I am still living, and I am still writing.
Just not here.
I was wondering why that was, exactly, and I think it is simply a desire to keep my current hopes and dreams as untainted by the pain and heartbreak I suffered at the hands of a selfish and narcissistic man-child as possible. So with that in mind, I am officially declaring myself done with this blog. It served me well. I’m leaving it up, because if nothing else perhaps it will serve as a cautionary tale to others.
Moving on . . .
It is, it really, really is. Things change, things end and begin. Tiny flickers of hope appear in places where you never expected to see them. I have much to talk about and no time to do so. This is merely a promise to myself . . . I will write and I will think and I will learn. I have notes to myself everywhere.
“Write something, dammit!”
I will. But for now, I am having a girl’s weekend, and it’s time to go get something to eat.
I finally, finally, fell asleep a bit after five this morning. Ahh, blessed sleep! Curled up under the covers with my favorite pillow, snug and safe and ready to catch up on all the sleep I have missed.
Oh, wait . . . you’re probably wondering what time my son woke up, right?
Gonna be a long day!
In an only marginally related aside, I think I’m going to need to start keeping a bruise journal. You know, where I make note of any and all bumps and knocks that may result in unexplained bruises later on. There are two HUGE bruises on the top of my left foot, and I have zero clue as to how they got there. Perhaps I did something last night.
More to come.
It’s 4:07 in the morning and I am exhausted. But I’m not asleep, oh no. My body needs sleep, my mind needs sleep. I crave sleep.
Yeah. Still not asleep.
Several good and positive things have happened lately. Most notably, I’ve found an excellent ABA trained therapist for my son and we are just beginning an intensive intervention program. I am hopeful and encouraged for his future progress. Even just with the small amount we’ve done so far, and even accounting for the “extinction burst” (also known as the “it’ll get worse before it gets better” and/or the Roadhouse effect [truly an enjoyable and highly quotable, really bad movie, but I digress]), I’m already seeing an improvement. He wants to be able to communicate effectively, and I can actually see a pinpoint of light at the end of the tunnel.
My thoughts are quite jumbled, due in large part to my significant sleep deprivation. So I imagine this post will be disjointed and rambling, but that’s fine by me. I’m also on the tail end of a seriously concentrated dose of antibiotics, to knock out the nasty case of strep throat I picked up from my son. Nasty vile things, antibiotics are. These in particular are, I think, contributing to my insomnia, in addition to giving me some seriously fucked up dreams during the brief times I manage to sleep. Last night, for example, I dreamed that I dabbed a potent, pink neurotoxin on the inside of my wrist with a makeup brush, in a sincere but misguided attempt to keep John Goodman from nibbling said wrist every time he saw me at the mall.
Yeah. I don’t know either!
In my haze of insomnia, I’ve read two books just this evening, and I’ve played countless games of Blossom. A grand time was had by all. By me. By all of me. I’m making lists, as well. Might as well be a odd combination of productive and decidedly not productive.
I need sleep!
Yes, I do.
I confess, I don’t always read the comments when I read other people’s blogs. It really just depends on how much time I have at any given moment. Anyway, I clarified a few things in a reply to a comment on my previous post and since I assume that at least a few people share my shameful burden of not always reading the comments, I’m going to repost it here. Because I can and why not. I want all this crap out and over with, you know? I was replying to a person who thought I was sad over him specifically and/or thinking of him.
Oh, I am not particularly interested in how he is. I hope his wife and child are well, and I hope in a vague sort of way that he isn’t crushed by heavy machinery or kidnapped by pirates, or anything ridiculous like that, but in general I don’t spend any significant amount of time actually mooning over (the current reality of) him.
I kind of miss the fake him, or at least the idea of the fake him. Call me stupid and sentimental. Fake him meshed with real me quite nicely. But once I realized, truly internalized, what he did, the cheating on his PREGNANT wife part and the callous disregard for my emotional and mental health part, I realized that the real him is quite simply not a man I want to know. And if real him happened to get a little karmic payback at some point in his future, I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. But I’m not wishing for it, either.
My bursts of sadness have more to do with me. I WANT what I thought we had, with someone who is actually deserving of my love and passion. I want that, so much.
I think that last paragraph is the most important point here. And I’ll be the first to admit that it took me a while to figure that out. It’s really only been in the last few days, as I’ve been wondering why on earth I am still experiencing sadness over this, that it finally clicked. It’s about me and what I want from life, from love, from the relationships that I have now, that I may have in the future. Hell, probably ones from the past, too.
I need to figure out what I want out of life. Sounds easy enough, right?!
WHY, for crying out loud, am I still occasionally experiencing waves of sadness over the loss of a man who, when you get right down to it, proved himself emphatically to NOT be the type of man I would actually want to be with?! My brain is a fully functioning one, and intellectually I am over it, over him. But my emotional side has other ideas, and is apparently having a grand old time gracing me with bouts of weepiness and making me generally achy in the heart region. It is really quite annoying. I mean, if I had to make a list of things that would keep me from getting involved with someone, “cheats on pregnant wife” would be be WAY up there! Really high, and right next to “depraved indifference to the feelings of clueless ‘mistress’ and previously mentioned, cheated-upon, pregnant wife”.
So again, I’m asking . . . what the fuck is wrong with me that I still get sad about this!?!?! I do NOT want this man, or anyone of his ilk. I’m going to plead hormones. Does that make any sense? Or maybe it’s intermittent bursts of insanity. I don’t know. My cousin’s theory is that he represents something that I wish I had. As in, it’s not him, it’s the idea of him. Which makes as much sense as anything, I suppose. It’s definitely not him specifically, I do know that. At least not anymore. And since he was clearly actively lying to me the entire time we were together, he was also likely lying in regards to his perceived “perfect-for-me” quality. So maybe it’s just as simple as I viewed him as perfect for me, due in whatever parts to both his skills in lying and my need to believe in the existence of a mythical “perfect” man.
Ok, that kind of makes sense. I’m really just still sad over the loss of said mythical, “perfect” man. Ha. Gosh, I feel so much better now!
My heart hurts. I’m not thinking about it, though. Which is a lie. But I’m trying. I was doing really well, but I seem to have regressed a bit. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t such an emotional person. Maybe. I don’t know. I suppose you have to have the lows if you’re going to have the highs. I do love the highs.
I wish that I could turn my brain off sometimes, just to get a moment or two of peace. Beautiful silence. The voices in my head need to shut the fuck up for a bit, they really do. It’s pouring rain, or I’d go sit on top of my mountain. I might do it anyway, and just stay in the car. The view isn’t as spectacular, but it’s still there.
My heart hurts.