It’s strange

I feel strange. I’m not sure exactly how to describe it. Perhaps a true sense of mourning would explain it.

I said goodbye to my……lover, confidante, person who knows everything about me and still wanted me. It was one of the most painful things I ever experienced. I do not know that my decision is right or wrong, but it was my decision to make.

I could no longer live a life of guilt. Guilt was drowning me. I was living two different lives. One with him and one with husband him. I was hurting all of us. I had to stop the hurt, I had to stop the guilt. I could no longer see clearly what it is that I wanted and who I was. I don’t know how else to describe it. Where do I fit? Where do I belong? I didn’t know anymore. I still don’t know.

People that know or suspected will assume I took the easy way out because I stayed. There is nothing easy about it. There is nothing easy not knowing if the relationship will even survive, but I need to try. I wish I could explain why. There is nothing easy about saying goodbye to someone after 3 years of……….love. Hurting people isn’t easy. Loving people isn’t easy.

Memories haunt me, both from my him past and my husband past. I will carrying those hauntings with me for the rest of my days. I will cherish those hauntings for the rest of my days.

A question

I asked you a question a few months ago. A question that was posed to me from an outsider. The question I asked you was “what does taking care of me look like to you”. I did not push you to answer. I asked occasionally if you had thought about it or if you had an answer for me. It took a month for you to answer me and even then, it was because I was seeing the outsider and I don’t think you wanted to look “bad”. Your answer was, “Difficult to answer, not sure how to answer. Is it because I never did actually take care of you? Or never really thought about it. To take the time for your wants and needs. Flowers to brighten your day, a card, a phone message to say I love you. More decision making on my end to help end your stress. To have answers for questions (not, I don’t know).”

What has changed, in your opinion? I would love to hear that answer from you. From your lips, not written on a piece of paper or sent in an email or text. Could you answer? Would you answer?

I started therapy, for me. When I told you that I finally made an appointment you asked me, “Should I be worried?” I would have to assume if you asked me that question, you were already worried. Right? You felt me changing. You felt the distance that was created between us. You had to. People around us saw it and felt it. Is it easy to ignore that feeling? I can’t ignore it any longer.

I fill my days being busy to keep the real from creeping in. To fill the voids and the gaps with something, anything. You have to realize that. You have to see that. The busier I am the less time for the awkward silence to ooze into all the empty spaces

You will always be a person that will hold a very special place in my heart and in my world. I will always love you, no matter how fucked up that sounds. I don’t want to replace all the memories we have. I want to keep those memories. I want to keep them safe, keep them happy, not destroy them with words of hate and feelings of…discontent, unhappiness, and loneliness.

Our house. Do I love it? Fuck yes, I love it. After almost 20 years, it has become what I had always hoped for. Our kids are comfortable coming and going, even as adults. Our grandkids know where to find their snacks and their favorite toys. That is what rips me apart the most. What about them? I see the way you look at each one of them. Your love shines through your eyes. I worry if we are no longer “us”, your relationship with them will change. That destroys me. But I can’t control that. I can’t control you or your actions.

I can’t continue to live in the past with you and I can’t see my future with you.

If I ask you the same question today, “what does taking care of me look like to you”, what would your answer be?

French Fries

The last two days have been pure and utter hell.  I applied for a new job months and moths ago.  I actually forgot I even applied for it until I received an email about setting up an in-person interview.  I had the interview and felt that it went well, but I thought that before… Anyway, this job is similar to one that I held for 32 years.  And I ended up getting a conditional offer of employment.  Salary is good, benefits are good, I was in.  This is a job in a police department (not as an officer).  

 

I was not surprised to have to fill out a questionnaire that was extremely personal, like what was it like when you were birthed from your mother’s vagina kind of personal.  I filled it out and thought I was good to go.  Nope.  On Wednesday, I was asked if I could attend an interview with the detective that was doing my background investigation.  Of course, I know this is all part of the process. 

 

I got to the interview with the detective and found out there would be two detectives present, as well as the interview being recorded.  Awesome.  Love myself on video.  You kind of forget about the fact it is being recorded after a short time.  The interview, it turned out, was not really an interview but a chance for the detectives to go section by section over my questionnaire to make sure I had not omitted anything, that I understood all the questions and was given a chance to add to or change answers as they were explained.  This was for the purpose of getting me ready for a polygraph test, lie detector test in layman’s terms.  I’m sorry, what?  Talk about being freaked the fuck out. (I came from a place where we would sit in the squad room and make fun of the people that were being newly hired because they had to go through this grueling process. And we played a super fun game where we would sit around and analyze the questions that were asked.  Like have you ever stolen from your workplace or employer?  Of course not, how dare you!  Really, a pen never ended up in your pocket or purse?  You never needed to print a recipe while at work?  You never “borrowed” a manilla folder?  Yes, folks, that’s theft.  So, my mind was RACING.)  The questionnaire was reviewed with a fine-tooth comb, while being reminded by the detectives that I needed to be completely open, honest and transparent, because if I wasn’t and the polygraph showed I was lying – game over.  After I made the changes and additions needed, like I spray painted a road with a name when I was 17, drank underage, drove when I was legally intoxicated at some point in my adult life, trespassed in spooky places as a teenager, named some of my “romantic” smoked weed as a 50 year old adult………….I thought I was finished.  Nope!  Here is another packet to answer.  This is now for the polygraph examiner to review, along with my extensive questionnaire.  Got through that and I felt………okayish.  Yes, there was something linger in the back of my mind, but I figured I had some time to deal with it.  Then I was informed that they wanted to do the polygraph the next evening.  So much for time to deal.  It was set up and I was on my way after a 2 ½ hour interview.  I was completely spent.  DONE DONE DONE!

 

I texted the person that means the most to me in the world as soon as I was in my car.  My lover, my paramour, whatever you want to call him.  We were able to talk on my way home.  I explained my concern over keeping him a secret during the polygraph.  There would be NO WAY I could not think about him if asked about romantic partners.  This is the person I am making plans to spend the rest of my life with.  Yes, we are both still married.  Yes, we are both working our ways to ending those marriages.  Yes, we are having an affair.  Yes, he used to be a cop where I worked.  We decided I would be fine, shades of gray we will call it.  I went home, kinda slept, and just couldn’t stop thinking about this huge part of my life that I was going to omit.  

 

Thursday morning, I’m a mess.  Contacted my person and asked him if he was okay if I emailed the detective doing my background and told him what I omitted and why.  It is a lot to ask of someone.  We have been VERY careful and private about our relationship.  However, this was a completely confidential background.  My person said it was fine.  He knows what this job would mean for me, for us. 

 

I formulated my email and off it went.  Oh, I also had to tell them about a time when I was 14 and a “family friend” who was 28 decided to show me how a penis worked.  Yes, it is that invasive.  Within minutes I received a text from the detective asking me to call him.  I obviously knew what it was about.  I found an empty spot at work and made the call.  As he told me many times the previous evening, he is not the moral police, and he is not my judge and jury.  He was somewhat disappointed but understood my apprehension and the fact I needed to make certain my person was okay with giving out his information.  The detective then asked if he could talk to my person, which we had assumed.  I called my person and gave him the detectives number.  My person called and talked to the detective.  My person is unfuckingbelievable. 

 

The polygraph was still on.  The powers that be accepted the reasoning for my omission and were still very interested in having me work for the department, fortunately.  Left my current job and drove directly to the station for the polygraph.  Being completely honest, I felt like a criminal.  I felt like I had already failed regardless of what information I had given.  I am taken to a room with the detective.  There is the chair, with wires and shit.  We sit at a table, and he explains the process.  He has yet another packet of questions for me.  He reads them and I answer.  I can’t begin to tell you how many times the word AFFAIR was used.  It was humiliating, embarrassing, just horrible.  Now it’s time to get strapped up.  Two monitors for my heart area and one under that, blood pressure cuff, pulse ox sensor, two fingertip sensors.  The armrests, seat, back and a mat at the foot of the chair are all equipped with sensors to capture any and all movements.  We did a practice test so I knew how things would go and then FINALLY got into the first test.  I don’t even know what the questions were at this point.  That took about 5 hours, ok it felt like 5 hours but was maybe 15-20 minutes.   Then I waited while he scored the test.  The second part of the test was now up.  Again, maybe 15-20 minutes.  And then it was over.  I was allowed to get unhooked from all the monitors.  Moved from the hot seat to a regular chair while he scored the test.  He didn’t say anything to me but got his phone out and texted someone and then dialed a number.  It was the front desk of the department and he asked if someone would have time to take fingerprints for pre-employment.  I then knew I passed, or I wouldn’t be getting my prints taken.  He asked me how I thought I did.  I said I think I passed, he said congratulations, you passed.  And then I turned to a puddle of goo.  I got my prints taken and was good to go.  This time I was only there for 2 hours. 

 

Got to my car, sat down and felt like I had just run the Boston marathon backwards with one leg tied behind my back.  I sent a text to my person.  He wasn’t able to respond, fuck.  I needed him.  Started my drive home, sent a text (via siri) to my husband asking if he ate yet.  Response was no.  Asked him if I should stop on my way home and get anything.  Response was I don’t care.  I just sent a text saying McDonald’s.  Response was OK.  I had to ask what he wanted.  He sent his order.  Then he sent a text saying our daughter was home, what about her.  What the fuck do you think?  I had to tell him to ask her and let me know.  He sent her order. 

 

Now, here is another little insight into my homelife.  The night before when I had my interview.  I left the house at like 7AM, got home at I believe 8:45PM.  He didn’t eat that night because he was alone, but he did go to a local watering hole to drink.  I got home to a dishwasher needing to be unloaded, dishes in the sink and mail strewn on the table.  Because mommy wasn’t home to take care of it.  He never asked me how it went, never asked anything.  I went to bed.  Not sure when he came to bed.  And as far as my daughter is concerned, I was waiting for her to be home so I could kick her out of my house.  If you want to read that blog its on wordpress as howdoilife.  It’s a good read if I do say so myself.  I created this one so I could talk freely about my AFFAIR.

 

Back to Thursday.  I get the food, take it home.  Of course, it is pouring down rain and I get soaked getting all the shit from my car to the house.  I get inside put the bags and drinks on the table.  He sits down……..I have to get the food out of the bags and hand out everyone’s food.  Seriously?   Our daughter sits down.  He says to me.  I guess they grilled you hard, huh?  I just said yes, you have no idea.  My daughter asks like what questions.  I answered that I didn’t want to go into.  Honestly, I couldn’t even look at her with what she has been doing.  She rolls her eyes.  Bomb goes off in my head.  So I ask her some very direct questions and let her know that I am aware of what she has been doing, how she has been lying and basically stealing from me.  She has no real comment, gets up and says she’ll pack her shit and go.  He says nothing, just keeps eating his fries.  She goes to her room, gets her backpack, tells me to stop paying for everything for her, that she will figure it out and leaves.  He’s still eating his fries.  He says nothing.  I basically just kicked her out and he says nothing to her or me.  I unload the dishwasher, loudly.  He keeps eating his fries.  I threw my food away because there was no way I could eat.  I went to bed and cried myself to sleep.  

 

I hate fucking French fries.

Silence

The silence is deafening.  Do you hear it?

The silence screams the truth.  Do you hear it?

The silence speaks what I can’t.  Do you hear it?

The silence speaks what you can’t.  Do you hear it?

The silence speaks because we won’t.  Do you hear it?

The silence is calling us.  Do you hear it?

The silence is a friend telling me to stay.  Do you hear it?

The silence is a friend telling me to go.  Do you hear it?

The silence is telling you something. What do you hear?

I can’t

I keep trying to fix things

I don’t know how anymore

I am a fixer, a giver, a doer 

I need to make things right 

I need to make it okay 

I need to pretend, harder

I need to convince everyone

I need to convince myself

I can’t

Randomness

I noticed something about a week ago, regarding my blog.  I do have followers (and I thank you for that).  I look at my followers’ blogs and I follow quite a few.  Very interesting stuff to read.  I appreciate the different ideas, opinions.  There are a lot of followers who are some type of…..fixer.  That is the only word I can come up with at the moment.  They are health/wellness bloggers, relationship bloggers, romance advisor’s – you get the drift.  My wondering mind wants to know if those followers are hoping to maybe, fix me?  Maybe get a new client?  I don’t know.  I am cynical, so I question everything.  I do not mean any offense at all – HONEST!  Or did they read my stuff and think “Holy Mother of God!  This person is fucked up!  Send help immediately!”  Maybe they can use me as an example?  

 

I think it would be cool to have a back and forth with people who follow me.  Ask me a question, make a comment.  It’s cool.  Let’s have a discussion.  Ya know?

 

So, I do have a question for the people in long term relationships. Do you talk to each other? What do you talk about? If you go out to a local watering hole. Do you sit and engage with others around you? Do you talk with your partner about anything? What do you talk about? Or do you sit in some type of comfortably uncomfortable silence? Is there a point and time where the talking just stops? Is that just the natural progression of a long-term relationship? I’m not a quiet person. What happens when the local watering hole doesn’t provide the same stimulation? Are you able to sit and talk endlessly with your partner? I’m totally serious. I want to hear what people have to say, what you think, what you do in your relationship. Cause when you boil it all down, what should be at the core of your long-term relationship? Love, communication, understanding, compatibility…………what is it? What do you think?

Food, please and thank you

So, it’s 10:00 AM.  I have been at work since about 7:30 AM.  I have checked my email.  Nothing there for me to do.  I put six bottles of water in the conference room refrigerator.  I took two letters to the mailbox and put the flag up.  There have been no phone calls to answer.  I have heard one of the “professionals” in the office being passive aggressive and complaining about the temperature of the office (that person has a thermostat in their office).  I know one female and two males have gone potty.  I have shuffled and reshuffled the same papers around my desk about four times.  I have organized the wheat thins that I am eating into pairs.  I have hated myself 127,568 times for my many faults.  I am currently considering getting more wheat thins to eat, because……………why not.  If I do get more wheat thins, I will be able to hate myself like 54,789 more times before noon.  At noon it’s lunch time.  I have fresh, local black raspberries (my favorite) and vanilla Greek yogurt.  Totally healthy and good for me.  And as I eat that, I will PROMISE myself that this is it.  This is the time I make the change.  The time is now.  Stop procrastinating and making excuses.  How do I know that will happen?  Because it happens every day, at least once a day.  And then the rest of the day I eat my feelings, I eat my mistakes, I eat my unhappiness, I eat my loneliness, I eat my excuses, I eat my fear, I eat my inadequacies.  I eat.  The way I see my current situation, there is no reason not to eat.  I find my comfort eating, I find a long-lost friend eating, I find my emotional support when I eat, I find everything I need when eat.  Food isn’t going to leave me. I can’t disappoint food, I can’t hurt food.  Food gives my fat suit.  I have and will continue to pay dearly for that fat suit.  It will help me shut people out, let people see what they want, let people think what they want.  With my fat suit on, no one is going to get close enough to see the real me, to see the truth no one wants to see.  And, so you are aware, I did not get more wheat thins to eat.  I got goldfish.  I ate them in pairs.  

 

What do you see?

 

What do you see when you look at me?  Can you tell me?  Will you tell me?

 

Who do you see when you look at me?  Can you tell me?  Will you tell me?

 

Tell me the good, the bad and the ugly.  Here I am.  No filter, no make-up.  Just me, raw and vulnerable.  Opening to you.  What will you do with this? 

 

I wonder if you see what I see. Do you only see what I want you to see?  Do you see me? ME!

 

There are so many words I want to hear, so many truths I want to hear.  The truth can be messy, hurtful, powerful.  It can open doors and it can close doors.

Who do you see when you look at me?  Can you tell me?  Will you tell me?

 

What do you see when you look at me?  Can you tell me?  Will you tell me?

 

What do you see?

Ramblings

 

Please excuse me, but these are the ramblings of an old, fat, scatterbrained, wannabe loved woman.

 

I can say those things about myself.  I am old.  I can’t say midlife anymore.  That would mean I have another 50+ years of living.  I’m fairly certain that isn’t the case.  I am fat.  Society and medicine tell me so.  Even when the people who say they love me don’t tell me the truth, I know I am fat.  Yes, I am scatterbrained.  How can’t I be?  Who isn’t these days?  A wannabe loved woman.  That is also me.  This is one of those catch 22’s and probably most of what my ramblings and deep dives will most likely lead back to.

 

Feels like so many things are just floating around “out there”.  My girl is in therapy.  At least I think she is.  She started May 18th.  It is from 8:30 AM to 3:30 PM, five days a week.  As far as I know she has gone every day.  No real way for me to check since she is over 18 and an “adult”.  The last three weekends she has basically been gone from the house starting Friday evening through late Sunday night.  I don’t like it.  She tells me she is with a friend and ends up spending the weekend.  Is she?  I don’t know.  Is she with drippy dick?  I don’t know.  Someone suggested putting a tracking device on her car.  I honestly did think about that.  But, I need to do my best to trust her until she gives me a reason not to trust her, right?  If, in the near future, I need to make a decision to kick her out of the house or cut her off, or whatever – it will be because she messed up.  I will not spy and/or trick her.  Don’t get me wrong.  I want to spy, I just feel like I can’t right now. I need to let her go and do her thing, whatever that is.  

 

A very dear friend recently lost her mother (as did my husband).  I haven’t talked to or seen my mom since Mother’s Day.  It’s such a messed-up relationship.  She won’t break down and call me, that would mean she is giving in.  And honestly, if/when I call her at this point I will be subjected to guilt.  I carry more than enough guilt around.  But, what if something happens to her and I haven’t talked to her in over a month?  The guilt would be tenfold and would stay with me forever.  I can’t understand why she doesn’t see or refuses to see that I do all I can for my family.  I work to continue to support my kids and grandkids in things they may need.  If I didn’t spend money on kids and grandkids, maybe I could stop working – at least fulltime.  She stopped working by now.  She stayed home.  I’m not 20 anymore.  I do get tired, I do have aches and pains, things aren’t always as easy as they used to be.  I would like her to understand that.  I have tried to tell her.  She says I’m just making excuses.  She actually sees her great-grandchildren, my grandchildren, more than me.  But she still plays the victim.  No one calls her, no one stops to see her, etc.  I want to be more sympathetic.  I just can’t be at this point.  As the saying goes, “too much water under the bridge”.  I shouldn’t live in the past, but the past made into this old, fat, scatterbrained, wannabe loved woman.

 

I found another arthritis lump on one of the knuckles of my right middle finger.  I found one about 6 months ago on my right pointer finger.  My hands now look like my great-grandmothers did.  At least what I remember her hands looking like when I was 15 and she was 76.  I don’t like it.  My face is getting droopy.  My neck is gross and hanging, along with every other body part a woman doesn’t want to have hanging.  I feel completely unattractive and gross.  That’s the plain and simple of it.  I like one thing.  I like my eyelashes, and those are fake.

 

Do you ever tire of people saying they wouldn’t know what to they would do without you, that they couldn’t live without you?  I do.  If you feel that way about me, let me ask you a question.  What are you doing with me?  What are you doing with me in YOUR life?  Where do I fit?  Are you more afraid that I would leave and you would have to figure out that I actually did a hell of a lot for you?  Are you afraid to lose the comfort and convenience of me being around?  Is that fair?  I am a comfort and convenience for some of the most important people in my life.  At least I feel that way.  Old, fat, scatterbrained, wannabe loved woman will always be here.  She always comes back, no matter what.  You don’t have to reciprocate, you don’t have to show love, you don’t have to talk to her, you don’t have to respect her.  Because the old, fat, scatterbrained, wannabe loved woman isn’t worthy of more or better.  The old, fat, scatterbrained, wannabe loved woman is reliable, convenient, easy, a doormat for everyone to wipe their dirt on and move on.  What happens when the doormat is taken away?  What do you do with your dirt?  Think about it.  The old, fat, scatterbrained, wannabe loved woman wants just that.  I wannabe loved for me.  Just me.  Not because I have become a comfort and a convenience to have around.  Show me that love, tell me about that love, tell me why I should stay, don’t make me feel like a doormat or an afterthought.

 

The old, fat, scatterbrained, wannabe loved woman says, “tag, you’re it.”

My Box

I am back in my box. Six walls hold me in. They keep me in place, keep me safe from myself, keep others safe from me and my destruction.  The walls keep my dreams and hopes and desires from growing and escaping into the world.  What would happen if my dreams and hopes and desires escaped from my walls?  I will stay in my box, do what I am told, do what is expected of me.  I will keep my dreams and hopes and desires inside my box, tucked away from the outside.