Why do we knowingly make self-defeating decisions?
Is it the comfort in the disappointment?
That old familiar friend, self-hate
waiting within our ear to whisper,
“Why not? You know you want to. You might as well. You are already thinking it.”
So you do.
Acting as though you are more clever than poor choices,
while you make them.
And then afterwards
that same voice hisses,
“You fool. You knew better. Aren’t you smarter than that?”
Three weeks ago today, I walked out of your front door with two bags of clothes, my dog, and what tiny bit of dignity I had left.
I wish I could say that it was easy. I wish I could say that I am sure that this is what I want. I wish I could say that I will replace you. But I can’t say any of that just yet. So I won’t.
I can say that I am happier now. I don’t feel as mentally weighed now. I want to love myself now. I didn’t care to before.
Since we have parted ways, I have went to see my primary doctor and my therapist (which I haven’t seen either in three years prior), I have set up a full schedule of six classes (most taken yet) for the Fall semester (while maintaining my current 4.0), and I have gotten a part-time job. I haven’t found an apartment yet. I haven’t saved enough to make a move. But I am hopeful and trying.
I wonder how you are and how you have been. I want to talk to you so much that it makes the lump in my throat ache and the knot in my stomach swell. How do you feel being surrounded by me? All of my stuff is still strewn about your house. We haven’t spoken since two days after, when you said you were happier this way. We haven’t spoken of my things or when or where I will move them. I just don’t know yet. So we won’t talk until I do.
I am currently living with my mother for the first time since I was seventeen. I am sharing a room with my little sister. We are all getting along better than I ever expected. I am grateful. I am humbled. I am loved.
But I am also impatient. I want progress. I want to move forward. I want to be past this part, past this chapter where I am hurting. Growing pains, we will call them. I am ready to start loving myself. Where to begin?
So I saw my therapist yesterday.
It has been nearly 3 years since I have sat on that couch. And she said so many things. So may brilliant and scary things. Words like General Anxiety Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, ADHD, and Codependent are still floating through my mind.
Just a ball of nerves or General Anxiety? Just bad dreams or PTSD? Just spinning wheels or ADHD? Just helpful or Codependent?
Yeah right.
There is no fucking getting out of that last one. It took very little research to know that she was right. When she said the word “Codependent”, I was like, “Shit. you got me. Finally one that I can’t talk myself out of.”
The following is from Mental Health America.Net
(original post here: http://www.mentalhealthamerica.net/co-dependency)
“Co-dependents have low self-esteem and look for anything outside of themselves to make them feel better…They have good intentions. They try to take care of a person who is experiencing difficulty, but the caretaking becomes compulsive and defeating. Co-dependents often take on a martyr’s role and become “benefactors” to an individual in need.
The problem is that these repeated rescue attempts allow the needy individual to continue on a destructive course and to become even more dependent on the unhealthy caretaking of the “benefactor.” As this reliance increases, the co-dependent develops a sense of reward and satisfaction from “being needed.” When the caretaking becomes compulsive, the co-dependent feels choiceless and helpless in the relationship, but is unable to break away from the cycle of behavior that causes it.”
This basically just described the relationship that I was just in that just ended. He started as a drug addict. I was his martyr. I “saved” him. And it just didn’t work. It didn’t work for either of us.
And here I am, still acting like a little bitch when I know that it wasn’t a healthy relationship…
Get over it, Amber!
My therapist thinks I shouldn’t date until I get these dependency issues worked out. She said I was allowed a “fuck buddy” but I know that I can’t separate love and sex so that just doesn’t jive with me. Time to invest in some batteries…
I told myself I wouldn’t. I know that I shouldn’t. I am where I am supposed to be. I have been more productive in the last three weeks than I have been in the last three months. I finally feel free to be happy again. I finally don’t feel like a nagging bitch all the time. I feel useful and creative again.
So why do I miss you so much?
Why do I wish you would just call and say you were wrong.
Could you be wrong?
That isn’t possible, is it? For you to be wrong about being in love with someone?
You know when you can’t live without someone.
And you are.
Living.
Without me.
And you are happy, I suppose.
I should be, too.
So why am I not?
Brain, please don’t dream of him tonight. Eyes, please don’t search for him tonight. Arms, please don’t reach for him tonight. Heart, please don’t hurt for him tonight.
These are not my poems. But they have resonated with me lately. I hope they speak to you and touch your soul like they have mine.
After a While by Veronica A. Shoffstall
After a while you learn
the subtle difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn
that love doesn’t mean leaning
and company doesn’t always mean security.
And you begin to learn
that kisses aren’t contracts
and presents aren’t promises
and you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of woman, not the grief of a child
and you learn
to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow’s ground is
too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down
in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
that even sunshine burns
if you get too much
so you plant your own garden
and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone
to bring you flowers.
Dear Woman by Michael E. Reid
Dear Woman,
Sometimes,
I will be honest about my thoughts and feelings on this piece and let you know now that my mind will have changed and may be different in two months or less.
Right now, I am licking wounds and looking for solid ground to stand on. My heart is hurting (even if deep down at the bottom of it, I kinda believe that it is for the best). Let’s get to it… 💔
I have been hot and cold for my boyfriend of four years for about the last six months or so. Being who I am, I never held back my feelings towards him. Ty was fully aware that his lack of goals or ambition was driving me insane. Looking back, I know that he was miserable. He hated the company he works for (still does). His sjogren’s and arthritis were hurting him, probably still are. He felt sad all of the time. He wouldn’t go visit with his family. He wouldn’t go see a doctor. He woke for work at 4:30 AM and made it home around 5:30 PM. Then he would crack a beer, sometimes just one, and sit on the couch waiting for dinner to be served. He never cared what we ate. After dinner, he would fall asleep on the couch until I’d ask him to go to bed- and he would argue most of the time. This routine wasn’t surrounded with much loving conversation. We had sex twice a week maximum, when I asked for it- and sometimes he was just “too tired”. Looking back now, he had grown tired of me. I was impatient and a nag. He was content with what he had. He didn’t want goals like a planning wedding or a having child or a building a house.
As horrible and painful as it is to admit, I am now aware that his love for me was learned and took effort. My love for him was chemical. It was animalistic and automatic. It was never hard for me to love him, not even through the worst of times. As long as he came back and was sorry, I would love him forever. I had accepted that we were in a rough patch and wanted to press on. It just wasn’t the same for him. Probably never was…
When we first started dating and unbeknownst to me, he was a drug addict. Apparently had been for about six years prior. For the first two years, we did this awful tug of war between addiction and sobriety.
When I finally left the first time, he went to rehab. As of May 28th, 2016, he had been sober for two years from opiates. He still is as of today as far as I know. He knew from the very start that I would be good for him. He knew that I loved him and that I would be strong and wouldn’t allow him falter as much as anyone could. I could read the drugs in his eyes and would call him on his bullshit quickly all the while reminding him how handsome and cable and intelligent he was. He wouldn’t risk losing me for the next two years and two months.
About a year ago, when we moved back to his hometown from Savannah, Ga, he promised that we wouldn’t live in that house forever. That trailer that his father bought for his first marriage. This little old 80’s model single wide that sat less that 100 yards from his parent’s house- the one where he got high so many times. But honestly, it is the only place he wants to be- “no bills!- why not?”. He is perfectly content there and I am not. I was not. I will never be again.
His family hated me and it made him feel like he had to choose between us. I never asked him to and begged him to visit them, but it didn’t matter. The rift between them and me deepened the one between he and I.
The day we actually broke up was a disaster. I had been awake for over 22 hours helping my best friend pack and move her apartment and storage unit in a U-haul from Nashville, TN. I came home, slept for like 5 hours and then he came home from work. He didn’t act like he missed me at all. I had been gone for 5 days. He had a side job to go to right then and had volunteered to pick up some extra hours the following day.
I was hurt. I said “You don’t love me like I love you, do you?” And when he would usually protest, this time he said, “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want you in my life.” I backed away slowly, got in my car, rolled down the window and said, “This is so over.” And I left.
I came back two hours later to apologize and he didn’t care. He didn’t want to make up…
I do not know if this is just a stage of a break-up or maybe of grief, but I feel so guilty. This has shown me that I am such a hard person. I already knew that I speak too harshly. I don’t hold back, often when I should.
Sometimes I feel like I emasculated him. I was bossy and bitchy and neither of us were happy because of it. Looking back on it now, I handled everything wrong. I should have been encouraging. I should have made my happiness my own responsibility. I should have let him find his own way without trying to force him in directions. They say hindsight is 20/20. I fucking hate clichés.
I remember hanging out with my single friends who were dating and thinking, “God, I am so fortunate. I have a fantastic boyfriend who I love so much.” And I didn’t show it- not nearly enough.
Would it have mattered? I mean, that still wouldn’t have made him love me, would it? I mean, I have been loved before. My high school sweetheart was toxic, but he was in love with me. Ty loved me but “not the way your are supposed to when you say ‘I do'”- those are his actual words on that final night. He also made a splash with “there is absolutely no spark anymore” and “I really tried but it’s just not there, I’m sorry”.
I showed him seventy-seven shades of crazy in about 7 minutes.
“You used me?! So you never loved me? You tried?! What the fuck does that mean?! Fuck you! Why would you do this to me? I loved you. I took care of you. I went through hell with you. You promised that it would be worth it! You promised that we would do this together forever. You fucking liar! I HOPE YOU END UP STRUNG OUT ON PILLS LIKE YOU WERE BEFORE YOU FUCKING USED ME. I am sorry, I didn’t mean that- I love you so much. Please say that this is an awful joke. Please say that we can work this out. But you don’t want to marry me!? There is no spark!? Why the fuck have you lied to me for FOUR GODDAMNED YEARS AND MADE ME THINK THAT…”
I sobbed, screamed, begged, and then gave up in a pile of tears on my bed. He eased in behind me, pulled the covers over me and started massaging my shoulders. I continued to weep. He rubbed my shoulders, then my back, then my hips and my thighs, and…
I fucking had sex with him.
I don’t know why. Maybe a final pathetic plea of some sort. Don’t worry, it was not good sex… I immediately rolled over (after he came inside of me-inconsiderate) and continued my sobbing. He held me for the rest of the night, for one last night.
When he went to leave for work around 5:00 AM, he came to kiss me- and I wouldn’t allow it. He told me he loved me. I told him he was lying. He slammed the door. I packed my bags while he was at work.
I will have to go back for my furniture soon, after I find an apartment. I have been staying with my mom (shoot me).
I have only texted with him once briefly in the first few days in which he told me that he was happier without me… Ouch. That little reality check slapped me in the face because I do love him. And his happiness is very important to me.
If he is happier without me, I just want him to be happy.
Amber’s Attempt at Adulting 