Read Me Weep
(Posted on the Pauley's Facebook Page mid 2013)
Wow, I went for it. I let more come out.
My eyeballs ache and also my back teeth on both sides in my mouth from gritting.
I haven't had a good crying session like the one I had with posting a comment below the black and white picture of my shadow. Right now I feel I do have the potential to live up to what my doctor said...
"If you want to learn about PTSD and healing, read this book."
I flashed back*breathe* I know it's in the past where it could only help me now. What I noticed about what I said in that comment: sadness was stronger than anger and frustration.
I danced around that sadness before but I felt it hit hard again, which I thought only missing my children can do. I don't know if I just stepped it up a notch to where that flashback I didn't feel trapped by meaning that perhaps the next one, if there is a next one (hey, I can hope, shoosh!) won't kick my else either. I don't feel anxiety, but I still want to pop a Klonopin because I am a bit edgy at the moment.
Here's another hint of my healing... not only did I not shut up, I "liked" what was said literally by clicking on the like button. Doing that is like telling others, especially my friends that I stand by releasing the hurt and do feel proud I did. Yeah, it got intense, but I kept typing anyway after taking a few breathing breaks because when it started to really flow out, I did hold my breath.
I think that's a natural reaction with walking the walk of catharsis. I still have some residual flashes, but they aren't clear as earlier. I think that's my mind protecting itself or better said the room I made by clearing out one more piece of emotional baggage.
Drinking a nice, chilled pint of a nut brown ale would be really appreciated right now even if it's still not 8 am yet. I'll work on acquiring some later, what I need is to sleep after I eat something so I can take my "happy/chill the fuck out" pills. I don't think I'll be able to make it to dinner at my mom's later.
I'm asking myself if I'm isolating post this, but I rather sleep and after I wake up, I want to take it easy and not make phone calls, send texts or log in to the internet. I also don't want to play any music. I want to write on paper, maybe do some drawing... washing the dishes sounds cool too.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that... what am I trying to say?
I'm going to be processing what happened earlier. Right now with this post, I'm making notes.
It took a few hours to get me ready to open up. I didn't feel the spike right away that took me back to when... I think the warm up I did of reading back most of my posts here, helped and of course thinking as an author.
The spike lasted at least two minutes that if you're reliving shit, it's a long time but the actual length from start to finish I would guess was about 10-15 minutes because another reaction was to stare.
I used some of the relaxation breathing I was taught in therapy, to interrupt the roll I was on. I was still balling, but pausing to breathe helped me to refocus on what my intent was. I wanted to follow up on a letter I posted here that won't get sent with something "poetic".
I didn't plan on shit getting stirred up, but once it was, I rode it out by typing, then reading back. I'm okay and I did make myself laugh which I think is a good sign. There's a problem though that's eh...
It's just that I admitted through flashing back, okay I choked up, wow. *breathe, pause, breathe, take in, breathe, release* I need a few...
I admitted that... fuck it, just say it. I admitted that... I cared a lot, to where it was a kindness and compassionate based love. I admitted that there hasn't been a single day since that fucked up night, I haven't thought of him.
I finally agreed that the hope that got me through even after... *breathe...* can be laid to rest. I don't want to look for him. I want to move on and not let my feelings for what I wished, to be stronger than my desire to heal away from the thought of him.
I actually anticipated this when I was creating the storyline.
I dramatized the transition in to giving "Mikey" a chance with no more distractions, so it could just be him. As this applies to the real world, I want that transition to work. He made it clear enough regardless of the mixed messages, that there is nothing I can say or do that will... *breathe...* so as it is said, "when one door closes, another one opens."
I don't want to wish a memory anymore happy holidays and most definitely I want to leave it alone around my birthday. Anyway, I got to eat and fuck Klonopin, its Zyprexa Time!
Peace out.
~L.G.
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Play music videos for soundtrack
Thursday March 27, 2014
Down The Pathway/My Little House
East Los, Califas
5:28am
(A "journal entry" meant for late 2012 year in the Pauley's time line. Back over at "The Lighthouse/My apartment, Boyle Heights, Califas sometime during the early morning, when I would be sleeping if I could.)
I was thinking of the first David and for some reason I'm do not fully understand, but it felt trained to cry. I uttered in to the cold air that showed the warmth of my breath exposed, I said softly, "I love you."
Do I still?
Not really. It's more of did, but I suppose if I don't hate him or am indifferent, then that love I felt for him had been laid to rest and I'm just visiting its grave I saved for him in my heart. I don't think I can call someone my beloved and not remember why I did.
I was willing to offer him loyalty that would not falter.... I don't have a picture to remember him by, I destroyed them all because it felt like the best thing to do, especially after everything. Giving him my loyalty for the rest of my life would have been a grave mistake.
He didn't treat me all that well, but I insisted. He was not meant for me, other than to be a catalyst I learned from. His hands will not hold mine. He was not going to be standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for me to meet him, as we prepared to place rings on each others' fingers.
He would have not been happy with me; I expected him to live up to his potential that he showed intimidated him to the point he denied it.
My hands will not hold his to comfort him and show him my support, and yet he would call out my name when it was me wanting to walk away. So many times I wanted to walk away but he insisted that I not to, until my potential showed itself and it was clear, our worlds would not be wise to combine.
But earlier I still felt compelled to utter to myself and the darkness of the ending of night, "I love you." It was so long ago, over a decade, and yet his memory invades the stillness I was creating. "I love you." I did and I didn't for being so foolish through my stress and loneliness. I think of him at this moment and the words I also associate as a reminder why one tear escaped, and the other I just wiped away with my finger as the previous painted a line.
It's the music. The same music I would have seduced him to. I was good at seducing him as I remember how I begged him to kiss me so I may move on and forget, if at least for a little while, I had been trapped to the point I was or had suffocated in an engagement that also would not lead me to walk down an aisle to meet a man I did not love.
David kissed me, then he laid on top with my stockings ripped so I would be able to receive him and what I thought would ease my soul that mourned. I mourned him and then distracted away with the face of another, as I did to forget all that my mind would attach as my heart did not want to.
I forced the point, only to later be set free. It was good I was set free, and yet the protection I prayed for, so he would not be hurt, bound me to a sense of duty that used my hands to do the God I had known once, his bidding. He too set me free and returned my hands I sacrificed in an act of selfless love. I did love him. I did love him, and time did take away the pain; I am just remembering that once there was pain felt because I loved him.
Who would hold my hand in a future I am told would include a new man I would tell "I love you." and mean it even as it scares me to admit that I do, and it leaves me open to get hurt; perhaps even devastated. At least I have been preparing. At least I have been putting in an effort to be worth a man telling me "I love you" in return, and it not just be platonic.
This man, I wonder if he would hold my hand, then the other so both are in his, and it is him that places his ring on my finger. His ring he held as he got down on one knee to show, he wants me to believe he is serious and wants to share his life, and combine his world with mine.
If I give my loyalty, would it leave me open to feel more pain when this man, excuse me, if this man changes his mind?
It would seem fitting to wonder these things before they would come to pass, if they would come to pass. And yet there is Michael Anthony Duncan, that shares a hope of an Archangel that is also a Prince, but Michael is a man; a beautiful humble man that wants my attention.
He asks me time and time again to give him more of my own. He has held my hand, and with his other, he had placed it on my cheek, but did not kiss me. It was as if he wanted to comfort me from years of that cheek being soaked wet with a natural saltiness that I imagine by design was meant to taste as if it was created by the sea.
Is he worth opening myself up further beyond the concept I am capable to love once again?
Is that what he is asking me when he held my face and hand with such a tenderness?
It seemed to remind me of the day I escaped my fear and worry, to be brave and read David the letter I wrote because I thought of him fondly, even as I was conflicted. He reached for my hand and I was hooked, but Michael, sweetness that for not combats the bitter left behind by men such as David, my beloved that I had lost. My tears are trained from memory.
At least it does not haunt and torment me as before. As a cruel and depressed before. A before where his last words to me were "I don't hate you." It was something that made it feel at least the ending had a sense of dignified farewell. Michael has not left, nor the man that shares his name, and perhaps his light, and shall I challenge my mind I dare think his protection as his hands touch me?
His hands hold me. His hands caress my skin. He I should trust even as it could all be temporary. It does not have to be temporary....
Have I felt this with anyone else that had not abused and neglected me?
I don't remember right now, I just know my left hand was scarred by my right and branded for the rest of my life what I call my bastard's cross. The cross meant to cross out former burn marks of a mutilation to state my life in fact was crazy. However that cross out of proclamation of self control and yet freedom, did not anticipate that regardless, the madness would not end and leave me be in peace.
Michael, are you the one I was told would find me as you did that evening you spoke to me curious as to what I did to create art?
It was entertainment not art. My hands were not idle and my mind was preoccupied still, but he approached me and allowed my hands to to touch him so I may pose him, and I did want to feel him. Then he touched my hand with the side of his. Our fingers met and he poured in to the glass he brought me to share. I wonder if that was symbolic, like the Ace of Cups, filled with the potential of emotions, the hope for emotions shared mutual.
And then he touched my back, sending pulses that were electrifying to my brain. He was waking me up as David once did. And then he ran up to me to ask me if I may allow him to call me. He called out my name to not walk away and I stopped, hoping against a hope he would not let me go without a hope for him to see me again.
So he may touch my back as he did: and then reach for my hand when memories flooded back and reminded me, I am a mother without her children. Not exactly gone, but he was able to relate. He is a father not raising his daughter.
Perhaps it was St. Michael that summoned fate to guide us towards that night under the sky that contained the twinkling stars I was taught early on in school, had the magic within them, to wish upon and again hope in innocence then that was naive. Now am I naive in my caution?
I think so, but I have not made a wish on those stars since ______ touched my mind and told my heart to pray again he'd be protected, like David that did not go to war as ______ had; several times and very much a target. His hands creating second chances, and at times seeing those chances slip away. His hands will not hold mine, but Michael seems to be asking that I don't stop giving him the chance he has each time he returns to see me, that he will get to touch me. He touched me and my heart speaks now to my mind to listen.
It is becoming morning, I have somewhere to go. As one memory returns to it's grave, the other is still not yet where he belongs in my heart, put away so I may not think of him as I had every day, except when Michael's hand distracts me, and I think of ______ less. May I learn to think of him less and think of men like Michael more, unless he too requires a distraction.
I may give him his grave as well in my heart that tells my mind though, to touch him as to feel me. Perhaps to show me I may get to love again if I trust, his hands would not betray me, and leave with no parting words. I don't want to get hurt and yet my mind still longs to be told "I love you as you love me, will you marry me and wear this ring meant just for you, and only you. There is no other woman like you in the entire Universe that compares to the touch of your hand, as I hold it. Don't let go, accept my soul to connect with yours and know, "I will always love you, and only you."
The song finished. I feel like drinking coffee today and smoke a cigarette that my fingers hold, but do not burn again, that my life has not stopped being crazy. My hands have been through enough. My hands have stories to tell, and God listens to my mind and heart agreeing, the sacrifice out of love, wasn't for nothing.
~L.G. Flores
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****Revised 1/28/14****
"Words not told to say what is the start of a new 5yr plan."
Written By L.G. Flores
December 2013
Down The Pathway/My Little House
East Los Angeles, CA
Sometime Before 12am
Jukebox Lucy Sings The Soundtrack -- Reckless Ones -- "The One"
"He's been in my thoughts again, but not like before. Still though, why was he on my mind? I know I was emotional a few days back, it was my son's birthday not too long ago and I'm still not getting anywhere with his father. I want to forgive him, but he doesn't want to be, not by how he is acting. Me forgiving him is me being generous, he has hurt me so much and taken away what were some of my smiles...
I turned to this man I didn't know well, I'm sure I imposed with my drama and issues. He was a focal point to offset the chaos and madness, besides the painful and disturbing, frightening, frustrating and how my mind made my heart hurt like it told it to breathe as it throbbed raw.
To breathe; why is it difficult mentally to breathe love and life back in to my soul's intention?
Life on the other side of the tunnel where the light shines, it's nice to be out of the dark places that my eyelids create. They create the illusion of perception and opinion, as if it knew what the fuck was the point.
The point...
I couldn't even make myself prick my finger, that's how much I don't want my blood spilled to remind me, 'I live, I learn, I feel, I let go, I pass away....' This man though, what mystery I felt, I had been able to grasp the reasoning withing the silence of a screen turned on, but empty with no guiding light of asking, 'why not?' Then it turns in to' how so?' and another question of why do I really extend the experience of wondering how he is doing, if he's okay?
A thought occurred that became a concern that should not concern me, but I ask the Universe to allow me to explore my motives... My motives are not anything I have not expressed before, numerous times to deaf eyes that don't think what they read, and don't feel what is not there...
The enigma that makes me wonder, 'what has become of this man?' I have had this feeling that perhaps is my imagination having too many distractions to actually be productive. It's in my head, he's dealing, hopefully coping, if coping is the answer to what may be immediately difficult; if not thought of as just another string of words a little spider is suspended from... It's not poisonous, just misunderstood for the web it weaves as a safety net for when he falls from the sky towards the ground where he will roll in to what he wants to be forgotten and me not want to know anymore. Four years later approaches...
January 9th, a day that I think of and manage somehow to feel my own eyes tell me to decide why after all these years, I still wonder what he rolled in to. Did he want to hide, if at least to get away from his own chaos ,that I hope does not exist?
I'm learning "how", the very important "how". How to be at peace with a memory of having to forfeit for the sake of not adding to the onslaught of reality that can be fickle and selective. My mind entertains that he may not be doing as well as I concluded. I don't know if this is a hunch, or perhaps just more Limerence that has not run it's course enough to be tolerable. Actually it has, but I do take the time every morning of what ever time in the afternoon, or after dark, I realize my dreams want me to wake up from them; I have a ritual of reading what I think is his horoscope. I can admit I do still ask of myself, not to hold on with a torch that could be re-lit, as I have asked its former embers to stop glowing when I became ready to let go a little more, until the conflictual and intellectual shake hands... it's a start, perhaps not.
It's not. The start began the moment I decided I don't want to live in cold, lonely darkness of burning out on it all. The embers I seen after the fire storm raged, burned me as if I was tied to a stake, trapped. I did feel helpless and consumed it seemed, with my heart strained with the assumption it can not stop bleeding from an old, former point of desperation.
I wonder if he's smiling genuinely with joy and enthusiasm for the good there is to find and nurture. My concern I asked no permission to feel. I don't know if it is a hunch like all the other times before that keeps leading me to an elusive point of overbearing desire to be kind from a distance. From a distance I may pray for his heart to guide his mind, that I imagined was dragged at times, and at others, it is the one doing the dragging. My hunch was to ask the love of Mother Mary's message, to watch over him also even if he is not a Catholic. From the impression he made, he is not committed to any one religion of regulations and promises of rewards, when perhaps his spirituality freed his enlightenment to protect the epiphanies that would enter his room and wait for him to sleep on.
I have wondered if what I am feeling is that hunch that brings me back, rather than not hold me back from accepting, I am not welcomed, have not been, would not be. I really am just entertaining this feeling that this man is not as happy as he has the potential to be. I am not worried, this only makes things worse and solutions rushed inadequate...
Is he sad when he's alone?
Is he able to sleep and dream of the good to explore through living, just living and trusting that living will bring him back, or towards, where he can belong?
I don't want him saddened, though sadness is part of the experience of breathing while something he has acknowledged, does not let go completely. I've wondered if I have assisted in this somehow. I'm calm, but as I think of it, I am feeling pin point pressure pushing through, that prick all the tips of my fingers...
'Please, don't be depressed if you can help it. If you must, be wise on how you would deny it to draw you in further down in to a spot of too many thoughts not forming answers from ineffective questions.'
It is nice to hope for the best regardless of expectations. Why have expectations?
Five years later will I have expectations I will try to turn in to explanations while still praying he be safe, and happy, not going without?
Also praying for him not hurt and confuse others unintentionally, or perhaps with bitter and angry, full on assault from an arsenal; maintained as the reaction of not taking anyone's shit. Even if it's just their words that have faces to only take a value at... in, out, on, off, left behind, found. They are just words with weakened intentions of a poet with so much time to ponder. That's what I am, a poet painting those words with...
My hunch is asking me to care still even as it is one sided. 'A Toy of Intention' I see he also is. A grown up boy that won't dare cry. To cry is to admit not all emotions can be controlled or punished for what dread wants to punish. I have not put words to this long shot of habit that wants to remain while I sustain my own life I live without the separation preventing oceans of tears to cleanse for a catharsis. I wonder if I had become clever at last after attempt, after attempt, to figure out the enigma of guarding what was not meant for persons like me to solve. I would like for him to be doing well for himself and his family, regardless of the sentiment not returned or politely thanked.
Why do I still care as if it would matter to him as his doors remained too tricky for me to knock on, like I've created perhaps my own luck, in hopes he would open a door?
'Find your voice, then allow it to speak and convey what it knows as its truth, and this based on integrity, regardless of bad choices from his past.'
If we may be fortunate enough to break through our own mental and emotional walls that squabble like siblings competing, perhaps we discover it is time, it has been time, it will be time that heals while it ticks away with grains of sand that will run out. The brave are willing to turn the hourglass over, and point it's face to another that is hidden, along with a smile that is not shared, or better said, with me.
No 'hello", no 'hey'.
No request for me to not go away... not yet, to hold on and keep caring with patience and understanding. Nor one for me to not, to myself, answer why I should turn my back to him as he had. To 'Please' not turn around and leave regardless that I am a lifetime away from being close, and realizing there are no 'perhaps' if he tried, I can become dear. He will not ask. I've accepted this, it just takes a while for my heart and mind to agree with each other.
I don't want to keep struggling to find the words to say, 'Fine, I will appease myself somewhere else, and not contact you ever again.' If that is still what is wanted, who am I deny myself freedom to not allow myself to continue to wonder, can I? Should I? How do I start the 'how' to stop, as I learned I keep him special, even after time has reduced 'how' special, he used to be to me?
Me...
What am I trying to say that he can't or won't, or is waiting... for me to...?
At least as a poet, I can defuse with pretty wording, what troubles me, or excites me when it is related to him. Four years after I imploded, I feel I should continue to co-exist with the inclination that other men will know me better than he.
My words that I string together as the little spider weaves it in too, for the safety net, they read what was not meant for them. The words are his, even as an unwanted gift or one he is not aware of; or perhaps if I may indulge my residual vapor trail, he wants to say something; it's just that he is overwhelmed. I pray from a safe, far away from him distance, where he is far away from me and only he can change this. I've done what I could to accommodate and preempt as if to make it easier to translate what his thoughts give him, if not suppress. It's all his to deal with, I am only writing. I am not trying to change what does not require my personal, meddling intervention, though for the benefit of a doubt, I may not feel what I felt with intensity; but I recall I was willing to be his knight in a beat up armor, from having my mettle tested by his defenses.
Why?
I feel men will need to accept their turn, to be not left alone without a woman's compassion and earned patience, without demands, that would result in empty glasses turned upside down from having enough.
Would you imagine please, someone like me holding on for four years after my crash and burn, where I needed my own personal 'Angel of Mercy and Kindness' that did not descend from the sky on a spider web strand after all?
I wouldn't "speak" over him, if words written out, will be considered as they are read; communicating what can be thought out before released over to the energy that supports us, but also changes us in to someone different."
"Don't tell me, I know. I've known. I've done nothing so what else do I need to tell you other than, I changed my mind 4 years ago as well?
I remember that I did, but I didn't see it important enough to listen to whatever you go on about, and remember a message that I don't want for it to get across....
Don't care about me, listen to that, if anything listen to that!
You were right to question if I existed, and if I did consider you a friend.
As much as you try to apologize, it has not mattered. Think seriously about all the years you felt compelled to tell yourself stories that waste your time as you used to waste mine.
I don't want to say this to you ever again. Leave me alone and forget me as you said you wanted!
Four years later does not prove any sort of dedication, you have held on enough to think you have been loyal, but it was over nothing that was not ever there.
What was said then, where it could not be seen, there was no reason for you to sacrifice for me.
It will not persuade also another year from now, then 5 more after that, or how ever the fuck long it takes you to get sick of me. Get so sick, you refuse to think of me. I want you to reach the point, that I shouldn't be anyone to you.
Please, listen to silence of your hand I will not hold, and speaks of the emptiness that like a concept, you have been too stubborn to continue to remain blind towards.
I don't want your forgiveness, I have done nothing wrong, or if I have, it was replying to the message you sent me when you said you found me.
We only crossed paths to become eventual learning lessons of what will go wrong when planed, instead of flowing as what there is, does not need an entire fucking book series written to reach through. The pin points of color pixels you try to force on me, will not penetrate a screen lit up. I do not care about what from you, is marked on paper as well or painted on the walls as 'art'.
I don't need you in my life as friend that was more of a nice acquaintance that changed.
I don't want you ever to get close to me, or my world.
Listen to that as you imagine it, just so learn your precious 'how'...
Leave me alone, just go away and don't bother me with whatever the fuck is wrong with you. I don't give a fuck to even say for you this time, to take care."
"Even as I have to pretend these words to exist true, it is only by my hope for closure that I go to great lengths to cease the wondering. At least the song is written with irony, from realizing how not being someone's 'The One' goes both ways. I am not theirs. They are not mine.
The tragedy would be if I still cared too much about that. After time that has passed to become my past, and the lessons I have learned, I know that nothing was in vain. Sweet memories may remain, when the anger and disdain are replaced as was the liar and the cheat others were warned about me being. I rather replace my fears with understanding, if not, then at least acceptance to carry onward.
One day these words will be laid to rest within the pages of a book. Only if he looks, would he know what words of mine ever had to say about a time his memory was part of. I learned why armor is one "r" word past amor. I worn mine to reflect, reject, refuse, reuse, reduce, reclaim, redefine, redirect, respect, run towards, rather that runaway; by realizing even with our thoughts and emotions, we ought to be brave.
Renewal, rebirth, reconsideration, rest. These are but some of the words on my armor, as I'm willing to read an entire dictionary, to find the closest I could come to saying clearly, what it is I'm after. Seems I'd be repeating myself, when earlier I said it all with wanting to find my closure to let go. 'Art define me and guide me towards the life I want to live?'
My life I can do something about. Wondering about his even after all the time that had come and gone, it's out of compassion, not attraction. He stopped being my type long ago."
~L.G. Flores
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Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Down The Pathway/My Little House
East Los, Califas -- 3:36am
Hey there Bones,
I woke up at 11pm yesterday. I did consider doing some chores since I'm up and it's cool right now, not hot at all, but knowing I have errands to run in the morning, I figure it's best I take it easy, and save the cleaning for after I'm done with those errands. I’d be warmed up by then and the cup of coffee n top of the Adderall, I’ll have energy.
I reheated the pasta I made for dinner yesterday that other than cereal, it really was all I ate in 32hrs. Yeah, mania even if gentle is still an issue. I do remember a couple days back when I was revising the annotated version of your chapter about the pinball comparison, I was emotional.
I pulled I forget how many hours in front of the screen. Yesterday I added more to the annotation. I'm actually pretty proud about how deep I went in to the allegory symbolism. Would be nice if you read it, and besides that, liked it and told me it’s good work.
Before working on the annotation, I did some editing of the 3 sneak peeks of "Jacob" and posted them with a direct link on the homepage. I've been thinking of him and how rolling with his part in my daydream, saved the foundation to rebuild on.
I thought of a conversation I have yet to write but I made mental notes, after I opened up in the annotation sum up. I cried as I was letting it out, and I got some cool, or to me at least; points to orchestrate around the discussion between Jacob and "I".
I went in to the topic of home front culture, and the views on Jodys. I think I can turn those views on their heads. Jacob actually delivers the message of Devil's Advocate, that leads in to another hint of the "Mikey, Jacob, Chelsey" triangle from when the guys were back in High School.
I mention it first, though Jacob's name is not mentioned, in a convo between “Lou” and Mikey, after the big revelation the night before. Lou went to High School with them as well. These three are the military brats of the main pack of guys.
So in the convo between Lou and Mikey, Lou brings up Chelsey and Mikey did not want to talk about it, even 20yrs after the fact. Throughout the story, she keeps being brought up but only a little at a time is revealed about why she’s a bad memory, or better said, a bad person.
The convo I thought up yesterday after I let it out, the focus is taken off my vent that Jacob didn’t try to distract me from. It was like it was him that wanted me to talk about “you” which in the grand scheme of things, is most def ironic. But he lets out a Freudian slip, and I catch it. He wants to drop it which is a major contrast to how much he got me to talk. I am not pushy about him telling me, because he did want to say something, just not a lot.
The way Chelsey is portrayed, she represents what males think of females they want to hook up; hook up, then she loses interest and moves on to her next “victim”. She’s the one that the phrase “cheating, lying whore” would fit the general male opinion of her.
But as I ask the readers to explore the situation as I present it, I hope I can show that the guys were not naive of her reputation, because she was that tempting. Funny thing, the way I lead on, the teen boys didn’t want hump and dump with her. There is actually a cool quality to her, especially being she was a punker chick that they didn’t see very often. Even the jocks, and the preps wanted to get close to her. The other punker guys wanted to make her their girl, hoping they would be the exception to the rule.
I wanted a role reversal with her because it is more common to hear about the “great catch” based more on lust (his looks) than his actual worth a shit attributes. Women get off on this competitive hope that these elusive bachelor/playboys will somehow commit to them, because the women feel they are great catches themselves.
Then when the guys they’ve been chasing are long gone, regardless of there being sex or not, these guys are the ones with a problem for not seeing all what these women’s friends see, so even a cool guy can be vilified, all because he wasn’t interested, or at the level these women want that they couldn’t exactly hold back on how much they wanted to posses the dudes, or hope they would rescue them. Guys, even the cads shouldn’t be forced in to anything, otherwise he starts to feel resentment, even if he’s a pushover that can’t assert themselves when their chicks start henpecking or pull bullshit manipulation.
So with Chelsey, she becomes an example of extremes and as Jacob tells my character what he summed up. Here’s a rough dialog script about how that went after he breaks down how in certain situations, guys can’t help but go Jody/buddy fucker on their friends. It isn’t a malicious thing and it’s more than just lust. Anyway he fucks up and says that “No man unless he is a monk or gay, isn’t going to at least wonder what it is like to kiss the woman he’s been cool with, especially if he’s been her confidant while she was having problems.” So I ask him since our characters have become close, but platonic and like brother and sister in laws, through Mikey; if what he said also applies to him being how much we relate. He responds with:
“No offence, but I’m not losing Mikey over his girl again.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s nothing, nevermind”
“Jacob tell me.”
He pauses. He is pensive. He speaks.
“Her name was Chelsey, and she wasn’t fucking worth it. That bitch was loyal to no one.”
That’s where I want that chapter to end.
Without giving too much away, they both agreed Chelsey was hot and they were teenage boys and hormonal. Like all the other teenage boys, they would hope she wore a mini skirt to school that day and a low cut top that showed her cleavage that was accentuated by a push-up bra. I don’t know if you’ve gone through something similar, but the way she dressed, she wanted to be the center of attention, but it was all sexual. She had female friends, but most of the other teenage girls that didn’t know her because they decided they didn’t want to know her, because they seen how their boyfriends or guys they were crushing on, checked her out when she walked by. These girls felt threatened by her, because she didn’t turn away the attention of guys she thought were cute or at least fuckable. It takes a long while before her hypersexual tendencies get explained and what had become of her 20 years later.
Well both Mikey and Jacob hoped to get to hook up with her and have her on their arm, short or long, same difference. Well one day she made one of two’s wet dreams come true. She and Mikey begin to date and he’s thinking all is fine, then she dumps him a month and a half later (there’s a reason behind that time frame, shhhh!). He’s upset because not only is he not getting laid anymore, he actually liked her and for some folks, liking someone is major. Well Jacob being like his brother, he consoles him, but then Chelsey started getting sweet on Jacob. Mikey sees this, but figured she was happier dating him, and he seen his friend less.
Time passes and there is a backyard gig punk show. Underage drinking, smoking weed and powdering noses was just catching on with the girls because it helped them lose weight, but they literally had to powder on heavy with their compacts they would hide their stashes in and use the mirrors to cut lines on and they all had handy a short cut straw in their coin purses. The speed bumps and cake face, not sure if you are familiar with any of this from when you were a teen or maybe as an adult. It seems like everyone these days has a story about tweakers or tweaking. Anyway Mikey shows up at the gig, still isn’t over her, he is seeing them be all cute and lovey dovey, he’s fucking drunk and loses it! He tackles Jacob and starts wailing on him.
Mikey has thrown down before, but never like he was hitting Jacob and Mikey gets pulled off, but then Jacob is now the one enraged, didn’t help he was drunk, and it was a fucking fight to remember. Chelsey is drunk also and she had been screaming at them to stop, and then she starts crying and her girl friends take her with them and she isn’t dealing. Well news got around fast at their school and was scuttlebutt fodder for days. The friendship between the two ended needless to say and they did their best to shine each other on.
Jacob had been trying to reach his girlfriend Chelsey for a few days after the fight, especially after she didn’t go to school for like a week. She finally shows up at his house bringing back his things, like his Youth Brigade t-shirt, and music CD’s. What hurt him the most as he realizes he’s getting dumped, the little teddy bear holding a heart that he used a Sharpie to write their initials he gave her, she wasn’t keeping. So now he’s the one heartbroken at 16yrs old. It was his first one.
Time passes, she moved on and actually away. No one knew where, even her girl friends, and this to the relief to the other girls that were no longer threatened by her looks and their boyfriends or crushes could now focus on them, but it didn’t mean there wasn’t more girls like Chelsey around. She was for her reign at that school, the most memorable conundrum besides eye candy and man eater, until everyone that remembered, graduated and new stories filled the hallways and lockers.
What brought back to life Mikey’s and Jacob’s friendship had to do with Jacob’s mother’s health. After Jacob’s abusive father was thrown in the brig and no longer terrorized his wife and children, she was diagnosed with cancer. Being she was already weak from the stress from when she and her children were experiencing domestic violence, she knew she wasn’t going to last long and moved herself and her kids back to Boston, Mass to live with her parents that eventually would become her children’s guardians.
Before they moved though, Mikey reached out to Jacob considering Mikey was his rock while Jacob took the brunt of his drunkard father’s attacks so his younger siblings and mother would be hit less. Mikey knew Jacob needed all the friends he could get. So they cleared the air before Jacob moved back to Boston, and kept in touch by mail and once in a while phone calls. Long distance was expensive then.
Jacob’s mom had already passed when he turned 18yrs old, and he and Mikey had talked about enlisting the same day since military life is what they’ve known all their lives; but rather than Corps like his father that was a Vietnam vet, he went Navy because the Corps didn’t have their own medical MOS. He chose medicine because it was his way of coping with his mother’s death. Jacob takes the Greyhound back to Fallbrook, and they enlist the same day. Even though they were stationed in different places, they always kept in touch. Though Chelsey did come between them, they both got burned by her and met new girlfriends.
Here’s the funny part about that: As the vilified hoe bag, she’s put down and put down, but the guys fail to recall they did know she had a reputation, but both thought they can make an honest woman out of her, like all the other decent guys. The ones that just wanted to hit and run, they knew her reputation also. Everyone knew she was a player, but they went for it anyway and then whine about it like it came as an out of nowhere surprise. She’s considered the type of girl that turns nice guys in to dicks or as Quinn’s dad put it, “Chicks dig assholes.” And I can see truth in that.
Women get it in their heads they can “rehabilitate” jerkoffs. They think they just need understanding and patience. What these women fail t admit to themselves is that turning a dick in to a good guy was based on their personal view of what makes a guy good. He could be bitter, these chicks don’t care, they think they can nurture that away, and in some cases it may actually work, but that nurturing was more of means to an end. If they weren’t attracted to the guy, they would tell him to go fuck himself if he ever copped attitude with them. It goes back to lust driven motivation to change someone to suit their fantasies.
Let’s say the guy has shown he doesn’t do well in a monogamous relationship. He could be a cool guy, just not ready or it’s really not for him, some women will still insist it will be different with them so that can get messy.
Or let’s say a guy has shown he can’t keep it in his pants, period; and has all types of girls on the side, again it doesn’t matter. They keep thinking it’s different with them and even after busting him, they don’t leave the asshole because they got addicted to the drama and bragging rights. The guy can go as far as getting married, and have children with other women that are considered bastards because they were born out of wedlock. He could recognize them as his own and give them his last name, but the animosity is still there between what really become his collector’s set of babymamas.
I can give more examples, but Chelsey being considered every bad name a guy can think of, that is a double standard. Our society it seems still, in some sectors, believe that women are supposed to better at self control, and many do have this, but even with the old days of a Scarlet Letter if she was married, maybe married off; women have it worse when it comes to their reputations. Men sadly have another extreme of, it is expected of them to be “dogs”, like all of them and this said by women that consider their own bitterness, wisdom. I think when it comes down to it, it is how you know a person, and how you interact and establish boundaries, but stick to them
Jacob and my character you would think we would have what I heard called is an emotional affair, but we really are just friends and Mikey knows he can trust the both of us won’t hurt him. I want that known, even if general belief and cynicism says because it happened in the past, it will happen again. At one point because the murmur of whispers could be heard over at the tavern that if you open up to think of it, it is a condensed representation of society. He pulls away from my character that it takes a bit to figure out he did so because he didn’t want people talking and he went through love triangle bullshit before, he’s not going to go through it again. It saddens me of course, but I accept and respect that is what he prefers. Our characters eventually get close again, after it is shown I’m the one that won’t cheat on Michael, or hen peck him, or pull any bullshit. But there is an angle to that I can’t say yet.
It has left me thinking though of my past behavior when it’s come to sex, romance, and seeking love and protection. In the revision of the annotation of the pinball, I bring up “White Knight Syndrome”, and what stand out to me were two of my guy friends from East Los. The first one is Ben that is actually a greaser in the army, and was “the leader of the pack” from the guys over at the block. He was I think 21-23yrs old when I met him and I was 13yrs old. Mac was the one that started talking to me first, but the guys from the block meeting up with me at then Belvedere Jr. High out on the steps to the door to nowhere, sent Ben to ask if I was Gina. Anyway Ben and Mac has seen me grow up since I was 13yrs old, except for the 5yrs I was stuck in Stumps. POINT!!!
I had a thing going with this guy named David that today is actually his 46th birthday, funny I remembered. Anyway fucker couldn’t help but string me along over the course of 2yrs. He was hot and cold, but didn’t want me to go away. Well I was hurt a lot and I had purchased a microcassette recorder and just opened up like I was talking to him, pouring my heart out. I was going on about how I didn’t know why or planned on falling for him. I tried to fight it because I knew he was a schmuck that was more in to me because I was ten years younger and naïve, but still with a quirky gift of gab.
Ben I hand my tape recorder to with the earphones to review the catharsis as if it was directed towards him. He listens to maybe 10 seconds and had to stop the tape. The first thing he said was “I can’t listen to this!” I ask him why. He replies that “I don’t know whether to hate her or kiss her!” Again I asked why. He says “All I know is I feel like shit for making her feel like how she does.” The recorder and tape has since been lost, but I was reminded of it a few days back when Mac was over.
I showed him this “Confessions To a Medic” and he seen for the first time the picture of my son in the towel and the “Joey Ramone’s Little Sister” one. He said that his initial thought when he seen me in that pic and also the one beneath it where you could also see how low my morale was; he said he wanted to kiss the woman in the picture. I asked him if it was the whole “damsel in distress” vibe to them. He replied yes. Since I was always having problems that were a mix of out of my control, my hands are tied or of my own doing, and even then being pushed towards the drama, guys seen the damsel, but none champion for me which now I see is a good thing.
These guys were attracted to me being sad and they wanted to make me feel better by not just offering moral support and a hug. Most of the time affection came with a price that was confused for courtship. Though I’m Facebook friends with one of them, we hardly speak anymore. When I was debriefing, we spoke all the time and he even made me a Valentine for my son and I. Though I appreciated his kindness and listening to me, it came with a price that by showing me compassion, it meant we were “talking” and he flipped when he seen me post an update where I said I checked out a guy that had to coloring combo I’m a sucker for. I remember his name was Brian which led me to look of the meaning of his name on my phone, then found excerpts from the Monty Python film, “The Life of Brian” which I have yet to see! Still read hilarious because I know the accents.
Well he blew up at me and I pulled away because he was asking me to date so soon after breaking up with Monkee’s dad, and him showing me his temper because he equated listening to me as paying the price for the prize, It felt horrible that he couldn’t just be my friend, I had to be his girl if I wanted to continue talking. I walked away, but then he looked for me which was flattering though it did also alarm me, much like how I imagine it was the same when I would look you up and well still get the silent treatment. I have something to say about that, but this parable with the guy that wanted more than what I wanted or was not even ready for, I want to finish.
Unless he wanted to be one of the few I want to be forgettable rebounds I cringe when thinking they ever touched me; he knew I wouldn’t be his girl ever. Friend yes, but no romance and I was clear on that and he accepted. The way it played out, though we don’t talk like we used to, it makes him feel better that we are Facebook friends which is easier to keep up with each others’ lives. I do miss our convos, but knowing it will remain platonic, he doesn’t do what I suppose is “investing” any more time he could use for another gal that can be a romantic thing. We maybe talk once a year since 2011. Decent convo, but nowhere close to before, so I had to accept that.
Now about the silent treatment.
I rather be told off with detail, than blown off, especially if there was any intimacies. That’s how it was with Kreacher/Erick. Things were cool after we hooked up, it wasn’t hit it and quit it, though we were reckless. He was on my mind, I email, asked questions about that recklessness, he replies “Sheeit!” and haven’t heard from him ever again. So lesson was, don’t ask a guy questions wanting to know where I stand after having sex with him, if it wasn’t done after getting to know each other a while longer than a month, and going out on many dates and slowly building up to it.
Here’s the irony: If the sex wasn’t thrilling and I just went through the motions though I did tell one guy to get the fuck off me when he wouldn’t kiss me while doing it. That’s something guys do with prostitutes. It was bad enough we were in a motel, but better than a parking lot in the back of a car, or the front seat pushed back and the back down. I was willing to walk the 5 miles to get back to my home that was a room I rented with thin walls. He said not to walk home, he would drive me back.
So if the sex is not what I hoped for, I know I don’t want to keep dating like I’m going steady. But going for it right away, is also a set up for disappointment. Then I asked myself what is it that I require for sex to be thrilling. Most guys think by telling me “I’m big.” It isn’t just to entice, but guarantee I’m going to get off. If it were only that simple.
My psych meds make it difficult to climax which sucks because I’m on birth control where if there was proof of negative results from a current STD check; and I feel comfortable with the cool dude after establishing a friendship with no motivation for it to lead to sex or romance, but really be friends; I would think that would be something a guy would be willing to get the test results on paper so it would be okay to go without condoms.
I don’t have sex anymore, because I was shaken enough by Erick turning out how he did. I made out once since him and guy didn’t go past 2nd base. He was cool about it, and I was opening my mind though the spark wasn’t strong, but he went on a date with another gal, they go all the way their first date and now they are steady.
One guy friend that lived out of state said if guys knew all this, it would be seen like an Excalibur challenge to get me to orgasm so whoever manages to make it happen with the handicap of my medication, it would give him a major ego boost as a man. But when I was in rebound zone, two guys ended up getting performance anxiety, and this while I was off my medication meaning I was able to climax, and I miss those orgasms from back then. It seems like I’m doomed to this irony.
I’m single and still don’t fuck around. I’m straight up and actually deal with my problems and have gotten better communicating. I’m told I’m great company; I like cool stuff, even the geekiness. I’m told I’m attractive even if I don’t feel I am because I don’t have a “Chelsey” body like some gals that are ten or more years younger. Even being bipolar, I don’t act out with mood swings. I don’t hit below the belt if I ever argue with a guy, though maybe they feel I expect too much from them.
Then this one sweety, cool dude, we’ve talked on the phone, but when he said if he seen me in person like at a bar, etc. he would be too intimidated to go up to talk to me. But since we met online on got to correspond, he’s not as shy. He’s a cool dude and don’t confuse that with a nice guy or a future asshole in the making or one that is on his best behavior. I do like our friendship, but that’s the thing, it’s all friend zone, which includes me.
I haven’t chased a guy since Erick and even then, not like I did with other guys that got off on that, until their masculinity came in to question, which goes back to the White Knight thing. Unless they are the one protecting and providing for the damsel, they didn’t dig I wanted to treat them how I’d like to be treated, and that is as an equal. The worst of this it took years later to find out the guys around him thought he was a little bitch and I was too much woman for him to handle.
The quick story with him, because I did consider him a friend and we weren’t dating like we were going steady, and I tried walking away because I thought that’s what I wanted, he gave me mixed signals and one time panicked when I was walking away. He tells me he was picking me up and took me to meet his mother! His siblings and aunt, including his mom gave me a look like, he doesn’t bring girls over to meet his family and they have wanted him to settle down.
Well I seen something forming with another girl where we worked and I gave my blessings, I wanted him to be happy, but it felt like the only way he could date this chick that was a player using her body and flirting to get other guys to do her job for her and more so when he was drilling. But it felt like he had to hate me in order to be with her.
Like I said years later I find out he was full of shit at a Corps B-Day Ball I went to where Monkee’s grandfather was this schmuck’s former 1st Sgt. The ex said this guy kept staring at me and I already knew it was him. He must have not worn his contacts or didn’t recognized me completely because I was dolled up, but he came to our table to wish Monkee’s grandfather a Happy Birthday, then took off, to where if it was any faster, he would have been running.
He’s the POS I had a pregnancy scare with and he dug that I called him before “Beloved”. Only because I was attracted to him and he was my rebound from Quinn’s dad, did it even go that far. He’s a wanker and his chick he gave me grief for, he still hasn’t married her and they’ve been together over 10yrs, maybe that’s not his thing.
What he set me up for was guys that would eventually be headaches from confusion and guys being dicks like only a dick can be, by not dealing with what they had part in doing. Even the 46yr old that ended things with me via text which is an absolute bitch move, he said I looked different from my pictures, but that didn’t stop him. Then he recognizes me on the military dating site I actually hit you up to be a pen-pal. That’s actually funny.
It took a slick sleeves to get me to consider enlisting and looking for others to help prepare me for basic, so I join that site. I’m about to delete my account when this schmuck Major who’s B-Day is today, to get me to stay. I make some cool e-buddies, got to hang out on the phone a lot since these dudes were out of state or out of country. The Major was asking if he can call me from Iraq when shit was going down in Falluja, he was my age now, trippy. He drops the ball, that’s how CJ came in to the picture.
CJ was special in his own way, and a schmuck as well. I actually was willing to relocate to Cherry Point, NC for him. He’s a headache heartache. Friend tells me to consider dating an older man. That’s how the Major Dipshit came back in the picture. He strings me along, I meet Clint, he’s cool, I do wonder if we could have made it as a couple. A couple of what I don’t know but he was a White Knight type. I’m trying to break the habit of letting myself get in to a guy because when I do, they stop talking to me in the end and I don’t find out until years later how much full of shit they were along with me. The Major recognizes me, asks me if I’m divorced yet. I was separated, but mediation over custody and visitation prolonged things which is why I wouldn’t have been able to take you out on that date I asked you out on. I wanted to be single, single before I took you out.
Anyway he gets pissy, I’m over him so I’m indifferent but remain polite, but at least I knew he did feel something for me, but whatever, I’m a poor girl from East LA. My class doesn’t become an officer’s wife. Maybe mistress which is doubtful. I would have just been his part time girl, like who knows how many others. But I thought I fell for him and when “soon” didn’t come like he kept promising, that’s how Monkee’s dad got his foot in the door.
He creeped me out, but something told me to go through with what he proposed. He got in White Knight mode but he was most def a Black Knight, will always be one. I tried annulling my marriage; apparently I couldn’t while he was in Okie. Then he did something and I had to roll with it or else. I got stuck, tried leaving but like it was with Quinn’s dad; my family didn’t support me or would listen. I remember I was going to go to the woman’s shelter in Joshua Tree, but I couldn’t take my pet bunny and I couldn’t leave him behind, he was helping me remember I do know how to be a mom and that’s another story… damn all these fucking stories!
But because of Monkee’s dad, I had something else to relate with you on, besides us both liking punk and rockabilly, and watching movies and had back then one kid in common from a failed union. I remember thinking that you were a sangron or stuck up when you didn’t respond right away, waiting until my email message at that site was about to expire. I had seen you did read my message so I wrote you off and kept looking for conversation with others there because online was the only way I was meeting folks to be friends with that were in my age group and liked stuff I liked.
Eventually I made friends with a few of the other wives, but I was a corpsman’s wife on the greenside. I was one of them, but also not. And the blueside wives didn’t mix with the few greenside wives. Only because I recognized a B-Day Ball portrait I seen on that message board for the wives that put out the “pink cammie” book, that I seen at the 2006 B-Day Ball I went to in Primm, NV did I have a friend with another greenside Mrs. Doc from the same battalion, but she lived out of state.
I don’t know how it was I got cut off from my friends back home in Los Angeles, but I was and really only had 3 left. You end up replying, my first rockabilly friend from online. I remember asking you about what punk bands you liked and what movies, but you were busy a lot. Again ready to write you off. Yeah you were nice, but I wanted conversation and you came off as aloof which I imagine you’ve been told that before by others. Then you sent me that awesome long email where you got the nickname I gave you of Spooner, not knowing a couple years later I would find a movie trailer for a film by the same name.
I get my sparrow tattoos on my chest and you invite me to your MySpace so I can see a pic of your chest plate you said you also were ready to get out of the chair and only do a little bit at a time. You were very popular with the ladies, pretty ones too! And they seem warm towards your daughter. I liked seeing the pictures of you two together. I figured your daughter’s mom took those pictures.
I remember you were around as an e-chum when Monkee’s dad deployed again, then while I was pregnant with Monkee, then after he was born. I remember not noticing you deleted me of your MySpace friends list, then I guess you went through your inbox and recognized my style of writing, and you send me a message asking me to add you back because you didn’t know my last name or the email address I registered my account with. I don’t know why you even wanted me back on your friends list, we didn’t really chat. I remember I seen you were online at the same time and I tried to say hi, but you blew me off, so I was whatever about it, but not really. I figured you didn’t have time to chat or with just anyone. The RF thing was weird.
You don’t tell me about that site, but you recognize me, and send me a friend request. Your girlfriend I remember you were sucking face with on MySpace almost seemed like you were marking yourself as spoken for because that was your thing or your girlfriend’s, but it also felt like a display of “FUCK YOU!” to your ex to discover through mutual friends that did the spying for her. I don’t know but you finally showed a big smile like you were happy so I was glad for you, like you said you were glad for me when things were turning up before the crash again. I remember you stopping to tell me you were leaving RF because your “gf” had a problem with you having an account. I recall emailing you back to consider that a red flag that if you couldn’t have an account on a social network for those in to what you were in to, that wasn’t scattered like MySpace, what else was she going to have a problem with like y’know?
I don’t know what was the issue between you two, but I remember panicking thinking you were KIA and trembling, because all the color was gone from your MySpace profile and I thought it was going to become a tribute page for you. I remember all your photo albums were gone. The one or two blogs you had. You changed your default pic to one where your back was turned to the world and you were in a fox hole I guess at some range. My frantic comment begging that you not be dead I’m not sure if you got to see, I deleted that account soon after and with it went that comment. I remember feeling relief that you were still alive, but your online personality didn’t really show you were happy. It showed you were very sad, hurt, wanted to be alone, retreating didn’t what to think much or interact.
I remember leaving you comments on that picture where you showed you could be emo like me, saying shit like “Pop Goes The Spooner!” because you were sticking out like the weasel from one of those crank children’s toy that plays that tune. I didn’t like that after taking so long to customize your profile page, it was almost void. I remember finding the Down By Law song you acted like you forgot it was still up on your profile player. Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t get to it to remove all traces of your former girl. “500 Miles” is not a whatever song Bones for a guy to post where others can listen.
I made a big deal out of that song for you, because I didn’t want you to give up that hope of finding the right one finally that song could apply to. I didn’t mean to reverse it on you and go White Knight on your online ass. Then I get the admin position and invite you back being you no longer had a girlfriend to appease. Maybe you did give her reason to get territorial and possessive, or maybe she was insecure and knew other women thought you were attractive. Not meaning to come off conceited, but I know what it feels like when a mate has an issue with having opposite gender friends, and takes it to an extreme. Mine rapped me for dancing respectfully with a co-worker at my store’s Christmas party, and he wonders why left him, and yet he was bitter about it, fucking aye!
The rest I don’t feel like remembering anymore.
I figured you only said yes to that maybe date, out of sympathy like a mercy date. And that showdown, you didn’t handle it very well. If I fucked up that bad when I went off because I had to, but whatever on that reason Bones, you were not absolute, you left ambiguity. And maybe I thought too highly of myself after you were informed I had a crush and again, mixed signals, at least she’s not in my life anymore.
Yes I wasn’t smiling that after two and a half years of being chummy, she gets the invite to where your family sees you online, but what hurt me was her not saying anything about considering she acted like she was a good friend and heard me go on about you, so she also was aware of how I felt and she knew more about why I had to get you and your child away from me, though I could have calmed down and gave you the choice to make of what you wanted.
She’s a buddy fucker and I think you counted she would be because you know eventually I tune in and I seen the dates. I must have really bothered you with what I said, or hurt you or you were elated or what the fuck ever, but that was a dick move, but she was a bigger one, so thank you for smoking out the rat she is and I was in denial about. The signs had been there that she wasn’t trust worthy, but I gave her a chance anyway.
Then I kept returning for more bullshit, addicted to the drama again and it didn’t help you were getting fucking shot at and… At least I started writing again.
I don’t hate you. I have no reason to hate you. Us being cool for those 2 and a half years wasn’t a price for any prize, but I will admit what you had the most going for you, you remained under the radar during that time. I wasn’t going to ever do shit about it, I was married even if the relationship was toxic from the get go, and you were not single. It’s just that, it takes a lot for me to open myself up to being optimistic when it comes to maybe taking that risk and going out on a limb for another guy I am handing over the power to hurt me. You hurt me and I did want to be angry, but I was more sad because I couldn’t be absolute with myself and say ENOUGH!!!
Only because it seemed that if I didn’t let you know while you weren’t dating anyone after I was single starting over, then I would have repeated what I allowed to go away, even after there was that second chance to make both the vehicles we were riding in stop, so I could have at least known his name. That boy that checked me out as I checked him out and we kept bumping in to each other in that store, and then before he had to leave, he comes up to me but still with some distance, hands in his pockets, timid body language and in a tone of voice that didn’t want to say it but it was best he did. We didn’t even start with hello.
He walks up to say “Well bye.” And I say “Bye.” And 23yrs later I haven’t forgotten him. I don’t remember his face clearly anymore, haven’t for years, but I remember the color of his skin, his eyes and hair, what he wore, even what the minivan his mom drove that was white and he jack knifed forward when he seen their van was next to my aunts truck. Because of him, I didn’t want to risk there not being another chance to tell you that I liked you.
Maybe it’s for the best besides me getting writing material out of it. You like the other boy Snow Whites were attempts to replace him. I don’t know if him and I stood a chance being we lived 4 hours apart, but I had family up there and there was the phone and him and I could have written each other, I honestly think him and I had met in another lifetime, maybe several and it was time our souls said goodbye to one another. I even considered that perhaps saying goodbye to his soul was to give me a blank slate, so my soul could start over or have less loose ends to tie up in this life time. My theory is, that everything I have been told was my future, somehow I managed to change my destiny and I have to choice to do what I want. I felt like with him, maybe we did wait 1,000 years in Hell just to have the chance to see each other again and officially part ways. But I feel I haven’t made peace yet and I have the rest of my life to figure that out.
Yeah I knew you sorta for 2 ½ years, but I miss him more and that’s ironic. Actually you are most ironic and I’d like it to remain that way. If you are the last of my headaches from heartache, then it means in the future I may stand a chance and not carrying over baggage. I knew you weren’t an angel, and not much of a bad boy either, but something about you was enough for me to have missed what little there was longer than when it existed, and even then in the virtual world. From all of them, from all I’ve ever known, I kept copies of your pictures so I wouldn’t forget what your face looked like. It’s not really the unrequited; it’s more like wanting to remember someone got past my defenses enough when I thought I made it so it wouldn’t happen again, for this very reason.
I can’t count on any man. I’ve been hurt more by men, even though it started with my sister that did fuck me up and yet she gets to have a romantic relationship and her children and I don’t. I don’t want to be bitter because that makes the pain win, but irony, same fucking thing with irony… I’m too much of a wild child and am not committed to the Catholic faith or any religion for that matter, to become the nun I wanted to be when I was 13yrs old. But I think devoting my life to the service of assisting others coping, is not a bad life or a lonely one. I did have my children, and maybe one day they’ll bring me grandchildren to experience seeing a little one grow up from a baby in my arms, to seeing them walk their early steps, even potty training. If not, I still got to be pregnant and nurse.
It’s too soon to say if I’ll ever trust myself and a guy enough to commit to him, so have you figured out who Chelsey is and what became of her?
I didn’t have her body, but she had enough of my soul for boys and men to want to be near her. Her being hypersexual, you come to find out that’s all she knew because that’s what the males ultimately wanted. She had female friends, not many, but enough to get her by and not all of them were for a reason like the one you used to tell me go fuck myself with. Or for a season like my first friend that went away when we were 4 years old, and since I don’t have a best friend, the one that came close was killed in a car crash which is symbolic in the story.
I have close friends, and maybe on a technicality some of better than others and among those one has to be the best of them, but a best friend, no. Mac is the closest to one because he’s my longest known friend, but he hides me from his girlfriend that things are still complicated with. I tend to threaten women and if I’m not hidden, they don’t get to know me. What’s sad, it’s the conversation that brings them around because I don’t want to share my body, not so easily and with just anyone anymore and they know that.
I could see remaining a born again virgin the farthest a man can get is to see me with my top off where I bare my chest completely. I really only keep the birth control so I don’t get a period and in case I’m rapped again, I don’t have to decide if I’ll keep the baby growing inside of me, or have an abortion so I am not reminded, that my child was fathered by a bad man that hurt me like that. Both my children were fathered by bad men that wanted me to not have my babies, but to hurt me, they take them away and I can’t or I don’t want to handle having another child be born from a fucked situation or in to one.
In order to give real men a fighting chance to get to risk getting hurt all over with, I have to write this opus, otherwise I don’t know.
When I was 14yrs old, before I was date rapped the first time, a family friend that was raised by gypsies, read my cards. Only reason I put any stock in what she said was because she predicting using the cards, when and how my grandmother would die. Before she told my mother this, mom asked about my siblings and I. It was said that I will have two children and live a painful life, but it will be worth it and that I’ll get married for real, in a church and it would be true love. She also said that my sister won’t ever get to have that because of her ways. She seems happy and her fiancée and her look like they’re gonna make it.
I rather her not go through another divorce, so I’m willing to forget what was predicted for me. When she read my cards, she told me I will get married to a man with a daughter, that’s all she would tell me. I know that wasn’t supposed to be you and I’m still working out my issues, so if she was correct, I may be too old to really enjoy the physical side of a positive romance. I don’t want that, but I won’t self fulfill a card reading just to feel maybe I will experience true love that goes along with my children.
I rather deal with the disillusionment from my past, than live another lie. Let’s see if I post this confession.
11:55am
8,400 words later.