Velvet Validity

It felt like his innocence was gone. I saw that in him in glimpses before of his cruel apathy, but this time was different. And not just an age thing either, it was a sexual thing… I think any time you go back to someone you had before, it’s never the same. And it’s certainly never exactly the way you have formed the memories in your mind over the absent time. For me, it’s always a bit of a disappointment; it’s somehow just less than it was before…or maybe than it had been in your rose colored hindsight.

And yet, not exactly; not with him. No, my every moment with him, comical, serious, sexual, friendly is all blanketed with the velvet validity of everything I remember. All my time with him is though. He is my exception. My exception to every rule. I said to him, “I do want to be friends…and I get sad when I think we can’t be. I mean, I love you…I love you either way, you know?” He responded, “I know you do.” Yes, he does know.

I’m playing Rose Colored Glasses – the song that in my mind always defined my dad’s unconditional and enduring love for my mother. How strange that even as a child with no comprehension of my parents’ marriage or romantic love at all really, I always felt that song was my daddy’s song for my mother. Maybe it’s the conversation we had one day while riding in his red Bonneville with the pin striped velour seats I thought were so soft and pretty. I was maybe 10 or 11 and this song came on the radio and he turned it up and said in his deep joyously loud voice, “Oh baby, your daddy sure burned this one up!” I didn’t know what that meant, so I asked him what he meant by that and he laughed and said, “I used to play that one on the jukebox over and over and over again until people would tell me to knock it off!” Wise beyond my years even then about lost or unrequited love, Daddy didn’t even have to actually say the words, I knew he meant this happened during the worst of his heartbreak era after my mother left him.

I am undoubtedly my father’s daughter. My mother never suffered from silly nostalgic memories or wasted time wallowing in a broken heart from lost love. My sister surely doesn’t suffer that affliction either. Neither of them would ever be such ridiculously silly romantics. Just me. Just me…and my daddy. So maybe it’s my family legacy that I uphold with this unconditional and enduring love I have for D? Maybe this kind of everlasting depth of devotion just runs in my veins?

Perhaps the only love that could have forever kept me from accepting my love for D again is my daughter’s… Her beautiful heart was the only thing which gave me the strength to at least minimize the depth of emotion I have for this man and place it on that tiny back burner. …And as life’s cruel steel-fisted irony would have it, I now no longer have hers.

For the love of Pete, will my life ever cease to fully represent the sappiest of country songs? Having been born into a situation of unrequited maternal love, chronic loss, regular betrayal, a thick aura of unrequited love surrounds me as I live my silly old Lifetime Movie life. And I don’t fool myself anymore into believing my happy ending might come. I think this is just what my life was meant to be for some reason: a cautionary tale about love and loss – the kind where you cry at the end because your heart aches, not tears of joy that it all turned around and the heroine overcame at the end. Hell, maybe I’m not even the heroine? Maybe I’m just the sideline story going on in the background, as the good guy gets the girl and rides into the sunset hand in hand with the love of his life? Maybe my daddy was the star of the show and it ended bittersweet…or maybe it’s one of my daughters’ show? And the happy ending will come for her life?

Oh well, I just love him. And just as I feel some sense of resentment at that blasted stubborn truth I can’t seem to change no matter what I do(ugh!), I hear another song which perfectly identifies my daddy as well, Here For a Good Time.
Daddy enjoyed life to its fullest all the way to his very last second. He may have felt the acute sting of lost love just like I do, but he never let it stop him from laughing, loving, and living to the fullest for very long. He had hiccups from it and he kept right on going. Unlike him, I have full-on break downs.

So, in his honor, I’m not going to beat myself up today for loving this man the way I do. I’m just not. It isn’t going to change anything, so I may as well just embrace it. After all, the unconditional love of my daddy is gone now and my daughters don’t care either way anymore. And even brief moments with D give me the bittersweet glimpses of joy my daddy miraculously maintained with his rose-colored love for my mother till the very end of his life. Bittersweet was good enough for my daddy till his dying day, so it’s surely good enough for me to appreciate and not resent or fight.

After all, it really just is exactly what it is.

With or Without…Him

Will I ever stop loving him? I truly think not…

Things are better, but only as friends… a friendship which is slowwwwwlllyyyy developing and gaining trust (I think!?). I’m okay, no actually, I’m grateful for the friendship we are creating. I would rather have him as a dear friend than not have him in my life at all.

Just when I really believe my feelings for him have finally transformed into a more brotherly-like love, I will look at him and…

I just stopped over to his house to get a donation for a cause I’m collecting for. Coincidentally, as I’m driving over there, the song he once told me in the smack dab middle of our personal not-together-but-not-separate hell starts playing. Even as I pull in his drive, the song (With or Without You) is still playing. I can’t help but play the moment when he asked me to be sure they played that at his funeral through my mind. A thought I’ve not allowed myself to re-live in quite a few years. But I do now. It’s safer now, right? We are truly just friends. Pulling in his drive, I hesitate to turn the car and song (and sweet memory) off, but I gotta grab the donation and get somewhere else.

He’s just fresh from the gym, wearing sweats and kinda sweaty… I actually think my feelings have changed. No, I mean I really believe that.

Then he holds me for a moment and after all this time of craziness and whatnot, I feel for the first time in years, more than a mere friendly hug. His arms wrap around me just a bit softer and more tender than they did for our last few hugs. They hold onto me just a tad tighter and longer. At first, I don’t want to let go. I want to cling to him for life the minute I feel that something more from him. I do hold on, not for dear life, but like him, just a smidgeon more from my soul and not just from my trained-to-love-him-as-a-friend mind (that protection mode I’ve developed after all this time).

And I think to myself, am I imagining this? Is my eight year long fantasy running away with my rational side? I hold on for a minute right back, then gently push away from him and tell myself, Yes, you’re only imagining that something extra. Okay yeah, the hug is slightly different than he’s been hugging you for the past few years, but it does not, and I mean does NOT mean anything.

Snapped back to the reality, we continue a friendly chat for a few minutes. As I prepare to leave (no matter what type of visit/relationship/hug/whatever, I always, always hate leaving his house!), he grabs his donation to carry to my car for me. I walk next to him to grab my handbag sitting on the table. I’m not sad we are just friends. I don’t look at the picture on his refrigerator with the girl he’s dating now and feel any jealousy or even any hurt or twinge of “what if” like I once would have felt like a nail piercing my heart. No, I don’t feel that anymore. So yes, my love for him now must truly be friendly only; love coming from that pure place in my heart which loves forever when it truly loves at all. So, as I’m standing rather close to him grabbing my bag and he’s got his donation bag, I’m preparing to leave. We are laughing about something trivial and suddenly he sets the donation bag back down…(what? what is he doing? No donation after all?).. Yeah, he sets it back down….to hug me again!

tidal wave

This is an even longer hug than the first one…and just as tender..but maybe I sense something almost sensual in this one as he holds me close and brushes the small section of exposed skin on my upper back. Is it? No! I only love him as a friend… yet my heart soars, pitter-patters, skips, and plays hopscotch like a little girl. And this time I struggle with correcting my feelings and I rest my head in the nook of his neck and shoulder where it has always fit just right and I want to let go and melt into him like I have a million times before.

Oh, will I ever, EVER stop loving him?

the home that wasn’t

In exactly one week, we head off to a whole new life…a new world to us, new environment, new culture, new (to us) house…..everything new and different!!

I am scared, excited, fearful, exhilarated, anxious, and sad…  I see the sun peeking up as I write and I think of the thousands of sun rises and sunsets which have encroached upon this world for me…  I’ve had the happiest sunsets I ever thought possible right here in this little frustrating town.  I’ve had the absolutely most phenomenal sunrises here as well.  I can say with complete candor, I’ve had experiences and moments here which were the very stuff that dreams are made of…the very fiber of fairy tales come to life.  I have made some unbelievably wonderful friends and known some interesting people.  I’ve laughed till my stomach hurt for days following and my cheeks felt like they had done strenuous Pilates.  I’ve cried more tears than I knew I had in me.  Here, my heart has been so full of love I thought it would burst and so broken, I thought I would die.  I’ve spent days on the beach about which I could have written novels, both comedic and romantic.  I’ve met pilots traveling through, partied with hundreds of people inside military planes.  I’ve gone swimming by moonlight, laughing through the waves.  I’ve skipped in the rain and laughed in the snow. I’ve sat out and I’ve danced.  I’ve lived in ten different houses here, all with unique people and experiences.  I’ve been single here.  I’ve been married here.  I’ve been a mother here and responsibility free.  I had my first real boyfriend here and my first grown-up love.  I’ve learned lessons I never even imagined as a child.  I’ve grown, I’ve stagnated, I’ve flown free as a butterfly and I’ve been imprisoned like a criminal.

I’ve played house and wife, mother and employee.  I’ve played conservative party-girl, lost hippie child, and unemployed beach bum.  When I moved away for college and a few years later my world crashed, I ran here.  This has been the only home (“base”) I’ve ever known.  The only place I’ve been able to return to (come “home” to)in the whole world  no matter what happened.  As much as I’ve often felt out-of-place here, out of sorts, and like an “outsider”, over the years, I’ve become this place; both the things I love here and the things I don’t.  This place is a part of me…a huge and irrevocable piece of my growth and my essence.  I will carry people and memories, lessons and experiences from here as though it’s part of my genetic DNA.  In spite of the fact that I did not “grow up” here, I very much did grow up here in so very many ways.  The people and things I’ve done and known here have shaped my soul in a good ways and bad.  The sand from the beaches has become embedded in my skin forever.  The memories rooted in my soul, never to be un-done, even if someday forgotten.  I carry every person, every moment, every encounter, every drop of beach water, every crashing wave, every love, every hurt, every tear, and every laugh with me for the rest of my days.   I’ve been hated here, loved here, nurtured and abused here on every imaginable and unimaginable level.  I’ve wildly dreamed of escaping this hell-hole and I’ve ached to return to its embracing shores…

I’ve never known a “home”, a home base, a place to run to…never.  And yet, I knew that here; the home of a place to go when I was lost and scared in the world (my dad).  The home where I felt I was always supposed to be, the place I walked into and realized I had been holding my breath for so many years, I didn’t realize how beautiful breathing could be (Dave).

This has been the only home I’ve ever known by any definition or connotation of the word “home”.   I am scared to the pit of my soul to leave here…and yet I’m scared equally to stay.  I fear I can never come “home” again, in the way that this is now my home.  I’m a mother and a college graduate and I wasn’t even raised here, and yet somehow it almost feels like I’m leaving the nest for the very first time.  I feel like a high school graduate heading off into the world on my own into the far and unknown beyond.

What will be here when I next return to visit, to live, to escape, to…????  What feelings will remain?  How will I be changed?  Nothing will ever stay the same as it is now and has been.

Life is scary.  Change is inevitable.  This was never my home…and yet strangely it’s also been the only home I’ve ever known.

Puppy Love

 Forgive my amateur attempts at posting a photo album please.  It’s my first try at that…as I’m all about the words and less about the pictures….but I had to try to share our new baby love:)

We adopted Bullitt from the local Rescue.  He’s 7 months old and a real lover-boy!!  He is not offcially “ours” as we actually adopted him on behalf of my ex husband (babies’ daddy) to bring out with us on our big move out west next week (!!!)  However, I’ve my doubts as to this  happening once we arrive…  Bullitt has become so maternally attached and dependent on me, like a 2 year old with serious separation anxiety issues, and I’m uncertain as to how the tranferrence of families will go for him. He whimpers and cries so heart-breakingly when I’m out of his sight….   He just may not accept the situation.  He’s beautiful, he’s sweet, he’s loyal and protective, and he’s also quite a handful and a real PITA at times too…but his love is so endearing and unbelievably devoted that he’s worth every hassle….and this is coming from the lady who has always considered herself a “cat whisperer”…total connection to the feline family is just my nature.  Cats and I are like one entity..they just look much  somewhat different than I. However this little adoption time has opened my eyes to dog ownership and perhaps will even help in my ability to allow relationships with humans closer than I tend to…. ??  Although it’s a big responsibility and 24/7 care-taking, my heart is opening wider through this than I can recall in a very, very long time.  Dare I say it????  Ummm….I trust him!  There…it’s said out loud”.  I really do.

It’s interesting how a dog’s personality is slowly having a huge affect on mine…hehe:-)

He’s beautiful and wonderful!!!  We are madly in love with him..challenges and all!!

I feel absolutely certain there will be more Bullitt stories to come, as I could fill a blog with them already after only three weeks!!

Elephant in my living room!

I can’t talk to M about much of anything anymore and it scares me.  We are moving so soon and so much rides on him for that…. 

I keep trying in a delicate, but honest, way to point out my concerns, but just like 13 years ago, everything is an “attack”.  Every word of concern gets met with, “I AM NOT A BAD PERSON!!  I AM NOT A BAD PERSON!!  I AM NOT A BAD PERSON” screamed repeatedly over my trying-to-stay calm voice and words, until I have no choice but to hang up the phone.  Obviously, this doesn’t result in anything productive and does the very opposite of reassuring my fears. 

This experience throws me clear into full force PTSD as I’m hurled instantly to 13 years ago…trapped, scared, nervous, with a 3 month old child to care for.  My knees shake, my head spins and the frustration at not being heard, not being counted, not being considered, not being able to even TALK is overwhelming and terrifying to my core.  What am I doing?

Mark, he who I’ve watched struggle and kick for years, fighting his way past and beyond all that once haunted and controlled him, is yet again unreachable, irreproachable, impossible to reason with. And I am left feeling two options:  return to that horribly handicapping environment which threatened my sanity or continue raising my children far away from their loving father.  

Even the choices alone don’t feel like choices.  They feel like steel walls closing in on me fast, boxing me in tight, with the “rules” written in graffiti all over them in bold black paint.  Rules from my childhood; rules from my relationship with Mark 13 years ago. 

The rules:

  1.  No matter what M does or says, it’s always absolutely fine.
  2. No one is to question, doubt, or worry about M’s behaviors or choices.  They are all as close to perfect as could possibly be.
  3. No one is to point out (kindly or otherwise) any fears or, God forbid, discrepancies in Mark’s choices.
  4. If you see an elephant in the living room, no one is to speak of it, question its presence, or for God’s sake call it an elephant.  Nothing is what it appears and only M knows what it really is, so he cannot be questioned or expected to communicate with the rest of us. 
  5. It’s M’s world…only his reality counts…the rest of us are just graced with the opportunity to live in it…so SHUT UP.
  6. If you speak or imply any of the above, it is a direct “attack on M” and he will kick and scream accordingly, deftly playing the offense is the best defense game to the point that you’re wasting every word you can actually get into the conversation, trying (in utter futility) to insist that you’ve not attacked or insulted M.
  7. Every word you say that is not an ass-kissing “M, you’re the GREATEST!”  is, in fact, going to be considered an attack.
  8. Your actual words will not ever matter.  They are ALL an attack on Mark, unless they are a direct and undisguised compliment of his person and character.
  9. M will hear what M hears and it’s not up for discussion…  What M hears IS what you said, no matter how far off it may seem (to you) from what you’ve actually said.
  10. Questions, doubts, fears (authentic or otherwise) will NOT be tolerated or spoken of EVER.
  11. Unless you are complimenting M on how wonderful he is, you must SHUT UP AT ALL TIMES.

I am afraid.  I am rendered paralyzed to act and terrified to speak of my concerns…while the walls close in tighter on me.

“…Ladybugs Katherine! Lots and lots of ladybugs!”

Lazing in the glorious sun in my back yard yesterday, chatting with girls and Mark about the big upcoming move, feeling mostly excited and thankfully, only mildly overwhelmed at the moment thinking of all that has to be done…all that’s to be left behind, and what’s to come…  Sweet ladybug lands on my thigh, just hanging out for a moment.  I try to recall what this means.  I have a vague recollection of some movie or some symbolic meaning of this ladybug in this moment.

 “Ladybug: Perhaps best known as an emblem of luck, the Ladybug is a love symbol too. Asian traditions hold to the belief that if caught and then released, the Ladybug will faithfully fly to your true love and whisper your name in his/her ear. Upon hearing the Ladybug’s message your true love will hurry his/her way to your side. Ancient farmers of the land have considered the Ladybug a good omen as she controls aphid populations. The number of spots on a Ladybug’s back is said to indicate the number of months to pass before the wish for love comes true.”

My ladybug flew off and then returned briefly to the same spot on my thigh.  She only hung out with me for a moment…long enough for me to curiously wonder.  Later I found the above explanation when I Googled animal symbolism.

Strange feelings stirred this weekend with Mark’s visit.  He shared some upsetting news with me and it turned my world around.  It was as if some ancient forgotten feelings were gently brushed. There seems to be a woman he has casually dated, who is claiming she is pregnant with his child.  Oh geesh…hello and welcome to the Jerry Springer Show!  What the heck is this?! I remained fairly calm at first but the feelings slowly snuck up on me as I pondered and tears threatened to spill.  I was hurt. 

Only last Christmas I asked him if we could have another baby.  He was adamantly and decidedly against this. Mostly I was teasing him, but I was really hoping at the same time.  A part of me longs to know what a planned pregnancy feels like before I hang up my reproductive abilities forever.  I love our children and wouldn’t think to change a thing regarding them, but I have the saddest sense of never knowing the excitement that comes with learning I am pregnant, in spite of the fact that I have two fabulous children.  I only know the, “Oh my GOD! I’m pregnant..what the heck should/am I going to do?”  I don’t know the, “Yay…LOOK we’re having a baby!” feeling.  At one point, I was absolutely certain I would have this with Dave, but that’s not going to ever be and I resigned myself to the mercy of my children’s father hopefully granting me the third and first expectedly planned child.  Again, not to be…

And now this…a “stranger” having a child with MY children’s father?  A half-brother or sister right in the delicate era when I’m desperately trying to explain intelligent life-choices to my teen/pre-teen girls?  Immediately following my pleadings for a planned child? It’s upsetting to me in a very selfish way and in a not-so-selfish way in regards to my daughters and the family we have created in spite of the divorce.  Mark confessed strong hunches and disbelief that this really is his child.  I admit I share these hunches, but I can’t tell if this is wishful, desperate hope or actual intuition.  Really feels like intuition, as the circumstances surrounding this pregnancy as relayed by Mark, are clouded in a dark suspicion.  Apparently he had “the” conversation with this woman and even prior to their intimate relations which resolutely explained his unwillingness and total lack of desire for any more children.  I certainly am no hypocrite and fully understand taking chances and what happens sometimes, as I have one unplanned child with this man and another one who borders between the planned and unplanned – but purposely and knowingly (on both our parts) taking a BIG chance area.  However, something just feels different with this.  Mark and I never had this conversation he had with this woman, until last Christmas…years after our two children’s births.  And keeping these children was never a thought to Mark.  He would discuss no other options with either actually.

I did finally find my voice to say softly, “Dammit, I wanted us to have one more and I even begged you last Christmas!” I was a little comforted when he replied, “I know and it would be totally different if this was you.”

Something passionate and historically forgotten (but not lost?) for this man, this unbelievably fantastic father of my children, awoke with those words. Momentarily I forgot my sadness and the- what-will-this-do-to-our-children fears and it dawned on me that there IS one person on this planet with whom it is different for me in a good way.  A place on this earth where I have carte blanche and the huge margin of error I’ve never known and always hoped to have somewhere in my lifetime…or recognized might be the more appropriate word?  Hindsight tells me I always had it here, but never fully realized or comprehended. And as hurt and afraid and sad as I felt, it was temporarily overcome by love for this beautiful man, who after everything, does love me and does put me in a position of greater respect.  This man who, other than our two terrific children, has more reason than anyone to NOT put me in this position.  The same man who knows of so many of my faults, mistakes and truly ugly characteristics…still chooses to give ME this place, this status, this beautiful acceptance and WIDE berth of error. 

I flash back to the deciding moments I’ve had with Mark.  The tearfully spoken “Ummmm…guess what?” moments in which this man responded with every support and every ounce of respect any one could offer a woman in such frightening times.  He never once veered in his choices to want and to love our children, unexpected, unplanned, whatever….  Never once.  I did.  I was confused and scared and undecided..reflecting on ALL our options.  While he, he was stout and strong and beautifully decided.  And my selfish, spoiled self rears its ugly head now to scream at this other woman, “Na na na na boo boo…I’M the mamma dammit…I’m the wanted Mamma.  He was never willing to discuss adoption or abortion with me!”  It never even occurred to me that Mark had any other responses to, Guess what?  I’m pregnant than full and total support and strength.  Seems he does.  Although in my defense, I was not a grown woman with a professional career who engaged in the I DO NOT want any children discussion with him just prior to our pregnancies.  Seems as though our accidents were more in the area of mutual accidents and never came across as even possibly planned or pre-meditated, as this situation screams.

I have not always acted honorably in our various life challenges as people or as parents with Mark.  In fact, there are many occasions when I have acted horribly and been just mean and hateful.  I can blame some of these on circumstances, innocence, and youthful self-righteousness and I have had cause to regret them anyway, but they will now always be sources of shame for me after this one little sentence he spoke like a gift from God.  Have I really given Dave K.  every chance, every forgiveness, every excuse for a million horrible and hateful beyond explanation behaviors and actions against me while being selfish and stingy with these in regards to my children’s father, who has repeatedly and thoroughly proven himself as far more deserving of forgiveness and acceptance than this, or any, other man?  Am I this blind?

I was.  I must have been.  Was the intoxicating joy and perfection I felt with Dave and never once prior so much that it knocked me senseless and blind to see the beauty of Mark’s love and respect for me?  I’ve always been admitting and openly praising of Mark as a man who worked hard to change his early shortcomings and surprisingly became the greatest father I could have ever hoped for my children.  I have almost always been open to seeing this and believing in it from the actions-speak-louder-than-words faith, but I just never really “got it” fully.  Am I part of the reason he succeeded so well in this?

I never would have guessed or presumed this.  EVER!   And it smacked me so beautifully and lovingly that I was taken aback with a brand new love and gratitude for Mark, the most beautiful father, ex, and friend any woman could dream of.  I fell just a little bit back in love with him this weekend. Whoa…life sure is surprising in its sudden and totally unexpected twists and turns!  I can’t even imagine what this will or will not bring… or what it even means…

Dead

He died Saturday.  He’s dead.  I’m in shock and submerged in my grief.  Can’t eat.  Can’t sleep.  Can’t think.  Can’t love.   Is it true he died three years ago but I’ve been wrestling and playing with his ghost all this time?  Wrestling and playing with my sanity is probably a more apt description.

I have permission to be angry.  Permission to grieve.  Permission to self-consume in my broken misery.  Temporary permission only though.  I’ve already devoted three years to the ghost of love-past.  I’m  not afforded the luxury now to dwell here for long.  As much as it feels I can’t and as much as I don’t want to, life must go on.  I must insist that it does.  I have too many beautiful blessings to let this injustice end everything.

Death is a part of life.    It just is.  A part of me is dying even as I type this, but my physical body is still gripping to life and for that, I should be grateful, not resentful.  I’m fighting that resentment.  Fighting the pathetic wish to be as dead as he is.  I am alive and he is not.  There must be a reason for that and as much as nothing makes any sense to me right now, I’ll just  have to find it and go on.  I’m not in charge today.  Someone else is calling the shots.  No sense in fighting it.  It has been decided, determined, fated, destined.  I’m just a drop in the ocean of the bigger plan.  My job is to just be/do what I’m meant to be/do.

Dave K. is dead.  I must go on.

Blessed

Dreaming

Dreaming

 

Gratitude:  I am so blessed that my children are happy and healthy!  I am so blessed to have phenomenal friends!  I am blessed that Dave and I have overcome so much and had such a truly delightful evening Friday!  I am blessed for my job and my boss!  I’m blessed to live in such a beautiful, peaceful home!  I’m blessed that I can take care of my children on my own!  I’m blessed that their father and I have such a fantastic relationship!  I’m blessed that my boss is so kind and understanding!  I’m blessed to have the best Dad in the world!!

I am so very, VERY blessed…and filled with gratitude at how beautiful my world really is!!  THANK YOU!!

Gratitude

Yesterday, I came across a person I know professionally and not all that well at that.  Mostly I run into him when I’m in court.  It’s brief.  Typically, “Do you have a copy of my report?”  And either he does and that’s that or he doesn’t, I give him one and that’s that…  However, he is one of those people who I get a strong sense from.  Not exactly sure why, but I always have and it’s a positive sense. 

So in a moment of absolute chaos and confusion last week, I contacted him at an inappropriate hour to ask a relative professional-type question in a personal regard.  It was strange because his name had come up in conversation earlier and later in my horrifying “moment”, I just reacted by calling him.  After some thought and gaining my balance back somewhat, I later realized this as inappropriate and wasn’t sure how to handle addressing and correcting my actions.

 

Last night after work, I stopped in the Home Depot to grab a few things and there he was!  How truly serendipitous!  We were able to discuss the situation and to my surprise, he was not judgmental or strange about the incident at all.  In fact, I was very much reassured that the only concern he conveyed about the entire issue was a willingness to help me!  In addition, I discovered that he had actually checked into the situation to be sure I had help (unbeknown to me).  He also repeatedly reassured me that I should not “beat myself up” for the situation.

Wow!  I’m very grateful for this man’s reaction and reassurance, especially as I know him in a professional capacity.    He shares the same first name and last initial as my satan.  It’s always been an odd feeling to write his name as “Dave K.” since that provokes the stangest feeling for me personally.  That is just an odd coincidence!

I am so overwhelmingly grateful for this kindness and respect.  Due to various recurring issues with the other “DK”, I’ve almost forgotten that I’m not to be judged and condemned instantly and chronically by every person.  And in this situation, I actually feel as though he could rightfully do so and  could not blame him for such an assessment, given his limited knowledge of me on a personal level.

It’s remarkable to realize how over time, certain “others” for reasons probably all their own, can strip you of feeling worthy of respect, compassion or just mere consideration and after chronic battles and an incessant need for self defense over anything and everything, you might not always realize how deeply that has affected your perspective of yourself, until the random genuine kindness from another.  

So, I want to be sure to give much thought and credit to this event and this kind person for opening my eyes to a few things and reconsidering my perspective of myself and the world around me.

Thank you Dave K.!!!  ~Namaste~

1,2,3……rrrrrrriiiippppp!

So I’m thinking lately how this situation makes me feel resentful, manipulated, frustrated, and less of myself in general.  As though I start to become a distant fading light, losing its power and sense of being.  The very essence of who I am feels lost every time this cycle starts over and/or continues.  I realize that although my part in it is to hold onto a sense of faith in the person I love, that is allowing this and affecting me as a whole.  As much as I want to believe in the person I love and his ability to do the right thing and my ability to patiently wait for that to happen, there comes a time when I have to accept what is and let go of what I want so badly to believe.  A time when I have to take responsibility for that and my part in perpetuating the insanity in my life.  My responsibility is to love myself enough to believe in myself and not try so much to believe in another.

Starting yesterday, I’m making the attempt to take back the power in this ongoing crazy situation; to take responsibility for making it different – changing the things I want changed.  I’m tired of being perplexed, confused, hopeful and hurt, trusting and betrayed.  I’ve been tired of that for some time now. Hopefully I’ve really had enough at this point and will stick to it.   I’ve made small steps toward that in the past and then hoped he would give the rest, by accepting my position, taking it into consideration, respecting it, and ultimately doing the right thing in response to my efforts.  Guess I’ve been hoping he would share the responsibility of correcting this situation, making it a little easier on me to be strong and do the right thing for myself. 

What kind of ridiculously innocent faith is that?  And what has he done over the past 2 and 1/2 years to demonstrate that he would ever take any responsibility for doing the right thing?  Nothing.  I’ve seen nothing in him that resembles the character of the man I love for years now.  Why would I hold onto faith in him when I’ve seen nothing of him in so very long?  Is it because I’m too lazy to just do it all myself and be the complete strong person on my own?  Or is it denial that the man I knew and loved somehow disappeared and is possibly gone forever?  Or never existed, except as a facade…  Which is an extremely hurtful concept to consider.  It makes the truest thing I’ve ever known or experienced all just a manipulative act which I was naive enough to fall for completely.  If I have to accept that the only love I’ve felt was real was not in fact real, what does that mean?  It means I was duped.  It means I’ve never known authentic love, ever… 

Gosh, how desperately I have clung to my deepest hopes of the heart and soul, while the ugly face of its  opposite  screams directly in my face?  I  may as well cover my eyes and chant a sing-song I can’t seeeeee yoooooouuu…I can’t seeeeee yoooouuu. 

How ridiculous.  Time to grow up.    Time to face the music that’s actually playing instead of thinking I can keep dancing to the music from my heart, at an entirely different beat.  Time to take the power back and take responsibility for eliminating this chaos in my world which is changing me at a structural level.  Where did my boundaries go?   I am not the victim here unless I allow myself to be.  I am not inherently lazy either.  Apparently just inherently, ridiculously faithful in others, regardless of their actuality.  Holding onto that innocence has been exhausting and soul mutilating.  My knuckles are white and stretched to their max.  The skin might even be starting to rip and tear.  It’s painful to continue holding on that way.  It’s also painful to let go… 

However, one makes more sense and will prompt a faster end to the difficulty.  I’ve never been one to rip the band-aid off fast and quick, although I’ve always known that’s the smartest and most effective method to remove a bandage. 

In respect of the possibility there is even an ounce of truth in the “struggle” he’s indicated he is currently experiencing in his life and in his expressed need to turn to me for comfort and support, I do not want to be vengeful or cold in my removal or harsh in my setting boundaries.  It has never been about getting what I want.  It has only been about believing in him and believing in the power and purity of unconditional love for another human being…   Yesterday, I selected a nice card expressing my love, concern and support of him and wrote my well wishes and other kind, but unattached, non-expectant words, in signage and left this on his door.  Not wishing or expecting anything at all in return.  Being inherently true to myself and my heart irregardless of his character; confirming that in spite of what I’m about to do and the boundaries I must set and hold firm, I do truly love him.  Then, last evening before I went to sleep, I blocked all access to me, locking him out of my life.  I drew a line in the sand, directly and firmly in front of where he’s chosen to stand. 

And with that, here I go…..