*From Laura Marling's song "New Romantic" You can watch the video below. This should be the theme song for every single woman over 25.
Here I am again. A rainy day in the city. Mood has been low the last two weeks, beyond that I don't remember.
I got fired in August as retribution for taking a disability leave, which I only took to avoid getting fired in the first place.... but I am better off without it. Except financially. Sigh. I have 6 classes this semester at three universities. 2 lectures everyday of the week. Nights, then morning, night, morning...Each day is a catchup from the day before and a whirlwind towards tomorrow and then the week is over. The new bipolar meds make me tired all the time. If I don't get 10 hours of sleep at night then I need a 2 hour nap that afternoon. A pile of 70 blue books mocks me. The test was Monday and I haven't touched them yet. I stayed up Monday night until 5 am grading 40 papers from two weeks before. Then I slept through my first morning class. So it goes. 40 more blue books arrive next Monday.
I have forsworn dating. Not for me, no thank you. The losers I wasted time on last year showed me that I am still most attracted to abusers. I cannot be trusted to choose a man for myself. And clearly, I cannot sustain an adult relationship. Those men who dare glance at me twice on the subway get a scowl in return.
And yet, the loneliness. It is endless. Night after night in my empty bed, coming home to my echoing apartment, the pains go unnoticed, the successes uncelebrated, the hope worn so thin it has disappeared.
And yet, there is him. "George". The boy I liked before ever we met. A mutual friend had told me of him, I assumed he lied. There was no one like that. My friend Steff laughed that if we ever met we'd have to get married. Months later, I met him and was not disappointed. He, the phantasm, has haunted me for 10 years.
He, the divorcee, told me his girlfriend has moved in. So, why did you call me at 1:34 in the morning!? Who calls an ex-girlfriend in the middle of the night to celebrate the election--when your woman sleeps in your bed one room away?!? If he feels the way I do, if the sound of my voice makes him grin and all the world makes perfect sense when our talking is done... Then I need to know. I can't go on guessing anymore. Yesterday I threatened to drive down to see him (and my other friends). He has not yet replied. He will say 'no' when he finds the diplomatic words. He shares body fluids and a home with that woman. What am I but a vague memory?
It is absolute foolishness to harbor fantasies and feelings for him. We have not seen each other in 6 years. We had plans in April, but I missed the plane--literally. I was too terrified. The memory of all that pain and my depressed conviction that I faced sure rejection slowed my movements to the airport. I think he was hurt. He stopped talking to me. And now he lives with her.
I lost him again. The end.
"Watch my steady lonesome gait and be aware, I will never love a man cause love and pain go hand in hand and I can't do it, again."
Showing posts with label George. Show all posts
Showing posts with label George. Show all posts
11.07.2008
5.25.2008
Spring Fever
This is not OK. I cannot work for these people. It is not OK for your long distance supervisor to put you on probation and then ask 'What are your feelings about this?' EXCUSE ME?! WHAT DO YOU THINK MY FEELINGS ARE??? You just told me my performance is unacceptable! I knew I couldn't say what I wanted to: "It's none of your damn business about my feelings'. So I tried to think of the answer she wanted to hear..... nothing came to mind. Then I repeated the question, "What are my feelings?" "Yes." I still couldn't figure it out, so I just said, "I feel bad." Please Lord, get me out of this company. Send me to a new boss who will never ask me my feelings, who knows it is inappropriate, and that's what we pay therapists for!
Had she seen me, she'd have seen the tears. There is nothing like failing at a job you are over-qualified for to make one feel bad. This job is too emotionally damaging. These people are worker-bees who thrive on being over-directed and who enjoy the cumbersome behemoth bureaucracy because it creates more work for them. Does it make them feel needed? All I know, they like complaining about the work-load and the minute you suggest ways to alleviate it they shut up and walk away. Martyr, much? The pointless work makes me want to impale myself in the trachea with my pen. Unlike everyone else here, I will not sell my soul to this company, I will not work extra hours for free, and I will not do what my superiors tell me to do if it's stupid. (This seems to piss them off.)
The irony of it all is this: On Monday night, I gave the final exam to my undergrads. At the end, one girl nervously handed me an envelope. She said, 'This is from the class.' It was a thank you card! Half the students signed it--with notes like 'this class was a joy', and 'you are the best prof I've ever had.' Come on! That almost made me start blubbering right there. And then, the next morning I went to work and found a meeting invite from my supervisor, subject: "work standards". SIGH. I got to hear about all the complaints-- how I can't meet my sales people's deadlines, and it takes me too long to make appointments...blah, blah, blah. Now I have 30 days to improve my timeliness and effective communication. Whatever. I just had 20 hardened NYC 18 year-olds thank me for teaching them a required and unpopular class...but it's all on me, not the sales people.
####
And what of the Celibate's love life since last you heard? Ugh. Ugly. I re-fell in love only to shoot myself in the heart, again. Now he won't talk to me anymore. Again.
And what of my mental defect? I have a new diagnosis! Bipolar II. My doctor thinks this will solve my problems. She put me on new meds. I'm not hopeful, my poor little heart can't take disappointment anymore. Besides, I've heard this record before.
Stay tuned (I've been cycling weekly, so in a few days I might write something happier.)
Had she seen me, she'd have seen the tears. There is nothing like failing at a job you are over-qualified for to make one feel bad. This job is too emotionally damaging. These people are worker-bees who thrive on being over-directed and who enjoy the cumbersome behemoth bureaucracy because it creates more work for them. Does it make them feel needed? All I know, they like complaining about the work-load and the minute you suggest ways to alleviate it they shut up and walk away. Martyr, much? The pointless work makes me want to impale myself in the trachea with my pen. Unlike everyone else here, I will not sell my soul to this company, I will not work extra hours for free, and I will not do what my superiors tell me to do if it's stupid. (This seems to piss them off.)
The irony of it all is this: On Monday night, I gave the final exam to my undergrads. At the end, one girl nervously handed me an envelope. She said, 'This is from the class.' It was a thank you card! Half the students signed it--with notes like 'this class was a joy', and 'you are the best prof I've ever had.' Come on! That almost made me start blubbering right there. And then, the next morning I went to work and found a meeting invite from my supervisor, subject: "work standards". SIGH. I got to hear about all the complaints-- how I can't meet my sales people's deadlines, and it takes me too long to make appointments...blah, blah, blah. Now I have 30 days to improve my timeliness and effective communication. Whatever. I just had 20 hardened NYC 18 year-olds thank me for teaching them a required and unpopular class...but it's all on me, not the sales people.
And what of the Celibate's love life since last you heard? Ugh. Ugly. I re-fell in love only to shoot myself in the heart, again. Now he won't talk to me anymore. Again.
And what of my mental defect? I have a new diagnosis! Bipolar II. My doctor thinks this will solve my problems. She put me on new meds. I'm not hopeful, my poor little heart can't take disappointment anymore. Besides, I've heard this record before.
Stay tuned (I've been cycling weekly, so in a few days I might write something happier.)
Collection:
George,
Gone Corporate,
Insanity,
Life
3.20.2008
This is not the end
He did not say "no". He said "yes". He would like to see me.
The time for my grand gesture is NOW. I'm going to cancel classes and drive 1000 miles to see him. Soon. When I can get away, I'm hoping in 2 weekends. We will see if we still have chemistry. If he still makes me flutter. If his sad round sky-blue eyes will welcome me in.
And, we will see:
Why he came looking for me after the divorce? Why he calls me when he is getting serious with a new girlfriend? Why he is so interested in my future plans? Does he mean to send these signals? Or, is he just being friendly?
Because we are way beyond the time for games:
I will lay my heart all out for him. I will explain that there was no one better, I've never known a more beautiful man. That I am interested in trying again. He has but to say the word and I'll drop everything and go home to Georgia. To be with him. Or, that I can wait for as long as it takes. Because we both have a lot of work to do. [EEK! How did I become this woman--one who would do something like that!]
I can write this now and mean it absolutely. Now. But in two weeks, there is no telling what I'll do, how I will feel, nor the state of my psyche (e.g. if it's a fetal position stay in bed kind of weekend, then I may never go). . . All I can do is take my pills and pray. The rest is in God's hands.
Stay tuned.
The time for my grand gesture is NOW. I'm going to cancel classes and drive 1000 miles to see him. Soon. When I can get away, I'm hoping in 2 weekends. We will see if we still have chemistry. If he still makes me flutter. If his sad round sky-blue eyes will welcome me in.
And, we will see:
Why he came looking for me after the divorce? Why he calls me when he is getting serious with a new girlfriend? Why he is so interested in my future plans? Does he mean to send these signals? Or, is he just being friendly?
Because we are way beyond the time for games:
I will lay my heart all out for him. I will explain that there was no one better, I've never known a more beautiful man. That I am interested in trying again. He has but to say the word and I'll drop everything and go home to Georgia. To be with him. Or, that I can wait for as long as it takes. Because we both have a lot of work to do. [EEK! How did I become this woman--one who would do something like that!]
I can write this now and mean it absolutely. Now. But in two weeks, there is no telling what I'll do, how I will feel, nor the state of my psyche (e.g. if it's a fetal position stay in bed kind of weekend, then I may never go). . . All I can do is take my pills and pray. The rest is in God's hands.
Stay tuned.
10.24.2007
Stretch Out and Wait
Too much is happening. Two Morrissey concerts saturated with volatile emotion, dear friends visiting on the weekend--and more Morrissey, disgust with Farmer Ted, sorrow for his sweet girlfriend, confusion at work, the best observation ever!, the best students ever!, my mother's breast cancer, new medicine headaches . . . and then, there is this . . . some knot that lives deep inside me unraveled itself and released its dark burden. I felt something strange in my center, a glowy lightness that had not been there before. My friend said it was Hope.
Someone I call 'George', wants to renew our friendship. I still don't believe it. I won't believe it for a long time. Our conversation, so excited, and full, woven with concurrent patterns like a torn tapestry re-aligned for mending, feels like memory. A voice I used to know falls back into place. As if the wretched crucible of my last four years never happened, all gone but for my hard-won maturity. His voice too, has a change in timbre, his words slightly edged with scars. My natural instinct is to run while I still can. But I won't do that again. I will 'stretch out and wait' for good things.
These days, I sit in the middle of a whirlwind of emotion, plans, ringing phones, too many people, dreams, good and bad memories, email, surprises, songs, appointments, and fears. . . fears. There is no time to think, no peace to place myself in events, no analysis here: No slicing or dicing or looking for answers. No predictions, and no calculations can map what's ahead. Time now, one can only march forward and pray to make no mistakes. Blindly, I crash into life. More likely, life has crashed into me.
Someone I call 'George', wants to renew our friendship. I still don't believe it. I won't believe it for a long time. Our conversation, so excited, and full, woven with concurrent patterns like a torn tapestry re-aligned for mending, feels like memory. A voice I used to know falls back into place. As if the wretched crucible of my last four years never happened, all gone but for my hard-won maturity. His voice too, has a change in timbre, his words slightly edged with scars. My natural instinct is to run while I still can. But I won't do that again. I will 'stretch out and wait' for good things.
These days, I sit in the middle of a whirlwind of emotion, plans, ringing phones, too many people, dreams, good and bad memories, email, surprises, songs, appointments, and fears. . . fears. There is no time to think, no peace to place myself in events, no analysis here: No slicing or dicing or looking for answers. No predictions, and no calculations can map what's ahead. Time now, one can only march forward and pray to make no mistakes. Blindly, I crash into life. More likely, life has crashed into me.
10.14.2007
Reel around the Fountain
After all these years. I can hardly believe it.
Exactly what I said would happen, has. Only, I expected it to take longer, and for his sake, I wanted to be wrong. My old boyfriend George, the best man I ever dated and the one I wanted to marry, the one who hurt me the most, the one I believed was for me . . . and now this.
Interesting timing. Last week I decided I was done with Farmer Ted for the 13th time. But this time I called him a pig with a text message to seal the deal (childish, I know). It didn't work. He apologized, I crumbled. . . Then I came to my senses again. I do want to be done with him. I want to leave him alone to wallow in the bed he made with his girlfriend. Obviously, I'm still weak for the men who treat me like dog doo, despite all my better judgement, therapy, education and enlightenment. Beyond scary.
That's what made George so different. He didn't trea t me like garbage, he was kind, and I still loved him. I loved him with my brain and my heart. That scared me so profoundly I couldn't breathe a word of it to him, I couldn't let him know. I couldn't give any person that much power over me. But I let him break my heart thrice, in secret.
In the 'Tainted Love' posts about George, I described what happened after we dated, the second heartbreak. And last year, when I sought closure, I described the third heartbreak, my pain over his unhappiness. The short version: We got together, I quickly fell in love, we broke up, I moved to NY, we stayed best friends and he planned to move up to NY when he finished school, but then he ran off and eloped with his roommate after they dated for one month. It sounded to me like he probably slept with her and then married her to assuage his guilt. I guessed the girl had manipulated the whole thing, he had been a virgin and was very naive about women. But, what do I know?
The woman was not religious. After they eloped, she got baptized. Baptisms for love tend not to stick. He told me last year he wasn't going to church. That hurt me for him too, I knew how much he had wanted the whole Mormon family deal.
All of this happened in 2002-2003. I promised in my posts to write our dating stories, they're good ones, yet I could never do it. Maybe I should try now.
My sister called me last night with some news. "Guess who is single again?" "Your loser ex-boyfriend Brent?" "No." "I don't know, who?" "GEORGE!" "Really. Hmm. And how do you know this?" Through his MySpace page. Really. My sister was MySpacing and she clicked on my empty page--that I made last year so I could email him. There she saw my friends: herself, MySpace Tom, George and George's band. She looked at George's page. Status: Single. All the pictures of his wife: gone. He's had a haircut and looks much better now.
I remained non-plussed. We didn't know the story or situation, and he is still in Georgia. I logged in to see if he had tried to contact me. He had. He sent a message in August, said we had some catching up to do and asked me to email him. So, I did. Then I went to bed and did not sleep. I don't know how to deal with this information.
Exactly what I said would happen, has. Only, I expected it to take longer, and for his sake, I wanted to be wrong. My old boyfriend George, the best man I ever dated and the one I wanted to marry, the one who hurt me the most, the one I believed was for me . . . and now this.
Interesting timing. Last week I decided I was done with Farmer Ted for the 13th time. But this time I called him a pig with a text message to seal the deal (childish, I know). It didn't work. He apologized, I crumbled. . . Then I came to my senses again. I do want to be done with him. I want to leave him alone to wallow in the bed he made with his girlfriend. Obviously, I'm still weak for the men who treat me like dog doo, despite all my better judgement, therapy, education and enlightenment. Beyond scary.
That's what made George so different. He didn't trea t me like garbage, he was kind, and I still loved him. I loved him with my brain and my heart. That scared me so profoundly I couldn't breathe a word of it to him, I couldn't let him know. I couldn't give any person that much power over me. But I let him break my heart thrice, in secret.
In the 'Tainted Love' posts about George, I described what happened after we dated, the second heartbreak. And last year, when I sought closure, I described the third heartbreak, my pain over his unhappiness. The short version: We got together, I quickly fell in love, we broke up, I moved to NY, we stayed best friends and he planned to move up to NY when he finished school, but then he ran off and eloped with his roommate after they dated for one month. It sounded to me like he probably slept with her and then married her to assuage his guilt. I guessed the girl had manipulated the whole thing, he had been a virgin and was very naive about women. But, what do I know?
The woman was not religious. After they eloped, she got baptized. Baptisms for love tend not to stick. He told me last year he wasn't going to church. That hurt me for him too, I knew how much he had wanted the whole Mormon family deal.
All of this happened in 2002-2003. I promised in my posts to write our dating stories, they're good ones, yet I could never do it. Maybe I should try now.
My sister called me last night with some news. "Guess who is single again?" "Your loser ex-boyfriend Brent?" "No." "I don't know, who?" "GEORGE!" "Really. Hmm. And how do you know this?" Through his MySpace page. Really. My sister was MySpacing and she clicked on my empty page--that I made last year so I could email him. There she saw my friends: herself, MySpace Tom, George and George's band. She looked at George's page. Status: Single. All the pictures of his wife: gone. He's had a haircut and looks much better now.
I remained non-plussed. We didn't know the story or situation, and he is still in Georgia. I logged in to see if he had tried to contact me. He had. He sent a message in August, said we had some catching up to do and asked me to email him. So, I did. Then I went to bed and did not sleep. I don't know how to deal with this information.
10.19.2006
my own private idaho
What a deliciously, perfect expressive phrase. My own private idaho. It evokes the solitary valleys and caverns of grief, the resounding echoes of the punishing thoughts that the mourner suffers. My own private Idaho.
Remember George? (of Tainted Love fame). I never mourned that loss, I got no closure. Despite the poetic turn of events, I never knew what happened to him, to us, or my ridiculous fantasies of a future together. After months of therapy about everything else in my past, I suddenly discovered the reason I stopped loving my work. I blamed my schoolwork for losing George. If I had never left to come to NY, then it would have been me he married. My ambition damned me to this fate. Such is the way the infantile unconscious mind thinks. I had no idea.
Closure, the therapist said. I had to tell him my feelings for him, because I never did. She promised I would heal. So I agreed to do it, not knowing the torrent of pain and emotion that would avalanche. Not realizing how much I had stored away, how the grief would feel like I lost him yesterday instead of 3 years ago.
He has a webpage. With pictures. You can send messages. I found it two weeks ago. I sent a 'hello' email first. He replied two hours later and sounded excited to hear from me, and not so excited about his life. I spent a week working on my email, THE EMAIL. I sent it last night around 2 am. I said I was sorry I never told him I was in love with him back then, that I knew it didn't matter anymore, but this email was therapy for myself. I also wrote a lot of other things. He replied at 6 am.
All day I was freaked out knowing the message waited for me at home. I couldn't read it at work because I didn't want to cry. His last email was so sweet and sad it made me sob for hours. All day I tried to prepare myself for whatever he might say. Tried to imagine the worst possible words so there would be no surprises.
Yet he surprised me anyway. Just a line saying he would reply later. Another sign of his considerate and kind nature, letting me know he got it and that he would respond in due time.
His wife has a page too, also with pictures. They have been married for three years. They have a whole life, a house, a dog, and married couple friends. And I? I am the Cheese. It makes me so sad and angry and ashamed for my covetous feelings.
Now I must wait. Wait for him to release me, to tell me the words I need to hear; whether they be that he fell madly in love with her and is deleriously happy or that he has struggled but believes in his commitments, that he is sorry I went through this, that he never knew I felt this way or that he did know I felt that way... whatever they may be, it will be a relief to know.
I lie in wait, curled in bed, crying off and on.
My own private idaho.
Remember George? (of Tainted Love fame). I never mourned that loss, I got no closure. Despite the poetic turn of events, I never knew what happened to him, to us, or my ridiculous fantasies of a future together. After months of therapy about everything else in my past, I suddenly discovered the reason I stopped loving my work. I blamed my schoolwork for losing George. If I had never left to come to NY, then it would have been me he married. My ambition damned me to this fate. Such is the way the infantile unconscious mind thinks. I had no idea.
Closure, the therapist said. I had to tell him my feelings for him, because I never did. She promised I would heal. So I agreed to do it, not knowing the torrent of pain and emotion that would avalanche. Not realizing how much I had stored away, how the grief would feel like I lost him yesterday instead of 3 years ago.
He has a webpage. With pictures. You can send messages. I found it two weeks ago. I sent a 'hello' email first. He replied two hours later and sounded excited to hear from me, and not so excited about his life. I spent a week working on my email, THE EMAIL. I sent it last night around 2 am. I said I was sorry I never told him I was in love with him back then, that I knew it didn't matter anymore, but this email was therapy for myself. I also wrote a lot of other things. He replied at 6 am.
All day I was freaked out knowing the message waited for me at home. I couldn't read it at work because I didn't want to cry. His last email was so sweet and sad it made me sob for hours. All day I tried to prepare myself for whatever he might say. Tried to imagine the worst possible words so there would be no surprises.
Yet he surprised me anyway. Just a line saying he would reply later. Another sign of his considerate and kind nature, letting me know he got it and that he would respond in due time.
His wife has a page too, also with pictures. They have been married for three years. They have a whole life, a house, a dog, and married couple friends. And I? I am the Cheese. It makes me so sad and angry and ashamed for my covetous feelings.
Now I must wait. Wait for him to release me, to tell me the words I need to hear; whether they be that he fell madly in love with her and is deleriously happy or that he has struggled but believes in his commitments, that he is sorry I went through this, that he never knew I felt this way or that he did know I felt that way... whatever they may be, it will be a relief to know.
I lie in wait, curled in bed, crying off and on.
My own private idaho.
Collection:
George,
Insanity,
Single Living
1.11.2005
Campbell's myth of the hero made real
One devout reader of the blog mentioned in his comment to the final Tainted Love post that it sounded like I had gone through a re-birth a la Joseph Campbell and his Power of Myth. I have not read any of his works but I've seen the Bill Moyers 6 hour interview on PBS several times. We also studied his theory of 'The Myth' in my High School English class so I have learned the pattern of the universal myth he discovered.
If you're not a PBS junkie like myself, you may not have heard of Joseph Campbell. He studied myths and legends from around the world to discover their meaning. He found that every culture had at least one story about the Hero going on a journey, and these myths all followed the same pattern. He decided that means this is the universal human myth, a story that we all need to hear no matter our culture, time, nor history. George Lucas reportedly worked with Campbell when writing the script for Star Wars--this may be an urban legend but he definitely used Campbell as an influence. [So what's up with the Mormon myth that Yoda's face was made from Spencer W. Kimball's? He does look an awful lot like him.]
Below I have tried to summarize the necessary elements of the hero's myth:
A youth or innocent hero is forced to begin a journey caused by some tragic event beyond her control. There is some necessary task required of her.
During the journey the hero must die metaphorically and enter 'the belly of the whale', some place that is a metaphor for the womb and subconscious.
Once in the womb, the hero wrestles with the tragic events and his personal attitudes towards them, while undergoing one or more tests of strength/courage/wisdom.
Then the hero emerges from womb by victoriously winning the test, to be re-born as a new person.
Upon completion of the necessary task, the hero returns home bruised, wiser, and having changed and grown significantly.
*I learned this many moons ago so I doubt it's an accurate or complete description of Campbell. But it's close enough to suit the purposes here.
Inspired by my reader, I tried to see if I could line up the events of the finale with Campbell's pattern of the Hero's Myth. I've posted my results below:
My innocence/youthful foolishness:
I can't let go of my feelings and hopes for man who married someone else. I wallow in that comfort zone never straying to find someone new.(not counting long distance because that is safe and unreal)
The tragic event beyond my control:
He marries her
The catalyst for my journey:
Against the odds, We're in the same place in a line for a concert in a city I don't live in. I have to see him and his unhappy marriage for the first time.
The metaphorical womb into which I must go:
The dark warm interior of an old church now used for concerts--to the floor where there is standing room only
The strength/courage test:
To face the reality of my loss unabated for 4 hours. To struggle with my own selfish pity versus my love/sympathy for him. To let go of my fool's desire which I've used as a shield and accept that it's over.
The final battle in the womb:
I see his angry face fighting for the sweaty shirt and I respond with repulsion and sympathy, seeing what he has become and knowing I don't want him.
The victorious rebirth:
I leave the concert venue soaked in sweat having shed the last of my Eros-love for him, replaced with agape-love overwhelming me with sorrow for him.
The hero returns:
I go back to New York feeling old and worn, but free from the burden of his memory. With the knowledge that I am better off without him and having lost him as my paradigm for manhood since he now repulses me.
The necessary task completed:
My heart is reborn and rescued from the dark pit in which he left it, the wounds long since gangrened have been cleansed and scarred over. Thus, I am free to love anew, to love someone else wholly and without regret for another. My eyes are made clean from his shadow so I can truly see other men and new possibilities. The new JL has new hope that she will not die a crusty bitter virgin.
If you're not a PBS junkie like myself, you may not have heard of Joseph Campbell. He studied myths and legends from around the world to discover their meaning. He found that every culture had at least one story about the Hero going on a journey, and these myths all followed the same pattern. He decided that means this is the universal human myth, a story that we all need to hear no matter our culture, time, nor history. George Lucas reportedly worked with Campbell when writing the script for Star Wars--this may be an urban legend but he definitely used Campbell as an influence. [So what's up with the Mormon myth that Yoda's face was made from Spencer W. Kimball's? He does look an awful lot like him.]
Below I have tried to summarize the necessary elements of the hero's myth:
A youth or innocent hero is forced to begin a journey caused by some tragic event beyond her control. There is some necessary task required of her.
During the journey the hero must die metaphorically and enter 'the belly of the whale', some place that is a metaphor for the womb and subconscious.
Once in the womb, the hero wrestles with the tragic events and his personal attitudes towards them, while undergoing one or more tests of strength/courage/wisdom.
Then the hero emerges from womb by victoriously winning the test, to be re-born as a new person.
Upon completion of the necessary task, the hero returns home bruised, wiser, and having changed and grown significantly.
*I learned this many moons ago so I doubt it's an accurate or complete description of Campbell. But it's close enough to suit the purposes here.
Inspired by my reader, I tried to see if I could line up the events of the finale with Campbell's pattern of the Hero's Myth. I've posted my results below:
My innocence/youthful foolishness:
I can't let go of my feelings and hopes for man who married someone else. I wallow in that comfort zone never straying to find someone new.(not counting long distance because that is safe and unreal)
The tragic event beyond my control:
He marries her
The catalyst for my journey:
Against the odds, We're in the same place in a line for a concert in a city I don't live in. I have to see him and his unhappy marriage for the first time.
The metaphorical womb into which I must go:
The dark warm interior of an old church now used for concerts--to the floor where there is standing room only
The strength/courage test:
To face the reality of my loss unabated for 4 hours. To struggle with my own selfish pity versus my love/sympathy for him. To let go of my fool's desire which I've used as a shield and accept that it's over.
The final battle in the womb:
I see his angry face fighting for the sweaty shirt and I respond with repulsion and sympathy, seeing what he has become and knowing I don't want him.
The victorious rebirth:
I leave the concert venue soaked in sweat having shed the last of my Eros-love for him, replaced with agape-love overwhelming me with sorrow for him.
The hero returns:
I go back to New York feeling old and worn, but free from the burden of his memory. With the knowledge that I am better off without him and having lost him as my paradigm for manhood since he now repulses me.
The necessary task completed:
My heart is reborn and rescued from the dark pit in which he left it, the wounds long since gangrened have been cleansed and scarred over. Thus, I am free to love anew, to love someone else wholly and without regret for another. My eyes are made clean from his shadow so I can truly see other men and new possibilities. The new JL has new hope that she will not die a crusty bitter virgin.
1.05.2005
Tainted Love: Take my Tears...
It's a grey day in New York City. From my 4th floor window I can see the Leggo-shaped rooftops with their jagged perpindicularity of chimneys, fences, and everything else that sits atop these tired Brooklyn brownstones. A multi-drabbed horizon of uneven brick, some sagging, some painted with advertisements for the Laundry King, stretches away from me and the leafless tree in the lot across the street. Children's shrill voices calling each other bounce off the buildings signalling that school is out. And I know that today is the day. I will finish what I began so long ago, way back in October. The story starts here and moves in a backwards narrative. Some readers have anxiously waited. Some have demanded that I finish the story so they can sleep again. And today I say to them, "Ok."
That city down south beckoned, ok, not really. My best friend asked me to fly down there to join her for a concert, the Moz show. At this point I had already seen the concert 4 times this year. Some of you may remember from such posts as "That joke isn't funny" and "I lost my new Moz boyfriend" not to be confused with "A love letter to Morrissey". Four times this year. So I had no good reason to drop some cash on a plane ticket to see him again. Except. Except he was playing the Tabernacle and the cheaper tickets were open admission, standing room on the floor. We could get up close this time. So close. Those groupies wouldn't know what hit em by the time me and my friend made our way through to the front. We were punks once. We knew our way around a pit. These sappy little Mozzers didn't stand a chance. Ha! So I went.
She met me at the airport then drove us downtown. She was so excited. I wasn't so excited anymore because the depression had too great a hold on me. I knew I didn't have the capacity to enjoy anything. But she wanted to see the show with me so I mustered all the will I could just to get myself to JFK. I had nothing left over for excitement. In fact, I missed my flight because I slept too late, she had to talk me into catching another one. So I barely made it at all.
The dusky polluted light came from the western sky. I hadn't seen that much sky in awhile. Maybe it was 6:30 when we arrived. We had a good place in line, just half-way up the block. Stragglers were slow in coming which surprised us. Steff watched the people around us, commenting on the good looking men. I didn't care about them but I looked when she directed my attention. She found a new one. "ohhheewww. He's cute! You've got to look at this one. Yum!"
I glanced over my shoulder at the tall lanky guy with the dark buzzed hair and glasses walking to the line. Something in me cringed. He was cute, but. "He looks too much like George. I can't look at him." Steff sounded impressed, "Really? Wow. Well, I get it. That really sucks for you. I'm sorry." I looked back over my shoulder again, "Yep. Looks a lot like him." I shivered. She asked, "Is it him?" What? "Oh. No. George has red hair and he's not that skinny. And he doesn't wear glasses like that." It couldn't be him. She nodded. "Ok. Did you see the nasty girl he is with? How did she get that?"
I had seen her. I said, "It looks like she might be his little sister. He's not acting like he's with her." She disagreed, "No, can't be. She's been hanging onto his arm. Sisters don't do that." True. The tall boy had moved to the edge of the sidewalk and sat on the wall. The girl was still standing, keeping their place in line. She was one of those girls we hate. All little and mousy, with no style and greasy hair. Bland. Lightish straightish brownish shoulder-length hair. Khaki colored pants and a thrift-store orange sweater over a clashing t-shirt. Not clashing in a cool way. She wore round wire-rim glasses and no make-up. She probably wore patchouli oil.
Steff asked again, "She is so ugly. How did she get that?" This time I answered. "The same way they all do. She played the helpless feeble fragile little girl routine. The 'oh please save me, I'm just a drowning kitten in the rain, you big strong fine man you.' And when that fails they play dirty." Directly proportional to their level of attractiveness comes the cunning. The girls who 'forgot' to take the pill, or tell any lying story or manipulative ploy because they don't want to be alone. We both got angry. I thought about George. And how some girl convinced him to live with her as a roommate and a few months later got him to marry her. Some wench like that one over there. These weren't kind thoughts, definitely not Christian thoughts. I was unhappy and here was this sniveling mouse standing behind me with a man who looked like the one I had lost.
My friend said she needed to go to the facilities and left me for a few minutes. I sat down on the wall and continued to wait. The boy was still sitting on the wall a few feet from me. Now that I faced the street, I could clearly see the girl. She looked at me. So I looked at her. She stared. I turned away and felt ashamed for my mean thoughts. She must have seen us looking at them. But I had only glanced a couple times. It was Steff who had stared unabashedly. And now Steff was gone. I looked at her again. She glared at me and scowled. What? What was up with that? It was totally uncalled for. Yet she continued. I couldn't figure out what her problem was unless . . . Was that her? If that is George then he would've recognized me and told her who I was. Being the last girlfriend before her and the one she had to take him away from meant she could only hate me. This girl here, on this sidewalk, hated me. And she wanted me to know it. She lifted her left hand up to touch her hair and I saw a small wedding ring. Gulp. They're married? --
It started getting darker. The girl shivered and said something to the boy. He stood up reluctantly and went to her. He said, "You're cold?" and put his arms around her and kissed the back of her head. On his outstretched arms I saw big black fresh tattoos. That wasn't him, George had no tattoos, but these were new. I hadn't seen him in a year and a half though. But this guy was too pale and pasty. He could dye his hair and get tattoos but he couldn't make his freckles go away. Unless he stayed out of the sun. No. That was not George. His face was different. Ok, that was settled.
My friend returned and I told her what happened, with the staring and the ring. She said the girl must have seen us looking at her. Sure. I could tell she didn't believe it either. Shortly after this the doors opened and we walked forward to wait for the security frisk. Duly handled, we went inside and then through to the floor. We rushed to get as close as we could. We were 2 people away from the stage barrier. Steff started chatting with the women in front of us and the drinking man next to us. I quietly processed the information at hand. The ring, the hateful stare, what if it is George? Why didn't I recognize him? And since when does he like Morrissey --Mr. Old skool punk ska boy with the steel toed boots? Unless he came for her.
I watched the doors. I wanted to see him when he came in. And there they were. They went towards the center. We were stage left. This guy was tall, so his head stood above everyone. He stood about 15-20 feet away from me. Then I saw his profile. My stomach dropped. That was his chin. That was him. I had a photo of him that was a profile shot of him lying on the beach, I took it while lying next to him on the blanket. I had kept that photo on my dresser for a year after I moved to New York. What the hell? How come I hadn't recognized him outside? What's happened to him? I got sick. He looked so unhappy.
Steff noticed. I told her. She said, "Are you sure?--Ok, I'll go kick his a**. If you want me to I will, you know." She hugged me. The drunk guy next to us patted me on the head. He said, "Hey, you look too serious. Knock it off." I said, "Excuse me but the love of my life is standing over there with his ugly wife that he left me for." He withdrew his hand and said nothing. Then Steff said, "I wish we could know for sure. I'm going to call his name. Look and see if he turns." So I got him in view and she belted out "HEY GEORGE!" He whipped his head around and saw us. I ducked down trying to hide. Steff didn't, but they had never met. Confirmation. George. I had to hold onto my friend because it felt like I was falling down. My eyes welled up. She told me I was shaking.
"I thought I was over this. I thought I was over him." The room swam and water slowly broke from my eyes and rolled down my face. I didn't recognize him because he's so unhappy. He had lost so much weight. He looked awful! He didn't smile once. That's what was wrong with his face. When I knew him he never stopped smiling. Unless he was thinking. Steff said, "He knows he f*d up." What a stupid waste! We could have been happy. He threw it all away for nothing. She seduced him, they screwed, he felt guilty, she got him to marry her. She doesn't love him the right way. He told me he would never elope because it would break his mother's heart and it did. She must not have cared.
When the show started I tried to sober up. The opening act began, some hot Irish guy on an acoustic guitar. Usually I don't like that kind of thing but he was good. The irony of an Irish man singing about Ireland this night was not lost on me. He reminded me, vividly, of my summer romance. My pain became a multi-dimensional longing and regret for what I had lost. On two continents. This man's sexy mocked my misery. When he spoke with his Dublin accent I heard someone else. When he wailed about sadness I saw the western hills with their crumbling fences and another man's face with his tide-pool eyes. It made me laugh out loud-- I laughed for a long time in the middle of his set. Proof that God has a sense of humor. Here in this room I faced my last two heartbreaks. And added a new one.
~I am human and I need to be loved, just like everybody else does~
Reading this, I realize how pathetic I sound. In an attempt to rescue my imaginary dignity, I make the following excuses for myself: at the time I was a woman in the depths of depression, who didn't even care that Morrissey was 3 feet in front of her, I was on the rag and hormonal, single, lonely, failing at work, failing at life and a 28 year old virgin. And there stood the one man whom I had loved. There stood what could be my last chance for marriage. And he was miserable too.
The show went on. I tried to enjoy it and concentrate on the performance. But I kept glancing at George. He kept looking towards us too. Lucky for me the music was appropriate to my mood so I could lose myself for moments in the drenching sounds; in the honeyed voice dripping words of my sorrow. The show wasn't as good as the others I'd seen this year. Moz didn't like the audience. He was kind of disgusting about it. When he took off his shirt he rubbed it all over his chest to wipe off the sweat, as usual. But then he stuck the shirt down his pants and wiped the sweat off his crotch, front and back. Then he threw the shirt to the crowd. Ew.
Oddly, when the shirt landed on the people, George lunged for it. Wha? I watched as he grabbed it and fought off the maddened fans. He was violent. The look on his face was frightening, pure fierce anger. I'd never seen him like that before. Some guy behind me said, "Did you see that guy's face?" My sadness for him deepened. What's happened to him? I remembered that summer night before I moved, after the Weezer concert when we couldn't get out of the parking lot--how he climbed on the roof of his car and started dancing. His car stereo was broken so we had to listen to his sorry boombox. I sat on the door to hold the boombox up for him to hear, while he danced. In all his glory he danced, for the whole world to see. That it did, some people cursed at us but most cheered. We laughed so much I thought my face would break. I never wanted to leave that parking lot. Now this. He was fighting with wimpy guys for possession of a ball-sweat soaked shirt belonging to a dirty middle-aged pop star. Oh, Icharus! How you've fallen!
Near the end of the show, we made eye contact. Up to that point he had avoided my gaze. I don't know how it happened but but our eyes met and locked onto each other's. All I could see were his big blues and I forgot everything else. Unaware of myself, I automatically smiled at him and mouthed the word, "Hi." He frowned and turned away. That was all. We had an accidental and inappropriate moment.
The show ended. Steff and I went outside. We waited on the front steps watching people exit. She was looking for another friend and I hoped to see George so I could at least say hello properly. We didn't see them. In the car back to her place we talked over what happened. I cried, but not for myself. It broke my heart to see him like that. He wasn't in love with her. He didn't look at her the right way. Steff suggested he got into that shirt fight as a way to let off the frustration of seeing me again. He had to face his mistake that night too. And he was the one worse off for it. If their marriage lasted it wouldn't be pretty. He wasn't in love and she loved him selfishly. It was so sad.
I guess I needed closure. I got it. All I had in the way of closure before that night was the rumor of his marriage and 6 months later a phone call from him telling me 'they' were going to see a band that made him think of me because he knew I liked them. After that I never heard from him again. I had thought I was over him. Obviously, I still had some feelings, but now I am really over it. My desire for him turned to pity and disgust. This was his choice after all. And a very stupid one at that. I'll do better. I prayed for his and their happiness and really meant it this time.
Epilogue:
Read Campbell's myth made real
That city down south beckoned, ok, not really. My best friend asked me to fly down there to join her for a concert, the Moz show. At this point I had already seen the concert 4 times this year. Some of you may remember from such posts as "That joke isn't funny" and "I lost my new Moz boyfriend" not to be confused with "A love letter to Morrissey". Four times this year. So I had no good reason to drop some cash on a plane ticket to see him again. Except. Except he was playing the Tabernacle and the cheaper tickets were open admission, standing room on the floor. We could get up close this time. So close. Those groupies wouldn't know what hit em by the time me and my friend made our way through to the front. We were punks once. We knew our way around a pit. These sappy little Mozzers didn't stand a chance. Ha! So I went.
She met me at the airport then drove us downtown. She was so excited. I wasn't so excited anymore because the depression had too great a hold on me. I knew I didn't have the capacity to enjoy anything. But she wanted to see the show with me so I mustered all the will I could just to get myself to JFK. I had nothing left over for excitement. In fact, I missed my flight because I slept too late, she had to talk me into catching another one. So I barely made it at all.
The dusky polluted light came from the western sky. I hadn't seen that much sky in awhile. Maybe it was 6:30 when we arrived. We had a good place in line, just half-way up the block. Stragglers were slow in coming which surprised us. Steff watched the people around us, commenting on the good looking men. I didn't care about them but I looked when she directed my attention. She found a new one. "ohhheewww. He's cute! You've got to look at this one. Yum!"
I glanced over my shoulder at the tall lanky guy with the dark buzzed hair and glasses walking to the line. Something in me cringed. He was cute, but. "He looks too much like George. I can't look at him." Steff sounded impressed, "Really? Wow. Well, I get it. That really sucks for you. I'm sorry." I looked back over my shoulder again, "Yep. Looks a lot like him." I shivered. She asked, "Is it him?" What? "Oh. No. George has red hair and he's not that skinny. And he doesn't wear glasses like that." It couldn't be him. She nodded. "Ok. Did you see the nasty girl he is with? How did she get that?"
I had seen her. I said, "It looks like she might be his little sister. He's not acting like he's with her." She disagreed, "No, can't be. She's been hanging onto his arm. Sisters don't do that." True. The tall boy had moved to the edge of the sidewalk and sat on the wall. The girl was still standing, keeping their place in line. She was one of those girls we hate. All little and mousy, with no style and greasy hair. Bland. Lightish straightish brownish shoulder-length hair. Khaki colored pants and a thrift-store orange sweater over a clashing t-shirt. Not clashing in a cool way. She wore round wire-rim glasses and no make-up. She probably wore patchouli oil.
Steff asked again, "She is so ugly. How did she get that?" This time I answered. "The same way they all do. She played the helpless feeble fragile little girl routine. The 'oh please save me, I'm just a drowning kitten in the rain, you big strong fine man you.' And when that fails they play dirty." Directly proportional to their level of attractiveness comes the cunning. The girls who 'forgot' to take the pill, or tell any lying story or manipulative ploy because they don't want to be alone. We both got angry. I thought about George. And how some girl convinced him to live with her as a roommate and a few months later got him to marry her. Some wench like that one over there. These weren't kind thoughts, definitely not Christian thoughts. I was unhappy and here was this sniveling mouse standing behind me with a man who looked like the one I had lost.
My friend said she needed to go to the facilities and left me for a few minutes. I sat down on the wall and continued to wait. The boy was still sitting on the wall a few feet from me. Now that I faced the street, I could clearly see the girl. She looked at me. So I looked at her. She stared. I turned away and felt ashamed for my mean thoughts. She must have seen us looking at them. But I had only glanced a couple times. It was Steff who had stared unabashedly. And now Steff was gone. I looked at her again. She glared at me and scowled. What? What was up with that? It was totally uncalled for. Yet she continued. I couldn't figure out what her problem was unless . . . Was that her? If that is George then he would've recognized me and told her who I was. Being the last girlfriend before her and the one she had to take him away from meant she could only hate me. This girl here, on this sidewalk, hated me. And she wanted me to know it. She lifted her left hand up to touch her hair and I saw a small wedding ring. Gulp. They're married? --
It started getting darker. The girl shivered and said something to the boy. He stood up reluctantly and went to her. He said, "You're cold?" and put his arms around her and kissed the back of her head. On his outstretched arms I saw big black fresh tattoos. That wasn't him, George had no tattoos, but these were new. I hadn't seen him in a year and a half though. But this guy was too pale and pasty. He could dye his hair and get tattoos but he couldn't make his freckles go away. Unless he stayed out of the sun. No. That was not George. His face was different. Ok, that was settled.
My friend returned and I told her what happened, with the staring and the ring. She said the girl must have seen us looking at her. Sure. I could tell she didn't believe it either. Shortly after this the doors opened and we walked forward to wait for the security frisk. Duly handled, we went inside and then through to the floor. We rushed to get as close as we could. We were 2 people away from the stage barrier. Steff started chatting with the women in front of us and the drinking man next to us. I quietly processed the information at hand. The ring, the hateful stare, what if it is George? Why didn't I recognize him? And since when does he like Morrissey --Mr. Old skool punk ska boy with the steel toed boots? Unless he came for her.
I watched the doors. I wanted to see him when he came in. And there they were. They went towards the center. We were stage left. This guy was tall, so his head stood above everyone. He stood about 15-20 feet away from me. Then I saw his profile. My stomach dropped. That was his chin. That was him. I had a photo of him that was a profile shot of him lying on the beach, I took it while lying next to him on the blanket. I had kept that photo on my dresser for a year after I moved to New York. What the hell? How come I hadn't recognized him outside? What's happened to him? I got sick. He looked so unhappy.
Steff noticed. I told her. She said, "Are you sure?--Ok, I'll go kick his a**. If you want me to I will, you know." She hugged me. The drunk guy next to us patted me on the head. He said, "Hey, you look too serious. Knock it off." I said, "Excuse me but the love of my life is standing over there with his ugly wife that he left me for." He withdrew his hand and said nothing. Then Steff said, "I wish we could know for sure. I'm going to call his name. Look and see if he turns." So I got him in view and she belted out "HEY GEORGE!" He whipped his head around and saw us. I ducked down trying to hide. Steff didn't, but they had never met. Confirmation. George. I had to hold onto my friend because it felt like I was falling down. My eyes welled up. She told me I was shaking.
"I thought I was over this. I thought I was over him." The room swam and water slowly broke from my eyes and rolled down my face. I didn't recognize him because he's so unhappy. He had lost so much weight. He looked awful! He didn't smile once. That's what was wrong with his face. When I knew him he never stopped smiling. Unless he was thinking. Steff said, "He knows he f*d up." What a stupid waste! We could have been happy. He threw it all away for nothing. She seduced him, they screwed, he felt guilty, she got him to marry her. She doesn't love him the right way. He told me he would never elope because it would break his mother's heart and it did. She must not have cared.
When the show started I tried to sober up. The opening act began, some hot Irish guy on an acoustic guitar. Usually I don't like that kind of thing but he was good. The irony of an Irish man singing about Ireland this night was not lost on me. He reminded me, vividly, of my summer romance. My pain became a multi-dimensional longing and regret for what I had lost. On two continents. This man's sexy mocked my misery. When he spoke with his Dublin accent I heard someone else. When he wailed about sadness I saw the western hills with their crumbling fences and another man's face with his tide-pool eyes. It made me laugh out loud-- I laughed for a long time in the middle of his set. Proof that God has a sense of humor. Here in this room I faced my last two heartbreaks. And added a new one.
~I am human and I need to be loved, just like everybody else does~
Reading this, I realize how pathetic I sound. In an attempt to rescue my imaginary dignity, I make the following excuses for myself: at the time I was a woman in the depths of depression, who didn't even care that Morrissey was 3 feet in front of her, I was on the rag and hormonal, single, lonely, failing at work, failing at life and a 28 year old virgin. And there stood the one man whom I had loved. There stood what could be my last chance for marriage. And he was miserable too.
The show went on. I tried to enjoy it and concentrate on the performance. But I kept glancing at George. He kept looking towards us too. Lucky for me the music was appropriate to my mood so I could lose myself for moments in the drenching sounds; in the honeyed voice dripping words of my sorrow. The show wasn't as good as the others I'd seen this year. Moz didn't like the audience. He was kind of disgusting about it. When he took off his shirt he rubbed it all over his chest to wipe off the sweat, as usual. But then he stuck the shirt down his pants and wiped the sweat off his crotch, front and back. Then he threw the shirt to the crowd. Ew.
Oddly, when the shirt landed on the people, George lunged for it. Wha? I watched as he grabbed it and fought off the maddened fans. He was violent. The look on his face was frightening, pure fierce anger. I'd never seen him like that before. Some guy behind me said, "Did you see that guy's face?" My sadness for him deepened. What's happened to him? I remembered that summer night before I moved, after the Weezer concert when we couldn't get out of the parking lot--how he climbed on the roof of his car and started dancing. His car stereo was broken so we had to listen to his sorry boombox. I sat on the door to hold the boombox up for him to hear, while he danced. In all his glory he danced, for the whole world to see. That it did, some people cursed at us but most cheered. We laughed so much I thought my face would break. I never wanted to leave that parking lot. Now this. He was fighting with wimpy guys for possession of a ball-sweat soaked shirt belonging to a dirty middle-aged pop star. Oh, Icharus! How you've fallen!
Near the end of the show, we made eye contact. Up to that point he had avoided my gaze. I don't know how it happened but but our eyes met and locked onto each other's. All I could see were his big blues and I forgot everything else. Unaware of myself, I automatically smiled at him and mouthed the word, "Hi." He frowned and turned away. That was all. We had an accidental and inappropriate moment.
The show ended. Steff and I went outside. We waited on the front steps watching people exit. She was looking for another friend and I hoped to see George so I could at least say hello properly. We didn't see them. In the car back to her place we talked over what happened. I cried, but not for myself. It broke my heart to see him like that. He wasn't in love with her. He didn't look at her the right way. Steff suggested he got into that shirt fight as a way to let off the frustration of seeing me again. He had to face his mistake that night too. And he was the one worse off for it. If their marriage lasted it wouldn't be pretty. He wasn't in love and she loved him selfishly. It was so sad.
I guess I needed closure. I got it. All I had in the way of closure before that night was the rumor of his marriage and 6 months later a phone call from him telling me 'they' were going to see a band that made him think of me because he knew I liked them. After that I never heard from him again. I had thought I was over him. Obviously, I still had some feelings, but now I am really over it. My desire for him turned to pity and disgust. This was his choice after all. And a very stupid one at that. I'll do better. I prayed for his and their happiness and really meant it this time.
Epilogue:
Read Campbell's myth made real
10.29.2004
But he didn't and he never will
Continued from this post
The way we got together almost makes one believe in destiny, but not quite. It was merely one coincidence after another and another and another. Our boy meets girl story could be a whole movie in itself. But I'll try to explain briefly. Someday I'll write the details. They're really quite lovely in parts.
Four years before I dated this tainted love guy, I'll call him George, I had a crush on another boy. I didn't even know George then. The guy I liked was a regular at the coffeeshop where I hung out as an undergrad. He was in the punk scene and seemed to know everyone. But he was also a braggart. The night he found out I was Mormon he told me he had a Mormon friend he should set me up with. He described his friend George to me but I rolled my eyes, I didn't believe his friend really existed-- not the way he described him anyway. Because he just described my dream and well, that just wasn't possible. Later that night, my best friend laughed about how perfect the guy sounded and wouldn't I die if I ever met him. I told her I wasn't interested and he was full of crap anyway. But I didn't forget.
The next year, at a church dance I watched a tall guy walk into the gym. My jaw hit the floor and I began to drool. I had never seen him before. As I checked out the clothes and noted his red hair and Doc Marten steel toes, I remembered my coffeeshop friend's description: a tall red haired ska punk Mormon. That had to be him. How many red haired Mormon punks were running around town?. I let some months pass before I talked to him because he seemed to have a girlfriend with him. Finally, I saw him alone. So, very bravely, and out of character for me, I sat next to him and asked if his name was George? Yes. I told him I knew a friend of his. He didn't remember him at first. But then, Oh yeah! They used to hang out at the Masquerade. So. He told me was going on a mission soon, just waiting for the call. Yikes. Of course. He didn't look that young because of his strapping physique and the age in his eyes. But I figured I should sod off. So I did.
Two years and some months later, I saw him again at another church dance. Wow, he looked just as interesting as I remembered him. So I stopped him in the lobby to talk. Indeed, he had just come home. We chatted a few minutes, the usual 'what do you do' stuff. But not long after, he just turned and walked away. No, 'nice to meet you' or 'excuse me but I hate you so I'm leaving now.' Nice! Ugh.
The next year, in the spring, I showed up for a weekend job proctoring an exam run by people in my ward. They always hired other church members. It was a two day, semi-annual gig. We had to show up way early in the morning. The first day I rushed in late and had to pick from the remains of our catered breakfast. I sat on the floor near some friends. While eating dry biscuits and cold eggs I looked across the room and almost choked. It was him. What was he doing here? How did he know these people? But he looked so cute! All sleepy-eyed and with his glasses on. Crap! Why didn't I take a shower and fix my hair? I looked disgusting. Good thing I at least brought some make up. I kept my eyes on him and ducked into the bathroom to paint my face.
The next day, I showered but still hadn't fixed my hair because, what was the point?. That afternoon, one of my friends sidled up to me in the hall and whispered, "What do you think of George?" "What?" "He told me he thinks you're cute." "What?!" "He thinks you're cute." That was a shock. "Tell him to come talk to me. I think he's cute too." Then I waited. All day. We had opposite rotations so we hardly saw each other. But finally, he appeared in the lounge for the last 30 minutes and sat next to me at my table. I was playing cards, so my friends dealt him in and we started talking. Our words rushed out in that over-excited flurry of two people who've found a kindred and attractive person. We had too much to say to each other and every sentence out of the other's mouth just excited us all the more. Leaving, he walked me to my car and asked for my phone number. Woo-Hoo!!!! Finally, after four years of the myth and a distant crush, I might actually go out with this guy.
But, but. I had to decide if I was going to New York at the end of the summer. Now was not the time to date someone new. But how could I turn him down? I'd wanted him for years now. I had to make an exception. Nothing would come of it anyway so what's the harm?
He called and we dated. They were the best dates of my life. Oh, and I asked about his rude blow off the summer before and he was surprised. He said, "I didn't blow you off. I just felt stupid when you said you were getting a masters and I was just a freshman." "So you just walked away?" "I didn't know I did that." Anyway, as things unfolded he became a factor in my decision to stay or go. I made my decision conditional on several things. One by one, the staying factors fell while I for him. The last factor remaining was whether I got student housing or not. He knew all of this. We even worked out the odds of my getting a room. I think we came up with 30-something%. Neither of us liked the odds.
As I began to understand how much potential we had, and realized this was the first boy that I would consider marrying, I decided that it could be worth putting school off for a year to see where things went. But I wasn't sure how to tell him that. Only the week before he told me about his friend who knew a girl in Utah that he dated. The girl was moving to Georgia just to date his friend. He told me he thought that was psycho. Gulp. Ok.
About the same time I made that decision he made some decisions of his own. He began to act weird. Sigh. He cancelled on me rudely. I knew this routine. That's when I called and asked if he wanted to stop dating. He said he didn't know. So, ok, you don't have the balls to really tell me you want to break up. I maintained composure and said, "Why don't you call me when you figure it out." I tried to hang up but he blurted out, "Wait, I still want to see you. Can we still go out tomorrow night?" Fine. I hung up then cried until dawn. Heart break #1. I didn't think I'd ever hear from him again.
We did go out the next night and he played the friend thing. So I punished him for rejecting me. It was so utterly depressing. We sat in Waffle House in the boondocks of West Georgia and he put that cheesy Fleetwood Mac song "Landslide" on the jukebox. We were both so sad. The words seem to cut and we sat speechless. I can't hear that song now without remembering that night, as if it wasn't bad enough already. Then we played pool with the local rednecks, making fun of them and the hair bands on the jukebox. I tried my best to be flirty and attractive. I'm sure I tried too hard. He let me win one game. At the end of the night, he dropped me off at my car without even turning his engine off. A good southern boy does not kick a woman out of his car at night like that unless he wants her to feel slighted. I did. I remember driving home feeling like the last piece of my heart had been crushed forever. I lived in the city 45 minutes away from him, I sobbed the whole drive home believing this was the last time I could suffer like this. After this night, I'd have nothing left to break and nothing left to feel.
The rest of the summer was very weird. We still went out at least once a week but never alone. I wanted to talk to him about my feelings but he never gave me a chance. He brought his sister on our 'dates' or made sure we were too busy to talk. Even on the phone, he'd cut the conversation short before I could work up to anything. So I decided to go to New York. He wasn't behaving maturely enough for us to have an honest discussion, or any discussion. He just said one night in front of our sisters, that he didn't know what he wanted and his feelings confused him.
George had offered to help me move but he didn't show up. I tried calling him all day, I was leaving the next morning, but he didn't answer. Sometime after midnight when we'd gotten the trailer loaded, I called him. I left him a vulgar voice mail message calling him a certain kind of chicken excrement for not even saying goodbye to me. I think I yelled. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep that night so I left right then about 1 am. I also told him to have a nice life and didn't expect to ever hear from him again.
Obviously I did. He called my apartment the next day and my mom answered. He asked her to tell me he was sorry for missing me and he did want to say goodbye. So, I forgave him and called him as soon as I got a phone, leaving a message with my new number. He started calling me every weekend. We also saw each other in November when I went back to Atlanta for a weekend. He wanted to pick me up from the airport then he took me out to dinner. The next night we got into a fight over dinner after he told me about how much he disliked his current girlfriend and how he unsuccessfully tried to break up with her the night before. (Right after he dropped me off.) When I got back to NY we patched things up and started planning his trip to the city.
What got me about all this was that he couldn't seem to let go. He had multiple chances to gracefully drop contact. He kind of broke up with me but didn't stop seeing me. He didn't have to call me when I moved. With a few exceptions he was the one who always called me. After the fight in November, he could have stopped calling me. After the weirdness of New Year's I really wasn't expecting to hear from him again. Sure enough, he kept calling. After he told me about his new girlfriend, I thought for sure he'd stop calling me then. You can't call your ex-girlfriend to chat when you have a new girlfriend. But he called. I had had enough by then and that's when I didn't answer or return his call for the first time ever. I didn't understand what he wanted from me. It seemed like the healthy thing to do.
Then he called the night before his elopement trip to California. He didn't tell me they were getting married. So it was strange that he called to tell me he was going on a trip for spring break. We had a nice talk though. I still missed him. He said he had our pictures from our trip and he wanted to send some to me. I told him to call me after he got back because I wanted to about his trip. But he never did.
In April, a month after George's last call, my sister called and told me he eloped with the girl in California, then when they got back she got baptized into the church. His sister told her about it and also said their family was very upset. I couldn't digest that information for a long while. The sadness grew slowly. But I wanted him to be happy. I prayed for his happiness with her. That their marriage would work. I didn't understand this at all but who am I to understand everything? Someone joined the church who probably never would any other way so this was probably best. But I also figured I just lost my last chance for happiness. It took me 27 years to find someone compatible AND desirable who seemed to like me back. How long would it take for the next one to come along?
When I finally accepted that he was married, I mailed him a congratulations card with pictures of him from our two trips, so he'd know there weren't hard feelings. I wasn't angry at either of them, just confused and sad for myself. Of course, way deep down in the ugliest parts of my soul I couldn't help thinking, "it won't work, they'll get divorced. So don't give up yet." But those thoughts were evil so I suppressed them and I don't even like voicing them here. I really did wish them well. I did love him.
Read the Finale here: Tainted Love:Take my Tears
The way we got together almost makes one believe in destiny, but not quite. It was merely one coincidence after another and another and another. Our boy meets girl story could be a whole movie in itself. But I'll try to explain briefly. Someday I'll write the details. They're really quite lovely in parts.
Four years before I dated this tainted love guy, I'll call him George, I had a crush on another boy. I didn't even know George then. The guy I liked was a regular at the coffeeshop where I hung out as an undergrad. He was in the punk scene and seemed to know everyone. But he was also a braggart. The night he found out I was Mormon he told me he had a Mormon friend he should set me up with. He described his friend George to me but I rolled my eyes, I didn't believe his friend really existed-- not the way he described him anyway. Because he just described my dream and well, that just wasn't possible. Later that night, my best friend laughed about how perfect the guy sounded and wouldn't I die if I ever met him. I told her I wasn't interested and he was full of crap anyway. But I didn't forget.
The next year, at a church dance I watched a tall guy walk into the gym. My jaw hit the floor and I began to drool. I had never seen him before. As I checked out the clothes and noted his red hair and Doc Marten steel toes, I remembered my coffeeshop friend's description: a tall red haired ska punk Mormon. That had to be him. How many red haired Mormon punks were running around town?. I let some months pass before I talked to him because he seemed to have a girlfriend with him. Finally, I saw him alone. So, very bravely, and out of character for me, I sat next to him and asked if his name was George? Yes. I told him I knew a friend of his. He didn't remember him at first. But then, Oh yeah! They used to hang out at the Masquerade. So. He told me was going on a mission soon, just waiting for the call. Yikes. Of course. He didn't look that young because of his strapping physique and the age in his eyes. But I figured I should sod off. So I did.
Two years and some months later, I saw him again at another church dance. Wow, he looked just as interesting as I remembered him. So I stopped him in the lobby to talk. Indeed, he had just come home. We chatted a few minutes, the usual 'what do you do' stuff. But not long after, he just turned and walked away. No, 'nice to meet you' or 'excuse me but I hate you so I'm leaving now.' Nice! Ugh.
The next year, in the spring, I showed up for a weekend job proctoring an exam run by people in my ward. They always hired other church members. It was a two day, semi-annual gig. We had to show up way early in the morning. The first day I rushed in late and had to pick from the remains of our catered breakfast. I sat on the floor near some friends. While eating dry biscuits and cold eggs I looked across the room and almost choked. It was him. What was he doing here? How did he know these people? But he looked so cute! All sleepy-eyed and with his glasses on. Crap! Why didn't I take a shower and fix my hair? I looked disgusting. Good thing I at least brought some make up. I kept my eyes on him and ducked into the bathroom to paint my face.
The next day, I showered but still hadn't fixed my hair because, what was the point?. That afternoon, one of my friends sidled up to me in the hall and whispered, "What do you think of George?" "What?" "He told me he thinks you're cute." "What?!" "He thinks you're cute." That was a shock. "Tell him to come talk to me. I think he's cute too." Then I waited. All day. We had opposite rotations so we hardly saw each other. But finally, he appeared in the lounge for the last 30 minutes and sat next to me at my table. I was playing cards, so my friends dealt him in and we started talking. Our words rushed out in that over-excited flurry of two people who've found a kindred and attractive person. We had too much to say to each other and every sentence out of the other's mouth just excited us all the more. Leaving, he walked me to my car and asked for my phone number. Woo-Hoo!!!! Finally, after four years of the myth and a distant crush, I might actually go out with this guy.
But, but. I had to decide if I was going to New York at the end of the summer. Now was not the time to date someone new. But how could I turn him down? I'd wanted him for years now. I had to make an exception. Nothing would come of it anyway so what's the harm?
He called and we dated. They were the best dates of my life. Oh, and I asked about his rude blow off the summer before and he was surprised. He said, "I didn't blow you off. I just felt stupid when you said you were getting a masters and I was just a freshman." "So you just walked away?" "I didn't know I did that." Anyway, as things unfolded he became a factor in my decision to stay or go. I made my decision conditional on several things. One by one, the staying factors fell while I for him. The last factor remaining was whether I got student housing or not. He knew all of this. We even worked out the odds of my getting a room. I think we came up with 30-something%. Neither of us liked the odds.
As I began to understand how much potential we had, and realized this was the first boy that I would consider marrying, I decided that it could be worth putting school off for a year to see where things went. But I wasn't sure how to tell him that. Only the week before he told me about his friend who knew a girl in Utah that he dated. The girl was moving to Georgia just to date his friend. He told me he thought that was psycho. Gulp. Ok.
About the same time I made that decision he made some decisions of his own. He began to act weird. Sigh. He cancelled on me rudely. I knew this routine. That's when I called and asked if he wanted to stop dating. He said he didn't know. So, ok, you don't have the balls to really tell me you want to break up. I maintained composure and said, "Why don't you call me when you figure it out." I tried to hang up but he blurted out, "Wait, I still want to see you. Can we still go out tomorrow night?" Fine. I hung up then cried until dawn. Heart break #1. I didn't think I'd ever hear from him again.
We did go out the next night and he played the friend thing. So I punished him for rejecting me. It was so utterly depressing. We sat in Waffle House in the boondocks of West Georgia and he put that cheesy Fleetwood Mac song "Landslide" on the jukebox. We were both so sad. The words seem to cut and we sat speechless. I can't hear that song now without remembering that night, as if it wasn't bad enough already. Then we played pool with the local rednecks, making fun of them and the hair bands on the jukebox. I tried my best to be flirty and attractive. I'm sure I tried too hard. He let me win one game. At the end of the night, he dropped me off at my car without even turning his engine off. A good southern boy does not kick a woman out of his car at night like that unless he wants her to feel slighted. I did. I remember driving home feeling like the last piece of my heart had been crushed forever. I lived in the city 45 minutes away from him, I sobbed the whole drive home believing this was the last time I could suffer like this. After this night, I'd have nothing left to break and nothing left to feel.
The rest of the summer was very weird. We still went out at least once a week but never alone. I wanted to talk to him about my feelings but he never gave me a chance. He brought his sister on our 'dates' or made sure we were too busy to talk. Even on the phone, he'd cut the conversation short before I could work up to anything. So I decided to go to New York. He wasn't behaving maturely enough for us to have an honest discussion, or any discussion. He just said one night in front of our sisters, that he didn't know what he wanted and his feelings confused him.
George had offered to help me move but he didn't show up. I tried calling him all day, I was leaving the next morning, but he didn't answer. Sometime after midnight when we'd gotten the trailer loaded, I called him. I left him a vulgar voice mail message calling him a certain kind of chicken excrement for not even saying goodbye to me. I think I yelled. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep that night so I left right then about 1 am. I also told him to have a nice life and didn't expect to ever hear from him again.
Obviously I did. He called my apartment the next day and my mom answered. He asked her to tell me he was sorry for missing me and he did want to say goodbye. So, I forgave him and called him as soon as I got a phone, leaving a message with my new number. He started calling me every weekend. We also saw each other in November when I went back to Atlanta for a weekend. He wanted to pick me up from the airport then he took me out to dinner. The next night we got into a fight over dinner after he told me about how much he disliked his current girlfriend and how he unsuccessfully tried to break up with her the night before. (Right after he dropped me off.) When I got back to NY we patched things up and started planning his trip to the city.
What got me about all this was that he couldn't seem to let go. He had multiple chances to gracefully drop contact. He kind of broke up with me but didn't stop seeing me. He didn't have to call me when I moved. With a few exceptions he was the one who always called me. After the fight in November, he could have stopped calling me. After the weirdness of New Year's I really wasn't expecting to hear from him again. Sure enough, he kept calling. After he told me about his new girlfriend, I thought for sure he'd stop calling me then. You can't call your ex-girlfriend to chat when you have a new girlfriend. But he called. I had had enough by then and that's when I didn't answer or return his call for the first time ever. I didn't understand what he wanted from me. It seemed like the healthy thing to do.
Then he called the night before his elopement trip to California. He didn't tell me they were getting married. So it was strange that he called to tell me he was going on a trip for spring break. We had a nice talk though. I still missed him. He said he had our pictures from our trip and he wanted to send some to me. I told him to call me after he got back because I wanted to about his trip. But he never did.
In April, a month after George's last call, my sister called and told me he eloped with the girl in California, then when they got back she got baptized into the church. His sister told her about it and also said their family was very upset. I couldn't digest that information for a long while. The sadness grew slowly. But I wanted him to be happy. I prayed for his happiness with her. That their marriage would work. I didn't understand this at all but who am I to understand everything? Someone joined the church who probably never would any other way so this was probably best. But I also figured I just lost my last chance for happiness. It took me 27 years to find someone compatible AND desirable who seemed to like me back. How long would it take for the next one to come along?
When I finally accepted that he was married, I mailed him a congratulations card with pictures of him from our two trips, so he'd know there weren't hard feelings. I wasn't angry at either of them, just confused and sad for myself. Of course, way deep down in the ugliest parts of my soul I couldn't help thinking, "it won't work, they'll get divorced. So don't give up yet." But those thoughts were evil so I suppressed them and I don't even like voicing them here. I really did wish them well. I did love him.
Read the Finale here: Tainted Love:Take my Tears
10.28.2004
This night has opened my eyes
I have aged, really. I thought maybe I just felt colder on the inside but I've definitely changed. Not just over this weekend but since this whole episode with the boy. I almost finished the next post about him. After reading the last paragraph I realized that I am the one who pushed him away. Repeatedly. I can't believe I couldn't see that. This chills me to the bone. And I'm embarrassed reading the account of our relationship. Because it is so obvious to me now. Of course he left me for her. She chased him and lavished him with attention while I fortified my wall. Why couldn't I see that?
How did I get this way? Is this what I learned from a mother who told her crying child to stop feeling sorry for myself when I went to her for comfort--the last time I ever asked her for comfort. Or did I learn this from my father who locked himself in the study with his books and records or ran away to Brazil? Now, I've turned myself into him. Or did I learn this when I spent that long night alone curled up on the cold bed in the emergency room? They had to hold me until the psych ward opened in the morning. And no one in my family came to see me there. 72 hours they kept me after I almost died. Until recently, I didn't know how f**ed up it was that no one came for me. By that time I expected nothing from them; so it didn't occur to me that parents should go see their sick children in the hospital, even if they're hundreds of miles away.
I'm going to die this way. Of my own volition in the cell I've built with my own stubborn hands, grown too prideful now to let anyone in. Even when I want to. I never wanted to more than with him. But after the first time he hurt me I couldn't trust him anymore. That was it. Wall. And I really thought he was playing games with me but it was the other way around. He hurt me again because I didn't give him any other option. How the hell do I fix myself? I'm not getting better I isolate myself more each year. I grow harder, colder, stone.
My greatest trial in this life is me. I've been shackled with myself and I don't know how to get out.
How did I get this way? Is this what I learned from a mother who told her crying child to stop feeling sorry for myself when I went to her for comfort--the last time I ever asked her for comfort. Or did I learn this from my father who locked himself in the study with his books and records or ran away to Brazil? Now, I've turned myself into him. Or did I learn this when I spent that long night alone curled up on the cold bed in the emergency room? They had to hold me until the psych ward opened in the morning. And no one in my family came to see me there. 72 hours they kept me after I almost died. Until recently, I didn't know how f**ed up it was that no one came for me. By that time I expected nothing from them; so it didn't occur to me that parents should go see their sick children in the hospital, even if they're hundreds of miles away.
I'm going to die this way. Of my own volition in the cell I've built with my own stubborn hands, grown too prideful now to let anyone in. Even when I want to. I never wanted to more than with him. But after the first time he hurt me I couldn't trust him anymore. That was it. Wall. And I really thought he was playing games with me but it was the other way around. He hurt me again because I didn't give him any other option. How the hell do I fix myself? I'm not getting better I isolate myself more each year. I grow harder, colder, stone.
My greatest trial in this life is me. I've been shackled with myself and I don't know how to get out.
10.26.2004
Tainted Love: Enter Hoochie
Continued from this post. This narrative moves backwards but I hope it makes sense anyway.
Maybe I should have answered the phone that day. If he had told me about his new girlfriend in a more humane manner I would have. But calling me just after midnight on Valentine's Day seemed designed for cruelty. I'm sure he didn't intend it that way. More likely, he had just decided to go for it with her and wanted to tell me right away. He talked over everything with me, except for his love life. That's how I knew about that girl's machinations, because he had no romantic interest in her initially.
But, I couldn't take the ups and downs with him anymore. I abandoned him to her but did not think it was permanent. She wasn't a member of the church and he was serious about having a temple marriage and kids and the whole church thing. I figured he'd come back to me when he was done with her. I just couldn't watch it happen.
She was manipulative and cunning. She set her trap for him in the fall by suggesting he move into her big empty house instead of his trailer. He told me all about it and her. Despite my fervent warnings against the move, by December, she talked him into it but he brought his roommate with him.
We had been planning a New Year's trip for awhile. I'd left my car and some furniture in Georgia that I wanted to retrieve. He wanted to drive back up to New York with me. We'd spend a week together then he'd fly home. I couldn't wait. But he called me sometime before Christmas to ask if she could come too. She had invited him to her folks' place in Florida for Christmas but he couldn't take both trips. He chose to come to New York. Magically, her trip to Florida got cancelled, so could she come with us to New York? At first I said yes. I didn't know what else to say, I was so shocked when he called to ask me. I knew what she was doing. Trying to weasel her way into his life and his heart. She knew I was an obstacle for her. I couldn't even see straight I was so upset when I got off the phone with him, realizing what I had just agreed to. It would be a week-long hell of competition for his attention. She obviously wasn't adverse to playing dirty so she'd likely win.
No way could I let that happen. I called some friends and tried to put together a good excuse for changing my mind. I couldn't say, "I think your friend is a conniving hoochie trying to take you away from me." I called him later and told him that 3 people is just too many for a road trip in my car. We would all get on each other's nerves. So, I couldn't let his little friend come with us. He said he understood and that was fine. I told myself he probably wanted me to say 'no' because he couldn't. Surely he didn't really want her there?
On our trip, she called him several times a day. I could tell by the way he talked to her that he felt some affection. One time she called because the house was too cold. He said, "Well go put the heater in your room silly." I had to hold back the vomit. Boy, that was a necessary call. I know lots of people with masters degrees who can't figure out that a heater heats up a room. Every time she called he withdrew from me. She also called New Year's Day while we were in a movie theater. He picked up the phone and went to the lobby to talk to her. After fifteen minutes I went looking for him so we could leave. He saw me but wouldn't get off the phone. I went to the bathroom to try to save some face and cry. Predictably, he called me whilst I sat on the toilet, wanting to know where I had gone. And predictably, I answered whilst on said tiolet and told him where I was. I should have said, "Oh I see! I was supposed to stand in the lobby looking like an eegit waiting for you to finish talking to another woman on your phone. I'll remember that the next time you leave me alone in a movie to talk to another woman." That's how she managed to ruin the trip without actually being there.
New Year's Eve 2003 he broke my heart for the second time, when he said he wanted to stay in because he needed a nap. That's when I knew he had no intention of rekindling anything with me. Was he afraid I'd kiss him at midnight? Of course I would! Was he afraid he'd like it? Of course he would! So I left him in my apartment to meet some friends in the village, totally heartbroken. Up to that point I harbored hope that something could happen. That night I gave up;
I should mention that I wasn't exactly an innocent in this debacle. I'll only take abuse for so long. That night, when I went out without him, I made sure I met up with a guy who had seriously flirted with me. He kissed me first, after midnight. Just gave me a peck and I withdrew from surprise. But then I was the one who followed him outside, he went out to get some air and to retrieve his dignity. He didn't get either because we made-out on the streets for an hour or two or three. Whew! That boy can kiss! I felt a lot better when I got home about 5 a.m. with messy hair, hoping I had some hickeys. I didn't. But I got my secret revenge. I also sneaked a look at his phone to see who kept calling. These things made me ashamed of myself, no, only the phone thing did.
After New Year's he tried to avoid eye contact and physical contact; a man ploy I knew well, he wanted me physically but not rationally. We never got romantic but we still had a great time together. It was the most bittersweet experience of my life. The more fun we had running through icy rain on Ellis Island and getting lost trying to find our way to CBGBs, the more it hurt. We fit so well together, some people assumed we were married.
When he went home to Georgia, I had no idea what our relationship was supposed to be. Until then we had stayed flirty and talked about the future and there was an implicit understanding (I thought) that we wanted to be together. We only broke up because I moved 900 miles away. After the trip I knew the other girl was winning. If they hadn't dated yet, it was only a matter of time. She lived with him, he was a horny and frustrated 23 year old virgin man. She was not a virgin. She was probably a skank hoochie. How much effort does it take to get the interest of such a man in such close quarters? Not much, and I imagine she played every game she could pull out of her skanky butt. She even started taking the missionary discussions, because he had no intentions of dating a non-LDS girl. (I know I'm not being fair. But it certainly followed the pattern.)
So she stole his heart from me. The man who, had I placed an order with God for my ideal mate, would have been the delivery of that order with extras. He was the person I dreamt about meeting but didn't believe existed. He was more beautiful than I imagined, inside and out. So Christ-like in his love for people. We liked the same things and had the same sense of humor. We wanted the same kind of life and seemed to have the same ideas about what kind of family we wanted. So sweet and patient. And more fun than almost anyone I had ever known. Except he was sooo young. He still had to finish college and was confused about what he wanted from me and how he felt. I knew what I wanted, I usually do. He was the only man I'd ever felt for this way. I hadn't been in love since high school. I remember telling my sister how much I liked the way he nodded his head 'yes', he kind of threw his chin up a few times rather than move his head up and down. I liked his chin. I had memorized his profile, and the way his large blue eyes looked at me, and the feel and smell of his wonderful skin.
I really believed that given enough time, he'd come back. Their sudden marriage shocked everyone.
Continued HERE.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
Maybe I should have answered the phone that day. If he had told me about his new girlfriend in a more humane manner I would have. But calling me just after midnight on Valentine's Day seemed designed for cruelty. I'm sure he didn't intend it that way. More likely, he had just decided to go for it with her and wanted to tell me right away. He talked over everything with me, except for his love life. That's how I knew about that girl's machinations, because he had no romantic interest in her initially.
But, I couldn't take the ups and downs with him anymore. I abandoned him to her but did not think it was permanent. She wasn't a member of the church and he was serious about having a temple marriage and kids and the whole church thing. I figured he'd come back to me when he was done with her. I just couldn't watch it happen.
She was manipulative and cunning. She set her trap for him in the fall by suggesting he move into her big empty house instead of his trailer. He told me all about it and her. Despite my fervent warnings against the move, by December, she talked him into it but he brought his roommate with him.
We had been planning a New Year's trip for awhile. I'd left my car and some furniture in Georgia that I wanted to retrieve. He wanted to drive back up to New York with me. We'd spend a week together then he'd fly home. I couldn't wait. But he called me sometime before Christmas to ask if she could come too. She had invited him to her folks' place in Florida for Christmas but he couldn't take both trips. He chose to come to New York. Magically, her trip to Florida got cancelled, so could she come with us to New York? At first I said yes. I didn't know what else to say, I was so shocked when he called to ask me. I knew what she was doing. Trying to weasel her way into his life and his heart. She knew I was an obstacle for her. I couldn't even see straight I was so upset when I got off the phone with him, realizing what I had just agreed to. It would be a week-long hell of competition for his attention. She obviously wasn't adverse to playing dirty so she'd likely win.
No way could I let that happen. I called some friends and tried to put together a good excuse for changing my mind. I couldn't say, "I think your friend is a conniving hoochie trying to take you away from me." I called him later and told him that 3 people is just too many for a road trip in my car. We would all get on each other's nerves. So, I couldn't let his little friend come with us. He said he understood and that was fine. I told myself he probably wanted me to say 'no' because he couldn't. Surely he didn't really want her there?
On our trip, she called him several times a day. I could tell by the way he talked to her that he felt some affection. One time she called because the house was too cold. He said, "Well go put the heater in your room silly." I had to hold back the vomit. Boy, that was a necessary call. I know lots of people with masters degrees who can't figure out that a heater heats up a room. Every time she called he withdrew from me. She also called New Year's Day while we were in a movie theater. He picked up the phone and went to the lobby to talk to her. After fifteen minutes I went looking for him so we could leave. He saw me but wouldn't get off the phone. I went to the bathroom to try to save some face and cry. Predictably, he called me whilst I sat on the toilet, wanting to know where I had gone. And predictably, I answered whilst on said tiolet and told him where I was. I should have said, "Oh I see! I was supposed to stand in the lobby looking like an eegit waiting for you to finish talking to another woman on your phone. I'll remember that the next time you leave me alone in a movie to talk to another woman." That's how she managed to ruin the trip without actually being there.
New Year's Eve 2003 he broke my heart for the second time, when he said he wanted to stay in because he needed a nap. That's when I knew he had no intention of rekindling anything with me. Was he afraid I'd kiss him at midnight? Of course I would! Was he afraid he'd like it? Of course he would! So I left him in my apartment to meet some friends in the village, totally heartbroken. Up to that point I harbored hope that something could happen. That night I gave up;
I should mention that I wasn't exactly an innocent in this debacle. I'll only take abuse for so long. That night, when I went out without him, I made sure I met up with a guy who had seriously flirted with me. He kissed me first, after midnight. Just gave me a peck and I withdrew from surprise. But then I was the one who followed him outside, he went out to get some air and to retrieve his dignity. He didn't get either because we made-out on the streets for an hour or two or three. Whew! That boy can kiss! I felt a lot better when I got home about 5 a.m. with messy hair, hoping I had some hickeys. I didn't. But I got my secret revenge. I also sneaked a look at his phone to see who kept calling. These things made me ashamed of myself, no, only the phone thing did.
After New Year's he tried to avoid eye contact and physical contact; a man ploy I knew well, he wanted me physically but not rationally. We never got romantic but we still had a great time together. It was the most bittersweet experience of my life. The more fun we had running through icy rain on Ellis Island and getting lost trying to find our way to CBGBs, the more it hurt. We fit so well together, some people assumed we were married.
When he went home to Georgia, I had no idea what our relationship was supposed to be. Until then we had stayed flirty and talked about the future and there was an implicit understanding (I thought) that we wanted to be together. We only broke up because I moved 900 miles away. After the trip I knew the other girl was winning. If they hadn't dated yet, it was only a matter of time. She lived with him, he was a horny and frustrated 23 year old virgin man. She was not a virgin. She was probably a skank hoochie. How much effort does it take to get the interest of such a man in such close quarters? Not much, and I imagine she played every game she could pull out of her skanky butt. She even started taking the missionary discussions, because he had no intentions of dating a non-LDS girl. (I know I'm not being fair. But it certainly followed the pattern.)
So she stole his heart from me. The man who, had I placed an order with God for my ideal mate, would have been the delivery of that order with extras. He was the person I dreamt about meeting but didn't believe existed. He was more beautiful than I imagined, inside and out. So Christ-like in his love for people. We liked the same things and had the same sense of humor. We wanted the same kind of life and seemed to have the same ideas about what kind of family we wanted. So sweet and patient. And more fun than almost anyone I had ever known. Except he was sooo young. He still had to finish college and was confused about what he wanted from me and how he felt. I knew what I wanted, I usually do. He was the only man I'd ever felt for this way. I hadn't been in love since high school. I remember telling my sister how much I liked the way he nodded his head 'yes', he kind of threw his chin up a few times rather than move his head up and down. I liked his chin. I had memorized his profile, and the way his large blue eyes looked at me, and the feel and smell of his wonderful skin.
I really believed that given enough time, he'd come back. Their sudden marriage shocked everyone.
Continued HERE.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
10.25.2004
Tainted Love
Some things age us more quickly. I'm older today than I was Friday morning. The last thread of my innocence was snatched away. In it's place I feel stone. I didn't know that thread was even there, but the removal was sharp and painful. I went to Atlanta this weekend and saw something that broke my heart ten times over.
I've been afraid to write this story, not trusting myself with the memories. Really, the best thing was to put him out of my mind forever. I probably imagined half of everything I think happened between us anyway. He got married. The end. Nothing is so simple.
My sister had moved in with me the winter before we started dating. So when I moved to New York in August she stayed behind and kept my apartment. She met his sister that night they stayed over with the stranded kids from South Carolina. And it was my sister who told me because she ran into his sister who told her. I remember exactly where I was when she called to tell me, I was walking up Fifth Avenue on a beautiful April afternoon.
We hadn't talked in four weeks. Not since mid-March when he called to tell me he was going to San Fransisco for Spring Break. I only picked up the phone because I thought he might be calling to wish me happy birthday. (I turned 27 the day before.) We had a strange conversation. I knew he was taking her. He never even mentioned her name though. After the initial awkwardness we slipped back into our easy banter. I'm sure we laughed because he always made me laugh. I had never had so much fun with a man in my life. There were times when he made me roll on the floor until my sides ached and my eyes burned from laughing too hard at something he did. I made him laugh the same way too.
We talked for awhile that night. It had been a month since our last conversation on Valentine's Day. That was when he called to tell me he was moving back into his parents' house because he was going to date his housemate and didn't want to live with her. That was the third time he broke my heart. And I swore that was the last. He was just plain cruel to call me five minutes after midnight on February 15th--so technically he didn't call me on V Day. I had waited for his call all day and rented some Steven King movies and watched them while eating chocolate cake. I was so elated when my phone rang and I saw his name. Ugh. It took him half an hour to tell me his news and he was scared to say it.
That's why I didn't answer the phone when he called me the week after V Day, I decided to cut it off so I could get over him. He had called me every weekend since I left the south. We usually talked for an hour or longer. It was my favorite part of the week. He told me he wanted to apply to a summer program at one of the colleges here. And he was thinking about going to med school in the city. I wanted to wait for him. I wanted to marry him.
This is a long story and now I must go to bed. I thought I could just write about what happened on Friday but I can't. You're getting the whole thing. I can't convey the impact otherwise.
Continued here.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
I've been afraid to write this story, not trusting myself with the memories. Really, the best thing was to put him out of my mind forever. I probably imagined half of everything I think happened between us anyway. He got married. The end. Nothing is so simple.
My sister had moved in with me the winter before we started dating. So when I moved to New York in August she stayed behind and kept my apartment. She met his sister that night they stayed over with the stranded kids from South Carolina. And it was my sister who told me because she ran into his sister who told her. I remember exactly where I was when she called to tell me, I was walking up Fifth Avenue on a beautiful April afternoon.
We hadn't talked in four weeks. Not since mid-March when he called to tell me he was going to San Fransisco for Spring Break. I only picked up the phone because I thought he might be calling to wish me happy birthday. (I turned 27 the day before.) We had a strange conversation. I knew he was taking her. He never even mentioned her name though. After the initial awkwardness we slipped back into our easy banter. I'm sure we laughed because he always made me laugh. I had never had so much fun with a man in my life. There were times when he made me roll on the floor until my sides ached and my eyes burned from laughing too hard at something he did. I made him laugh the same way too.
We talked for awhile that night. It had been a month since our last conversation on Valentine's Day. That was when he called to tell me he was moving back into his parents' house because he was going to date his housemate and didn't want to live with her. That was the third time he broke my heart. And I swore that was the last. He was just plain cruel to call me five minutes after midnight on February 15th--so technically he didn't call me on V Day. I had waited for his call all day and rented some Steven King movies and watched them while eating chocolate cake. I was so elated when my phone rang and I saw his name. Ugh. It took him half an hour to tell me his news and he was scared to say it.
That's why I didn't answer the phone when he called me the week after V Day, I decided to cut it off so I could get over him. He had called me every weekend since I left the south. We usually talked for an hour or longer. It was my favorite part of the week. He told me he wanted to apply to a summer program at one of the colleges here. And he was thinking about going to med school in the city. I wanted to wait for him. I wanted to marry him.
This is a long story and now I must go to bed. I thought I could just write about what happened on Friday but I can't. You're getting the whole thing. I can't convey the impact otherwise.
Continued here.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
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