Barrie 2.0

You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

This is something with which I need to come to terms. I can’t stick around and watch someone’s life unravel.  I can’t watch them self-destruct yet still somehow keep myself intact.  I have to learn that sometimes love is not enough.

Whoa, did I just use the “l” word?

Yeah. I did.  I can’t help it.  I am in love with him.  I am.  I wish I wasn’t.  I’ve tried to stop.  But the second he gets in my car and his scent hits my nostrils…love.

We started talking again in November and the second I saw his name pop up on my phone I couldn’t contain myself. I know he hurt me before but still…he’s Barrie.

He is a wonderful human. When we’re together it just feels right.  We fit so well.  His arms feel like they were made to be around me.  He makes me laugh and he’s smart and he is such a nice person.  He is someone I could see myself marrying and having another child with – and that is a big deal.  He is interested in my life and my experiences…every single time I tell him.

Because, yeah. We repeat conversations a lot.  Because he is always drunk.

I love being around him but it always ends with this sinking feeling in my stomach. Lately that sinking feeling is there the entire time we are together.  I did voice my concerns about his drinking.  I told him that I wanted to be with him but I didn’t think I could accept it into my life.  It’s not just me: I have two daughters to take into consideration.

His response when I told him this? I can change. The next time we were together he had five drinks.  Wow, so much change happening there.

I don’t want to get too detailed because if he does read this, he absolutely knows who he is. I am not shy about the subjects of these blogs stumbling across them; this guy knows about this blog because I sent it to him the first time I wrote about him.  But details don’t need to be shared here – they are irrelevant.  All that matters is that I love him and I can’t watch him do this to himself.  I can’t bring this into my girls’ lives.

He doesn’t want to be saved. I can’t save him.  I need to walk away.

So this is me…walking away…it fucking sucks.

Advertisements

What if God was one of us?

I had a thought.  I often write as if I’m talking to someone.  I publish here the words I can’t say in person.  So what if I was to write a letter to God? What would it say? What would I be thankful for? In what areas of my life would I ask for help?

So this is what I’m going to be doing for the next few days.  I am going to think really hard about what I would say to God, or whatever is out there.  Maybe it’s just to the universe, or mother nature, or maybe (most likely) just nothingness.

But assuming there is some great powerful being out there…what would I say if given the chance?

What would YOU say?

While I spend the next few days thinking about it, I want you to think about it too.

I’m wearing the same grin

I’m not buying into this “new year, new me” thing.

It’s a lovely concept, but I’m the same person I was last week.  I’m not going to list a bunch of goals for myself; I’m not going to blather on about how I’m going to change myself for the better this year.  I won’t whine and complain about how poorly 2017 treated me.  The date on the calendar doesn’t mean a thing: you are still you and whatever happens to you happens.  That’s life, my friends.

That being said, I haven’t written in a little bit.  I didn’t write over Christmas because I was busy with my family.  I didn’t write anything around New Year’s because I didn’t want to add to the chaos of “new beginnings” posts.

So instead I will write about what I love in my life right now.

I have two amazing daughters.  They are strong and fierce.  At times they can be too strong and too fierce, but these will be wonderful qualities in the women they will become.  They make me smile and laugh every day, and I am in awe of how smart and confident they are.  They are enormous spirits in tiny bodies and they make me want to be a better person so that I can be the best possible example for them.

I love my house.  I rent: it is small and expensive.  I have a downstairs neighbour that I can hear at all hours of the night.  I can hear him sneeze and cough.  If I wake up in the middle of the night, I can hear him snoring from the floor beneath me.  But I find all of this comforting.  My small house is just the right size for my girls and me; and I am never truly alone listening to the murmur of the television below.

I have a great job.  I’m still new and I’m still learning.  But so far I am really enjoying it.  I like the people with whom I work, and I like the work that we do.  I look forward to going to work in the mornings, which I know is not how many people feel about their jobs.  Sometimes (often) I wonder how I got this job, as I’m not overly qualified for it, but I am so immensely grateful that I was given this opportunity.

I am surrounded by some of the best humans around.  My friends have been lifesavers this past year.  My kitchen is completely stocked with dishes, cookware, utensils, etc., because I have friends who just dropped stuff at my house.  I have friends who went through their kitchens, their basements, and their attics just to find me things they felt I could use in my new life.  I get texts and phone calls from people checking up on me.  I come home to packages on my porch.  I have invitations to dinners and I get knocks on my door just because.  I am loved and I am made to feel that way.

I don’t need to be a new me this year.  I am building the best possible version of myself.  There is a Matthew Good song called “Symbolistic White Walls” and there is a line that I have been repeating to myself lately.  “I’m wearing the same grin/I take it all on the chin.” I feel like this is the best possible motto for my life right now.  It has nothing to do with buying a new calendar or remembering to write a new date (which usually takes me until June to perfect).  It has everything to do with this continuing journey of self discovery on which I find myself.  It is never too late to become who you were meant to be.  And I’m working on it.

It’s my fault for being happy for 30 seconds

When you’ve been a victim of abuse, you build a pretty strong wall to protect yourself.  You learn quickly that expressing emotion can get you punished, so you hold it in.  If you’re lucky enough to get out of the abusive situation, that wall stays there.

When you meet new people, the wall strengthens.  Or at least it does for me.  I could meet the nicest person in the world and it will go one of two ways:

Scenario 1: There is no way this person can be this nice.  It must be an act.  They’re going to charm me and disarm me.  I better run before I see their true colours.

Scenario 2: There is no way I deserve someone this nice.  I’m not worth it.  It’s only a matter of time before they realize that I’m not good enough for them and they leave.  I better run before they see my true colours.

 

Unfortunately, I succumbed to a new scenario.  One that I didn’t know existed, and instead of ending with me running it ended with some serious heartache.

Yep: I’m talking about you, Coffee.

The self-proclaimed “nice guy with asshole tendencies.”  I tried to keep my wall up and I did a good job at first.  You didn’t pry, which was so wonderful.  I felt safe with you, and special.  You kissed my forehead and you tucked my hair behind my ears.  You told me that you hoped that eventually I would let my guard down with you.

The first time I relaxed a little around you, you said how nice it was.  You would text me all day, telling me that you really liked me and if we hadn’t seen each other in awhile you would say you missed me.  I actually felt this going somewhere.  I’m an idiot, I guess.

Last weekend you invited me to stay with you.  This was a huge deal for me.  Since leaving my husband, I’ve been with people but I’ve rarely slept with them.  There are very few people with whom I have actually spent a night.  Of course my first reaction was to run.  Alert, alert, too nice.  Scenario 1.  Get the fuck out.

But you know what? I really fucking liked you.  With an exclamation point.  And I thought you liked me too.  So I agreed.  You sounded excited to have me stay over.  You bought mugs, and a kettle, and coffee.  You made me breakfast.  I was with you…maybe 20 hours? 22? I had such an amazing time with you.  I loved the way you made me feel.  I fucking opened up to you.

I guess that was my mistake.  I talked about my ex.  I talked about my dad.  I’m not going to lie: I verbal diarrhea-ed all over you.  It’s a lot to take and I get that.  My life is not perfect or wonderful; it’s been shattered and poorly glued back together.  But it’s my life and it’s part of me and I thought that you liked me.

When I left your house, I was happy.  I was fucking happy.  This should have set off warning bells, but it didn’t.  I went home and I talked to my friends about you and I smiled like an idiot and gushed like a teenager.

It wasn’t until the next evening that it came crashing down.  An innocent text to you asking if I would get to see you this week.  An innocent enough non-committal answer from you.  A jokey response from me, poorly disguising my disappointment.  A sinking feeling that the end had come.

It’s been a few days.  Communication has slowed right down to nothing.  I wish you would at least tell me that you don’t want to see me anymore.  I know it’s hard to hurt someone but saying nothing hurts a lot more.  It would take you twenty seconds to pick up your phone and say something like, “I’m sorry but I don’t see this going anywhere.”  Or, “I had fun but I think we should stop seeing other.”  Anything, really.  Just something to provide some sort of closure and to make yourself a little less of an asshole.

I was talking to my friend about ghosting yesterday.  When someone ghosts us we should know that they are the ones with the problem.  They are the ones who are too cowardly to send a simple text.  It really takes no time out of their day to be a decent human being.  But instead we blame ourselves.  We wonder what we did wrong.  We wonder if we aren’t pretty enough, or funny enough, or smart enough.  We wonder what part of us isn’t enough for them.

I hate this feeling.  I hate sitting on my couch crying.  I hate feeling bruised and broken and alone.  I hate that you made me feel like you were worth it.  I feel like I was a game to you.  I was closed off and it was a challenge.  You got in and therefore you won.  Game over.  I’m left in pieces behind you but you won.  Congratulations, I guess.  I’m not sure how many times I can glue myself back together, but I’ll try.

Late night revelation

I take Zoloft.  I’ve been on medication for ten years, but have just started Zoloft recently.  I’m still on an increasing dose, although where I am now seems pretty good most days.  I’m trying to determine if I like where I am right now or if I should continue the increase.

Some days I feel like the medication is not working very well.  It’s so difficult to describe, but I feel un-medicated.  I am used to having a medication that masks all of my emotions, rendering me robotic.   I switched medications because I wanted to try having a wider range of emotions: I was getting tired of having only numb and number.  Although I am coping better since starting this medication, I don’t have that overly medicated zombie-esque façade to which I become accustomed.  Quite often it would go through my mind that perhaps this medication was not working.

Today, I forgot to take my pill.  I have an alarm set on my phone that goes off at 8:00am during the week and 9:00am on weekends to remind me to take my pill.  Every morning I try to remember to take the pill before my alarm goes off; it’s some kind of game I play against myself.  Last night I was up late and today I had to start working an event at noon, so instead of setting myself an extra alarm to wake me, I decided to just use the pill reminder alarm.  I forgot to take my pill and there was no second alarm to remind me.

Halfway through my event today I realized that I had forgotten to take my medication.  I was working so I knew I wouldn’t be able to take it until tonight.  I made a mental note in my head and reminded myself that these pills didn’t seem to be doing much so it likely didn’t matter that I’d forgotten today’s dosage.  My day went on and I took the pill when I got home.

On an unrelated note, I’ve spent the day stressing over a personal situation.  I like someone, I think they like me back, I don’t know how much…I’m pretty much a teenager.  I’ve gone full “girl crazy” as I obsess over it.

And then I feel stupid for overthinking the situation.  I always do this: I overanalyze everything.  I tell myself over and over again that I need to stop stressing myself out.  At the same time, however, I tell myself that I’m probably right: he probably doesn’t like me.

I think, you are so stupid.  Why do I keep doing this? Why do I let myself get hurt? Why do I overthink and overanalyze and why do I care? Why can’t I just shut off and let no one in? Why did I think it was okay to let someone in?

I should just kill myself.

That’s when I stopped.  I completely froze.  I was walking from my bedroom to the living room and I stopped dead in my tracks.  A whoosh of breath took the word “whoa” out of my lungs and into the silent room.

I started talking to my brain as if it were two separate people: an intimidated nerd against the unapologetic bully.  I couldn’t let this bully speak to me like that.  I gave myself a pep talk.  It’s not okay to say those things.  I need to have respect for myself.  I am worthy of respect.  Why on Earth was I saying these things?

Ah.  Right.  The medication.

The medication IS working.  See what happens when I don’t take the medication? I become even more self-deprecating; suicidal, even.  Although maybe with the medication I am still somewhat crazy as evidenced by the fact that there seem to be two people in my brain.  Three, really, if you take into account this third party referee.

But it is really nice to see that the medication is working.  It is not masking my symptoms by creating a new mask.  It is allowing me to feel…I have a new range of emotions.  Some of them suck, but they’re there.  The medication allows me those emotions, but keeps away the really dark thoughts and feelings.  It’s like a dreamcatcher: it catches the bad thoughts and washes them away with the light.

So, I’m going to take some deep breaths.  I’m going to try to not freak out.  I am worth it.  Maybe you see that I’m worth it.  I hope that you see, but maybe you don’t.  And that would hurt, because I do feel.  I am human.  But I will heal and I will be okay.  You can bend me and you can bruise me but you can’t break me.

I can’t tell you the future.  You can’t tell me.  But I have today.  I know how I felt with you.  And if by some chance you don’t feel the same way, that’s okay.  I’m okay…or at least, I will be.

Feeling exposed and not in the good way

At this moment I am happy.  This, quite honestly, is terrifying.

In my experience, happy leads to really happy.  And really happy leads to misery.

There are usually some twists and turns between really happy and misery: ups and downs, ebbs and flows.  However, in the end, happy will without doubt lead to misery.  Call me pessimistic, call me cynical, call me guarded…but I call me safe.

It’s hard to get your heart broken if you don’t have one.  I’ve spent a lot of time hurting, and I don’t want to do it anymore.  I’ve been doing everything I can to ensure that I protect myself.

I have met people and gone out.  I make sure that everyone I see knows that I have children, but that’s as far as that goes.  I don’t give their names or ages.  I don’t show pictures or tell stories.  I had one person at my house and we were playing around with Spotify.  When they went to use my computer, my desktop wallpaper was a picture of my oldest.  I immediately grabbed the laptop away from him.  It’s easier to stay detached if I keep every aspect of my life separate.

I don’t talk about my ex.  I don’t talk about other relationships.  I don’t talk about my family, or my friends, or my emotions.  I mean, this is probably why these “relationships” don’t last very long.  I get that.  I can psychoanalyze myself better than anyone.  But I’m not going to let someone in just so that I can get hurt again.  That really doesn’t interest me.

Against my better judgment, I’ve let someone in.  I have talked about my kids; I’ve told stories and shown pictures.  I’ve used their names instead of calling them “the big one” and “the little one.”  I’ve talked about my dad, my ex, and yeah…even my emotions.  I’ve done it without realizing, and I keep doing it.  As much as I know I should stop, I don’t.  I actually want to let this person in.  I want them to know these things about me.  I want to know things about them.

How the fuck did that happen?

Yes, I know that I am actually human.  As much as I try not to be, I am a real live human being.  I have thoughts and feelings and emotions.  I want what everyone wants: someone to make them feel special, and wanted, and important.  I just don’t want to want that.

I want to have my wall.  I want to keep my humour shield.  I want to have this force shield that no one can get through.  Yet somehow, someone got through.  And now I can’t stop feeling.

I feel like a 16-year-old.  Does he like me? How much? Currently, I’m only seeing him: is he only seeing me? Does he want to only see me? Does he think about me? What are we to each other? It’s so overwhelming even though I know it shouldn’t be.  I’m overthinking it of course, as I do every facet of my life.

He’s good to me.  He’s kind, he’s sweet, and he’s just…lovely.  He makes me laugh.  He makes me feel special, and wanted, and important.  He holds my face when he kisses me.  He holds doors for me.  He kisses my forehead when I lean into him.  It feels amazing.

So why, then, can I not just enjoy this moment? Why am I so close to running away and never seeing him again? Am I so afraid of getting my heart broken that I won’t even try? I just need to tell my stupid brain to shut the fuck up.

Shut the fuck up, brain.  No one asked you.