Don’t Believe Everything You Think

Jun 11, 2012 by

This same lesson keeps rearing its ugly head at me… probably because I’m still not listening yet:

After writing yesterday’s post, I thought I did a lot of the WORK. I believed that by being honest about the way I felt the first time I met W* that it was something along the lines of: acknowledgment is the first step. I really was proud of admitting that I probably don’t want to give up the hope of any fantasies I may still harbor because at least the hope was something.

But I didn’t ask what I was so afraid of by losing the hope.

What would be left if I let go of the hope?

I slept well last night. I ran around doing a half-dozen errands with all of the children in tow for the bulk of the day. I didn’t have a moment to think.

On the drive home though, everyone was quiet and a stray thought popped into my mind.

I didn’t go looking for it. I wasn’t thinking about any man or possibilities or anything past wondering if there was enough leftover Chinese food for dinner tonight.

That was the exact moment when my inner voice decided to make itself heard:

“Maybe you are too frightened to let go of hope and old love because you don’t want to deal with what made it all die.”

I’m not ready to talk about the choices I made, but I do think I’m onto something.

When I have rehashed what happened in therapy, it was always about the way that W* and B handled everything.

It was never about me.

Or my thoughts about it. Or how I handled things. I never, ever talked about what happened in terms of how it affected me. I only ever cared about them and their feelings.

If I let them go… if I don’t focus on their feelings — if I don’t make the guilt I have towards them my major life issue any longer…

then I will be only be left with myself.

I will have to face me.

And that is scarier than losing ideas, fantasies, and possibilities.

Love from Sage

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Me & B (Part 4): Introducing W*

Jun 10, 2012 by

His birthday was a few days ago. I waited for this day to come around so I would have an excuse to say hello to B for the first time in months and months. Finally, I could reassure myself that he hadn’t had a heart attack and died… and I could breathe again for a little while. The number that I have wasn’t in service any longer (I knew he had moved). It wasn’t too difficult to find the email address though and I allowed myself to feel my heart race as I wrote a short, but sweet birthday wish.

Out of almost a decade long friendship (just short of 1/4 of my life), what I remember the most is the beginning and the end. This middle part is fuzzy. I don’t know how often we slept together after that first time…. often enough to keep me hooked and yet not enough to make me think there was ever going to be anything more than what it was. I remember at least a hundred times he would sleep in my bed after sneaking in, not wanting to sleep in his car or with whomever he was with. Probably more than half those nights, I would have to be satisfied with just snuggling, whether I felt his hard-on or not. It depended upon who he was dating at the time and what stage he was at with them.

It never mattered whom I was dating. I had it somehow warped in my head that being intimate with B didn’t count…. simply because it was B.

That is, it never mattered until W.

I eventually did start dating. I will admit that I held out hope that B would wake up after that first time we had sex and see that his best friend — the one he could talk about everything with and who he seemed to enjoy occasionally fucking (even if he was drunk 99.9% of those times) … that like in the show Cheers or Moonlighting or in one of my many Harlequin romance novels — he would see ME. But he didn’t, so I started to slowly open myself up to other possibilities. Someone to be with until B saw us as something more than Friends With Benefits.

He never did though. So, before W, there was C  and then the married guy (FM), the cook (S), and the pool hustler (JM). Each of them deserving of their own stories on their own posts. Eventually I want to share about them, because without them — I would never have healed as much as I did from JP. But that is for another day.

Fast forwarding past them for now, B was working with the construction crew that was doing some work at his girlfriend’s house (the one with my name). I was in between boyfriends and the two of them would gang up on me to meet their friend W*. She would swoon that he looked just like a particular movie star I crushed on and how much I would like him.

I didn’t want to meet him.

I was fine being alone. I was fine with the amount of time B & I were spending together despite his deepening relationship. Our being intimate on occasion had dwindled down to almost nothing. He was getting so serious with the girlfriend. In one of the first times since the moment we had met, I didn’t care about what B wanted.

I think B had issues with being by himself which probably was the reason for a good part of our friendship, over anything he felt for me. If he had to go somewhere or do something, I was brought along…. always a willing participant. I was always ready to sneak out after midnight to walk and talk and breathe in the night-blooming jasmine. I was always willing to go for long drives to nowhere while the radio blared John Cougar’s (before he added in the Mellencamp) Little Pink Houses or some Don Henley. So, when he came by and said we had to go pick something up, I didn’t question anything.

We went into the *downtown* section of the area where we lived. It wasn’t my favorite place, especially as we got closer to the apartment complex where JP tried to throw me off the balcony. I breathed a small sigh of relief as we turned instead into some townhouses where I knew one of his girlfriend’s friends lived. I asked if that was our destination and he only said no as he pulled into a parking space.

He knocked at the door and it opened while I was fidgeting with my jean mini-skirt. When I looked up, there he was: W. My breath caught and as cliché as it sounds, time stood still for me. It was probably mere seconds that passed, but … it felt like some force had grabbed my stomach and pulled on a cord that was directly attached to my private parts. B and his girlfriend had been wrong, he didn’t look like that movie star. He was so much more beautiful. He was tall — almost as tall as my dad. He was muscular without being overly so… he might have spoken something but all the world had melted away expect for that feeling in the pit of my tummy that seemed to reach out and grab upwards to my heart and downwards to the depths of my pussy.

All the world had melted away, even B. And that was a first.

B had faded away into the background as soon as my eyes met with W’s that first time.

He had us come into the living room where there were a bunch of people hanging out. He handed me a beer and I sat on the floor in front of the coffee table. He and B went upstairs to *do some business*. This was the late ’80s and down here, it seemed that everyone bought drugs, transported drugs or sold drugs. I was continuously the odd duck out for not wanting to do anything that wouldn’t allow me to have complete control over myself. My life and my mind afforded me so little control that I refused to do anything that would add to that.

They talked over me, all these guys. A couple of more people came in and out. W would take them upstairs and then they would leave again. The *Little Miss Goody Two Shoes* that was in me didn’t seem to care about those things. Every time he looked at me or spoke to me, that feeling inside would grow larger and larger and I became more frightened of this intense reaction.

Then, hopefully without anyone seeing, I shoved the bottle cap from his beer in my purse as a souvenir and peeled the label off the bottle slowly because I didn’t know what to do with my hands. By the time I created I nice pile on his table, he shifted over on the couch to sit behind me, telling me that I needed to relax and lighten up a bit. He said that I looked too serious and he started to rub my shoulders.

He touched me.

Now cynical me would say he was just a guy hitting on a girl.

That me… back then, that girl was completely floored that someone was attempting to comfort me. No one ever did things like that to me. I was the caretaker. I was the one that always worked to take care of others. Unless it had something to do with cleaning, I was the one that my friends went to for advice, to cry on and take care of things. I couldn’t remember anyone outside my family caring about my comfort.

It was probably a meaningless gesture or flirtation to most, but to me – it was a big deal.

B got impatient or annoyed and said we had to go. W walked us to the door, but after B stepped outside, he turned to me and asked for my number.

And my mind went blank. I couldn’t remember my phone number. Then I got panicked, because there was no way someone this beautiful was into me. B must have pushed him into this. He felt sorry for me or something, so B set this up out of pity.  I told him that B knew how to get in touch me if needed.

I scrambled away as quickly as I could and jumped in the car. I drew my knees up and tried to make myself into an inconspicuous ball of invisible nothingness.

Not realizing that by sitting like that, I gave W a perfect view of my white bikini underwear while the guys talked for a few minutes longer.

And that’s the part that he remembers…. thinking I had flashed him on purpose.

He eventually did call. I don’t remember if I gave him the number or if B did. He called and we talked for hours until it became more. But that comes later.

I did keep that beer bottle cap up until my first marriage. DH1 caught me looking at it one day, crying and so I tried to be a good wife by throwing it away.

Back to the present… B did email back, so I know he is still kicking. You may think it is strange that I would choose to finally write about W instead of reminiscing about B, but as the story continues, you’ll see how the dynamics evolve and why I rarely think about one without thinking about the other.

I had also sent a note to W because there was no way that I could get through writing this without reaching out to reassure myself that he too, was still there. He responded as well. I keep waiting for the day that I find out that he has fallen in love with someone the way I fell in love with him all those years ago. Wondering if only then, I’ll be able to let him fully go and find closure.

I kind of think that is more wishful thinking than the hope I hold onto for *someday*…. that however minuscule the chances of me having one or both of them in my life in any form other than on the fringes … those would still be better odds than me ever finding the strength to properly let them go and allow for closure.

You can read from the beginning:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

My Abortion at 16

And the saga will eventually continue.

Love from Sage

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PMS Really Sucks

Jun 5, 2012 by

I asked W if we could take a break during PMS. I moved out of state – twice – during PMS. All three times (yes, three!) I quit high school were done during PMS. I decided to get married both times during PMS.

Why hasn’t someone… anyone… restricted me from making any life decisions during PMS? Because I swear PMS really sucks and these decisions make up most of my biggest regrets in life. It should be illegal for me to even speak during that week before my period.

Nothing makes sense during that 7 to 10 day time frame. I not only do my normal over-thinking, but for some reason it becomes not enough and I shift into over-drive.

And there is always that aching empty feeling that begs to be filled up … it is emotional and physical all at the same time. I am overwhelmed by the sheer number and nature of my thoughts, but will search for more to fill the huge void that opens inside me.

I want everything and everyone and no one is enough.

Maybe I should rename it Pre-Meditated Sabotage Week? Paranoia Minus Substance? Or even better: Poison My Sanity Week?

What really sucks is when PMS rolls into the actual period … Then you take all of the above and throw in cramps, bloating, extra-low self-esteem and grouchiness.

And I alternate between wishing suffering upon all who aggravate me and being grateful that I don’t have a gas stove. (to stick my head in if you are too young to get the reference)

I don’t want to think about him or the other him or how I should really just calm the fuck down in my head. I’m tired of my own lectures to meditate (or medicate) and all the world will be at peace. Ha Ha Ha

Leave me alone with some chocolate and HBO’s Girls on the DVR and I’ll be just fine.

Really. I’m fine.

And I don’t miss anyone.

Love from Sage

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INfinite Fucking Possibilities

Jun 1, 2012 by

Quite the catchy title, hmm? It is my life … it is the way my mine works summed up neatly in three words. It is also (with some leeway) a personality type description known as INFP.

Technically, INFP stands for one of the rarer personality types: Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling and Perceptive. Breaking that down in the best possible light: doesn’t need a large social group, trusts my gut, emphatic, and extraordinary perceptions of situations.

I have a little amazing group on Facebook called Being INFP. It is a safe place to be ourselves and allow our minds to travel down all the roads we need it to. I asked there for some of their favorite sayings for what INFP stands for…

J was first up with: …I Never Fail (to) Procrastinate

K came up with: I Navel-gaze to Find Peace and I Need Feeling People and I Never Feel Perfect and I Nest in Fantasy Palace.

P said: I never feel practical.

A had one I really loved: Interesting, new forever projects.

IW replied: indescribable nirvana forever, people and indescribable need for peace.

N was right when she said: I Never Forget People.

T offered: I never find perfection.

NH sweetly replied: In Narnia, Found Peace.

And IMB cautions to play attention to the spelling with hers: I Need Feace Porever.

If these resonate with you, then you are probably INFP too.

To me, it means my greatest gift and my greatest flaw … I can always see INfinite Fucking Possibilities. Scenario after scenario, I replay memories from my past and project future outcomes of things that may or may not come.

That’s one of the reasons why I hang on to people or give them second and third chances —  not only because I see all the things that I wish I could have done differently, but for what could still be possible. That’s one of the reasons why it can take a long time to write a post of substance because I want to make sure that I’ve explored all the angles. And continue to use the tool question: “Is this true?” And that must be a part of the reason why I struggle with letting go — because each incident deserves, in my mind, to be dissected until nothing is left.

Love who you are … love the procrastination that allows for time in between and aids in staving off bad decisions. It is important to have idea people who can conceive of beautiful and wonderful things and ideals. Enjoy being whimsical and the gift of bringing joy to those around you along with having the ability to enjoy your own company. Perfection is an unattainable goal in almost everything, but through striving for self-improvement – many are lucky to be blessed with true peace.

Whatever your INFP stands for, own it or even better – revel in it.

How about …. I Never Fail [to] Progress {and become the change that I wish to see in the world}?

A special thank you to Being INFP. I couldn’t have written this one without you.

Love from Sage

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