Forgotten

Years ago I was told by my ex-husband's best friend that I was easy to forget. I don't particularly recall the conversation to be honest. Whether it was one involving anger, or if he was stating what he thought to be a fact. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that we had band class together in 9th grade and he couldn't remember me... or he remembered me despite me being quiet. I don't recall.

The thought has occurred to me since then, and quite possibly even before then, that I was - am - unremarkable. 

Perhaps I've come to fear his observation because of its truth.

Were I to trace back to the first person who regarded me as unremarkable, I'd likely start with my father. The man I hardly know. The one who chose to disregard me as his child. In his absence, I'd learned that my existence on this Earth wasn't all that important - at least not to him.                                                                                

Looking back, I note that my identity was always as a form of attachment to someone or something else. I was never Patricia. I was Patrick's sister, Cindy's friend. Goth girl, even (I'd gone through a couple phases). But if you took away Patrick, Cindy, or my all-black attire... who was I?

Was I?

In the years since my adolescence, I've continued to feel that way. Unimportant, disregarded, invisible. While I've not lived my life as any type of philanthropist; I'm not involved in my community - I barely even look outside, let alone interact. I thought of myself as someone who has made numerous strides to become a better person. Where there were those telling me to give up, I fought to keep going. I still do. 

At 32, while I wouldn't go so far as to consider myself "wise," I do share my experiences and knowledge with other people and do my best for my two sons. I live my life with the knowledge that I'm not perfect, that I don't know everything, but I live with the willingness to learn. 

I believe in karma. 

I believe everything happens for a reason - even if we never learn what that reason is. 

I believe in energy. I believe we are all connected. 

I know I'm not perfect.

What I don't know is if I mean anything. 

What would it mean to the world if I was no longer here? What difference would it make?

My fear of not being remembered was superseded by something else, and it's only dawned on me today following some unkind words of yesterday. If I were no longer here and the memory that was left behind was that I was stupid and selfish; ungrateful and unkind, then I will have failed worse than if I'd have been forgotten altogether.

sleep.in.ideas

So Many Things...

I'm finding it hard to articulate what I want to say. Although, on second thought, it's not particularly articulating that I'm struggling with, so much as it is the narrowing down of a specific topic.

So much has happened - and is happening  - and I'm not sure where to start.

Just this morning, I pondered the effect of my brother's psychotic episode 12 years ago; and his subsequent diagnosis of schizophrenia, depression and insomnia.

I've also contemplated the ongoing goings-on of my "relationship" (in the narrowest of terms) with my ex-husband, the father of my two sons. I pause here only to explain that the term relationship is only applicable insofar as we were married, are now divorced, and parent two children from each of our respective homes. Any other type of relationship, dissolved long ago.
The dissolution has had numerous trickle-down consequences.
Custody became a matter of litigation where I found myself exhausted emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and physically in my efforts to represent myself in the seemingly endless process.
Resuming a week-about schedule with my sons put a strain on the already roller coaster-like relationship I had with my mother. Struggling herself, I'd asked her to help me to care for my sons during my alternating weeks with them.
The financial consequences have been stark. I doubt there being a light at the end of this tunnel.
Having resolved the legal matters only months ago, I still have cause to hesitate, second-guess, doubt and ultimately stress myself over the smallest of decisions. Food items, clothing, bathing and hygiene, grooming, discipline, and even fun activities. - I question it all. Will this somehow be used against me in a future proceeding?

Despite the hardships caused by the commencement of those proceedings, I try to have a personal life. At times, it's hard to compartmentalize the anxiety caused by that relationship. It's hard to keep it separate and not be stressed about the above mentioned decisions I must make with regards to my children.... and no one seems to understand.

I've dated since my marriage. I had one serious relationship that lasted nearly two years and ended almost the same number of years ago. Now that relationship...... If ever the term 'beat a dead horse' applied, it would be to that relationship.
It was toxic and much like a drug. I loved him and hated him and I'm sure he felt the same.
It was abusive and it drained us both.
I'm grateful that it ended without a more serious progression of violence.
I'm just glad that it's over.

I'd also had a 5 month stint last year with a person I'd met online - he's been mentioned in previous posts.

And now, I'm dating again. Someone I've known for years. Prior to the relationship with my ex-boyfriend, and during the time I was married to my ex-husband.
I was attracted, but I never acted on the attraction. To be quite fair, I'm not sure where things will end - or if they will.
But I do know, as India.Arie proclaimed, I am Ready for Love

I am ready for love

Why are you hiding from me

I'd quickly give my freedom

To be held in your captivity

I am ready for love

All of the joy and the pain

And all the time that it takes

Just to stay in your good grace

Lately I've been thinking

Maybe you're not ready for me

Maybe you think I need to learn maturity

They say watch what you ask for

Cause you might receive

But if you ask me tomorrow

I'll say the same thing

I am ready for love

Would you please lend me your ear?

I promise I won't complain

I just need you to acknowledge I am here

If you give me half a chance

I'll prove this to you

I will be patient, kind, faithful and true

To a man who loves music

A man who loves art

Respect's the spirit world

And thinks with his heart

I am ready for love

If you'll take me in your hands

I will learn what you teach

And do the best that I can

I am ready for love

Here with an offering of

My voice

My Eyes

My soul

My mind

Tell me what is enough

To prove I am ready for love

I am ready
Written by Blue Miller, India Arie, India Arie Simpson • Copyright © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc, BMG Rights Management US, LLC

I had to take a moment to watch and listen to the video on YouTube. I am so ready.

Lately, I've been struggling to sleep. With so much on my mind, it's as though a perfect storm is brewing - the brain synapses strike like lightning; the waves that follow flood over until suddenly my tears soak through to my pillow.

I'm not afraid to cry. It is so very cathartic and therapeutic. There are times, though, that the tears feel like they are falling with and from the sky itself. The sadness is sometimes so profound and all-encompassing, it feels as if sadness is all I've ever felt. Consider the implications of that: there being no end to sadness, nor a beginning. It's a state of depression that is, was, and always will be; and, at its depth, threatens to consume everything in its path.

I've felt it before and I have pulled myself out. I am not there right now and truthfully, I don't see myself in its path any time soon. But I do need to be mindful of its strength and its reaches.

Now, I live. Maybe not the the norms of societal standards - due to me being a homebody. I go to work, I come home. I rarely go out and I've not had an opportunity to travel.
Yet still, I live.... and for now, that's good enough for me.

Sleep.in.Ideas

Nearly a year has passed since I've decided to share my life. The most recent entry "MTL" was a proclamation of love for a man I had chosen to dedicate five months of my life to.
I can't say that I'm surprised that it ended, nor in the way it ended either. They say, when people show you their true colours, believe them. In retrospect, it is evident that he wanted me to know who he was, or at the very least, who he wanted to be.

At Applebee's in early October 2016, I arranged a date with my then boyfriend, as another woman he'd met online. I'd had a sneaking suspicion for a while and we had several conversations that were forthright about how I felt. Sure enough, after telling me he had to work late that evening, he arrived at Applebee's and proceeded to order a glass of white wine as requested, since I - she - was running late.

I'd made phone calls to my girlfriends, to my guy friends; each having their own brand of advice on how to really stick it to him. Some suggested that I arrive there earlier with my own girlfriend, having made other plans since he said he would be working and then feign surprise. But I had already made up my mind as to how to deal with him. I was already at a point, five months in, of having invested myself emotionally. I opened my home to him, my heart, my body, mind... he knew what was hurting me. He knew where I was at in my life. Therefore, I didn't want to prolong it any longer than it needed to be.

I steadied my racing heart, calmed my breath, exited my car and started walking towards him.

His back was to me as I approached... and then he turned. A slow smile crossed his lips. There was only the slightest, most momentary flash of his hand being caught in the cookie jar, after which he tried to act normal.

He claimed he suspected it was me all along. That he had a feeling...

No, there was nothing wrong with him having returned online, having resurrected his profile and returned a conversation (multiple conversations, according to him - of which I was only responsible for one interaction). There was nothing wrong with that.

We exchanged words and he invited me in to eat.

As much as I couldn't believe it, I could. I knew it was happening. I knew what was happening.

I was right... and it felt so good.

I was right... and it damn near tore me to pieces.

I went in. Why? Remember the glass of white wine? I ordered it for a reason. Like many a scorned woman, I was going to give him a taste - whether he liked it or not.
But somehow, I couldn't. Instead, I sat in the restaurant and listened to him apologize and then turn the table and point the blame at me. I drank the wine, hoping to numb a feeling I couldn't begin to describe.
We sat in my car. It was over, just like I knew it was and suddenly, there I was... not wanting it to be.
He left. Took a cab back home.

Within the next day or two, we spoke again in person. "I don't think I was ready for a relationship..." and "...I don't think I've gotten over my ex..." in addition to: "I need to work on myself."
I wasn't happy with those, I wanted more. Although I had started the process of breaking up with him, it wasn't going the way I wanted it to. I wanted the truth. I wanted him to tell me that he didn't want me. I wanted him to validate my insecurities, that I wasn't good enough. That I never would be.

At this realization, I knew I had brought in baggage.

But still, what he was saying to me was bullshit. It was bullshit.
Surely he'd have known he was still in love with his ex when he started seeing me. Surely he'd have known he wasn't ready for a relationship prior to starting one with me. Surely.

Then why lie?

I wanted the truth.


It's been almost a year. I am grateful for having emerged a stronger woman. One who is still capable of loving as if I'd never been hurt.

So, MTL... thank you for hurting me and showing me that life goes on.

sleep.in.ideas

When You Cling to Their Every Word

When you cling to their every word, you set yourself up to be disappointed.

Pessimistic as it seems, that's been my experience. No, it's not because I hold anyone to some super-human standard that's impossible to achieve. No, it's not that. My mistake seems to be that I believe in people; more than I ought to. Perhaps, even more than they believe in themselves.

It's pathological for some people, they just lie and they can't stop. Some aren't even aware they're doing it. They make promises that they can't keep.

It's unfortunate though, that the depths of a conversation cannot bear some onus of responsibility to remain true to what is spoken. I wonder then, what is the purpose of such utterances? If I cannot count on your word and I begin to rely on your actions, does that reflect my character or yours? Or both?

MTL

I love you

Life is But a Dream

He took my car keys.

The vehicle I'd owned for less than a year, a 2015 GMC Terrain. I didn't see when he picked up the keys, but he did. He proceeded to exit my home, enter my vehicle with our children and leave. It was their scheduled week with me, but he had them buckled in already.
I ran out after the vehicle as he reversed out of the drive way, I grabbed a door and shouted through the window to bring the kids back and the car.
"It's not your car anyway," he said. I don't know if he said that because of the loan I'd taken out for it, or if it's because it was the vehicle he wanted but never purchased when we were still married. In any event, I told him, as he stopped the car, that it was in fact my vehicle. As though I had anything to prove, I told him it was registered in my name, insurance was in my name; it was mine.
I couldn't believe this was happening on my street, in my neighborhood. But then again, there was something about him always wanting to control every situation he could.

Seven months ago, almost to the day, I was served with court papers - he sought custody of our sons, he sought to reduce the access I had to them, which was already limited and he further sought to make our temporary schedule a permanent one. 

He wanted control.

So there he was, with the keys to my car, sitting in my seat with our children in the back, on a day they were scheduled to be with me. He insisted that the vehicle wasn't mine. Trying, again, to control yet another aspect of my life.
I wondered, desperate, what more could he take. I didn't want to reveal the flood of emotions flowing through me. The anger heated the blood that coursed through my veins, the bitterness cooled it down. The desperation weakened my heart, the sadness caught in my lungs, the isolation choked down the lump in my throat. The desert of my cheeks was overwhelmed by the sudden surge of tears.
What more could he take from me?
On the brinks of losing my own home, accumulating debt on a daily basis at an insane rate... struggling to provide for myself and my children, while he earned 6 figures and lived comfortably, I wondered what more he could take. I wondered when he would stop.
I don't know what clicked, but the next thing I recall was answering my door, my mom at my side and him outside dangling the keys with a smile on his face. My mom seemed ready, as always, to forgive him - as if he had come to apologize. I know he hadn't.
I had to stand up for myself. I was seething, ready to attack. I couldn't recall a time I'd loathed anyone as much as I did him. Nor could I recall the last time I'd pitied anyone as much. I'd given up hatred a long time ago, but if anyone could conjure up that emotion, it was him.

It was sad to me also, that with my mom by my side, I was still my only support.

More to come...

sleep.in.ideas

Deleted Entry, Re-Posted

I'd worn my hair in a way I'd never worn it before. Nothing fancy really, but new. I applied make up, a new lip gloss and then I put on what I thought was a cute outfit.
Inside, I had this nagging feeling that just wouldn't go away.
I arrived at my destination. My efforts hadn't gone unnoticed; he complimented me. The conversation was going smoothly - but for some reason, the nagging feeling persisted.
Eventually, we addressed the real reason that I'd been invited out to sit by the lake and talk - that part of the conversation didn't go as well. I removed my arm from his. He got up and walked away.
"There's nothing left to be said..."
I fought back the tears. I actually smiled to keep them from coming. I wondered how many ears had overheard our conversation, and how many had seen what happened.
On my way back to my car,  I noticed a couple that sat on the bench behind me, the humiliation sank in.
I sat down in my vehicle - where he returned.
I wasn't sure what to expect, as the conversation had ended so abruptly. I thought maybe he was there to continue it.
I was wrong.
Like salt on a wound, he'd returned to tell me it wasn't working and that we ought not be together.
Air escaped my lungs.
Every word that I'd sent to him the night before  of the future I looked forward to, every word was shoved down my throat and they stifled the screams that wanted to escape.
Inside I was choking on the anger, resentment,  hurt and everything else I felt. The only word to escape was "okay".

The relationship didn't end that day. Somewhere between the silence and the tears, I suppose there was a moment of regret.

When I got up though, and walked away from the log I'd been left alone at, a piece of me stayed behind. The part that smiled and laughed at the dog swimming farther and farther across the lake chasing after a duck; the part of me that found comfort in our intertwined arms. The part of me that thought it was okay to finally release the breath I'd been holding in.
It's not yet been a week since that's happened... but it hurts as though he's  whispering the words into my ear this very moment.
Hopefully the feeling will subside, but until then, I'll be holding my breath.

sleep.in.ideas