14

That is all I have to say about that.

Unsent Letter

In therapy, we learned that we could write letters (that we didn’t have to send) to people with whom we have unresolved issues. The letter should go;

Dear ___________,

1.) This is what happened   (ex: someone died)
2.) This is how it affected me…
3.) This is what I am thankful for… (like memories)
4.) This is how I’m going to continue my life (or if negative person, take my life back)

Sign it.

Here is my letter to one such person.

Dear Ronan,

You hurt me. You said you wanted to spend your life with me and have a child with me and then changed your mind a few days later. You blamed it on your relationship, yet when the relationship was over, you didn't come for me. You have been wishy-washy with me for years now and it hurts. When I found out about your NEW girlfriend, I cried. Not for very long, but I did cry.

You told me that we could try a relationship when yours with T--- was over; assuming I was single as well. I know I told you that if that happened, you would have to physically come get me. That was the boundary I set to protect myself – to ensure you were serious. 

Admittedly, it may seem like a tall order, but a.) it’s just a plane ride and b.) it’s for the woman you “love” and c.) it would lead to me making the bigger sacrifice of moving there. However, debating that is moot, because I don’t think you even considered it for one second. I don’t think I even entered your mind when your relationship with T--- ended despite the fact that we were emailing each other.

That’s speculation, though.

What actually happened was I needed to talk to you about something. I was going to write this letter to you and tell you about my treatment over the last two months and then I thought I could just talk to you about it. We are supposed to be friends, after all. I emailed you asking to talk and you emailed back that you didn’t “have time” because you were in a new relationship that you were quite focused on at the moment. Then typed, “What’s wrong?” Because I had said it was about me, not about me and you.

And you still “didn’t have time”. I emailed back and said I was surprised at your new relationship status given the last time we talked a.) you expected to be with T--- “two more years” b.) you didn’t consider me. I said I held no grudges because it was your life and you could do as your choose. We had made no commitments or set-in-stone plans. I told you the topic I wanted to discuss with you was my health, but that I’ll be fine, I’m sure of it.  

You didn’t reply.

This has affected me by hurting my feelings. More so, though, by not being able to trust what romantic partners (or potential ones) say. Our first date you said you would “show me” how much your cared and I only half believed you, thinking I’d believe it when I see it. Well, then you did show me! My heart changed for the better and that was amazing. Then your wishy-washiness began.

But I’m not talking about 2003, I’m talking about 2014. The wishy-washiness from January to now. How one day we’re practically planning a wedding and the next we’re strangers? How do you think I will feel when someone does ask me to marry him? Do you think there will be doubt in my heart? Absolutely. When someone calls a few minutes later than they said they would, there is the fear that they are gone forever. 

But I want to reiterate the biggest thing this has done to me – made me doubt love. I can only hope that will change and if, God willing, a man does drop to his knee to ask for my hand in marriage, there will not be a doubt in my heart. Because right now, it is still there.

I am thankful for the good times we had. That spark I felt when I first saw you outside the phone booth and standing across the table from you. I hope I can feel that with someone again. 

I’m thankful for the memory of sitting in the Cottage playroom in the dark and looking at the Belfast night sky. 

I’m thankful that you remembered even more about that night than I had (when we talked in January). I’m thankful that you came back the next weekend (showing me you were for real) and bringing me flowers, a SIM card and cough drops. 

I’m thankful that you let me help you with your daughter, Emma, the first time spent the night with you.

I’m thankful for the long friendship we’ve had. The type of relationship where I feel I can share anything.

I’m thankful for the memories of what it felt like to touch your face and kiss you – make love to you. Of how after the first time, I cried because it was so emotional. 

I’m thankful that I shared my Northern Ireland experience with you. 

I’m also thankful for the experience of giggling under the sheets at the B&B when the staff came to the door. 

This is how I’m going to continue my life: I have a guarded heart, but despite everything it is still open (which I think shows how loving I am). I am actively looking for a LIFE PARTNER! I will judge him by his actions, not yours. I will let him love me completely so that when he does propose, there is no room for doubt in my heart because it is so full of love for and from him. I will look forward to the future and not dwell on the past. I will not try to understand your actions (past, present, or future). I will remember that I deserve 100% every day from my partner and accept nothing less.

Sincerely,

Sabrina

Premonition

Friday morning I woke up and posted this. 

Friday night, this happened.

My friend is okay, physically. She has bruises and other superficial wounds. I am in shock of it all. I know him, too, as I have been over to their house about 5 out of 7 days in any given week. I did not think he was capable of something like this. He had us fooled. But there were definitely red flags. Red flags she regrets overlooking now.

He is in jail and hopefully will stay there for a long time. I don't know that jail is where he will get help he needs, but he needs to be kept away from society for his safety and everyone else's. No excuses. That's how these things happen, when we make excuses for the abuser. Of course someone who does something like this is mentally ill. Most people in jail are mentally ill. This isn't about the effectiveness of the criminal justice system, it's about keeping you, your family and your friends safe.

Souls

People wonder why I even give thought to certain people (ahem, Ronan) but the reason is best described in that picture. From the moment I met him, I felt a connection. When I speak to him, when I'm in his presence, I feel this bond that I can't explain. It doesn't really make any rational sense at all. The time I was in Northern Ireland was brief and we didn't spend all that much time together then, either. He lived a couple hours away and my work schedule was insane. Yet, there was just this... connection. I can't think of another word to describe it. And ten years later, I still feel it. 

I've been hearing this song on the radio and focusing on the lyrics, "I just want to know you better." 

Turns out, it's another Taylor Swift song (I didn't even know it was her, I swear!) 

The Tale of Two Buddies

Or, "The Saga of the Sheets"

I had just gotten out of the shower and answered the door in my bathrobe. I threw the sheets on the bed and said he could put them on while I finished getting ready. He said, “You’re assuming I know how.” I turned and looked at him and said, “Never mind, I’ll do it when I’m done. Just have a seat.” I was kind of bewildered in my head, thinking, “Damn right, I assume you know how to put on a bed sheet, you’re in your 30s.” But I kept focused and finished getting myself ready.

When I was done, I came into the bedroom and started putting on the fitted sheet. He apologized for not doing it. I said, “That’s okay. I can do it.” And then jokingly added, “I’m a strong, independent woman.” To which he replied, “I’m a weak, dependent man.” We both paused and he said, “I wish I were joking.”

I was “smh” (shaking my head) in my head, if that makes sense, marveling at the negative thinking in this man’s head. As I fought with the pillow case, I was going to toss one to him to do, but couldn’t find the case. Probably for the best. I fished the case out of the dryer and did it myself. I was trying to talk as positively as I could during all of this. The ying to his dark, gloomy yang. The Tigger to his Eeyore. The manic to his depressive.

He finally came out and said he was a pessimist. I said I was an optimist and smiled. What a change in my mood and demeanor, I thought, somewhere, in the back of my brain. He said we were like the premise for an indie film. Two people who meet online to become fuck buddies; one the ultimate pessimist, the other an overly positive optimist who helps the pessimist turn his life around. I told him he should write it, he is a writer after all. Then I point to the decal on my wall. It says, “Life is Beautiful.” He is not moved. I said, “You’re not buying it are you?” “Nah.” I laugh. Not sure if he did or not.

This is all so beautifully ironic because I barely know how to put on a bed sheet myself. I often start with it the wrong way. I am horrible with making the bed. Even when I do it, it looks like a preschooler did it. And I couldn't get a flat sheet tucked neatly in a bed, ever, which is the task I think he thought I was asking him to perform. (When he saw me doing the fitted sheet is when he said, “Oh, I could’ve done that.”) Up until about two months ago, I had a good deal of negative self-talk going on in my brain. It was almost like seeing a version of myself from the not so distant past. Seeing how much negative thoughts affect your life is sobering. I had even beat myself up for not being a great homemaker. Here now, my skills as a homemaker had not improved, but I was still able to accomplish the task. It may not have been fantastic, but I did it. There was now a sheet on my bed, wrinkled and all. I didn't doubt for one second that I could do it. And if something were to have happened and I wouldn't have been able to get it on the bed, I wouldn't have thrown my hands up in despair saying, “I’m so stupid.” (Which is what he did upon getting lost to our first meeting.) Or, “This is who I am, I’m never going to change.” (Which he said when I pointed out his negative self-talk.)

I’m so proud of how far I’ve come. This experience just reignited my commitment to stay positive and mentally healthy. My thoughts are powerful. I have to speak to myself kindly, as I would to others. Because that’s just the kind of positive, optimistic person I am ;-) 

Update: the pessimist has entered into mental health treatment. Hopefully, it will help.

The Blame is on Me

I have been playing Taylor Swift songs over and over tonight. That’s never a good sign. Especially when the songs are, “I knew you were trouble” and “We are never getting back together”.

But didn’t I just post, “We are never getting back together” about a month ago? Oh yeah. And wasn’t the title of that post, “Over it”.  Mmhmm. So then it’s not about the same guy, right?

Wrong.

Fuck.

This man has the innate, uncanny ability to repeatedly break my heart a.) without even trying and b.) while not even together. He once dumped me three times without us being together in between. What?

He’s just that hurtful, and I’m just that naïve.

I was talking today about how an ex-friend of mine stole money from me several years ago. She watched me put in my PIN at the ATM, stole my card and withdrew money. It took me less than a week to have figured it out, filed a police report and have her out of my life forever.

Why was it so easy to do with theft yet so hard to do with romance? What the hell is wrong with my romantic brain? Is this person going to have steal money from me in order for me to forget about them? Stealing is just universally understood as wrong, both morally and legally. The romantic shit can be explained away by smooth talkers and memories can change history and you think what happened must not have been all that bad. Or nostalgia just makes you ache for what used to be and you want it so bad, you believe that there really will be a chance when he and his girlfriend break up. Then maybe you can work through being in different countries. Then he offhandedly emails that he’s starting a new relationship and it’s like being punched in the gut because you thought you would be the next relationship. Sure, you weren’t waiting, you were busy having hookup sex and all that, but deep down, you thought you would get back together. That you were next in line, if you wanted to be. If YOU were willing to accept that. Then you hear that you didn’t even get a vote. You weren’t even considered. The idea that you would even think such a thing was nowhere on the radar to this person. This person, who just two months ago, talked about marrying you and having kids. This person, who tried to be rational and fair and saying that he couldn’t in good faith break off his relationship just because “the heart wants what the heart wants”. The one who told you that no one had ever loved him like you had loved him and he knew that if he didn’t take this opportunity to be with you, that he would never be loved like that again.

Then the opportunity came and he didn’t even think of you. Two months later.

It’s no wonder I cried.

Yet again. Ten years after I said it was over the first time. Five years after I said it was over again. Two months after I swore I was done. I was hurt again, by the same man. Did he steal something from me after all? Did I just leave it all out there for him to take? I left it out there, that’s for sure, but he didn’t even reach for it. 

13

I've now slept with 13 men.

And I'm okay with that. I think.

That's not too bad considering I've been having sex for over 20 years.

However, I can't say that I've had serious relationships with 13 men. So you know what that means?

Hookups.

Not many of them, mind you. Most partners have been in the confines of a relationship. Just not all of them. I'm half tempted to count just how many, but I'll refrain. I can say that the two most recent partners have been hookups. And I am definitely okay with that. Not something I want to make a habit out of, thus I've tried to recruit more long term hookups. Friends with benefits (FWB), if you will. We'll see how it works out.



Why note 13? 13 has always been an important number to me. I turned 13 on Friday the 13th. My mom didn't want me to leave the house that day! (I did.) Since my birthday is the 13th, I've always considered it a bit of a "lucky" number.


So maybe 13 is the number I will reach before meeting 'the one'. Maybe it will turn out to be my lucky number. The one that leads me to my lifelong partner. Maybe it will be just another stop in the road.

Being the age I am (36) and wanting what I do (family), my ultimate goal is a husband. A lifelong FWB, I suppose.  Hoping that #14 is my permanent number and the one forever? Sure. Sounds hokey, corny, wishful, but if I could wave a magic wand and make my life what I want, I want a partner in life, not just sex. Sex is easy, life is hard.

                   

Dizzy again

I am so dizzy again. Since the weekend. I attribute it to my migraine medicine, so I didn't take it last night. Guess who has a headache that is progressively getting worse?

Darnit. I thought maybe my migraines had ceased due to lower amount of stress in my life. Guess not.

Tomorrow is the 7 year anniversary of Mike's death.
Tomorrow I graduate from treatment.
Tomorrow I have ballroom dancing.

The literal dizziness in my head seems to mirror the emotional dizziness in my brain and heart. I am so excited to step down from treatment and now only go once a week. I am nervous about the lack of support, though.

I thought I was completely okay emotionally when it came to Mike's death. Then I tried writing a post about it yesterday and I realized that it definitely still affects me. Mostly the memory of all that happened when he died. That was one of the most difficult things I've dealt with in my life.

My life - that I'm still living. That I think he would be proud of. That's why I'm glad my last day of "intensive" treatment is tomorrow. And I'm glad that my first one on one ballroom dance class is tomorrow. I remember the only time we danced together, was on the street corner and we attempted to do a ballroom dance. A pleasant memory.

I do miss him. I keep telling myself the pain is so much less now than it was then, and it is. But it's all still there. The pain, the anger, the fear, the grief, the sadness...all of it. Just doesn't show up as often as it used to. I miss the unconditional nature of our relationship. I miss being able to tell someone anything and know that their opinion of me won't change. I miss being able to text ten times a day about silly things. I miss the feel of his facial stubble against my hand, cheek. I miss the sound of his voice.

I miss him.

7 years

This is the day Mike died 7 years ago. It was technically the 11th, but it was Sunday, the day we moved clocks forward. I was living in Lafayette, but I was actually in Hammond that weekend. On Saturday to Sunday, I babysat Danielle's daughter, who was six at the time. I remember driving to Hammond and sitting at 30 and 41 thinking how close to Mike's house I was. Later I wondered if he was still alive at that moment or if I had heard the ambulance taking his lifeless body to the hospital.

This is hard.

I'll have to finish it later. It's now after 3 am due to the time jump and I have church in the morning.

Two Drink Maximum

I had two "Lady of the Sea" drinks tonight, so you know something was going down. Two of those drinks (or any drink, for that matter) are my absolute maximum. I had a date. Well, sort of. I met a guy there, let's say. Aw, for f*cks sake, I met a hook up there.

Whew, feel better confessing already. It's not even Lent yet.

And no, the alcohol did not cause the hookup. I was drinking because of the hook up.

Anyhow, I've now slept with three guys in a year. Actually more like six months. That's not quite a new record, because there was the summer of slut in my 20s, but it's pretty damn close, I think.

Jonathan is the only person who knows about it because I'm not ashamed to tell him anything. I also forwarded him all the info on the dudes mentioned so that he had all the info in case something bad happened to me. Other than this blog, I don't want to tell anyone about this. Even my fricking therapist. I got such negative feedback after the last dude. This guy; I saw his website before hand. He's a published author, so I saw his writing online. We went out for dinner and drinks. We chatted for an hour at least. I still wasn't sure about sex, so I told him we could go to my place and make out. Yes, I was that specific. I said I wasn't sure about anything else, so I didn't want to create an expectation. Well, the make out was good, so sexy time followed.

I was all good with everything, but now I'm starting to have some regrets. Or is it guilt? I don't know, but I'm starting to think maybe I should have left it at heavy petting and skipped the sexy time. Idk why, but that's how I feel.

I had another guy that I met up with a couple of times but he didn't text me back today, so I moved on. Ain't nobody got time for that.

Today is Mardi Gras. I suppose crazier things have happened on Fat Tuesday, n'est-ce pas? Oui.

It just amazes me what decision we humans makes when it comes to sex. Somehow our brain goes out the window and we're doing this strange act that is meant to procreate, but we take whatever means necessary to not procreate whilst doing it. We allow people we hardly know into our homes. We let this stranger see us naked and stick one of their body parts into ours.

I would have another drink, but I've had my fill.

If you know what I mean. Zing!