Tuesday, January 31, 2006

A small post for now


So if you are at work, and they monitor you, don't read it.

FUCK HIM for calling me and making me cry.

FUCK HIM for being condescending and telling me that "he knows I am going to find someone else and be happy someday".

FUCK HIM for telling me that "he knows it's hard for me to hear his voice".

FUCK HIM for continuing to call me after I emailed him and told him I can only talk online and not on the phone anymore.

FUCK HIM for telling me he does it because he still wants to hear my voice everyday.

FUCK MYSELF for losing my nerve and answering the goddamned phone.

More later... no really I promise. I just need to cry and smoke and go to bed. And yes I am aware that it has been 9 fucking months since we broke up. I am dealing with it the best I can. I have more good days than bad now...this just isn't one of them.

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

this is an audio post - click to play

this is an audio post - click to play

Monday, December 12, 2005

Part 3

(Continued from last post)

So I fast forward a couple days to Friday. It was February 12th 1993. Why do I remember that day? Well I remember it for a couple reasons. The first was because it was the day I was asked on my first "real" date. It was going to be a group date, but it was still going to be a date. The date was for the following Sunday which was going to be Valentine's day, and the guys were going to take us girls out for bowling and dinner. I was nervous and excited. No one had ever asked me on a date before. Yes, I was sixteen, almost a month away from 17, and never been on a real date. I had always just met guys through friends, and well, just hooked up and became a "couple". So my stomach was filled with butterflies.

Another reason that day sticks out in my memory was the bomb threat.

The day started like most days, with my mom dropping me off at the smoking section on her way to work. (Yes it was an official smoking section at my school. It was closed down at the end of the next year, so my graduating class was the last to have it.) I walked in, searched for and found Chrissy talking to Todd and another of my friends Michelle. So I walk over, and Todd asks me to help pull his hair back in a pony tail. As I'm straightening his pony tail, he asked me if I would like to join him for dinner and bowling for Valentine's night with the "group". I blush (there's that damned blushing again) and say yes. So we all start talking about something or other, and then I realize that I am out of cigarettes. So I ask Chrissy if I can bum a couple until we can go get some at lunch. She opens her pack and only has one left. Michelle states she is out too. So we collectively decide that it is more important to ditch 1st hour and head to Circle K for smokes and then to Dunkin donuts for breakfast. So off we go in Todd's huge, ugly, bright blue, "hoopty" Chevy Impala. As we sneak back on campus through the back gate, we notice everyone, and I mean everyone evacuating all the classrooms and heading out to the football Stadium.

In the chaos, I manage to find a classmate from the hour I just ditched and she fills me in. A man phoned in a bomb threat and was believable enough to cause 3000 students to evacuate. So we follow everyone to the field and find a place on the bleachers. You would think everyone would be freaking out, crying, stressed out, scared or in panic mode. Well, as far as my memory serves, it was not like that at all. It was one of the funnest times that year. It was like a giant get-together or party on the bleachers. Somehow a few people managed to have a radio, so we had music blasting over the PA system, the faculty were too frantic and busy to stop us from smoking, and to top it off we weren't in class. Hooray!

No one REALLY believed there was stupid bomb. We watched the cops arrive with the robot they send in to dismantle suspected explosives. It turns out it was some kind of smoke bomb or a poorly put together bomb that didn't go off. It was disposed of, and by that time it was lunch, so we were all told to leave for lunch but there was no reason that we shouldn't return at the regularly scheduled time. So we leave (with no intention of returning of course). My house was the closest so we headed there. Before we left, I called my mom and asked if "the gang" could come with me. She said it was cool.

Now I had been talking to my mom about this guy, Todd, that Chrissy was setting me up with all week, so my mom was excited to meet him and see what he was like. She told me she would bring us all lunch to the house so she could meet everyone. I remember when she walked in, she saw these two long haired guys and kept looking from one to the other. She later told me she was praying that the one with the piercings and tattoos wasn't Todd, and was so relieved when I introduced that one as Colby. We talked about the craziness on campus (minus the details of ditching 1st hour) and what we had planned for Sunday. Everyone loved my mom with her Southern accent, good sense of humor and unsuccessful attempts to be "cool" in front of my friends. It was a great time.

I knew most students were not going back to class that day, claiming that their parents were too afraid to let them return. So they decided there was to be no official attendance the rest of the day. With that information, do you even have to ask what our plans were? Well they DID NOT include driving back to school, that's for sure. My mom decided that was fine, she headed to work and we hung at the house for a couple hours so I could be there to answer the automated phone call that is made to parents when you turn up absent from one of your classes. And you had to listen to the entire message, because if you hung up in the middle, it would call back a couple hours later. So the call came,

"This is Dobson High School calling to inform you that your child has been absent from one or more classes in the most recent school day..." blah blah blah

I listened, hung up at the end of the call, and left, excited to spend the rest of the day sans teachers, lockers, dress codes (that I was always violating) or tests.

And off we were again, for another adventure in the big, blue "Hoopty-Mobile. "

Details of the date will follow...

Friday, December 09, 2005

Story Part 2


(continued from last post)

So the next day, Chrissy tells me they are having band practice and that I should come. I was still sketchy about being hooked up with Todd, but I’m a sucker for musicians and local bands, so I go. They practice at the Guitarist’s house. His parents closed off the garage and sound proofed it to make it into a practice room. I was impressed. I walk in and am introduced to the band. Todd acts like he could care less that I am there, Terry the guitarist is friendly enough, Dan the bass player just smiles hello (extremely shy guy), and Colby the singer is super nice and I knew immediately that I would become great friends with him.

So Chrissy, Beckie (guitarist’s GF) and I leave the practice room and go outside to smoke and talk about the “boys”. Although it is soundproof, we can still hear the music out on the driveway, and I discover that they are really good for a high school band and I like their sound. Chrissy and Becky proceed to tell me that ever since the other day, all Todd has talked about is me, and how he wants my number (???) They ask me (in true high school style) if I like him. Do I think he’s hot? Etc, etc. I explain that all through Jr High we ran with different crowds who didn’t like each other. He was a complete snob (short hair that was always styled just perfect, in the school band, preppy looking clothes); I was a scary stoner ( black eye makeup, black clothes, jean jacket with Metallica and Iron Maiden written all over it and all).

Becky says he has completely changed, and I can see that, because now he has long hair, dresses WAY different, etc. And now that I can get past our mutual “dislike” for each other, I notice that he IS kinda hot…

Well the music stops and we hear the guys come outside to join us. They are all sweaty (which I have to say looked nice) and hopped up on adrenaline from getting a new song together. (That song will later become my favorite of them all, Power of Destruction) After some small talk they invite us to come in and listen to them jam a while. I become fascinated with the drums and Todd’s double bass skills, amazed that the singer Colby is barely 15 years old and has more tattoos than anyone at our high school, and both nipples pierced. Just as I realize that I am going to love hanging with these guys, I also realize that I have to go. My mom needed her car back, and I had homework. So I get up, explaining that I have to go, lingering as long as I can waiting for Todd to get the nerve to ask for my number. After a long awkward pause I leave and head to my car, cursing Chrissy as a liar under my breath.

But, as I’m about to get in the car, Todd comes running out with a piece of paper and a pen and asks if I would mind if he called me. I blush (I can never control that reflex) and say of course I wouldn’t mind as I'm scribbling down my number. He says he will see me in the smoking section with the others in the morning. I say okay, close the door, start the engine and drive home, huge smile upon my face.

…more later…

Thursday, December 08, 2005

A Story - Part 1

For the last 2 months, for some reason, I have had intense dreams that include my ex. Not my recent ex, but my ex from about 10 years ago. (Damn that makes me feel old writing that) As I have maybe mentioned before, I think there are reasons that people show up in dreams. It’s not always clear to me why people show up in our dreams, but I believe it is not just a random thing. I loved this guy with all that I had (or as much as a 16 – 20 year old girl could). It seriously took me 5 years to get over him after we broke up in 96. I still believe that he and I should have been together, but our timing was wrong. Too much to explain.

But why had he returned to my dreams for a while there? Was it the familiar pain of having my heart ripped out by someone else recently, that brought him fresh to my mind? Is he thinking about me? Has he also noticed that “our song” (Black from Pearl Jam) keeps coming on the local radio lately after about 8 years of almost no air play? I doubt it. I think maybe I am just needing to write about it. I never have. This is the story of my first true, serious, long term, relationship. The FIRST man I thought I would be with forever, and yet the funnest time of my life.

It all started late January or early February, 1993. It was brisk but not too cold outside. It was my Junior year. My friend Chrissy and I were leaning against the wall in the smoking section at school. She was quite the mischeivious person, more mischeiveous than I knew at the time. She was telling me about this Sophomore guy that she has been dating, and his band, and how good they are, blah blah blah. The other guys in the band went to our school too, and she said I should hang out with them sometime or go to their next practice. I told her I would next time they get together. Then the warning bell rang, so we stomped out our cigarettes and ran to class.

We met again for lunch that afternoon and she proceeded to tell me that she was talking to her boyfriend’s drummer about me and that he said he has noticed me for a while and wanted to meet me. I was skeptical, but said fine, I’ll meet him when we get together. She suggested that I sneek out of Geometry class early the next day (this was a normal ritual) and meet her in the smoking section because he has auto shop (next door to smoking area) and she will have him meet us there. I said fine.

So of course I wore my cutest little pleated black skirt and knee high tights (shut up they were popular at the time – and yes I actually used to wear skirts, although it was rare) and I curled my hair so that it looked hot, but not like I was trying to hard. Geometry ended early (ha ha) and I walked into the smoking section and met Chrissy. The only other people in there were these two guys, one scary looking guy and this guy Todd that I went to Jr High with that I hated and who hated me. So I look at Chrissy and say “so where is he?”

Then I realize that she mentioned that her boyfriend’s drummer’s name is Todd. This look of horror comes over my face. I say “Chrissy, that’s Todd (his last name here)!!!”

She says, “Hey how did you know his name?”

I gave her a look of death as she pulled me over to him and his scary looking friend. They were both in coveralls covered in grease from shop class, deep in conversation. Todd didn’t appear to enjoy the interruption, and this struck me odd as Chrissy had just told me that he has been wanting to meet me for a while. And I thought he hated me, so why would he want to meet someone he doesn’t care for?

He looks at me and it registers who I am as Chrissy is introducing me to him.

He says, “Ya, I already know who she is. Hey (my last name here)” referring to me by my last name with a snotty smirk on his face.

I grabbed her arm, and dragged her behind me as I walked off.

You can forget about whatever little ‘hook-up’ you had planned. He hates me. He has since 7th grade. So just forget about it.” I said.

I’ll talk to him. Now let me use your lighter” she said as we walked towards my car to ditch the last period of the day.

...To be continued...

Friday, December 02, 2005

So, a month later...

Am I any more sane? uh...no.

Am I any more "over him"? umm...not quite yet...

Am I feeling better? nope.

Have I found a better doctor? lol, nada.

Am I glad to be back? YOU BET!!

Okay, so I'm back. It seems to always be an on again - off again thing with me and the blog-ster. Well I keep coming back and he keeps letting me in. All I have to do is flaunt my password and here I am again.

So you might ask what's been going on? Uh...literally nothing. Every day of the last month has somehow faded into each other and suddenly a month has gone by.

Thanksgiving...gone. I watched reruns of That 70's show and ate peanut butter toast. I was going to cook a small Thanksgiving dinner but I didn't feel up to it. I was too late getting back to a friend for her to come over and my dad chose to have dinner with his ex instead of me. But I really like being alone sometimes. I was feeling pretty bad and wouldn't have been much company so it was better off that I was alone anyway. Christmas will be different. It's going to be at our house this year. Me, Martini, Mellow and Mojo. And it's gonna be an Italian Christmas. What is that you say? Could it be that we all get to bring tall dark and handsome Italian to dinner. Unfortunately no. But we will all prepare the next best thing...Italian FOOD. One thing I know will be on the menu is this:

Italian Macaroni and Cheese

Butter, for greasing dish
12 ounces wide egg noodles
3 cups whipping cream
1 1/2 cups whole milk
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt, plus more for pasta water
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 cups (packed) grated Fontina
3/4 cup (packed) finely grated Parmesan
3/4 cup (packed) grated mozzarella
4 ounces cooked ham, diced, optional
2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh Italian parsley leaves

Butter a 13 by 9-inch glass baking dish and set aside. Cook the noodles in a large pot of boiling salted water until tender but still firm to bite, stirring frequently, about 5 minutes. Drain well, but do not rinse. Whisk the cream, milk, flour, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and pepper in large bowl to blend. Stir in 1 cup Fontina, 1/2 cup Parmesan, 1/2 cup mozzarella, ham, if using, and parsley. Add the noodles and toss to coat. Transfer the noodle mixture to the prepared baking dish. Toss the remaining 1 cup Fontina, 1/4 cup Parmesan, and 1/4 cup mozzarella in a small bowl to blend. Sprinkle the cheese mixture over the noodle mixture. Bake until the sauce bubbles and the cheese melts and begins to brown on top, about 20 minutes. Let stand for 10 minutes before serving.

And possibly this if we get into cooking for some reason...

Chicken Carbonara

2 teaspoons olive oil
4 ounces thinly sliced pancetta, chopped
2 teaspoons minced garlic
2 1/2 cups whipping cream
1 cup freshly grated Parmesan
8 large egg yolks
1/4 cup chopped fresh basil leaves
1/4 cup chopped fresh Italian parsley leaves
1 pound spaghetti
4 cups coarsely shredded chicken (from 1 roasted chicken)
Freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup chopped walnuts, toasted
1 tablespoon finely grated lemon peel

Heat the oil in a heavy large frying pan over medium heat. Add the pancetta and garlic and saute until it is brown and crisp, about 8 minutes. Cool slightly.

In a large bowl, whisk together the cream, cheese, yolks, basil, and parsley to blend.

Meanwhile, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil over high heat. Add the spaghetti and cook until it is just tender but still firm to the bite, stirring occasionally, about 10 minutes. Drain.

Add the chicken to the pan with the pancetta and stir to combine. Next, add the spaghetti and the cream mixture and toss over medium-low heat until the chicken is heated through and the sauce coats the spaghetti thickly, about 4 minutes (do not boil or you might end up scrambling the eggs). Season the pasta, to taste, with pepper and salt if needed (the pancetta will likely add all the salt you need). Transfer the pasta to a large wide serving bowl. Sprinkle the walnuts and lemon zest over, and serve.

Okay now I am hungry. I'm gonna get ready to go. Martini is craving bleu cheese (yes bleu instead of blue, I guess the french are to thank for that) and ranch salad. I'm not sure what I want. But as long as I'm not cooking it, it's all good.

Hope to post again soon...

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

1:17 AM

So that's when it was. This morning. That is when I decided to stop loving him. That's when I decided to stop holding on to the microscopic thread of a chance that it will work. That's when I said "I'm not going to love you anymore" and he had nothing to say. It was pathetic that I had to ask him specifically to tell me that it will 100% positively never happen. He has told me different things over the last 6 months. Maybe if we run into each other in the future and have a chance to date again, maybe then it could work. Or "maybe once we are both living in California and can give it another go, maybe then it will work." He never told me NOT to move on. But those comments gave me hope that maybe he was right. Maybe if all those crazy circumstances come together, it WILL work.

But now I know. And this "MAYBE" shit aint happenin'.

He said "I don't want to be with you. I don't want to be with anyone. I prefer to be alone. I don't want to see if things will work between us. I have no interest in changing. I don't want to give up being selfish. I don't ever want to care for anyone else but myself. It's just easier this way. So, yes, you need to move on to someone else."


Then, "You should know that I never lied to you. I never cheated on you. You will always believe that I lied the entire time we were together, but I never did. Look, Jyn, I got tired. It got too hard and became obvious that it wasn't going to work. Would you have rather I married you and had kids and then left you 10 years later because I couldn't stand it anymore? Well maybe you would. At least you would have the 'kid' you're so worried about never having. Everything I did was for the best Jynefer."

Silence. What can I say to that? Well I can tell you what I did say. "Fuck you."

We will never agree. He will always continue to think that he is a hero for everything he did to me. He has no problems with the promises that he broke. It's all excusable because he "tried". Oh, well thanks for trying. I should "thank" him I guess for saving us from this "doomed" marriage that he is so certain we would have had.

So this should be enlightening for me, right? "I'm moving on." Well it's fuckin killing me on the inside. I couldn't sleep. I got like 3 hours. Yes I have decided to not be in love with him anymore. But it's not something I can just turn off. God how I wish it was.

I have made improvements, because I have the "desire" to want to move on to find someone else. Unfortunately, it makes me phyiscally ill to think about doing so. Still. Seriously, I am nauseous thinking about it right now.

Maybe if I felt better, if I wasn't so damned depressed. Not depressed from not being with him. The same damned depression that has seemed to haunt me my whole life. No one thinks there is really anything wrong with me. I look generally normal. I can laugh. I can go out. But no one seems to know that I am really no more than the walking dead.

I work for a company that makes a drug that treats people with a disease called Rheumatoid Arthirits. We are hired by this pharmaceutical company to assist patients with that disease. We help those who have no isurance, or cannot afford the cost, we send free materials that aid in their drug therapy and offer medical info from our nurses. Many patients call, or write in expressing their gratitude for our assistance, or to share their "story" of how their life has changed since discovering this medication. At my desk, I have the "Success Stories" book where we have bound the letters from patients that have written in to share what our drug has done for them. So when things get slow inbetween calls, I have decided to read some of them, to remind me of why I love my job in case I forget (which happens sometimes).

Without revealing names of course, and without breaking patient confidentiality, here is the gist of what some people have sent in:

...before [drug name here], a kind of pain that is not easy to describe was always with me. I would constantly realize something else I could no longer do because of my pain or discomfort. I was always exhausted. But sleep was somewhat of a double edged sword. I constantly craved it, and felt things would just be better if I could just sleep. But then sleep itself was painful and frustrating. I was never comfortable and turning over required great effort. No matter how I was positioned, something would hurt. In the morning it would take a half hour to get myself up and out of bed from the stiffness.

...I stopped belonging to community organizations. I couldn't make the meetings. I stopped socializing after work or on weekends, because I was either too tired or in too much pain. My pain remained constant and horrific. Then along came [drug name]. I had forgotten what feeling good is like. I now feel as if someone has cut my chains off. The pain is gone. I find myself singing all the time now. I actually WANT to get out of bed now. I no longer have to plan out what activities I do so I can conserve energy. No I can do whatever I want, WHEN I want.

The above descriptions... that is my life. That is what I feel everyday of my life. I don't even remember what it's like to not hurt everywhere EVERY day. I don't remember what it is like to be able to sit on the floor and jump up and grab the phone when it rings. Currently I dread ever having to get up from anywhere. My knees lock up and have pain the shoots through them like spears. My tailbone hurts no matter if it's a hard chair or a pillow I'm sitting on. Whenever I get up I walk a little hunched over for about 10 steps until the pain evens out or the stiffness goes away. I dread going out to clubs (when I can work up the energy to go) because I know I won't be able to sit anywhere. Standing for a long time in one place is out of the question. Even when I go to church, when everyone stands, I am always the one that has to sit after about 2 mintes. And when I look around, who do I see sitting too? 70, 80, 90 year olds. Sometimes even THEY can stand longer than me. I AM TWENTY-NINE YEARS OLD. It should not be this way. Things have progressively gotten worse over the last 4 years, but I remember the fatigue and not being able to stand in church or anywhere for periods of time as far back as probably 12 years old. My mom used to bitch me out for it, saying I was lazy. I hated that. I didn't want to be lazy. I remember crying, wondering why I couldn't do what everyone expected me to.

Okay so I've made a short story really long, but reading letters with stories like the above "letters" is heart crushing. My first reaction is "My God this is ME writing this letter! I feel like that. I want this miracle to happen to ME. There IS a treatment for this. I want to be like my friends again. I want to run. I want to swim. I want to go through my day without wondering if I have time for a nap."

So what do I do? I pour open my heart to my new doctor. She looks at my chart. She sees my current diagnosis (that most doctors consider a "made up" or "drug seeker" condition, or don't believe in at all) and says she can't positively diagnose me with RA at this time. Your joints aren't swollen or disfigured. Your bloodwork was borderline, but the numbers aren't "high" enough to actually diagnose RA.

The drug I represent has recorded side effects of lymphoma and lowers the immune system resulting in infections in some patients. It is understandably risky to prescribe it to what appears to be a healthy young woman of childbearing age. She flat out says she will NOT Rx it to me. I have been to 3 doctors in the last 5 years. They ran tests. They sent me to a Rheumatologist. The Rheumatologist says "you are describing Rheumatoid Arthritis to a T." They draw blood. They take X-Rays. They send me to Physical Therapy. So what happened? I hear this:

"I'm sorry, but none of the tests have come back conclusive. We can't find a diagnosis. All of your symptoms are pointing to RA. But we are going to have to diagnose you with Fibromyalgia."

So that term, Fibromyalgia, is permanently branded to my medical record, causing skeptical looks from physicians who now look at me as just a clinically depressed woman whose pain is caused from her depression, and a woman who wants the easy way out by asking for pain medication.

Why haven't they thought that just maybe (there's that fucking word "maybe" again) the reason I don't care to live like this anymore, and the reason I just don't seem to care at all about anything anymore, is depression caused by years of being held captive by pain? NOT the other way around? I'm not asking for Vicodin, Oxycontin, Fentanyl, Demerol...etc. I'm asking for a drug that is not even in that family. I'm begging my doctor to prescribe me a drug that could possibly cause dangerous infections and possible lymphoma, so that I can simply just want to live again. I want to risk just about anything just to feel like everyone else at my age.

And I'm being denied. I see the miracle sitting there, just a few inches out of reach. And I'm seeing it being handed to people next to me. I'm hearing about and watching their bodies change. Their faces no longer contorted by pain. But not me.

It's simple right? Go to another doctor. Then another, and another if I have to, until I find one that will try me on it. Well imagine this:

You walk in to your doctor. You throat hurts like fire. Your forehead is burning up. You are hot and cold, sweating and shivering at the same time. You KNOW like you KNOW that you have an infection. Strep throat, tonsilitis, whatever. You just know you are sick. BUT... the doctor walks in, looks at you, hears you describe your symptoms. Then orders bloodwork, does a throat culture and takes your temperature. You wait. He comes back, says well Ms. Jynefer, good news, you are perfectly fine! Your temp is 98.6F, your cultures came back negative, and your bloodwork shows a regular white count. A picture of perfect health. You sit in shock, shivering and sweating, wanting to cut your throat out because it hurts so bad. You open your mouth and show him the "pus pockets" on the back of your throat. You scream "What do you MEAN I'm healthy? Look at me! Are you blind?" He basically says but the TEST results don't lie. "You're FINE Jynefer. Here's your bill, and you can pay on your way out." Then you see him write "patient is seeing things that aren't there. Patient seems to be depressed and possibly just needs attention. Patient thinks and maybe even WANTS to be sick. Symptoms appear to be made up."


Now, how quick would you be to go to 3,4,5 more different doctors, only to have them read that comment by the previous doctor, and risk hearing someone tell you all that AGAIN? Unfortunately, the above fictional situation is not really parallel to mine. See, if that were me, I would go home, become severely dehydrated, and the untreated infection would enter the bloodstream, causing sepsis, heart damage, even death. Eventually, I would be able to say I TOLD YOU I WAS SICK, as I'm lying on my death bed. But my condition is not fatal, in and of itself. But it does make me wonder if it might be easier if it was.

This is me. I'm tired of being told I am crazy. I'm tired of being told that all I need to do is walk and stretch everyday, and take this antidepressant and I "should be fine". I'm tired of being sick and tired. I'm scared that I'm going to lose my anger at this situation, because the anger that I have is dwindling more and more as apathy kicks in, and that anger is the only thing that keeps me from disappearing.

I don't know what else to write. So I am stopping now. My writing needs to be for me now. Not friends. Not ex's who may or may not be reading this. ME. Despite my absence, I love blogging and love getting invited to peek into the lives of others that I would normally never have a chance to meet. But this is really all I've got to keep me sane. I stayed away for a while because, well I just didn't have the energy to think of something to write. Or the energy to even walk over to the computer some times. I don't mind others reading this. In fact sometimes a single comment can actually lift you up sometimes when you need it most. So thank you for the comments during my absense, I do really appreciate them.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Can't think of a title

I don't even know where to start.

I would apologize for the content of my posts, but I do that all the time. And this is me. If it brings you down, then click Next Blog.

What I want to know is what the fuck happened to me? How did this happen? How did I become this person I see in the mirror everyday?

Why is it so hard to let him go, yet so incredibly easy to let myself go?

I remember a time when I looked in the mirror, and although I would always think I could lose a couple pounds, or wished my hair was better or boobs bigger, I would secretly be pleased with what I saw. Nothing that would stop traffic, but I could turn a head here or there.

Slowly (but somehow at the same time, so quickly) I let things go. I stopped getting my hair cut every 6 weeks and higlighted or touched up every 8-10. I stopped getting my nails done. I stopped straightening my hair, or blowdrying it every morning. I used to be apalled to set foot anywhere without full makeup. Then I just somehow stopped caring. I stopped working out. Let myself gain weight until my looks are unacceptable. Well unacceptable for me anyway.

This is humiliating to admit these things. To admit that the pics I have posted from months ago, are starting to not resemble me anymore.

I just don't care. I just want to have energy and a desire to make myself better. It is the only way I can carry on with my life with him gone. But I just can't find those things. I think if I had a bigger income, I might be able to schedule some of these appointments, which could help, but that's not the case either.

I feel like I am in a spiral. A downward spiral. So why don't I climb out of it? Well you have to really care about something to help change it. And I don't. I don't have the energy. I want so bad to be the way I used to be. Not racked with fatigue and fucking pain every fucking minute. Not trying to count out pain medicine and determine which days I can go without so I don't get yelled at, at the pharmacy for wanting it refilled too soon.

I lost the person I love most in my life because I "brought him down." It was too much to deal with my condition. My depression. My pain. My fatigue. I wasn't a nice, neat little perfect package that could give and give and give without a word.

So, ya, I guess I just ruined the image of myself to any possible reader of this blog. Well guess what? This is the dark side of me. These are the spiderwebs that most people never get to see. This is the shit that I hope to never have to reveal to anyone close to me ever again. I hate who I am. I want out. I don't want this life anymore.

Put down the phone. No need to call suicide hotline. I'm not that stupid. But I can't help but admit that I want this life to end. But I want a new one to begin. I want this person that I have become to die. Forever. It's time to put her to bed. It's the only way I can see out of this. I can't stand who I am anymore.

I don't know how to start a new life as a new person. How do I just forget everything that has happened in my life? The mistakes I have made? Eternal Sunshine for the Spotless Mind? I wish. I used to think that I would never want that. I said before that there were so many good things that I never want to forget. Well, all those good times were bullshit lies, so why NOT wipe everything clean, right?

I used to be the kind of person that has no regrets. Not anymore. I do regret a lot. I regret ever letting myself open up to anyone. It has never done anything but cause me grief. Ya, I may sound bitter, well whatever. I regret ever believing anyone with my whole heart. I regret trusting people I should have never trusted. I regret saying yes I will marry you. I regret saying I want to take care of you and love you for the rest of my life. I regret saying I want to have your children. I regret opening my heart, my life, my bed, my body.

This doesn't mean that I will never do these things again. For some fucked up reason I actually WANT to open up again, love again, trust again. I want to get married, I want to raise kids. I don't understand it, but I do. But I wish I had never done it in the past. Because all that shit back then, has turned me into who I am today. And that girl, I hate.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005


After not talking to my ex for two weeks (the first time we have gone that long without talking since we broke up) he called me. It was weird. I was having a really bad day, and like I said it was the first time since I have gone that long without speaking to him, even after we broke up (not counting the times he was in Iraq and Afghanistan of course), and it has been hard. Really hard. I had my hand on the phone, about to scroll down to his number and press send, but I made myself put down the phone. 3 hours later my phone rings. It was him. He said he just got this feeling that he should call me.

Damnit! Why do we still have a connection? Why? This is one of the fucking reasons it's so hard to get over him. He would always know when I needed him, even though we were 10 states away.

I just can't get over him. I love him. I am still IN love with him. Shit, I'm fucking starting to cry even writing this. Yes, I have hurt before after the end of a relationship and it's taken a long time to heal. This is not like that. I can't stop loving him as if he's my husband. I know we were only engaged but I just can't seem to stop these feelings.

Since he has been on vacation and at a location that doesn't get good reception, he told me he wouldn't be calling me for about 3 weeks or so, for that reason and also because maybe it would be better if he didn't call me for a while. To help us "separate" a bit I guess. I know this is true, but it still is hard. If we hadn't been best friends before we started dating, I don't think this would be so hard. But I lost both who I love AND my best friend at the same time.

Whatever. I have whined about all this before. I just am getting so scared that I may not heal from this. I don't want to heal. I wish I did, so I could move on. I'm not getting any younger. I'll be fucking 30 next year. 30. And single. And alone. This is a fate worse than death for a female. I don't want to be 40 when I finally want to date again, and then I'll end up some lonely lady with a bunch of dogs for kids. No one will want to marry me because they will always ask themselves "Why hasn't she ever married? Wonder what's wrong with her" That is my worst nightmare. And I'm not being funny.

FUCK. I can't make him love me like he used to. And I don't want someone to be with me because I begged them to give it another try. I want someone to want to be with me because they can't imagine life without me in it. That's what I used to have, or so I thought. How can I ever think that it will work with someone else? God it makes me sick to even write those words.

I need to get on with my life, I just don't know how. FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK!!! Fuck him. Fuck the last 3 years. Fuck ever feeling anything and believing that if we made it though 2 deployments and a fucking war, that we could make it though anything. It was all bullshit I guess. All of it.

It's funny. I wish I really felt those things I just wrote . I don't feel that. I don't want to just fuck it all. I do believe that we could have made it though anything. But he says that HE is more important right now than spending time and putting forth the effort for us. And I can't make him want something he obviously doesn't.

I wish I really knew if all the things he said to me over the years were true or just a lie. If they were really true, then I shouldn't give up. I should try to make it work. But I have a strong feeling it wasn't true. He knows I still love him. He knows I want us to work again. So he would have to make a move. I'm not going to make a fool out of myself anymore.

I just read what I wrote. It's pathetic. It really is. What it also is, is over. I need to stop acting like one of those whiney bitches on Days of Our Lives who just won't let it go. I will always love TM. But I know when to stop wishing and praying for something that is never going to happen, and that is now. Oh God this fucking hurts.