No One Knows About This Blog

And you know why? No one who knows me would believe it was written by me. And I’d never want them to know about it either. Those that know me think I’m happy. That I smile all the time. Am fun. Laid back. Never stressed. A social butterfly, extremely outgoing. Always. So. Fucking. Happy. At work, every phone call sounds like I’m talking to an old friend. Bad news never gets me down. My workload never overwhelms me. Bad days? They don’t happen to me. I wake up positive and bubbly and stay that way until bed time. A great mom who loves her girls. A fiercely independent woman who never looks for love.

They wouldn’t believe me if I told them I have the most extreme case of social anxiety that forces me to take a shot or down a quick glass of wine before I go anywhere, even just to dinner with a friend. What are we supposed to talk about? I don’t have anything to say. What if they ask about this, or that, or if I can’t be witty and entertaining. What the hell am I supposed to talk about ::gulp::?!

They’d say I was lying if I told them I second guess everything I do. EVERYTHING. They would call my bluff if I told them I can’t bear to speak to anyone in my house anymore. Or that I feel incapable of being loved. Or that I feel like a terrible mom. Or that I’ve slept with more men than they could fathom just trying to find my replacement father-figure. Or that I hate the weekends because it amplifies how alone I feel. Or that I have a million journals that I’ve started and stopped bc I can’t actually tell anyone how I feel about life? How I would rather hide under my blanket than to actually take an active role in anything?

I’m not suicidal. Not even close. Am I depressed? Probably. I have a journal entry from just a couple months ago that would make this one sound like it was written by a stranger. So I know this is temporary. I also know this will probably happen again.

Bottom line is, no one knows about this blog. I hope they never do. I never want to be seen as weak. And wow, do I sound pathetic right now.


Why Do I Write?

It’s not to tell an imaginary story or to string together some lines of amazing poetry. I write to remember. To get the crazies out without throwing them out at some innocent. I write to show my future self that I have grown from where I thought I could never. That evolution happens. And when I’m in a better place, I oftentimes can’t even go back to the things I’ve written, or worse (better?), I don’t even recognize the voice behind the words. I do this to prove that I’ve been here before and conquered it. I’ve been through worse and have persevered. I’ve had better and shouldn’t settle. I’ve felt raw emotion and haven’t become numb. And I write to remind myself that I haven’t just fallen into this ridiculous obsession with love. It’s always been here, the trepidation then intrigue, excitement then fear, resolve then rejection. The abandonment whether real or perceived. The strength to keep going. And the secret me that got through it all without anyone else knowing. I write to remind myself I’m human and beyond my super confident exterior, I’m little more than a vulnerable silly, gullible girl who keeps searching for her ideal replica of the father who left her so young. Would I even know if I found him? That’s the big joke, I guess. Probably shouldn’t have said that.


I know I shouldn’t say this, but sometimes when you have SO much going on in your head it’s just easier to let your fingers to the walking. My wrist gets tired and I have too much in here! It needs to get out! And writing out my crazies is MUCH better than the destructive behaviors I WANT to imbibe in.

I find it interesting how many people tend to go through transition periods at the same time. And for whatever reason, I’m the first to know about it, or the one they come running to when things get overwhelming. I know I’ve said this before. And just when I think, damn I need a hobby to get out of this funk I’m in… BAM! Here comes someone in a transition period and I’m asked to help, to listen, to advise, to make sense, to justify, to counsel, and sometimes, just sit. It’s happening again and I’m so grateful for it, in the most bizarre sense. I am able to concentrate on other people’s problems instead of honing in on my own, thus giving some time and space for my own crises to heal and therefore giving my brain some much needed rest.

[insert lots of examples of people reaching out for guidance]

My point is, people are transitioning right now. And I feel it’s when I’m needed most. Regardless of how much time has gone by, the things I have felt, the emotions and anger or resentment I cycled through. This is my hobby. This is what makes me feel important. This is what makes me feel needed and confided in and trusted. No, they won’t always need me. Eventually they will be happy again and I’ll be pushed aside.

One thing that occurred to me today is the fact that I’m really happy when I’m single. I have no expectations, I’m not waiting for anyone to call or text, I’m not hoping someone will make plans, then feeling disappointed when they don’t. It’s just me and the girls, doing whatever we do, without anyone making me feel insignificant and unimportant, whether intentional or not.

What scares me… what drives me to panic, is the fear of abandonment. The slow progression of feeling someone slip away. The intensity that gradually starts to wane. The one word responses, if any at all. The fear that I’ve done something to incite this change. The self-abuse. The negative thoughts. The insecurities that creep in. All of that. That’s what scares me. That’s what I fear. My biggest. I’m ok once I’ve lost it. The actions leading up to the loss… that’s what kills me. The disappointment. Then reminding myself that I KNEW this would happen, then trying to rebuild my esteem and getting back to the place I was before the loss occurred. Easier to just avoid it right? Of course. However I’m such a sucker for a good love story that I put myself through the same dog and pony show over and over and over. One day, I know it’ll pay off. For now, I must continue being the strong person everyone else perceives me to be. By modeling that behavior, you become it. You incite change amongst others without lifting a finger. Yes it’s hard. It can be the most grueling kind of pain, but once it’s been overcome, I’m stronger for it.

So I’m grateful for the transition periods. I really am. They keep me alive and positive. Hopeful and optimistic. Without their evolution, I don’t think I’d be the person I am today. As silly as that sounds.

Don’t go…

I probably should say this but… Going through all our “play dates” because I’m a sentimental glutton for punishment. What used to bring smiles now incites a sharp pang in my heart. Probably because I’m already feeling the loss, whether real or imagined. He just needs time to think. He hasn’t gone completely AWOL. But the frequency has waned and I’m afraid of losing him, so it makes me want to reach out more. The logical side of me continues to coach me into giving him time and space. The emotional side is crying out, screaming, shaking! Not this again.



This is the first time I’ve written as a single person in about a year. To be perfectly honest, I have no idea what I even want to write about. I just know that I need to do it. It needs to happen. So I can heal. Understand myself better. Grow.

The past few months have been tumultuous to say the least. Among all the fighting that happened every couple of days, there were the holidays, day to day living, work, and breaking up with [him]. It’s been pretty official for about a week or more now. He got the last of his stuff (aside from the couch) today. It was super emotional and I felt horrible. He was crying and begging and really had hope that if he talked to me, I’d cave and give him that one last chance that he said would prove him a real man after all. I didn’t cave. In fact, it just concreted everything I had felt. I only wished he had made this life changing decision, to be a different man, when we were still together. But now the hurt has dissipated to indifference. And we all know, that’s the true opposite of love right? Once I became indifferent and emotion no longer blurred my vision, or wet my pillow, there was no turning back. The love that I had for him was gone. Completely buried in the graveyard of other lost relationships. Never to be resurrected with words. That was the hardest part: seeing the hope in his eyes getting dimmer and dimmer. He said even his mom was heartbroken. That almost got me. But like a wary consumer, I kept my distance far and my guard up, from this wing-tip shoed salesman. Obviously, my heart (and wallet) had been robbed before and I wasn’t about to fall for the hustle again. Fool me once, shame on you… I had been shamed about 250 times. At least. And that may be a conservative estimate.

While talking to [the other one] tonight, I mentioned I wasn’t even sure why I had gotten into a relationship. Was it just to prove that I had what it took to be in a committed one without running at the first sign of permanency? Possibly. Considering my last really significant relationship was one of scandal and adultery, and the last one before [him] was a man with a girlfriend. Did I even have faith that commitment, fidelity still existed? I had to find out. And my little experiment ended up costing me more than a triple-fold piece of cardboard, some baking powder, and vinegar. No, there were casualties in my experiment. People died. My hypothesis was only accurate in relation to the outside world. Inside the house, in the bedroom, in my relationship, I failed completely.

I know I shouldn’t feel like a failure considering I really did everything I could, or knew how, to love him with everything within me. Unfortunately, the amount of love I had for him just wasn’t great enough to fill the void that he needed. He was damaged goods. Damaged beyond an outlet store. He needed to go back to the manufacturer to get refurbished. Unfortunately, he mistakenly thought I was that manufacturer… that I could fix him. He was broken long before I got o him. And now he’s beyond repair. Ready for demolition. I did that. I don’t say that proudly. I say that with a hunch in my shoulders; the weight of this man’s lost pride and wounded ego bearing down on my shoulders. It hurts. Knowing I wouldn’t give it “just one more chance”… knowing he really WOULD have done absolutely anything to make me happy. It was very hard letting him go, knowing all of these things.

I worried about the kids, his and mine; wondered how they would feel. [He] wasn’t here to play with them anymore. Their male role model was gone. The man who disciplined, loved, played, and cooked for them. He wasn’t coming back home tonight… or ever. I worried about his kids. His mom. His sister. His dad. His cousins. But all of those people, had I stayed, were going to feel the residual effects of a bad relationship eventually. It just shows up in less obvious ways. They start out as hairline fractures in their stable lives, and end up canyons that divide what they thought they knew from what is now their reality.

Some simple thoughts…

First off, let me start off by saying that I am fucking thrilled that 2006 is on its way out. I believe that 2007 will hold many changes that will affect me for the rest of my life… and others in my path. I do believe it will be the most exhileratingly excitingly eventful year in my life. I’m 26 now and I think it’s finally time to grow up. Following are just a few things that I’ve had to think about lately.

It’s Easier To Ask Forgiveness Than Permission– Shit, doesn’t this make sense? I mean, if we had to ask permission to cheat, would we still do it when eyebrows are raised and people are tsk’ing at you? Asking forgiveness may not be all that easy, but it is damned easier than asking permission for something you know is wrong.

How long is one able to continue living in false happiness? Do they even know it’s false? If not, how could they change it?

Why is it that only having a few hours each week with someone is ok? Why are those few tiny clacks in time enough to keep me going?

How long is an appropriate amount of time to wait for someone? What if you never intended on waiting for this person until they touched you like no one else ever has? Are you compromising happiness in order to wait for a possible, but not probable future with the one who showed you how to live?

Why is it that knowing that you can’t have someone makes all of these feelings surface as if its the only way to express them? Why can’t we just love freely regardless of the situation?

FEAR CONTROLS ALL THINGS… why let someone else control your life?