I am all those things.

06/13/2014

I am self conscious. I’m unsure. I’m scared. I’m horribly imperfect. I’m not in the right body. I’m not in the right head space. I’m terrified to end up alone. I feel unappreciated.

You can’t tell me anything about me, I’m living it.

“Here — tell these people something they dont know about me.” -Eminem 8 Mile

09/08/2019

There’s a part of reading this initial post that makes me really sad. I hate to think that I had that much negative shit to say about myself.

BUT, I get me.

These things are all still true. I’m sitting here rocking my baby in a t-shirt and my undies, committing to toning up my legs and core, losing weight everywhere, and strengthening my skincare regimen…maybe. I gotta get this shit under control.

I’m dating, but it’s new. Neither shoe has dropped, but I’m super cautious. Because, I believe all that stuff about myself, 100%, and I have a newborn to add to the list of red flags. I mean I don’t date guys with young children. Too much potential drama. Layer that on to thunder thighs and lingering post pregnancy acne, and I’m left wondering what the hell he’s doing pursuing me.

But, I get me. I KNOW me.

No one can attack me. I am my own worst critic. I’ve already analyzed the hell out of me. You can’t tell me anything I don’t already know.

The flip side to this imperfect body is that it brought two amazing boys into this world, thirteen years apart.

I support the people I love. I stand in the trenches unafraid, even when I’m feeling unappreciated.

My headspace is contingent on what’s happening around me. That’s fine. I can handle the ups and downs.

And although I am terrified to be alone forever, I can if I gotta. Single is a really comfortable place for me. Plus, I’m dating anyway. He likes me, genuinely, and I like him. And, if it crashes and burns, I’ll blog about it and move on.

Side note: I’ve decided to start trying to complete some of my many MANY unfinished blog entries.

This is the oldest draft I had. I started it shortly after I started this blog. I’m sure it came after a difficult moment dealing with the second Chris, and I was feeling both ready to fight and ready to cry.

Because, I’d probably just realized there was competition. She was thinner, with long legs, and a much tighter waist. And, she was a local to my almost two hour trek. They’d known each other longer. Despite their drama and insanity, he was invested. And, although I brought a ton of quality shit to the table, I couldn’t compete with those things. Those were big things.

In the end, neither of us ended up with him. We spent what I can only assume were, at least, months in competition, teetering back and forth between winning and losing. And, it was never worth the work or chaos. I decided not to ever again be in that situation. Dating competitions typically don’t produce a real winner, anyway.

And, never to judge myself against someone else’s scale. I’m a damn catch, with my intentional and unintentional curves and extra baby softness.

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I just want to be happy.

I just want to be happy.

I subscribe to the religion of happiness.

Happiness above all else.

Relax and be happy.

I’ve spent the last year breaking up with someone. A year before that, I spent three years with someone pushing me away.

It’s been a long five years. A really REALLY long five years. And, I’m exhausted. Wiped out. Over it.

I just want to be happy, find love, and live my best life.

And, I’m separating my happiness from love. They aren’t tied to one another. I know.

I know.

It’s just that love seems to keep screwing up my happiness. Hard to separate something that won’t separate.

IJS

I stepped into the past.

I’ve been training for a new job. Spent time in my exes home town. Drove the same streets I drove back when I was in love with him. Emotionally drug me back into that place. Literally sat in my new red Jeep remembering when my old red Jeep went straight where I turned right.

Wow.

I didn’t expect a place to drag me back to an emotion like that. But, I hadn’t been in his area since the last time I was there with him.

Sheesh.

We didn’t work out because we weren’t supposed to work out. Right? We’re both better apart than ever together. Right? We weren’t a destination, but just a part of the journey. Right?

Right.

Maybe this caught me off guard because of the stress my new gig has caused recently. Maybe it’s the lack of closure. Maybe it’s just me looking for a way to add chaos into calmer times. I don’t know.

It ended for a reason.

I wasn’t right for him.

He wasn’t right for me.

Journey.

Not the destination.

Right?

Right…

Fighting the urge…

Fighting the urge to contact him, because I’m his past even though he’s still my present. And, my future would be angry. 

It’s too much. 

I know he’s not good for me. I’ve lived all the chaos and discomfort. I’ve been in the midst of all the disappointment and heartache. I know it will never be better. BUT, it doesn’t mean I don’t love him. And, it doesn’t mean I didn’t want everything to work out like the movies. 

I was waiting for his eureka moment. Maybe, I still kinda am. Umpf.  

The newest new guy wouldn’t be okay with this, and the old guy wouldn’t really care. 

Shit. 

Found this post from 9/25/2017. I started it, but didn’t finish it. I was embarrassed because of it, struggling with, and being suffocated by it. I loved someone who wasn’t willing, capable, or interested in loving me back. 

I mean really loving me, like dangerous levels. 

And, I was hanging on with both hands. I was all in. I was looking for any signs that we were meant to be. I was giving so much of myself it was overwhelming for him. I just wanted him to know that I was the one. 

And, I wanted him to know I was moving on. Because I was, kinda. And, that should be the boost he needed for his eureka moment. Right?

The new guy, was new. I hadn’t invested much. I didn’t know him well. We didn’t have history. We were new. 

It was good, but it might be a hoax. Should I really let go of the chaos I knew for a chaos that I wasn’t sure I wanted? Should I? Really? 

In the end, I straddled the fence. The newest new guy was more chaos than I could handle, and the past needed to stay in the past. 

I learned from both of them. 

And, I walked away knowing that I either wasn’t really ready or wasn’t really committed.

This shouldn’t be complicated. 

I only want two things. I want someone to believe in me, and I want someone to fight for me. That’s it. It’s that simple. 

My last two relationships blew up in my face. They were both men that promised me something they couldn’t commit to. I was hurt. I tried so hard, and I remained their friends. I’m supportive. I cheer for them. I want the best for them. I know it will never progress. 

I fought for them. I loved them. I sacrificed for them. I would bend nearly in half. I was in. Both times. And, it didn’t work. They couldn’t, or wouldn’t, come through for me consistently. They were both so broken, and I was ill equipped to fix them. 

And, I gave up. After minutes, months, and years of doing my part, I gave up. Do you know how hard it is to walk away from someone who tells you they love you? It’s devestating. Because if you’d said that you didn’t love me it would all make sense. 

I tried. I know I tried.

That time I was crazy…

…there’s just the one time. And, I will NOT be accepting any comments from any exes, LOL. 

So, I’ve already confessed that the last major guy ended our psycho relationship-type thing. No surprises. No worries. It needed to end, and I was too blinded by love or something like it to pull the trigger. I appreciate him for setting us free. 

But…

But, it was done so shady and unexpected that I became absolutely crazy. Like broken hearted, and angry, crazy. It wasnt a good look. 

When he blocked me from Facebook. Yep, dude blocked me from Facebook even though I’d never posted on his page, linked anything to him, or even chose an emotion other than like on one of his posts. Really, dude?

 <insert profanity and name calling>

That’s cool. You think I’m that type of girl after all this time? Wow? Really?

Wait. Maybe I’m so vain, I just think this is about me. Maybe it’s not what I’m capable of. Maybe it’s what you’re capable of. Maybe you’re blasting me all over your FB. Maybe you’re finally able to post pictures of the girl you were running back and forth too. Maybe you did SOMETHING! 

I don’t know. Blind rage. Blind passion. Blind everything. 

And, it steered the ship right into insanity. I jumped on FB and created a profile with one of my other email addresses, using my old alter ego from ’99. I knew she would come in handy again. I accepted every friend request I got, and I sent him one after I’d built up a good following. I never friended any of my real friends because I was terrified they’d see right through me. I used the first and last name I’d given every bogus dude  from ’99 to motherhood, claimed one of my old jobs, and a combination of my brother and sister’s birthdays. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to hide behind. I was proud of how ridiculous I was being. 

And then, I topped off my wine glass for the third time. 

I kept that page for a few weeks. I checked it every couple of days, faithfully. I was just waiting for him to post something disrespectful. But, what was I gonna do??? Would I post, “Ah ha!”? Would I “like” it with the angry face? No. I couldn’t out myself as being as crazy as I was behaving. I had to let go. I had to stop. And, I met someone that third week that started to occupy all my stalking time. 

I closed the FB window. I let go of all the fake friends I’d accumulated, and I decided to never be that crazy again. Low levels of crazy are okay, though. 

Then, I was outed. 

Because, I LOVE my blog. I. LOVE. MY. BLOG. This is my truth. It’s therapy. It helps me process all the relationship things swimming around in my head. It typically keeps me from being THAT crazy.

And because my ego is attached to my viewership, I have my blog set to auto-post to my social media accounts. Genius, right? Only when you don’t have a secondary, and fake, FB account that it automatically picks up. My blog has been auto posting to my fake FB for months. And, I haven’t noticed until now. 

I wondered why it stopped auto posting. Was getting really upset about it. I’d even reached out to the team at WordPress. Then, people smarter than me realized it was auto posting, just as it was supposed too, to my other account. OMG! I could have died, but instead I killed over in laughter. That’s exactly what I deserved!

Every blog I had written posted to my fake account, but nothing else. I hadn’t even logged on in months. Nothing screams it’s me better than a profile full of only my blog links, LMAO!

After going through the remember my password options on FB, I found my fake self, laughed again, and put her to bed. Done. 

My ego isn’t totally intact, but who cares. That was hilarious!

“What a wicked way, to treat the girl that loves you…”

“What a wicked way to treat the girl that loves you…”

I’m not much of a Beyoncé fan. Just telling the truth. I think she’s talented, but I don’t subscribe to the beehive. 

But when you’re picking your heart up off the floor and your emotions have been spinning out of control, an album like Lemonade will speak to you. 

Right now the song Hold Up means everything to me. I know, I’m late. 

“What’s worse, looking jealous or crazy?”

I still don’t know, and I’ve been both. 

It’s over now. I wish I could say I got the strength to walk away, but really he cancelled the insanity. I would still be deep in dumb shit, wondering when it would end. Actually, I was praying it would get better. I’m not sure why. 

This was a horrible relationship, but he only did what I allowed. I wasn’t his victim. I was madly in love with a man that wasn’t ready for me to be madly in love with him.

He pushed me away, and I ran back. I was like a stray cat, and he fed me. He kept feeding me. I didn’t know if I was supposed to stay or move on. It was emotional chaos. 

Ouch. 

It’s not my finest hour, or 105120+ hours, or 1095+ days, or 156+ weeks, or 36+ months, or 3+ years. 

It was a foolish relationship, and that’s not typically me. I usually keep my head on straight. I don’t get caught up in the silliness of love. I love with logic and stay rational. I listen to my head. I examine every reservation. Usually. 

I’m not embarrassed. I’m still a little wounded. Still hurt. But, I’m rational on the other side. I’m feeling strong. And, I’m going to be just fine. 

I feel like myself again.