Papa Bear and I put up a tiny little Christmas tree in his apartment. It’s a REAL tree–my first–and is maybe three and a half feet high. It has ornaments from Ikea, candy canes of all flavours and sizes, and a Santa hat for a topper.
It’s drinking water so hopefully it doesn’t die before Christmas. This is our third Christmas together. I feel kind of weird about it–like I don’t know exactly what to do. This is his first Christmas without a wife. I haven’t even really figured out how he feels about it.
I’m sleeping over on the 23rd as usual, and then on Christmas Eve morning we’ll go back to my place, exchange gifts with my kids and the Husband, and have brunch.
His kids are coming over on Christmas Eve night with their friends to make music and eat and drink and that should be nice. But on Christmas morning he’s going to wake up alone.
If it were me, I think I’d cry. I asked if he wanted to join us for Christmas breakfast but he said he’d rather come in the evening for appetizers and desserts. At least I know I gave him the option of spending Christmas morning with us, but it makes me sad that he’ll be alone.
I hope at the very least this holiday season is less stressful for him than last year’s–that was one shitty chain of events.
As for me, I’m glad this year is almost done. The polar vortex is over, and I’ve started my job search again. I hope I find something good, and soon. I love Boss Man down to my core, but I need to get away from him. A session with my therapist made it clear that all I’m ever going to do in his presence is end up getting hurt.
Interestingly, he’s told me he’s started looking at other employment opportunities, and all I want is to leave, if not before he does, then very soon after. It’s not about beating him–it’s just that it doesn’t feel like he’d be leaving his job. It feels like he’s leaving me. I can’t imagine going in there every day and not seeing him. It seems like it would be walking into someplace dead.
I almost fell apart today but I wouldn’t allow it. I need to hold myself together. And most importantly, I need to stay healthy and happy, and find a job that pays more, because I am bound and determined to leave this tiny apartment behind by spring.
It’s time for things to change. I hope I’m ready.
Another sexless lunch. Another totally appropriate hangout at a downtown pub. We sat close at a high, tiny table, and talked music, tattoos, movies and relationships. At the end we hugged goodbye. I’m pretty freaking proud of us.
Oh these words. How true they are. I am so broken–in love, in life, in politics. One foot in front of the other. No victory march for me, but a sad, drunken stumble. But there’s a crack in everything.
That’s how the light gets in.
Broken, but beautiful, and shimmering with love every day.
Going out for a drink with boss man after work. It will be the second time since we’ve made up. Last time nothing happened except a hug and a kiss on the cheek. We haven’t slept together or been sexual at all since admitting we still love each other. We are trying to be comfortable with that love while not ruining our lives. We shall see.
Im back with Boss Man. I know, I know. How self destructive can I be? The words “I love you”, from his mouth, are enough to turn me into a puddle. The heart wants what it wants I guess. There is something about him I just can’t resist.
It feels different now, though? Like he’s not constantly pushing me away. A few weeks ago was our Thanksgiving here in Canada, and he was suicidal. He was supposed to go home with his girlfriend for the weekend, but fell into a major depression. She was understanding, but he didn’t want to go, and she went without him. I was there for him, talking him thorough it, offering to meet for coffee or a movie, and even inviting him to our Thanksgiving dinner at my place. He declined–but I think it made him realize how much I love him. That I will be there when the chips are down.
He asked me to define what we are, last week. I never thought he’d go there. I suggested “lovers”—he said that sounded cheap. That we are more than that. He is not my boyfriend, not my partner, and not just my friend. We landed on “love”–he is my love, and I am his, for better or worse.
He’s going to counselling. As am I. At my next therapy appointment we are going to talk about how to not go to pieces when someone hurts you. I need that.
Papa Bear and I are good. But I got drunk at his place the other day and was a complete bitch. I am going to be talking to someone tomorrow about my drinking. I can’t control myself around alcohol–I just can’t stop. I have cut back in the mean time. It’s going ok. Haven’t been truly drunk in s couple weeks, though I did get buzzed last weekend.
I’m still looking for a new job–but the thought of leaving Boss Man hurts.
Hunby and I had sex last weekend. Day time sex! Papa Bear took the kids so we could have some alone time. It was good–I’m sure the neighbours heard.
Also, I’m taking a a stab at writing a novel. That’s why I haven’t been blogging as much. I’m averaging about 500 words a day. So far, so good. But shhh, it’s a secret!
Papa Bear and I are going to a costume party for Halloween this weekend. It should be awesome. Stay tuned.
I kissed three boys today.
My sex drive runs on a cycle and right now it’s in hyper drive.
Of course, one of the boys I kissed was my husband and one was my boyfriend, but I’d have had sex with all three if I could have.
Alas, I only had sex with one. Papa Bear invited me over for a post-work romp and I hungrily accepted.
Less than 6 hours later and I’m already desperate for more.
It’s been crickets around here.
Sorry about that.
It is so hard to write when it feels like you are just repeating the same thing over and over again. Who wants to read that I am still broken-hearted over Boss Man?
It has been ugly. Oh, so mortifyingly ugly.
Something happened one night, almost two months ago, that I am still not ready to write about.
No, he didn’t assault me, if that’s what you’re thinking.
But it hurt. A lot. I felt like everything he ever said to me, every touch, every kiss, was a carefully crafted lie.
He apologized, and I believed he was sorry. He said he was ashamed, that he had been an ass, that I had now seen the worst of him.
He said he loves me, that it has always been true, that he was a selfish asshole because he knew it could never be “just us.”
It took a long time to recover from the shock and hurt. I must have cried buckets of tears. On one particularly painful afternoon, during my anniversary weekend with Papa Bear, I spent two day-drunk hours curled up on the floor, howling like a wounded animal.
It was positively ghastly.
I still love him, but I think I’ve finally started to heal. And with that, to feel the appropriate guilt of participating in his cheating on his girlfriend, who just moved in with him.
Meanwhile, Papa Bear is the front runner for the Best Boyfriend awards. He has been absolutely amazing. Not just in being so understanding about my broken heart, but in caring so deeply about every aspect of my life. He is just good, good, good to the core.
Sometimes we talk about his Ex. I must admit the thought of her still makes me angry. I just feel like she is a horrible, selfish, hypocritical person. My feelings about her are no longer an enormous, overwhelming wave of rage and hurt. It’s more of a detached, critical coldness.
On occasion I’ve gotten drunk and read her blog, which I always end up regretting. She is hurting but she steadfastly maintains that my relationship with Papa Bear was based on a runaway train of New Relationship Energy
(This just in–I complained to Papa Bear about my horrible back pain an hour ago via text, and he just showed up at my door with a bag of gummies, a heated massager, and a bar of dark chocolate. Seriously, the man is something out of a fairy tale).
and that he was ignoring her feelings, gas lighting her, and generally being a terrible husband. He was not doing any of those things. He only told her she was wrong when she insisted I was deliberately trying to break them up, because she was wrong. All her other feelings, he listened to and did not argue with, and he was willing to bend over backwards and almost destroy our relationship in the process, to do whatever she asked.
Her complete lack of self-awareness continues to boggle my mind. I don’t want anything bad to happen to her, but of course I still hope that some day she will be far enough removed from all the painful feelings to acknowledge that this break-up was not his fault. She believes that it is all his fault, and that just isn’t true. Even willingness to accept ANY blame, ANY wrongdoing whatsoever, even just that she was wrong to swear at and name-call him, would be a huge win in my book.
But I haven’t seen her since he moved out, so she really isn’t my problem anymore. Thank goodness. Papa Bear is so fundamentally good, and I think that’s what hurts the most. That she is projecting all of her bad character traits onto him, and villainising him for merely wanting to be himself.
I am now off to eat gummy bears and chocolate while massaging the giant knot in my backside with my brand new massager!