A Hard and Heavy Shell

As long as I can remember, I have loved turtles.  I find them to be soothing. For years, friends and family often pick up little turtle figurines for me to collect.

Years ago, at a souvenir shop in the desert, I was eying a piece of turtle jewelry.  Attached was a tag detailing a Native American tale of how the great turtle is thought to carry the weight of the world on its back.  The turtle is carrier of all things in the world.  I have no idea if that tag accurately described the legend, or if it was some fabricated bullshit to entice tourists.  But it stuck with me and it is something I have always remembered.

When we were kids, Mom was kind of a piece of shit.  Being the older sibling, I put myself in charge of Sister's safety and well being.  When Mom took off on a bender in Reno and left the two of us girls alone (at ages 7 and 4), I was responsible for getting us to school every day.  Thankfully, a concerned neighbor notified our elementary school and Dad was awarded custody of us.  I still feel I failed in protecting Sister.  She had some serious shit happen to her and I couldn't stop it.  As we got older and Sister went through hard times, I had no choice but to not fuck up.  The burden was on me to be "the good one" and make Dad's life a little easier.

When it came to saving our relationship, it was not up to The Wrecking Ball to curb his cocaine habit.  Instead, it was my burden to learn to accept and live with his cocaine habit.  His vice resulted in mood swings.  He loved me in the morning and loathed me at night. He once showed up to meet my relatives an hour late, wearing sunglasses indoors, at night.  Of course, I would tell myself over and over "If I try really hard to be a better girlfriend, he will love me so much that he will want to stop."  We all know addiction doesn't work that way. Yet, the fall and demise of us, was somehow my doing. My begging and pleading and ultimately standing up for myself, even if it meant fighting for us, was responsible for the end. 

These are only a couple of ways that I take on the responsibility for the failings of others.  I surely inherited this trait from my father. I see how this has affected him and I know that I cannot continue to take on the world this way.  The burden has been too great.  My back will not hold the weight for long.  As my body ages, I feel the impact of the stress.  The chronic headaches, the anxiety, the bouts of depression. For once, I want someone to be my rock.  I want someone to face the burdens with me, not let me carry them alone.  I want someone I can count on to be there.  To have my back when the shit hits the fan.  I long for camaraderie.  Fucking hell, it is my turn.  Well meaning loved ones often say to me "Patience Grasshopper.  It happens when you are not looking for it." 

While I wait, I will continue to admire the beauty of these strong and patient creatures.  I will reflect on the weight I have carried and recognize that it is a testament to my loyalty and devotion to the world I live in, and the people in it.  It is proof of my nature, what I am capable of, and the type of person I am.

Dear Universe

Dear Universe,

How about you go fuck yourself?

Thanks, 

C

If I were to say that my heart could not possibly be anymore broken, I think the Universe would take that as a challenge so I will refrain.  

Last Friday, I had a girls' date with Bodhi.  We met for happy hour beers at our usual spot, then proceeded downtown when, after searching for parking forever, we snagged some delicious sandwiches for dinner.  We then walked a few blocks to an intimate concert venue to see a great show.  The night could not be better. Turns out that we had some other friends in the crowd so before the first act got underway we went on a search mission.  Less than one minute into said mission, we run into the motherfucking Wrecking Ball.  FUCK. How, in a sea of beautiful and inebriated bearded men, do I only exchange words with the one I have been avoiding like the Black Death for over a year? You see, the Wrecking Ball is not just any demon.  He is Satan himself.  No one person or thing in this world can fuck with the wiring of my brain as that man can.  The heartache from our demise is still so raw and so fresh.  My gaping wound that after being gangrenous and infectious, was just starting to heal and resemble more of a battle scar, when he walked up and slashed it all open again.  After successfully not puking on him and finding the other members of our group, Bodhi and I took our spots in front of the stage and I tried to brush it off.  I am certain the old drunk hippie standing next to me, thought I was on Acid as the only thing I could do was stare at the pretty lights in the ceiling, hoping that by elevating my face, no tears would fall down my cheeks.

Though I had designated myself as our driver, I woke the next morning with an emotional hangover.  The kind where you have a headache simply from crying.  My phone rang next to my head as I tried to come to.  It was darling Robo trying to wake my pathetic ass up for our planned hike.  Before calling her back, I decided I should replay the previous night's events in my head and start some coffee.  I laid in bed just a little longer while I felt the way I did over a year ago "Just last night, he was here.  And now he's gone."  I felt like I would die. I found myself asking all the same questions over and over.  I eventually hobbled out of bed to start the kettle, while cursing the Universe for ever bringing that man into my life if I was just going to wake up alone anyway.

As I stumble into my living room, the Universe smacks me upside the head to remind me that I never wake up alone. There it was. Vomit. Shit. Lots of it. Once contained in the forty pound body of a dog. MY dog. My sweet, precious girl that has been with me for the entirety of my Twenties. Who, while I bitch and moan about being lonely, gently reminds me "But I'm here.  And I love you. Unconditionally.  And I will never, ever leave your side."  But the fact is, she will. Not by her own doing. No, she will not abandon me. Instead, I have to make the decision to not be selfish and let her leave this Earth in no more pain than she is currently in. I have to let her go. I have to let her know that I will be okay without her. That I am a better and stronger person because of her love. That her job here is done. 

This Friday, Sister and I will take my dog into her very last vet visit.  And we will leave without her. The outpouring of love and compassion from everyone who knows her and my love for her has been amazing. Even dogless, I know I am not alone.

Dear Universe, 

If you can be gentle after the tough week you have dealt me, that would be great.

I love you, 

C 

 

Ground Zero

After only an hour's worth of real sleep, I woke up to the morning alarm.  I was in his bed but his half was cold.  He had slept downstairs on the couch.  Not incredibly unusual, as we had a fight the night before.  Also, not incredibly unusual.  Then I remembered that this time was different.  This time the fight was a fight that I knew would likely be our last.  He heard my alarm and came upstairs to hold me and cry with me for the next hour.  I eventually showered and somehow got myself ready for work.  I gathered my things and we kissed goodbye, telling each other to have a good day, pretending it was any other morning.  It was the last time I ever saw him.

During my first few moments of consciousness that morning, my only desire was to close my eyes, wake up later, and discover it all having been a bad dream.  For the next few months, but what seemed like eternity, I spent every morning (and nearly every waking moment) that way.  Every morning, I woke up in a cold and half empty bed, realizing where I was, what the reality of my life was, and only wishing it to not be true.  This morning ritual in my psyche made me afraid to sleep at night, for I knew that in my sleep, my dreams would be of our normal life.  But when I woke, my nightmare would still be the same.

I had been through breakups before.  I have lost friends and family to death.  Hell, I have had physical, life threatening injuries that took months to recover from.  None of it prepared me for the pain I felt after that morning.  My entire body hurt from the inside out.  I had a perpetual migraine, I was unable to take full breaths, my stomach was in a constant somersault.  My daily diet consisted of coffee, cigarettes, beer and whatever food my friend Robo forced me to eat when I was drunk.

I hadn't just lost my partner and best friend.  I lost half of my friends (his friends), I lost my (practically) in-laws, I lost my dreams and hopes - OUR dreams and hopes.  I also found myself metaphorically homeless.  I was renting an apartment in the city that I only used as a week-day hotel room for when I needed to be close to the office.  I now was forced to call it home. His home in the mountains was no longer there for me.  No more nights of cooking in the log kitchen while he stoked the wood stove and fat snow flakes fell from the sky.  No more lazy days of him chopping wood while I sewed up the patches in his work pants.  No more long weekends with our friends filling the spare bedrooms.  We had plans together.  A wedding, dogs, eventually little DNA clones of us playing in the acreage surrounding our house.  Our nest was gone.

And just like that, my life as I knew it was crushed.  Though it had been crumbling for quite some time, it seemed to happen in just an instant.  Everything I loved and cared for, my goals, my dreams, what kept me going every day, crumbled that morning.  I felt as if a category 5 tornado rumbled onto everything that was "me."  A tornado with a giant fucking Wrecking Ball in the eye of it.

The First Exorcism

Photo courtesy Veritas Pictures

Today was fairly uneventful.  So I figured it would be a good point to start the exorcism of demons (or exes as some like the call them).  In chronological order, here is the condensed version of the significant men of my 20's.

The Mack
Oh, The Mack.  My first real adult relationship.  The first time "Love" meant something beyond scribbling his name on my paper-bag covered Algebra book.  The Mack and I met during our early twenties, dated like normal grown ups and broke up for normal, grown up reasons. The Mack was everything I thought I wanted in a partner: good looking, charming, athletic, funny, compassionate and a good lover. Unfortunately for me and the future men I would meet, he set my first bar.  Which is why years after our breakup, I left Banjo for him.  Turns out What If? is overrated.  The Mack may have started me down the Yellow Brick Road of emotionally unavailable yet beautifully enticing men.  But he was and is a great guy and we are on good terms to this day.

Patriot
As benign as The Mack was in retrospect, it demolished my spirit when we broke up the first time.  So much that I quickly drank myself into oblivion with my best "guy friend".  Patriot began as nothing more than a shoulder to cry on and buddy to take shots with.  As it all too often happens with vulnerable and naive (and skunk drunk) girls, it eventually turned into a short and toxic tryst. The full story of Patriot is quite depressing and I am just too contented right now to get into it.  A Patriot dedicated post will come sooner than later.

Banjo
Poor Banjo.  He was my first Crazy. An alcoholic musician, he was fun as hell in the beginning.  Once the PBR Can Pyramid in his living room took over the recliner, view of the TV and pathway to the bathroom, I got bored.  We only dated a couple of months before my interest quickly lost steam.   Sadly, Banjo fell HARD for me.  When I returned from a few weeks out of the country to end things... let's just say he didn't adjust well.  He spent the next 2-3 years harassing and occasionally stalking me.  Eventually, via email I told him "Go Fuck Yourself or I'm getting a restraining order."  I hear he now has a nice girlfriend. 

Gator
Like The Mack, Gator was pretty benign.  He was and is a nice guy with whom I stay in touch.  However, I did not get out unscathed.  For just a little under a year, we spent nearly every other day with each other.  Befriended one another's social circle.  He got to know my family.  All that relationship-y stuff, right?  Well at End-Time, I was surprised to hear he never thought it was actually a relationship.  Hmmm.  Fast forward a few years and I have learned to love the mantra "It ain't exclusive until he says it is, Honey."  Little bit of fuckery but I got over it.

The Wrecking Ball
He entered my life with such intensity and force that when he left it, I was standing in a pile of rubble.  He gets his own post.  Another day.

Princess
Really, Princess doesn't entirely belong on this list as he was NOT a significant man in my life.  We only dated a brief period of time but the complete fuckery and hilarity of his story is just too good to omit.  To be kind, Princess is a steaming pile of his own vain, rose-smelling shit.  Our courtship was my first attempt at anything beyond booty-call-status since The Wrecking Ball.  After about 3 months of regular dating and a couple of "what are we" talks, I discover he had been exploring Polyamory.  What's more, I was enlightened by finding evidence rather than him telling me like a man.  The responsible adult would have considered this pertinent information to a budding relationship and would have disclosed it in the beginning.  I am not to judge the lifestyle choices of others, but polyamory is not my bag. 
Here is how our last conversation went:
P: Are you okay?  Why did you leave?  Are you mad at the book?
C: No, I am not mad at the book. I am mad at your explanation for it.  I feel gross and need to soak my vagina in bleach.
P: Don't feel that way.  There hasn't been anyone else since I met you.
C: Yet, you mean? How long would that have last?
P: I would have told you before I involved anyone else.  I still want you to be my Main Girlfriend.
C: Gross.  Listen, I have already been on the fence as to whether or not our thing is working for me.  This just sealed the deal for me.
P: Well, what if we date and just aren't intimate?
C: No.
P: Well can we be friends?
C: No.
P: This is why I didn't want to tell you.  I was afraid it would scare you away and you would want nothing to do with me.
C: You were right.
Good luck to Princess with his Harem.