Grieving the loss of my dreams

Beautiful Lisa, author of ‘Transcript of a Significant Life’ (http://raihndrops.blogspot.com/) left a comment on my entry entitled ‘Lying My Way Through the Day’. It mentioned that I was still “grieving for the loss of my dreams.” My thick head couldn’t comprehend anything more than she must have thought I wanted my ex husband back. I told myself she didn’t know me and was trying to be helpful, yet those words kept tickling my frontal lobe for several days.

Turns out that this woman who I have never met or spoken to, and who lives a world away, knows me better than I thought.

I was turning those words over in my mind while lying in bed this morning, and it dawned on me that I am grieving the loss of my dream! Not my husband, but the dream of forever, the dream of having children and raising them with a man I love, the dream of growing old together and experiencing the triumphs, pit falls, and joys of life with my one and only. In my dream, there is someone to listen to and support me, just as I do for them; someone to kiss in the rain, and make love to under the stars. These are all things I still believe in. He didn’t take that away from me.

Lisa, it is a true gift to be able to give words to someone that make them realize something about themselves they didn’t know. Thank You!

Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest;

Home-keeping hearts are happiest,

For those that wander they know not where

Are full of trouble and full of care;

To stay at home is best.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

What am I doing wrong?

I’m almost thirty. Allie has been one of my best friends since we were in the eighth grade. We went to school together for a year during that time. We are the kind of friends that can go for months or even years without talking and just pick up as if we had a conversation ten minutes ago. She is the most beautiful girl I know.

Allie works out six days a week. She does her make-up like a pro. She looks like a pin-up girl. She was an ‘exotic dancer’ (read: stripper). She is the kind of girl every man wants. She has a faithful boyfriend, a home with him, two wonderful children, beauty like no one deserves, and men on the side.

She has men on the side. That part bothers me. Right now, she works as a bartender. Men swoon over her, and as of this writing, she has two whom which she pays extra attention. It started with John. He is a great person. I went to school with him. I am in the process of getting a divorce, and when at a weak moment I hit on him, she informed me that he ‘was her man’. He takes her out after work, buys her drinks, shows her a good time, and goes home by himself.

Most recently, there is Chris. Allie called me last night to say there was a problem. She was going to hang out with Chris, but John stopped by her work and wanted her to go out with him. After work, she met John at a bar, where he paid for several of her drinks, then she told him that Alex (her boyfriend, housemate, and father of her most recent child) was texting her and she had to leave. She left to meet Chris at another bar.

When I went to see my friend Allie while she was bartending the other night, John was there. He made a comment about women only liking men that treated them badly. Tonight I am thinking about how men seem to only like women who treat them bad.

I’m not sure where the quote is from, but I’ve heard ‘We hurt the ones who love us and love the ones who hurt us’. What truth!

The things I want to say. Straight up.

I don’t know who broke your heart, but it wasn’t I. You broke mine, though. You asked me to try to be understanding. I did. You asked me to be patient. I have been. You asked me to give you time and space. I have, although it has been almost unbearably hard. You asked me not to judge you, and I don’t, although I feel as if you have judged me. You asked me to tell you the truth about everything, and I have. You were afraid to tell me the truth about yourself, but when you finally did, I was confused but accepted it. I stopped looking, and I stopped doing the things I was doing, because you made me want to. You asked me to wait, if I wanted. I did, I do, and I still am. I miss you like you missed freedom.

Lying my way through the day

I had a moment tonight at work. No one saw the fleeting look of panic that ran across my face. I felt it, though, and was able to duck away before anyone had seen. I wanted to cry. Cry from confusion, pain, and frustration. I wanted to cry from feeling misunderstood and judged unfairly. I felt like there was a ton of bricks on my heart, and another ton in my mind.

I would like to say that the feeling came from nowhere, but that would be a lie. I know where it came from; I have been dealing with it for several weeks. I’m usually able to keep it pushed aside while I’m at work, but tonight it torpedoed to the surface.

Seven months ago I kicked my ex husband out. (Good riddance!) My co-workers and patients saw me go from being the person with the positive attitude that could do it all to being an empty shell. The first few months I was unable to hide it, and later I was able to fake my way through it. In the not so distant past, they saw the me they remembered. The reaction was as if I had just come home from a looonggg vacation. People with Alzheimer’s who don’t remember their own families told me they were glad to have their ‘happy girl’ back. Now I’m back to faking it, and hoping I’m doing a good job.

I’m at a loss as what to do. At night, I cry. Morning comes, and I don’t want to wake up. I don’t want to see anyone, I don’t want to go anywhere, but I make myself. If you read the post about nightlife in Middletown and the previous one about being alone, together, you know that sometimes I force myself to leave the house. (It usually ends with a call to USA Taxi.)

What to do…what to do? Today I mailed a package. It included something I worked very hard on. My intention was, obviously, to make the recipient happy. The awful truth is, I may never know. That person is not currently speaking to me. It might make them angry or irritated, but that wasn’t my goal. Is it selfish if sending it made me feel a little better, too?

Of course, none of this makes sense to my readers. It doesn’t make sense to me either. This is another of my ‘ramblings from a mad woman posts’.

Black Heart

Valentine’s Day evokes many mixed emotions for me. I’m a hopelessly romantic person, but bad things tend to happen to me on February 14.

Two years ago on Valentine’s Day I made a special dinner for my ex husband. I always preferred to stay in and celebrate. I expected him home from work at six, and would have everything ready by six-thirty. Six, six-thirty, seven, came and went. I called his cell phone, and he told me he was on his way home, the job ran over, and he was stuck in traffic. Eight, nine, and ten, came and went. He had stopped answering his phone. I was upset and worried. I didn’t know if I should call the hospital, the police, or do nothing at all. He had done this before, but I kept telling myself he wouldn’t ditch me on Valentine’s Day. He finally picked up at midnight, telling me he would be home when he was ‘fucking ready’. He rolled in at three in the morning, drunk and high on cocaine. We fought and I ended up leaving in tears. As usual, the apologies were long and tearful the next night.

Last year I gave my ex $80.00 to get me something for Valentine’s Day. Money wasn’t the issue. I just wanted something he had picked out. It had been a very stressful month, he quit his job (I found out later he lost it because of cocaine) and had gone ‘missing’ for almost 3 days. On Valentine’s morning, he presented me with my gift. It was a pair of slippers from K-Mart, still in the shopping bag. I smiled and thanked him, wondering deep down inside where the money went. He left, stating he was going to help a friend work on his truck. I began to get ready for my 3-11 shift at the nursing home. Truthfully, I was more than a little upset about the slippers, but figured he had at least made an effort and I should be happy for that.

When I came downstairs, I found his pistol on the coffee table. We had argued the night before after I found a razor blade in his dresser. He swore he wasn’t doing coke but I knew he was. More often than not when we argued he would start messing around with his pistol. I would find it in strange places. I found it in the bathroom, on his nightstand, workbench, and now the coffee table.

I was upset when I got to work. I had cried off and reapplied my make up twice. I had an admission, a fall, and a suspicious chest pain complaint within the first two hours, and was behind on my med pass. My head was swimming. I went to the kitchenette to get ice water for a patient. The next part of the story I don’t remember, I know only what was told to me later.

One of my nursing assistants said she heard a thud and turned around to see me lying on the floor, unconscious. She yelled for the other nurse. I began to have seizures. They told me at the hospital it was because I had hit my head so hard when I fell. Someone remembered seeing my cell phone on top of my med cart. This was a strange coincidence because I don’t use it at work, but needed the calculator on it that day. Using my cell phone, one of the nurses was able to reach my mom when my ex wouldn’t pick up the phone. The only thing I really remember was being in the ambulance. They had applied oxygen with a nasal cannula, and it was cold.

I underwent many tests at the hospital. Aside from a concussion, they could find nothing wrong. It wasn’t until several months later that I admitted to myself that the whole incident came about because of stress. I realize that many more people have greater stress in their lives and have had far worse things happen. This is just a blurb about my life and my experience with Valentine’s Day.

This year I am alone. I think I will lock myself in my bedroom and hope the roof doesn’t cave in!

Middletown Nightlife - or - My Car is an Alcoholic

I was very productive last night. I got completely smashed. I have no idea how I got home, but I didn’t drive and that’s all that matters. I even ate yesterday. More often than not, I forget to eat before I drink, unless I am drinking with my best friend who force-feeds me before, during, and after the festivities. He was out of town last night.

I started out the evening at a local hole in the wall called ‘Hillbilly Heaven’. They have good bluegrass on the jukebox, something I occasionally get a hankering to hear. The bartender there looked more depressed than the patrons did. There was a couple next to me, a guy with green teeth and a girl with no teeth. They made a great pair. I eventually heard them asking the bartender about hotels and they decided on the Ramada by the highway because the guy’s wife would never think to look for him there. I wanted to knock them both out after hearing that, but I hadn’t had enough to drink to make fist fighting at the bar seem like a good idea.

After my selections had played, I headed to the ‘Lakeside’, which is nowhere near a lake, or any body of water for that matter. I sat at the end of the bar away from everyone else. I must have looked lonely because some guy who was old enough to be my father and had decided to take a whore bath in Cool Water cologne came in and immediately sat next to me. I nearly jumped for joy. He decided to start telling me about how he knew Harry Finkelman, who was a big name in our city many years ago. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t give a fuck, but just politely held my nose instead. I eventually turned my chair away and feigned interest in the Grammy Awards. I started to feel bad for being so unfriendly and let him buy me a drink. After all, he was wearing some pretty tacky diamond jewelry. He left shortly thereafter.

I had planned on going to the ‘Madison Inn’ after a few drinks, but was having such a good time I decided to stay. There was a group of people sitting in a booth behind me. A young couple and an older man. The girl, who was very obviously pregnant, came up to the bar and ordered another beer. She nearly burnt me with her cigarette. I gathered that the older man was her father because he kept telling the guy she was with that he needed to do the right thing and marry his daughter. The kid looked genuinely scared. (and drunk)

By this time I was drunk enough to tear up the phone number of the guy I like and flush it down the toilet. I am a notorious drunk dialer/texter, and when I’m drinking with friends they actually take my phone away. Since I was there by myself, I had to take matters into my own hands. I figured I was doing everyone a favour.

The night wasn’t a total loss, though. The last thing I remember was trading classic rock trivia facts with a guy named Putter. He had some really good stuff and I wish I could remember it. I vaguely remember discussing NHRA vs.NASCAR. I pick NHRA. There’s nothing like 0-300 in a quarter mile. Speaking of cars, my step dad is here to take me to get mine. It got drunk last night and stayed at the bar.

Alone. Together.

It’s Saturday night, and it’s been a long week. Two double shifts, one that turned into twenty hours, and last night almost eighteen. The stress this week has been unbelievable. Work, personal life, and my own crazy emotions have taken their toll on me. It’s time to cut loose! Right? Here I am sitting at home.

I’m not sitting at home because I have nothing to do and nowhere to go. I have been invited to card night, dinner with the family, drinks with friends, and some more interesting offers, all of which I have declined. I have no problem going out by myself to find something to do, either. I’m at home because I want to be here. I just wish the circumstances were different. I wish I weren’t here by myself.

I get tired of going out drinking. I get tired of feeling as if I have to be exceedingly social to make other people happy. I get tired of always smiling as if I’m having a good time when I really want to cry out, shout, scream, and tell everyone around me that I feel just as lonely in a room full of thirty people as I do actually being alone. Being surrounded by thirty warm bodies can never take the place of spending time in the company of the one soul with whom you actually want to be.

Time spent alone is good for everyone; so is time alone, together. I feel really cliché sometimes. I would like to be hanging out at home, sitting on the couch with someone, holding hands, watching (or not watching) movies. Someone that I really want to be with, when it doesn’t matter if we even talk, just being close is communication enough.

As I’m wrapping up this entry, I think I may have convinced myself to put on my happy face, fake smile, and reach deep inside myself for my social personality. I’ll make everyone else feel at ease when I would rather just be at home with someone that matters. Alone. Together.


(I ended up staying home after all)