Soul Mates & Choices: When the End is not The End. 

This had a very strong effect on me. 

VIA: elephant journal

When one of my closest friends transitioned out of this life several years ago the experience became one of the most important soul lessons of my life.
The hospital room was overflowing with women, each with a significant and sacred place in my friend’s story. There was a lifetime of heart connections present, witnessing and holding the space for her exit.
As the sun was setting on the day, a man entered the room. There was a collective pulling of breath because everyone present understood the significance of this moment.
He was “the” man—the one who had resided prominently within my friend’s heart—for too many years to try to count, for as long as I had known her. There had been a time when he was the one she had mindlessly reached for, she had known that their souls were meant to be on this planet together, evolving and expanding and becoming.
They were soul mates. But he had not been able to fully show up.
He tried in his ways, but he simply could not or would not step in to the work that a soul mate connection offers to two Beings. He was never ready to be completely in. He had wanted her to be there, heart-connected and available, as an option for that future day when he would be ready, though the future never arrived.
She went forward with her own life, and he with his. There were sometimes years with little to no contact, and times when they easefully reconnected again as old, true friends. I don’t believe that she was waiting on him in a romantic sense—she closed the door of their romance long ago, though I do believe that there was always a wish within her soul that he would someday decide he was finally ready for this soul work.
As he entered the hospital room he was moving at a fast pace, the momentum it took to propel him into this moment. My heart ached as he hit the brick wall of reality taking in the scene. The sight of her literally hurled his body backwards several steps, and stopped him cold.
But then he knew what to do. With laser precision he walked over to her bedside and placed the tips of his fingers ever so gently upon her forehead.
He stood; eyes closed with her, for several moments. Then he turned away walking over to the window to look out at the gorgeous setting sun. Everyone in the room turned their gaze to follow him, and as we were admiring the beautiful sunset she took her last breath.
The women began to cry and mourn and gather around her, but the man just stood there watching, as still as a stone.
He had accomplished what he came there to accomplish, which was to show up for her. The women started to comfort him, saying, “She waited for you. Thank you for coming. It means so much”
He didn’t respond to these acknowledgements of his place of importance in her life, he just gazed upon the ceremonial farewell now underway. The women bathed my friend in lavender and sang songs rejoicing her. Someone handed him a towel, to help dry her body off. He held the towel but did not move from his place.
It all felt so representative of their experience together, I could see how locked down he was and it broke my heart. A wave of compassion flooded over me and a deep sorrow for the beautiful soul work left undone, unchosen. I could see on his face that he knew. He told himself for all these years that she would always be there, for the day he became ready—and now she was gone.
He believed they were soul mates, he referred to her as such; the connection was undeniable. Anyone who had ever spent time with the two of them together could feel the truth of this, regardless of circumstances or storylines.
When I left the hospital late that evening I immediately dialed the number of my own long left behind soul mate. It had happened that we spoke briefly that morning, so he knew my friend was in her last moments of life. He knew I was calling to tell him that she was gone. He knew I needed his comfort. But he didn’t take the call.
He said no to me. Again. Still.

Even in my disappointment I recognized that he had done the right thing, as brutal as it seemed. He was in a relationship with another, and we share the past not the present. He was no longer “my person” nor I, his. It had been wrong for me to make that call.

I sat in my car weeping uncontrollably for a long time—for the loss of my beautiful friend, for the shocked pain and regret I saw on the face of her soul mate knowing the door of opportunity had now closed for this lifetime, and for my own disappointed heart with its similar story.
I don’t take my soul mate’s no personally. It is not some defective aspect of me that he has turned away from. I know this. I accept his right to choose the work his soul shows up for in this life and his own pace of readiness.
But there is an unresolvable heartache, a disappointment that does not become diluted with time or distance. My own work has become navigating these difficult emotions with an ever open and compassionate heart.

I remind myself that this whole lifetime is but a cosmic blip on the map and there is so much more we cannot see from this physical body’s vantage point.

The end is never the end.

I believe that my friend was wise in not trying to push this man completely out of her heart. She did not allow her life to stall and become stagnant waiting, but she did not sever the connection and banish him as punishment for his no. She accepted this and moved forward, still embracing and acknowledging the small piece of her that would always be awaiting his arrival.

Prom

As Pickle is nearing the end of his senior year of high school, prom is in the air. Pickle won’t be attending as he attended the Heart of Rock and Roll prom this last fall, but he is going to After Prom at Cedar Point the following day.

All of this got me thinking about my own prom.

Even though it will be 20 years ago come next summer, 20 YEARS, I remember it like it was yesterday …

Before I even started getting ready, my date had a dozen, long stem roses delivered to my house. I was still in my pajamas but I felt like a queen. I went to a salon for the first time that day. Got to be waited on by two incredibly gorgeous, well put-together ladies. One working my hair, while the other worked on my nails and make up. This would be a fantasy I would not ever again reach, even on my wedding day.

Then I went home and put on that gown. Classic Hollywood black, with Audrey Hepburn gloves to match and for good measure in attempting to leave my little girl ways behind, a low cut and high slit, paired with velvet pumps.  I don’t remember what he said when he saw me that evening for the first time, but the look on his face, I’ll never forget.

 I remember trying to be very sophisticated as we made our promenade into dinner. All eyes smiling on the two of us together, wanting to make him proud. I also remember the highlights of the actual  dance. Getting our pictures taken. Rocking out with my girlfriends but taking every opportunity to slow dance with him.

But my favorite memories came after we left. Just the two of us in the backseat of a stretch limo while taking in the sights and city lights of Washington D.C. after dark. All the memorials being lit up. The busyness of Georgetown on a weekend night. It all felt like a dream and I didn’t want the magic of it to ever end.

There’s something very magical about being young, in love and sharing a night like that. Something that can never be replicated. While a part of that girl still lives in me, wanting that kind of magic to grace my days again and no matter what happened in that relationship with that boy in the days and years that were to follow, I will always hold those memories close to my heart and be so appreciative of that night … and that magic.

Because of that night, I will always believe in magic.

Things I Meant To Say To an EX

You,  sir, are an asshole. An asshole of epic proportion with an ego to match.  You think you’re special. I can hear it in your lines and even though I’m gracious enough not to call you on your bullshit, trust this, I know it is.

Look down on me all you want, I know you do. And it’s fine by me.

I know who I am and I like me, even the messy parts that you term “crazy”. Ive had enough experience in life and love to be ok with loneliness and others disregard without it bothering me. I choose not to change the fact that my scars are on display, that they are a part of me. Yes, it can make me a little insecure. Sometimes I don’t make sense. But I put myself out there. I’m in the arena. So yeh, I like that about me. It makes me ME and it makes the world my oyster. I’m always gonna keep looking for and learning about the pearls. That’s how I grow. I’m ok admitting I’m no angel. I never claimed to be.

In fact, I’ve always been honest with you. I’ve always told you what you need to hear, instead of  what you want to hear. You call it rude. I call it reality. If you don’t like it, change it, but you can’t change me. Unlike you, I can own the good and bad, the triumphs and the failures. I can say “I was an asshole” or “I’m sorry”. I don’t think those are things I have ever actually heard, or for that matter, ever will hear from you. And you know, I don’t need to. I know you better than you know yourself. Maybe more than anyone else does.

But you don’t get it. You never did. No matter what I do, I just can’t convince you to just believe that what you see is what you get with me. This is real. I can’t even convince you to just hear me out.  You always know everything. Everything about what I think and feel. What I really mean. What my intentions are. The truth: You don’t know me at all. You dont even know yourself because even though you think you dont care, nobody gets that heated about things that dont matter to them.

The only reason I made the choice to reconnect with you is because unlike you, when I give my heart and makes promises to people, I mean them … I keep them. It’s not just words. When I tell someone I’ll always be there for them, I will. No matter what is said and done between us, when push comes to shove, if you need me, all that shit is gone, just like that. No apologies. No expectations. When I say “I love you” I know what love actually means. It means sacrifice, it means forgiveness, it means setting aside all the things that you have said and done to hurt me and choosing to hold on to the good times.

Sitting next to you, while we flew down back roads to share intimate moments away from the rest of the world. Just us. The radio cranked up and me singing along. You laughing. Running to the car in the rain and getting soaked, laughing our asses off until you took me in your arms and kissed me. It didn’t matter that we were literally taking a shower with our clothes on and you had on brand new shoes. Nothing else mattered. The way you let me hold you like a child when your family and childhood were too much to bear and you broke down. Those are the moments I’ll hang on to. That’s the pieces of you I want and the pieces of me that I wish you recalled more often than the flaws you invent. That’s where I hide my heart when you hurt me … again.

For now, the defending is done. I won’t concern myself with defending myself against things I never thought, said or did. To be honest, I don’t have the energy for any of it and shouldn’t have to, so I won’t. Making myself small enough to fit into your life is done. I’m the kind of friend a friend would want.

You, sir, are no friend of mine.

You Need Help

Just love this. Very relate-able for me.

You see there is this guy from my past (dont we all have, at least, one) who emerged in my present a few months ago.

I relate to this because initially what brought him back about was photos that I found. As I looked upon him in the pictures I thought, “What happened there? He’s a nice guy.”

I should also mention that there was a distance forming between my husband and I at this same point and I, not being able to leave well enough alone, reached out to him.

At first, the nostalgia and attention were intoxicating. But it was fleeting fast. I am reminded, as our conversations continue, exactly why I moved on.

This man is not the one in my pictures or who lives in my memories. He needs help and I am not the one.

Who’s the person in your past that allows you to relate to this?

A post from my inner child

(I’m not sure what will come from this exercise but here it goes)

Stop listening to this sad music. Listen to the good stuff. How about some Lionel Ritchie? Remember that song Ballerina Girl? Dad used to play that song for us. Remember when he brought home the pudgy, stuffed, cabbage patch ballerina that hung by the pretty ribbon? You focus to much on the pudgy. That’s your own hang up. No one else thinks you’re fat. Yeah the mean boy at school said it but you see the way he looks at you when his buddy isn’t around.
That gym teacher in middle school who called you ugly. That guy was stupid. I don’t remember what he looked like but his heart was ugly. He is probably just a miserable human. Let it go.
That’s why you like that song so much. Because you have a hard time letting go. It’s become a prayer for you. You’ll figure it out. You’re almost there now.  You have to work on forgetting. You’re worried about forgetting but you shouldn’t be. Just remember the good stuff though. Clear out more space for that stuff.
Remember bowling and having Happy Birthday sung by the waiters at Denny’s, the way Amy laughed when she embarrassed you. The day Julie moved away and you sung ‘That’s what Friends are for’ all day while staring at the big tree branches through the bedroom window. Melodramatic, but you loved her. Exploring the woods and crawling across the fallen tree over the creek. You could’ve walked. It wasn’t that deep but the adventure was cool. Oh, flashlight tag! Even the high school kids would play. Remember the time that neighbor kid shot Julie in the butt with the BB gun? The open classrooms at Kerrydale? I wonder if they’re still like that, don’t you? Probably, since the high school was too. Seems like a stupid idea. Very distracting. Remember when that dentist came to visit? You still think about fluoride being instant throw up when you go to the dentist, don’t you? Did you ever try eating chalk instead of Tums? I wonder if that was really true.
Do me a favor and  stop worrying so much. You’re not dying. You’re going to be an old woman with children and grandchildren who love you so much. You will have a legacy of love. You’re a great Mom. You’re kids know you love them. You’re allowed to be grumpy. You’re better than your Mom and Dad. That’s what bothers you so much about Jer. You think he’s not paying attention and will give the kids bad memories, but he’s more fun than Dad. You just need to tell him you need more fun. He’ll understand that. Tell him about the piggy back ride and why it’s important. There will be piggy back rides and you’re going to figure out cartwheels. Dance more. You love to dance and you’re really good at. Just do it.AND spin. And lay in the grass. Roll down a hill. Even without the kids. Do it for you. Just for fun. There is still fun to have and you will.
I love you just the way you are. You’re awesome. Go to sleep. No bad dreams tonight. It’s happy in here.
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(This writing was done with my non-dominant hand. Turned out pretty interesting. I hadn’t thought of many of these things in years and had no idea where each thought was coming from or going to. I would challenge you to try it out yourself. I double dog dare you.)

Wide awake

Its 4am here and I cant sleep.

I made the mistake of taking a nap earlier in the day, thinking the kids would wake me up after an hour when they hit the door after school. No such luck. I had forgotten that they both had after school activities. My husband picked up Diva and when they got home and he saw I was asleep, he pulled the bedroom door shut and let me continue to sleep.

On top of that, I had this terrible dream in which everyone and everything in my past with long shadows that still reach me today made an appearance. I was being chased, tortured and succumbing to pain so great, I felt it physically. I even tried waking myself. I was able to tell myself it was a dream, but it was as if I was drugged. I was crawling and couldn’t keep my eyes open, grasping desperately for anything and anyone who could guide me to consciousness.

My guess is that much of that has to do with reading back and cleaning up my blog because many of the things imported, did not come through as Id hoped. I know there’s a lot there, but looking back from here with new eyes, has ripped open old wounds. I can see the signs now before the rest of the story unfolds. It’s so striking sometimes that I push away from the desk and start pacing, racking my brain: How did I miss that? How could I be so stupid? Had I not always approached this with painstaking honesty, I could convince myself that I knew and just left things better unsaid.

Im also kicking myself for not only letting someone who has nothing deserving of being let back in, but also making my vulnerable enough to that person to let them hurt me again. I didn’t remember the “I never loved you” until after I had come to that suspicion on my own and then read it. I know this doesn’t make me the asshole. Im no saint, I just don’t want to live that way. I resent that I allowed myself to be strapped back into the blinders. It makes me feel bad about myself that Im wanting them to redeem them self. That Im waiting for an absolution that may very well never come.

Im supposed to be working on my “brand”, making it presentable and flow. The brand, however, is me and this life Im living and whenever I shine a light on everything around me it’s always going to be messy and complicated. That’s me, but I think I like that about myself. It makes me, me but, its also made me wonder if I’d be better off setting it all ablaze and starting over.

Is that really even possible?

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Merging and Cleaning Up

Since I need some distraction at this point, I’ve decided to attempt all the merging of my blog posts from my various sites online here. Im not sure how these posts are going to show up if you are a subscriber. They seem to show up in the reader when I switch them from private to public. If I overrun your reader, all apologies. It is a necessary evil , but will conclude ASAP.

If you happen to know how to get around this little nuisance, please advise.

Off I go…with a little help

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My Teenage Self

I’ve been thinking a lot this week about who I was as a teenager. I dont know if it’s because Jedi’s 13th year ends Sunday and so much of my teenage self started at 14…

When I was first inspired to write about my teenage self, I thought it would be fun. I dug up old pictures and listened to old music. It soon left me in tears and trying to wrap my head around it all mostly because my teenage self was a fucking mess.

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Just before turning 14, something happened that changed me forever. It turned everything I knew to be true to that point about love and family into a completely, useless shitstorm. It left me raw with emotion and not wanting to think. I was love sick. Desperate to know that something I had once known. I was silly and fun like what I imagine most teenage were like all while being sullen, pained and full of angst at the same time. Not your normal teenage angst, but one that still affects me now. It wasn’t that I never felt joy, but as a teenager, I felt happy through other people. If I could make someone happy, I was happy. People pleasing was my drug of choice.

I was also full of raging sexual curiosity. This wasn’t new to me. I can remember thinking and desiring sex at a very young age. I’ve written about that before. It was just that as a teenager, I was hell bound and determined to have it which was much to the dismay of the angel on my shoulder. Believe me, she was a real thorn in my exploration. Such is the life of a teenager who has grown up in an ultra religious home. I made a bargain of sorts with her. I reasoned that if I was in a committed relationship while having sex, it was ok because I wasn’t a whore.

No relationship + sex = bad, no-no. Relationship + sex = A-OK.

That’s how I became a serial monogamist. Having explained this…I feel the only real way I can tell the story of my teenage self is through relationships.

The first relationship, was a non-relationship.

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Kevin was the first, heart-aching crush I ever had. I was thirteen. I would walk nearly a mile out of my way to 7-11, knowing that he would be outside playing basketball with his friends. Just to walk by. I would never acknowledge him first. I’d pretend to be to involved with my Walkman even though it wasn’t even on. I mean, if he said something, how else would I hear him? On my way TO 7-11, he would always go on playing basketball and as far as I knew, didn’t do anything more than give me that slight, upward thrust of his jaw to acknowledge me. Then on my way BACK he eventually started tossing the ball to a buddy and would hussle over, all sweaty and stinky. I didn’t care. His buddies would complain. I loved it. He had a nerdy girlfriend who I did not concern myself with. He obviously like me better anyway because he broke up with her after I let him feel me up at a school dance. He put his letter jacket around me when it was cold and kissed me with his this annoying, turtle tongue, but I was certain that’s what love felt like. It wasn’t long before I found out that it wasn’t. This is just what he did with all the girls. So besides dressing pretty skanky and making him walk over to my house to get his stupid jacket, just to give him enough of a look at me as I threw it at him before slamming the door in his face, that was that. I was certain this is what women in charge of relationships did. Even though it wasn’t one.

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Jason, was the first guy who pursued me. I was certain this meant true love had found me and since it was true love, I was certain this meant we would be together forever and I would lose my virginity to him. Only one of those turned out to be true. Sex with Jason was not inspiring but we were in sweet, sappy love for almost a year before his best friend cheated on my cousin and he *tried* to do the same to me.
Pffft. I was devastated, but wanting to remain on top of  the spin control so I brought Chris into the picture.

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Chris was trying to make his recent ex-girlfriend jealous and this seemed like a splendid idea to me. Aside from using one another he introduced me to rock music for which I will always be thankful. He was a couple years older, in a band, hot as hell in his navy uniform and if it weren’t for that stupid angel on my shoulder and if our couple, hot and heavy make out sessions were any indication, that boy would’ve had his way with me and I would have loved every two minutes of it. No such luck though as I had made my deal with the bitch and I would stick to it. We were not in a relationship which meant no sex for us, but it was all for the best since he served his purpose and Jason and I kissed and made up.
IMG_5697 Compared to Chris though, he was pretty goofy. I loved him as much as any fifteen year old loves their first true love, but was pretty bored. I remedied this by creating drama and making him feel guilty. I have about 100 handwritten notes from him to prove it. I guess he was bored too because he suddenly decided to be a “gangsta” and started selling weed. My angel shoulder and I were having none of that so I broke up with him certain this would motivate him to do better.

I turned to my long time guy friend and neighbor growing up, Darryl. He was always the guy who I talked to in depth about everything and vice versa. We vented about parents, school, whoever we were dating at the time and I found it endearing that he walked me between classes just because. He picked on me as much as he playfully flirted with me during our basketball one-on-ones.

That guy always had a basketball. To this day, if I hear a basketball ball bouncing, my first thought is him.

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Because it wasn’t about THAT with us and I was well aware he was a player, we had a very reality based, platonic relationship. But as fate would have it, right around the time a girl tried to pin a fake pregnancy on Darryl, Jason and I’s relationship met it’s final demise. Jason had started playing nice again and I was sure he had seen the error of his ways even though Darryl was not and minced no words in telling me so. But before I had made up my mind about making it official again, one of my friends spotted Jason at another girl’s house. They were in her pool together and being much more than friendly. I hung up the phone and walked out the door just in time to seeing Darryl pulling up from work. I walked up and got in the car asking him to take me to my friend’s house to see for myself exactly what the hell was going on. On the way there, every emotion I had ever felt boiled. I shook uncontrollably while Darryl assured me everything would be ok. When we pulled up to the house Jason was at, I walked straight into the backyard. He was so involved in making out with this ugly, heffer in her pool that neither of them noticed me until I was walking back out. When Darryl saw the look on my face, he unlocked his trunk and grabbed a baseball bat and started towards me. I ran into Darryl arms, crying. All it took was him wrapping his arms around me and pointing that bat at Jason, saying only the word “No” to make Jason turn around and retreat. We just stood there in the middle of the street, me crying and Darryl rocking and SHHing me.

That was what I remembered of love. Pure and undiluted. This is what I wanted … and it scared the shit out of me.

I avoided him for a couple days afterwards, not knowing what I could ever say to him again.

A week later, I grabbed the mail from the box at the end of the drive when I got home from school, as I always did, but found only a single rose and a hand written note that read: If you’re going to avoid me, I had to find another way to make you smile. Darryl.  I looked up to see him sitting on his porch with a basketball wedged between his legs. So, I walked over and sat on his porch. I couldn’t look at him, but I was trying to find words when he stopped me. He said he knew everything had changed between us and while he didn’t ever want to lose me as a friend, he couldn’t have this as a “what if”. I told him I knew too much. I knew all about the girls upon girls, I couldn’t trust him that way and then he promised me he would never do that to me. He told me I wasn’t other girls.

It was everything my little girl heart had ever longed to hear and I gave in. Darryl treated me like a queen. He was the first guy who ever taught me how I should be treated as a woman.
IMG_5708 I felt like I had just walked on the set of rom-com where two friends who grew up together finally realize they’re in love. In fact, we shared a lot of movie-worthy moments that I’ll always hold close to my heart.

But everything outside of us was so complicated. My Dad hated our relationship even though he treated me better than anyone ever had. He almost had him arrested when he found out we were having sex. His friends, who were once our mutual friends, began to hate the seriousness I brought about in him and all the time we were spending together before he left for Air Force basic training. He wrote me everyday. He started to talk about getting married when he finished tech school and got his first orders. I traded in my extra credit to graduate early so I could be with him. Then, I went to see him when he graduated from boot camp just after I started my senior classes. He was different … suspicious. Asking me about Jason of all people. I couldn’t understand how he could think I could even find a place for another boy in my life, much less why I would want to when his brother had classes with me, his family lived on one side of me and his best friend was on the other. Yet the thought of him doing anything had never crossed my mind until I heard his own accusatory tone. After all, where the hell was all of this coming from?

I left on good terms, but full of doubt. I didn’t sleep for days on end. I didn’t eat. I went through the motions at school and work while my mind wondered. Then I became full of resolve to be completely selfish. Start doing me. Bought all new clothes. Sporty Spice was a thing of the past. Hello Sexy Spice, all day, everyday. Fuck being good. Bye shoulder angel.

It got me the attention I needed while Darryl did whatever he was doing in the background. In fact, every time I looked up in English, this guy across the aisle, which faced me, would meet eyes with me and then try to look away. His name was James. I started to toy with him little by little. He started to dote and spoil me. But while he was lavish with gifts, he was stingy with vulnerability, something that I never could seem to get past.  So things between us were very sexual. It was good and I was in charge. I got sexual with him in ways I never had before. I didn’t think any teenage guy would dislike the arrangement , but before I saw it coming, he was in my heart.

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I could act unattached and not bothered by the lack of intimacy, but once I was alone, behind the wheel of my car, I would cry. All the way home and then crying myself to sleep. I had been foolish for ever trying to convince myself my feelings weren’t on the table. I now knew no matter what I did, I was going to hurt someone. Darryl, James or even myself.

About a month after graduation, while James and I were driving back from a Hootie and the Blowfish concert, with my head on his shoulder, his fingers playing with my hair and Mariah Carey on the radio, it hit me hard. I was IN love and I wanted James. Everything was about to change and just like I wanted, I would call the shots. Except this meant for the first time, I was actually ending a relationship.

It was two weeks before I was supposed to fly out to see Darryl again and I was freaking out. I asked James to give me space, but since he was just as freaked out as I was about the whole thing, he couldn’t do it. So I ran. I used my graduation money to buy a ticket to Louisville to be around my extended family and stay at my Nana’s. If I was going to do this, I had to get distance from James and figure myself out. After two weeks, I decided that it was more than possible that James was holding back because of Darryl and that Darryl and I were better off as friends. So I flew from Louisville to San Antonio to see Darryl and say our goodbyes, with love, as friends.

James and I ended up being together for over two years and were even engaged, but my teenage years ended with me starting a relationship with a man who was awful. Even after meeting my first husband, I hung to hope with James. It didn’t help that we couldn’t stop coming back for more sex. But I learned in a very harsh way that it was just sex, not hope and I married the horrible man because I fell in love with his son, Pickle, perhaps as my way of punishing myself for my own transgressions.

I don’t know. I guess that’s just a lot of water underneath bridges I have burned.

The only happy ending that came of all these teenage dreams is that I still remain friends with Jason, Darryl and James to this today.

Now, I wonder what teenage me would think of me. I mostly wish I could let her know that for all the struggle we thought was in vain and mistakes that were made, it did get better. Id like to tell her that it’s ok to be immature and make mistakes. It doesn’t mean you’re a horrible person and unworthy of respect and love. It’s a part of growing up. Even as a grown woman, you’ll still have that little girl heart that wants to be kept safe and treasured. Being vulnerable isn’t something you grow out of, it’s something you must learn to lean into. I’d tell her that we found out who we really were all along, good and bad, and we made a life worth living. This life now, this love, these children were our collective dream. Its not what we thought it would look like, it’s better.

I hope she’d be damn proud.

The past is never far

Insomnia last night led to a nap this afternoon.

I woke up in a cold sweat, crying, curled up in a ball and covering my face.

Nightmare isn’t really the appropriate word because it was more as though I was reliving an awful memory.

He is overpowering the space around me and everything I once was. He’s slapping me in the face over and over. When I cover my face he throws punches into my newly pregnant womb. I slide down the wall and curl up in a ball to protect the child, our child, the child he begged me to conceive. I scream for help and he laughs sadistically.

In the dream…or reliving this nightmare today, I was trying desperately to get away from him, clinging to my belongings and moving place to place, always being found again and again.

Ill never understand how the subconscious works and what draws these memories to the surface, but they always catch me off guard and haunt me for weeks on end.

I completely resent that there is still any power for him to hold over me when Im a lifetime away…