Proceed With Caution

“I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions”  - Augusten Burroughs, Magical Thinking: True Stories

I recognize that I’m a deeply flawed person. To some degree, I think we all are. I’m broken and I’m trying to put the pieces back together. I’m probably not good relationship material, either. While I give fair warning to those that want to step beyond the bounds of friendship, I get the impression that he thinks he can ‘fix’ me – that he’s my knight in shining armor that has come to rescue me from my pathetic life. I’m not meant to be fixed or saved. This is something that only I can do and I’m working on it.

A friend recently told me that what I need is a rock; I see a lot of truth in that. I’m working on fixing myself. I can’t help someone else make repairs in their own life. If I need anyone in this life, it's someone who can hold me up without expecting me to cater to his every whim. I'm just not capable. Sorry. 

A misunderstanding took place between my former boyfriend and I. Before the relationship started, before the friendship started, I told him I wasn’t sure that I’m ready for a relationship. In other words, proceed with caution and enter at your own risk. Perhaps the biggest mistake I made was letting him stay with me to escape the heat from the campus dorm. We hadn’t known each other that long, and it was far too soon for something like that.

Did I mention his incessant paranoia? I think it was contagious.

I think we did our best to accommodate each other. He helped me when I was stretched too thin and I adjusted my own habits and time to make more time for him because he felt he was competing for my attention. Then there was a Friday. I had literally just finished volunteering my time to one of my former professors and was getting ready that Friday morning for two interviews. As I’m sorting through suits and applying makeup, I hear a lot of banging on the other end of the house. I went to see what on earth was going on.

I see him there, shoving things into bags. I asked him what he was doing. He said he was leaving. Of course, this took me by surprise because there had been no prior discussion and here I am trying to prepare myself for two interviews when he drops a bomb on me. His timing couldn’t have been worse. He assured me that it was no fault of mine and said there was too much tension and it was time to go.

The weeks leading up to this, his behavior was a bit erratic. He said he felt like he was competing for my attention in tango and I got the impression that he felt like he was competing for my attention when it came to my dogs. I always danced the most tandas with him. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to always ensure he had a good evening. My dogs, on the other hand, have been with me longer than any human being and have given me so much love and support – of course they hold a special place in my heart.

These beautiful creatures have been my steadfast companions through the good, bad, and just plain ugly. I love them above all else. 

I received a few messages from him the week leading up to last Friday. He wasn’t feeling well and there was nothing worthwhile in the contents of these messages, as it was just his day to day activities. That week gave me a lot of time to think about what a future with him would look like. It wasn’t what I wanted. Not even close. I realized I was nearly bored to tears and felt like I was dating an 80-year-old man. Not good, but I was willing to attempt to work it out and give it another try.

He shows up to the milonga last Friday, doesn’t approach me and makes no eye contact whatsoever. Fine, I thought to myself. I’m not going to let him bring me down when I have no clue why he's behaving this way. Eventually, he asks if we can talk. I oblige and we step outside. I’m angry and it’s obvious. I’m angry because I felt his actions were selfish and he knew that I had important things lined up on the day he left. I’m angry because he already knows I have issues of trust and insecurity and springing something on me last minute is not the best of moves.

I would say: Game Over. Rather than married. I couldn't find an appropriate photo. Don't. Judge. Me.

So we’re talking it out. He mentions my trust issues. I pointed my finger at his chest and poked him saying, Of course I have trust issues. You knew that already. He got quite defensive and told me not to touch him. I threw my hands up and said something along the lines of, “F*ck this. I’m done talking for now.” I was frustrated because he needed to be pacified and I just don’t have that in me. I’m trying to hold myself together. Thanks.

I finish out the night. I had nothing else to say and no desire to try to communicate with him any further until we’d both taken a breather. So, I was a bit surprised when I received an e-mail from him the next morning.

He was vicious and biting. He laid out my flaws and outlined the grand life I would have had with him if I hadn’t given up. Given up? Perhaps he hadn’t heard the ‘for now’ portion. Then again, maybe he chose not to. He went on about my abusive behavior and lifestyle that would leave me dead by the time I’m 30. I find it all laughable. I rarely lash out – ever. In fact, I chose my words very carefully around him because he was a sensitive soul. There’s nothing wrong with that. I don’t judge that type of personality. I acknowledged that aspect of his being and was very careful with my choice of words and tone. As for me dying before I’m 30, I nearly fell out of my chair laughing. I’ve climbed up the same hills he has and never needed to take a break because I have more endurance and was by far the most active one in the relationship. My health is perfectly fine.

I do my victory dance when I reach the top, not when I'm half way there. 

This is where I’d like to say I took the high road. I didn’t. I was just as juvenile and hit below the belt just as much. Why? Because it was petty and I lowered myself to his level of communication. I’m not proud of it – but still, I did it. He said he felt exploited. Really? After staying in my house for weeks on end? I barely asked him for anything, just a little help around the house. Truth be told, I felt exploited. I exerted so much patience and understanding through some major relationship issues – he still chose to blame them on me.

The ironic thing is that after I hit ‘send’ I began laughing uncontrollably at the ridiculousness of it all. This is about as belittling and juvenile as human beings can get – and I was an active participant. I laughed because he knows how resilient I am and that I could care less what others think of me. Who’s going to survive the nuclear holocaust? Ava; because in my past life I was a cockroach. Cut off a part of me and I grow back like a starfish. There are few things that phase me when it comes to words or gossip regarding my character.

Resilience: The courage to come back . . . over and over again.

That’s the thing about repeated exposure to trauma. It’s a double edged sword. I am extremely resilient, yet find it difficult to relate to others who cannot understand what I’ve been through and are traumatized by third person events. One of your childhood friends died in a car accident; you weren’t involved and now you’re scared of large vehicles and driving? I found my father’s dead body. I was abandoned by my mother. I watched my grandmother die. I’ve been exploited for someone else’s financial or social gain my entire life. My childhood friend died because her mother tweaked out and shot her along with her siblings. I could go on and on with one sob story after another. No. If you’re upset by something like a car crash, I cannot relate to you.

I was a bit bummed the days that followed our encounter. So, Ava, you’ve failed yet again. That’s what I thought to myself. I’m a total and complete failure. I’ve failed at any form of success whatsoever whether it be in life, love, or the stinking job market.

As I’ve been cleaning, I stumbled across one of my Rumi books. I loaned my personal copy to him. I rarely do that. Also, he wrote in it. For Pete’s sake, he may as well have taken my personal journal and scribbled in it. I feel the urge to burn that copy and purchase a new one while reminding myself why I don’t lend my personal things. There are few things that are precious to me – my favorite books happen to be one of them.

I’ve wanted to retreat back into myself and hide away. A good friend of mine told me to forgive myself a little because I gave him fair warning. Another friend told me to pick myself up and try again. I’ll compromise. I won’t hide – but I’m not marketing myself for relationships, either. I’ve failed in the dating world: I fell in love once, and somehow I managed to screw it up. He may never truly know how much he meant to me. It burns.

Just getting away for a while would be nice. I don't care where. 

While I can admit my heart is certainly not the first to be broken, all I can ask the male population is this: be a friend to me. I’m far more complicated than a pretty face and fun-loving nature. While I’m friendly, outgoing and down to earth, deep down is a very fragile soul. Handle with care and proceed with caution. 

"I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will."  - Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre

Running Counterclockwise

“Those who don’t know how to suffer are the worst off. There are times when the only correct thing we can do is bear out troubles until a better day.” – Deng Ming-Dao

Our life is made up of victories and defeats, of miracles and grievances, and of joy and pain. I’ve had a small set back. I’m still waiting to see how it pans out this time around. That’s the thing with PTSD – to me, it feels like it comes out of nowhere for no reason whatsoever. That’s my frustration and this is my grievance. I’m learning to take it in stride, recognize it before it overwhelms me and am still working on keeping the raging ocean of emotions to small ripples instead of tsunamis. This is my victory and I’m not finished with it yet. My guess is I have to pass the same face of the mountain a few more times until I reach the top. 

Maybe when things feel like they're falling apart it's really all falling into place.

I’m asked what can be done to help me. The grievance is that I don’t know the answer to that question. I don’t know how to stop the cycle once it starts. The miracle is that I’m being asked what can be done. The tough exterior I’ve carried for most of my life is wearing thin and those that spend a lot of time with me recognize when I’m troubled. I count this as a miracle as well. I’m far more transparent than I used to be and can’t shut out those closest to me. 

Part of my fear lies in a new transition in life. As a recent college graduate, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m weighing out my options, trying to decide what will be the most rewarding to me in the long run. I have a goal in sight; I just have to jump through more hoops to get there while wondering how on earth I’m going to support myself if I’m in the strange juxtaposition of being too qualified or under qualified. I feel as if the exchange I’ll ultimately have to make is the sacrifice of my own sense of fulfillment for stability by means of income.

I try not to think that far ahead, but I find myself doing it anyway. In my worst nightmare, I’m dancing on a pole so I can spend my days volunteering in the hopes of getting an ‘in’ with the type of work that would give me a sense of fulfillment. I hope it never comes to that – but desperation drives us to do things we never thought ourselves capable. This is my grievance.

Sometimes I feel like singing and howling at the moon simultaneously. 

Even on my worst days, when I want to throw in the towel and drown myself in a river of tears, I still have people that love me and cheer me on. When I feel like I'm going to lose myself and life seems overwhelming, I'm given a shoulder to cry on. This is my miracle. 

“The bad things in life open your eyes to the good things you weren’t paying attention to before.”  - Good Will Hunting