a long time. We used to make pecan pies (tiny little tarts), pecan balls, chocolate crackles, spice cookies (cutout cookies), espresso crisps, brown cookies, and Oreo snowmen. Those ones sucked to make, but they look really cool.
It was fun (and materialistic, I suppose) to notice the presents multiplying under the tree. My mom also made it a fun, stealthy thing to wrap my brother’s presents. We also drove around and looked at Christmas lights. I’ve grown to love Christmas lights over the years, and I would definitely be one of those people with figurines all over the place if I could. I’d also be one of those people crying in January when it’s time to dig them out of the snow. But I love me some Christmas lights.
We always had egg puff (a weird egg...casserole thing?) on Christmas Day, and ham on Christmas Night. My parents also made a big deal out of taking pictures of us at the entry to the living room, before we got to open any presents.
As silly and cliche as it sounds, Christmas hasn’t been the same since I found out the truth about Santa. We’ll overlook the fact that I was a bit old when I found out. I had gone to the Warner Bros. store at the Burlington Mall with my mom in November or something, and picked out a Harry Potter shirt that she had me try on to make sure it fit me. I watched her buy it, and then I got that shirt from Santa. The rest of the day was ruined. She made me promise not to tell my brother, and I didn’t, but it sucked a lot of the joy out of the holiday.
The older I get, the less time it feels like I have, and the harder it is to step outside of work (and at my job now we can’t acknowledge holidays) and take time to celebrate real-life things. It feels like this month has just flown by, and I haven’t even finished one of the things I wanted to know (sorry, Amanda and Hannah!). It’s kind of a bummer, and for some reason the past few days I’ve been feeling the lack of time a bit more keenly. I’ve been super nostalgic for my childhood.
BUT I’m doing what I can. I’ve been a sock fiend for some time now, and I have a respectable collection of Christmas socks. I also have a slew of Christmas earrings, and the above pictured gaggle of Christmas hair bows. Thank goodness it isn’t weird for someone to wear hair bows at my job, because I freaking love hair bows.
I’ve been cranking the music this month, and coordinating my socks/earrings/hair bows daily, but I just miss when it felt like I had time to bask in the atmosphere of Christmas.
In a sort-of-related vein, New Year’s. I used to think it was such a cool, mythical, mysterious holiday. Suddenly, in one minute, it’s a whole new year! Now that I’ve stayed up past midnight as an adult on totally normal nights, it’s like, big whoop. I was never a big drinker, so there’s that. And there’s the fact that if you go into the city like “everyone” does, it’s still cold as balls. Add to that the fact that two years ago on December 30, that guy I *thought* was my friend assaulted me. I kind wish I could skip a majority of next week. After Christmas, honestly, we can skip straight to January. Thankfully, the day after the assault, I had planned to babysit the girls with my brother (look at how big they are!). We had chocolate milk in champagne flutes, and ate pizza and munchkins and painted our nails. I had found a Party Kit at Walgreen’s for like $8, so we had party hats, those cheapo plastic leis, strings of beans, and noisemakers. We were only there till like 9:30, I think, but we “celebrated.” We also watched a Princess Sofia movie, and now I’m pretty into Princess Sofia, but that’s another story.
So! In summation, earlier today, when I had one baby, he was asleep, so I was listening to a Christmas station on Pandora and feeling some hardcore nostalgia. I hope the kids I teach don’t grow up to be jaded like me. They’re so full of joy (except when they throw super pleasant tantrums), and I hate the thought that someday Christmas will leave a bad taste in their mouth. I hope they don’t get lied to about Santa when they point-blank ask their mom, and I hope they don’t open a present from Santa that they watched their mom buy. I don’t want these poor babies to lose the magic of such a fun holiday.
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