Cheating: Lesson Learned

Let’s start with this: when it comes to ruthlessness and being tactless, I can be one of the worst. I might be more blunt with a loved one (I consider my friends as loved ones) than a stranger or acquaintance because I fear for them and whatever situation they may be tangled up in. Even as I write, I’m chuckling at myself because speaking in euphemisms is not an ability I have and beating around the bush just makes whatever message I have more convoluted. Therefore, when you read the conversation between me and my friends, I hope I don’t lose you when I sound like a bitch.

A little background: I’ve stated before I grew up as a tomboy and I’ve always felt more comfortable around guys than the girls (who could be really catty and fake). I know their body language and am privy to more gossip than my few female friends will muster up. The latter is probably because I’ve never tolerated gossip and liars and am more than happy to call someone out on their b.s. Running with the guys from elementary school up to and through college meant a lot of pressure standing up against rumors that I might be slutty and that’s why the guys followed me around (the guys stayed with me because they enjoyed my friendship and because where my brother went, so did I, my sister and girlfriends). I made it a point to date outside the district to avoid discussions about my love life and worked extra hard to either be with someone or not: there was no hazy middle ground. I sure as hell did not break up other couples and a friend was a friend and no more. Still, the gossip suggesting I was a player was impossible to put out, and partly, because I am very sociable and I’m always willing to include others than ice them out of my social circle. That can send mixed signals when you’re a hormonal teen and not me, but my codes remain unbroken: a friend is a friend and no more. If I wanted it to be more, you would get the memo first 😉

Come college, I did run with a group of “players” because I didn’t get shit from them for being friendly and warm. My early childhood as an outcast due to my ethnicity in white suburbia stayed with me for a very long time and I know what it’s like looking in and being kept out. It’s why I don’t exclude anyone if I don’t have to (I will not associate with bigots, haters, gossipers, violence seekers, etc) and that’s all the explanation you will ever get from me. Enter XY who, along with my college ex, did have the agenda of bedding and dating as many girls as he could. To this day, he has no idea what his count is and I lost track around 20-30. Recently, he experienced a life changing event and had to re-evaluate his modus operandi of dating someone and sleeping around behind her back every time they got in a fight or shit wasn’t panning out. He got a kick out of stealing a girl away from another guy if he just “couldn’t help himself.” None of my warnings about karma were taken seriously before this monumental moment of inner reflection. A common conversation on FB or via texts and phone call:

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Unfortunately, once a cheater

NOT always a cheater. If you have been deceived by a lover in the worst way, that is to say your belief and trust in love was violated, then, I’m sure you find some comfort that Karma will be a bitch and your ex lover will fall. We do unto others as we would do unto ourselves and we get what’s coming to us. Perhaps, telling yourself, as your friends and family have told you, a cheater can’t change and is destined for loneliness brings some solace; I know that to be untrue from personal experience on both sides.

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Time Progresses

How is it already March of 2017! Class is kicking my butt and today is midterms. Next week is Spring Break! I had planned on going to Hong Kong with my buddy but too short of notice for him (plus, the Dept. of State denied him a pass to go).

I’m beginning to see my ex in the same light as my loved ones (friends, too) do since our break-up. If they see me weakening, they firmly remind me that he still hasn’t apologized, hasn’t “manned up” and isn’t worth my love, my time. Six months is up (a deadline they set up) and I’m still standing, he’s still hiding. I know if I willed it so, he and I would cross paths but I haven’t wanted it on an unconscious level. It’s been a difficult task to do in staying away from his parents and pug on a conscious level; be proud of me, though, for having not seen them in over two months and having no contact for four weeks. There is no place for me in the lives which revolve around my ex: it’s been taken by another. The knowledge isn’t crippling anymore and I know that the time when they’ll all be strangers is coming along more quickly. About three or four nights ago, I dreamed of him all night and I woke up without heartache, without deep longing. I’m forging ahead, firmly and alone.

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Goodbye Muscle Training

They’ve been chiding me for a good month
Everyone in my circle pushing her to date
Pushing her ex from her thoughts and heart
They don’t want a very good woman wasted

So, I took her and dolled her all up
Her long, red hair and flawless skin
Required nothing more than touches
Her dress hugged the right features
Suede boots, stylish and classic
Thigh highs held in place by garters
Enhancing the turquoise lingerie set

I chaperone her date with a Wall St. broker
This is their third and like the last one,
Goes on for three hours over drinks and food
I watch his eyes linger on her lips and curves
As they walk towards the transportation home
His hand does not leave the small of her back
She lets him guide her, aware he wants her

The rhythmic sway of her hips into his side
attracts attention and I watch his eyes and mouth
set in a manner to dissuade his competition
Mostly, I see her internal struggle to stay than flee
She enjoys this man’s company, his stories
but her heart is still locked away: far from light
Far from pain, far from the half she won’t name

I whisper words of encouragement she can’t hear
The strength, the resolve she needs to trust again
Seems so far away for her: it’s easier to be numb
Cowardice was never her forte, she knows that
What’s unknown is if she can love and build again
After all, she gave him everything she could, save
The infrastructure that contained her personhood

As the financial analyst/investor tries to read her
I’m holding her, a hug from behind for the last time
He’s wrapped his arms around her waist as the A
comes in to whisk her away, leaving the ghost behind
His tender kiss has no price and yields a tear anyway
She gracefully returns it, softly and breaks away soon
The heartache is too much, the tears barely concealed

Her “goodbye muscle” is weak and in need of training
When she faces me, I look over her clear, youthful skin
A battle well won after weeks of stress, tears and anger
The body is rebounding much more slowly but with time
Anything is possible, anything can happen: love for her
I press her to charge ahead, to leave me behind to wait
We both know I’ll be waiting a long time: “love always”

That’s why I stay and she goes to find her next soulmate
She doesn’t need me in the way I needed her power of will
Her hourglass figure the perfect image of who we are
Together and apart but all contained in one glass piece
Existing in the same space: the Past and Present
Fragile, tiny particles Creating like jigsaw puzzle pieces
do for a larger, incomprehensible love story for the ages

She’s worthy of love; she just needs to work up the
Patience, Time, Resolve and Trust to go again
People like her aren’t meant to be used and abused
Rather, she’s to be inspirational and loved wholly.

I’ll be her past
Her children:
Our future.

A finder *finds*

A seeker might never finish his journey because then, he would be a Finder.

Let’s start with Valentine’s Day and the debacle of letting someone down gently. The teacher/musician-songwriter actually got on my case about my plans (just staying low key and being with friends) when we had a planned date for Thursday. I’m going to transcribe his litany of words and my texts back. For what it’s worth, I can’t read tone in texts and emails. A handwritten letter or phone call is so much more do-able.

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Mine

*Written 1/3/2017 when it was one of those infrequent days I could convince myself and my heart that it’s okay we’re not together in the here and now…maybe another lifetime when he’s stronger and more confident and I have the patience, nay, the strength to wait without knowing what’s in store. When he’s sorted himself out and I’ve forgotten who we were… when we meet, the same fireworks display, then, we become one again. Any sooner and I know it’d be much like this scene for myself because I still feel like this, still feel you whispering in my ear the last time I was in your arms.

Sometimes, I picture you reading, writing, listening to music/movies with your ear buds on while you’re in a Starbucks. I wondered if you were alone when you shot off your last email to me or with someone else by your side, supporting you, because I know how you are when you’re volatile and vulnerable. I wonder if you have the respect to keep away your new ___ from my blog, my little piece of the ‘Net. I wonder if you’ve become strong enough to brave me and my words. Then, I realize it doesn’t matter. These last few months will mean nothing in another year and they’ll be just another two line blurb in the summation of my life; that’s not to say our seven years will be as easy to wash away in a year’s time. The part of my heart that belongs to you begs the rest of me to turn back because it’s never too late. While everyone rushes me to lock down and throw away my memories/our love, I know eventually, I’ll admit it’s too late and walk away forever but in my own time, in my own way. Do you ever think of our happiest times? How can I be you and push something so far from my mind that it blurs until its no more?

When I see you again, I’ll have mine.
You won’t be mine.
I’ll have another love of my own
The career I thought was out of my reach?

Mine now.

When you see me again, love of mine
You won’t see yourself reflected in these bright, happy eyes of mine
The heartache I thought would be forever?

Not mine.

When I see you again, I’ll be a stranger
Give back the pieces that are mine
Puzzle pieces of my heart I gave you
The parts of you-

No longer mine. No longer desired.

When you see me again, I’ll be stronger
I’ll have risen and the world will be mine

When I see you again, I’ll remember
I will know: I don’t need you anymore.

I got minestill getting it all
No longer wounded by your lies.

Happy Birthday, my Beloved

It’s the second year you haven’t shown for your birthday. No worries, we love you still and cherish you anyway: we’re not insulted, though we’re hurting a bit. Banana, dad and mom talk about you all the time; they bring up the anecdotes related to whatever we’re talking about/doing in relation to how you would react based on your past antics. They can laugh about it and find joy in sharing memories of you.

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Love of Friends

Louis CK on self-love verses self-awareness (I completely agree that self awareness is much more important than loving yourself in some circumstances) and being an asshole. I think true best friends are the ones who will risk wrath/hatred/resentment to tell you something you don’t want to hear, whether it’s about yourself, your decisions/actions, philosophy/view(s) or your life/situation. They’ll do the things in your best interest especially, if you lack foresight or perspective (i.e. the big picture) because they love you enough and they believe your friendship is strong enough to weather through the temporary stages (e.g. the five stages of grief).

Thusly, two weeks ago I had help packing up everything that reminded me of Beck (stuffed animals, other mementos, journals, etc.) into three boxes. As my friends help me shift furniture to make room for some new additions, I didn’t notice one had disappeared with two of the boxes until I smelled something burning. PTSD is triggered and I frantically search for the source of heat that smells like it’s in the house: where’s the fire! When I turn in desperation to the remaining two, I notice how calm they are and how diligently they’re standing in front of the doors and by the windows. I bolt for the backyard because I can see the smoke but I don’t get farther than the screen door as one bars the doorway with his frame and the other wrestles to keep me inside as I’m screaming and screaming at what I see: my boxes of memories are burning! It takes the two of them to drag me down as I’m cursing and using my surprising strength to get outside and save the things I know are beyond saving: I still have to try.

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Petty things

He’s leaving his wife, family members, friends and me again to serve our country. I felt like crying for hours today because I don’t want him to go. I know you can only roll the dice so many times before you hit 7. He’s been unharmed, physically and mentally and returned to American soil safely five times. If I have angels, I really hope they wrap him in their safe embrace for another year in a war conflicted area. My Marine, my oldest and most sincere friend who has the courage to return to active duty because his country asked it of him will deploy for a year or more. Protect him and salute him. Semper fi, Jared.

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My penance owed to Beck

Edit: My friends have pointed out that I apologize too much for Beck’s behavior and I take on guilt that isn’t mine. It’s fucked up that Beck latched onto one conversation to divert his guilt and I shouldn’t be the only one saying sorry! It’s clear how well he fucked with my heart and head but I don’t care anymore. When I re-read this entry, I asked myself, “Who is this goddamn pathetic shell, crying her heart out when she didn’t do anything nearly as egregious as Beck and she shouldn’t be apologizing for her reactionary behavior! If her ex couldn’t see it coming after he started the rock rolling, then he’s being as selfish and self-righteous as a person can get. That’s not what she deserves.” However, the sincerity in this entry is why I can’t delete nor hide it now. I did hide it because I was disgusted by the raw emotion but because I’ve found myself again, I’m letting it remain up.

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I have to be a better person and I have to take the high road though it is harder, more arduous, the view/knowledge at the top will be worth it. Almost every entry before this one (ask me if I proof read when I’m a mess? Nope, though I should) is simply anger flowing out. They don’t represent who I really am or what I can do; they don’t represent Beck well either. I’ve been writing in these circles that are the death knell to my break-up pain. I can’t emphasize enough my regret, sorrow and sincere apologies to Beck, but it doesn’t matter b/c he’s using my words to stay angry with me. I know I’m truly at the point of no return and staring at a crossroads: one to continue hurting and the other not giving a damn at all. Forgive the duality in my entries – it’s how crazed my head and heart are but the gist is still, “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all the fucked up things I have said, wrote and done but you hurt me and I retaliated. I’m not asking for forgiveness this time around – I just needed you to know how much I would have done differently but mostly, because I owe you the following entry.

We both said and did things to hurt the other: I’m still brave enough to say, “I’m sorry, Beck.” I’m sorry we fought after my cousin Joyce’s wedding and the state it left you in – you think I forgot but I didn’t. My head and heart were reeling from the verbal lashing you gave me in public but I remember the strength you had to stay and the way I had to be humble enough to stay, too, because I was in the wrong. I’m sorry moving from Hackensack and Totowa were so stressful times that brought us to our knees. The silver-lining was loving how well we live together like we did in your uncle’s Flushing apartment: I loved that you let me love you in the unspoken ways. When I was more cash strapped after the fire, you took care of me and accepted the little gifts I made; that’s what hurt the most when you threw them out because it was a tangible action of rejecting me/my love. I put up walls because I felt you had stopped listening to me even when I could see you were hearing my voice. I felt the cautious distance two wounded hearts will take as protection. We’re more alike than you know, a spiritual mirror so to speak. It’s taken me a long time to understand why you had to downsize/get rid of material possessions but I do now.  Last, I’m not sorry for seeing you at your most vulnerable and being able to hold you while we held on through the storm; I never thought less of you for it – I admired you for your courage because that’s what it took. I’m not sorry for waiting for you to develop/come around back in 2010; if I ever let you down, I tried to make up for it. I’m sorry my all wasn’t enough.

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