Digging a bit deeper today on the topic of Leaving a Narcissistic Relationship.
One thing I want to add to this post is that in no way should anyone feel pressured to leave a narcissistic relationship before you/they are ready. When it is ENOUGH you will know. When it becomes too painful to stay – it’ll be your time.
On Friday, I’ll be sharing the final part of leaving.
If you have any tips to add or anything that I left out, please feel free to leave it in the comments.
I could talk at length about every slide here because I have borne witness to each of these facets and have fallen for almost all of them. However, I have written at length about my relational experience. So if you are interested in seeing that more fleshed out, you can read pretty much anything I have on my website.
However, concerning this post, I want to talk about ME! C ‘MON it’s narcissism!
For a massive amount of time, I felt “ashamed” regarding how long it took me to realize the role I played in my narcissistic relationships. I was so chronically focused on “rescuing and repairing” them that I did not see: A) how unrealistic and magical thinking I was B) the damage it was doing to me C) that I was a contributor
I didn’t EVER think about what I was contributing to the narcissistic relationships I participated in. Not for anything, other than simply being unconscious. Some examples of what I contributed: The enabling (drug and alcohol abuse), the assertion of control (I could see what was best for them and wanted to fix/rescue/save them), the unending forgiveness (I forgave and expected change, when change inevitably didn’t happen I stayed and forgave again and again – multiple infidelities), my fear of “failure” (I couldn’t “give up” on them – everyone else seemingly had – I couldn’t fail), lack of boundaries (tons of degrading disrespect and all of the above).
These relationships were so high maintenance, and I was so focused on keeping them “alive” that I didn’t/couldn’t focus much on anything else, even my own unhappiness. When you get so caught up in someone else, like this, you forgo paying attention to recognizing your own needs, wants & desires. I began dating Jerry December of 2003. According to my journals, by April 2004, I was “looking for a therapist,” wondering “why I was with him because he lies all the time,” and felt “I cared way too much about every detail of “our life” more than my life.” Yet, I stayed. I should’ve gone to college right out of high school. I had been accepted and claimed my spot, but when it came down to school or Jerry. I chose Jerry. We spent eight years together, which didn’t spawn from full honest love from Jerry. It came out of how great of a supply I was to Jerry, my giving and trying, my blind and futile tenacity, and Jerry’s refusal to give up a great supplier.
Luckily, by the time the next one came around (right after Jerry), Cameron, the climax came quicker and had the punch ending I needed. Every page of these journals depicts the epic highs and lows of these relationships – the cycle of abuse, the love-bombing, the gaslighting, the devaluation & of course, rejection.
Even, after all we went through and all the time that has passed, NINE YEARS, in my “Sweet Creatures” series, I still try to redeem him – to the reader and myself. I want to find that one speck of redemption, for myself, I guess, because he sure as fuck doesn’t care what I think of him. And that redemption that I am seeking, honestly, is probably just my need for validation. Validation that the relationship wasn’t a waste. But as it goes, what you desire from others, you must find within.
In no way does my participation in these relationships justify the treatment that I received. And the same goes for anyone with which this resonates. We are meant to learn and evolve, not be abused.
Today the book I am sharing is Anne Lamott’s “Almost Everything: Notes on Hope”
I randomly picked this book while at the library with my kid; it seems the library is the extent of our fun outgoings these days.
I read it in a day. Humblebrag and it’s an “easy read.”
I found her writing inspiring as a writer because I understood her voice. Not to toot my horn AT ALL, but I saw my writing in hers. Her style. What she was expressing and what she had been through. I wrote down some quotes from the book that I found inspiring, but this book is so much different from all the spiritual books and psychological books because this is someone’s story – which, Hi, Hello – I love. There is so much we can learn from one another because nothing is unique.
My favorite bits, “Life damages people. There is no way around it.”
Or “…nothing has given me so many gifts of growth, expansion, and knowing myself, which is not always lovely, but it’s why I am here.”
And my ABSOLUTE favorite, “And everything that happens to you belongs to you. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should’ve behaved better.” I swear I have said this before in one of my own essays. Lord knows – I have received so much shit for how I have written about people who were shitty to me (insert Sweet Creatures plug – link in bio).
As a writer myself, I don’t have it all figured out. Shit, I still fall for shit that I think I’ve dealt with or healed from. But I believe in the power, the importance, of sharing my/our experiences. Not because I am fucking unique or want to be popular or liked or make money, quite the contrary.
Sharing my story has helped me heal. It’s given me the clarity to see the situation for what it is, not what I want it to be. I know if someone who reads what I write can find a pearl of wisdom or even just identify with something I say, it may be enough to help them move through what they are going through, which is also why I share these books. Their stories have helped provide clarity, a pearl of wisdom, in my healing journey.
Solidarity is another, awesome, aspect of reading other people’s stories, like this book. You see that we aren’t so different. That we have commonality with someone we don’t even know. Commonality that bridges a gap of gender, skin color, religion etc. Through solidarity and commonality we expand our empathy and hey, that’s kinda the best thing, right?
So share! Whether it’s through creating or talking or serving. Share to connect. Read other people’s stories. And maybe you’ll just find that pearl of wisdom.
So today obviously is a post about Codependency and Empathy. Yay!!!
Personally, it took me a long time to understand what codependency meant, how I interacted with it, and how it affected my thinking/feelings, and thus my actions. I unknowingly enmeshed codependency and empathy with love and caring. This entanglement often kept me repeating suffering patterns and wondering what the hell I was missing? All I was doing was “loving.”
In the past, I would enact the famous, “They had a really rough childhood” or whatever other fill in the blank. Which served to justify the behavior or treatment I was receiving from them. In turn, it stunted their growth because it avoided them from being responsible or accountable for their actions. It kept me from being responsible or accountable for allowing the behavior. All for love, am I right? Spoiler alert, it never worked out.
Possessing empathy is never a fault. (Quite frankly, I think it is needed now more than ever because we stank of division.) Only when we choose to sacrifice ourselves for it, and that is usually where codependency eeks in. BALANCE!!
It’s something I still work with today but to a much lesser degree. Codependency and empathy are a very interesting duo that can make things very confusing if we are unaware of our behavior. The combo can leave us as doormats for other people’s behavior, and then we victimize ourselves when we are actually full-on participating.
Identifying my behaviors is helpful to me, so I know how to move with them, so I hope this sheds some light for you.
While in my earlier relationships, my therapists, friends, parents; shit, most everyone, but my earlier partners would always tell me how “resilient” I was.
It was a little hit of dopamine because it was internalized validation that I was doing something right.
My resiliency, combined with endless well-shots of hope, was a blessing and a curse. If you’ve seen the Garth Brooks documentary (mockumentary??), you’ll know what I am talking about, if not, grab a drink and go watch it!
My well cocktail of resiliency and hope carried me through A LOT of traumas. Buuuuuut, to a degree it also kept me in those situations. My hope that one day, his words and actions would line up. My hope that he would follow through on promises made. My hope that one day love would reign supreme and there would be no more lying, cheating, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, and of course the punch heard ‘round the world abuse. My hope that one day I would be worthy of the love I felt I gave. Man, was I resilient.
It was during my relationship with Jerry when I began writing seriously. I was trying to make meaning out of what happened between Jerry and me in our relationship and trying to learn from it(hey-o still do). I needed to pour my heart out, even if it was into a void, it was better than either Jerry or Cameron because they were more incapable than a void. I needed to understand the role I played in those relationships so I didn’t continue to recreate the same shit sandwich.
Later (after massive depression and hella therapy) this same hope and resiliency, lead me to my husband.
Resiliency isn’t something which merely applies to relationships which reek; although it’s the experience I am talking about. We see resiliency shine through massive amounts of trauma. Fill in the blank: war, abuse, neglect, injustice, all of the shit happening in our world right now, etc. Things of which I am privileged and fortunate enough not to endure personally.
I recently read an article from the NY Times, “What Makes Some People More Resilient Than Others,” by Eilene Zimmerman. She interviewed Dr. Southwick who co-wrote a book on resilience and he stated, “Many resilient people learn to carefully accept what they can’t change about a situation and then ask themselves what they can change.”
I write because I have to. Whether or not it’s absorbed. I write because it is my way of trying to make sense of my past and often failing (Sweet Creatures plug – Link in Bio) but I am learning A LOT! I’ve learned while in a relationship I co-create a reality with another person. Meaning if they suck, well, I have to accept that because I cannot change it (Lord knows I have tried. I have tried) and I must instead draw my attention inward to change what I can control and that’s me.
Each person is unique. We all need to find our way and at our time. Resiliency allows us to challenge ourselves to go within and learn about ourselves. To question. Which leads to more questions. We then use community and resources to advance our knowledge and then we share it because at the end of it, were all transmitters of what we possess within.
As per usu – I hope you find a nugget in this. If you do or know someone who will share it. I ain’t making shit off of it. We’re human. Life is tough. Whatever we can do to help each other out – fuck it, let’s do it!
So, for those who don’t know – I am obsessed with Dr. Ramani. Ever since I found her (thank you YouTube) she has provided me so much clarity concerning my past relationships.
Recently, I watched one of her Youtube videos (link in bio) where she discussed personalization vs. taking it personally. She tackles all things narcissism, however, I found it helpful for other relationships in my life too.
The work I have been doing as of late is working with my inner child.
Growing up, there were 3 different careers I wanted to pursue and my dad told me they all sucked (literally) and since my dad, in my eyes, was the career master I personified all my ideas as dumb. He loved me, he was smarter than me so I listened to his advice. Here I am 35, no career. Being a lawyer (are douchebags), psychologist (too heavy), or fashion designer (dumb because no bachelor’s degree) don’t seem so dumb now.
Recently, I was talking to my dad about going back to school and he told me to imagine what my career would do to me. He said, “You can’t just check-in and out of that. You’ll have to look at these people in their eyes and listen to horrible stories.” Since I know myself better than I did at 17, I feel confident in the path which honors my strengths as a person. So I was capable of not personifying what he said.Instead, I was able to put myself in his shoes to examine the root of what he was communicating, he was worried about me; that it would affect me negatively and as a parent that is the last thing you want for you kid. He’s trying to protect me.
Our upbringings provide us with varying degrees of tools. Some of us have an electric saw some of us have a butter knife. Again to varying degrees, some of us make do with what we’ve been given, while others try to upgrade our tools to make life easier. And it’s super important to remember this.
He was raised in a volatile alcoholic family – minimizing meant you went unseen and therefore unscathed. It meant safety. His tools are the tools his parents gave him and their tools were non-existent.
Suffice it to say, do you – follow your heart and every other cliche in this realm. Personification can get you stuck, unable to heal, move forward, feeling unworthy, and full of self-doubt. Even if the intention is good.
We can’t undo the past – the bell has been rung, but it has given me clarity – I wasn’t dumb. My dad just couldn’t say what he felt and instead, he said it the best way he could. And I was 17 and didn’t possess the awareness and the voice I do now to articulate how it made me feel.
I have been paralyzed in making a bad career decision because of self-doubt created this exact scenario. But who knows, not dead yet.
My daughter is currently obsessed with shadows. We often play a game, when we’re outside, in which I make her shadow “disappear” simply by casting my obviously larger shadow over hers.
In my twenties, I unknowingly played this game all the time. I dated people who casted larger more complicated shadows and I constantly disappeared into their shadows. Now, it took YEEEEEEARS of work to identify while I disappeared in those casted shadows, it also became an uncomfortably comfortable spot to hid. Top that with feeling unseen and man, what a casserole of irony, huh?
This all was an unintentional creation. I didn’t consciously scheme to have this be my plight. I dated people with large wounds and I wanted to love them so much that they started loving themselves and seeing in themselves what I saw in them. And y’all can guess exactly how that turned out. Or you can read anything I write about because I talk about it all the damn time. I was lost in the sauce. Searching for love and some sort of completion external of me; through my boyfriends. With the beauty of hindsight, I was giving all the love I was seeking a way to people I felt needed it more. Never factoring in that they wouldn’t be capable of reciprocating love because they didn’t even have it for themselves. So I eventually found myself out of gas with no one to help me out. DISAPPOINTED.
Coming out of the shadows, means casting light which exposes EVERYTHING. It means dusting yourself off, getting burned, and finally seeing yourself, for better and for worse. While I was definitely on the receiving end of a lot of terrible crap, being in the shadow didn’t allow me to see myself as anything other than a victim. Someone who was at the mercy of another person’s actions. I never fully realized that I could move out of the shadows – I literally had to be forced out.
And it’s the best thing that has ever happened. I am grateful every day for the opportunity to see myself more clearly. I’m grateful to all the boyfriends who unknowingly taught me more about myself than I could’ve ever imagined knowing.
If this resonates with you, let me know. As always, feel free to share – it helps according to marketing people.
Relationships are tough. They have always been, right? When things become complicated in a relationship we all know the best thing is, to complicate them more. That’s where pornography comes in. Take a good relationship — add porn usage and you have the potential for a whole heap of problems. Are you having enough sex? The right kind? Are you sexy enough? Tan enough? Have big enough boobs? Have a giant penis? Can you last all night? These questions are raised through the medium of pornography and they create false expectations about the body and about sex. Objectification becomes the importance; love is no longer the main factor.
Now, I am not saying it is impossible to watch porn and be in a healthy loving relationship. However, like a majority of our society the consequences are not thought about prior to the action. I do believe there is a strong correlation between porn, expectations and normalcy. The game has changed. Expectations have changed. What was expected from sex prior to the pornography explosion was something which merely joined the union of two souls into one — love-making. Now, there is still a union of sorts mixed with a combination of the gymnastic skills you had back in seventh grade, the eating habits of a bird, and the willingness to be of service.
With the illustrations we have of sex through pornography today, there is no longer mystery. I was recently asked, “How would you explain sex to an eight-year-old?” (Let me preface by saying this was during stand-up comedy which I performed.) I answered, “I would make the kid watch porn because the reality is that that is what sex is now.” It’s filled with perfect hair, tanned bodies, tattoos above the ass, and of course perfectly fit bodies. It’s like still believing in Santa Claus when you know it’s fake. It’s delusional — unrealistic. So when we have people using pornography as an education tool — a point of reference which ultimately sets expectations which are not real and evades boundaries. In a sexual scenario, that’s embraced through the lens of pornography, it is particularly difficult as a woman to not begin to judge yourself. Being I am not a guy I cannot speak for one, but I imagine there is some form of insecurity which forms as well.
Turn Me into Gold
Sex is supposed to be fun, intimate. Out of all the places in a relationship which get critical or complicated one would like to think sex would be the one place which would maintain its sacristy and now we’ve allowed porn to turn all of us into commodities — part of porn’s money making machine adherence to capitalism in its truest form. As a person, if you are viewed as a commodity you become upgradable: plastic surgery — for the small breasted girl in you, vaginoplasty — to tighten you up, phalloplasty — for your small penis, anal bleaching — for the detail oriented person in you, exercise — for the fat that makes you unlike the billions in the world, and tanning — for the Charlie and the Chocolate factory fan in you thus increasing your personal value. Men appear to not be judged as critically because they are merely part of the scenery in porn; juxtapose this against the saying “women’s bodies are just more beautiful” and men become interchangeable. In being a commodity, you can also become an old model or never even make it on the market because you’re not seen as valuable. God forbid you to get old — you might as well pack yourself up in a box along with your ShamWows. All this markets to the consumer is you’re not good enough how you are; therefore you shouldn’t value yourself because no one else will. You are somehow subpar in contrast to the billions of other people in the world. Now in relationships people will often seek someone to make them feel of value or to make them feel happy with themselves, after all as long as you know someone loves you — you matter. With the infiltration of porn and its ability to make the common person feel inadequate or as if they are interchangeable, how would any person ever gain the confidence and assurance alone? Say goodbye to healthy individual’s and relationships.
Now, This Is Getting Uncomfortable
Now I have seen a fair share of porn and I have to say the way these women manipulate their bodies makes them part-time human contortionists in my book. I for one know that shaping your body in these ways can be extremely uncomfortable. Why is sex become about being uncomfortable? Both people are supposed to be enjoying themselves sharing and experiencing love — both being satisfied. When a woman’s legs are situated behind her head only one person is enjoying himself while the other is cramping up. However, this is the expectation: women should be able to take it and enjoy it. Men on the other hand should be able to last all night. They should be able to satisfy their women first; all the while holding back from feeling any pleasure which would cause a sudden premature release and thus disappointment. The reality is these ideas and expectations are all a part of the fantasy which porn sells us on, but when are we going to be smart enough to realize there is a difference between fantasy which is bought and reality which is inescapable. To be the woman a man wants isn’t just about putting your physical body into uncomfortable positions but also in uncomfortable costume. The cost of these costumes which transform you into a sexy woman is quite frankly — expensive. But men want to see a woman in lingerie. The problem with that is it costs a fortune and it’s only on for five seconds (and its dry clean only!). One such occasion I found myself giving in to this idea of sexy costume idea and I ventured to purchase lingerie for my then boyfriend Eric. So I went to the classiest place I knew, Fredrick’s of Hollywood. After shopping I reached his house and greeted him at the side gate.
“Hey you! Guess what?” I told him eagerly.
“What?” He responded.
“I have a surprise for you!” I told him eagerly.
“Oh, really. What is it?” He asked inquisitively.
“Well let me into your room and once I have your surprise ready I’ll let you know and then you can come in.” I said excitedly.
So, I walked into the house and Eric let me into his room and I began pulling out my Fredrick’s of Hollywood expensive paraphernalia. As I sorted through the stockings, garter belt, panties and corset I realized I had no idea how to put this puzzle together. I took the challenge on. I undressed and put the corset on and that took me about five minutes because of the placement of the back clasp. Luckily for me my double jointed elbows finally came in handy for something other than scaring small children. After managing to get the corset on, I noticed from all of the commotion my body was getting really red and I was sweating profusely. I proceeded with the panties, as that’s a basic. I then put on the garter belt and the stockings. The point of the garter belt (yes, there is actually a utility purpose for a garter belt) is to hold up the stockings. So, attached to the garter belt are four hooks, two on the front and two on the back. The ones in the back took up most of my time. They are conveniently located right below your bottom in the center of the back of your thigh and there is no way to effectively view, thus affix, the hooks to the stocking. In the middle of affixing the second hook, there is a knock at the door.
“Hey, are you okay in there it’s been like twenty minutes?” Eric asked.
“Ya, I’m fine, almost ready. Hey, can you do me a favor? Can you turn on the air conditioner? It’s really hot in here.” I replied.
I checked myself out in the mirror and I was lobster red; my whole body. This color was contrasted against my blue and black ensemble which only accented the redness. Since I was also sweating my legs began to itch incredibly bad under the stockings. This, of course, spurred a violent scratching session which subsequently ripped my twenty — six dollar stockings. I sat on his bed for a few minutes hoping the redness would diminish — it didn’t. Needless to say I wasn’t really feeling sexy, I was feeling tired. I finally let Eric in the room and he was happy about his surprise but laughed at me for how long it took me and how red I was. When things finally started progressing, I realized there was more technique in putting on the panties than I was aware of. You are supposed to put them on over the garter belt. The situation became less about being sexy and more about the moment being funny.
Porn and it’s Sticky Situations
Porn is perfect for the selfish and for the lazy love maker. It makes it easier for a guy or girl to masturbate than to put the effort into having sex with your partner. Sex becomes a selfish, in its truest form, task. Again, it is about the release and not about a shared, loving experience. A previous boyfriend of mine was an avid porn watcher. I didn’t mind the porn as an activity, but the daily use was ridiculous. He was an addict in many fashions. It came to the point where I would wake up in the middle of the night to an empty — previously occupied — bed. I could hear the computer mouse clicking and see the bright fluorescent light from the screen, but all else was quiet. Like a search and rescue team I shout, “Jeeeeery” The light from the screen instantly fades. He came into the bedroom butt naked bearing an erection. “Ya?”
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Just looking at stuff on Craigslist.”
I knew he was lying. Knowing from your gut and knowing from the evidence isn’t that different, one just provides proof. So he climbs into bed next to me and goes to sleep. The next morning he is in the kitchen and I walk into the office — where Jerry’s computer and a desk are set up. I step in something wet. It’s not a big spill, just a small spot. Now, I know I shouldn’t touch it — or smell it — but I do. When I touched it and smelt it I knew instantly what it was and couldn’t believe it was on my carpet. With my fingertips covered in the film, I walk into the living room carrying the inquisitive attitude of Olivia Benson with my hand cocked like Diana Ross from the Supremes.
“What is this?” I ask.
“What are you talking about?”
“This wet stuff that I stepped in on the floor in the bedroom. It smells like jizz.”
“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Well there is something wet on the floor and you were in there so what is it?”
“It’s probably water.”
“Oh really? It’s water? It doesn’t smell like water.”
“It’s water, Ash.”
“Okay, well if its water than lick it.”
I held out my hand, open palm in his face. I wish for my story’s sake I could say he licked it, but he didn’t. Now, the problem is obvious from this situation is not the porn per se, but the selfishness that is tied to porn. I cannot say we had a healthy relationship in any sense of the word, because as individuals neither of us was particularly healthy. This situation became my alarm clock every morning. It was through these particular months my five senses were tested and heightened; I would lie in bed and listen to the various sounds to make out what was going on, I would carefully crawl on the floor from one room to the other to peer into the office to see what I could see. It wasn’t so much I wanted to catch him, I just didn’t understand porn’s lure. On the times I would try to talk to him about he would just reply, “I just like looking at porn.” I still didn’t understand. At the time we had been dating for about seven years or so and we were engaged and we weren’t really having sex. The reality was the reason we were not having sex was because I hated him. I mean I loved him more than anything, but he had hurt me so badly in the past (cheating, lying, drug use etc) I couldn’t have that intimacy with him even though I wanted it. I tried to understand the problem: not having sex. So now I felt like it was my fault he was watching porn. I wasn’t having sex with him every day and he is a guy so he does need it every day right? So this was the repercussions of my lack of action. While that was not what I really believed, it was how it was made to seem. On the occasion he would leave the house I would search the computer history files and look at the stuff he was watching. Truth be told — if at any point I was sad or really angry about the action of watching porn, it wasn’t that I woke up to this every day, but it was the fact that the girls he was watching were the exact opposite of me; typically blonde hair (which he always said he hated), huge boobs, tan, and it was degrading. As we were approaching our demise it became clear to me I was never going to be what he wanted. I have always been the type who doesn’t worry them self with the superficial exterior I am concerned with the type of person I am and it remains important to me to stay true to my beliefs and values. I felt this wasn’t the type of person I wanted to be legally bound to for the rest of my life because then not only would I be sacrificing myself esteem but I would also be compromising those values and beliefs.
“Oh, the Humanity”
In 1964, our country established the 14 thamendment a result of the Civil Rights Movement which desegregated African Americans and whites and alleviated racial tension. Yet in porn it is still okay to use derogatory racist and misogynistic terms to describe a white woman with a black man or vice versa. Porn instructs us in the way that power dynamics are to be established during sex. Men are supposed to dominate the woman and women are supposed to be subservient to the man allowing them to do whatever they want and the role of the woman is just to take it. Spanking and gagging is another part of porn which dehumanizes the one on the receiving end. Spanking directly suggests a division of power — think of your parent spanking you as punishment — I bet you never spanked your parents. Gagging in porn becomes an issue of literally gagging a woman (often to the point of tears and throwing up) with a penis simply for a man’s pleasure. Anal sex has become another trend in porn which has been showing up in sex. Shockingly, men who want to have anal sex think that women want too also. It appears that it has just showed up on the menu of sexual expectation. I was dating Tommy; a catch for me for sure, at least I thought. He was a law student at Loyola Marymont and we shared a kiss on the big screen at a Laker game. Match made in heaven right? Well, one afternoon after having lunch together he asked, “Well, do you want to go back to my house?”
I replied, “Well, sure. What did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking we could have anal sex.” He said assured I would accept his offer.
With great hesitancy I replied, “Um, sure I guess.” I had no idea why my mouth had betrayed me with its response. We drove to his house and I told him I was on my period. I thought that would kill any sexual desire — but like I said the game has changed.
He replied, “Not a big deal. We can go in the shower.”
I was entirely anxious. It wasn’t about doing anal, been there done that. It merely was I didn’t want to do it with him at the time. I was thinking how can I get out of this without just saying no? I think about it now and wonder what that poor little insecure girl was doing. I would tell her “um, you say NO.” When we got to his place he instantly got naked and got into the shower and I stood at the sink fully clothed. He was serious and he thought I wanted to do this. What had I done that made him think I was that kind of girl? I was instantly in a moment of reflection. He liked watching porn while we were having sex. I never understood it. Wasn’t having sex and being in the moment good enough? Why would you want to be watching other people having sex while you’re having sex? Your reality is that fantasy that you’re watching on the computer screen. Isn’t it?
“Are you going to get in?” He said while pouring lube onto his penis and a look of intended seduction.
I caught myself out of my reflection and was immediately turned off; not just with him and this situation, but the fact I had put myself here with this person and I was now in this situation. I had officially become a person who was seduced by the ideas which are portrayed in porn — I wanted to be wanted sexually — but it wasn’t really what I wanted. I just went ahead with what I was told I was supposed to embody — sex. I was looking at myself in the mirror above the sink, I couldn’t do this.
“I have to go to the car first to grab an extra tampon.” I said quickly so he didn’t have time to respond. My intention was to leave. I walked to the living room and I gathered my things quickly from the living room and ran out of the apartment. My anxiety continued as I reached the car. I got into the car and I thought “this isn’t right I shouldn’t just leave like this.”But I knew I had to in order to not only escape Tommy but also what I had become. I started the car and I left. I sent him a text message and said, “Hey, I’m sorry I just can’t do this.”
Twenty minutes later he replied, “No problem. But you owe me a bottle of lube.”
There is no doubt there are fetishes which people enjoy (even power dynamics) but it’s when the fetish becomes an expectation, it becomes a problem. If porn depicts people as objects then humanity does not become an issue.
Getting Turned On to Get Turned Off
David Mura argues “The addict to pornography desires to be blinded, to live in a dream. Those in the thrall of pornography try to eliminate from their consciousness the world outside pornography, and this includes everything from their family and friends or last Sunday’s sermon to the political situation in the Middle East. In engaging in such elimination, the viewer reduces himself. He becomes stupid.” The reality is if we are engulfing ourselves in pornography how are we to pay attention to anything else that is going on around us? Furthermore, how are we to pay attention to our inner selves and consciously evaluate what it is that we are doing? The answer is we can’t. When we thrive off of anything, or we are addicted to anything we develop a tunnel vision which prevents us from seeing anything else — including the consequences of our actions. Thus, if we are not evaluating and considering from a simple point — sex — how can we expect we would be able to consider anything larger, grander and more poignant?
I’d Like to Solve the Puzzle: Hedonism
There is no doubt the pursuit of pleasure is a huge part of our existence in our society. However, an individual pursuit is a selfish pursuit which considers no one but the self. I am not saying that one is not entitled to that pursuit, but we should balance it with awareness to others. Sex within a relationship, even outside of one, is now not enough. It’s about the kind of sex you’re having, how much, the kind of skills you have between the sheets — sex has become a demand. Sex in a relationship is about wanting more; having more sex, putting a penis further down your throat, cramping yourself up for the pleasure of your partner and regular sex becomes boring sex. It complicates the relationship not just in the sense that one person may be viewing porn, but the way it tries to rear its head into our relationships intimacy. In our relationships, we should possess integrity, conscience and an empathic mindset which allows us to take into consideration the things we expect from others or from ourselves. We should question porn material we watch and what it actually depicts to us and how ultimately it will affect us — individually, in a relationship and culturally. It is partially the allowance of self-indulgence which has turned our society into a “me society” where we expect our needs to be met before anyone else’s and how is that good for anyone?
Maybe I’m Just A Prude, But This Is Real
Porn has become a virus to relationships. Sex has become the relationship. It makes me angry that the formula for a ‘good’ relationship is based off of sex. And since I refuse to accept that policy my relationships suffer. I will still keep believing not everyone is so hung up on sex and wait to find a guy that actually has substance and something to offer besides cunnilingus. In order to maintain some form of balance we must understand the difference between reality and fantasy and ultimately we should just keep it real. The idea of reality in this sense has to do simply with perception and the use of our sight. We are allowing ourselves to be tricked by society the salesman and then we are just blindly buying what they are telling us we need; no real thought or consideration or minimal critical thinking is happening. We are doing no examination of ourselves, no reflection of history is happening and noticing that pornography is, and has been, a slippery slope and we are accountable for this perversion of our society and our culture, and eventually our children. We must also maintain our individuality and know our value and our worth is not contrived by society; rather it is our own culmination of beliefs, values and experiences. And that cannot be bought, yet it makes one invaluable. It’s real worth and real substance. What we must encourage and coddle is not our sexuality but our individuality. People argue there is power in sex, but power is never equally distributed nor is it permanent. This balance will remind us we are all people cut from the same cloth, that we all have focuses of our bodies which we struggle with and it is okay to not meet the expectations set by an industry which creates cookie cutter men and women.
We excitedly texted about meeting up again for another lunch. We both got caught up. Even exchanged Joe Dirt gifs. I felt like I had my friend back. Felt oddly validated when he texted, “I kinda hate how much I enjoy your company.” Our hearts and heads had been closed off from each other for years, so it was nice to just be calmly next to one another. I was feeling good about seeing Jerry and he was feeling good about seeing me, “I’m still trying to process it but it feels good for sure.” We we’re getting in touch with our old selves, the good part – like the high part. It felt good to be seen through the lens of someone who has known me. Like the me from 17, the me that was worth loving by him, the me before I occupied all my current roles. It felt good to reconnect and be one with an old friend. An old enemy. An old me.
[Now this is where I say to the drama reader, who is missing the fucking point of this story:
I DO NOT WANT TO GET BACK TOGETHER WITH JERRY.
My heart struggles and I’m trying to learn and grow. I’m not fucking stupid.]
It was important to see our individual growth. See things had gotten better for both of us. See that both of us had changed, for the better.
Then I got a text from Jerry:
The only question I had, and still have, is why? Why did I get this text? Why did he text me? I could’ve been left out of this and had no fucking clue. The story could’ve been, I saw him and things went well and that’s it. But, the universe has a way of showing you exactly what you need to see. I needed to see this. Desperately.
My family was headed to Chuck E Cheese. This text message came through while my husband was putting our daughter in her car seat. As I read it, my heart sank. I felt sadness and concern for Jerry; par for the course. Neither my husband nor I were surprised his girlfriend found out. That’s how lies work. And, I will say, in the YEARS Jerry has been lying, he definitely hasn’t gotten any better about it. More notably the lying has continued. I read the continuing incoming stream of text messages to my husband as he drove. I continued to respond to Jerry and my husband even helped me reply to him. However, replying and helping soon turned into frustration.
Being the ill intentioned asshole that I am, I responded to his text with:
Jerry didn’t want help. Jerry needed to throw blame and bad feelings onto me so he didn’t have to be in it alone. So Jerry didn’t have to take responsibility. Jerry did not / cannot take responsibility for his actions, his choices. It’s always been Jerry’s biggest blind spot and I have one hundred percent enabled him in this behavior. I have constantly tried to save him from his self made suffering, instead of trying to understand where the suffering even comes from. He doesn’t like dealing with uncomfortable shit and uncomfortable shit is my norm. So easy peasy for me. Even though we had time, distance, growth from one another, he still needed me to play the same role I played for him for eight years, his sponge. I, as a massive sensitive empath and feeler, often over personify my responsibility to another negating my own emotions, value, and boundaries. I suck at boundaries and struggle with codependency. My biggest hurdle. Since Jerry is the exact opposite, it is yet another way in which our emotional dysfunctions serve one another.
Over the years, I’ve weeded people out who treat the empath trait as a fucking cesspool; typically narcissists. I’ve also spent years working on my lack of boundaries and codependency. So this is why the narcissistic gaslighting “this is why I never wanted to meet up” part of his text was instantly irritating. He was not responsible. I held no gun to his head. He made a choice. He made lots of choices, like the one not to tell his girlfriend he was going to meet up with me, that he was texting me, that he was emailing me, that we planned on meeting up again the day after she found our emails blah blah blah. When Jerry met me for our initial meeting, he chose the place. When he arrived, after our greeting, he said, “What would you have done if I didn’t show up? Would you have driven to my work?” Digress, I know where he works because it’s the same job he’s had since we were together. I said, “No. I would’ve sat here had a beer and gone home.”
He chose to show up.
But, fuck isn’t easier to not take responsibility for things going to shit for you? Isn’t it easier to not be transparent? Isn’t it easier to be the victim? Painting me as the “bad guy with bad intentions” serves both him and his girlfriend. Off shooting blame means you don’t have to deal with your own shit. The shit that makes you lie. The shit that makes you think he won’t lie again. It’s false reassurance for everyone who plays the game. Until the next lie comes around. Trust me, I know. I’ve been there. Exactly there.
You see, to me, even then the solution was clear. She wasn’t going anywhere. Even in the slight chance she did, she would be back. I’m guilty of the same. And you know what? He knew it. That’s why during this time, he’s texting me! Why isn’t he tending to what he’s so fearful of losing? Why isn’t he trying to repair? Explain? If he really thinks he going to lose her? If he really cares?
People choose to stay in these relationships because on some level they serve. Whether it’s on an emotional, mental, or physical level. It’s up to the players to decide. “Normal people” will have difficultly understanding how someone can stay in a “shitty” relationship, but it’s super simple – dysfunction attracts dysfunction. To be dysfunctional you have to be unconscious, lack self-awareness, and be rooted in suffering. Awakening from your unconsciousness and identifying your dysfunction takes a shit ton of work. You have to possess clarity amongst many other things, and it’s not easy work. It took me, getting hit in the face by an ex for me to determine that if I didn’t want to continue the dysfunction, I had to stop blaming others for the miserable circumstances I found my self in (he’s also in prison now – that’s for another story). I fell in love with the people I chose. I had to choose differently. And luckily, I did. One of the most enormous epiphanies I have had in my adult life, which I want to share, is that we create our reality. Even if you just feel like a participant in someone else’s reality, you are co-creating that reality for yourself. If you don’t like how shit is going in your life, you have to change it. No one else is going to change for you or change it for you. The willingness we have to forfeit our power is insane. We think we can’t unfuck ourselves when we are the only ones who can. On it’s highest level suffering and dysfunction serve to teach the individual. Most us of find ourselves in “shitty” relationships in our first real relationships, often in our early twenties. We literally our coming out of our childhood ingrained with the downloaded emotions and beliefs of our parents and exploding with our first real sense of freedom to choose. The hope is with every relationship, you unlearn patterns that don’t serve the greater good. For example, if lying was the way you got around in your family, you will learn in a relationship lying has real consequences. The comedian Taylor Tomlinson has a great analogy regarding this growth, “You have to work on yourself in your twenties because if you don’t you’ll turn thirty and all the shitty parts of your personality will solidify and that’ll just be who you are now. Your twenties are your chance to fish trash out of the lake before it freezes over.”
So, when you are not conscious and self-aware, you may find yourself in an unhealthy functioning relationship and there are going to be various power plays happening. Fighting, for example, can feel like earnestly trying. It can feel like a concerted effort in mending, growing, and holding on even when you have an inkling you should walk away. However, when we become conscious, we ask ourselves why we need/want someone to be something for you, to you? What is it that you are missing as an individual – which you require and expect someone else to fulfill for you? I am asking this of myself also. Just so we’re clear. Ram Dass has so eloquently said, “I have a choice of either trying to change the world to adhere to my model, or to let go of my model to be with the world.” I guess it’s all context, right? What are you fighting for? What is it rooted in? Fear? Expectation? Validation? Forgiveness, even? Going deeper then we must beg the question, how much do we identify with what our needs are and what are they rooted in? On the other side of the same fighting coin, difficult conversations breed growth. However, fighting character flaws (lying, cheating, narcissism, etc.) is dumb because those don’t change because you think they should. Instead, if you find yourself trying to fight a character flaw, it should simply serve to draw attention to what’s happening may be out of alignment for you. Even with a heavily flawed individual, your attraction to them says and has to do more with you than the flawed individual.
Going deeper: Most dysfunction usually finds an origin in trauma. Most of this being childhood trauma. “The addiction to chaos begins in childhood when connection comes through shared states of chaos.” Environments of chaos look different for each individual. Whether you weren’t seen, minimized, abused, your reality was denied, and many other examples. While it is painful and difficult to address our various traumas, it is part of the work of being human. Acknowledging and dealing with our shit. However, if we don’t take personal responsibility and seek self-awareness and growth we will unconsciously perpetuate the cycle by doing as we were shown by those who parented us. So, when you get into chaos as an adult, it feels familiar, normal and most importantly manageable. So, we don’t break the cycle. We cannot even see the cycle. We just become apart of it and then perpetuate it; especially when children become involved. Although I was deeply and unconsciously in that cycle when I was with Jerry, I by the grace of God, had the foresight to know there was no way in good conscience I could be responsible for perpetuating the chaos by bringing a child into this chaos, this suffering we co-created. It was irresponsible. Morning after pills were a savior, multiple times, while in my relationship with Jerry. #plannedparenthood
Fucking Bowling League
HE’S AT HIS FUCKING BOWLING LEAGUE. HE’S AT HIS FUCKING BOWLING LEAGUE. HE’S A FUCKING IDIOT.
Listen, I love getting drunk and throwing balls in clown shoes just as much as the next nerd, but seriously, what a fucking idiot. I mean, seriously?!
I absolutely LOVE this text because it says and is EVERYTHING! Since I am much better at reading comprehension than a certain *cough cough* “Jerry” (whose name has been changed to keep him anonymous – until he outed himself on his personal Facebook – uh, thank you for the PR) let’s comprehend. Jerry’s chick is pissed because he saw me and while she is apparently leaving him “packing her things”, he is texting me. He is too busy at his bowling league to go to her and more importantly, his dogs, “I don’t know if she left, but she is taking my fucking dogs.”
That poor, poor girl. Fuck.
I love it. I love it because this is exactly what I needed to see. See that he treats her the same fucking way he treated me. There has been no change. He is the same. By this projection, if I had still been with him, this is where I’d be. In her shoes. My old shitty ass shoes.
I understood it. The lying. It’s always what I’ve hated the most about Jerry. Anyone really. However, an injustice is not being done to the person who chooses to stay with a known liar. It’s a choice and it’s part of the Jerry package.
I hope he racked up some strikes. Fucking bowling league.
Also, if you’re curious about my reply about him lying – hypocritical, right? Jerry owed this to me. To our previous eight-year relationship in which we got engaged. When our relationship ended, although it constantly being brought back to life, it was abrupt and there was no real conversation that happened to close it up. It just ended. And honestly, when we met up, he baaaaaarely showed up. He didn’t even say sorry. Not for a single fucking thing. He couldn’t emotionally or mentally meet me halfway, par for the course. Apologizing isn’t a matter of agreeing on our sacred value to each other, it’s a matter of moral fucking principle. You were a dick, say fucking sorry. Fuck, someone says “sorry” to you, maybe say “sorry” back. Just for fun. To see how it feels.
“It isn’t love when another person cannot give you the space to live your own life.” – Deepak Chopra
Me. I am finally the other woman.
Listen, Jerry did some weird stuff. I’m sure I did too, but I didn’t put on the song I wrote to propose to my ex while she’s sitting in a seat normally occupied by uh, your “girlfriend”, nor did I comment on his ass or talk about how far my seats go back (uh um) in my dented 1999 middle-aged mom car.
Straight up – all good with no car payments.
He took that call from his girlfriend while I was in the car and straight ful- blown lied to her about where he was, at his dad’s in Ontario, while driving on the 5 freeway. Offered up his weed pen to me. He legit made a mockery of his relationship with this girl in front of the worst person to do that in front of, me. I will say, his ability to be aloof really served me. Frankly, I am, for the first time ever, so grateful for that trait, but that’s because it benefited me. I don’t know her, but I feel for her. Maybe I am wrong in that? Maybe she’s different from me and this is all okay with her? I’ve been there though, and it really fucked me up.
I did dress nice! I wore a black dress. If you know me, I live in black so that’s not like zhuzhed up. But you bet your ass I didn’t go looking like mister potato head. Which is arguably who I look like 60% of the time – even when I try not too. I did eat off his plate and pop a zit on him too.
“She thinks we fucked.”
Listen sister, I don’t know who he has you convinced that I am, but I am not about to fuck my ex fiancé, who fucked himself more than he ever fucked me, jizzed all over my carpet (yeah, I’m still bringing that up – its INSANE!), in a 1999 mom car with no tint. I have integrity and a dope ass husband.
She’ll never have to worry about me. Not then and not now. The last time was in winter 2012. I have it on my calendar – celebrate every year. I have done the dance with Jerry and I know it like the back of my hand. Last time we hung out, was fall of 2012 and I was petrified of Jerry. I had never seen him more clearly. When I was with Jerry, I was never in a darker place. Never. Self-harm. Crying all the time, alone. I had some beautiful sweet creatures pass my way during that time. Without them, I would’ve been toast.
Also, it sucked settling. I love Jerry, he knows, I always have. But that’s what was the worst. I always loved him more than he was capable of loving me back. More than he was capable of loving himself and if you know him all he talks about is himself. He just constantly wanted to implode his life – our life. He wanted validation from other chicks. Shit, validation from anyone his poor self-esteem was in the shitter. He wanted to not be who he is. So me being a constant mirror of himself, he needed to push me away to push himself away and honestly, I fucking get it and that’s why I still love him. Dealing with your shit is really fucking difficult work and that’s even after doing the most difficult part which is acknowledging that reflection and growth are necessary pains. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Jerry was he was a great place to hide from my shit. He was so heavy that he received all the focus. I avoided dealing with my trauma (and accumulated a lot more) because I unconsciously hid behind his for years. Which is how you find yourself talking about and dealing with something from years ago in your present.
Advice corner: DO NOT SETTLE
Just because Jerry couldn’t reciprocate in a way that felt meaningful that didn’t mean that I had to give up being loved the way I deserve to; because it’s what I can give in return, ya know? Or give up using my voice to share something that happened to me, involved me because someone doesn’t like the way it makes them look – never mind it’s who they are.
It’s nice not to feel hurt everyday. Nice to not have to pretend anymore. Nice not to fear love. It’s nice to feel a positive change. Instead of being drained everyday.
Commence with the draining:
“refrain from contact”
“of course you’d say that”
You’re contacting ME.
The “exile myself” bit is standard in our emo ways, 2003-2008 were impactful years for him and I; I mean, look here I am talking about all this shit. The buff out bit and the foolio were Jerry’s trademarks at keeping distance. Quite different than the usual “bunny” or “bub” nicknames once bestowed upon me.
Fact is, Jerry is Jerry, and he’s going to do what he does best and that’s him. Jerry broke my heart about a billion times and never said sorry. I went back. He went back. We loved each other very much, but in very different ways which left a lot to be desired. Jerry proposed. Asked my parents even. I got a ring and I got scared. Jerry provided and took care of us. I always supported whatever he was doing – I sold his fucking merch for like five of the bands he was in. Jerry encouraged my writing which is rather ironic now since he hates it and me. I forgave him even when I hated him for hurting me. He wrote me songs. Jerry moved back from Hawaii right after I came to visit him. I went to visit him. Jerry opened my doors, held my hand, kissed my lips and all of it combined gave me all the hope in the world to believe and hold on, that things would get better that we’d work it all out and it would end the way I hoped, together. But I was never in control to get us where I wanted.
Now, I am grateful this hot mess imploded. It needed to. This is by far the most unhealthy portion of my entire life sometimes I wish it wasn’t real. I mean this whole story originated with me trying to say sorry and trying to be his friend so, I guess it’s my fault.
In 2011, I was in college getting my English degree. A professor assigned us Mary Shelley’s, Frankenstein. The book ended up having a huge impact on me. At the time, Jerry and I spoke regularly, despite being broken up, and I spoke with Jerry about the story and how much I enjoyed it. The next time we spoke he told me that he had gotten a new tattoo on his right upper thigh. Maybe it’s the left? He sent me a picture – it was a portrait of Frankenstein’s monster. He said he got it for me – to remind him of me. He hadn’t read the book. I was bummed because he got the tattoo I wanted before I could afford to get it – got it now baby. #twinsies
To me, and what I shared with Jerry, the book is a story about a man who tries to play God. Control the uncontrollable, if you will. The story begins with Victor Frankenstein fleeing from a monster – an apparition. Frankenstein finds himself aboard a ship. While on this ship, he tells his story. As a young man, Frankenstein is a seeker of knowledge, particularly natural sciences. While studying, he begins experimentation with creating life from death – reanimating a dead body. He tried multiple times and fails several times and his work begins to take a massive toll on him, “I might in process of time (although I now find it impossible) renew life where death had apparently devoted the body to corruption.” Frankenstein goes digging in graves and focuses all his years of study on bringing something back to life which should be dead because that is the natural order. Going against the natural order he is able to create the monster. Yet, the monster doesn’t serve him the way he intended because once the monster is alive, Frankenstein freaks the fuck out and emotionally bails on the monster so the monster leaves. In retaliation of the rejection the monster faces, from his creator, the monster kills Frankenstein’s younger brother. The monster’s final request is that Frankenstein create him a mate or he will destroy Frankenstein. Frankenstein agrees to make him a mate. In a fit of anger and guilt, Frankenstein destroys the half-finished mate for the monster in front of the monster. Enraged the monster threatens Frankenstein that he will be back for him; more specifically his future wife. And sure enough, the monster kills the one person Frankenstein loves the most; his wife. A chase ensues between the monster and Victor; predicated on revenge. Victor refuses to give up; knowing he will likely die “as no thinking person would risk their life for something like this unless it was really self serving.” Frankenstein dies. The monster realizes that his own death will serve to relieve the pain he has endured since he was given life and he disappears.
“Victor experiences the two basic meanings of the word responsibility. He creates the monster (he causes it to exist), and therefore he has at least some responsibility for what the monster goes on to do. As the creature’s maker, Victor also has both a duty to others to keep them safe from his creation and, Mary [Shelley] seems to be saying, a duty to his creation to ensure that his existence is worthwhile. A sense of responsibility can be experienced by anyone who pours time into a project, even if that project does not result in a new life form. The reader is left to wonder whether the story could have unfolded differently if Victor were to have behaved more responsibly.”
We all understand what responsibility means, but more specifically is the concept of moral responsibility. Moral responsibility refers to the determination that a person deserves praise or blame for an outcome or state of affairs. With determined rational human beings, we can assume moral responsibility. At a bare minimum, common decency.
What is our responsibility to the things that we create, the relationships we create, how we leave things and people? Whether in conscious or unconscious creation or resuscitation of our creation we are responsible. We can not run away or hide from it.
The final letter in the book, the monster alludes to Milton’s Paradise Lost by saying:
“But it is even so, the fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his desolation; I am alone.”
We decided to meet up the next day, Friday, for lunch. He drove out towards my house, which was welcome since I had driven out the day before; although it was the start of Labor Day weekend in Los Angeles. He told me he could meet from 12 – 3pm. We planned to meet at a restaurant near my house, but the traffic was so bad for him and I was running late. So we met at a local brewery and naturally grabbed a couple of beers and Jerry had some lunch. I was running too high to eat, but I fucking DRANK. Luckily, a sweet creature had driven and dropped me off. He was, again, nothing but kind to me, even offered me half his burger. It wouldn’t be a far stretch to say I hold onto things, so for this meeting, I brought some visual nostalgia. A timeline of who we were; everything leading us up to the present moment, sitting in each other’s company looking back at this timeline as spectators. Some of the pictures were torn into pieces, yet we were able to indulge in each other’s company. We were able to find likeness in one another, something I thought we’d for sure lost. We bantered, pervy dick and fart jokes (a welcome norm) and shared our interests; it was like an “on the previous episode” synopsis of the past seven years. I paid and suggested we go to another brewery. He happily accepted. However, since I didn’t have my car, he had to drive us. Talk about a time warp. Granted, I had never been in that particular car, however that small space occupied so many tells of familiarity. He opened my door, something he always ALWAYS did. Things like the now weed pen (as opposed to the joint or pipe) laying in the center console. His ability to drive well, even if his hands aren’t on the wheel. The music. He, in the driver’s seat. Me, in his passenger seat.
We landed in Burbank at another brewery and had another beer. The whole experience of hanging out together was like a dream for me. Everything that I had idealized about our encounter was met and more. I mean, in a real sense it was everything that I hoped for. And not just for this particular meeting, it was how I wished everything could’ve been, how it should’ve been. An outsider watching us would think were friends (for those of you, who knew us together, there were many occasions that you wouldn’t identify us as friends). It was satisfying and a good ending point, for me. A place of peace, closure, and resolution.
As our time came to an end, I was going to grab an Uber, but he offered to drive me home.
A piece of information I need to share with you, ya you, from what I have been told by other people, my brother, and Jerry, Jerry’s girlfriend does not like me. I do know she reads my stories and has liked one, (thank you social media, and analytics). The idea of Jerry and I getting together, not her favorite. So, Jerry didn’t tell her.
I knew she didn’t know. Having been in her position numerous times in the past some may see my knowing she didn’t know and doing nothing about it as a betrayal to what I hate; lying. What I will say is that in my home, my life, I do not lie. I can only manage my home, not anyone else’s. If I am justifying, call it that.
I am not here to say anyone is bad, good or worse. I made my choices and Jerry made his.
On the fifteen-minute car ride to my house, he took a call from his girlfriend. In the first 5 seconds of the 30-second call, there was instantly tension. She asked, “why he wasn’t answering her calls.” He said, “I didn’t hear it ring”. I am going to reach here and say, this isn’t the first conversation of theirs that has begun this way. I am basing this off the emotionally reactive tone I overheard; the fact that I had started many calls to Jerry just like this and that tone didn’t just develop overnight. It came after doubt. Fear. I sensed she was 100% on to him. With my left hand, I gripped his right forearm during the call. I could hear and sense his reactive tension rise. He told her he was “on his way to his dad’s house,” said “I love you” and that was that. Once he hung up, I said, “Don’t be so reactive, it’s a red flag.”
I knew nothing salacious was happening between Jerry and I. However, I have been her. More times than, like her, I am probably unaware of. I felt sad for her, but I know she on some level has experienced a reason to not trust him before. So, whether she acknowledges it or not, it is her choice to stay and participate. It’s the same choice I made for eight years. The choice to downplay, and more importantly, let someone else downplay my thoughts, feelings, and beliefs. I was meant to feel crazy and/or stupid. To doubt myself. Truth was, maybe in his eyes I was/am crazy? I lost/gave up my power in blind love to know what was right and best for me. My truth.
When I was dating Jerry, I came up with a saying I’d recite to myself. I’ll share it: “If I, think Jerry is such a piece of shit because he lies and I can’t trust him, but I stay with him, who is the bigger piece of shit? The one who I think is a piece of shit or the one who stays with the piece of shit?”
When you think someone else is the problem, look at yourself first. The solution you are seeking never lies within another person. Everyone is on their own path, at their own pace, if you don’t like it, remove yourself from the shared path.
Just as soon as everything was on the upswing, hanging out and enjoying each other, I bore witness to a reality that had been the down swing of our relationship. The duality of the highs and the lows, that kept me in love and in hate. I thought maybe over the years he’s changed, like character changed. Here I was in the passenger seat, Jerry driving and bearing witness to this, was a first for me. It was uncomfortably familiar.
Now, I am going out on a strong and sturdy limb. What are the chances that the girlfriend knows about this phone call? Me writing about this, with names changed, her choosing to read this, makes me a life ruiner because he until this day, has probably withheld this information from her. Although, in all honestly, I don’t know why it would or should make a difference to her?
Now, obviously I am not sharing verbatim or doing a live play by play. I am telling a story. The pieces I share are not to “out” Jerry. I share the chosen pieces because they illuminated something I needed to see. Even if it was for the millionth time. I needed to see/hear the phone call, to know, that, sadly, his character hasn’t changed. That if I were to have married him, not cheated (not justifying my shitty behavior), I would be living the same fucking life. I’d be miserable. Brokenhearted. I would be in love and in hate.
Once we exited the freeway, he put on a song he said: “was a jam”. That jam happened to be the song he wrote and used to propose to me with. He wrote a song, a great song, called “Ashley’s Song” which he recorded. When he proposed to me, he played it for me on his guitar on our brown “leather” Ikea couch while in our apartment in Monrovia. I haven’t listened to this song since he played it for me the night he proposed.
The night he proposed to me, I thought “about damn time” with glee, but felt fear; which I was not expecting. It suddenly became clear to the 24-year-old me, that being lawfully tied to this emotionally divided relationship was something that brought more fear than joy. Even after we were engaged, things didn’t get better or easier. Things just became more clear. When I moved for school, he was on board until it wasn’t fitting his goals. He sets up the dating profile (I find it by researching our computer), we both cry on the floor in our second bedroom and he tells me “I don’t think I can ever make you happy”, he gets lingerie pictures sent to his phone from the “lesbian” (I find those by checking his phone), and on a visit to our hometown, I cheat on him (for the first time ever) and he breaks up with me. Red flags and fear, baby.
In listening to that song, my song, my proposal song with my former fiancé my feelings now, weren’t of sadness of losing Jerry, to be honest, I don’t think I ever had him, it was sadbecause hearing that song, looking back at all of this, I genuinely feel sad and bad for our two characters. I know that it ends and that’s okay; it was supposed to. But we sure did beat the shit out of that relationship and that makes me feel sad. It’s sad that things couldn’t be different, that things will never be different.
When we parked, I told him that listening to the song, “made me feel sad” for which he said, “sorry.”
I would embed it or give you all a link to listen to this song, but in keeping anonymity I won’t do that. However, here is the chorus:
“Ashley, please take this ring I’m asking for your hand in marriage I got the blessing from your parents Just say “yes” and spend eternity With me and ill sing you to bed Keep you clothed ill keep you feed Will always keep a roof over your head