Redefining Romance. (This one's for you, Mike Odd!)

I am...erratic. I have fallen out of touch with the people around me (both those in physical proximity and those near in heart but far in body) and I'm not much of a conversationalist these days. Maybe I'm self-absorbed lately, or maybe I'm just adrift. At any rate, here I am blogging to you, B, instead of having what passes for a real conversation on the internet.

This post (as yours are wont to do) got me thinking. I've had my share of "cuddle buddies" with mixed results. In thinking about the past, I started to think that the only "safe" cuddle buddies I had were gay boys, but then I remembered an article I'd read and the discussion that had followed about romance.

I had a friend once. I still think of him as a friend, even though we haven't spoken in ages and he forgot my birthday this year. Life gets in the way, I get it. It doesn't make him any less dear to me, nor does it tarnish the memories we made together.

For one weekend, we were almost in love. We definitely loved each other; we said as much. We walked around holding hands, or arm in arm. We ate together, played together, laughed together, had long conversations about grammar while I was in the shower. Late at night we'd curl up on the floor together and talk: about his girlfriend, about the man I was in love with but couldn't be with, about our jobs and our families and anything and everything. It was love. It was romance. It was fun and exciting and sweet and intimate. What it wasn't, remotely, was sexual. We didn't so much as kiss; if he wanted to, he never let on, and it never even crossed my mind.

Did I have a point to this? I don't even know. Maybe it's just that you're not so strange, B :)

Tired.

I'm so tired of people.

Almost all of them.

Tired of false friends who cut me out of their lives because of a choice I made - a choice they couldn't even be bothered to ask me about.

Tired of coworkers who can't show me the same respect they show to others, presumably because I'm not a good enough Christian by their standards. (I say this because I felt perfectly welcome here...until I voiced my support for gay marriage, started living with a man to whom I'm not married, and referenced my sister and her girlfriend in casual conversation.)

Tired of being lied to by people I thought I could trust.

I wish I could work from home, safely insulated from all this bullshit. But since I can't, I must learn to be strong, to fill my heart with enough love to combat all this hate.

I haven't updated lately...largely because everything is just so good right now I'm afraid of jinxing it ;)

Okay, not EVERYTHING is good...we need to work on managing our money better...I've regained 5 lost pounds...the electric bill is through the roof...but who needs perfection when you have genuine happiness?

We both knew that it would be a challenge to go from living 800 miles apart to living together, but honestly I think we're doing a great job at learning to share and compromise. And when I say we, I mostly mean he, because I have a long way to go in overcoming my tendency to get frustrated/impatient easily.

If only he could get a spot on first shift...it would make a lot of things easier on both of us. So, fingers crossed...

I feel ugly when life is beautiful.

Last night I sort of stepped outside myself, took my hand, looked myself in the eyes, and said "Oh honey. Why did we let it get so bad?" Work was kind of rough yesterday, there's a lot of tension and some drama, I had a headache, and my left leg was just killing me. It seemed like every time I turned around I was getting snapped at or scolded for something. But none of that is what made me cry. What made me cry was the patient who was so nice to me. I am GOOD at being mistreated. I'm comfortable in the cycle of abuse. It feels normal to me. My relationship is so good that it's making me crazy. Every day that things don't fall apart, every day that he keeps treating me well, every day that life is so good...I just get more and more afraid. I search frantically for the catch. I brace myself for the storm that HAS to be coming, because everything is too calm. I'm disappointed in myself for letting myself get so conditioned to bad situations that I can hardly cope with a good one.

It gets better.

I've struggled all week with the decision to write this post. I decided in favor, because if there's someone out here who by chance stumbles upon this who is where I was just a few short weeks ago, I want them to know they can get where I am now. I have never in my life felt more alive than I do right now. I'm making better decisions for my mind, my body, and my life than I ever have. I'm enjoying everything more - the good weather, the bad weather, time spent with friends, time spent alone. Would it surprise you to know that less than a month ago, I intended to take my own life? I have struggled with depression and thoughts of suicide almost as far back as I can remember. How much is chemical deficiencies and how much is scars of a horrific childhood, I'll never know, and I'm not sure it matters. I've exhausted my options for legitimate medication - hard to get help when you're uninsured. Before and in between cycles of meds I tried self-medication. First cutting, then drinking, then sex, then back to cutting. A close friend and devout practitioner of "tough love" found out and read me the riot act. When I asked what I was supposed to say, he told me to say that I'm better than that. Yeah. I am better than that. So I stopped. But it didn't mean that I was better. For the first time in my life, it wasn't just that I didn't want to live, or that I wanted to die. I had reached the planning stages. I had established where and how and was just fine-tuning the when of my suicide. The plan became the foremost thought in my mind. I clung to it like a child to a blanket, focused on it like a runner eying the finish line. Just a little longer, I told myself, and you won't have to do this anymore. I wish I could say that I had some instant miracle that saved me, that changed my heart and my mind. I didn't. I don't know what happened, exactly. I know that part of it was that my plan required more money than I had at the time, so I had to keep myself busy for a while. I found distractions, things to focus on. My hockey team made the playoffs. I decided - and why? I don't know - to start exercising. I know that exercise made a huge difference in my life. For one thing, it turned my loneliness into solitude; I can't stand working out in front of people and relished having the time and space to sweat and strain on my own. Also, exercising releases endorphins. Don't believe me? Right now, I want you to get up and move. Put on your favorite up-tempo song and do jumping jacks or push ups, jog around the house, dance, just do something. And when the song ends, get a drink of water, sit down, let your heart slow back down, and tell me you don't feel better. I read a book called Veronika Decides to Die, about a woman who tries to commit suicide. The ending was kind of predictable, but the message was worth it. Somewhere along the line I realized that if I can choose to die, I can choose to live, too. Really live, not just exist. Push myself beyond my own limits and see what I find. It's not perfect. I still have bad days. I still feel sad. I still cry when I'm hurting, and yes - I'm still hurting. But I'm not dying anymore, and I don't want to be. I won't make any promises that I can't keep. I may be winning the battle against this last major depressive episode, but the war isn't over. What I can promise is that I won't make the same mistakes I did this last time. If I ever feel that way again, I WILL get help. I'll call the suicide hotline. I'll call people who have helped me in the past. I'll talk to my doctor. I won't drink - I believe that I can handle drinking and I haven't been excessive lately, but alcohol is a depressant and when I'm down it only takes me deeper. I won't give up. Because it gets better. I'm getting better. And if you're reading this, you can get better too. Believe in yourself. And if you can't do that, believe in the me that believes in you.

I do believe we're making progress!

I feel good. Okay, that's not entirely true. My left shoulder hurts pretty good today, strange since yesterday wasn't an upper body day. Unfortunately, today *is* upper body day and pushups and dips on this shoulder aren't looking like a good idea. But, I still mostly feel good, because after a little over 2 weeks of diligent working out and mostly diligent healthy eating, I'm down to a weight I haven't seen in three years! My body feels better and my shape is slowly starting to change. It's not just the physical progress that's making me so proud. I'm seeing what I'm really made of - pushing myself past my comfort zone, moving beyond what I *know* I can do and learning about what I really can do. My mood has never been better. Once a week I take a depression tracking quiz. On April 14th I scored a 53 - severe depression, clinical intervention recommended. A week later I got 28- moderate depression. Last weekend I was down to 15 - risk of mild depression. No meds, no major improvements in my external circumstances, just internal work. And it's nice to have a quantified record of my progress to accompany the qualitative results. I am through settling for what I have and what I am and what I know I can do. I'm ready to stop coasting and start *living* for a change.

Settling in.

So, the spare bedroom is a pile of boxes and stuff, but the rest of the apartment looks pretty good! Last night I bought a new shower head - more environmentally friendly, and now showering doesn't hurt. First time in my life I had too much water pressure.

Looking forward to eating dinner on the patio tonight. My folks brought me a set of folding chairs and a little table, and last night I got a citronella candle. There's a pretty field across the way and the trees are in bloom. It'll be nice to relax out there and watch the sunset.

I have thank you cards to write tonight. A few of my neighbors helped me carry furniture and my coworkers have done an amazing job of making sure I have everything I need. I really am blessed.

I still have SO much unpacking and sorting and organizing to do, and I can't let myself just shut the door and ignore the mess or it'll never get squared away!

Meeting the future head-on.

I could do a sad girl post breakup entry here, but what good would that do? It sucks, I'm sad, he hates me, I feel like the worst person ever, the end.

Instead I want to look ahead. This weekend I'm moving into MY OWN APARTMENT! On my own again for the first time in almost two years. I can't wait. But, I'm sure it will be weird at first, the empty house on top of the empty hours I used to spend with Eric. Last night I got to thinking about the things I would do with my newfound time and space:

1) Exercise! I'll have privacy to use my Gazelle, and space to spread out my yoga mat. In addition to the Gazelle, I have an ab circuit I've been wanting to try, and I'm going to commit to the 100 Pushups/150 Dips challenge.

2) Reading. I have almost a dozen books that people have lent me that I haven't read. And now I have a nice little porch to lounge around on. It's high time I hit the books.

3) Creating. I need to finish all my existing knitting and crochet projects. No more new yarn until I do. And I want to make fun, useful things for my apartment. I have the skill, I just need the discipline.

4) Folding. I have a looong way to go on my 1000 Paper Cranes Challenge.

5) Writing. NaNoWriMo may be long over, but I still have a novel to finish and edit and prepare for submission. And because I have project ADD, I'm thinking about starting a new one for Camp NaNo this summer.

Things change, life goes on, and gradually the healing takes place, seeming, as always, that it isn't taking place.

Life is strange, but it's beautiful.

I've been stubbornly trying to refute this notion lately. "Not everything is beautiful," I argue. I am tired, I am hurting, I am scared and frustrated and confused. I want to indulge my own weak, petty bitterness. I want to piss and moan like a petulant child.

But I'm better than that, and I deserve to make myself act like it. And the people around me deserve me at my best. And when I give myself the chance to be better, I find beauty in everything. Even in my pain, or my frustration, or my confusion.

Love and truth.

“The worst thing you can be is a liar….Okay fine, yes, the worst thing you can be is a Nazi, but THEN, number two is liar. Nazi 1, Liar 2.″ - Sam Halpern

I absolutely hate being lied to. It's just about one of the most selfish, hurtful, disrespectful things you can do to a person. When you lie to someone, you're 1) assuming the person you're lying to is too stupid to figure it out, 2) showing that you don't think their worthy of honesty, and 3) taking advantage of trust that they chose to invest in you.

And I really can't stand it when people think it's okay to lie by omission. The ones who keep something from you, and when you confront them about it, they treat you like you're stupid and say "well, you didn't ask" as if that justifies it. When someone I care about does that to me, it feels like a knife in my heart.

When you lie to someone, it affects everyone that person cares about, because every betrayal makes it harder for that person to trust again. It's not just the simple pain that comes from finding out you've been lied to, it's the subsequent fear, anxiety, paranoia...the stress of questioning everything and everyone.

I'd rather be beaten, stabbed, or shot than be lied to.

adrift

I'm trying to put all my energy into the present and future, in the hopes that I can stop the past from continuing to cause me pain. And it occurs to me that part of that is letting go of who I was and coping with who I've become.

So many things I used to love don't even appeal to me anymore. Three new video games have come out, ones that I was looking forward to but ultimately didn't care enough about to buy. The only music I listen to now is dubstep, because everything else makes me sad. I hardly watch movies or TV anymore.

I don't even talk to people as much. I socialize at work - and I'm so lucky, because I love the girls I work with - but when I go home, I crawl straight into bed and look for ways to distract myself till it's time to sleep.

There were only two people left that I could talk to. Two people I felt safe and comfortable with.

Then last night my best friend told me he doesn't give a shit anymore. I don't even know if it's my fault or not. What do you even say to that? I guess sometimes the only way to be a good friend is to not tell someone when they're being a bad one.

So here I am, on the raggedy edge, trying my best to make it through the next few months.

She took the midnight train (except it leaves at 3AM)...

At 2:30 tomorrow morning I'll head to the train station. It'll take me 12 hours to get to Chicago, and my love will already be there waiting for me! Going to Qdoba with Skittles and finding some source of amusement for three hours, then another 3 hour train ride to Battle Creek and then an hour drive back to his house. We get to spend seven days and eight nights together, including our 7 month anniversary. I can't wait to see him again. It's been more than four months. We don't really have any plans and I don't care. I just want to wrap my arms around him again.

Huge added bonus that I get to see some of my favorite people while I'm up there.

This couldn't come at a better time. I need a break from the stress so badly.