Tag Archives: breakup

January 22nd Again

22 Jan

Despite the circumstances, I am noting this day: January 22nd. The day I chose to mark my rebirth. It was on this day, exactly two years ago, that I stopped grieving BD’s sudden departure. That I realized that BD’s leaving did not break up my family, that my son and I were an entire, complete unit, and that we didn’t need him to live with us in order to complete us.

M stood there beside me, cheering me on, coming over to cook comfort food and drink and talk, reminding me how much love I already had in my life, enough to fill up all the cracks that BD had left in my heart. Other friends were there too. I was blessed, and am blessed to have a close circle of friends who stand by me at times like this.

That was a loss. This is a loss. Is it strange or inappropriate to compare the two? I guess so. The loss of my family as I’d dreamed that it would be. The loss of a friendship that I always imagined would last a lifetime.

If she were here, I bet she would remember the date, even though probably I’d only mentioned it to her a couple of times. She’s celebrate it with me. She’d cheer me on. She’d tell me I’m strong (she always said that, and it wasn’t always true, but I accepted the vote of confidence.) She’d tell me that like before, I will eventually stop grieving. I will remember the good. I will be happy again.

But at this very moment it doesn’t feel like I will ever stop missing her, that I will ever stop grieving, that I will ever accept her loss.

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3 am Insecurity

2 Jan

I point out that he says ‘fun’ a lot. Like, that I’m fun. That the date was fun. That its was fun spending the night together.

He laughs and said, “because it is”.

And I say, “OK. I’m not going to push it.”

But then it’s dark, and we’re spooning, and it feels possible to say more.

“I’m asking because, a while ago, I asked you what you wanted out of life. And you said: a good relationship with my girls. To be happy. To have fun. And it made me think.”

“You have a good memory.”

“I remember because I was surprised that you didn’t say a relationship, or love.”

“Well…” Pause. “You know, my breakup is still recent. I feel like I just got out of a relationship, and it wasn’t a good one. I’m still celebrating being out. It’s way too soon for me to think about a new relationship.” Pause. “I mean, this is a relationship, you and I. That came out wrong. I mean getting married again, or living together. I’m not sure I want that.”

“I’m not sure I want that either.” I say. “But when I stroll in the park with my boy, and I see a couple having a picnic or playing with their children, it makes me wish to have someone to share family moments with. It makes me wish that someday, my family will not just be my boy and I.”

“I get that. I think some day I will want that too.”

“There are different models today. It’s hard for me to think about living with someone again. Maybe it’ll happen some day, maybe not. Maybe having pancakes for breakfast on a Saturday morning, and drinking coffee as the kids play, is the type of family I’ll have in the future.”

“That sounds nice, actually. That sounds really nice.”

Quiet. I close my eyes and begin drifting away.

“Come here.” He kisses me, running his hand through my hair. “This is really good.”

“I think so too.”

Quiet.

“Am I freaking you out with this talk?”

“No.”

Quiet.

“I just got out of a very painful breakup. There are scars, you know? I need to let them heal before I can think about letting someone new so deeply into my life.”

“I get that. I talk about things sometimes, because I have a vision of the things that I want. But I will be very, very careful before my son meets anyone I’m seeing. It’s not something I will take lightly or want to do any time soon.”

“Of course.”

“But listen, regardless of marriage, or living together, or saturday morning pancakes, or whatever… I am developing feelings for you. That’s just the way it is with me. It’s how I work.”

Quiet.

“Now hold me, I’m feeling exposed and vulnerable.” We laugh. He holds me.

“This really is good, zayka.” He says, and kisses me. “You don’t have to worry or be nervous about it. It’s good.”

“You were talking before about scars. You have yours. Well, I have mine.”

“What are yours?”

“To be into someone, and not know that all along he’s not into me. To be blissfully ignorant. That’s my scar.”

Now he is holdning my shoulders, and looking straight into my eyes. “Listen, I think you’re amazing. I’m so happy with you. I like your personality. I like talking to you. I’m attracted to you. I want to get to know you more. I want to spend time with you.”

“Thank you.” I say. It feels like all I can ask for.

“Now you hold me. I’m feeling exposed and vulnerable.” We laugh, holding one another in the darkness. And for a moment everything seems to be in its right place.

Lonely Shrimp & and Beer

17 Oct

It’s so fucking quiet here right now. The only sounds I can hear are the hum of the cheap ceiling fan I had installed in the living room, my fingers hitting the keyboard and my way to many thoughts.

Only several hours ago the place was a mess. My kid refusing to nap was bouncing off the sofas an onto the coffee table scream-singing the Fireman Sam theme song, being chased by a dog we’d been sitting for a few days, bouncy, scratchy, loud and annoying (and cute). I had a headache and no patience, and my period was late (still is) and I needed a break and a drink.

Then BD came to collect them, smooth and calm, like only a man who does not live with his toddler looks when he comes to pick him up. Suddenly the house was quiet.

I should have been relieved. But as I cracked open a beer and sat on the sofa, all I could feel was emptiness. Toys all over the living room floor wanted to be played with. My messy bed where my son had been jumping in his over-exhausted hyper fit was calling for us to roll around in and make animal noises and tickle each other and squeal.

These sacred hours alone, I have so few of them in my schedule. They shouldn’t be spent crying and drinking beer. I should be having epiphanies. And sex. And magical moments with good friends which make me reevaluate my life. Instead I sauté shrimp with garlic, broccoli and butter. And I drink another beer. And then I watch a romantic comedy about this girl whose life is fucked, but then she meets a guy. Oh, you know the one.

You’d think all this would lift my mood, but you’d be wrong. Is it really this lonely to be single? And if I don’t love the guy and 100% do NOT want to be with him, doesn’t this mean that getting over him should be easier? Will alone ever again not equal lonely?

I want to stop. He wants to go on.

2 Oct

We just don’t work, I sadly said

And I meant more than just in bed.

Things have simply changed, I added.

We’re lacking passion, he admitted.

You’re all closed off, won’t let me in,

You shut me out, I just can’t win.

We’re trying to force it, but it’s impossible,

I sighed and said: we’re incompatible.

But what I truly felt inside

was more than anger, fear, or pride

I had forgiven, I’d felt compassion,

(I’d been to every therapy session)

That wasn’t it, there was something more,

Something I hadn’t said before,

I couldn’t say, it was too tough.

I didn’t love him quite enough.

Up? Drunk.

19 Aug

drunk text

I wanted 2 text u – up? drunk.

But u never answered my last mail & that’s a bummer.

And u’r not emotionally available 4 a realtionship with a girl like me & that’s a turnoff.

And I think u don’t really have feelings for me like we did in the past & that’s a bummer and a turnoff.

So I’m turning off my phone, bummed.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Wlhw_HJLts

My ‘What Is’

15 Jun

bed

I opened my eyes this morning and saw that head on the pillow beside me, naked of those gorgeous red curls which have been chopped off mercilessly when we were apart. Sleeping with heavy eyelids, long auburn eyelashes resting on the top of his cheeks, and those enormous pouty lips slightly parted. It wasn’t a dream. He did come over last night, I did open the door to him in those sexy yet nonchalant pajamas. He did look at me for several long seconds and then pull me into a crushing, overwhelming embrace.

Life, I am slowly beginning to realize, is life. I know that seems trivial. One of the pre-Socratic philosophers, Parmenides, claimed that we can only speak and think of what is “for being is, but nothing is not.” This is my life, this is my what is. I am 32 years old, mother to an incredible one year old treasure, soon-to-be-divorced. I have a close friend, a beautiful, witty, unbelievably caring and giving person who’s putting on a hell of a fight with the big C and learning to allow people to be there for her, as she’s always been there for them.

This is my life. I have a steady job and a less than mediocre income. I have an accountant who flirts with me shamelessly every time we meet. I have a strong backbone and support system of friends and family who will always be there for me in times of trouble. I have great tits, even after breastfeeding, and my body will never be as tight as it used to be before childbirth, or as tight as it… has never been, frankly. But I’m learning to love it as is, to embrace its curves and lushness.

This is my life. I was in love once with a boy, so badly that I lost myself. I wrote a blog post about him and tagged it “rape” and then erased that word, but then edited it and tagged it again. And now I have an ex who wants to get back together, to whom I’m saying a strong, confident “NO”, which has been a long time coming, and a lover whom I’ve chosen to welcome back into my life, who pleasures me in ways I never realized were possible, to whom I’m choosing, for now, to say “YES”.

I don’t know what I want or where I want to go next, but I’m excited to find out.

This is my life. This is my what is. And I love it, even when I hate it. I love its twists and turns, I cherish its gifts, I embrace its painful lessons. I want to feel and experience everything it has to offer me, for as long as it’s offering.

Goodbye, Again.

29 Apr
Got this beautiful picture from: http://fromthelittlewhitehouse.blogspot.co.il

Got this beautiful picture from: http://fromthelittlewhitehouse.blogspot.co.il

We’d been back together for a month, Skating Guy and I, and a spectacular month it was. Closer than we were before, more in love, more intense. I walked around infatuated like some hormone stricken 16-year-old, drawing pink hearts in her notebook and playing little futuristic scenarios in her head, how he’ll ask me to the dance, how he’ll tell me he loves me, how he’ll propose.

Six years younger than I am, SG has a head full of magnificent red curls and the most curious thoughts. He has warm brown eyes and big full lips, that almost seem disproportional in comparison to his other features. His embrace is strong and often he holds me so tightly that I can’t get away. Especially if I’m upset about something, then he’ll grab me and pull me to him, kissing my forehead lightly and just holding me powerfully between his arms.

That’s just the way he held me this morning, as we were saying goodbye. I’m pretty sure this time it’s for good. Funny how I was the one breaking up with him, and he was the one consoling me. You’re right, he said, we want different things. You want a family, and you deserve one. I want to read books, and learn languages, and find myself.

It was a powerful, overwhelming type of love, almost alarming, a kind that grabs you in the gut and hurts and satisfies you and leaves you feeling an urgent need to hold on and not let go, the kind of love you know cannot last. We fell into it unintentionally. We were travelling on completely different paths, but somehow we met at a crossroads, and we lingered there as long as we could, and then it was time to carry on.

I know saying this makes me a non-feminist, and you can raise your eyebrows at me all you like, but I need a man in my life. Don’t get me wrong, I can make it on my own, I know I can, I am making it on my own. I ‘ve been making it on my own for a while now. And raising an amazing little boy. And doing a damn good job at it. BUT, if I want to be truly happy, I need a man in my life. Someone who completes the magical trio I’ve longed for ever since I was a little girl: Mom, Dad, Baby. A traditional, old fashioned family, that sits together for dinner, and has family vacations, and lives together until the Boy is all grown up. A family that argues sometimes over silly things, or serious things, but always sticks together nonetheless.

SG cannot give me that, and won’t be able to. And I’m done waiting for boys to become men so they can give me what I need from them. Been there, done that. Besides, if SG suddenly became that man, he wouldn’t be that boy I’m so in love with anymore.

You’ll be happy, he promised me, as we were standing by the door. With BD or without. You’ll get what you want.

I know, I said. And you will too.

Don’t cry.

I can’t.

Ok then, come here.

He held me the way he always does when I’m upset, strongly, tightly, overbearingly.

And then he left, and I shut the door, and went to the window to watch him walk away.