So here I am–back, and not knowing where to start. I should probably start with the reason that I’m back, which is–I feel like I would like to implode my entire life. What does that mean? What am I saying?
Just that I am sick of being who I am–or pretending to be who people believe me to be–and I want out. Permanently. I want to take out a billboard and tell the world everything about me, and ex-communicate anyone who doesn’t like it.
Ex-communication–such a harsh act. Yet for some reason it’s what I crave. Last year Tyler Glenn came out with an Album called Ex-Communication, themed around his act of coming out of the closet and leaving the Mormon church. It’s not exactly my preferred style of music, but certain songs of his, I love. Not just because of clever lines like “I found myself when I lost my faith,” but because he was brave enough to write and record them. He gave no shits. HE ex-communitated no one–yet made it clear that anyone who didn’t support him could fuck right off. He was done hiding.
I can’t explain what hiding has done to me. The fact that I feel like I am always looking over my shoulder, afraid of what others might see, the questions they might raise, the conclusions they might draw.
Am I a cheating whore? My husband a poor, blind schmuck? My children, doomed to be scarred? Am I a pervert, who has no preference for whether she fucks men or women, as long as she is fucking? A sex-addict who will go there with whomever? A heartless bitch who must not love anyone at all, if she is unwilling to remain faithful? It’s all open to speculation. The world stands in judgement. And who am I? Just a woman who is tired of hiding, tired of shame, tired of pain. A woman who has been through a fucking lot in the last few years, and just wants to take a deep breath and be herself. A woman who, by many standards, is selfish, yet still feels like she is sacrificing herself in order to not hurt others.
Who am I? I have no fucking idea.
More to come.
I’ve been gone for a long time. I have no idea if any of you are still here. But goddamnit, are things fucked up right now. More later. Stay tuned.
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.