Trainwrecks and A Tattered, Over-Read, Old Book

 

 

Yes. Never, ever, ever go back to an ex.

 

I’ve spent the last week trying to write the words for  and I just can’t figure out what to say. It’s a huge mess, and I’ve gladly stepped into it without a single question or second thought.

I let someone go, and he let me go almost 5 years ago, and somehow by a Facebook message we’ve found our way back to each other, and I can’t…I just can’t. When I let him go, I was in love with him, and I know that I am still. The only difference, was that was married then…To his BEST FRIEND and now, he is married.

When we crossed the line before, I was prepared for it, I knew what I was doing and I WANTED it. I wanted to hurt my husband, and I wanted a relationship with Mr. J. This time though…I wasn’t looking for a relationship. I have Ginger, I’m HAPPY  with Ginger. Ginger is in love with me, and I want to honor him. But I’m not.

I think at this point, maybe I’m not even sure how to honor someone. I haven’t done it in so long, I don’t remember how to be in a relationship where you honor them, how to be with only them-and love ONLY them.

I’m in love with Mr. J. I have been, and always will be. I would have left my husband for him in a heartbeat if he would have asked me to back then, even though the circumstances were completely ridiculous and he and I had created a complete and utter disaster of our lives, our friendships, his family and my marriage.

It’s no secret to anyone how a relationship will turn out when you start it as an affair. It very rarely ends well, and in most cases, it ends in a complete and utter train wreck where everyone stands by and watches the train burst into flames.

One of my best friends is currently experiencing the opposite side. Her husband is cheating on her with a woman who says she is in love with him. I’m being the supportive friend and trying to help her through things, but honestly…I feel like a hypocrite. I AM a hypocrite. I sit here on the good side of the fence with my friend, but hop over to the other side of the fence when I go to Mr. J.

We haven’t had sex, but we’ve done other things. He has decided he doesn’t want to keep doing them, and he wants to have a solid friendship. But conveniently, he’s stepped back into the shadows after he got what he wanted.

Hence the, never go back to an ex because it’s like reading the same book over and over again…you already know the outcome.

I know where this goes, and I know how things end with Mr. J. He walks and I run towards him hoping he picks me. The difference is this time-I’ve got someone who really cares about me, and he’s got a wife and a baby.

This isn’t supposed to work, and this is why I never have a good relationship. I fuck things up, and for the most part while they’re happening, I really don’t care. Honestly, I don’t think of the repercussions while I’m with him. I just think about all of the possibilities if the world were perfect and after all this time he decided to pick me.

But, he won’t pick me. And I won’t pick him, because I don’t want a man who is willing to skirt around on his wife. LMAO, isn’t that funny? I want a man who is committed, but it’s okay for me not to be?

I need to end this post for tonight. I’m incredibly cynical and talking in circles.

Bottom line…Never, ever go back to your ex. Ever.

 

Chapters, New Beginnings and Gingers

“Sometimes in life, we dedicate entire chapters and books to people who barely give us a footnote in the story of their lives.”

If this is the case, I’m a terrible writer.

I allow more than one chapter to be filled with tales of falling in and out of love with the wrong guy, I have chapters where I let someone back in that shouldn’t be there because they don’t deserve it. Basically, I could dedicate a whole book to some people.

I’ve been at a loss for words as to what to write about. I’ve got writers block.

In addition to that, my life has been a crazy whirlwind the past couple of weeks that settling down to write about how I’m feeling and how things are going has been near impossible.

It has been almost three weeks since I last heard from Sir. I’ve tried contacting him on so many occasions and in every time, nothing comes back. I’m half tempted to drive down to where he lives and put a big banner in his yard saying HAPPY FATHERS DAY!! That’d be pretty bitchy of me, wouldn’t it? But…A part of me says he deserves it. His girlfriend or wife probably wouldn’t be happy, but, maybe he should have thought of that sooner.

I don’t miss him much anymore, only when I hear a song on the radio that I know he likes, or when someone calls into my work with an identical last name.

I know that this is his loss, and that makes me sad. I know now, (after some serious soul-searching) that I am certain that I’m worth more than a tryst in a hotel room, or a visit once every couple of weeks. I’m better than a fake ‘I love you’.

I’ve yet to make a decision about what I’m going to do. No one knows the situation I’m in, and I think I’d like to keep it that way for now. This will be the hardest decision I think I’ll have to make. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made hard decisions before, but this time is different. I’m reaching an age where having a baby will be more difficult, and I’m in a serious relationship with another man, who I was kind of seeing when this happened.

Onward and upward, right?

A little known fact, I’m still technically married. Although “Mr.Z” and I have been physically separated since April of 2013 when Pismo and I started dating, we’re still not divorced. I had filed a couple of years ago, but apparently it didn’t go through. So, I finally pulled up my big girl panties and filled out the paperwork AGAIN. Hopefully this time it will stick.

The finality of divorce is a funny thing. You are ready for it to happen when it does, but there’s a piece of your heart that breaks off when you get that paper saying things are final. I hate it, but at the same time it’s like you’re a butterfly being released from a cocoon. You want to know how the ending should have been. If you could have stayed together, how would it have been? You feel like a failure because you couldn’t hold things together when you needed to the most. For me of course the biggest thing is the what if. I suffer from the what if on a regular basis, but in divorce land it’s worse. But…maybe sometimes the not knowing is better than the knowing-because in the not knowing, we can write our own ending.

I have a theory, there are 3 times in your life where someone will show their true personality to you. 1) When they are in charge of a deceased persons things. If they’re willing to share, or if they hoard everything, really shows you who they are. 2) When they’re planning a wedding. It’s kind of like how people say if you want to date someone, put them in front of a computer with dial-up, or give them tangled Christmas lights. Wedding planning is stressful, and how they treat you during that time is a tell all. 3) When you are getting divorced. You can be married to the most amazing person, but when it comes to divorce time-that person -can-become the UGLIEST person you’ve ever seen in your life. They will say horrible things, do horrible things and ultimately leave you wondering if you ever knew them at all.

Divorce and Sir aside, my relationship with Ginger seems to be trucking along. He is incredibly sweet, and it scares me to death. I’m not good at the nice guys. I like the drama, the hard to catch. But, as a dear friend put it, we’re not in middle school anymore. The hard to catch, is the hard to catch and nothing will ever change about them. I like the bad boys. The sweet guy seems boring and mundane to me. But I’m trying. Really, really trying.

Here’s to better chapters to read, starting over and really, really trying.

I know you’ve been there too, and I hope you know now that you’re not alone.

Tiaras and Long Drawn Out Good-Byes

Crying over a guy? Nahh, pick up your head princess, your tiara is falling.”

Damn straight.

I’ve tried calling, I’ve tried texting, next stop is email I guess.

What an honest to God piece of shit.

I haven’t cried. I feel like maybe I should. This is a pretty dire situation, but alas; I’m sitting here strong and tall, after all my tiara is pretty damn gorgeous and that shit can’t be broken.

I haven’t cried over the ending of a relationship since my last official boyfriend.

We broke up two years ago in September.

That was a crazy whirlwind. Got time? Let me tell you about it.

I met him (We’ll call him…Tom) on Plenty of Fish.

He was NOTHING like any guy I had ever dated. He was tattooed, long hair, and was living in a half way house. I can’t say much about the half way house, (in case you never read Pismo Beach, you should and that will explain why). But, he wasn’t tall, he didn’t have facial hair, and his hair seemed to be like a foot longer than mine.

We talked on the phone everyday, and he kept asking to see me and I drug my feet something fierce. Looking back now, maybe that was the Universe telling me that seeing him-dating him was a bad decision.

Finally I decided to give it a shot. To this day, it was the best very worst decision of my life. We spent some time together on a date, and by the end of the date he kissed me-completely out of the blue. It was electric, I could feel chills running up my spine. I still wasn’t sold though, the thought kept flashing in my head that he was different, too different.

As time went on though, the walls came tumbling down. I had just ended things with Pismo and I used Tom as a shoulder to cry on. He talked to me about how badly Pismo treated me and how he’d do so much better. He kept pushing and pushing for me to fall for him. And I did. Head first, head over heels I fell hard.

Soon, he was supposed to be getting out of the half way house and getting his own apartment. The thought was so exciting. Finally we’d be able to be like a traditional couple, spending the night together and what not.

He moved in to his apartment, and we had sex for the first time. It was the amazing, sparks flying, toe curling kind of sex.

Shortly after he moved in though, things started to get weird. His roommate didn’t feel comfortable with my staying the night, his parole officer didn’t want anyone staying there, he was too tired from work…the excuses went on and on.

This is the first time I actually purposely ignored my intuition. Something was off, I knew it, but I could never imagine that it would be what it was. And I wouldn’t find out for a good 3 more months.

After 7 months together, blissfully falling, spending time together on the weekends, talking every day. I love yous. All of it.

Then the floor fell out from underneath me.

Tom was supposed to come over to my town for our huge 4th of July celebration. We had planned it for weeks and we were excited to spend our first “holiday” together. On the day of the 4th, he called, said he’d be over, and never heard from him again. I called, and called and called and nothing. I went over to his house, nothing. I was legit freaked out. When we first started dating he told me he had dissociative identity disorder and that sometimes he’d end up somewhere not having a single clue how he got there. I was his girlfriend, so naturally, I freaked.

A few days went by without a single word. Crickets.

I went over to his house one day after work, and finally he came out to talk to me. I remember the day like it was yesterday. It was pouring rain, I was sobbing hysterically, he kept telling me to stop crying and he broke up with me. He said he needed to “go find himself” and that he didn’t want things to end forever, just that he needed time. I was a wreck. A sobbing, snotty, no eating, completely disconnected wreck.

A few weeks went by and somehow, although I don’t remember how, we ended up back together. Things weren’t the same of course, I was more guarded…my intuition was just SCREAMING at me that there was someone else. Literally, screaming. Every day I’d wake up to the roaring lion and I just couldn’t bring myself to actually believe it.

We got to September, and that’s when my entire world came crashing down. It was different than the ending of Rainbows and Butterflies , or than the ending of husbands two or three (their stories to come later). It was different than anything than I had ever felt, the most painful, excruciating experience relationship ending I could have ever imagined.

He not only told me that he was breaking up with me for good. But that he had a fiancé who lived about three hours away that was five months pregnant. He had been living a completely separate life and I had no clue. Now, I can’t fully say that I had no clue, because obviously with my intuition screaming at me, I knew something was up, but I had no clue that it was THAT bad. When he broke up with me in July, he had just found out that she was pregnant. The only thing that I had ever felt that this came close to was when my mom died. Every single thing I had been living through, and doing for the past year was a complete lie. What was worse, was that not only did he propose to her four months after we had started dating, was that he had been engaged for 9 months by the time he finally broke up with me. NINE months.

The worst part of this entire situation with Tom, was that two months after we broke up I found out I was pregnant with…twins. He wanted me to keep them. Then he wanted me to split them up and give him one. He didn’t want to tell her, he didn’t want to pay child support and he wanted to keep things on the DL until after his daughter was born. What an asshole, right? He caved though, and told her. She was going to move up here, and didn’t know at that point if she was going to or not because she was so upset. I have to admit, for one lowly moment, if she would have broken off their engagement, I would have taken him back in a heartbeat. I was lost, I was pregnant and I had no idea what to do with myself. To top it all off, I lived with my VERY Catholic Grandmother at the time.

During my pregnancy I experienced a medical anomaly with one of my twins called vanishing twin syndrome. Meaning, you go to the doctor for a sonogram and find out that the second baby had just disappeared. It’s not extremely common, but of course, it would happen to me.

I was sad, and the sadness from this only compounded the sadness of my whole situation with Tom. Ok, maybe sad isn’t the right word, I was destroyed. I know that there are so many women who suffer miscarriages, and losing a baby is never easy, no matter the circumstances because the very first thing you think is that it’s your fault.

My doctor advised that I had a high risk pregnancy because I had miscarried before, and that I needed to keep the stress to a minimum during my pregnancy. How can your stress level be low, when your baby daddy is engaged to another pregnant woman and he’s experiencing everything with her, that he will never experience with you? How can you keep your stress low when your constantly bickering back and forth over what you’re going to do with the baby?

The stress took it’s toll and soon, I miscarried. Words cannot explain how I felt at the moment I found out. I couldn’t believe it. Again, I felt like I had done something wrong, and that I wasn’t able to keep my cool long enough to take care of my child. I blamed him. He knew about the stress issue, but he continued to press my buttons over, and over, and over again.

Tom’s daughter was born January 17th, exactly three weeks after I lost our baby.

We didn’t talk after I lost the baby. Between the loss and his baby being born, I thought I needed him to exit from my life. February quickly passed without a single phone call exchanged between us. I missed him, but I can honestly say that my heart started to heal a little bit. The cracks were filled with super glue…I was now at a point where every man I spoke to that wanted to date me-I would ask if they had a secret family (like I did with sir even though I think that he lied to me). I know I said this before…several times. But. He BROKE me.

Then, March came. My friend and I had just driven by his house-literally, five minutes before. My phone rings. Hearing his voice was like a divine symphony, smooth and powerful…and sad. Something was wrong. He asked how soon he could see me and in all my stupidity I let him come back into my life like a raging storm.

It turned out that his fiancé had post partum, and some other mental health issues that put both herself and her family in immediate danger. She was checked into a mental health facility in my town, and he wanted to come see me after his visit with her. So…me being the trampled on person I am, I let him come back.

He showed up at my house, baby in tow. He told me everything that had happened, how alone he felt and he didn’t know what to do. He was working, taking care of a brand new baby and barely sleeping. My heart tugged for him because I couldn’t imagine where he was at. His fiancé was having dreams about killing him and their baby.

To this day, I have no idea why I allowed him back. It was a train wreck waiting to happen…But like all train wrecks, sometimes you just need to sit back and wait for the inevitable crash.

Within days, I was seeing him everyday (more than I did even when we were together) I was staying with him, in his house, in their bed. We were sleeping together again, telling each other that we love each other again, essentially I was playing housewife and I loved every.single.minute of it.

Our time together came to a screeching halt when she was released in early April. Tom came to me and said he’d like to continue an affair with me, if I would allow it. And of course, I did.

We slept together and saw each other a little less than twice a week until June. He came to my house one day and told me, they were getting married in two weeks.

I knew in that moment that I should have never let him back in. Super glue is meant to hold every piece together, it’s supposed to be strong enough to withstand a strong amount of pressure and it’s meant to eliminate the pieces from falling apart again. I must have needed gorilla glue because my heart broke into even smaller fragments this time.

After he was married, he said he wanted to continue our affair, but we stopped sleeping together completely. We’d see each other and we’d fool around a little bit, but he never once went all the way.

Then, much like before-he drifted away. Kind of like the John Greene quote about love that I quoted in the “L Word”. “I fell in love like you fall asleep, slowly then all at once” he started disappearing like you fall asleep. Slowly, then all at once. He was gone. Again.

He came back around, without permission. He still wanted to continue. I told him I deserved more and that enough was enough. I told him that I was hoping that he’d leave her for me, or that he’d fall for me all over again. He said nothing.

We haven’t spoken now in well over two months, and he’ll never come back again. I know in my heart that the end, has officially come. And to be honest, I didn’t cry the last time. He had hardened me so much to the loss of him that the super glue that now covered ALL of the broken pieces could withstand the pressure. No gorilla glue was needed this time around.

I’ll forever be grateful for the time I had with Tom. It was real-at least for me. He said he was going to pick me, but she ended up pregnant and he couldn’t leave her. She doesn’t work, and still doesn’t take care of the baby, and I’d be lying if a part of me didn’t think a) he kind of deserves the difficult life he plotted for himself and b) I’m sad that it’s turned out that way for him. He picked me up at a time where I was laying on the ground battered from the sword fights and cheating that Pismo left me with. My heart had started to crack with Pismo, but…it never shattered like it did with Tom. There’s something to be said for the fact that I cried more over the loss of Tom, than I did in all three of my marriages combined. I thought he was my person-and yes, I know it was right after Pismo, but I thought for sure that the universe had a hand in us being together.

One day in the early summer before he broke up with me for the last time, we were driving around in his new car chatting. I remember telling him that the best thing about our relationship was that I picked someone I would never ever pick, and I couldn’t have been happier. That was the moment I knew that the love I had for that man would far surpass the love I would have for any other man in my life. That the love with him was unique, and beautiful in its own way.

I’m not a grudge holder. To this day I’m still friends with all of my ex’s regardless of the circumstances of our demise. Unfortunately though there are two that I’m not. Pismo, and Tom. Funny that it’s both of them, when they’re the only ones who have ever been in prison, and that one came right after the other.

I’d also be lying if I said that I didn’t want to call her, that I didn’t want to show up on their doorstep and yell surprise! I forgot to mention a fact. When we started fooling around while she was in psych care, he decided to make up a new name for me-because she knew my real name and there was no way she’d be ok with him still talking to me. I wanted so badly to tell her that I was “Veronica”. But, I’m not that woman. As much as I know she’d like to know, I also know the pain of finding it out. Should she be completely destroyed like he destroyed me 100 times over, or should she live forever in blissful ignorance thinking that his indescretions would forever be over? Not my decision.

So there my friends is the story of my being an adulteress for the first time. There is the story of my heart being completely shattered and repaired to where I sit today. There is the story that taught me that my intuition was dead on and that as much as I’d love to deny it-it is the most powerful asset that I have.

My crown hasn’t faltered much since then. The last tear I shed for a man, was for him and if I can help it, it will be the last.

I’ll miss him forever and love him for always, but sometimes as much as I hate to admit it, you can love someone but not be meant for each other. I wish him nothing but happiness down the road and hope that someday he gets the marriage and life that he deserves. And somewhere deep inside I guess I hope he feels the same for me, no matter how badly things ended.

So, Sir can go pound sand, he’s not worth the tears. I miss him terribly, but you can’t make a heart love someone, no matter how bad you want it to.

The Way Someone Leaves You….Emotional Cutting V2

You can tell so much about someone, by the way they leave you.”

Yep…on so many accounts.

The end came kind of unexpectedly, but not at the same time. I woke up Saturday morning to find that Sir had not only deleted me from Facebook, but blocked me as well. Without a single word, literally I was left with the crickets that I had been hearing all week.

As you recall, no less than 8 days ago, I posted about the L Word. Like literally, I was told no more than 15 days ago that he was in love with me. Why would you say that if you planned on disappearing at the first chance you got?

I don’t think I’ve really felt the loss. I just am sitting here utterly shocked that any of this happened.

The think I neglected to post about Sir, is the reason he was called Sir.

I’m sure many of you can guess, but Sir was into some serious kink. The last time I saw him, I let my guard down and allowed some of the stuff that he wanted, and there’d be no argument from me that it left me pretty vulnerable. Especially when he took pictures. Yep, I’m THAT girl. I allowed myself to be photographed and now…He’s gone with pictures of me floating out in the world.

Judgements aside, I really did care about him. The L word scared the shit out of me. It’s heavy, and obviously when you don’t know if they’re staying or going…And he did not have a good track record. Stupidly I fell for it.

Here’s the emotional cutting. I keep listening to music that he listened too, I keep hoping that he’ll text me out of the blue. I keep double checking to see if he unblocked me on Facebook. I keep…I keep…I keep.

Since I love to ask questions-some rhetorical, some legit…Here’s my question. Why do we keep hoping for something we know is bad for us? Why do we keep wanting that back, when we know the hurt and the wreckage it can cause? He was like a hurricane coming through, calm in the middle but complete, utter disaster in the wake of it.

I prayed for a good guy, I didn’t get it…yet here I sit thinking that Sir is still better than the Ginger. Nevermind the fact that Ginger is helping me take care of some serious business tonight that I should forever be grateful for.

I’m an asshole. I serious asshole.

There’s one more piece of information here that rocks my whole world. I’m pregnant. And it’s Sirs. I text messaged him to tell him, he didn’t even respond with a single word. Now what?