...like you don't get it.  When I say "my inner 16 year old is activated", I mean, I just had this specific moment.

All those times we talked on the phone all evening, you were baked hanging out in front of the TV, and I was dancing around my bedroom to get ready to go out.  Because you were ready in a second, and it took me hours to get ready to go.  So, there we were, all those evenings, on the phone.  Me listening to music I know you hate, with a streak of guilt, in one headphone so you wouldn't overhear it on your end of the line.  Just talking about nothing.  Listening to the low rumble of your voice and just being so deliriously happy that you were taking the time to talk to me.  Hanging on your every word.  Trying to play it cool, because, fuck that, we're just friends.  Plus, chances are, I was getting ready to go out with someone else, some boyfriend.  Who I always wished was you, but  whatever.  I always felt charged with emotion, loving you, being excited about my plans for the night.

It just happened.  I recaptured the exact pitch of emotion, the exact feeling, texting you, getting ready for later, putting on makeup, listening to really horrid dance music cranked up to 12.  I was fucking 16 again.  I love you now as much as I loved you then.  You still jolt me the same way as 20 years ago.  It hasn't softened.  It hasn't diminished.

This is going to be shit.  I will not delete this when I'm sober.  Sometimes,  I need to write absolute shit.

I have ingested everything in the house known to alter the mind, kill pain, and reduce stress in some way.  I need to be anesthetized.  It has been so grey.  There's a lot of obvious raw and hurtful death, pain, and suffering, but there's some subversive things happening too. Anguish from unexpected places. Physical pain.  I'm even scared, and I'm never scared.

There is a pain, though.  It's from loss of people and characters who make up our character, icons in our lives, legends that would always live on.  People who you remember fondly, but lost touch with.  People of a moment, of a formative year.  It's what's keeping me up tonight. There's a small but growing hole in my house, my center.   This is drafty and lets in small gusts of cold, now, forever.

Today is the first day that I feel old.

I'm on my netbook, so this will be full of errors, I'm sure.  I always write out the bad stuff, so that when I look back over the years, it seems like life is full of tragedy.  And, sometimes, it is.  But, we've had such a complete and total turn around, and it's so powerful and complete, I must write about it.

In that moment of choice.  In that moment of freedom, where I laid down my first, last and only ultimatum "From now on, no matter what, you will never hide anything from me, or lie to me, no matter how petty, or else we can't be together".  I laid it on the line, which was the hardest thing I've ever done.  I've never been the "my way or the highway" type, but that's what it had to be, to build back up.  And in that naked moment, he could have hated me for being controlling, or he he could just turn himself around entirely and come to me on my terms for the first time since we met.  I freed him to seek out his own life.  I gave him my blessings to go and be his own man, without me.  In that moment, he came to me, free of resentment, free of vitriol and the best yet, free of secrets and that poisonous projection, and apologized.  Genuinely.  For the first time in 10 years, I saw all the way down to his soul, and knew he meant it.  And in that moment, I began to love him a little.  I felt wary, because of the previous lies, but over some very intense days of talking, really talking about the important shit, the feelings, the dark parts, the stuff he'd been hiding for so many years, feeling his earnestness.  Watching him struggle with the telling.  Seeing his tears, seemingly random.  My heart thawed.

And, in doing so, I felt, for the first time in over a year...happy.  Truly happy, like myself again.  My little half smile is back.  I didn't even know it was gone, till Connie pointed it out.  All those silly cliches are right.  The sun is shinging brighter.  The bird are chirping.  All the rest of the stuff in my life, the shitshow that is Vintage and the house drama...pff.  It's back where it belongs.  On the sidelines.  Not stripping me every day sucking my will to live. My happiness doesn't rely on him, actually.  It comes from the fact that I could seize control of my feelings, and actually break up with him.  I actually ended it.  And the world didn't end.  I didn't die.  The house didn't fall down.  I've experienced the full measure, length and breadth of the worst pain in my life, losing my soulmate.  And, I lived.  Nothing is gonna break me down, now.  Seriously.  There are few things in the world that can even come close to that sort of earth shattering revelation.  I actually feel like a new person, myself.

We're moving forward.  We never did define what we are.  We casually refer to each other as husband and wife.  We've never sworn an oath, took any vows, or even really defined what we mean to each other.  Soulmates, twin flames, blah blah all meaningless, without some gravitas.  Some sort of framework to remind us who we are.  So, we're moving towards some sort of understanding.

I realized that I was over whatever was depressing me, when I looked at a half finished art project sitting here on my desk, and started composing again.  I put on one of my favorite bands, sat here at the shop cleaning, arranging, singing along, and gaining momentum.  I'm now filled with new ideas and ambitions, and that's the way my head SHOULD feel.

I am restless, tonight.  Pacing, my heart won't slow down, nothing is comfortable, nothing is comforting.  Yet, there's a weird lightness.  

Throughout all the fighting, the agony, the sitting on the floor holding each other, crying, promising, there were still lies.  He pushed me right to the edge, but still after all that, I gave him a chance, because I thought that no matter what, I still couldn't stop loving him.  Because I found out today that in spite of all the mending and "breakthroughs", he was still lying to me.  Looking right in my tear filled eyes, with tears streaming out of his own, and professed 100% honesty.

And then, he lied.  And he kept on lying for a few days.  But I didn't realize it, so I accepted him at his word. Again. And again, he failed me.  Hundreds of times, he's made promises to change, because he claims to love me so much.  But not enough to be honest with me in the most crucial time, not enough to be honest in the most basic and elemental of ways.  I really don't know now, if half of the shit that falls out of his lying mouth is true.  I don't even really know if he loves me or not, or if he's just appealing to my kind nature, saying pretty things, playing my insecurities, to preserve his free fucking ride.  

I actually had an epiphany.  I've never seen this before, never been pushed that far over the edge, that I just quit loving someone.  I'm not sure if I'm in shock right now, and I'll just crumble into a fucking disaster tomorrow?  I have no idea.  I've never gone through anything quite like this. This afternoon, it was all nice.  Tonight, after I caught him out, discovered that he lied and had been lying to me for quite some time, my heart snapped shut. Well, It wasn't so dramatic, no.  He wasn't home, and I couldn't make words come anyway, so I wrote.  I wrote it all out in an email.  As I wrote, my heart closed slowly.  With each word, my emotions grew deader, to him.  Each sentence, I realized how much damage he's really done to me, over time.  He hurt me so bad, and so often, he actually broke me.  My heart broke, but I'm not actually heartbroken.  I broke up with him.  He's crushed every bit, every scrap of love and esteem I've ever had, but instead of being a weepy mess, because that shit got tired...I got angry, then this coldness settled in that was so stark and so crystalline it almost startled me.  Irv had to talk me down from actually physically kicking him out.  Oh, he still lives here, sure.  And to most people, nothing's different.  And, if he can't fix his shit, when we move into the little house, he's moving out forever.  If he can't give me a reason to try to love him again, if he can't give me the two things I ask for, have always asked for, just fucking honesty and respect, then I can't have him in my life.  Because of the business, for Irv, for Alden, for the family that we have, and the 9ish years we've been together, for the memory of love, for the fact that I have more than myself to think about here, I didn't send him packing today, though I am sorely sorely tempted.  I wish I could add hope to that list, but hope died in me along with everything else regarding him.

I'm not angry.  I'm empty.  I can still look him in the eye, I can have a basic cordial conversation.  But, it's a little forced, because I'm still...I don't know, I'm still something over this, I don't even know what I feel.  I do know that I'm not over it, not by a longshot.  I still have these thoughts that pop up, and I get angry at myself, for being so stupid and trusting, and so willing to overlook so much.  That's why I feel so restless, I am still very very angry at myself for being such a fucking mess over this for so long.  All the crying and second guessing myself, all the times I thought I was literally going insane, because he had me twisted so far around with his bullshit I wasn't even sure of myself anymore.   I'm not shocked, though, because I knew it already.  I had a bit of intuition that he wasn't 100% alright, even though I tried to tell myself otherwise.  

He's been attempting to make things right.  He's been crying.  He's even crying in his sleep.  He handed me all of the passwords to all of the fuckbuddy accounts, and all the places he's gone looking and corresponding with people.  I haven't looked.  I saw enough before.  It was actually a test, to see if he would really, legitimately come clean.  He even handed me the box of condoms he bought.  That was a weird moment.  But, the doubt is still there, because what's to stop him from laying low for a bit and starting his shit back up?  When he feels "lonely" as he puts it.  What's to stop him from giving me half the info, and trying to hide the really horrible stuff?  And, I saw some horrible stuff, but not all of it, I know.  I didn't dig that deep.  I am not a snoop. How do I know that I can see all his email accounts? How do I know that he's not just playing me. Again.  Irv was really trying to persuade me to give him a chance.  But, I told him on Friday that it was his last chance to salvage anything we had.  And, in the face of that, he chose to lie.  For NO. FUCKING. REASON.  

I need to stop writing.  It's not helping me like it normally does.  I started cool and calm, but I can feel myself heating up, and now it's time to stop dwelling.  

 I've been having a semi normal evening otherwise, though I haven't eaten since lunch, and he's sleeping peacefully on the couch right now.  I don't know what tomorrow will bring.  

The past two weeks have been hell.  The past maybe year, has been pretty fucking bad.  The past 8 years have been difficult.  But, to avoid conflict, I eat it.  For peace, love, and household harmony, I sacrifice a very important part of myself, and it happens so often, so consistently, on the surface, I barely even notice it anymore.  Something huge, and dark seems passe.  It's amazing what we can get used to, as human beings.  But when I take inventory, when I spend a rare quiet moment in my life, in introspection, my thoughts turn so dark, that I quickly shove it down, bottle it up, and make it go away.  I thought I was just immune to things.  It all crashed home.  I realize that this thing, this thing I can't mention, that affects every level of my self, from my basic comfort level in my own home, to challenging the very person I think I am, or, as of last night, that I thought I was.  It's stripped away all that I am, everything.  From stupid possessions that I feel like I "own" because on paper, I've worked for, and paid for these meaningless things, to the most important part of me, that I thought I really did own, my actual literal body.  My soul.  Everything.  Nothing is mine. Nothing us under my own power.  I have been manipulated, and used, pushed, pulled, and coerced so much, that it's become what I think of as normal.

 I've been steadily drawing inward, over the years.  I look back, and think "I didn't used to hate people.  I didn't used to shrink away from human interaction" and...now I do.  All humans, all the time.  Even people I love with all my heart.  I can't talk.  I can't open myself.  I don't like to be touched anymore, I barely tolerate hugs.  I don't like to have people near me, or leaning over me.  Even in the most mundane situations.  This is not something I talk about, much, but I self medicate. Heavily.  I drug myself into sleep every night with large amounts benadryl or nyquil.  I take Xanax, or smoke a LOT of pot just to make it through the day.  Just to make sure I don't feel.  To make sure, that when I lay down to sleep, I don't spend hours awake hating myself, for what my life has become.   There's no real joy in anything.  I've quit painting, writing, creating.  Music, aside from a few very tremendous moments, is just there, and doesn't offer the comfort and happiness it used to.  I read for escape.  I've been cycling through a few very comforting books that completely take me out of my own head.  I can't even read anything else, because unless it offers full escape, I can't.  Reading tarot cards for people is one of my last outlets, and I can't even do that properly, because I need to open myself fully to the cards, emotionally, and they all turn into bullshit fake images.  Because I, myself, have become that.


I have been faking it.  For years.  I envision myself as a strong, empowered woman, who takes no shit and gets things done.  Everyone turns to me, at some point, for advice, or just to listen, or just do what I do, which is listen, and love, and feel compassion, and help.  I mean, that's my fucking job.  That's not fake, I still love, and I still feel compassion, but I realize how very close that is to dying too.  Where the fuck to I get off?  How dare I?  I've been lying to myself for years.  Lying to everyone.  The real me is this fucking mess, this weepy, insane, barely-holding-it-together, sometimes suicidal, delusional, insecure, fragmented amorphous ball of nothing hiding in a corner, cringing away from everything.  I say one thing, about self power, and having control over one's self, and yet I let things go as far as they have. I didn't start out this way.

I had this dawning last night, about this whole thing.  I shrink away from people, I hide, because it causes me deep...pain?  I don't know, I can't even find the words. It compromises every bit of me to continue faking it and lying to myself, and to be fake around everyone else.  I can't keep up the facade, and I'm starting to crumble around the edges.  This thing, that I can't really even talk about.  I can't write it down. I can't quite bring myself to really face it down yet.  This fucking thing, I discovered is the heart of all of it.  Not the house.  Not the stresses that people can see, all that shit means nothing to me, or it's not so bad as I make it out.  Honestly?  There is nothing really wrong with my life, but this one thing, and it is somehow everything that's wrong.  I woke up with tears in my eyes, and I haven't stopped crying. I know why, but I can't find the words, to help people understand.  I don't know if anyone really gets it.

So, I had a weird dream. I wasn't going to write about it but I decided to now.  It was another resort dream, only a bunch of us were all young, or sort of our age but younger feeling.  Like we were all working there in hospitality or entertainment "we" indicating here a blank faced mob of peers and friends.  We partied in an open air bar at night with people we thought of as "them" like there's "us" the help and "them" the patrons or guests.  One night, during the usual whirlwind of activity, you showed up.  If you're still reading this, you know who you are.  You probably quit months ago.  Anyway, there you were, under the bar lights. Wearing clothes that didn't look like you picked them out.  Wrong fitting baggy jeans, weird shirt, sideways baseball hat.  All the tags were attached, stickers on the jeans still.  But the clothes looked worn and grimy, sort of saggy and frayed, in need of a good washing.  You hadn't shaved in a while. Your skin looked waxy and pale, and you were covered with a sheen of sweat.  I felt concerned and ran up to you.  I took one of your hands in mine, immediately wrapping you in a hug.  In my dream, I murmured "I love you."  I needed to edit this and stress that this all happened in a moment.  In that moment, it felt exactly right, unhesitant.  I miss the feel of you, and it was bittersweet.  Then I woke up.

I'm going to close this page before I decide to delete this.

I keep thinking I've been writing a lot.  I check here and it's been two weeks.  Maybe I'm composing a lot.  There hasn't been much to speak of, lately.  Things have been quiet, a little weird, but mostly good.  The process is rolling with the house, and that always frees me up a little, mentally.  The house is clean and quiet, both literally and metaphorically.  All the weekends have been interesting, and a little busy, but not overwhelming.  I like January, so far.

I've been feeling younger, lately.  The cycle is rolling that way again.

I've been tackling writing lately like I doodle and draw.  I get this intent to fill up a page from corner to corner. Put it all out there, use every technique, get rid of all the white spaces.  That's how I used to go, and it became bigger than it needed to be.  Now I stop when the piece says stop.  Nothing's more interesting than rough edges and things left hanging.

2013 was interesting. It was a year of stagnancy, waiting, frustration.  It was also a year of high emotion, loving, fighting. I'm not going back over it.

I seldom make New Years resolutions. If I see a problem, no matter what part of the year it is, I aim to fix it.  But, some changes have been happening in December, and this is timely. So, in the spirit of the day, this is what's going on.

I vow, this year, to bring more art into my life.  Not just collecting, but creating also.  Lately, I've been hanging out with tons of artists.  Luiz is renewed, and on the verge of selling one of his big pieces.  That's a big thing, and his creativity in the house is refreshing.  For Christmas, Irv bought me a painting that I had my eye on. Luiz has a work in progress for me.  I actually got art supplies as gifts.  It's time.

Here's hoping I'll have new walls to display all this art before 2015.