Love/Hate List

You know, there's a lot of things that I like about my life right now. Unfortunately, some of the things that I love about my life right now are also the things that I hate about my life right now. [okay, hate is a pretty strong word... let's take it all in context, shall we?]

The Love/Hate List

• sparkin' up a doobie at 10:00 on a Sunday morning
• eating whatever I want, whenever I want
• taking my dog for walks
• memories of he
• navy blue walls... with pink blinds???
• the similarities between me and Ian
• the differences between me and Ian

To My Wonderful Nephew, Brandon

March 11, 2007

To my wonderful nephew, Brandon!

Here is a poem that I wrote when I was 16…

I feel the loneliness
Building inside me
Turning
Crashing down
I can’t find a way out

I feel I should
construct a wall
to hide me
from the world
and take away this pain

I feel like crying
But the tears
won’t spill out
the anger and confusion
out weigh the sorrow

I feel I could let go
And scream
Until my throat hurts
As much as my heart does
At this moment

I feel like hating
Everything and everyone
I don’t know why
It’s all building up
I can’t take the weight off my shoulders

I feel like hiding
From my upset
I don’t want to face it
Not now
Not ever

Why did I think
Life would be easy?


Sheena told me that you are posting on the fiction press website. I often go on the site to read her stories and this morning I read your poems. I hope you aren’t mad at her; she didn’t tell me anything other than the name that you are using but I guess she was worried about you and she thought that I could help. I wanted to share my poem with you in the hope that it would show you that you are not alone and I understand the things that you are feeling.

I know that you are aware of our family’s little curse called depression. A couple of years ago I mentioned to your mother that I thought I was seeing signs of it in you and I believe that you both have discussed it but I want to tell you a bit about my experience.

I want to share some things with you that are very personal and I am going to trust that you will keep much of this confidential. I talk about this with my family and with maybe four of my closest friends that I know will love me no matter what. It’s not that I am embarrassed about my depression but some people look at you differently when they know. Sometimes people knowing is a good thing… like with Ian because he can see that sometimes I need to be alone and sometimes I need a hug. I don’t discuss this with Sheena because she lives with Joe, who is my boss, and I don’t want him to know. I guess I don’t tell most people because I want them to see me and not this depression. And sometimes it’s frustrating to deal with the people that don’t “get it”. I don’t feel that I need people to understand but I do need the people around me to accept it and not turn it against me. It takes a while but eventually you figure out who those people are. Feel free to tell anyone around you about the things that I am going to tell you, I just ask that you not discuss it with the people out here.

For most of my life I had no idea that there was something wrong with me. I thought that I was going through the same teenage angst that my friends were going through. I had days that I felt good about myself but, for the most part, I thought that I was pretty useless and ugly and fat and worthless. Sometimes I doubted these bad feelings but most of the time I felt this was a fact, I was crap… I just wasn’t worthy of people caring about me. But the really funny part was that I thought all of these bad things about myself but I didn’t want anyone else to figure it out. It was almost as if I told them how I felt about myself that they would go “you know, you’re right - you are crap” and not like me anymore.

I have always been quite guarded with my feelings. On the bad days I couldn’t talk about it and on the good days I didn’t want to. I smiled and kept up my “life of the party” image. I didn’t act out much as a teenager because I didn’t want to stand out, I just wanted to blend in with everyone else so no one would know. I didn’t really get close to people either; you can’t really let people in if you are afraid of what they will find. When I had a crush on some guy, I liked them until they liked me... then I didn’t like them anymore because I thought something had to be wrong with them if they liked me. Some people might think that’s pretty twisted but that was how my brain worked. I know now that not talking about this stuff was my biggest mistake. I had no reason to doubt these bad things that I felt because no one could ever say that it wasn’t true. I felt so strongly that I was right that I never gave anyone the opportunity to tell me that I was wrong.

Not knowing where the feelings were coming from, I always found a reason for them… I was too fat, what ever boy that I was currently crushing on didn’t love me back, I didn’t have enough money, I felt sick, I hated school or my job or whatever. There were a million excuses and I spent a life time trying to fix what was causing the hurt… I changed jobs, changed boyfriends, changed homes, over and over and over… until I realized that it had to be me. But depression? I saw the commercials on tv, I read the articles in magazines… they said that if you lost interest in the things that you used to enjoy that you should talk to someone. That didn’t apply to me. I was like this my whole life.

In October of 2003 I was thrown from a horse and hit my head. My doctor prescribed pain killers but I didn’t take them. I think it was about three weeks later that I accepted the fact that I was saving them up so that I could take them all at once. That was one of the hardest days of my life because that was the day that I realized that I needed help (and I really, really hate asking for help!). I started taking an antidepressant medication that has changed my life in more ways than I can measure.

But so much much more than medication, the biggest healing came from talking to a therapist. He was the one that figured it all out, actually. One day I was telling him a story and said something about not wanting to get out of bed for a week and he said that wasn’t normal behavior. But how could it not be? I had lived like that for my whole life and I saw other members of my family behave the same way. I thought everyone had times like that but they just didn’t talk about it… like me. So we started digging deeper. I think it was okay to tell him my feelings because he wasn’t my family, he wasn’t my friend… I could handle it if he found out what a waste of a human being that I was. And he helped me accept that I wasn’t a waste, that I was worthy. I learned to love myself and, so much harder, I learned to let people love me… the real me. I am happier than I ever thought possible, happier than I ever thought I deserved.

Now I can look back and know that all of the tears and heartache from my youth did not stem from my worthlessness. My worthlessness was, in fact, a byproduct of my depression. In some ways, the fact that you know that your feelings are caused by depression can be a great benefit to you. But, in other ways, I think it could become a disadvantage. I guess it depends on how you look at it and what you do about it. If you let the feelings of depression become a crutch, you could sit back for your whole life and blame everything bad that ever happens to you on your illness. But that won’t make you happy or fulfilled or give you a feeling of self worth. The happiness and self worth will come from struggling against it. It will come from knowing that you have this hurdle to face and believing that you have the strength within you to overcome.

I know it probably doesn’t feel like you have that strength yet but you can and you will. The easiest thing to do when you start feeling down is to sink into it and let it swallow you. I still have bad days when all I want to do is push everyone away and crawl under the blankets until the bad feelings go away. And sometimes that’s exactly what I do. But that only makes it worse. Your writing will be quite good for you. It’s an outlet to express what is going on inside you and exploring the things that are going on in your mind. And you really are good at it. If you keep it up you will eventually feel more comfortable putting your feelings down on paper. Don’t berate yourself or talk down to yourself. There will be enough people in your life that will try to do that for you. If you believe it, it will only hurt you. Know that you are an amazing person. You have so much to offer the world; don’t ever doubt that.

You have a head start now, Brandon. You are so much further ahead of the game than your mother and I were at your age, and you are worlds ahead of your grandfather. It’s hard but you need to remember that the things that go through your mind when you are down are not coming from you, they are being caused by disruptions in the neurotransmitters in your brain (or whatever the correct medical terminology is!!). This is different than people who suffer from depression that is not caused by genetics. These people get depressed because of events that happen, they have a specific reason to be down; someone they love dies or they lose their job or a million other reasons. Our bad feelings do not always have a specific reason. And sometimes the reason is different than we think it is. I’m not saying that your experiences and upsets aren’t valid, I’m just asking that you try to find a positive way to deal with them.

The answer is never never never (did I say never??) suicide or hurting yourself. Trying to stop the pain in that way offers absolutely no benefit. It doesn’t help you deal with your problems, it doesn’t fix what is wrong. The only thing it could do is devastate the people who love you. Ian’s brother committed suicide when he was a young adult. His family was crushed and his mother will never recover. Suicide is an extremely selfish act. If you feel that you want to hurt yourself, I beg you to reach out to someone. Even if you don’t care about you, you need to care about your mother, care about me and everyone else who loves you; you need to look for help. Honestly, I think that you are a very loving person and you are too considerate of others to try to end your life but sometimes the pain is hard to take and we look for a way out. Promise me that you will look for a different way.

When you are down the best things that you can do for yourself are difficult to deal with when you feel like you can’t deal with anything but they will always, always help… be around people that make you laugh, get exercise, take Holly for a walk, DDR until you can’t take it anymore! Just do something. And it’s HARD, so hard to do, but it will make the bad parts pass much faster. You might want to talk to your mother about medication. Most doctors don’t like to prescribe antidepressants to teens but it might be an option if things get bad and you feel that you can’t cope.

The most important thing that I can tell you is to understand and BELIEVE BELIEVE BELIEVE that the pain will pass. It really will. There is nothing that you will ever go through, good or bad, that will not ease with time. Even if you someday find yourself at the end of your rope, know that you do have the strength to get through it. Ask for help, talk to someone (I’m available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week), hug your dog, lie in bed and pull the covers over your head… do what you need to do to survive and it will pass… I promise. I will always be here for you and you can tell me anything - and anything that you tell me will stay with me and only me. I want you to feel that you can talk to me about these things but, if you don’t want to, I will understand that, too. Just do what you need to do… and be happy… you deserve it!

Brandon, we are connected by blood but I feel more than that with you. I think of you as my nephew and as my friend. I see a lot of myself in you, I see a lot of your mother in you and I feel a bond with you that will never weaken. You are a fantastic person, you are fun to be around, you are handsome, you are smart, you have a good heart and I love you. I love you – UNCONDITIONALLY – no matter what.

From your favorite aunt,
Bev xxx

Our Deepest Fear

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory... that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

- by Marianne Williamson
(religious references have been removed)


I love this poem/quote. It was a fear... I always had to look at the person next to me... and I would never surpass what that person was doing. So afraid of standing out. Now look at me - a leader/boss/mentor/friend. I love this me! Sound egotistical? I'm okay with that. I don't think that I'm a stupid waste of space any more. I used to wonder why bosses (for instance) would say such positive things about me in reviews and what-not. I just figured that they said really nice things about everyone. Now I think that it was because I do good work. I'm smart. I got my shit together. Most of the time. As far as anyone else can see. People look up to me now... maybe they always did and I just couldn't grasp that.

Facebook sucks... up all your time cuz it's awesome!

Can you believe this? It's almost 2pm and I have actually accomplished a bit of work - teeny weeny little bit. Because that damn Facebook is driving me crazy! I love it!! It's probably like the Sims... at first it sucks up all of your time... absolute time vacuum... then it levels out and you are just like a normal person again. Just like one. Kinda. As much as I could ever be.

That's funny. My whole life I would cry and think "I just want to be normal". And now I am normal. I'm still weird, I'm still odd, I'm still fat, I'm still me but now I am normal.

It's hard for me to go back there... in my brain, I mean. Back to that time when I was mental. But I can look back now and know that I was right... I knew there was something wrong with me. I just didn't know what it was. Clinical depression. That's hilarious! Don't you know that I'm the life of the party? When I can get out of bed and go to the party.

I Don't Want to Work

I don't want to work. I don't want to work. I don't want to work. I want to be a stay at home mom but I don't want to have kids. Does my dog count? So sleepy! I think it's Monday again.

Yeah, I know... boo hoo! I actually quite love my job. It's a mish-mash of this and that. I prefer the crazy busy going-out-of-your-mind challenge days but there aren't many of those since I got two extra people to help. Now it's little itty-bitty details. Balance this account, find out why this isn't right, pay this bill. Blech.

It doesn't much help that most of the time I want to string my boss up! He's really a great guy. He's taught me a lot, he's helped me a lot, he's generous and kind... but irritating! Fuckin' micro-manage me, buddy. You'll get a swift kick.

Okay, be nice! Get over it and get to work. It ain't goin anywhere until it gets done so I'm really only procrastinating. But it's one of my special talents! And I do it so well...

My New Journal

I’ve had a journal for most of my life. My first real journal began when I was 15 and my life went haywire and I landed flat on my head. It’s kind of fun/sad to read now because I see that girl who was sooooo so messed up and I still hurt for her. But I wrote to work out the mess in my brain; I wrote to find some reason, some answer to my unhappiness. Sadly, the answers that I found were wrong but it did placate me at the time.

And so I wrote. And I wrote. And I wrote some more. And then I burned it all. How could I not? Most of it was demonic musings of a psycho teenage girl and then worse musings of a woman on the edge of … of… anyway, I could never let someone see the mad ravings! Probably because, if you read what was actually written, you would see: Boo hoo! Why doesn’t (insert name here) want me? If you read between the lines, however, you would see: Help me stop hating myself!

So I periodically threw the books in the fire. People said that I would regret it – and they were right to a degree – but I still wouldn’t want someone to read them after I was gone and think that I was that person. Not many people are able to find meaning beyond the words. But I continued to write because I found it an outlet that I could use to vent about all of the bad, and sometimes good, things that I was living through. Then one day I realized that it was causing more problems than it was solving.

I would sit at home alone and write and cry and drink and write and cry. I would then inevitably go send some stupid drunken email to whatever man was currently ruining my life. And then I would feel good… conflict discovered, conflict deleted. And then morning would come. Oooops! I eventually realized that my journals had turned into a way for me to get worked up. Oh, the tears and the frustration and the absolute blah, blah, blah.

However - and this is the reason that we are all here right now - I miss it. I miss writing. I miss recording my life. It’s nice sometimes to go back and see where you were and how far you’ve come and I’ve lost that. I decided that I would like to write again. But – new problem – I don’t live alone anymore. I don’t think that it would be fair to write down all of these personal thoughts and observations and not expect Ian to be curious enough to take a peek. And I really don’t think that I will be writing anything that I wouldn’t want him to see because he knows me better than anyone ever has but there are things that sneak into my brain every so often that he doesn’t need to know.

So, here I sit… here I write. I have a journal that I can pull out whenever and wherever I want (within reason!!), it’s private and I will feel free to be who I am… whoever that might be at any specific time. Hold on… this is gonna be fun!

A-N-D... I'm back.

Mutherfucker, that was a rough one. It's weird. I'm a mass of waste, there's ups and downs but I feel scatter brained and indecisive and totally blah and then a minute later it's like SNAP. And the world is okay again. I cooked lunch, had a shower, did the dishes, actually smiled into the mirror. I just don't get it.

But it's time to get back on track. I think tomorrow I'll tell Joe the 5am thing isn't working and go back to 7-3 Monday to Friday. And go to the gym before work. Yes, for my sanity so much more than my waist line.

Now comes the part where I have to reply to all the calls that I didn't take, apologize for being me. Used to be that I would feel so guilty about making my friends worry. This time I just figured that's the price they have to pay to have a mentally unstable friend. And I'm sorry but when I go through that, I have to think survival above all else.

And so, it looks like we've come to the monster at the end of this book.

It's me!

Silly, but it's a milestone. I have never completed a journal before. Never ever. I would always start fresh and have a new beginning and think everything will be different this time. But I don't want to start fresh again. I want to continue. Finally I can just continue.

On to bigger and better! Congratulations! Pat pat pat!

I'm going to try to get this out while I'm still going through is. Maybe it will help me understand it better. This time it's almost as bad as before the pills. Which, I think, shows the importance of the addition of exercise. It's also strongly tied to my menstrual cycle now. Was it always? I don't know. But these days I have various degrees of breakdown every fourth Monday, Sunday really. It usually isn't this rough or last this long. I need to find a way to go for a walk today. I can't let this control me again.

It's so debilitating. The tears, the frustration, rage-depending on the circumstances, thoughts of hurting myself, worthlessness, I can't concentrate, have a severe case of the "don't wanna"s. Don't wanna read, don't wanna puzzle, don't wanna watch a movie, nothing on tv, can't work, not going online, can't listen to music, not cooking supper, clothes fall where they fall, showers are an ordeal. Even picking up the phone to call work takes an hour of planning and is a struggle. I avoid all of my friends, turn the ringer off on my phone and the world just has to do without me for a day or two.

I just can't cope with the simplest things. Going to the grocery store last night - I desperately needed cake (they didn't have any). Even this.

That's enough for now.

Maybe I'll try to keep going. I have to make sense of this so I can get it under control again. Although I do feel that diagnosis was the best thing for me, it also made it harder. Before I could blame whatever man that was currently in my life or lack of, work problems, family problems, money problems. Fucked up brain problems is a harder pill to swallow.

And no one understands. Maybe Cathy. Debra to a lesser degree. Mental illness, emotional instability, lovely. Julie and Stacey try to understand but how could they? Stacey will say it was the whole Fabian thing this weekend that caused it but it's actually the opposite. The way I reacted was caused by this, a sure sign but I missed it. And it hasn't been this rough in a long time so I guess it's understandable.

I really fucked up with Julie yesterday. I skipped Jenna's birthday party. I couldn't call. I had to leave work because I couldn't stop crying. She left a message on my voicemail yesterday afternoon and I haven't even listened to it yet. In a while I'll send an "I'm alive but it's rough" email and hopefully she'll forgive me. Again.

The funny, or maybe ironic, thing is that no one really believes me. I don't know if believe is the right word but here's this confident, independent, take control, hardworking, straight forward woman and she's a cowering mass of tears? How's that possible? The life of the party, doesn't she smile 24/7? Someone once said to me "don't you ever not smile?" I almost fell to the floor laughing. If she could see me now.

I'm in hell. Hell. I don't even know if I can manage to get anything else out. How is this still happening after all this time? I'm so fat and ugly. And nothing helps. I want to get drunk and stoned and smoke and eat. But nothing will fix this other than time. And just a little time. A day. But, like every month... if I make it!

Omigod! This is sofa-king frustrating! Is this what life is supposed to be like? Fuck! When does all this crap stop?

I don't even want to write about it. I'm so sick of it. I have no control over what he does and what he feels but don't I have control over what I do and what I feel? I guess I just don't know what to do... there's pros and cons on every side of this. And, yes, if I could figure out what the hell is going on with him it would be easier.

And then the little guy on my shoulder whispered - he told you what's going on. He wants to see other people, he doesn't want a relationship with you. And when his dick gets itchy he figures you for an easy lay. And you always answer his calls, don't you? Up until Friday night you always opened your legs, too. But now he will most likely be gone and never heard from again. Will it do any good to chase him? He knows what he wants and what he doesn't want. And what he doesn't want is you. Yes, he likes you. Yes, he wants to be friends. So what? Does what he wants matter more than what you want? How are you ever possibly going to get over this if you don't cut ties? All ties. Permanently. Just don't answer the fucking phone. Delete the email. He'll get the message. If he ever tries to contact you again.

But you know why I don't cut ties? That fucking hope. Where the hell does that come from? Pessimism might help here. A little blame, for shitsake. Oh, it isn't his fault. Yes, it fucking is. He took advantage of your good nature. He told you himself. He was lonely so he used you. Yeah, but someday he'll come to his senses and fall hopelessly in love with you, right? Fucking chump. You are a fucking chump.

CHRIST - WHY DO I KEEP DOING THIS?

God, I am such a fucking chump! What the hell did he ever do for me? Seriously - what the fuck do I even want him around for?

Who needs him? Who needs any man? They are all idiots! Seriously! Can you think of any redeeming qualities? He makes me laugh - buy a fucking comic book. For sex I have a vibrator. Spring is here so my hay fever will take care of any irritation requirements.

See, the problem is though, that I'm PMSing right now and in a couple of days I'll be all fucking glass is half full fucking door mat again. I need to take control of this right now.

And as I start to write "break ties once and for all" that little fucker on my shoulder says except if he calls or emails today. How do I squash you, you little son of a bitch?
He doesn't want you.
He doesn't want you.
He doesn't want you.
He doesn't want you.
He doesn't want you.
He doesn't what? Yes, want you.

That's it. Let go. Once and for all. Just walk away. And rejoice. And in a few years you will be driving down the road and think "remember that Fabian guy? Wonder what ever happened to him? What an idiot he was!"

Ah freedom, sweet relief.

Omigod. Oops. Mutherfucker. Oops. Vicious circle. De ja vu. Idiot. Sigh.

So, guess who called me yesterday. Come on, I'll give you three guesses. Shit. And he came over. We chatted, me in chair, he on couch. And it was fine. We had supper. Wine. Hours and hours. Then it got dark and I lit some candles and sat on the couch. He rubbed my feet. Fuck. Stupid, stupid. And then he kissed me. Did I want him to? Yes. Did it feel good? Yes. Then I said something like "unless something has changed, this isn't going to happen." And he pulled away. And I started crying. Crying, for fuck's sake! Two goddamned bottles of wine and I'm a blubbering idiot. I told him to leave. When he got home he wrote this:

"I'm an ass. I went over because I was lonely and I thought I could just visit but I was wrong. I almost made it without doing something stupid but I fucked up. I'm glad you laid the law down... at least one of us could. I feel comfortable with you Bev and I sadly took advantage of that. I promise it won't happen again. I'm so sorry."

Oh, I'm not to the good stuff yet. Cuz I emailed him back. Did I ever. Fucking idiot.

"Don't go taking all the blame, pal. I was there last night. I knew what was going on and I pushed it and pushed it and I wanted it. What I really don't want and will never want is to have sex with someone who is having sex with someone else. Bottom line. That is a rule that I have had my whole life and I told you that when we met. When I said "unless something has changed" I meant the fact that you wanted to sleep with other people. And the tears were a product of the wine so don't worry about it.
I really don't get this, Fabian. You feel comfortable with me, you like spending time with me, you obviously are okay having sex with me... so, what's the problem? I never asked you to marry me or move in with me or make a commitment to me or say that you loved me... I just wanted to spend more time with you. That's all. You broke up whatever we were doing back then because you wanted to be able to see other people. Where are they? Are you holding out just in case you find something better?
The most amusing fact of all of this is that we pretty much want the same thing, as far as I can see. I like my life. I like my time alone. I don't want children. I don't want to live with anyone. And I work weird hours so having a social life is virtually impossible. I feel so different from all of my friends that are married and having children. I don't want those things and I really don't know why - I just don't. And I'm mostly okay with being different... but being with you makes me feel less different.
I like spending time with you, Fabe. There's something about you that makes me feel good inside... something clicks into place. I don't understand how that's a bad thing.
I don't know what else to say. But I'm going to lie down now... crap, that wine was vicious!"

And that's that. No reply. I was lying in bed thinking about how I promised myself that I wouldn't chase him anymore. And wondering how he felt when he read my email. Or is he out with someone? Or gone into his cave? And then I laughed a little when I realized that he probably reacted the same way I did to the "we're both horny" email. Probably rolled his eyes and hit delete.

Oh well, whatcha gonna do? Stop checking my email might be a start. A damn good start.

I want to say that, unless he reacts favourably and soon, I'll have to cut off ties with him. But I probably won't. I love the fucker. Fucker.

Why is it that at the end of every movie, when the guy holds the girl and you just know that everything is going to be just fine, why is it that I always cry? I always think: I've never had that. And maybe I'll never have that. I guess I have though, maybe not the way I wanted it, maybe not like in the movies. Will I have it like that? Ever? Someone who will put their arms around me, just because I need it? I hope so. But I honestly fear that I won't.

And I know it isn't everything. I'm not that girl who thought that some man could make everything okay. That girl is gone. It would still be nice to have that, though.

I was just watching this movie and the guy says "do you feel like you chose your life or like your life chose you?" And I chose. I could have stayed in the trailer park in Wabush with Paul. I could have stayed in Mom and Dad's basement in Newfoundland. I could have stayed in my beautiful house with Karl and my beautiful dogs. But something was wrong and I needed to make it right. And I did. I don't think that I ever gave myself enough credit for that. People say how brave to move across the country by yourself. How strong to buy your own home and live alone. How dedicated to work so hard and do so well. And - damnit! - they're right. I keep reminding myself to stop crying for what I don't have, for being different and rejoice who I am. Because this is who I wanted to be. This. Here. Now. This. Me. Stop crying.

What is it that I want to write about?

Him? Haven't the last hundred or so pages been sufficient? When do I get to stop? I'm so done after that last "episode". So done.

Sigh.

It's unfair, you know, how all of those books and movies that I've spent so much time on are misleading. And untrue. And fake. And a sham. Love doesn't happen that way. No one sees you across a crowded room and chases you. No one starts off as an irritant or sparing partner and suddenly becomes the love of your life.

Have I given up? At 34, hanging up my gloves? Oh, I want to. But obviously this pen is making a fool of me. I want it. I want love. I want a relationship. I just doubt that I will find it. I'm different. And it's not because I'm fat and it's not because I've been depressed for so long. I'm just different. Why oh why can I not just go down that same basic path that everyone else seems to be on? Different is lonely. Strength is lonely. Is there anyone out there for me? Anywhere? There must be. How can I find him? Why the fuck do I care, for shit's sake? It's all a joke. Fucking love. My ass. It's heartache and tears and doubt and miscommunication. And faking orgasms and compromise. It's conforming and giving up who you are.

Who needs it? Put in another movie and crack open that tub of ice cream and move on already. Sigh.

Maybe we're just both really horny, he says. Maybe we're just both really horny. I say that I felt bad about the email and there's this deep deep part of me screaming LOVE ME! LOVE ME! Make it all better! And he says maybe we're just both really horny.

And then I whisper thank you and turn off the computer.

Stoopid computer.

Stoopid computer, I said. And it is. Stoopid. The source of our meeting, our first correspondence, the source of tears and nights spent alone. The object of my obsession. And now my friend and confidante. Ha! In a drunken stupor it's more like a sword. In my back. In my heart. Stoopid computer. Please go away. And take him with you.

This is the email that I sent to him on March 19. The subject was "ouch".

"I can't tell you how much you have hurt me. I spent so much time loving you and wanting you. I hope you never get that again. I hope no one ever loves you like I did. I hope I never see you again. Fuck off and be your own warped version of yourself because I really loved you and that's gone now and that's your problem, not mine. I never want to see you again. No matter what I say... I don't want to be your friend. I want nothing from you other than to forget you exist. Goodbye."

Beverly, Beverly, Beverly. One phone call? Almost a week ago? Look at you. Where is the strength? The resolve? You know he's not for you. You know you don't want to be with him. You're happy enough on your own for now. So - what the fuck, girlfriend? Seriously, is there anything he could say that would make you take him back? (yes) Is there anything about him that you actually miss? (yes) WAIT! Let me rephrase that. Is there anything you might miss that's been apparent in the last year or so? (sigh)

It's over. He's gone. He wants to "be friends". He wants to clear his conscience. He wants the girl who giggled at his jokes and moaned at his cock and when he gets his fill he'll be on his way again.

Did he get that assfuck that he was looking for? Is he calling because the three-way is all set up and he needs number 3? And, if not, could you ever trust him now? (yes)

SHUT UP! Repeat after me: Fabe-who? Nope, doesn't ring a bell.

Move on. Don't get sucked in. Things don't change. Things won't change. Let go already.

Because. I. Am. Seriously. Sick. Of. This. Seriously.

And, anyway, why would this even bother me? I know he can't offer what I want and need. I want encouragement and support. I want doors held and toilets fixed. I want comfort and respect and strength. I don't want to wait for someone who can barely spend their time with me. Someone who comes and goes without rhyme or reason or justification. Someone who needs another to complete his sexual needs. Someone who really doesn't want me that much and has told me that they cannot love me.

Who is this naive little girl trying to suppress the fantasies of "what if"? Doesn't she realize yet that "what if" no longer considers him an option, under any circumstance? Silly girl.

Continue your journey, down the path in the opposite direction. There is someone waiting for you. Someone worthy and deserving. Someone who will love you and want you. And only you.

There's nothing left to suck you back in. It's been confronted. And it's gone. And it was never really there to start with. <3

Why did that mutherfucker call me? Doesn't he know how tired I am today? How much I need sleep to be able to face another crazy day? Doesn't he know that I don't want to keep going over and over and over this? Enough. More than enough. Long ago.