Cheats, Liars and Anger

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

I have a sense that this will be a rage fueled rant of epic proportion.

I am royally pissed off. My closest friend and mentor has been telling me for years that there is always an ulterior motive with men. That message is starting to sink in now and I’m feeling resentful, embittered and enraged at the vast majority of males that I have encountered in my lifetime.

One of the things in the world I hate the most is liars and those trying to gain my trust through false pretenses. It’s dishonest and only makes me angry at the offender. I met someone a little over a year ago at a company function and asked his name. I remembered him at this year’s gathering. It’s part of my job to remember people and also a personality trait. I’m curious. I want to know what people are about. That said, I try not to be invasive and let another person share with me at their own pace.

So, upon seeing the aforementioned person again, he suggested we meet up sometime, as friends and also to discuss psychology because that’s his current area of study, he’s new to the area, etc. In hindsight, there are things that should have been red flags to me much earlier on, but I’m not going to ruminate on what I overlooked. We exchanged a few e-mails and he wanted my number because it was his preferred method of contact. I’m rolling my eyes as I type these words because I’ve heard that line a million times. Like an idiot, I eventually gave it to him.

why? Why? WHY??????

He sent me a text on New Year’s after wrapping up at the event he had worked saying he needed an ‘Irish Lass’ hug. The fact that I didn’t call him out right then and there makes my blood boil a little bit. That was the first indicator that this guy was after something more than his false pretense of friendship. I should also note that he is twice my age and has children older than me. Something is very wrong here. Granted, I do have older friends – but now that I think about it those older friends come in couples, not some prowling male hoping to make it with a gal half his age.

This past Sunday he said he wanted to get together – a kind gesture to pull me out of the state of sadness I’ve managed to wallow in for some time now. I had no idea what we were doing and he didn’t say where we were going when he came to pick me up. I was startled because I thought we would do something downtown and he was driving towards Washington. I asked him where we were going. He told me we were headed to a vineyard in Ridgefield. I have no idea where Ridgefield is, panicked a little and told him that I carry weapons.

There is no point to this photo. Just the intense level of cutenss. 

During the drive, he kept probing me about my life, asking for more details on what I shared with him. This is another behavior I hate. Something is wrong here. If you barely know me, you have no right to ask such personal information about me – you wretched pretentious prick. What bothers me the most about this is that I am a horrible liar and my answers are always honest. I don’t know how to respond any differently. It’s clear to me now that I either need to work on building up my psychological walls or learn to spew untruths with a poker face. I am royally pissed off. Don't examine every detail of my life through a microscope unless you are prepared to be ripped to shreds by my words. 

Can you feel that rage? It's a very real thing right now.

Wine tasting at a vineyard . . .  it was nice. He had packed a picnic saying he wasn’t sure how the weather was going to turn out. Now that I think about it, his explanation makes no sense whatsoever: it was pissing rain all day long. I thought his gesture was kind for going through the trouble of preparing something. As we got in the car I suggested we go back to my apartment, watch a movie and eat his ‘picnic’ meal when he expressed disappointment in the bad weather.

I'll set them on fire myself! He knew what the weather was like. Pretentious bastard.

There had been a nagging question in the back of my mind the entire time I was with him. What is this guy’s angle? What the hell does he want from me? I ask him as much and his response starts with, “I’m a hot blooded male . . . “ and he went on to say that he’d never force himself on me. Holy fucking hell! I should have fled from the moving car right then and there. I don’t know why I didn’t. I wasn’t quite processing his true intentions at the time, I only knew that something didn’t feel quite right: That small voice in the back of your head that tells you to run away. That small voice in my head that told me I should cancel on Sunday until I learned more about this guy. I ignored it. I’m currently angry at myself for ignoring it, but acknowledging that at long last I’m finally starting to pay attention to it, even if it doesn’t have my full attention yet.

Hot blooded male?! I am grinding my teeth in anger!!

I put on a movie and he puts food onto plates. He continuously grazed my knee with his hand, put his arm around my shoulder, asking me to sit closer to him. I was rigid. Any person within their right state of mind could probably pick up that I was tense because I was uncomfortable. He hugged me as he left and attempted to kiss me. I physically recoiled. He didn’t back off and instead said, “Just a small one?” I barely let my lips touch his because I wanted to be far removed from him and, at that time, seemed to be the only way that I would be able to manage to get him out.

Underneath her barley there smile is a woman who desperately wants to punch him in the face. I feel like doing a lot of punching right now. I physically resisted. He is clearly an asshat and he disgusts me.

I decided the next day that I’m ghosting his sorry ass. He’s blocked from e-mail and my phone. I have nothing to say to him. Idiot! I’m past explaining myself and I’m past making excuses for others. That pathetic piece of shit; men like him are the reason I have trust issues. If he was trying to groom me into some form of dependence on him by being so invasive on my life experiences he failed miserably.

I’ve been turning the actions of a former friend over in my mind – the one who demanded to know what was on my heart. When I expressed anger at what I felt was a cross of my personal and emotional boundaries, he became offensive. He told me that it didn’t come as a surprise. If that’s the case, why did he have to hear me say it? The only thing that makes any form of sense to me is that his ego needed that from me. Fuck him and his ego right up the ass.  Apparently my efforts to build him up emotionally weren’t enough, so he had to take it one step further. He sickens me; and I think my anger here isn’t just his disregard for my emotional boundaries, but also when he asked how I was doing and I gave an honest answer he pretty much faded himself out. I guess it was fine for me to listen to his problems but that action couldn’t be reciprocated.

Unfortunately, I think this is the driving force in most of us. 

I’ve been walking around with a consistent form of bitch face – I’m that angry. This is a stark contrast from someone who smiles warmly at the world around her. Lately, I have people who see me on a regular basis ask me if I’m okay . . . . the bitch face is that strong in this one. I also feel like punching things and am avoiding the male population as much as possible to save myself from exploding on some poor, unsuspecting soul who had nothing to do with anything I’m feeling right now.

Yesterday I went through a wide range of emotions as I hashed it all out in therapy. My anger over the actions of these self-proclaimed ‘friends’ who are now dead to me. My anger over the recent antics of the Dirty Faerie Creature (DF) in the office, and the recent news of my adoptive father’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis.

I’ll start with DF. She involved herself with a man who was sexually coercive and manipulative. It’s now a huge thing in the anarchist vegan feminist biking community. On a tangent, when a vegan and a cyclist are mixed into one person it can only mean bad news. It’s a form of smug self-righteousness from opposite sides of the spectrum that meet somewhere in the middle to create a form of evil spawn that can only be described as the love child of Satan and Hades. Sprinkle in anarchy and feminism with shouts of ‘Fascist!’ and ‘Misogyny!’ and Portland now has a whirlwind of smug self-righteousness that’s sure to drag every last one of us to hell.

Funny, right? Now imagine the love child of those two assholes. 

I know about DF’s experience because she has made a point of telling me about her experience – as well as everyone else in the office. I felt bad for her the first day she talked about it and then that all went down the drain fairly quickly as she started writing posts about her hickeys from a new year’s celebration. It wasn’t just that, but her need to talk about it to me and my office mate that didn’t sit well with me. She said his actions triggered her long subdued PTSD and it was because of this state of mind that she had sex with this guy in the first place. I am by no means an expert of PTSD, but I have dealt with it for many years and I know of not one person with a history of sexual abuse who, upon being triggered, would willingly have sex with someone who has just upset them by inappropriate behavior. Her continual discussions about this topic in the workplace have triggered my PTSD – and that royally pisses me off. I go to therapy once a week. I have put in many hours, a hell of a lot of work, and have paid a significant amount of money to make progress. Perhaps DF should consider going to see a professional instead of using her co-workers as therapists. I discussed this topic at length with my therapist yesterday, wondering if I was a horrible person, a calloused human being because I could not give DF any support. My therapist doesn’t see me in that light, but pointed out how the unchecked behavior of DF that never experiences a form of consequence is frustrating and her topics of discussion are almost always unsettling to me.

I don't think I could have described her better . . . .Misogyny!

For the first time in a while, I visited my adopted family over the weekend. I offered to make dinner in exchange for the use of an iron and ironing board . . . . and I was also dying to try out my new spiralizer. It was during this time that my adoptive mother, Morgan, told me of my beloved Jefe’s illness. I watched how she interacted with him. I’m sure she means well – she just has a way of infantizing others, rendering them to the level of a 5-year-old that is utterly helpless and can do nothing for himself/herself. I listened as she told him, “Look at what I’m doing. I’m writing your hike on your calendar for tomorrow. Tomorrow is Sunday.” I saw the expression of frustration on his face. I know that feeling, I truly do. The problem with a diagnosis is that people do start to treat you differently, despite their protests that it’s just not so. Whether they realize it or not, the label of a diagnosis causes most people to look at the diagnosed in a different light. I’ve been where he’s been in that regard. My adoptive father, Jefe, has every ounce of empathy I have to give.

Over the course of that day, I got the impression that Jefe had simply given up. He’s accepted the label and he’s mirroring the symptoms that others are projecting on him – levels of forgetfulness that have always been a part of his personality, but now ascribed to a disease. Witnessing his surrender, his refusal to keep fighting may be one of the most disheartening things I’ve ever seen.

Don't let anyone tell you who you are. 

My adoptive father and brother gave me a ride home from therapy yesterday. I was in tears when they picked me up. I am past the point of shoving anything down because I don’t think there’s any room. I’m feeling a wide range of intense emotions and it won’t let up. I hate crying in front of anyone and I couldn’t keep it at bay. The traffic was piling up as they drove me home, and I don’t know why, but I wanted to jump out of the car and run until my feet were blistered and bleeding and broken. I don’t know what or where I wanted to run towards, only that I felt suffocated and devastated. 

Today, I feel both anger and suffocation. I don't know how to bring this one to an end and I can't remember the last time I've felt such intense anger and mixed emotions. Maybe I'll delete this entry, maybe I'll print it out and burn it to give me some form of symbolism for burning bridges . . . and liar's pants . . .

Paying the Piper

I’ve been tired lately . . . really tired. I feel like I have 8 balls up in the air and have to learn to juggle all of them. Simultaneously. Right now. I recently gave myself a reality check and pep talk just to be reminded of these things: not everything falls into place overnight, there really are no ‘perfect’ conditions for anything and we all have to pay our dues to get what we want in life.

Sometimes frustrations arise when I see what I perceive as biased treatment between my brother and me. Every time I catch myself in that pattern of thinking I remind myself that the world doesn’t owe me anything. Perseverance has always been my trade mark. I’m tough. I’m resilient. Resorting to envy and resentment is pointless. It benefits no one and is harmful to me most of all.

Since I’ve started dating I’m feeling pressure from some for not finding ‘the one’ yet and from others to take my time. It’s the former that manages to get into my head. Damn. It. I still have my reservations about the whole other-person-completing-me idea. I know I believed in it once and I’d like to think my current approach is a more practical one. When I meet someone the question at the forefront of my mind is how dedicated he will be in the long run. Is he willing to try to work it out when things aren’t going smoothly or will he be quick to draw just for the sake of outshooting me? Personally, I’m not one to speak when I’m hurt or angry. Once something has been said, that’s it . . . . and it feels like that has the potential to do more much harm than a physical act of harming someone  - like theft or something along those lines. It’s almost always the words someone has spoken to me and my emotional reaction to those words that I remember. I try to take care when I speak to others.

I went off on a tangent there for a minute. That’s an example of how my mind is running in circles lately. I go from worrying about my current living situation, to my lack of a social life because of my living situation, to Merlin and telling myself that he’s worth it all (because he so very much is), to dating, to telling my inner mind to shut the hell up and be quiet for once.

On the topic of dating: I feel like I haven’t the slightest fucking clue. On the rare occasion that I meet someone with whom I feel a connection or someone that merits a few outings because I think they might be worth my while, I’m often consumed with thoughts along the lines of: Am I going to get hurt? Will I somehow hurt him? What the hell am I doing here?! Then I catch myself in borderline freak out mode, tell myself I’m awesome about 50 times the same way one would recite a Hail Mary as a form of penance, and take a mental time out to remind myself that this isn’t the end of the line for me. Not even close. In fact, there is no end of the line. That’s just an illusion.

I was telling a friend about someone I met recently. Her response was this: you don’t sound very enthused. Truth be told, I was pleasantly surprised by him. I almost stood him up. I’m glad I didn’t because so far he’s been very different from anyone else I’ve met.  I was skeptical because of his age. I have a long history of dating older men and it never bodes well for me. Then I met him. He’s kind, attractive, he's witty, he's chivalrous, and we have the chemistry to carry on meaningful conversations. While I’ve been extremely self-conscious about my appearance lately, I always feel lovely when I’m with him. On some level I’d wager I’m thrilled. My problem is that I keep telling myself it’s not going to work. For the love of all that is holy, I really need to quit thinking along those lines. I can’t keep focusing on what’s not working, what’s not ideal, and what’s not where I want it to be. Instead, I should be looking forward to something else entirely and remind myself that we pay our dues in nearly every aspect of life. My friends have their fair share of dating gone wrong stories. They found the right fit eventually.

This about sums up who I've met so far with the exception of the guy I almost stood up. 

Everyone has to pay their dues when it comes to a career. While I’m not where I had hoped to be in terms of finances, I know that will come later and emotionally my work is pretty damn rewarding. I helped a patient from another clinic yesterday. She had so many things going on in her life that were overwhelming her physically and mentally and all she needed right at that moment was for someone to give her a sincere and listening ear and get her the help she needed instead of passing her off to the next person. I was able to provide that. These one-on-one interactions make a world of difference to someone else and are precisely why I love my job. I remind myself of this when I think that something as silly as money is more important to my overall well-being. I manage to get by with what I have.

Connecting with complete strangers in their moment of emotional need. THIS is why I love my job. 

When I’m stressed out I remind myself of the things that really matter. I am lucky enough to have a position that is rewarding more often than not. My doctor appreciates me and his gratitude means the world to me. I’ve been surrounded by academia long enough to know the vast majority who make a career out of it have over-inflated egos.

Most importantly, Merlin is a happy dog. He has access to a small yard. I purchased a small AC to run on days when it’s hot and muggy so he’ll be comfortable while I’m away and he is adored by everyone who meets him. I’ve been complimented a lot lately regarding his sweet temperament. That gives me the warm fuzzies because that was entirely my doing and even though finances are tight most of the time I can still afford his grain free good, treats, an occasional toy and lots of love.

The lack of a kitchen has created a whole other set of issues: the time spent actually making food, cleaning my apartment and still trying to find a more efficient way to survive in there have severely cut into my social life. That’s upsetting to me from time to time. I do miss dancing and I am annoyed by the fact that my apartment was probably built on top of an ant graveyard and that’s why those stupid little creatures never go away. I've been browsing. I've learned fairly quickly that Portland is a renter's nightmare. I have stories. I think I'll save those for another entry because they deserve to be showcased! 

He's worth every single aspect of being a hound mom. 

When I’m frustrated I remind myself why I did it at all in the first place: the hound. He’s worth every frustration and inconvenience. I keep that thought in mind every time I look for a new apartment or (as I’m considering lately) roommate scenario. Merlin’s happiness comes first, so I’m staying put for a while. 

When Confronted With Pandora, Just Keep Dancing

“Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one’s definition of your life; define yourself.” – Harvey Fierstein

I had a fairly rough time for a while – not because I lost someone particularly meaningful to me, but because I felt like a failure and his words have been harsh, cruel and unkind. It would seem as though he’s on a mission of character assassination.

Character assassination (n): the act of saying false things about a person usually in order to make the public stop liking or trusting that person.

My confession is this: I’m fighting really hard to avoid retaliation. There are plenty of negative things I could say to insult his character or existence as a human being. I won’t do it because that’s not the kind of person I am.

His main point of attack is his claim that I have a severe alcohol problem and should contact him when I’m ‘ready for help’. Initially, this hurt me. It hurt because I told him in confidence about a time in my life when I used alcohol as a poor coping mechanism after an assault that I didn’t know how to even begin processing. I also lost an uncle to massive organ failure because he spent too many years of his life drinking. That’s what hurt me.

From the way he talked, this is where I'd be in 5 years . . . with facial hair, too, because I'd be too sad over the life he could have provided for me.

My friends who know me well find his comments laughable. I’m now counting my blessings that he only met a few of my friends in person. Where I am hurt at his actions, they are angry for me. My lovely guardians, where would I be without you?

Perhaps all disagreements should be settled this way.

The lowest blow came in the form of Pandora’s Box. I remember staring at it on the front porch and thinking to myself, “My therapist would tell me not to open this” and also my good friend would say, “Throw it directly into the garbage bin”. So what do I do? I open the damn thing. I was happy to finally have a couple of things I left in his car back in my possession, but this came with a price. In the box he included a lengthy typed letter and a rock.

I don't know if it was temptation or that I felt I needed more punishment, because nothing good was going to come out of that box.

Once again, the letter pointed to my character flaws, something about the rock amplifying energy and another piece about a hummingbird or something. I threw the rock where the Columbia and Willamette meet. That was one of the most gratifying experiences in my life.

The weeks following the arrival of that box were a little rough. I tend to be hard on myself in any normal setting . . . . it wasn’t long before I started waging war. If it weren’t for those who told me that his words didn’t describe me, I may have actually believed them. I think it shows much more strength in character to be able to analyze your own reflection in the mirror before pointing a finger at others.  

Turn your gaze inward and grapple with your own shortcoming before pointing your finger at the rest of the world for the happiness you lack. This is part of the human experience.

“Things don’t go wrong and break your heart so you can become bitter and give up. They happen to break you down and build you up so you can be all that you were intended to be.”  - Charles Jones

So while I fought the negativity I directed only to myself, I fought equally as hard to find beauty in the world and do things that make me happy. I admit I had help, an amazing guy told me “Don’t be hard on you. Just get angry.” I don’t know why, but it worked. I felt angry for a couple of days and then it was as if the former boyfriend who delights in making me feel bad never existed . . . .and then he started telling my friends that I’m an alcoholic and that they should be looking for the signs.

Oh look! There I am again . . . .making bad decisions and being a horrible, selfish human being in general.

For Pete’s sake! Does he ever stop?! I finally told one person who was consistently relaying information to me that I didn’t want to hear what he was saying, whether it be good or bad. Problem solved. After the breakup between Mr. Finger Pointer and me, a friend told me that I have a tendency to let myself be talked into dating someone. I can see the validity of her point, I really can. However, saying that I’m consistently talked into things suggests that I can’t take responsibility for my own actions. I admit that I’ve been in plenty of relationships that I never cared to be in to begin with – I guess it’s because I didn’t think I deserved anything good in life. I’m beginning to move away from that and am trying to think more positively, particularly in regards to myself. Because I felt like a royal failure at practically everything, I told myself I just wasn't relationship material. Then Fate, the Universe, whatever it may be told me otherwise. I met someone that I can't picture life without. I've learned that these opportunities in life are rare and shouldn't be ignored.

Be on the watch. The gods will offer you chances. Know them. Take them.  - C. Bukowski

Things have been looking up. I have a new job and I met someone who I think is one of the most amazing human beings to enter my life. He has been my rock and if anyone were to ask him, he’d say I’m the most gorgeous, honest and amazing woman to have ever graced this part of the planet. Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if he argued me to be the best thing ever to have graced the earth. 

He reminds of the the qualities I can't see within myself.

Our first outing consisted of karaoke because I wanted to go and as a single female it’s poor judgment to go to a bar alone – even if you are only there to sing karaoke. After I belted out a couple of tunes, I started helping him sift through the list of songs. He tells me he only sings Rage Against the Machine. I found it for him. That’s when he said, “Okay. I don’t really sing karaoke. I just wanted to get you out.” Granted, I’ve been lied to plenty by men trying to get my attention – but I thought that was perhaps the most creative. For the record, I’m glad he did it.

One of my favorite memories: Getting stuck in the down pour with you. There was no where else on earth I'd rather be.

I wouldn’t say that we’re inseparable, but I can hardly stand to be away from him. He described what’s taking place between us as a whirlwind. I suppose it is. We both feel it – some inexplicable and very strong attraction that matches the connection we share. I’ve attempted to put into words what’s taken place the past couple of weeks and I still come up empty. All I can say is this, “Wow.”

 He challenges me to be a better person and recognize my own self worth. He calls me his muse. I’m honored. I was beginning to think I would never see this side of myself again . . . the capacity to feel so deeply was lost on me for a while. If one is counting the span of time, the conclusion would be that I barely know him, yet I feel as if I’ve known him my entire life. I feel as if he and I have spent thousands of lifetimes together.

"The minute I heard my first love story, I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lover's don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along." - Rumi

My tendency is to hold my breath and expect the worst: the goodness will come crashing down on me, fade away and I will have ruined yet another beautiful thing in my life. For now, I’m breathing in each moment. I’m not afraid.

“Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.” -Buddha

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