Not mine anymore

There's a pale band on my finger
Where your ring used to be
There's a hollow space where my heart was
Wind whistles right through

I hate you
I love you
Every five minutes I break down
Though you're killing me right now you're still
The one who knows me best in this world.

Take these tears
Take this pain
I don't need it
I don't need you
I just want you
But what good is wanting what you can't have?

I've never been broken up with before, but "It's not you, it's me." seems to be the standard line anywhere.

I can't help it, though. I guess everyone feels a need to a find a thread of fault somewhere. Maybe if I hadn't let myself go, maybe if i'd changed my name...

He wants an easy transition. He's actually asking for an open marriage in the interim, while "we" sort things out. Friends and roommates, who are free to date other people. It seems selfish and cruel to me, to put us both through all this and then keep everything exactly the same. We have no kids, no house or other property to fight over. A divorce makes the most sense, doesn't it? Why in this convoluted mess do *I* have to ask *him* for that?

Although it seemed sudden to me, he argues that it's actually the culmination of a number of issues for him, mainly that he never wanted to get married in the first place. There are a lot of things I wondered about in my marriage that I just shrugged off: why he never pressed me to change my last name to his. Why after ten years I still call his parents Tita Lyd and Tito Ramon, as if they're just another classmate's parents. Why he never introduced me to any of his coworkers, or his friends from his car forum.

When we got married we were in love, but there was some pressure for us to marry because he had been brought here by his parents and overstayed his tourist visa by a few years. I think that relief was the main thing that the union brought for him. Relief from the parental worry, from fear of deportation, from uncertainty about his being here. I cam here of course expecting what every new bride does: fall in love, get married, have kids. The kids part surprised him. Wasn't it enough just to finally be together?

It became such a sticking point in our relationship that eventually I had to settle for, "We'll talk about it in a few years." We both hoped he'd warm to the idea, especially as his friends and siblings began families of their own. As time passed I grew hopeful. He is such a good uncle to his nieces. We began talking about baby names.

And then Friday night happened. And nothing's been the same since.

I find my emotions run high this week.

Understatement, I know.

Feelings pass, like clouds in the sky. I am trying not to do anything I might regret.

I am hoping some semblance of us survives this. We are both hoping to emerge friends. When I am not hateful or breaking down in tears, we are still the person who knows the other best in the world.

He says this is the most painful thing he's ever had to do, that if he'd had a gun he would have just ended it. I told him he doesn't get off that easy. He's doing this to us, and he had better do something with it, he'd better see it through.

He says we both know who the bigger person is here.

None of it helps, tho, y'know? 32 years old and all alone, and no matter how many guys tell you that you're the best thing that ever happened to them, it doesn't change a goddamn thing.

You can't undo what's been broken. You can only pick up the pieces, and move on.

Last night, he ended it.

Just like that.

April 16th next year we would have been our ten year anniversary. We never made it.

The simplest explanation is that he's found someone else. He's dumping me for a blonde, 20-year-old model, who's witty and into cars. They're not talking forever - yet. But he does want to see where this leads, and to explore the...single life, I guess. The life he might otherwise have had these past ten years.

I am so stupid. It makes sense now that he never wore his wedding ring, he never introduced me as his wife. I never met any of his coworkers or the people he knows from his car forum. Ten years. Ten FUCKING years.

I"m so lost. It's been amicable, and I have been reasonable and curiously still - when I am not bursting into tears, which I have been sporadically since 8 o'clock last night. Though I know all the answers, because we've talked and talked about this, the same questions rail in my head, "Why don't you love me anymore? What did I do wrong? Why are you doing this? What are you doing to us?!"

Can't seem to get my head on straight. Changed my FaceBook profile pic to one of us, in the sunlight, holding drinks. Though it makes me cry to look at it, I want to see it up there. I want to be reminded that we had *something*. We have so few pictures, so few...

I want to chop my hair off and paint myself a mask, a cruel mask that is tough enough to take this, because I can't, I can't...

Someday, i hope

he will look back and think,

"Dammit, I had that!"

On growing up.

While the goal for me is to be old when I am young and young when I am old, in practice I am merely erratic and vacillate between the two. Much of the problem I feel lies in a failure to reconcile with myself, to understand that to get where I am now I had to leave things behind. Also too, the lesson of how choices exclude others is something I have not truly taken to heart.

The first lesson is this:

Life is hard.

Once you master that, though life may not be easier, it can be taken from a healthier perspective from which true, grounded happiness is a possibility.

About that other post...

If the question is, what am I doing, the answer is, I really don't know.

You know how sometimes a song wriggles its way into your head and plays over and over, overriding everything else and driving you completely insane? Well, snippets of prose get to me that same way sometimes. I think it's because I've gone too long without writing. It's very weird, tho. This one's like a clip from a Harlequin romance; takes all sorts, I suppose.

I should blog more. If only so it doesn't build up into, well, that.

~*~*~*

I'm sorry I've been away for so long. Not much to report. Still at the same workplace. I've taken on a new position, which entails a crappy, irregular schedule for $2 more an hour. I have a YouTube channel now, which I try to update at least once a week with homemade vocal recordings. At 152 lbs I'm the heaviest I've ever been in my life, but I can't seem to stop eating. Got a bodybugg, and learned I burn between 2,000 and 3,00 calories a day, so I'm happy about that.

Cocoa's fine, the cat is fine, the apartment's still a mess. Patrick's fine. Still don't have a car or a driver's license. We stopped taking piano lessons, and so my lovely PX-120 has fallen silent.

Resolutions:
Cook more, write more, clean up around the house. Oh, and buy new shoes. It's been a while. Ventured out to DSW a few times, but have yet to fall in love with anything. And it's hard to wear heels all day in a retail job with all this extra weight.

snippet

She is mesmerized by his hands, by his long fingers. They flick and wave as he speaks, and she is enthralled. She imagines his hands sliding gently along the curves of her body, sees those fingers tangled in her hair, pulling urgently, insistently, until she screams...

"What do you think?" he asks.

I'm sorry, what?

Cornbread for one.

I hardly ever cook these days, but when I do, it's for a crowd. Preparing instant meals doesn't count.

I've been meaning to do a big chili thing for while, which means a lot of chopping, and stirring every fifteen minutes, and chopped onions and shredded cheese on the side, as well as Fritos for frito pie, and cornbread to complement it. As you can imagine, it's quite a production. Of *course* I've been putting it off.

After lunch today, I suddenly felt like having cornbread. I already have all the ingredients, but I didn't want to launch into the chili-making process. And so I made just one recipe. Just one! It feels so strange: selfish and indulgent and totally new.

Since it's such a small batch, I figured I might as well make it really easy and individual by using cupcake liners. Cornbread muffins! In pretty pastel liners! It's actually an awesome delivery system for them, as I can simply heat one, break it in half and smear on the butter. Good times.

Daria, Daria, Daria

AUGHH!!!

I'm funny this way: I'm mainstream, at one remove. I listen to pop music, but usually through covers by my favorite YouTube artists, and if enough of them cover it I'll look up the original. I also don't watch broadcast television, but will happen upon an old TV show and slog through all seasons if it piques my interest.

One such show is MTV's Daria (1997-2002), who I guess would be the smartest, dryly funny 5-year-old ever to grace the boob tube. It's a funny thing about TV series: follow a show long enough and see the characters through enough ups and downs, and you feel like they're you're friends.

I just finished watching Episode 52: "Fire!" and it's wrenching at my heart. Daria's best friend in the world is Jane, and her new (and first-ever?) boyfriend is the smart and handsome Tom. She thinks the world of him, and they get along great, but don't match up intellectually.

Jane and Tom have been going steady for a while now, and in the beginning Daria resented Tom for infringing on her time with Jane (Episode 41: Partner's Complaint). She gradually warmed up to him, most notably in Episode 46: I Loathe a Parade.

Currently (from my perspective, anyway) the two are civil, but it appears that Tom is looking an intellectual wavelength, and clearly he and Daria resonate (sorry if I'm beginning to ride the metaphor, but it plays well). Of all people, Daria's mostly-oblivious crush Trent points out to Daria that Tom seems to be into her.

I feel for them all:
Jane, who is beginning to realize she and Tom may not be the best fit, but cannot give up on the relationship.
Tom, who has a great girl but appreciates the connection he has with Daria.
Daria, afraid to hurt her friend, or lose the budding friendship. Also a little hurt to sort of be "given away" by Trent.
Trent, who may or may not have feelings for Daria under the casual cool musician vibe, having to advise Daria to pay attention when it might be in his interest for her not to.

God, I love this show. And yes, I know, I'm *such* a girl.

I don't pray, but if I did

I might ask to feel a little more than
less-than
to be a little closer to
whole.

He doesn't like to see me like this. He wants to hear that I am in actual pain, that there is something organic and tangible we can treat, we can medicate.




The Pit, the Abyss, the Void has found me again.

I've done too well for too long. It's only right.

These feelings too, will pass.



They well up inside me, waves crashing on the jagged rocks of my self-esteem.

Worthlessnes: crash.

Despair: crash.

Self-loathing: crash.



Or something like that. I don't know if I'm making sense.



People are sheep and the Void is inevitable but they bleat on blindly as if the world makes sense, as if it's anything but cruel and meaningless but we who are different, who are damaged and broken and slightly off know better.



YOU WILL NEVER BE HAPPY, it tells me.

YOU WILL NEVER FIT IN.

YOU WILL NEVER BE FREE OF ME.



Shut

the fuck

up.

Badly wanting what I can't have.

I need shoes, but none of these are available in my size and preferred color. (sigh) Not to mention I wish they were all just $50 each...

Bebe Liza in Leopard Patent

Bebe Scarlett Printed Scarf Sandal

Charles David Encounter in Red

Jessica Simpson Taneala in Chili or Zebra

I don't meant to lean on you as much as I do,

but it seems that whenever I need a friend
you're always there.

Thank you.
A million times, thank you.

Thank you, so much. Just for being there for me. It was a really crappy day, and you made it so much better.

shields up

It's been days now, and still I'm so tight, especially at my temples, jaw and shoulder blades. So forgive me if you find me with my brow furrowed, jaw clenched, shoulders tense: I'm not bracing for a fight, my body just thinks it is. It takes conscious effort to reset myself. Luz too says she is hurt, and healing.

I don't want to be stressed. I don't want to be sad or angry or anything other than what I was right before that meeting that morning. But it seems that until I find some kind of closure, I will remain on the defensive. I wish I knew what to do, what to look or ask for.

I have laughed and cried and cussed and slept since then,

I tell myself it's okay.
Obviously it's not.

In quiet moments I find I am riddled with self-doubt, like so much emotional Swiss cheese. I stepped out into the warm air tonight and saw an airplane's lights twinkling above the crescent moon.

~"can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars/
I could really use a wish right now"~

funk

I awoke enraged, and pray to the universe
in my way
for succor:
"Quiet,
please -
for this raging mind."

Anger is exhausting.
Especially the senseless kind.