Posts Tagged ‘text messages’

Love Letters

March 19, 2019

To a ghost.

That’s what he feels like now.

Ghostly.

It is still painful, I just teared up thinking about him as I was having dinner.

Being ever so careful to make sure that my musical selection to accompany dinner was nothing that we ever listened to together or music that reminds me of him.

Let me say there’s a lot I’m not listening to.

Somethings are pretty safe and I have absolutely no affiliation with the music to him.

Mike Doughty, which is cool since I’ll be going to his show this Wednesday at the Great American Music hall, is one.

My French house music app Bon Entendeur is another.

Although occasionally, as it happened to me tonight, something will just drift in and remind me of my love.

Cue tears.

I’m not crying unless I’m writing about him or talking about him.

Or thinking about him.

Sigh.

I know it will pass but it still feels raw and sad.

I have been wanting to write him a letter, nothing that I will send, but I have this notebook full of love letters to him that I had hoped one day to give him.

A great big full hard bound notebook full of love letters.

I thought about sending it to him in the first week that we broke up.

But I told on myself and it was suggested that I not do that.

That would, in effect, be courting contact when I said no contact.

And yes, I’m not going to lie, I wish he would contact me.

But I have motives and desires and specific wants and he wasn’t able to give those things to me.

I can’t imagine that really has changed in three weeks and one day.

But yeah, sometimes, too  frequently to be attractive, I do have this dream that he calls me up or shows up at my house and tells me things have changed and we can be together.

It’s stupid and it just hurts my heart to entertain the thought, so I don’t, or I don’t try to let myself entertain the thoughts too often.

I have wanted to write out a letter though in the notebook, but I wanted to have passed through the anger and hurt and grief and betrayed feelings I have and just have it be a sweet and final goodbye.

Sure.

Not one he’ll ever see, but just the process of closure for me.

I also recognize that there is still this flame of hope that things will change and he’ll come for me and if I was writing in the notebook I’d be somehow flaming that fantasy.

He’s not coming back.

Move on.

I haven’t been able to write poetry.

I think it would just hurt too damn much and I’m barely hanging in there.

Of course.

I have to mention I’m tired and the grief sneaks in when I am tired.

I was up this morning at 5a.m. to take my car over to Berkeley to get an oil change at my Fiat dealer at 7a.m. and I wanted to make sure that I had enough time to get over the bridge with traffic.

I got there with plenty of time to spare and ate my breakfast and drank coffee in my car waiting for the dealership to open.

So it’s been a long day and when it’s a long day and the tired hits the emotions do too.

Plus, I didn’t really have a day off yesterday.

I had to grind hard on a big paper that I’d been working on for a few days and really get it done.

I can’t remember a paper that I’ve spent this much time working on before, but such is life while pursuing a PhD.

Big, tough, all-consuming papers will happen.

I got it done, my laundry, met with a ladybug, met with my person, did food prep and cleaned my house, finished the huge paper and sent it out.

I did not have a day off.

So just diving right into my week by having to get up at 5a.m. to get the oil change was not how I wanted to start my week, but I am grateful its done.

I didn’t want to risk going too long with the oil change light coming on and the dashboard lighting up and telling me I needed an oil change every time I started the car.

It’s done.

The big paper got turned in last night and I’m already at work on another paper for another class that’s due this Thursday.

Fortunately, this second paper is more in align with what I like to write and I was able to get a lot of it done at work and I spent an hour in a cafe after work writing too before I went to do the deal.

And all along.

He was in my mind.

I stumbled upon an old text chain I didn’t realize was on my phone.

Said text corresponded to when I started writing him the love letters in the notebook.

He told me in one of the texts he wanted to read those letters.

(God damn his texts were always so freaking sweet)

Honestly.

I want him to as well.

They are beautiful letters.

I write a nice letter.

Not to brag, I just do.

But no contact means no contact and they’re just going to sit here on my desk for a little while yet.

I have written him a lot when I think about it, heaps of cards, post cards, love letters, poems.

I could probably put together a chapbook of the poetry I’ve written about him.

Maybe one day I’ll figure that out.

Right now though.

I’m not writing him any letters, outside of the ones I compose in my heart and keep in my heart, to him.

I can’t bear to yet.

I just can’t.

I want to stop missing him first.

Otherwise I’ll just keep breaking my heart over and over and over again.

I don’t think I can handle anymore broken heart.

I’m too damn tender right now.

Too heart sore.

Too sad.

I miss him too much.

Too damn much.

 

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The Last Goodbye

August 10, 2018

I have been thinking about this blog for days now.

You may have noticed that I have not written for a few days now either.

I was saying goodbye to the love of my life.

I never thought that I would write that sentence or that for the last year and three months I would be so involved with a man who I would have the opportunity to say all those things.

Love of my life.

Soul mate.

Partner.

The best thing in my life.

The best thing in my sobriety.

And yet.

There they were, over and over and over again, these declarations of the rightness or, the validity of, the beauty and power of love, lauded all over me.

I have had the greatest love of my life ever these past months.

Yet.

I had to leave him.

I can’t explain why, oh, I could, but I have no inclinations to air it all out, suffice to say what I wanted was not available.

I thought I was alright with that at first.

I did.

I thought this man is so damn amazing, so handsome, smart, kind, tender, sexy (fuck do not get me started) and funny, god damn is he funny, no one, and I mean no one, has ever made me laugh the way he did, ever, that I could deal with anything that the relationship handed me.

I kept it off my blog.

Oh.

You could catch glimpses of it here and there, but I never really talked about him.

And then I did.

Back in January.

I broke up with him.

It was like death.

It was so anguished and sorrowful and painful that I had friends reaching out to me to express concern.

I was vague, in the blogs, and it could have easily have sounded as though I had lost a loved one.

That is what it felt like, a death, I felt like death, I had never experienced such grief.

I remember relating to him later that I had not felt the depth of despair that the break up caused as when I had lost my best friend at 32 in a surprising and awful accidental death.

I felt more grief in my person when I lost the love of my life, that loss was harrowing.

But as my therapist once reflected to me, “you never really broke up.”

We couldn’t not be together.

We tried to be friends.

We tried to be compatriots.

We tried to not see each other.

We couldn’t.

We saw each other and then the inevitable swan dive back into the romance, the heat, the passion, the relentlessness of it, despite knowing that it wasn’t the best for me, I continued, I was in love.

I am in love.

I still am in love with him.

I still have this hope that something will shift, change, a magical thing will happen.

I know that is fantasy, but it is there.

In reality I also know that was has happened inside me, on the interior, in my heart, has not be sustainable.

I just couldn’t do it anymore.

I was hurting myself too badly.

It is hard to be a psychotherapist and try to hold onto something so painful, but try I did.

Of course.

I did fuck loads of work around the relationship.

Inventory after inventory, looking at myself, my patterns, how I love, the previous relationships and what they looked like for me.

I looked at patterns of attachment with my parents, I explored my psyche, I prayed, I meditated, I asked consistently for help and guidance from my support network.

No one ever really told me what to do, but so many could see that it was not a working relationship for me that, well, worked in my benefit.

God damn did I try though.

A part of me, larger than I perhaps wish to admit, still wants to try, to beat my heart a little more on the impossible wall that I was trying to scale to get to the place the relationship could flourish and grow.

I can’t though.

So I did the thing I never ever, fucking ever, thought I would do.

I asked for no contact.

Today was day one.

And there was no contact.

Although, truth, I felt him in my bones and body all day, an unremitting ache that has me in its grip, the burden of showing up for work and clients when all I wanted to do was crawl under the covers and cry myself back to sleep.

Sleep where I may perchance to dream of him.

I fucking asked for no contact.

On one hand I am appalled.

No texting.

No phone calls.

No emails.

No social media.

On the other hand, I am quiet and proud of myself.

It was horrendous, it was the hardest decision I felt such an ache for the loss of connection I cannot put it into words.

And I knew.

I knew, damn it.

That it was for the best.

That it is the “right” thing to do.

What ever the right thing to do is.

I am barely holding on here writing this.

I want to detail all the last words and gestures, the sweetness, the sadness, the anguished tears I shed, but I cannot sully it with my words and my sharing.

These last two nights I have been with him and I have no desire to share any more of it than that, the last two nights I have been with him.

And I miss him horribly.

I will be crying for a while.

There is so much loss here.

I have to give myself time to grieve.

So.

Forgive me for not sharing anything more.

I am devastated and that will have to suffice for now.

Devastated.

You Seem Really Happy

February 19, 2015

That’s always a positive response on a first date.

Yup.

Knocked one out of the cafe.

Park, seems, so, cliché, but cafe, where we sat, drinking tea and hanging out, feels about right.

He asked me later if I was going to blog about it.

Of course I am.

Not about him.

But about the date, why yes.

If it pertains to my life, then I am blogging about it.

That’s what I do.

I do have boundaries and I try to be discreet and I do my best to not involve other people; it’s taken some practice and I haven’t always been the best at it, but I do leave others out.

Especially should they be in my circle of people.

I will say I had a nice time, there was laughter, we have some things in common, he has nice blue eyes, I could see myself having another date, there was a connection, and dare I say a little chemistry.

That’s nice.

He bought my tea and got there early.

I appreciate that.

The small things count.

I like my door being opened, I like having a tea waiting for me, or flowers, or a thoughtful gesture, it means that it means something.

I got half way through my day and I have to admit, going on a date was the last thing on my mind, it was there, the thought, the anticipation, but by the time I was half way through the work day I was wondering if I was going to get out of it alive.

Let alone have any sass or sparkle for a first date.

But it feels like it went well and we acknowledged that there was more to explore there and mutually agreed to another date.

Nothing has been set up.

If he wants to see me further, he knows my number.

And enough about me that a second date shouldn’t be too difficult to negotiate.

We also talked about the fact that we are dating.

Though we are both looking for monogamous relationships, yay!  We are both seeing other people, we both have dates set up for this weekend with other folks.

I received a few texts this morning at the park while I was still in the early part of my day and didn’t know that I was going to be run over with the demands of potty training, nap time melt downs, things getting thrown in restaurants, and the general melee that just sometimes happens with little boys.

It was a nice moment to get the texts from the other gentleman I’ll be seeing this Friday.

We caught up over the weekend, he was out-of-town in the East Coast and in the crazy weather, and confirmed that we would be meeting this Friday for tea at a cafe in the Church and Market area.

Excellent.

I’m really doing this dating thing.

It’s happening.

I also responded to an OkStupid ask and said I would be up for a coffee date with a gentleman from Alameda.

Which is sort of breaking my date only in the city rule.

I had one gentleman in San Jose ask me out and get a little pushy about it.

I just don’t see sustaining a relationship with someone who has to commute to date.

There’s more than enough fish in the sea here in San Francisco.

But the guy on OkStupid had one of the best, if not the best profiles I have ever seen.  We are also an 89% match, which is a huge plus, and he’s tall-6’5″.

Mama can wear her heels out dancing.

Thank you very much.

So I said yes to a coffee with him as well, although we have set nothing up yet.

Life.

It is happening.

What else is happening?

Oh yeah.

This.

Hello Carmen,

You are scheduled for an interview on Thursday February 26th at 3pm in room 210.

This message was in my inbox when I got back from my evening out tonight.

I have a date to interview for the cohort at CIIS for the Masters program in Integral Counseling Psychology.

Yikes.

This is happening.

I mean, this is really happening.

I told my employer this week, yesterday, now that I think of it, that I was going to be interviewing soon and would let them know when.

Next Thursday.

Holy crow.

I am very grateful I got my shit together and applied for student financial aid last week.

It feels like it’s moving along.

I’m going to be going to graduate school.

Who is this person?

I mean, yeah, I have wanted to go to graduate school for a while, there’s something about having a Master’s that appeals to my ego in a hard-core way.

But I never, not once, suspected that it would be to get a Masters so that I could be a therapist.

Huh?

Aren’t I the one that needs therapy?

Ha.

I suspect that will be part of the program as well.

A week from tomorrow.

Wow.

Makes dating seem like no big deal.

Which I feel like is the point of asking as many guys as I have and trying new things and putting myself out there, do it so much that it becomes no big deal.

“You need to date a bunch of guys, five or six, all at the same time,” was the suggestion.

Now in my mind, which is diseased, let me not forget that, I hear, “you need to sleep with five or six guys all at the same time.”

Well.

Um.

Not at exactly the same time, but you know what I mean.

I have this thing where I am used to just seeing one person at a time, not actively dating a bunch and finding who works out and who doesn’t.

I have an idea, an old one, that I have to be loyal to the person I am on a date with, see it all the way through, and if it works, fantastic!

And if it doesn’t, wait until it’s completely obvious and then move on to the next guy.

Turns out I don’t have to do this.

I really don’t know what actions I have to do or take or how many dates it takes to get to the middle of the Tootsie Roll Pop, but I am willing to try things that are outside my bag, my small bag, of dating tricks.

And oh yes, have fun.

If it’s not fun, than it’s not worth doing.

Light, easy, no getting caught up in expectations.

Just show up and see what happens.

I suspect my interview will be much the same next Thursday.

Eek!

I really am doing this.

All in baby.

Graduate school, dating, life.

That’s how I roll.

Detach With Drama

February 13, 2015

Or.

Detach with love.

I know I sound like a wussy, but I chose the latter rather than the former, even though I wanted to be all dramatic about it.

I got a text from the ex again last night.

Come on.

It was hard enough to see him, and just move on, I had my feelings, I processed my shit, I wrote it out.

I thought, I don’t need to do any more inventory, I’ll just do a gratitude list tonight and e-mail my person with that and then.

Eeeooo.

My phone whistled at me.

I had a text.

It was 11:38p.m.

I ignored it.

I was busy watching the last few minutes of Broadchurch, so good, if you haven’t seen it, get on it.  I highly recommend it.

I had forgotten, by the time the episode ended, that I had received a text and I was getting myself ready for bed and checking to set my alarm when I saw it.

Unidentified number.

But oh, very identifiable information.

Fuck.

Leave me alone man.

I had deleted my ex out of my phone, but receiving a late night text about how it was good to see me, even from afar and how it took all of him to not come up to me and engage with me and interact so he could hear my voice, well the number might not have had an id attached to it, but it was him.

And I don’t quote exactly.

I’m giving you the gist of it.

I don’t remember the message verbatim.

I read it once.

Deleted it.

Then I cried.

Then I got pissed.

Then, well, I guess I did have an inventory to write.

When we retire at night.

Uh yeah, I had me some resentments, some fear, some selfishness crop up.

I wrote it out.

I sent it off.

I went to bed and slept like a log.

No texts this morning, no messages, no nothing.

No drama in my head.

I thought about it.

I thought, I should text so and so and call this person and that person and I should.

Get over it.

I should get over it.

Oh.

Who cares?

I don’t give a damn no more.

I’m moving on.

I’d like to suggest to my ex that he do the same.

And who knows, I suspect he is, in his own way, and though it seems a bit bumbly, I’m sure he’s pretty unaware of the emotional impact of his actions.

I don’t believe he’s trying to hurt me.

And he’s not stalking me.

A friend suggested today that he was being selfish though, texting after he asked for 90 days no contact, texting me twice in the last week, really, and that I should block the number.

I hadn’t thought of that.

I suppose I could.

What I did though, was practice being in the moment today.

Being in the sunshine.

Dude.

It was 70 degrees today.

I rode my bicycle home, and it was a slightly chillier ride than I anticipated, but, I rode home without a sweatshirt on.

Just me and my short-sleeved mini-dress and leggings.

Delicious.

I wanted to enjoy every drop of sunshine I could.

I ate well.

I woke up early and wrote extra pages this morning in my notebook.

I devised my hula hoop in my head and I climbed inside the ring.

Taking care of myself and believing that there is enough, more than enough, all the resources in the world, I have them.

I am not deprived.

There will be other dates.

There will be another boyfriend.

There will be more sex.

Please.

Let there be more sex.

It wasn’t forthcoming towards the end of the relationship and I am ready for a little affection.

To that extent.

I got on the phone today and made a call and let the gentleman from last night know that I have a three-day weekend and we should get together.

Has he gotten back to me?

Nope.

Nor has anyone else who I have asked out this week, and you know what.

Who cares?

Again, there’s no drama here.

Detaching from my own expectations around dating too.

However, I keep taking action, that is where the juice is.

Doing the deal.

Of course after the hug and the aforementioned snuggle conversation I had with my friend I was prone to want to see him again, but if I don’t it’s cool.

It’s just more information.

I don’t have to put a good or bad tag on it.

I am just clearing the way for what comes next, or whom.

And my vibrator’s all charged up in the meantime.

Ahem.

It’s a three-day weekend though, and who knows what magic is going to happen.

I’m listening to some Basement Jaxx as I write and I get to go see them Saturday at Public Works.

I am dancing.

I am also going to go to a party for a friend who is moving out of the city indefinitely, so there will be fellowshipping happening and who knows, maybe someone to add to the list.

That’s Saturday in the afternoon.

Tomorrow night I’m meeting a couple of people after work for tea and talk and then doing my regular Friday night deal.

I could go out after that.

Or not.

I’ve got Sunday pretty wide open.

And the weather is supposed to be in the 70s for the next four days.

Excellent.

There are no problems.

My life is lovely.

The weather is divine.

I’m going to ask someone else out tomorrow.

Who?

Don’t know yet, but I will.

Or maybe I’ll get asked out.

Don’t have to worry about it.

And I don’t have to have drama about the ex.

I really don’t.

Even though I have had a few moments of violent excessive thoughts of smacking him.

And then fucking the hell out of him and then walking away.

And well.

That’s not very spiritual now is it.

They are only thoughts though, and I don’t act on my thoughts, they pass, emotions go away, and really, at some point, I’d like to give him a hug and say no hard feelings.

But I think maybe when I am not a single lady.

Whilst I am a single lady I am just going to stay out-of-the-way and continue to not contact him and let it all go.

Sweetly.

Quietly.

Without fuss.

Wearing my big girl pants and walking through with my head high and my dignity in tact.

Like I already have been.

Gracefully keeping my side of the street clean.

Clean as a motherfucking whistle.


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