...It's Time

Fucking Guero, my older son. So stupid, yet so insightful when it comes to me.

When he was 13 and I was losing my shit over Fuckface, he calmly looked at me and said, "Mom. He's playing you. Why do you let him do that to you?" How fucked up is that? How shitty is it when your 13 year old son knows you're being played...and you can't? At that moment I realized that kids know you just as well as you know them. Now if only he can get his shit together and move the fuck up out of my house.

When I decided it was time for Guero to meet Lullabies, I asked him how he felt about it. He told me that he didn't want to meet him. I was shocked. He's never really cared about who I date. He's not protective of me like my younger son, Sir Shits A Lot. SSAL, is CRAZY protective of me. HE'S the one I worry about introducing to new men in my life. Anyhow, when I asked Guero why he didn't want to meet Lullabies, a man that I really thought I was going to marry, he told me, "I don't want to meet another guy who's going to fuck you over and make you cry. I don't need to be able to picture the face of the man that broke my mom's heart. No thanks." 

At first I was offended. Then flattered. Then dismissive. I was sure that Lullabies and I were the real thing. Little did I know. 

My mom is a Jehovah's Witness. As a kid I wasn't allowed to celebrate holidays. Now that I'm an adult certain holidays are a big fucking deal to me. St. Patrick's Day, Halloween, the 4th of July, my birthday. Yes. Yes,  I do consider my birthday a fucking holiday. Get over it.

I am KNOWN to randomly text people a count down to my birthday. You can count on me to let anyone and everyone willing to listen know it's my birthday. I'm like a 4 year every fucking year. Except this year.

This year, I thought I was going to have a boyfriend. This year I thought I was going to have Lullabies. So fucking stupid of me to think. 

I'm going to be 38 this year. I've never struggled with getting older. In fact it's been the opposite. I couldn't wait to get older. I couldn't wait for the people I work with to stop dismissing me as a child in the work place. 

But as my birthday is rapidly approaching, I can' help but to wonder where in the hell has my life gone. I've worked hard making my career. I've made a lot money in my life time. I've hit milestones that many people older than me haven't. I've partied my ass off. I've been adored by men. I've had the time of my life so why am I reflecting and wondering what the fuck happened to me. 

Easy. While I am adored by many, I am not loved by one. I've had so many men propose to me over the years. Good men at that. In my 20's, I thought I had time to settle down later in life. In my early 30's, I came to the conclusion that I would never find a man that would ever love me for who I am. That my life would be a string of affairs that suited my life at that particular moment. I was fine with that reality. Then HE came along. Fucking Lullabies. And now, now that I no longer have him loving me, I feel empty. 

I know he's not the one for me. I know the one that is meant for me won't leave me. I even know that if he came back, I would' take him back but that doesn't stop me from missing him...ok, honestly? Obsessing, it doesn't stop me from obsessing over him. I know he will always have a special place in my heart. I know he and I will always be friends. But I know I can't be that now. It just hurts so fucking much. 

So I made the decision tonight that he can't have my 38th year. I won't let him make me sad. I won't let him make me cry. I won't allow myself to secretly hold on to the hope that I bury, and even hide from myself, deep down in me. So I told him tonight that I hope he finds his happiness, that I wish him nothing but the best, that no one has ever made me laugh the way he did and I blocked him. 

I know it's for the best. I know it is because it hurts. But I guess it's better to take my hurt in one lump sum and get it over with than to take it in pieces over the next whoever knows how many years it'll take me to let go of him.

Leaving someone I love is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. And after my ex husband, I never thought I'd ever have to do this again. 

I wish I could say 'fuck love' but I know love is the one thing I really want, so I won't.

Peace, Love & Baseball,

Anxiety? Insomnia? or Denial?

I hate getting older. With age comes mammograms, insomnia, anxiety attacks and I think maybe loneliness. Or maybe the loneliness, the anxiety and the insomnia are part of the hang over from my last relationship?

I haven't been able to sleep. I have so many things on my mind. Ok. I'll be honest,  I have one thing on my mind, Michigan. It's like I'm waiting around for him to call me, want me, text me, remember me...and why? He hasn't in MONTHS. You'd think by now I'd be over him. Over waiting. Over hoping. But clearly, I'm not. And I really don't quite understand why I'm so attached. The fucker lives 10,000 miles away. In the year that we were...oh I don't know what you would call it....together?...involved?...talking?...acquaintances?....whatever, I have seen him twice. ONLY twice. So why is it so fucking hard to let go of him?  My first thought is that maybe I just don't know how to end relationships. While I do know that there is some truth to that last statement given the whole Fuckface debacle, I did, in my defense, have two relationship between Fuckface and Michigan. I was able to let go of those guys just fine. So what's it with Michigan that makes me feel like I can't breath every time I confront myself about cutting all ties? It's not like I see him in everywhere I go because he was everywhere I'd been. I don't have to worry about running into him at the grocery store or at the bar. I don't have to avoid certain restaurants, movie theaters, stores, bars or golf courses because they incite sentimental memories. It's not like my family, The Wolf Pack or my kids have met him, love him, miss him and now ask about him. In fact, my mother recently told me that she always forgot about Michigan. She said she'd never met him and even doubted if he existed. Can you believe it?!? That fucking cunt actually had the nerve to half-heartdly joke that I "made him up". So what is it? Is it a matter of habit? Did I underestimate just how emotionally retarded I am? What gives? So the other night I made myself sit down and think about it. I now know what it is.

Michigan made me feel safe. He made me feel protected. He made me feel like he would always be there to take care of me. Like I could finally rest my weary head on someone's shoulder. In all my life, literally as far back as my memory can take me, I have NEVER felt safe or protected. Not even as a child but that's a story for another day. For as long as I can remember, I have always had to be strong, self protect and develop an incredibly hard outer shell. It's exhausting living that way. Never letting your guard down. Never fully resting. Keeping everyone at arms length. Building walls that are taller, thicker and stronger. At 37 it has left me tired - emotionally, mentally, physically and spiritually. I've never depended on anyone. And I think because I lack the ability to trust, because I'm always questioning people's motives, I think it's left me with a broken 'picker'. I think it's why I always pick the wrong guy. The kind of guy that, even if I birth their first born, they are never there for me...or their kids. I've always had to be the mother and the father. I've had to be the 'man' in the relationship. The one who faced responsibility and took care of everything. Who left emotions at the door so I could better make decisions for the good of my family. The one who sacrificed. Every. Single. Man. I have been with has been not only undependable but they have also been spineless. Men ruled by their emotions. Helpless sacks of shits with penises. Michigan was different. He gave me a sense of peace. A sense of security. I thought that for once my future was looking up. I thought I hit the lotto. That my ship had finally came in. I've always wanted a man who was like my dad. Michigan was the closet thing to my dad that I've ever come across. And that's the problem. I never knew what it was like to feel secure, protected or safe. Now that I've had a taste of it, I'm addicted. So how do I move on? How do I live without it?

I know Michigan isn't the one for me. My life was not meant to be with him. As much as he is like my dad the truth is, my dad would never have treated my mother the way Michigan has treated me. I can replay all the sweet things he said but there is no denying that he is not good for me at all. As of lately he has been flirting with me. Asking me if we're over. He has regrets and hopes that our chances haven't ran out. Keeps telling me how much he cares. How much he misses me. How much it hurts him to not be with me. In fact just tonight, he told me something about how he thinks we will grow old together. Yet in all of this he has failed to step up and either a) commit to working it out with me or b) walk away and leave me the fuck alone. I've confronted him. I've told him the ugly truth and I haven't held back. I've told him he is slowly ripping my heart out. But he hasn't stopped. So now I'm at a loss. A loss of sleep, appetite, clarity, peace and happiness. Tonight I am struggling with the need to confront him with how much his recent decision to go on a last minute trip to Vegas when he wouldn't go on the trip we planned has hurt me.  I take his apathy + bailing out on our trip + his constant recent expressions of affection, in spite of him knowing it's killing me + going to Vegas and all I want to do is tell him that his recent choices have made him toxic. That it is time I walk away. That I can't handle him chasing me when I know he isn't ready, or fuck, even wanting to catch me. That he needs to leave me alone. But is that the right answer? Am I being overly emotional? Or am I just merely clinging on to hope looking for a way to not have to do the one thing I know I need to do but can't?

Peace, Love & Baseball,

P.S. I've never believed the excuse he gave me for not going to KC with me. So I waited a while and decided tonight I would ask him about his assistant. If she was ok after her fall that left her dancing with prospect of surgery. He repeatedly asked me about what I was talking about. That he didn't know anything about her falling. Then about after a minute, he suddenly remembered that she did fall and hurt her ankle but decided against surgery because she didn't want to deal with it. I don't know about you but it sounds like I was right. That the whole fucking story smells like one big fat steaming pile of horse shit.