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I realize that I mentioned in the previous post I wouldn’t write about My Love. But I have to share this.
The reason she broke off our relationship was money.
Apparently, I wasn’t the knight in shining armor she hoped I would be. Since my divorce, money has always been an issue for me. Mostly the lack of it. My Love was always wanting to go to concerts, out to dinner because she didn’t want to cook, or go places to do things. She told me that she was easy to please and happy to stay home, snuggle on the couch with a good movie, or play games. She would tell me it was about sharing resources, each of us contributing to the relationship in our own way.
The reality was she wanted a man to take care of her. SHe wanted that fairy tale where her true love would sweep her away and he would provide for her. She wanted to be able to pick up and take off for the weekend. She wanted spontaneity.
I feel foolish. I feel humiliated. I feel like I was deceived. It seems that after those feelings of infatuation wore off, reality set in. It makes me bitter to think about it.
I will take responsiblity for my part. It takes a bit of cash to maintain a relationship and it was rare to have extra cash. But I held a steady job and was reliable, unlike one of her ex-husbands. My battle was against all the men in her life who screwed her over. If we had a conflict, we’d address it but there was always that spectre hovering overhead. I will give her this much: she never nagged me about making more money.
At the moment I feel empty. There’s a part of me that wants to explode in rage, but knows that wouldn’t accomplish anything. The other part of me wants to run away from the pain. It doesn’t matter where, anywhere to get away from it. I feel three inches tall.
That’s it. It’s possible that My Love will read this again to see how I am doing. Go ahead and read, sweetie. She won’t give a rats ass about me anyway.
MEMO TO MY LOVE: When you said you wanted to protect me, I didn’t think you had emasculation in mind. With what you did, you make what my ex- did look like childs play. Any shred of self-confidence has been torn away. I hope you are satisfied. I won’t be bothering you from here on.
I pity the man that follows me. He doesn’t have a chance.
It has been brought to my attention that I am making slow and steady progress.
Really?
This is a “can’t see the forest for the trees” moment. As much as others believe I’m making progress, I am having a difficult time seeing it. I recognize I am slowly emerging from my “shell”, enjoying lost pleasures now that My Love and I are no longer together. I am enjoying afternoons at the movies, playing rock n roll on the stereo while cleaning my apartment (it’s the music I enjoy, not the cleaning), and other stuff I can’t think of at the moment. But is that progress? Should it take so long to heal? How long will it be before the pain goes away? I am getting to the point where I feel like I’m stuck in a rut, that I’m trying too hard to break free and do something different, but all I do is slip backward.
I am attempting to manage my emotions when I think of My Love. Sometimes successfully, other times not. But she is tough. She has hung on longer than any former girlfriend in my life, in that I cannot shake the thought of her. I don’t want to let go. As much as I want to move forward, I recognize that she has helped me reinvent myself, so to speak. There are unanswered questions. Such as…
WHY? Why couldn’t she talk about her issues with me? We have there for each other all along, why stop there?
WHY? Why could she just walk away? Did she fall out of love with me? Did she not want me in your life?
WHY? Why does it seem so easy for her to walk away?
These questions may never be answered. They may be answered only when the time is right . Here’s another that I need to consider:
WHY? Why have I hung on so long? Why can’t I forget her? Why won’t I let it go and get on with my life?
It’s not because I enjoy feeling this way. It’s not that I am trying to be a martyr, suffering in my self pity. I am not taking pity upon myself, allowing my emotions to get in the way of living my life. At least not outwardly and not as intensely as three months ago. I recognize that the end of my relationship with My Love didn’t end in a conventional manner. The only issue that was familiar was that she broke it off. I have ended up on the short end of all relationships with women.
I guess I’m just lucky, he says with tongue planted firmly in cheek. This time, it was old boyfriends and ex-husbands that did me in.
This one’s been rolling around in my brain for most of the weekend. It’s one of those philosophical questions that reach out and slap you in the face from time to time. This one comes from a John Grisham novel called “Playing For Pizza”. More on the plot, but here’s the question:
What am I doing here?
The story concerns a washed-up third-string NFL quarterback, who’s only option is to play in the professional league in Italy. His world has been completely turned upside-down. In the process, he begins to learn what life is all about through Italian eyes. He learns how to live well.
I finished the book in a few hours on Monday and walked away finding something I didn’t expect to find. I found myself mirroring the main character, and asking myself the same question:
What am I doing here?
My love had sent me a response to some of the posts I had written in these pages. One of the discoveries she made that we were “very good together but frighteningly stuck”. What does that mean? Did it mean our relationship wasn’t progressing the way she hoped? Did it mean I wasn’t progressing the way she hoped, or was she more concerned about her role? If we were that good together, it would be a step forward to bring this issue to the table and discuss it as a couple.
My guess is that she was waiting for the shoe to drop. She had been married twice. They were short courtships and quick weddings. Without going into details, both of her ex-’s betrayed her trust and hurt her deeply. We had two blips on the radar within the context of our relationship. While most relationships would take the experiences and learn from them, we separated for brief periods. It’s my guess she did that as a way to reassess the relationship. They were tow painful periods in our relationship.
Frighteningly stuck? Can a relationship have those times when it’s necessary to just “be” – taking time and recharging your emotional batteries? Were we “stuck” in the sense that we weren’t progressing and a couple or as individuals? Those are valid questions and could very well be applied to My Love and I.
Can you get unstuck? Is it possible to step back, see the realtiohnshiip for what it is, and make the necessary changes to make the relationshiip vital and interesting?
All questions to be answered at a later time.
November 4. Four days after Halloween.
I am assuming that most of you have come out of your sugar coma by now. SInce I never bought Halloween candy in the first place, I’m happy to report that my eyes are clear and bright and I have energy to burn. I was not found sitting on my couch and covered with wrappers.
I have a love/hate relationship with chocolate. My Love turned me on to dark chocolate. Her claim that it was an aphrodisiac was spot on. Well before that, there was Nutella. For the uninitiated, Nutella is a milk chocolate/hazelnut spread with the consistancy of peanut butter. It is smooth, thick, and sinfully good. I discovered Nutella when I was on a high school exchange trip to Germany. My first breakfast with my host family included Nutella. What a great way to start the day! Sometimes I’ll heat it up and pour it over vanilla ice cream, or I’ll make peanut butter and Nutella sandwiches. My mother will buy Nutella in HUGE jars. My Daughter is a Nutella junkie. She’ll hoard a jar in her room so her brother won’t swipe it.
But despite loving the taste of good chocolate, I have a tendancy to overindulge if there is chocolate in the house, and the result is not a pretty sight. I have a history of abusing food. Whenever I’m having a tough time emotionally, I binge eat when I’m alone. I haven’t weighed myself lately but I can tell I’ve packed on a few pounds. That ship has been righted and we’ll be working to slim down. The fact that I recognize this is helpful. I recognize that I should be taking better care of myself. But my emotions are taking over when I should be in control. Lately, I have lost the desire to cook and have turned back to Mickey D’s and take-out Chinese. I need to remind myself that I need to think about what I eat. My weight goes up when I eat like this, and I recognize why I eat that way.
I have discoverd this fact: there is no timetable for mending a broken heart. I know that the majority of the time I do alright. I am in the moment and enjoying life. But there are times, such as when I discovered that My Love was reading my blog for real, when my heart goes into a tailspin, causing it to try to figure out which end is up. I catch myself daydreaming and figuring out what she’s doing, what her impressions of my writing are, and just getting lost in thought. That is the tendency that needs to be changed. It’s as if my heart has left a light on for My Love, waiting for her to come back.
SHE”S NOT COMING BACK, FOOL! GET IT THROUGH YOUR THICK SKULL!! SHE”S GONE AND YOU’RE HISTORY!! GET OVER IT AND GET ON WITH YOUR LIFE!! SHE DOESN”T WANT YOU ANYMORE!
Sounds harsh, doesn’t it. It needed to be said.
I am now waiting for the translation for my heart. I suspect my heart speaks another language.
It’s Election Day. If I were in Chicago I’d say, “vote early and vote often”.
It’s a gorgeous sunny day which made walking to the polls a wonderful experience. After a short line and an even shorter ballot, I made my way back. I decided to talk the long way, so to speak. Deering Oaks Park is a wonderful space, designed by Frederick Olmstead, the same man who designed Central Park in New York City. There are wading pools and a playground for kids, basketball and tennis courts, horseshoe pits, a very quirky baseball field (very short down the line and a “deep” center field of 350 feet), and wonderful walking paths under a variety of trees. As I walked through the park, I found some chestnuts on the ground. I hadn’t seen chestnuts since I was a kid in Bangor.
But the crown jewel of the park is the duck pond. The perimeter of the pond is surrounded by a 3-foot stone wall with flat cap stones. People like to sit at the edge and feed the ducks, along with the seagulls who come inland to “slum” in the park and steal the bread from the ducks. Today the pond was full of ducks, splashing and quacking.
In the center of the pond is a simple fountain. There are colored lights that come on after dusk, making the fountain look like a beacon coming up from the water. About fifteen years ago, there was a week-long festival in the park, put on by the Chamber of Commerce. One of the highlights of the week were the Chinese fireworks that were set off over the pond. It would stop traffic, turning State Street, Park Avenue and Deering Avenue into parking lots. I was living four street up from the park at the time. My Ex- and I would walk down and spend the evening.
Today, it was kicking fallen leaves, breathing deeply, and “looking up”. I remember a story I’d read when I was a boy. It’s was called “Frederick”, and it’s about a mouse who lives in a stone wall with other mice. Rather than help gather food for the approaching winter, Frederick is content to sit on the wall, basking in the warm sunshine. The other mice aren’t too keen on him not offering to help. But later, when the winter winds are howling and their food supply is dwindling, the other mice come to Frederick and ask him about what he stored for the winter. What the mouse stored were memories of the warm autumn days, the feeling of the stones on the wall, and the colors of the world surrounding him.
I was always touched by that story. For me, it’s about taking stock in the world around you, and keeping those cherish memories tucked away until the right moment. Someday you’ll pull them out when you need a laugh, when you want to remember a loved one, or to remember a time from childhood, when the only care you had was having a friend to play with or a bike to ride.
On a day like this, I’ll pull out memories of jumping in huge piles of maple and oak leaves. I’ll remember walking to school and listening to the crunch of the leaves under my Stride-Rite sneakers. I’ll remember hikes with church youth groups, stuffing scarecrows with my children and propping them up in lawn chairs in front of the house, and a first kiss. That happened on a football fan bus, heading south to Portland for the State Championship game. She was a year ahead of me. She also was the one who pulled me into a supply closet after school, teaching me to French kiss. We kissed on the way down and coming home, scrunched down in the seat so that no one would notice. She went out of my life as quickly as she came in, and I didn’t stand a chance.
I also remember the first time My Love and I first made love. It was around this time. We began our afternoon walking in her neighborhood, kicking leaves and holding hands. All the time in the world was ahead of us, and all the time was what we needed. I won’t get into details, but it was the perfect day.
And it was the perfect night.
Create your memories today. Let them bring you warmth when your life gets cold.
I am wearing “the Boyfriend Sweater” today.
I had never heard to the term until I was dating My Love. She had bought me a maroon sweater from JC Penney. The purpose of the sweater was to retain my smell, my fragrance, my odor, whatever. She explained to me that I was to wear it a few times, then give it to her so she could wear it and think of me.
The hard part was I didn’t have a “fragrance”. No cologne, no aftershave, nothing. I was fragrance-free. The good news was I didn’t stink, either. I had gotten out of the habit of wearing a manly scent that would drive women wild.
Just reading that last sentence makes me chuckle. I picture the Marlboro man, macho and muscular, with a face full of character. He would wear something manly to attract women. That’s why men wear cologne, to attract women. I didn’t wear it in college. I had tried Old Spice in high school. Very cliche. My grandfather wore it. Maybe that’s why my sex life was in the pits. Wearing the cologne your grandfather wore isn’t likely to appeal to women in their 20s.
Wearing the “Boyfriend Sweater” was almost a moot point, except that My Love helped me pick out a fragrance that she liked. She found that the sweater worked its magic with something to stimulate to her brain.
I am wearing this sweater for practical reasons. It’s chilly here on the coast, and it’s a light but warm sweater. It’s doing nothing for me at the moment. Except maybe bringing back some old memories. A good friend told me that she wears an old gray tee-shirt that belonged to a former boyfriend. She told me she had been wearing it while at home recovering from a nasty case of flu. She said that wearing it had made her melancholy and she was thinking of this man, and wondering why they weren’t together anymore.
I could relate. There are a few articles of clothing that remind me of My Love. She used to wear my fleece bathrobe when she finished her shower. Whenever she would spend the night, she wore a blue pajama top with a pair of striped pajama bottoms that belonged to me. She also wore one of my oxford button-down shirts around my apartment. There is nothing sexier than a woman wearing a man’s shirt as a nightshirt, with the sleeves rolled up and the first three buttons left undone. I can see her, lying on the bed reading, with a comfortable, yet slightly rumpled look and come hither look on her face. It makes me go weak in the knees thinking about it.
No doubt there will be other episodes when my memory will take me back. The question is how to deal with them. The triggers are unpredictable; I never see them coming. My stomach doesn’t churn they way it used to a few months ago. Since I carefully placed her photograph in a box with her love notes and cards, I have a difficult time remembering her face. It’s as if she’s a shadow that drifts across my memory. I remember those legs, her lips, and how she would nuzzle into me whenever I would come up from behind and wrap my arms around her.
Writing has become a challenge all of a sudden. I’m having a difficult time concentrating. I need to settle my brain.
Sorry.
It is a gray, cold morning in my neck of the woods. I stood on the loading dock at work and looked out over the scrubby landscape, the young birch and ash trees ablaze in yellow and orange. The cold air felt good but it reminded me of what was to come. This was a quiet, soft morning, too good a morning to be wasted at work.
I allowed my mind to wander back to one of many mornings just like this. Back to the warmth of a shared bed, back where two people created memories and how they believed mornings should be. We have shared mornings many mornings like this, waking up under fluffy down comforters, all warm and cozy, with lots of pillows, the sheets soft against bare skin.
These are the perfect mornings for long, luxurious lovemaking, being playful under the covers and losing track of time. Mornings like this are perfect for lingering kisses, exploring hands and wicked minds, and the only sound I want to hear is a tender whisper from you in my ear, speaking passionate words of longing. Those were times when we believed we were the only people on earth.
Let’s make the most of this morning. Let’s cherish it all. Because, too soon, it’ll be over. We’ll glance at the clock and wonder where the time flew to. Then, we’ll want it all back because these mornings are too rare. Time is never on our side.
Our lives are so busy. We know how precious these times are, that how easily they are pushed aside by the demands of everyday life.
But not this morning.
How long has it been since I got lost in your beautiful blue eyes? When was the last time a kiss left me breathless? It’s been too long since your fingers danced their way down my body. Slowly, like a spider moving towrds its prey. They paint an invisable picture on my skin. Go slowly, I want to be devoured by you, slowly.
Why now? Why this morning? Because all the pieces fell into place: you, me, time away, desire, love. Throw in a carafe of mamosas and bagels, and we have a perfect morning. Later I’ll pull on sweats and a ballcap and run outside for the paper. We can spread it over the bed, have some tea, and just be. And later we’ll make love again.
All in its own time.
Take the time when you can. Make the time because you should.
After yesterday’s reaction to the events of early in the week, I think I’m back on track. The “events” I refer to have to do with My Love. When she responded to a forwarded “cute” email, I misinterpreted her response to be one of reconcilation.
My bad.
After putting myself in a positive direction, I allowed myself to be distracted. A good friend said that I was “lovesick and heartbroken”. No truer words have ever been written. I am the one in control. I was the one who allowed myself to believe she wanted me back. We are both healing. Our wounds are much too fresh and the scabs too easily torn off. As much as I love her, I have to move forward without her.
Yesterday, I had an interesting conversation with My Daughter. I explained what I was going through and was having a tough time with the breakup. I told her I trusted her because she had gone through something similar.
Point of information: her boyfriend of almost 2 years had been caught cheating on My Daughter with a good friend of hers. I assumed she had a solid support group. Dad was so wrong. The LARP group the two of them participate in, believes that David did nothing wrong, which leaves My Daughter completely betrayed and extremely angry.
Well, My Daughter reminded me of that fact and told me we didn’t go through similar circumstances. I told her I was sorry and that it wasn’t my intention to open old wounds. She then reminded me that, like dear ol’ Dad, she didn’t have anyone she could talk with about this ordeal, which obviously was a parallel to my experiences. I felt for her, knowing that she really wanted to unload this burden.
Sometimes it’s hard to see how the people you are the closest to, are so much like you in subtle ways.
I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.
When is this roller coaster ride going to end? Because I’m in the last car and about to lose my lunch.
My heart has been battered, bruised and stomped, and it’s all been self-inflicted. I feel like I’ve gone ten rounds with Tyson. It’s all because I can’t get over losing the woman I love. I can’t just let things go because I let Hope stick its nose in my business. Hope is preventing me looking at things realistically. Right now, Hope sucks big time. I get a whiff of possibility and I throw any rational thought out the window.
Why can’t I just move forward? It’s been two steps forward, one step back for what seems like an eternity. I feel like a rabbit with Turret’s: I have no idea which direction I’m going , I have no control and I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.
It would be so much easier if I could come to terms with the idea that I have been given an opportunity. There is a woman out there just waiting for me. Now is not the time or place for me to find her. I have more work to do. My heart needs healing.
I noticed something interesting whilst looking at my post stats. Whenever I write on the everyday stuff in my life, the numbers are down. But when I write about my struggles recovering from the breakup with My Love, the numbers go through the roof. I guess it proves that folks like a good train wreck. It’s compelling stuff. Reading about someone else’s love life gone askew somehow makes one’s life much better. It’s like “The Truman Show”-my life is live and in living color. Good thing there isn’t a camera following me 24/7. Here I am, warts and all. I bleed, cry, laugh, sing, wonder, ponder, anger, and everything in between. Some folks offer their support. They coach me from the sidelines and give me encouragement. Most of them silently look on.
But, seriously, why are most of you here? I am here to put my thoughts down so they keep my brain from clogging. Does what I say have meaning to you? Is there genuine concern for my wellbeing, or do you just look in from time to time? Do you read my posts with empathy, seeing yourself as I chronical my life? Are you cynical and waiting for the train to derail…again? Or are you a voyeur, lurking out there in the shadows, anonymously finding pleasure in the ups and downs of a fellow human being.
As I scan down the list of destinations in my blogroll, I see folks from all over the world dropping in to see what conditon my condition is in. I want to be able to reach out to you. Maybe talk to you individually. ”How are you? Where are you from? Why do you return repeatedly to my blog? Tell me something about yourself. How’s life in your corner of the world.” I sometimes wish there was a chat function. Not some silly space full of misspelled words and cryptic abreviations, but a place where kindred souls and reach out to each other. How are we all alike? Are we both looking for the same thing? Is there something missing, and what do we want to fill the empty spaces with? One of the reason why I am here is so I can have someone to talk to, albeit a silent and unresponsive listener. I got tired of talking to myself. I couldn’t seem to find the answers to the questions I was asking myself.
Most writers write anonymously. They don’t give anything away except for some choice bits. Maybe the names are changed, but the facts are real. Sometimes it’s all fiction. For your information, everything in this space is real. I do give my subjects pseudonyms.
Now, the crux of this post. I’ll be honest with you and tell you why I am writing. It’s the same reason I wanted to be a radio DJ: I wanted the attention. How many people have this opportunity? We all feel we have something important to say, but is anyone really listening? Do they care about what we’re saying, or do they just nod their head and smile? Do our opinions matter to them are are we being given lip service?
I realize that, like the televison, if you don’t like what you’re hearing you can change the channel. If what I’m saying here doesn’t appeal to you then you move on. If you’re curious enough to keep reading, maybe you read another post or click the “About” tab and find out some more.
Do you care? Maybe. Maybe not.
Why am I saying all this? Because, up until the point, I have been afraid to say the things I want. Now I will.
I am hurting. I hurt because the life I didn’t want was ended, because I was too afraid to do the dirty work myself. I am hurting because I thought that the one true love that came into my life is no longer there. I don’t know why she’s not there anymore, but I am having difficulty adjusting to life without her. And I hurt because I feel like I am going through this difficult time by myself. I have found my identity through others and am finding it difficult to recognize who I really am.
Put that in your pipe and smoke it.
If anyone wants to step up and make this a two-way exchange, come on down. We all could use a few good friends, and misery loves company.
I just want somebody to talk with, and who will listen to me.
p.s. Memo to The Rommate: I see you’re back. If all this is more than you wanted to know, why do you come back?
She IS out there.
My Love is out there.
I had forwarded a cute email to her, thinking she might get a kick out of it, and got an email in return. She said that she had thought about me and was fighting the urge to contact me. She has been working on healing herself, coming to grips with her own demons. I was glad for her, and I was glad to hear from her.
I also felt familiar stirrings deep inside that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Not just nerves, but butterflies. It was the gentle lapping of the waves of longing. I, too, have fought similar urges to contact her. I have thought to pick up the phone and call, but have hesitated. I have been inspired to write to her, but had changed my mind from uncertainty. I have often wondered if I occupy her thoughts and compelled her to write or call in the same way.
I understand that I have stated my intention to move forward after the breakup, with no illusion of reconcilation. It was also suggested to me that she should make the first move. It has been difficult to suppress these urges.
So, when she contacted me, I invited her to read my writing. The Roommate had cautioned her that it might be better to avoid reading this blog. I can understand this. But The Roommate read things that were common knowledge between My Love and myself. I suggested that she only read the current posts in September and October. There is nothing there, or in the rest of the posts, that is offending or negative. She was hesitant, but said that she owed me that much.
Now the question is whether or not she’ll read what I’ve written. What will she take from these posts? Am I pathetic or sincere? Am I perceived as weak, or am I a man in touch with his feelings ? Will she reconsider our relationship or will she also move on and continue the healing process? Does she ache and yearn? Or want?
This is out of my hands. I have reminded myself constantly that I need to prepare myself for a life without her. I have no idea where this will go from here.
