Just a thought....this is what a conversation between a man and God might sound like:
God: "Hello, sir. I am God."
Man: "Oh, hey dude. What's up?"
God: "Umm, me. I am up. In the sky. I live in heaven. Lookest thou upon me."
Man: "That's cool. So...what are you up to....err, I mean, what are you doing down here, like, on Earth?"
God: "I came to talk to you about life."
Man: "Oh, ok. So tell me, how can I get to Heaven?"
God: "Well, since thou hast asked, follow me, believe in me, and do as I say."
Man: "Word. Well, then what should I do? Tell me."
God: "Resist temptation. Be righteous. Be good."
Man: "Ok. So you say, resist temptation. Like what?"
God: "Follow the Ten Commandments. Worship no other God but me, worship no idols, do not take my name in vain, honor your parents, do not kill, do not steal, do not commit adultery, do not bear false witness against your neighbor, do not covet that which belongs to your neighbor."
Man: "Yeah, I remember those rules. So as long as I do not cheat on my wife, or eye my neighbors wife, or kill or steal, blah blah blah, I'm good to go, right? You said no adultery, so that just means if I'm faithful when I get married I'm cool, right?"
God: "No, when I said that I meant that thou shalt not have sex before marriage. And stop with these condoms and birth control that thou hast created. I created sex in order to continue the race of man. Do not abuse it."
Man: "Whoa, man, that's fucked up. What do you mean, no sex? Why? It feels good, bro. You should try it."
God: "But you are man. I have endowed thee with the ability to reason, and to at least ponder what it means to resist temptation."
Man: "So why does is it awesome? Why not make it boring. That way I won't do it."
God: "Because your forefather, Adam, ate of the fruit of knowledge, which I explicitly told him not to. As a result you must suffer with the task of deciding what is right."
Man: "So knowledge is evil? Then why did I go to school and waste all that time that I could have been partying?"
God: "Because thou respect thy parents, as I have commanded."
Man: "Umm, I guess, but probably more because I would have been grounded if I didn't."
God: "What is grounded? You are of Earth, are not all human beings 'grounded'?"
Man: "Yeah...sure, I guess, when you put it that way. So, I guess my real question is, why does everything that feels good condemned? Isn't that kind of mean?"
God: "No, it is my kindness that hast endowed you with the ability to choose what is right and what is wrong. Whether you do so is up to you. Your soul depends on it."
Man: "Well, then prove to me that I have a soul, and that heaven really exists. Prove that this is a real conversation."
God: "I can not do that. Even if I were to tell you the truth, you would require real faith to be admitted to heaven."
Man: "Ok, so should I NOT do?"
God: "Do not commit sin."
Man: "Oh my God, this is getting frustrating."
God: "Thou hast blasphemed. That is one sin."
Man: "Ok, so let me get this straight, you're going to create all of these things to tempt me, tell me not to do them, and then rub me in my face and expect me to resist?"
God: "Well, when you put it that way, then I suppose so. Here is a beautiful woman, some alcohol, and an unguarded treasure. Do not drink, do not have sex, and do not steal."
Man: "Dude! You're putting it in my face and saying no? That's fucked up."
God: "As you see it. I told your forebear, Adam, not to eat of the tree of knowledge, yet he did. And because of this you must suffer."
Man: "But that was thousands of years ago. What the fuck!"
God: "Do not curse, it is not honorable."
Man: "So basically, you surround me with women, drink, drugs, and a million other temptations, say, 'it's your choice,' then judge me when I die?"
God: "Thou couldst think of it that way, yes. But it is your choice. I've enabled you with free will, after all."
Man: "Fuck this shit. I'm out, man, I mean, God, whatever. Peace!"
Not sure where this came from, but it's kind of how I see it. What I live by? If it feels good, go for it. You never know what's going to happen after you croak. Carpe Diem.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Revolving Doors
Some people just can't be saved, and I have to stop trying. For the past three years I've been seeing the same man on and off, but I've finally had it. I have no regrets and I'm trying not to think of the last three years as a waste, but as a learning experience. It's a natural part of life that people come and go with regularity. Some leave before we are ready for them to, and others certainly overstay their welcome.
The beginning, and I mean the first month or so was great. I fell fast and hard for this person whom I had never expected to be attracted to. Soon he began playing the come and go game that he would continue to play with me for three years. I have always known that he did this because he has a lot of emotional issues. The particulars are not important, nor am I exactly sure of what all of them are. Whenever he disappeared it was because he was afaid of commitment. Once or twice in the first year it was because he met someone else, but I understood. That's not to say it didn't hurt. But his fears and emotional issues became something that I wanted to fix.
Something that always attracted me to him was his emotional vulnerability. At some point it became my mission to heal him. But I've also done plenty to hurt him and I know that, too. The first time was when I started sleeping with his best friend. I did it because I wanted to get a reaction out of him. I thought that perhaps if he could open up and show me some anger then we would become closer. When that didn't work, I decided that it was time to move on and try to see other men.
In the past year I've had two serious relationships and have wound up with him after both of them. I knew that he cared about me enough to be there for me when I was having problems, and was satisfied with that. For a long time I was upset that he never complimented me and was afraid to take any steps forward, but more recently I just told myself that that would never happen and I would have to regard his unspoken signs as enough.
But over the last year, or maybe more, but feelings for him have not been the same. Every time he came back, it inflated my ego, not my heart. I began to realize this about six months ago. At that point I had started dating someone else, but he called me out of the blue and said "I want to make this work." My reaction startled me. They were the words I had wanted to hear for years, but I wasn't ready to run back. I had only been seeing the new boy for about a month, but I knew that it would have been silly to run back to the same old guy who would probably just change his mind again a week later anyways. Actually, the reason I started dating this new guy was because of the old one. I had met him about a month and a half before actually going on a date with him, and the reason I went on that first date was because the old one bailed on me the night before.
It was my anger that led me to date my most recent boyfriend who also broke my heart. But this was different, he was everything the old one wasn't. But, again, when it ended this man was here for me. Not only was my heart still hurting over the boyfriend, but also I knew that things were different. When I spent time with him I could only think about my ex, but I figured that was normal. About a week or two ago when he started playing his usual games with me again I sat down and really thought about how I felt. I always felt guilty about hurting him and surprised that he always took me back. Part of me wondered if this was a quality that I should admire him for.
My time with him was like time spent working on a project. I had always tried to fix him, but this time I was trying to just accept him. One day I started to wonder why we always ended up back together, and the thought that maybe we were just meant to be together started to creep into my mind and it wasn't pleasant. Perhaps it was, I started to think, our shared insecurities that linked us together and that maybe I should just forget about the things that he lacked, and settle for someone who just silently cared.
Towards the beginning of this week I started to feel really frustrated again and I told him. "This is pointless, right?" I asked him. I expected his usually, "yeah, sorry," sort of response and was shocked when he said that he just wanted to take things slow, but had so much fun with me and wished he had more time. Although I was actually trying to end it, I was surprised and decided to just remain relaxed about the situation as I had been for some time. He was really good for the days that followed that. He tried very hard to get me to come over Thursday night and pointed out to me that he had been trying when I refrained. He asked me to go out Saturday and I told him that I wasn't sure and may have had plans but that I would let him know as soon as possible.
I ended up going to his house around 2:30 am on Friday and he was very sweet. I told him that my plans for Saturday fell through and asked him if he still wanted to go out as he had asked me. He said he'd let me know. Much to my surprise, when I checked back with him later he agreed to take me out for dinner. We set a time and I started getting ready before it. Although he never complimented me, I wanted to look extra nice because I had a feeling that maybe since his behavior had started to change, he would actually notice and say something.
But as the time for us to go out approached, I told him I was running a little late. He was out already and drunk. I asked if he was bailing on me. I was a little angry, but not that surprised, as this had happened before. He said he'd be about an hour later, so I waited. He said he was still drinking and I asked him if he thought that was wise, but he didn't respond, so I said, do whatever you want, just let me know because I'm hungry. But, he never stopped drinking, and never left where he was. I texted him after an hour and a half had passed and asked if he had left yet. I wouldn't have been so angry if he had simply said he didn't want to go out anymore, or if he had said no earlier. After he didn't respond for a few minutes I said I had had it. This was the last time he would do this to me.
After a little while he actually had the gall to tell me that I was expecting too much. I had already told him a few days earlier that I wasn't looking for anything and didn't know I felt. I was not pressuring him at all. I had even given him a chance to not take me out that night. I wasn't expecting anything except a piece of cheesecake, which was what I really wanted more than anything. His comment about taking it slow earlier in the week was still resonating in my memory. Years ago, this would have upset me because I wanted to be with him, but now it was simply the logic of saying that to somebody after three years that was irritating.
We've both put each other through a lot of shit over the last three years, but I felt that this was the first time he was intentionally trying to hurt me. Life is like a revolving door in that people come and go all the time. I've intentionally pushed a lot of friends through that door because I felt that had hurt me or disrespected me in one way or another, yet I had let this man remain for three years. Neither of us is at fault, but the time to push him through that door and then lock it has come. Any guilt I felt for possibly playing with his heart over the last few weeks ended. I didn't really know why I was giving this man, who the thought of spending the rest of my life with actually scared and depressed me more than that of being alone, another chance.
I was riding the most recent wave of his attention and was beginning to see if I had in fact taught an old dog a new tricked. It seemed as if I had for a couple of days at least. But last night was the last straw, and the way out that I had been looking for. I always cared about him and respected him, even if I had hurt him or he had hurt me in the past. I have never been so patient or understanding with any single human being and I worked very hard to be as understanding as possible. Whenever he needed me or wanted to see me, I usually went running. But it was only at times that were convenient to him. Nothing was ever done on my terms. I will no longer live like that. Last night I lost any remaining shred of sympathy or respect that I had for this person.
As I said, I don't regret the last three years because I have grown up a lot. When I met him I was naive and delicate, but I have learned so many lessons and become so much stronger because of him. Now is the time to close that chapter in my life and start fresh with what I have learned. I have to stop worrying about him. Hopefully he will learn from all this, too, and maybe actually settle down some day, but I have serious doubts. But, I give up on this project. It's futile. The more I try to help him, but more he puts me down. So, I'll start other projects. I'll keep writing my book, and hopefully find the strength to finish it. I certainly know he has given me plenty to write about, and maybe now that there is a clear end in sight, completing it will be easier.
To him I say: goodbye and good luck.
The beginning, and I mean the first month or so was great. I fell fast and hard for this person whom I had never expected to be attracted to. Soon he began playing the come and go game that he would continue to play with me for three years. I have always known that he did this because he has a lot of emotional issues. The particulars are not important, nor am I exactly sure of what all of them are. Whenever he disappeared it was because he was afaid of commitment. Once or twice in the first year it was because he met someone else, but I understood. That's not to say it didn't hurt. But his fears and emotional issues became something that I wanted to fix.
Something that always attracted me to him was his emotional vulnerability. At some point it became my mission to heal him. But I've also done plenty to hurt him and I know that, too. The first time was when I started sleeping with his best friend. I did it because I wanted to get a reaction out of him. I thought that perhaps if he could open up and show me some anger then we would become closer. When that didn't work, I decided that it was time to move on and try to see other men.
In the past year I've had two serious relationships and have wound up with him after both of them. I knew that he cared about me enough to be there for me when I was having problems, and was satisfied with that. For a long time I was upset that he never complimented me and was afraid to take any steps forward, but more recently I just told myself that that would never happen and I would have to regard his unspoken signs as enough.
But over the last year, or maybe more, but feelings for him have not been the same. Every time he came back, it inflated my ego, not my heart. I began to realize this about six months ago. At that point I had started dating someone else, but he called me out of the blue and said "I want to make this work." My reaction startled me. They were the words I had wanted to hear for years, but I wasn't ready to run back. I had only been seeing the new boy for about a month, but I knew that it would have been silly to run back to the same old guy who would probably just change his mind again a week later anyways. Actually, the reason I started dating this new guy was because of the old one. I had met him about a month and a half before actually going on a date with him, and the reason I went on that first date was because the old one bailed on me the night before.
It was my anger that led me to date my most recent boyfriend who also broke my heart. But this was different, he was everything the old one wasn't. But, again, when it ended this man was here for me. Not only was my heart still hurting over the boyfriend, but also I knew that things were different. When I spent time with him I could only think about my ex, but I figured that was normal. About a week or two ago when he started playing his usual games with me again I sat down and really thought about how I felt. I always felt guilty about hurting him and surprised that he always took me back. Part of me wondered if this was a quality that I should admire him for.
My time with him was like time spent working on a project. I had always tried to fix him, but this time I was trying to just accept him. One day I started to wonder why we always ended up back together, and the thought that maybe we were just meant to be together started to creep into my mind and it wasn't pleasant. Perhaps it was, I started to think, our shared insecurities that linked us together and that maybe I should just forget about the things that he lacked, and settle for someone who just silently cared.
Towards the beginning of this week I started to feel really frustrated again and I told him. "This is pointless, right?" I asked him. I expected his usually, "yeah, sorry," sort of response and was shocked when he said that he just wanted to take things slow, but had so much fun with me and wished he had more time. Although I was actually trying to end it, I was surprised and decided to just remain relaxed about the situation as I had been for some time. He was really good for the days that followed that. He tried very hard to get me to come over Thursday night and pointed out to me that he had been trying when I refrained. He asked me to go out Saturday and I told him that I wasn't sure and may have had plans but that I would let him know as soon as possible.
I ended up going to his house around 2:30 am on Friday and he was very sweet. I told him that my plans for Saturday fell through and asked him if he still wanted to go out as he had asked me. He said he'd let me know. Much to my surprise, when I checked back with him later he agreed to take me out for dinner. We set a time and I started getting ready before it. Although he never complimented me, I wanted to look extra nice because I had a feeling that maybe since his behavior had started to change, he would actually notice and say something.
But as the time for us to go out approached, I told him I was running a little late. He was out already and drunk. I asked if he was bailing on me. I was a little angry, but not that surprised, as this had happened before. He said he'd be about an hour later, so I waited. He said he was still drinking and I asked him if he thought that was wise, but he didn't respond, so I said, do whatever you want, just let me know because I'm hungry. But, he never stopped drinking, and never left where he was. I texted him after an hour and a half had passed and asked if he had left yet. I wouldn't have been so angry if he had simply said he didn't want to go out anymore, or if he had said no earlier. After he didn't respond for a few minutes I said I had had it. This was the last time he would do this to me.
After a little while he actually had the gall to tell me that I was expecting too much. I had already told him a few days earlier that I wasn't looking for anything and didn't know I felt. I was not pressuring him at all. I had even given him a chance to not take me out that night. I wasn't expecting anything except a piece of cheesecake, which was what I really wanted more than anything. His comment about taking it slow earlier in the week was still resonating in my memory. Years ago, this would have upset me because I wanted to be with him, but now it was simply the logic of saying that to somebody after three years that was irritating.
We've both put each other through a lot of shit over the last three years, but I felt that this was the first time he was intentionally trying to hurt me. Life is like a revolving door in that people come and go all the time. I've intentionally pushed a lot of friends through that door because I felt that had hurt me or disrespected me in one way or another, yet I had let this man remain for three years. Neither of us is at fault, but the time to push him through that door and then lock it has come. Any guilt I felt for possibly playing with his heart over the last few weeks ended. I didn't really know why I was giving this man, who the thought of spending the rest of my life with actually scared and depressed me more than that of being alone, another chance.
I was riding the most recent wave of his attention and was beginning to see if I had in fact taught an old dog a new tricked. It seemed as if I had for a couple of days at least. But last night was the last straw, and the way out that I had been looking for. I always cared about him and respected him, even if I had hurt him or he had hurt me in the past. I have never been so patient or understanding with any single human being and I worked very hard to be as understanding as possible. Whenever he needed me or wanted to see me, I usually went running. But it was only at times that were convenient to him. Nothing was ever done on my terms. I will no longer live like that. Last night I lost any remaining shred of sympathy or respect that I had for this person.
As I said, I don't regret the last three years because I have grown up a lot. When I met him I was naive and delicate, but I have learned so many lessons and become so much stronger because of him. Now is the time to close that chapter in my life and start fresh with what I have learned. I have to stop worrying about him. Hopefully he will learn from all this, too, and maybe actually settle down some day, but I have serious doubts. But, I give up on this project. It's futile. The more I try to help him, but more he puts me down. So, I'll start other projects. I'll keep writing my book, and hopefully find the strength to finish it. I certainly know he has given me plenty to write about, and maybe now that there is a clear end in sight, completing it will be easier.
To him I say: goodbye and good luck.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
A "Weighty" Topic
Weight is something I've wanted to talk about for a while. Like most girls, I get a bit uptight about my weight from time to time. When I was younger I used to blame it on all those 90's Calving Klein "Obsession" ads with the bone-thin models draped along the beach whispering "Obsession" in a sexy voice. But honestly, I think it's a bit more than that.
Most people find it hard to believe, but as a child I was always the fat kid. I'll never forget back-to-school shopping before my freshman year in high school. Shopping for jeans was a nightmare. At that time I was in a woman's size 14. At my field hockey medical check-up I was 159 pounds, and a bit shorter than I am now. I used to be called names like "Bubba" and it made life really tough. When I was really young I used to attempt to diet and would fall for tricks like my baby sitter telling me peanut butter was really healthy (I know better now, at a whopping 180 calories per 2 tablespoon serving).
Now, in this post I'm simply thinking about the past and not necessarily saying I have a problem, even though there is absolutely a correlation between my weight and my emotions these days.
I remember the first time I started starving myself. That was in high school. One of my favorite lunches used to be macaroni salad with Italian dressing and a roll to put it on. I guess it was sort of the cool thing to do amongst the people I was friends with at the time. But there was one difference between me and them: they were thin and I was not. At one point, sometime in my senior year, I just stopped eating. By then I had a car and study hall last period and could leave early to go to the gym. I remember sitting through lunch insisting that I was not hungry and then running to the gym, working out on the elliptical and then heading back for drama practice. I only did drama because I had a part time job and therefore couldn't play sports. Perhaps I was more than a snob than I thought I was because I didn't care about going to drama rehearsal sweaty after working out despite the fact that I probably wouldn't have really gone to anywhere else in that condition.
Nonetheless, I never really got that thin. At my smallest, I was still a good ten to fifteen pounds heavier than I currently am. It was simpler then: I was fat and I wanted to be skinny, so I didn't eat and I worked out a lot. But, alas, I was young and naive. I didn't know about starvation mode, or how your metabolism worked, so I didn't realize that I was actually inhibiting my weight loss more so than if I had tried other methods. It was ok, though, because I still got compliments and was able to buy a size four prom dress.
Then I graduated, met my first boyfriend, and started college in the fall. Ever since I started dating seriously, food and boys have always been intertwined. That summer we went on plenty of ice cream dates and to lots of nice dinner. It didn't help that when I went away to FIT in the fall, I was faced with the most embarrassing gym on any college campus possible (and therefore went only once), plus the discovery of sushi and having what I considered at the time to be the best Chinese food in the Northeast located right near my dorm. I gained the whole freshman fifteen in one semester. Because of my boyfriend, I decided to take the second semester off, work, and then transfer to BU in the fall. BU was amazing and I definitely don't regret going there, but I can't help but feel annoyed now that I made such a life-changing position for a guy, but c'est la vie.
When I came back, I started working at a tanning salon and taking a ten-week diet class. There I learned the healthy way to lose weight. I was doing cardio in the morning, drinking a gallon of water per day, eating five to six small meals each day, and lifting weights in the evening. I started losing weight and I was happy. But, after a little while I wasn't happy with the speed at which my weight-loss was progressing. Soon after that I started taking diet pills and laxatives. Diet pills seem logical, but I actually didn't like them much because they just made me feel sick and the only cure was food. But I remembered a girl from high school who modeled (legitimately, and still does) but claimed to spend her volley-ball practices eating Italian subs and not actually doing anything athletic. How did she do it? Laxatives: that was the rumor.
The added bonus to laxatives was the show you could put on. You could eat like a normal person, if not more, but just take a pill and all those calories would fast-forward through your system and not actually be absorbed. It's a bit disgusting, but if you figured out the timing, it worked like a charm.
But the day I got caught by my Mom was terrible. I remember walking through my front door, seeing my dad in one living room chair and hearing my Mom say, "We need to talk." I came in and sat near the chair closest to the door. She took out the bottles of diet pills and laxatives and said, "I found these, what are you doing to yourself?"
"I just want to be thin!" I wailed. I burst into tears over the torment I'd felt for months and then eventually promised that I wouldn't do it again. And I didn't, for a while. I started at BU in late August and I received more male attention than I ever had in my life. I attributed it to my weight loss, sort of broke up with my boyfriend (although I continued to see him) and relished in the attention. BU has a fabulous gym and going there was a social thing so that worked out very well for me for a while. I still wasn't as thin as I was today, but for a bit I was happy.
Then, shortly after my first full year at BU, my sort-of boyfriend started seeing his ex-girlfriend from before me. I was shocked and devastated. The anxiety I felt overrode my ability to eat and I got down to a new low weight that I hadn't been at before. Although I was depressed, the emergence of bones in my chest elated me. Finally, I was beginning to look like some sort of model. Nothing else mattered.
But everything was pretty under control at that point. The following year I had a roommate who definitely developed an eating disorder at some point while we were living together. She, however, had a very different frame than me; she was really tall and naturally slender. When she started eating very little and working out excessively, my friends and I definitely noticed. We shared a room and I remember her bending over one day to pick something off the floor and the sight of her rib cage sticking out through her T-shirt.
This created very mixed feelings for me. On the one hand I was sickened and worried, but on the other I was extremely jealous. I still recall being very perplexed by this mixture of feelings. Eventually it was passed on to me and I was behaving similarly. At the end of that year I met my college boyfriend. I was a little bit heavier than I currently am, but I was the lightest I had ever been by that point. I felt beautiful. He was beautiful. And, I felt beautiful for having him.
But like most guys, he had the ability to eat absurd amounts of food and still maintain a six-pack. As I accompanied him eating ice cream and whole pans of brownies, I started to gain weight. It got to the point where I had gained over twenty pounds and couldn't continue as I was. But he wasn't very supportive. While he would eat something fried and I would eat a salad, he'd tease me that I was eating rabbit food.
But that was a rocky relationship. From that point, the relationship between food and boys started to change. Initially, I thought that being thin would guarantee boys. Then I realized that having a boy meant that I would gain weight. It was simply inevitable. Guys like to see a girl who can eat. I learned that early on. But at that point in my life I still thought guys liked thin girls so I started dieting again. When we broke up for the first time I was incredibly depressed. Aside from losing him, I also lost my appetite. But I loved it. I was thinner than I had ever been in my life. When he came back about a month later, his and his family's shock at my weight loss really took hold of my attention. I maintained that weight for a while, continued working out, but things took a turn for the worse about a year later when we really broke up.
At that point I was working at Nordstrom. Being in the fashion industry, I always wanted to look my best. Because my hours were sporadic, I had plenty of time to go to the gym and work out. But eventually I broke down and couldn't work there anymore. I quit suddenly and got a job at the insurance company where my mother worked. When I started there I was horribly depressed, not only about my breakup but also about leaving what I thought would have been an exciting career for me.
I finally had a regular schedule and could go to the gym at the same time every day. I even had a personal trainer, although he would often comment on the fact that although I always improved the way I looked, I could never actually get stronger or lift heavier weights. That probably had to do with the fact that I wasn't eating.
I hated that job. Everyone I worked with enraged me to the point that I had to appetite. I was also so busy that I'd often skip lunch just to get my work finished with. I would go home, skip dinner, and drink heavily. But, I also met a very important person. I still see him sometimes today, although it's a bit complicated. I really, really, really liked him. The impact of this relationship had myriad impacts on me, but in this entry my focus is on weight so I'll only address that. One thing that he changed for me was my vision of my weight. As I got thinner and thinner, he became concerned.
Now, this "relationship," if you could call it that, wasn't exactly ideal. He would often get the jitters about committing, run away, and leave more and more distraught each time. As a result, I'd grow more and more anxious and lose more and more weight. Eventually I decided to leave the country to teach as a means to escape this cycle. But before I left I got down to a measly 107 pounds. I am short, but I've always weighed more than I look, and have decent size shoulders and frame for a short girl. At 107 pounds, nearly every bone was visible and I looked breakable. But, I loved it! My friends would tease me for being so skinny, but it produced a different feeling than the teasing I received in high school. I think one of the highlights of my life at that point was after I visited a friend in LA (shortly before leaving for Thailand) a friend of ours from college literally texted her to tell me to eat a sandwich. I was so skinny that I had people from across the country telling me to put food in my mouth. It was a novel feeling.
Then I went away. I wasn't happy there either. Bad luck seemed to follow at every turn. Making friends was extremely hard. My only friend was food. This is typical for a lot of females, but never for me. When I came back I was about ten pounds heavier. I saw the guy I mentioned previously shortly after that, and got one of the strangest comments of my life. He's never been good at giving compliments, but the first thing he told me was how good I looked after I had gained some weight. Another thing he told me was how worried he had been about me before I went away.
This was a game changer for me. I think this was the point where losing weight became a way of getting care and attention, not just attracting men. I started to think back to time we spent together before I went away. One day that I particularly remembered was going out to breakfast with him. I was pulling my usual "I'm not hungry" routine, but he insisted I ate and actually fed me. I felt loved and adored. This may have actually reinforced this behavior in a way that he probably could not have foreseen.
But this is where I stand today. My weight and my emotional relationships are deeply bound. Every time I meet someone new and start dating them I eat like I'd never seen food before. Then I gain weight. Then something goes wrong. Then I lose weight. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
After my most current relationship ended about three and a half weeks ago, I lost nearly ten pounds in two weeks. I simply couldn't eat. Before that I had been upset about my weight because between vacations and nice dinners I gained nearly twenty pounds. I was working out before we broke up and lost a bit of it the healthy way, but part of me thinks that losing the extra weight and getting down to the weight I was at when we met helped me cope a little bit. At this point I think I'm stuck somewhere between being happy to be thin, but also getting thin for attention. The last time we spoke I told him how much weight I'd lost. I think a part of me expected him to run back to feed me and restore my health, but he didn't.
At this point I'm stuck in a weird juxtaposition. I know that I find thin females to be attractive, but at the same time I have learned that guys don't like girls that are too skinny. Part of me wants to feel attractive, but the other part of me wants to ward off men entirely so that I can really be single for the first time in years like I've said I would. But there's also a third part of me. There's that part that doesn't want to scare my Mom or make her worried about me, and therefore doesn't want to get any thinner. It's a daily battle, but for me it's more about just looking like some model in a magazine. It's a deeply emotional thing that I'm trying to work through. I guess we'll see how it goes.
***This probably isn't something I should have made public, but it felt really good to write about. Please don't worry about me, I'm okay. Or at least I'm working on it.
Most people find it hard to believe, but as a child I was always the fat kid. I'll never forget back-to-school shopping before my freshman year in high school. Shopping for jeans was a nightmare. At that time I was in a woman's size 14. At my field hockey medical check-up I was 159 pounds, and a bit shorter than I am now. I used to be called names like "Bubba" and it made life really tough. When I was really young I used to attempt to diet and would fall for tricks like my baby sitter telling me peanut butter was really healthy (I know better now, at a whopping 180 calories per 2 tablespoon serving).
Now, in this post I'm simply thinking about the past and not necessarily saying I have a problem, even though there is absolutely a correlation between my weight and my emotions these days.
I remember the first time I started starving myself. That was in high school. One of my favorite lunches used to be macaroni salad with Italian dressing and a roll to put it on. I guess it was sort of the cool thing to do amongst the people I was friends with at the time. But there was one difference between me and them: they were thin and I was not. At one point, sometime in my senior year, I just stopped eating. By then I had a car and study hall last period and could leave early to go to the gym. I remember sitting through lunch insisting that I was not hungry and then running to the gym, working out on the elliptical and then heading back for drama practice. I only did drama because I had a part time job and therefore couldn't play sports. Perhaps I was more than a snob than I thought I was because I didn't care about going to drama rehearsal sweaty after working out despite the fact that I probably wouldn't have really gone to anywhere else in that condition.
Nonetheless, I never really got that thin. At my smallest, I was still a good ten to fifteen pounds heavier than I currently am. It was simpler then: I was fat and I wanted to be skinny, so I didn't eat and I worked out a lot. But, alas, I was young and naive. I didn't know about starvation mode, or how your metabolism worked, so I didn't realize that I was actually inhibiting my weight loss more so than if I had tried other methods. It was ok, though, because I still got compliments and was able to buy a size four prom dress.
Then I graduated, met my first boyfriend, and started college in the fall. Ever since I started dating seriously, food and boys have always been intertwined. That summer we went on plenty of ice cream dates and to lots of nice dinner. It didn't help that when I went away to FIT in the fall, I was faced with the most embarrassing gym on any college campus possible (and therefore went only once), plus the discovery of sushi and having what I considered at the time to be the best Chinese food in the Northeast located right near my dorm. I gained the whole freshman fifteen in one semester. Because of my boyfriend, I decided to take the second semester off, work, and then transfer to BU in the fall. BU was amazing and I definitely don't regret going there, but I can't help but feel annoyed now that I made such a life-changing position for a guy, but c'est la vie.
When I came back, I started working at a tanning salon and taking a ten-week diet class. There I learned the healthy way to lose weight. I was doing cardio in the morning, drinking a gallon of water per day, eating five to six small meals each day, and lifting weights in the evening. I started losing weight and I was happy. But, after a little while I wasn't happy with the speed at which my weight-loss was progressing. Soon after that I started taking diet pills and laxatives. Diet pills seem logical, but I actually didn't like them much because they just made me feel sick and the only cure was food. But I remembered a girl from high school who modeled (legitimately, and still does) but claimed to spend her volley-ball practices eating Italian subs and not actually doing anything athletic. How did she do it? Laxatives: that was the rumor.
The added bonus to laxatives was the show you could put on. You could eat like a normal person, if not more, but just take a pill and all those calories would fast-forward through your system and not actually be absorbed. It's a bit disgusting, but if you figured out the timing, it worked like a charm.
But the day I got caught by my Mom was terrible. I remember walking through my front door, seeing my dad in one living room chair and hearing my Mom say, "We need to talk." I came in and sat near the chair closest to the door. She took out the bottles of diet pills and laxatives and said, "I found these, what are you doing to yourself?"
"I just want to be thin!" I wailed. I burst into tears over the torment I'd felt for months and then eventually promised that I wouldn't do it again. And I didn't, for a while. I started at BU in late August and I received more male attention than I ever had in my life. I attributed it to my weight loss, sort of broke up with my boyfriend (although I continued to see him) and relished in the attention. BU has a fabulous gym and going there was a social thing so that worked out very well for me for a while. I still wasn't as thin as I was today, but for a bit I was happy.
Then, shortly after my first full year at BU, my sort-of boyfriend started seeing his ex-girlfriend from before me. I was shocked and devastated. The anxiety I felt overrode my ability to eat and I got down to a new low weight that I hadn't been at before. Although I was depressed, the emergence of bones in my chest elated me. Finally, I was beginning to look like some sort of model. Nothing else mattered.
But everything was pretty under control at that point. The following year I had a roommate who definitely developed an eating disorder at some point while we were living together. She, however, had a very different frame than me; she was really tall and naturally slender. When she started eating very little and working out excessively, my friends and I definitely noticed. We shared a room and I remember her bending over one day to pick something off the floor and the sight of her rib cage sticking out through her T-shirt.
This created very mixed feelings for me. On the one hand I was sickened and worried, but on the other I was extremely jealous. I still recall being very perplexed by this mixture of feelings. Eventually it was passed on to me and I was behaving similarly. At the end of that year I met my college boyfriend. I was a little bit heavier than I currently am, but I was the lightest I had ever been by that point. I felt beautiful. He was beautiful. And, I felt beautiful for having him.
But like most guys, he had the ability to eat absurd amounts of food and still maintain a six-pack. As I accompanied him eating ice cream and whole pans of brownies, I started to gain weight. It got to the point where I had gained over twenty pounds and couldn't continue as I was. But he wasn't very supportive. While he would eat something fried and I would eat a salad, he'd tease me that I was eating rabbit food.
But that was a rocky relationship. From that point, the relationship between food and boys started to change. Initially, I thought that being thin would guarantee boys. Then I realized that having a boy meant that I would gain weight. It was simply inevitable. Guys like to see a girl who can eat. I learned that early on. But at that point in my life I still thought guys liked thin girls so I started dieting again. When we broke up for the first time I was incredibly depressed. Aside from losing him, I also lost my appetite. But I loved it. I was thinner than I had ever been in my life. When he came back about a month later, his and his family's shock at my weight loss really took hold of my attention. I maintained that weight for a while, continued working out, but things took a turn for the worse about a year later when we really broke up.
At that point I was working at Nordstrom. Being in the fashion industry, I always wanted to look my best. Because my hours were sporadic, I had plenty of time to go to the gym and work out. But eventually I broke down and couldn't work there anymore. I quit suddenly and got a job at the insurance company where my mother worked. When I started there I was horribly depressed, not only about my breakup but also about leaving what I thought would have been an exciting career for me.
I finally had a regular schedule and could go to the gym at the same time every day. I even had a personal trainer, although he would often comment on the fact that although I always improved the way I looked, I could never actually get stronger or lift heavier weights. That probably had to do with the fact that I wasn't eating.
I hated that job. Everyone I worked with enraged me to the point that I had to appetite. I was also so busy that I'd often skip lunch just to get my work finished with. I would go home, skip dinner, and drink heavily. But, I also met a very important person. I still see him sometimes today, although it's a bit complicated. I really, really, really liked him. The impact of this relationship had myriad impacts on me, but in this entry my focus is on weight so I'll only address that. One thing that he changed for me was my vision of my weight. As I got thinner and thinner, he became concerned.
Now, this "relationship," if you could call it that, wasn't exactly ideal. He would often get the jitters about committing, run away, and leave more and more distraught each time. As a result, I'd grow more and more anxious and lose more and more weight. Eventually I decided to leave the country to teach as a means to escape this cycle. But before I left I got down to a measly 107 pounds. I am short, but I've always weighed more than I look, and have decent size shoulders and frame for a short girl. At 107 pounds, nearly every bone was visible and I looked breakable. But, I loved it! My friends would tease me for being so skinny, but it produced a different feeling than the teasing I received in high school. I think one of the highlights of my life at that point was after I visited a friend in LA (shortly before leaving for Thailand) a friend of ours from college literally texted her to tell me to eat a sandwich. I was so skinny that I had people from across the country telling me to put food in my mouth. It was a novel feeling.
Then I went away. I wasn't happy there either. Bad luck seemed to follow at every turn. Making friends was extremely hard. My only friend was food. This is typical for a lot of females, but never for me. When I came back I was about ten pounds heavier. I saw the guy I mentioned previously shortly after that, and got one of the strangest comments of my life. He's never been good at giving compliments, but the first thing he told me was how good I looked after I had gained some weight. Another thing he told me was how worried he had been about me before I went away.
This was a game changer for me. I think this was the point where losing weight became a way of getting care and attention, not just attracting men. I started to think back to time we spent together before I went away. One day that I particularly remembered was going out to breakfast with him. I was pulling my usual "I'm not hungry" routine, but he insisted I ate and actually fed me. I felt loved and adored. This may have actually reinforced this behavior in a way that he probably could not have foreseen.
But this is where I stand today. My weight and my emotional relationships are deeply bound. Every time I meet someone new and start dating them I eat like I'd never seen food before. Then I gain weight. Then something goes wrong. Then I lose weight. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
After my most current relationship ended about three and a half weeks ago, I lost nearly ten pounds in two weeks. I simply couldn't eat. Before that I had been upset about my weight because between vacations and nice dinners I gained nearly twenty pounds. I was working out before we broke up and lost a bit of it the healthy way, but part of me thinks that losing the extra weight and getting down to the weight I was at when we met helped me cope a little bit. At this point I think I'm stuck somewhere between being happy to be thin, but also getting thin for attention. The last time we spoke I told him how much weight I'd lost. I think a part of me expected him to run back to feed me and restore my health, but he didn't.
At this point I'm stuck in a weird juxtaposition. I know that I find thin females to be attractive, but at the same time I have learned that guys don't like girls that are too skinny. Part of me wants to feel attractive, but the other part of me wants to ward off men entirely so that I can really be single for the first time in years like I've said I would. But there's also a third part of me. There's that part that doesn't want to scare my Mom or make her worried about me, and therefore doesn't want to get any thinner. It's a daily battle, but for me it's more about just looking like some model in a magazine. It's a deeply emotional thing that I'm trying to work through. I guess we'll see how it goes.
***This probably isn't something I should have made public, but it felt really good to write about. Please don't worry about me, I'm okay. Or at least I'm working on it.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Looking Back
I haven't written a blog post since last September. That's pretty sad because, looking back, I had some decent stuff to say at the time. I've needed this outlet for some time now but just haven't gone for it. I just reread not only my final post, but most of the posts I had written before I quit about one year ago.
Originally this was going to be a year in review, but I just realized tomorrow is September 11th, so naturally a date such as this requires one to look back a bit longer. I can't believe it's now been eleven years since the Twin Towers fell. That's certainly a day everyone who experienced it will always remember. Mr. Adams face receiving the news in study hall, the way my teachers tried to keep it from us so as not to alarm us, the notes Meaghan and I passed back in forth in biology about it.
Until about one second ago when I completed that last paragraph, I was thinking mostly about how little I've changed since my last post, but now I'm wondering how much I've actually changed since that fated day in tenth grade. How am I doing in twenty-first grade? That certainly sounds strange. It feels stranger. I certainly don't feel like a little girl. On the contrary, I actually feel quite old. Not matured, but aged.
The past couple of weeks have been pretty difficult to endure, but looking back at the last year, it's not really anything new. Well, it is, and it isn't. That weird, oxymoronic feeling of being both hopeless and bursting with hope is still here. My mood has bounded back and forth from excited to depressed, I've laughed hysterically and cried hysterically, I've gone out and I've made myself a hermit. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
Yet, I feel like a little piece of me changes every time I get my heart broken again. I always think my heart heals, but actually, I just suture the gash with the bandage of another man that usually tears my heart and leaves it in worse condition than the one before. But somehow, it hurts in a different way each time. My typical recovery rate improves with each split, but at the cost of what?
This last one really was different. But then again, so was the one before that. In the past year I've had two very unique relationships, both of which have taught me something. But the lesson I've learned, or am still learning, isn't quite clear. And the closer I come to decoding it, the farther away from a solution I feel.
The first relationship I mentioned really can't be clarified here. It's one of the, if not the, biggest secret of my life (except maybe the time I accidentally got a friend's dorm party busted in college, but I guess that's out now). I suppose it's really not consequential because it was kind of similar to this past relationship, just less meaningful, and maybe even in a way caused it.
The key components of both were that in each I was with a man whom I loved very deeply, I felt loved me, and had my heart smashed to pieces. What differed between the two, however, was the reality of it. Actually, I'm not sure reality is the right word. Basically, without getting into it too much, I'll just say that shortly after the end of that first relationship I quickly decided it was all a facade and attempt to use me in some evil way. Was it? I can never be sure, but desperately, that was the only idea I could think of at the time to explain the pain, so as that it will stay in my mind forever.
But, either way, it lead to the second relationship, and in a strange way is also coming back to haunt me now, even though it doesn't hurt like it did at the time. I can't help but think that if my heart hadn't been smashed in early January, my friends wouldn't have dragged me out in late January, and I wouldn't have met Victor. Actually, I always admired him for even approaching me, being that I was in a horrible mood that night (as I recall) and thought it was both sweet and brave how he carefully weighted his options for speaking to me because he 1) thought I was too attractive for him (not true) and 2)I looked really bitchy. Those weren't exactly the words he used, but it was the aura I was definitely putting out.
I really didn't want to meet anybody at that time, but I ended up dancing with him the rest of the night anyways, despite my disinterest, and even desire to flee when I learned that he was younger than me. This relationship was different right down to the very start. I waited nearly two full months to actually go on a date with him. After continuing to text me in new and original ways and asking me to go get ice cream or grab coffee for nearly eight weeks, I finally gave up on my quest to be single and went out with him. I won't go into the petty details of the beginning, but we certainly did not jump into anything, which was not like me.
After about two months of dating, but keeping things relatively casual, I went to Israel. When I came back, Victor told me that he was ready and wanted me to be his girlfriend. I had realized while I was away that he was the one I really wanted, too.
I vividly remember the night that we spent with the Bedouins in the middle of the desert. Aside from my joy at riding a camel, buying these ridiculous woven pants, and pretending to be a snake charmer with the silly wooden flute I picked up in Bethleham, I had another experience that night. Around midnight, our tour guide lead us out into the desert. All of us joined hands, and walked quietly behind as we walked a frightening distance in the middle of the dark, dark night. The sky vaulted above us in a way I had never seen before. There are not trees in the desert, if you've never been then you can't imagine what that does for the sky. It's heavenly.
The next direction we followed was to form a circle, all of us facing outward, and walk twenty or so paces. That's farther than it sounds. After this we were to reflect on our lives. It sounds tacky, but hey, I love tacky, and I love reflecting. Our guide told us to think about what was really important in our lives at the moment and to push everything else out. So, I did. Perched on a rock I had found, lying on my back, and staring into the stars, which were countless in number, I sat. And I thought. And I thought of him. At that moment I knew I really loved him, that he really loved me, and that finally I had found a great person in my life.
And for another three and a half months or so things were beautiful. He kept me busy, but more importantly I really felt alive for the first time in a while. Within a week of coming back from Israel we were saying "I love you" and he was talking about our future. I'll never forget how after the concert he took me to for my birthday he said to me, "I will marry you some day." He talked about all the children he wanted, how cute I'd be pregnant, and kept hinting at moving in.
And he wasn't lying. I know he wasn't. This is what made him different. For the first time I had met a guy who genuinely loved me, thought I was beautiful even when I first woke up in the morning, would tell me he thought that, and made me happy. Every time a relationship ends I find a way to demonize the man I was dating, but this time I can't. He's kind, and good, and handsome, and sweet, but he doesn't love me anymore.
He, too, had gotten out of a dramatic relationship a little bit before we met. But I guess she had a much larger impact on him that my secret beau did on me because he still loves her. He didn't cheat and he was honest about it. I have no choice but to respect him, even if the outcome is another tear in my heart. He really did love me, I believe that even though it's tough, but somehow his love for her just crept back in.
This hurts, but maybe not as much as the implications of this break-up. The difference in him was not the only difference in this relationship. I was different, too. For the first time I trusted another person wholly and truly. I was actually really happy and content in a relationship. I wasn't looking for more. I didn't want him to have more money or a better job, I felt adequately loved and appreciated, and I was just happily awaiting the future that I thought was so certain. I never questioned him, doubted him, or disrespected him. Those all sound like integral parts of a relationship, but despite being in many of them, I had never really had any of those reactions to a man before.
Now I'm left questioning what more it could possibly take to have a real relationship that will withstand "forever." If what everyone says is true, and romantic love never lasts, then why do I crave it so much? I know my mother has a point when she says that the most important part of a relationship is security, but I know that I need emotional security and not just the financial security that she refers to.
Yes, I realize now that with Victor I probably would have worried about him all the time if he really did become a cop or a firefighter, that his hobbies would probably get in the way eventually, and that one day his looks, as well as affection for me would fade with time, and that I suppose in that sense I might be better off.
But a bit of me is also thinking back to the relationship I was in before him, too. That man also claimed to want to marry me and I also shared those feelings. The desire to get married has always been something deeply set within me, but looking back at my blog posts from over a year ago, I think I was less set on it at that time. This struck me in a particular way earlier tonight when I read it because I thought that perhaps I had become more realistic with time, not less. But am I really realistic?
I don't know. If anything, the large number of "but"s and "actually"s in this entry should indicate that. I guess I'm just as lost as I was one year ago. But now I've added another two chapters to the crazy book that is my love life. And I still have the one man around whom I have cared for in a really fucked-up sort of way for years, who I continue to hurt over and over again, leave again and again, and return to again and again. One thing I can't help but think is that I should not hurt him again. Another part wonders if he's the one who can offer me the kind of security I need. And yet a different part of me can't help but wonder how long it will take before I meet the next man that causes me to hurt him, and allow myself to be hurt again.
Time passes, things change, but others don't. I've always thought that life was linear; that it was heading in a certain direction. Now I'm beginning to think it's a cycle. That implications in that statement are permeable....
Originally this was going to be a year in review, but I just realized tomorrow is September 11th, so naturally a date such as this requires one to look back a bit longer. I can't believe it's now been eleven years since the Twin Towers fell. That's certainly a day everyone who experienced it will always remember. Mr. Adams face receiving the news in study hall, the way my teachers tried to keep it from us so as not to alarm us, the notes Meaghan and I passed back in forth in biology about it.
Until about one second ago when I completed that last paragraph, I was thinking mostly about how little I've changed since my last post, but now I'm wondering how much I've actually changed since that fated day in tenth grade. How am I doing in twenty-first grade? That certainly sounds strange. It feels stranger. I certainly don't feel like a little girl. On the contrary, I actually feel quite old. Not matured, but aged.
The past couple of weeks have been pretty difficult to endure, but looking back at the last year, it's not really anything new. Well, it is, and it isn't. That weird, oxymoronic feeling of being both hopeless and bursting with hope is still here. My mood has bounded back and forth from excited to depressed, I've laughed hysterically and cried hysterically, I've gone out and I've made myself a hermit. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
Yet, I feel like a little piece of me changes every time I get my heart broken again. I always think my heart heals, but actually, I just suture the gash with the bandage of another man that usually tears my heart and leaves it in worse condition than the one before. But somehow, it hurts in a different way each time. My typical recovery rate improves with each split, but at the cost of what?
This last one really was different. But then again, so was the one before that. In the past year I've had two very unique relationships, both of which have taught me something. But the lesson I've learned, or am still learning, isn't quite clear. And the closer I come to decoding it, the farther away from a solution I feel.
The first relationship I mentioned really can't be clarified here. It's one of the, if not the, biggest secret of my life (except maybe the time I accidentally got a friend's dorm party busted in college, but I guess that's out now). I suppose it's really not consequential because it was kind of similar to this past relationship, just less meaningful, and maybe even in a way caused it.
The key components of both were that in each I was with a man whom I loved very deeply, I felt loved me, and had my heart smashed to pieces. What differed between the two, however, was the reality of it. Actually, I'm not sure reality is the right word. Basically, without getting into it too much, I'll just say that shortly after the end of that first relationship I quickly decided it was all a facade and attempt to use me in some evil way. Was it? I can never be sure, but desperately, that was the only idea I could think of at the time to explain the pain, so as that it will stay in my mind forever.
But, either way, it lead to the second relationship, and in a strange way is also coming back to haunt me now, even though it doesn't hurt like it did at the time. I can't help but think that if my heart hadn't been smashed in early January, my friends wouldn't have dragged me out in late January, and I wouldn't have met Victor. Actually, I always admired him for even approaching me, being that I was in a horrible mood that night (as I recall) and thought it was both sweet and brave how he carefully weighted his options for speaking to me because he 1) thought I was too attractive for him (not true) and 2)I looked really bitchy. Those weren't exactly the words he used, but it was the aura I was definitely putting out.
I really didn't want to meet anybody at that time, but I ended up dancing with him the rest of the night anyways, despite my disinterest, and even desire to flee when I learned that he was younger than me. This relationship was different right down to the very start. I waited nearly two full months to actually go on a date with him. After continuing to text me in new and original ways and asking me to go get ice cream or grab coffee for nearly eight weeks, I finally gave up on my quest to be single and went out with him. I won't go into the petty details of the beginning, but we certainly did not jump into anything, which was not like me.
After about two months of dating, but keeping things relatively casual, I went to Israel. When I came back, Victor told me that he was ready and wanted me to be his girlfriend. I had realized while I was away that he was the one I really wanted, too.
I vividly remember the night that we spent with the Bedouins in the middle of the desert. Aside from my joy at riding a camel, buying these ridiculous woven pants, and pretending to be a snake charmer with the silly wooden flute I picked up in Bethleham, I had another experience that night. Around midnight, our tour guide lead us out into the desert. All of us joined hands, and walked quietly behind as we walked a frightening distance in the middle of the dark, dark night. The sky vaulted above us in a way I had never seen before. There are not trees in the desert, if you've never been then you can't imagine what that does for the sky. It's heavenly.
The next direction we followed was to form a circle, all of us facing outward, and walk twenty or so paces. That's farther than it sounds. After this we were to reflect on our lives. It sounds tacky, but hey, I love tacky, and I love reflecting. Our guide told us to think about what was really important in our lives at the moment and to push everything else out. So, I did. Perched on a rock I had found, lying on my back, and staring into the stars, which were countless in number, I sat. And I thought. And I thought of him. At that moment I knew I really loved him, that he really loved me, and that finally I had found a great person in my life.
And for another three and a half months or so things were beautiful. He kept me busy, but more importantly I really felt alive for the first time in a while. Within a week of coming back from Israel we were saying "I love you" and he was talking about our future. I'll never forget how after the concert he took me to for my birthday he said to me, "I will marry you some day." He talked about all the children he wanted, how cute I'd be pregnant, and kept hinting at moving in.
And he wasn't lying. I know he wasn't. This is what made him different. For the first time I had met a guy who genuinely loved me, thought I was beautiful even when I first woke up in the morning, would tell me he thought that, and made me happy. Every time a relationship ends I find a way to demonize the man I was dating, but this time I can't. He's kind, and good, and handsome, and sweet, but he doesn't love me anymore.
He, too, had gotten out of a dramatic relationship a little bit before we met. But I guess she had a much larger impact on him that my secret beau did on me because he still loves her. He didn't cheat and he was honest about it. I have no choice but to respect him, even if the outcome is another tear in my heart. He really did love me, I believe that even though it's tough, but somehow his love for her just crept back in.
This hurts, but maybe not as much as the implications of this break-up. The difference in him was not the only difference in this relationship. I was different, too. For the first time I trusted another person wholly and truly. I was actually really happy and content in a relationship. I wasn't looking for more. I didn't want him to have more money or a better job, I felt adequately loved and appreciated, and I was just happily awaiting the future that I thought was so certain. I never questioned him, doubted him, or disrespected him. Those all sound like integral parts of a relationship, but despite being in many of them, I had never really had any of those reactions to a man before.
Now I'm left questioning what more it could possibly take to have a real relationship that will withstand "forever." If what everyone says is true, and romantic love never lasts, then why do I crave it so much? I know my mother has a point when she says that the most important part of a relationship is security, but I know that I need emotional security and not just the financial security that she refers to.
Yes, I realize now that with Victor I probably would have worried about him all the time if he really did become a cop or a firefighter, that his hobbies would probably get in the way eventually, and that one day his looks, as well as affection for me would fade with time, and that I suppose in that sense I might be better off.
But a bit of me is also thinking back to the relationship I was in before him, too. That man also claimed to want to marry me and I also shared those feelings. The desire to get married has always been something deeply set within me, but looking back at my blog posts from over a year ago, I think I was less set on it at that time. This struck me in a particular way earlier tonight when I read it because I thought that perhaps I had become more realistic with time, not less. But am I really realistic?
I don't know. If anything, the large number of "but"s and "actually"s in this entry should indicate that. I guess I'm just as lost as I was one year ago. But now I've added another two chapters to the crazy book that is my love life. And I still have the one man around whom I have cared for in a really fucked-up sort of way for years, who I continue to hurt over and over again, leave again and again, and return to again and again. One thing I can't help but think is that I should not hurt him again. Another part wonders if he's the one who can offer me the kind of security I need. And yet a different part of me can't help but wonder how long it will take before I meet the next man that causes me to hurt him, and allow myself to be hurt again.
Time passes, things change, but others don't. I've always thought that life was linear; that it was heading in a certain direction. Now I'm beginning to think it's a cycle. That implications in that statement are permeable....
Friday, September 23, 2011
Fairy Tales Only Exist in Storybooks
I'm a hopeless romantic. I admit it. Cheesy one-liners, cutesy cards, texts signed with "xoxo" and constant "I miss you"s really make my head spin in a beautiful way. The last couple years of my life have been filled with men who were really not capable of that kind of stuff at all. Actually, a hand-full of them weren't even capable of not insulting me on a daily basis. But that's in the past. Oh well. Good riddance.
Now, about a month and a half ago a good friend of mine encouraged me to join an on-line dating site. I hate the thought of those, but she was persistent so I made a profile. I hardly filled the thing out at first, but after talking to a bunch of friends who had met their boyfriends/spouses on the internet I figured I'd go back, fill in the details and really give it a shot. There were a few guys who caught my eye with catchy messages but I continually found something wrong with them and chickened out. One man, however, really intrigued me. At first, it was his god-like looks that pulled me in, but after talking for about three weeks and being super cautious, I finally decided to meet him for coffee. In a public place that would be easy to escape in case he was actually a mutant or some kind of weirdo. But he wasn't. Coffee turned into a three and a half hour talk about everything from society to movies to God to life and everything in between. It was difficult to tear myself away to go to the dinner plans I had previously made with friends.
We saw each other again the next day. It started with a romantic afternoon in the park, followed by drinks. Everything seemed amazing. The two of us were like children. He couldn't stop gushing about how crazy he was about me, and I ate it all up. Every word out of his mouth was so sweet I just couldn't help but grin at every moment. He was so attentive and more importantly, was able to see right through all the fortifications I'd built up around my head and heart. This continued for a week straight. We texted constantly when we were apart and saw each other nearly every single day. He even joked about running away and getting married the third day in. He almost said the "L word" the second day but I stopped him. It was all too much, too fast, but it felt like a drug to me.
Then came that Friday. We had a really great night together, made breakfast in the morning, then parted ways to do some things we each had to do. The night before, he had logged into his online dating account to show me a funny message he received and hadn't logged out. After hanging out with my friends on Saturday I signed in to see mine but when I logged in his came up. I was about to log him out when I noticed an outgoing message to another girl. Not being the type to snoop, I didn't even want to see it, but my fingers got the best of me and I clicked on it. My heart dropped and I signed out immediately, not wanting to see anything else. Normally, this wouldn't bother me that much because for the last few months I'd been playing a couple guys at a time and not being the jealous girl I was years ago. But, just hours before he had asked me to be his girlfriend. Now, that's fucked up.
I collected myself and calmly called him to tell him about what I accidentally saw and he totally flipped but decided to come see me and talk about it anyways. Being a frantic mess, I started chugging wine and basically passed out as soon as he got there. This really didn't help anything. He left kind of angry in the morning and I went home to run some errands and get my mind off of it. We had quite a heated argument on Sunday and he said he never wanted to hear from me again, after insulting me more brutally than my ex ever had, and he was pretty damned bad. On Monday I asked if we could see each other and talk it out. He said it wouldn't be that day because he was busy but maybe the next day.
After he flipped out on me on Sunday I got a bit panicky and decided to go to my doctor to get tested for any possible diseases he could have given me. Now, I know that I tend to get a little over dramatic about that sort of thing, but it occurred to me that maybe if he was actually a psycho, then all the other sweet and seemingly-perfect things about him could have been a lie, as well. I got a call the next day from my doctor. All my STD tests were clean, but I did have mono. I knew I hadn't been feeling that strong or healthy for a couple weeks but had been so love drunk that I totally ignored it. I texted him to tell him just in case he wasn't feeling well. He had an interview in town that day and I asked him to come over after and talk like adults. He declined and said that I was a "low-life piece of shit" and a "sneaky bitch."
I was crushed. Everything had been an accident. I thought I had done the right thing by being up-front and honest about it. If I really wanted, I could have even spun it around on him and blamed him for not logging out like anyone with common sense. But I didn't. He called me about two hours later like nothing happened. I stopped him and said, "Wait, two hours ago you never wanted to hear from me again." He said that he really liked me still and was willing to give it another shot if we slowed things down. I reminded him that he was the one who sped it along so quickly and just HAD to see me every single day. I also told him that his reaction the day before scared me a bit. I'd never heard someone so angry before. And trust me, I've pissed off quite a few people in my day. We left it with him telling me I could call him later if I wanted to and me thinking "pff, yeah right, psycho," but muttering a meek "ok."
Not even two more hours passed when I got another phone call. I answered hesitantly and heard an extremely angry voice on the other end. "You fucking psycho bitch, you messaged a bunch of girls on my account?!?!?" I was baffled. I didn't do it. This is MY blog, he can't read it, so I definitely have no reason to lie here. I would never ever ever do that sort of thing. Even when I was young and would look through my ex's facebook that was never my style. I was more of a call and read the messages they sent out loud sort. But it didn't matter what I said. He hung up on me and wouldn't stop sending harassing texts. I suggested he check his outbox, ask these people what had been said, insisted that I had really liked him and therefore wouldn't hit on girls for him, or, on the contrary, if the messages had been negative, wouldn't have done that then told him I had had access to his account. But logic clearly wasn't going to work on this maniac.
All I can say is I feel really bad for the next unsuspecting woman who falls for this guy. He really is a prince charming when he wants to be. But it's more like a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde sort of deal. I've never seen anyone be so sweet, romantic and perfect than him, then turn so downright hateful and evil. Sure, it hurt for about a day, but I mean, we only dated for a week so I'm over it. The fact that I'm also scared shitless doesn't really help either.
But the biggest lesson I've learned is this: true love doesn't have to be a Hallmark card every day. It doesn't need constant compliments. The man I've had a very on-going and complicated off and on relationship with for a very long time was never very good with that stuff (well, not after the first week or so anyways), but, more importantly, after all the shit we've gone through he never said a single unkind word to me. I always expected too much. A few days into seeing that monster, this guy asked me to dinner and I declined and told him basically to get lost and that I'd found someone better. He was clearly crushed and acknowledged that he was taking things too slowly and showed regret for not making me happy. I soaked it up in some kind of selfish, sadistic glory. Only now have I realized that maybe taking it easy, not stomping on the gas and going into everything full speed ahead isn't the best idea. This person always cared. He may not have showed it verbally, but it was always made known. I do have mono, so I shouldn't be around people anyways, and I do need a rest from men for a while, but who knows, maybe now I know what to truly appreciate. Knights in shining armor don't exist, and the more romantic you can be the more psychotic you can be, too. I'll take a balance for now, thank you.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Like Catching Falling Stars
"I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion."
(Kerouac, On the Road, Part 2, Ch.4)
This quote will always creep back into my mind whenever I really sit back and think about my life. If I had to choose what I could have on my tombstone, I'd probably go with this. When left alone to wander, my mind just jumps from topic to topic and from idea to idea like a man trying to catch all the shooting stars in a meteor shower. The possibilities are endless as far as which direction I could take my life in right now.
My interests are so varied, and often flaky, that I eventually am rendered stagnant with thought.
Here's a short list of things I would love to do:
1. Go back to school. I think I would sell my soul for the money to afford grad school. The only problem is that anything I would want to study is probably not going to yield much job potential, other than teacher, or maybe professor if I do really well. For example, I'd kill to know everything about philosophy. I've been catching myself imagining myself studying Nietzsche in the original German, in Germany. Or studying anthropology and participating in an archaeological dig.
2. Be in the place in my life I am right now without getting any older. I love my job. Passionately. I love my students. Immensely. The thought of not being able to go to a job and spend my day with people I love so dearly is terrifying. But, nonetheless, I am getting older. My students eventually leave. My list of people I miss grows longer every month. And they go on and build amazing lives for themselves. It's beautiful. But, when will it get to be too much? When will I become unable to relate, communicate with students? I feel like the momentum I've built through the last year or so has to come to a screeching halt eventually. But it's painful to imagine any other way.
3. Spend a few months completely isolated. Preferably in Iceland. In the wild, with nothing and nobody around but myself and nature. Now, if you know me, this must sound bizarre. I am not a nature girl. But for some reason I'm having some sort of brain/personality pregnancy worthy cravings going on. Like something is growing in there and making me want to do things I normally wouldn't. Is it just that I'm 'growing up'?
I have much more to say...but I seem to be without words...
(Kerouac, On the Road, Part 2, Ch.4)
This quote will always creep back into my mind whenever I really sit back and think about my life. If I had to choose what I could have on my tombstone, I'd probably go with this. When left alone to wander, my mind just jumps from topic to topic and from idea to idea like a man trying to catch all the shooting stars in a meteor shower. The possibilities are endless as far as which direction I could take my life in right now.
My interests are so varied, and often flaky, that I eventually am rendered stagnant with thought.
Here's a short list of things I would love to do:
1. Go back to school. I think I would sell my soul for the money to afford grad school. The only problem is that anything I would want to study is probably not going to yield much job potential, other than teacher, or maybe professor if I do really well. For example, I'd kill to know everything about philosophy. I've been catching myself imagining myself studying Nietzsche in the original German, in Germany. Or studying anthropology and participating in an archaeological dig.
2. Be in the place in my life I am right now without getting any older. I love my job. Passionately. I love my students. Immensely. The thought of not being able to go to a job and spend my day with people I love so dearly is terrifying. But, nonetheless, I am getting older. My students eventually leave. My list of people I miss grows longer every month. And they go on and build amazing lives for themselves. It's beautiful. But, when will it get to be too much? When will I become unable to relate, communicate with students? I feel like the momentum I've built through the last year or so has to come to a screeching halt eventually. But it's painful to imagine any other way.
3. Spend a few months completely isolated. Preferably in Iceland. In the wild, with nothing and nobody around but myself and nature. Now, if you know me, this must sound bizarre. I am not a nature girl. But for some reason I'm having some sort of brain/personality pregnancy worthy cravings going on. Like something is growing in there and making me want to do things I normally wouldn't. Is it just that I'm 'growing up'?
I have much more to say...but I seem to be without words...
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
I'm back
I haven't written a blog entry in nearly two months. It's not that I haven't wanted to, it's more than I've been unable to. My inability is not due to a lack of anything to say. On the contrary, I have too much to say. The truth is, however, that I'm afraid to say it. There are too many people that could potentially be hurt by what's going on in my head. Additionally, there are too many people who would be more than willing to judge.
If there's one thing in life I can't stand, it's people who are judgmental. Everyone's life is unique and different. I believe in free will. We've had it from the beginning of time; why do you think Adam chose to eat from the tree of knowledge? I must admit that I don't always make the best decisions. However, I am aware of the difference between right and wrong, honesty and dishonesty, etc. Therefore, when I make what some would say is a "bad" decision, it's usually for some purpose, usually for the sake of experimentation.
Certain people in my life constantly try to advise me on how to "solve" certain issues in my life. They usually are offended or upset when I don't follow this advice. Even when I ask for advice, however, I'm not always doing so with the intention of following it. Occasionally I just want someone else's opinion. Sometimes I just want to see how making the "incorrect" choice will affect myself and the person or people involved. Seeing the way it affects me is part of a mission I've been on for some time now. That mission is to discover who I truly am. I know that many times I'm simply too nice. I seem to have convinced myself that by not being so nice, I can recreate myself and be happier. This is not only the case.
Nevertheless, I've been experimenting more and more with different solutions to different life problems. I wish I could be more specific, but herein lies the problem with a blog: it's too public. To properly purge my brain of what's happening inside it I would have to get out my old friends, the pen and paper, and keep it all to myself. Maybe when some time passes I'll be able to say what I want to say at the moment. It's just a disappointment that time also changes perspective.
As ambiguous as that was, this is my return to blogging. Hopefully there will be more to come.
If there's one thing in life I can't stand, it's people who are judgmental. Everyone's life is unique and different. I believe in free will. We've had it from the beginning of time; why do you think Adam chose to eat from the tree of knowledge? I must admit that I don't always make the best decisions. However, I am aware of the difference between right and wrong, honesty and dishonesty, etc. Therefore, when I make what some would say is a "bad" decision, it's usually for some purpose, usually for the sake of experimentation.
Certain people in my life constantly try to advise me on how to "solve" certain issues in my life. They usually are offended or upset when I don't follow this advice. Even when I ask for advice, however, I'm not always doing so with the intention of following it. Occasionally I just want someone else's opinion. Sometimes I just want to see how making the "incorrect" choice will affect myself and the person or people involved. Seeing the way it affects me is part of a mission I've been on for some time now. That mission is to discover who I truly am. I know that many times I'm simply too nice. I seem to have convinced myself that by not being so nice, I can recreate myself and be happier. This is not only the case.
Nevertheless, I've been experimenting more and more with different solutions to different life problems. I wish I could be more specific, but herein lies the problem with a blog: it's too public. To properly purge my brain of what's happening inside it I would have to get out my old friends, the pen and paper, and keep it all to myself. Maybe when some time passes I'll be able to say what I want to say at the moment. It's just a disappointment that time also changes perspective.
As ambiguous as that was, this is my return to blogging. Hopefully there will be more to come.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)