Broken Hearts and Rainy Days

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.

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Anger Is Like Fire

Finally made it through the holiday chaos, relatively sane, or at least no crazier than I was when I went in. Some days that’s winning, right?

So, that anger I mentioned a post or two back, remember that? Holy hell, is it here, with a vengeance. It’s not a constant, but it boils up from nowhere when I least expect it. Rather like the crippling, gut-clenching pain was doing previously. Which isn’t to say that the pain is gone, oh no, but at least something different is happening. I’m going to call that progress. Mostly because I know I have to keep moving forward. Anger is a stage of grieving, right?

Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean. Maya Angelou 

I’m fighting the bitter, and so far I am winning. But I am just SO angry at him, at his callous disregard for my mental and emotional wellbeing, my heart, my sanity. I want him to know that. Not that I want to talk to him, I do not. But I want him to know, truly know, how horribly he behaved, what a shitty, despicable thing he did. I imagine he has an idea of what he did to his wife, but I was in this too, and I got hurt too. Badly. So badly. I want to yell at him. I wish when we talked last that I’d been in a different state of mind other than painfully shocked disbelief. He invited me to yell at him, and all I could say was I love you and I don’t understand. Stupid. Fucking stupid.

I want to scream at him, hurl angry words at him, stand righteous with fury before him. I want to wield a fiery sword and smite him down for what he did to me. Dramatic much? Yeah, I know, but I do. I am pissed, seriously pissed. I just want to matter as a human being, as a woman, as someone with feelings who should have been treated properly, like a decent man should treat a woman, with respect. I want to say fuck you, Dan, fuck you Adrian, fuck you for hurting me so badly, fuck you for seeking me out and doing it again, cluelessly vicious and cruel, fuck you for having no apparent concern as to the consequences of your actions, except as they affect you personally. Fuck you for making me fall ever more in love with you, knowing the whole time that you had no goddamn right to offer me your love, no right to promise yourself to me, no right to do anything that you did. Fuck you for not being willing to stop on your own, for continuing and escalating our relationship, for dragging me deeper and deeper into your bullshit, for setting me up for a devastating fall that you knew would eventually come. Fuck you.

Fuck you.

It still hurts. But the anger, I think it is helping. Time heals, right?

Fuck. You.

 

Anger Is Necessary, Yet Hard To Maintain

I spent a notable amount of time earlier today actually feeling angry. I haven’t really had much actual anger yet. A few brief flashes of irritation, and one burst of sad anger, but that’s about it. But no, today, I was mad. Unfortunately, it was still that sort of angry where, even if you have the focus of your anger around to yell at, you just end up crying. Which is what I did. Cry. Driving around, crying, wanting to yell at him, yell at some version of him, both versions, I don’t know.

My Dan vs. Adrian theory works for some purposes, most specifically it gives me a little bit of mental and emotional leeway in terms of dealing with my own levels of stupidity and gullibility. Which may or may not be a good thing, I don’t know. I’ve been saying that a lot lately. I. Don’t. Know. I’m sick and tired of my own damn self, I’m sure everyone else near me is nearing critical levels as well. WHY am I having such a hard time with this? How long does it take to get over heartache? Do you get over it, or are you just changed no matter what? I think you must just be changed no matter what. It’s not like I can go back to being the same person I used to be.

I’m just legitimately, and I think rightfully, angry at him. I wonder what his thought process was, why he thought it was an acceptable way to behave. Did he EVER slow down and consider my feelings, his wife’s feelings? Or was he solely thinking of his own pleasure, his own distractions, his own wants?

I want to throw something, or stomp around like a child, kicking chairs and doorframes. Part of me wants to somehow, someway, be able to impress upon him the seriousness of what he did, and the very real consequences, the real lives he affected. I want to stand up and scream “I matter, dammit! You had NO right!” But then I also want to be fine, be not in pain, not devastated, not someone who still cries, still hurts. I want to say fuck you for what you did to me, and I want to mean it.

The Waves Crash Over Me

For every moment of clarity, every small ray of light that I manage to drag to the surface of me, every moment where I think I might be doing better, there is, eventually and inevitably, a violent recoil that knocks me off my feet. It is a tangible thing, I can feel it happen, feel it hit me. Sometimes it is so sudden that I have no warning at all, while at other times I can see and feel it flying towards me, faster and faster, coming for me. I cannot escape, I cannot hide. I cannot stand against it. It forces me to the ground, drops me to my knees. It steals the breath from my lungs and the spark from my soul. And so I find myself curled into a ball in the corner of my sofa, crying like a child.

I’ve been trying to apply the technique that I use to help me deal with migraines, which is very simple. Just slow, steady breaths combined with visualizing myself floating safely beneath the water, letting the pain wash over me while I gently sway beneath the crashing waves. It isn’t helping, at least not so far. I feel physically battered, and I am exhausted. In all ways exhausted.

I have more to say, more thoughts to explore, but I can’t find the words. I feel blunted. Numbness surrounds and accentuates the icy pain that I cannot seem to make leave me be, no matter how hard I try.

I am fighting, I am. I can’t find me, but I am still here, maybe not standing, but I am still here.

Dammit, Dammit, Damn It All

Not a good day. Not at all. Today, right now, I just want him. I miss everything about him. The him I knew, the him I loved. The him that is lost, gone, not available, not mine, vanished. I can’t make my brain function, my emotions are definitely in the driver’s seat today. Damn. My heart hurts. It HURTS. I’m shaky and cold. I can’t keep any food down. I keep leaking tears everywhere, and it just fucking hurts. Such bullshit.

I want to know WHY? And there is just no answer to that question, no answer at all.

My heart is bleeding.

A Self-Proclaimed Master Manipulator

This post has been edited as of 11/10/11, see below. I’ve removed or changed nothing, merely added commentary and strikeouts. 

Earlier this evening, I found a Facebook message from him, that had apparently been sent this past Saturday. In it, he said that I’d been “caught in the web of lies of a master manipulator” and that he never meant anything he ever said to me, but used me for “pleasure without responsibility”. He also said that I had contacted his wife in order to tell her that he loved me, which either means that he did not read what I wrote or he is being deliberately obtuse. To be clear, I actually replied to his wife’s contact, which is a minor point but still worth mentioning. As for the conversation, I’ve certainly been over that whole bad idea enough in previous posts, and as I have painstakingly attempted to explain, at that point I was still trying to figure out a way where he could be a good person who made a major mistake. The only way I could manage to make what he did to me and to his wife reconcile with a mistake an otherwise decent person might make was if he did, in fact, feel about me as he repeatedly said he did during our time together. At that time, I felt that it was better for everyone’s future if he could be viewed as a good person.

Since then, I’ve been slowly and painfully coming to my own realizations about the state of his character, and with this latest contact I think I can safely put to rest my uncertainty as to whether or not he is a good person. The answer is “no”. Not only is he not a good person, I think . . . well, I wonder if he might actually be evil. I simply cannot wrap my mind around the type of person you would have to be in order to deliberately and systematically manipulate someone to the extent that he claims to have manipulated me. And then to create a Facebook account for the sole purpose of finding me there and sending me a message bragging about his skills as a manipulator? What the fuck? He was never on FB, and he has my address, emails, phone numbers, any number of ways to contact me other than creating an account to deliberately hurt me even more than he already has. Not that contact was even necessary. Clearly his only purpose here was to hurt me.

To say I am not doing well would be a drastic understatement. I wasn’t doing well before this, but now . . . I don’t know. I have a lot to think about, a lot to process, but I don’t want to think. I want to disappear. I don’t think I can do this on my own. I need help. My soul is screaming in pain right now, and I’d like to go to sleep and not wake up for a very long time. I think I might be in shock.

I’ll write more later. Probably. Or not. This is so beyond wrong and hard and painful. He’s going to do this again, eventually. He’s going to be bored in his life, and find another woman at a crossroad in her life, and he’s going to amuse himself by destroying her faith in human decency. Let alone her belief in love.

Edited 11/10/11 – I don’t want to completely censor things I’ve written, but I also have a strong belief in the power of words. I like his wife, she is a good and kind person who he’s treated extremely poorly, and I don’t want to inadvertently mess with the universal flow of things by making definitive statements about what he will or will not do in the future. I wish her nothing but happiness, whether it is with him or off on her own.

The same goes for the sentiment expressed below. I admit that the word I chose is perhaps a bit stronger than actually warranted, and I don’t want that negative energy following her around via her husband. 

Shame on you, Dan. My god, your poor wife. Your poor child! You are an evil and cruel man, Daniel Adrian Jimenez. Or Adrian Daniel Jimenez, since that was how your new FB account listed your name. Just one more lie, I suppose. We met online. Escritorio1978, that was his screen name. I imagine he’ll change it for the next victim, but in case he doesn’t, I hope the next woman is smart enough to Google him before she loses her heart.

I am too fucking stupid to exist. Gullible. Naive. Hopeless, hurt and bleeding. Too trusting, entirely too trusting.

Why?

My thoughts just keep endlessly looping. Non-productive, self destructive, depressive thoughts. Why? Why . . . everything? Why can’t I find and keep what I want out of life? What is wrong with me? Is it too much to ask for more? To want more? Am I wrong to want passion, to want love, to want someone who GETS me?

I MISS him. I miss the idea of him, I miss what we had, what I thought we had. Which we didn’t, clearly. Or, we did, but it wasn’t truthful, so it, what, doesn’t count? It certainly felt real to me, counted to me. I know that much. I feel stupid. And gullible. And foolish. I don’t even think it is all about him anymore. I mean, yes, I miss him. That’s quite obvious. But he’s a liar, a deceiver, a possibly not wonderful person. So, I think perhaps that I miss the idea of him more than the reality. Or the prior reality over the current one. I miss what it was when I was living it, and I miss the promise of the future, of having everything I wanted.

My grip is slipping. I can feel it slipping. I have to focus.