Before I left for my trip1 my therapist said to me “Remember the good stuff too. You don’t have to focus on the negatives of your relationship. It’s safe to remember all of it.”
Oh,no it is not. No, it reallyis not. What was she thinking? And here I thought she was getting to know me. One of our goals in therapy is integrate the logical and emotional parts of myself. A lot of my issues stem from the constant battle raging in my brain. We want these two parts of me to start cooperating. Right? Sure. It’s a good goal and I’m 100%. Let’s do this. Let’s stop me from tormenting myself. Except we haven’t gotten there yet. Oh, we so have not gotten there.
Anyway, I did the bad email thing. And then the reply. And now another reply. That ball is rolling. Because I was letting myself remember the good times with one person so I could let go of another. Since I’m not about sleeping with half town anymore I decided to write about the good stuff. Sure. Then she planted a seed. Then I got drunk. Fuuuuck. This is one of those times where I need a best woman friend.
So, this post is an attempt to counteract that. Good idea, huh? Sure, let’s remember the good stuff. This idea would’ve been very helpful while I was still in a relationship. I would never have done that otherwise2 . Now, in the back of my mind, I’m re-dissecting everything I did wrong. How horrible I was to two men I really and truly cared about. And how horrible I was to myself.
The good times included conversations. So many long, late-night conversations. I’ll never forget the look on his face when I told him I’d been to plenty of strip clubs. He told me that he didn’t think of me that way. He thought I was more conservative. I’ll never forget how he laughed and told me I’m a closet freak. I’m not really a freak, but he’d just realized I wasn’t the delicate flower he’d been thinking I was. That was such a fun night. When we were clicking we were bad ass. That’s what got me hooked. Our connection. Conversation with him was so fucking easy. He didn’t nag or harp or ignore me while I was talking. We shared what I thought was a deep intimacy even without the sex. There were valid reasons why what happened between us was so shocking to me.
Remembering that is bad. Very, very bad. I wish no one had given me permission3. I rather liked using those memories as weapons in my little war. But then I started to fucking diminish the bad shit. I’m doing it now as I write this. “Maybe it was my fault anyway.”
No, no. Not all my fault. He was horrible to me.
I want to relish the memories from the last relationship too. But I’m not allowed. Not yet. I refuse to be given permission. I do, kind of, talk about the things I loved about him. I’m still protective. That’s irrelevant. I knew he and his people were stalking this blog so I wrote what I wrote. There was a reason I fell in love with that fucker. I can even describe to in great detail the very second I realized I really did love him. Except fuck that. Fuck that all the way with a flaming cactus. I really don’t need to think of the good stuff. He sure doesn’t. He’s perfectly fine with tormenting. Fuck him. He can take a flying leap. I’m going to scrub those good memories. Apparently with something very toxic.
See what I did that? That stream of consciousness up there?
I need to get out of this house. I’m thinking my future ex-boyfriend is out and about today. I haven’t met him yet, so I need go do that. Hopefully the next ex will be worth the effort.
I like geeky stuff, politics, squirrels and monkeys.
- This trip will be a pin in the timeline of my life. Was this event before or after your most amazing trip? [↩]
- No matter how many times they scream it I have never cheated on Sam. He meant the fucking worldto me. I don’t give a shit what anyone says – even myself. [↩]
- Too late to rescind it now, by the way. [↩]