You Live…You Learn…Again.

The voyage to independence will always be rocky for me until some things are figured out. I’m in a good place, but the majority of it–financially–was because my dad was helping me out. But at the same time, I’m taking an initiative to show some responsibility. I have no idea what happened to my Summer job. Once my boss was over-staffed, she decided to make me an admin. assistant. Technically this never happened. All talk about this office, this book-keeping that needed to be done. Here it is April, and this was promised in what…September?

Believe me, I was scrambling to find gigs and surveys to fatten my wallet. I’m not cute enough to model, and not interesting enough to sell any-freakin-thing. So I was suffering and trying NOT to run up what little credit I had left. Then, finally, my dad said “we’re leaving Capital One”. The departure was nasty and interesting. Reapplying for another card wasn’t as easy as it was at 18. With no savings, no job, and no income–no company wants you. Probably all for the best, but interesting as they pre-approved me for another card, and pretty much send me crap all the time for the house and car I do not own.

I took it pretty hard, but the blessing of my credit score skyrocketing was the start. Once I opened a savings account, the rules were simple–spend within my means. Save every penny I can. “Establish myself” and come back in six months. Now, Capital One is dust. They treat you like riff-raff if you aren’t a certain kind of person. 12 years later, I am nobody to them. I wrote them a letter, and they assumed this was my request to reconsider. I nicely said kiss my butt. They missed the eloquent memo.

The silver lining came February of this year. At the same time I was confirmed as poor riff-raff, a baby is born. She is my cousin by marriage. Out of all the people in this world, her mom and dad chose me to watch over her. I guess being a humble, loving, hippie has some perks. So for 75 dollars a month, I watch her from 9 to 4 PM Mon-Fri. A challenging, yet plush gig that allows me to give love to somebody, but also “jar my maternal skills” as my father has so delicately put it.

If I can barely afford to keep myself afloat, what makes him think I’m ready to carry, birth, and rear spawn of my own? “I’ll pay for it”, he says. Oh no you will not. If I get lucky to meet someone, get together, and have a baby–that’s our thing. Babies are expensive responsibilities. Asthmatic ones–because let’s face it, my defective lung genes are strong I’m sure–are even more expensive.

So I finally have some glimmer of a job. Cash in my pocket. Not so much a check. Still better than a sharp stick in the eye, or a LEGO pressed hard against the bottom of my foot. Caloo, Calay.

Now, that’s where the “good stuff” ends, because I am still very single and very not…frolicing. I’m kinda done searching for either in this moment, but feel this sudden urge to….*sucks in air* return to previous blogging territory based on a very insightful conversation I had a couple days ago. Let’s just say that sometimes you need to talk to other people about your past.

My past has this one part that’s always there, always up in the air. I have fought it, over-thought it, and tried to deny it. I have written about it full of hurt and anger, not wanting to face how bad I missed the subject, or just how…well…super shitty my thoughts were at times. Fear of being obsessed made it worse. Made it much more explosive. The hurt of getting Ghosted again stirred up old memories.

This conversation made me realize a lot of things were not in the right perspective. Perhaps words like “toxic” and “emotionally abusive” were not the best ways to describe my time with it….them.

I realize now that getting mad at the past in terms of the initial ghosting is tired. Yes, it hurt. Hurt a lot. But we discussed that. What I didn’t discuss/don’t remember discussing is WHY things fell apart. The depression that made me feel like I wasn’t good enough or beautiful enough to get out of the house. The worthlessness that was about my feelings of inadequacy, and had nothing to do with not wanting to be with him or around him–because I was so powerfully drawn to him that I could drink and drink of him and still thirst for more.

She said to me “you two are spiritually connected. Perhaps not as strong as before, but there is something there”.

Oh.

So.

I mean, I still feel like editing myself so I don’t seem nutty or obsessed. But I’ve fought myself and grumbled about it for too long. I’ve denied it and written about it in such a negative light. A lonely light. Never honest. So yes I wonder about him. Have almost contacted him but stopped myself. Have regretted all the times I was less than a girlfriend and lover to him in our past. Have wondered why his past came to bite me in the behind, and I talked to it for 90 horrendous and super hurt minutes.

I still wonder if he eats enough. If he is happy. With someone. At peace with himself and his family. Still a gamer. If his Crohn’s is in remission. I still wonder if he’s good at computers, and if he really forgot everything about us like he said. And, how because I regrettably never could. And…to say…that hurt. It hurts both ways, actually. Hurts to remember, and hurts to be so easily forgotten. I wonder if he actually loved me–and that brought on a huge barrage of negative poems/reflections/feelings. But I’d like to think he did. Shitty things aside, I’d like to think maybe he loved me.

These are the things I regret spilling out, but they are in my head. And I probably look crazy now, but I genuinely care about him despite ghosting and not talking. It’s like hoping the same flower you left in the field is still there…growing. And I think as people–we are always growing and changing. So I am embarrassed, yes, but feeling less crazy because of that lady I talked to.

You know, I say super dumb stuff all the time. My dad always said I acted differently when he came around. I never saw it. With all the stuff that went wrong, and people from our respective camps not liking the other person–I felt like my entire universe was he and I, and that we’d…you know…be around? I know ships pass. Sometimes they just don’t stick. Which is why after the last ghosting, I got it. I hurt a lot, but I got it.

I felt very strange for ever thinking of him. Or missing him. Don’t people move on? And I kept asking and asking myself why I couldn’t. Kept trying and trying. The lady said to me–“you deserve happiness, and you deserve to move on. Baby steps.” And I don’t know if she knew we were over in 2007, and had tried and failed a lot of times. I never told her that. But when she said baby steps, I felt it still applied.

I don’t feel like I’m stuck because of him. I feel stuck in a place of fear that when the universe does carry me to a place where I might meet someone, I will be afraid to give myself to them as I gave to him. He was my first serious boyfriend, and I dropped the ball a lot with him. But I was very happy a lot of the time. Just to feel his warmth, just to eat really bad food with him, and just to watch him slowly walk to my house. So when the dynamic changed, I was ripped apart. But I did my dirt. I can admit that. Tried to write an essay for a new book about it where I get super honest. Not sure I want to include everything now. but post-relationship, I ghosted back too.

Time and forgetfulness can muddy thoughts, though. That part isn’t far. So while I’m pretty crusty about the womansavers thing (which I started and somebody on his team finished until one day I deleted it all), and how his mystery frolic got my damn number…I step through all the flames and allow myself to be vulnerable (and mocked, I’m sure) to say yeah–I care for ’em. I don’t wish them any harm, and what’s the use of vendettas and hard feelings?

He uh…He’s different.

I tell people that and I think they just take it as “good lovin” or a rockin bod, or a handsome person. It’s more than that, and I’m over that hill of lusty thoughts anyway. I ran my mouth one time on that subject, and I won’t go there again. He is simply different. And I don’t know what lady is in his life, and I refuse to get nosy and check….but how lucky is she. Whomever he has grown up to be.

As I was new to love, maybe so was he to…somebody like me? And of course outside of “a Roni experience”, he had his own stuff to deal with. Internals I won’t go into, but things that probably made trust a big deal. His past wasn’t this super evil thing, but I’m sure the hurt he had carried scars. So neither of us were perfect.

So…this lady I talked to?

She opened my eyes. That’s all.

Helped me realize life is too short to lie, to hold back, to deny. Also to stay mad at situations you barely remember, when your heart just cares and cares for folks no matter what. It just overrides every dang thing. Maybe that’s too weird, too crazy, and too hip for the room. I can’t be worried about how people judge my feelings. As long as I’M not getting weird about it, I think caring for people is okay.

Granted there’s like one person who rubs my rhubarb the wrong way, I think it’s better for my state of being to drop the misconceptions about this person I speak of. And maybe someday, we can have our closure. If need be.

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