I have gone back through all my posts from 2008 to now and published all the ones I had hidden in drafts. They are all out of order... maybe that does not matter as I mostly wrote them stream of consciousness... which never ran straight.
So if you find this blog, forgive my rambles but not the ones who hurt me... I have... sort of... but in reality it is only now that I have woken up from 22 years of gaslighting and brainwashing.
It is only now I've been able to look back on my life and see the patterns... where they really mental illness - or codependence?
4 months ago I ended a relationship with a man who terrorized and controlled me. I was not allowed to be me, and my notes to myself during that time were so sad. I was so trapped and unhappy, but yet I had chosen to be with him. Why? Every night I went to bed wishing he were gone. I woke up every morning wondering when it was ok to get out of bed without getting his anger.
I find myself looking back on signs of codependence in my life.
How could I have missed all of it?
How could I have been convinced I could not change.
How could I think over and over I had changed only to start the cycle again and again?
It's been 4 months of starting over. Coda saved my life. My fellowship has been the boat I've sailed on over the uncertain and choppy waters. Today I am feeling OK. Busy... but lonely too. But not bi-polar. 4 months of what started as crazy, but no BP incidents .... none...
Do I have a story?
Will anyone want to read it?
Will it be a good thing to write it or will it bring me to a dark place. a compulsive place where I think of nothing else. Will it trigger a mania that I'll follow into a rabbit hole?
no idea
Maybe
Friday, July 20, 2018
Thanksgiving
I thought I was there because there must be so many things you needed to tell me you'd never said. I thought if I was there, you'd suddenly become alert, reach out for my hand and lock your eyes to mine - and you'd say everything I'd wished you would. A life's worth of wishing.
I'd heard from mom and my sis the condition you were in. I'd flown back the September before on a similar mission. I'd given you a week then. Every day I was in your room and you would wake up and say "Debbie? What are you doing here?" Every day I would tell you I was there because you were very ill. You were in the hospital. I told you I was there for you. But I was really there for me. You told me, "There is nothing you can do. I am dying. I want to die." I told you, "We love you and want you to live."
They said you got better. In October you were back home. You were waiting for a miracle - a new kidney. But age and health was not on your side. Other people got your miracle. You asked for death. Mom hid your guns. Anger and frustration were your armor. You wanted what you wanted. The women you'd loved your entire adult life, your soul mate - was at your side day after day. She never gave up hope. She was not ready to let go. Everyone one around you was as kind and gentle. Your physician insisted you needed to ride in a wheelchair to your car on that last visit with him. He pushed you himself. Out the door of his office and through the parking lot - he was on the verge of tears himself as he made sure you knew that going back to the hospital was not a loss of dignity. He wanted you there so he could make sure they did every test and gave you every opportunity for life.
He was in the room with you and mom when you begged once more for death. You told mom to get your gun. "Bring it to the hospital so I can shot myself. Let me die."
You must have signed something. I know you had a "do not revive" order on file. But they began the process of letting you go that day. Medication for the pain, but no food - no water. I was called and told to come back - to say goodbye.
I wanted to come sooner, while you were still alert, but my mom and sis said "wait."I left in the night and arrived Thanksgiving morning. My brother in law wanted to take me home and get me settled, but all I wanted was to see you. I borrowed a car. I'm sure I was speeding.
Mom was at your side, crying softly. It was morning but the curtains were drawn so the room seemed gray. You'd been in so much pain they'd increased your morphine just hours before. It looked like you were already dead except for the mumbling. "Debbie's here, Dick, Debbie came!"I remember you turning toward me and trying to talk, but your mind was so deep in medication. I could see you in there. The wheels were turning. The thoughts were trying to reach the surface, but they vanished before you could form them into words.
I stroked your arm. I took a wash cloth with cool water and wiped your cracked lips. There was no time for reconciling. There was no chance of hearing anything I'd ever needed to hear. You were going to die and we would be forever unsettled. Sleep took you and we left to meet at my sister's for our Thanksgiving meal.
If I told you I was psychic, I'm sure you passed it off as ridiculous. In your world things were black and white. You were an accountant. Things have to add up, to balance. You'd made it clear you were disappointed with the choices I'd made in my life. In fact, when I left my 3rd husband - the father of my children - and began a life with a 20 year old 22 years younger than me - you said "I feel you are doing this to hurt me." You were so embarrassed of me. My sister had married a doctor and given birth to the son you'd always wanted. My sister lived a life filled with family and tradition in Ohio while I lived a life of ever shifting devotions. I could not seem to find what I was looking for. In your mind - why was I looking at all? I finally had a husband who supported me and children and a nice home. There was nothing to be unhappy about. I'd lived my entire life with you telling me "Debbie, you've got to stop wearing your feelings on your sleeve! Toughen up!" I'd lived my entire life just wanting to know you could love me for who I really was and not who you wanted me to be. You took yourself out of my life for over a year. Was it two years? I spent it in a fog, so I don't know how long it really was. Once the my third divorce was underway and I was living with Ben and my children and struggling - you said it was too much for you. You were sick. You did not need the stress my life was putting on you. You were done. And you would no longer take my calls. Mom would talk to me from time to time, but I was set adrift so that you could be sick in peace.
My sister's children were flown to spend spring break with you and mom in AZ. You took them to baseball spring training. But this connection with my sister's children and not mine began long before I left their father. I remember when my son was born - you'd already begun to distance yourself from me and my children. Maybe you were a bit psychic? Maybe you could see the path I would take five years into the future. Maybe.
But there was no "maybe" as I drove away on that Thanksgiving morning. I knew you were dying. I knew you would die that day. I knew there would be no talking with you. I knew I needed to let you know it was ok to go. You had waited for it. You were deep inside that morphine sleep praying for me to let you go, to let you off the hook. You'd reconnected with me a year before that day. You and mom had driven to visit Ben and I and the kids. You spent a day with us in San Francisco. You told me you'd realized life was too short to stay upset with me. You recognized I was happy and the kids were happy and that Ben was indeed the life partner I'd always yearned for. With Ben, I was at peace.
It was that day in San Francisco I kept in my mind as I drove. I could barely see through my tears. I'd come too late - or maybe not. In the car - I talked with you. I felt you with me and I said everything I knew you needed to hear. I kept back all the anger and pain I'd carried - and gave you my love. I told you I knew you'd waited for me to come and I had. I told you it was OK to go now. I told you we had nothing left to talk about - all was forgiven. I understood all I'd done that left you upset with me. I told you there was nothing you needed to say to me you had not said.
Go.
We had just finished the feast. It was been a quiet, sad dinner. Your absence was filled with the memory of you lying in that small sterile room. And suddenly I knew I had to get back to the hospital, NOW. Mom knew too and she was jumping up just as I was. The family tried to calm us, to let us know there was no urgency, but there was.
Mom, my sister and I rushed back to you. You looked like you had earlier in the day, but the sound... I knew it in my gut. It was a death rattle.
We left mom there to hold your hand and spend those last moments with you alone. We sat and talked and while she is not one to believe in such things - I told her what was happening in the other room. I knew. I knew you were dying. I knew it was now. I knew you did not want us there. You only wanted mom.
I knew when it was time to go to the room. We arrived seconds after you passed. Mom was crying and stroking your cheek. She had gone to sleep at your side. She awoke just in time to see you take your last breath - and then you were gone. She said " He knew I was here. He knew you were both close...."
In the years since your passing - we've talked so often, you and I. All the things I never said to you I'd wished I had - I told you. And you heard me. And all the things you'd judged me for, you realized were nothing. You learned who I really am and learned who you really were - after you passed. In the first year - it was as if you were either with me or with mom. Back and forth. She and I could talk about things you'd said and how comforting it was for her to feel you with her. It was never something she would have believed in before, but with me as her sounding board, she could not only believe but share.
In the year after your passing - I realized it was me that held back from you. I never let you in. You were my rock and my ball and chain. I would lean on you, but never felt I could escape your judgment. In that year I shared everything with you and I became free. I would not be writing all that I do now if it were not for the talks we had. I never questioned if they were real. It could be just my mind working through all that on my own but it would not explain how it was going on with mom as well.
I asked for proof "am I really talking with you, Dad?" and the joking began. The little puns you would come up with - they were popping into my head - new puns - you were making fun and joking with me. It could just me, though, thinking what you "would" say. Until I got the package from mom that first Christmas since you'd passed. It sat under the tree unopened and somehow I knew you had given me Indian jewelry for Christmas. So many gifts from you had been Indian jewelry. You gave pieces often to my mom and I. Silver and turquoise was under that tree, in that package - and it was from my father who had passed. I told Ben and my kids that. Long before I opened it to find that mom had framed a silver and turquoise belt buckle of yours for me. I called her in tears. I asked how she came up with the idea to send me that. She said simply, "Dick told me to." Proof.
This is the place where I would normally say everything to you I'd wished I said. Dad, you and I both know I've already done that. You know I love you and that I always loved you. I know you love me and always loved me.
This year, Thanksgiving was on the 27th.
The year you passed, Thanksgiving was on the 27th too.
I called mom and we shared a short cry.
We both know you are still with her.
And on every Thanksgiving, I am thankful.
I'd heard from mom and my sis the condition you were in. I'd flown back the September before on a similar mission. I'd given you a week then. Every day I was in your room and you would wake up and say "Debbie? What are you doing here?" Every day I would tell you I was there because you were very ill. You were in the hospital. I told you I was there for you. But I was really there for me. You told me, "There is nothing you can do. I am dying. I want to die." I told you, "We love you and want you to live."
They said you got better. In October you were back home. You were waiting for a miracle - a new kidney. But age and health was not on your side. Other people got your miracle. You asked for death. Mom hid your guns. Anger and frustration were your armor. You wanted what you wanted. The women you'd loved your entire adult life, your soul mate - was at your side day after day. She never gave up hope. She was not ready to let go. Everyone one around you was as kind and gentle. Your physician insisted you needed to ride in a wheelchair to your car on that last visit with him. He pushed you himself. Out the door of his office and through the parking lot - he was on the verge of tears himself as he made sure you knew that going back to the hospital was not a loss of dignity. He wanted you there so he could make sure they did every test and gave you every opportunity for life.
He was in the room with you and mom when you begged once more for death. You told mom to get your gun. "Bring it to the hospital so I can shot myself. Let me die."
You must have signed something. I know you had a "do not revive" order on file. But they began the process of letting you go that day. Medication for the pain, but no food - no water. I was called and told to come back - to say goodbye.
I wanted to come sooner, while you were still alert, but my mom and sis said "wait."I left in the night and arrived Thanksgiving morning. My brother in law wanted to take me home and get me settled, but all I wanted was to see you. I borrowed a car. I'm sure I was speeding.
Mom was at your side, crying softly. It was morning but the curtains were drawn so the room seemed gray. You'd been in so much pain they'd increased your morphine just hours before. It looked like you were already dead except for the mumbling. "Debbie's here, Dick, Debbie came!"I remember you turning toward me and trying to talk, but your mind was so deep in medication. I could see you in there. The wheels were turning. The thoughts were trying to reach the surface, but they vanished before you could form them into words.
I stroked your arm. I took a wash cloth with cool water and wiped your cracked lips. There was no time for reconciling. There was no chance of hearing anything I'd ever needed to hear. You were going to die and we would be forever unsettled. Sleep took you and we left to meet at my sister's for our Thanksgiving meal.
If I told you I was psychic, I'm sure you passed it off as ridiculous. In your world things were black and white. You were an accountant. Things have to add up, to balance. You'd made it clear you were disappointed with the choices I'd made in my life. In fact, when I left my 3rd husband - the father of my children - and began a life with a 20 year old 22 years younger than me - you said "I feel you are doing this to hurt me." You were so embarrassed of me. My sister had married a doctor and given birth to the son you'd always wanted. My sister lived a life filled with family and tradition in Ohio while I lived a life of ever shifting devotions. I could not seem to find what I was looking for. In your mind - why was I looking at all? I finally had a husband who supported me and children and a nice home. There was nothing to be unhappy about. I'd lived my entire life with you telling me "Debbie, you've got to stop wearing your feelings on your sleeve! Toughen up!" I'd lived my entire life just wanting to know you could love me for who I really was and not who you wanted me to be. You took yourself out of my life for over a year. Was it two years? I spent it in a fog, so I don't know how long it really was. Once the my third divorce was underway and I was living with Ben and my children and struggling - you said it was too much for you. You were sick. You did not need the stress my life was putting on you. You were done. And you would no longer take my calls. Mom would talk to me from time to time, but I was set adrift so that you could be sick in peace.
My sister's children were flown to spend spring break with you and mom in AZ. You took them to baseball spring training. But this connection with my sister's children and not mine began long before I left their father. I remember when my son was born - you'd already begun to distance yourself from me and my children. Maybe you were a bit psychic? Maybe you could see the path I would take five years into the future. Maybe.
But there was no "maybe" as I drove away on that Thanksgiving morning. I knew you were dying. I knew you would die that day. I knew there would be no talking with you. I knew I needed to let you know it was ok to go. You had waited for it. You were deep inside that morphine sleep praying for me to let you go, to let you off the hook. You'd reconnected with me a year before that day. You and mom had driven to visit Ben and I and the kids. You spent a day with us in San Francisco. You told me you'd realized life was too short to stay upset with me. You recognized I was happy and the kids were happy and that Ben was indeed the life partner I'd always yearned for. With Ben, I was at peace.
It was that day in San Francisco I kept in my mind as I drove. I could barely see through my tears. I'd come too late - or maybe not. In the car - I talked with you. I felt you with me and I said everything I knew you needed to hear. I kept back all the anger and pain I'd carried - and gave you my love. I told you I knew you'd waited for me to come and I had. I told you it was OK to go now. I told you we had nothing left to talk about - all was forgiven. I understood all I'd done that left you upset with me. I told you there was nothing you needed to say to me you had not said.
Go.
We had just finished the feast. It was been a quiet, sad dinner. Your absence was filled with the memory of you lying in that small sterile room. And suddenly I knew I had to get back to the hospital, NOW. Mom knew too and she was jumping up just as I was. The family tried to calm us, to let us know there was no urgency, but there was.
Mom, my sister and I rushed back to you. You looked like you had earlier in the day, but the sound... I knew it in my gut. It was a death rattle.
We left mom there to hold your hand and spend those last moments with you alone. We sat and talked and while she is not one to believe in such things - I told her what was happening in the other room. I knew. I knew you were dying. I knew it was now. I knew you did not want us there. You only wanted mom.
I knew when it was time to go to the room. We arrived seconds after you passed. Mom was crying and stroking your cheek. She had gone to sleep at your side. She awoke just in time to see you take your last breath - and then you were gone. She said " He knew I was here. He knew you were both close...."
In the years since your passing - we've talked so often, you and I. All the things I never said to you I'd wished I had - I told you. And you heard me. And all the things you'd judged me for, you realized were nothing. You learned who I really am and learned who you really were - after you passed. In the first year - it was as if you were either with me or with mom. Back and forth. She and I could talk about things you'd said and how comforting it was for her to feel you with her. It was never something she would have believed in before, but with me as her sounding board, she could not only believe but share.
In the year after your passing - I realized it was me that held back from you. I never let you in. You were my rock and my ball and chain. I would lean on you, but never felt I could escape your judgment. In that year I shared everything with you and I became free. I would not be writing all that I do now if it were not for the talks we had. I never questioned if they were real. It could be just my mind working through all that on my own but it would not explain how it was going on with mom as well.
I asked for proof "am I really talking with you, Dad?" and the joking began. The little puns you would come up with - they were popping into my head - new puns - you were making fun and joking with me. It could just me, though, thinking what you "would" say. Until I got the package from mom that first Christmas since you'd passed. It sat under the tree unopened and somehow I knew you had given me Indian jewelry for Christmas. So many gifts from you had been Indian jewelry. You gave pieces often to my mom and I. Silver and turquoise was under that tree, in that package - and it was from my father who had passed. I told Ben and my kids that. Long before I opened it to find that mom had framed a silver and turquoise belt buckle of yours for me. I called her in tears. I asked how she came up with the idea to send me that. She said simply, "Dick told me to." Proof.
This is the place where I would normally say everything to you I'd wished I said. Dad, you and I both know I've already done that. You know I love you and that I always loved you. I know you love me and always loved me.
This year, Thanksgiving was on the 27th.
The year you passed, Thanksgiving was on the 27th too.
I called mom and we shared a short cry.
We both know you are still with her.
And on every Thanksgiving, I am thankful.
What if . problem with boundries
I had a problem with boundaries.
There was a backdoor to my sexuality that left me wondering what if...
Not everyone could see that kink in my armor (amour?). But many found that opportunity tempting. Was I encouraging them? If they felt encouraged, was I expected to follow through? I followed through - then guilt would overcome me and I would move on to the next what if...
How could I have been in that situation if there wasn't a reason?
reluctant medium at large
A long time ago, my friend Tina dragged me along to a psychic evaluation. It wasn't really for me. She wanted desperately to be psychic and bringing me gave her the courage to go inside.
Up until that day I had not realized there were actual organizations of people who believed they were not only psychic, but that they could "read" the abilities of others. I'm not saying I don't believe. I just had trouble believing them. Of course they would "read" Tina and tell her what she wanted to hear. But they didn't. They told her she had no psychic abilities. I would have left then, but she'd signed us both up and she insisted I go next. I was seated in a hard back chair in a semi lit room while three "psychics" sat at a table in front of me. They had three jobs. One laughed and laughed to keep the energy positive. One focused on the other world and the last one focused on me. Real or not, I did not want them in my head.
I told myself to block them from reading me. It didn't work, or it did, because they called me on it. I sat in that chair silently while they told me about my children. The one I had, the one I lost and the one I would give birth to. They told me about my childhood and my nightmares.They told me I was an open door and and there were blocks of spirits, good and bad, drawn to me. They told me I had to learn to shut that door. I left terrified. Tina was thrilled.
You don't have to believe me.
I probably wouldn't believe me.
If there was a door, I closed it, but not always. I talked with Gary who'd remodeled the house I owned. His boyfriend and he broke up but closed the house into two sections. Gary lived in the back which was Ben and my bedroom (his living room) and my daughter's room (his bedroom). He died of aids, or so he told me. He would not leave because it was his house. Ben's mom saw him in the kitchen one morning. We had not told her the house was haunted. I talked with my father off and on for a year after he passed and we grew closer than ever. And Tina, she was not happy when I held her wake at my house. She would show up in my car when I was driving. Ben saw her too. She was in the corner of our bedroom crying. She had not meant to kill herself, or so she said. It was exhausting. She wanted to drag me with her, so I closed the door to her.
But did I really talk to the dead? I wondered if it was just me thinking I was. It wasn't until I moved to Ohio that I learned I was bipolar. Part of the crazy brain hear's voices and sees things. Been there...
I'd been medicated for over a year when I went with my girlfriends to a hot springs nudist retreat in the hills above Napa Valley, California. The resort was full of meditation and new age spirituality. I'm not a team player when it comes to spirituality. The night we'd arrived we were walking down a set of stairs toward the garden when I felt someone brush past me and my body turned cold. I though it was one of my friends until I turned to see them both at the top of the stairs. It was April fools day. The following day I took a break from pretending to be ok naked with a hundred strangers and got a massage. The therapists name was Deanne. (d-anne) and her room overlooked the property and the garden beyond. I was quietly letting my body relax under her touch when Dee appeared in the room. Dee would not shut up. No Deanne could not see or hear her because Dee was dead, and was thrilled to have found someone who could tell Deanne she was really here. For the entire hour, Dee told me how she lived at the resort for years, and decided to stay there.
Up until that day I had not realized there were actual organizations of people who believed they were not only psychic, but that they could "read" the abilities of others. I'm not saying I don't believe. I just had trouble believing them. Of course they would "read" Tina and tell her what she wanted to hear. But they didn't. They told her she had no psychic abilities. I would have left then, but she'd signed us both up and she insisted I go next. I was seated in a hard back chair in a semi lit room while three "psychics" sat at a table in front of me. They had three jobs. One laughed and laughed to keep the energy positive. One focused on the other world and the last one focused on me. Real or not, I did not want them in my head.
I told myself to block them from reading me. It didn't work, or it did, because they called me on it. I sat in that chair silently while they told me about my children. The one I had, the one I lost and the one I would give birth to. They told me about my childhood and my nightmares.They told me I was an open door and and there were blocks of spirits, good and bad, drawn to me. They told me I had to learn to shut that door. I left terrified. Tina was thrilled.
You don't have to believe me.
I probably wouldn't believe me.
If there was a door, I closed it, but not always. I talked with Gary who'd remodeled the house I owned. His boyfriend and he broke up but closed the house into two sections. Gary lived in the back which was Ben and my bedroom (his living room) and my daughter's room (his bedroom). He died of aids, or so he told me. He would not leave because it was his house. Ben's mom saw him in the kitchen one morning. We had not told her the house was haunted. I talked with my father off and on for a year after he passed and we grew closer than ever. And Tina, she was not happy when I held her wake at my house. She would show up in my car when I was driving. Ben saw her too. She was in the corner of our bedroom crying. She had not meant to kill herself, or so she said. It was exhausting. She wanted to drag me with her, so I closed the door to her.
But did I really talk to the dead? I wondered if it was just me thinking I was. It wasn't until I moved to Ohio that I learned I was bipolar. Part of the crazy brain hear's voices and sees things. Been there...
I'd been medicated for over a year when I went with my girlfriends to a hot springs nudist retreat in the hills above Napa Valley, California. The resort was full of meditation and new age spirituality. I'm not a team player when it comes to spirituality. The night we'd arrived we were walking down a set of stairs toward the garden when I felt someone brush past me and my body turned cold. I though it was one of my friends until I turned to see them both at the top of the stairs. It was April fools day. The following day I took a break from pretending to be ok naked with a hundred strangers and got a massage. The therapists name was Deanne. (d-anne) and her room overlooked the property and the garden beyond. I was quietly letting my body relax under her touch when Dee appeared in the room. Dee would not shut up. No Deanne could not see or hear her because Dee was dead, and was thrilled to have found someone who could tell Deanne she was really here. For the entire hour, Dee told me how she lived at the resort for years, and decided to stay there.
Dee
You don't have to believe me.
I didn't really believe me till there was proof. And in that proof, I realized all the other times were real.
I don't do cold readings, or touch photos, or call on my totem spirit. I don't follow ghost hunters pretending I hear and see things. Because without tangible proof, its just ponderous. I do occasionally glance up at a house and casually say it's haunted. If you lost something you can call me and most times I can tell you exactly where to look. I see some things in a distant future, but nothing stays still so it's more of a comment about a possibility.
I was a spiritual nudist retreat at a hot springs in the hills above Napa Valley, California. I'm not religious and to me spiritual is private. I don't go in for group chanting or prayer circles. But the hot spring pools are wonderful for soaking and letting go of everything you carry around in your head. We arrived sunset on April 1st. After dropping our bags, we walked down the hill and stairs into a sprawling garden. Our destination was a hut at the bottom of the hill where there was much chanting and introspection. I was turning a corner on the stairs when someone brushed past me headed into the dark garden. I assumed it one of my friends, but they were chatting at the top of the stairs no where near me. It was unnerving, but that kind of thing happens to me all the time. I felt stalked, so I made up my mind to return via the road and not the dark path.
My friends and I spent the evening soaking and catching up. The next morning we all had scheduled massages.and a lovely white blond woman walked me up to her massage room, As we moved up the path is where the voice started talking in my head. She was telling me that this was her favorite room to get a massage and the window looks over the garden. Yes, yes it did. I was prepared to relax not play telephone for a pushy spirit, but with Dee now standing behind me in the room I could not ignore her. She was so glad she'd finally found someone who could hear her. She had a lot to say to alto of people starting with Dee Anne who was deep into my massage. She wasn't going to leave, so I let Dee, dead Dee talk. And for reference I never met Dee. I never new she worked at the retreat.
Here's what Dee told me:
My name is Dee I've lived at this retreat for years. I was a cook, but i wanted to help people like Dee Ann. Now I can help people! I can help Dee Ann by going into her clients and helping them relax their muscles. See, I'm doing that for you. Dee Ann "it's great that you can breathe into the massage." You need to tell Dee Ann I'm here. She needs to know I'll be here to help her. She won't believe me. Tell her what I look like, tell her I died recently but not here. They had a party for me last night in the garden. My favorite color is blue, beach glass blue and orange. Why didn't they have flowers with orange in them. I' wearing my wild flower print. See? It's got blue and orange. Dee Ann with know. She needs to tell every one I never left.
Ugh.. see the bizarre situation here. I have to ask this wonderful woman if she knows a woman named Dee. The reaction Dee Ann had was intense. She's here? Yes, she's right behind me in that corner by the window. This was her favorite room and now she wants to help you. She told me her favorite color is blue but your's is earth olive green, like your boots. She keeps showing me an opening lotus. What is that? She wants everyone here to know she is not going to leave. Dee Ann told me that Dee was here long before she came to work here. And when she came, her name was Dee. Dee was such a part of the group that Dee Ann had to change her name. Dee was born on April 1. Her wake was that day, in the garden. There was a fountain built for her. Dee and Dee ann did not get along. So the knowlege that she was going to be with her in that room always took a huge toll on Dee Ann. I felt awful. I'd done wahat a spirit asked me to do, but she wasn't near finished.
Having Dee attach herself to me was like my body was full of ice. I was so cold and the weather was quite warm. I tried to tune her out but she knew I could hear her so... I was stuck with her. My friends said I had to find her memorial. OK. Then I have to find it by not knowing where it is. On the way there I passed a little store and found myself buying a single lindor chocolate in an orange wrapper. And I walked until I could see a little fountain with a bench of stones around one side. On the other side were bright blue wooden chairs all facing the fountain, which I first thought was a lotus, but it was an open hand with water dripping of the fingers. In the base of the fountain were hundreds of blue glass among the rocks. I turned to the bench and I could see at the very center was a photo of Dee. No question since I'd talked to her. And around the top of the bench there were flourishes, and on one side it said Dee and the other side said Lious . Delishious
I laughed and held out the chocolate for her. "am I to eat this for you?" yes I ate it then sat the little orange wrapper over her photo. and told her I was done. I'd told Deeanne and she could tell the others.
Dee refused to let me go. I tried soaking in very hot pools but I still had ice in my viens. Everyone I saw she wanted me to talk to. Eventually I agreed to talk to Deeann again, even though I could see a man was holding her while she cried. I told her about the garden and the chocolate and it seems Dee's family owned that chocolate company.
It was just too much for me. I could not shut her out so I bored her out. I went to our tiny room and closed the windows and the shades and did nothting but read for hours I saw no on e and talked to no one till finally the ice left my body and I knew Dee was looking for another medium.
So now, yeah, I believe in what I can do. But I don't do it "for" anyone. It comes, it goes. I just try to help both sides and then push the door closed again.
And your keys are under your purse.
And that thing you thought you wanted has very bad energy.
Toss it and be done with all of it.
I didn't really believe me till there was proof. And in that proof, I realized all the other times were real.
I don't do cold readings, or touch photos, or call on my totem spirit. I don't follow ghost hunters pretending I hear and see things. Because without tangible proof, its just ponderous. I do occasionally glance up at a house and casually say it's haunted. If you lost something you can call me and most times I can tell you exactly where to look. I see some things in a distant future, but nothing stays still so it's more of a comment about a possibility.
I was a spiritual nudist retreat at a hot springs in the hills above Napa Valley, California. I'm not religious and to me spiritual is private. I don't go in for group chanting or prayer circles. But the hot spring pools are wonderful for soaking and letting go of everything you carry around in your head. We arrived sunset on April 1st. After dropping our bags, we walked down the hill and stairs into a sprawling garden. Our destination was a hut at the bottom of the hill where there was much chanting and introspection. I was turning a corner on the stairs when someone brushed past me headed into the dark garden. I assumed it one of my friends, but they were chatting at the top of the stairs no where near me. It was unnerving, but that kind of thing happens to me all the time. I felt stalked, so I made up my mind to return via the road and not the dark path.
My friends and I spent the evening soaking and catching up. The next morning we all had scheduled massages.and a lovely white blond woman walked me up to her massage room, As we moved up the path is where the voice started talking in my head. She was telling me that this was her favorite room to get a massage and the window looks over the garden. Yes, yes it did. I was prepared to relax not play telephone for a pushy spirit, but with Dee now standing behind me in the room I could not ignore her. She was so glad she'd finally found someone who could hear her. She had a lot to say to alto of people starting with Dee Anne who was deep into my massage. She wasn't going to leave, so I let Dee, dead Dee talk. And for reference I never met Dee. I never new she worked at the retreat.
Here's what Dee told me:
My name is Dee I've lived at this retreat for years. I was a cook, but i wanted to help people like Dee Ann. Now I can help people! I can help Dee Ann by going into her clients and helping them relax their muscles. See, I'm doing that for you. Dee Ann "it's great that you can breathe into the massage." You need to tell Dee Ann I'm here. She needs to know I'll be here to help her. She won't believe me. Tell her what I look like, tell her I died recently but not here. They had a party for me last night in the garden. My favorite color is blue, beach glass blue and orange. Why didn't they have flowers with orange in them. I' wearing my wild flower print. See? It's got blue and orange. Dee Ann with know. She needs to tell every one I never left.
Ugh.. see the bizarre situation here. I have to ask this wonderful woman if she knows a woman named Dee. The reaction Dee Ann had was intense. She's here? Yes, she's right behind me in that corner by the window. This was her favorite room and now she wants to help you. She told me her favorite color is blue but your's is earth olive green, like your boots. She keeps showing me an opening lotus. What is that? She wants everyone here to know she is not going to leave. Dee Ann told me that Dee was here long before she came to work here. And when she came, her name was Dee. Dee was such a part of the group that Dee Ann had to change her name. Dee was born on April 1. Her wake was that day, in the garden. There was a fountain built for her. Dee and Dee ann did not get along. So the knowlege that she was going to be with her in that room always took a huge toll on Dee Ann. I felt awful. I'd done wahat a spirit asked me to do, but she wasn't near finished.
Having Dee attach herself to me was like my body was full of ice. I was so cold and the weather was quite warm. I tried to tune her out but she knew I could hear her so... I was stuck with her. My friends said I had to find her memorial. OK. Then I have to find it by not knowing where it is. On the way there I passed a little store and found myself buying a single lindor chocolate in an orange wrapper. And I walked until I could see a little fountain with a bench of stones around one side. On the other side were bright blue wooden chairs all facing the fountain, which I first thought was a lotus, but it was an open hand with water dripping of the fingers. In the base of the fountain were hundreds of blue glass among the rocks. I turned to the bench and I could see at the very center was a photo of Dee. No question since I'd talked to her. And around the top of the bench there were flourishes, and on one side it said Dee and the other side said Lious . Delishious
I laughed and held out the chocolate for her. "am I to eat this for you?" yes I ate it then sat the little orange wrapper over her photo. and told her I was done. I'd told Deeanne and she could tell the others.
Dee refused to let me go. I tried soaking in very hot pools but I still had ice in my viens. Everyone I saw she wanted me to talk to. Eventually I agreed to talk to Deeann again, even though I could see a man was holding her while she cried. I told her about the garden and the chocolate and it seems Dee's family owned that chocolate company.
It was just too much for me. I could not shut her out so I bored her out. I went to our tiny room and closed the windows and the shades and did nothting but read for hours I saw no on e and talked to no one till finally the ice left my body and I knew Dee was looking for another medium.
So now, yeah, I believe in what I can do. But I don't do it "for" anyone. It comes, it goes. I just try to help both sides and then push the door closed again.
And your keys are under your purse.
And that thing you thought you wanted has very bad energy.
Toss it and be done with all of it.
The tag line of this blog is about telling someone what I wanted to tell them but never did till now. Looking back over my posts it's obvious that the person I am really talking to - is me.
It's not the only place I talk to myself. Whenever I am not in direct contact with another person, I have a constant dialogue in my head. Ben can be in the next room, and I'll still be talking to myself. When I'm doing something that requires concentration, like watching TV or playing games, the chatter is no more than a whisper. Being online is a bit more problematic because my mind interacts with that I see and my self-directed dialogue might be a pleasant "this makes me smile" or a more destructive "this upsets me." When I am completely alone, especially in my car, I literally talk to myself. Any topic at the top of my mind will do and I'll go over and over it endlessly. And if there is a BIG topic rolling around up there, while it seems to me I am working though it, I think I am mostly just making it bigger and justifying why I am talking about it in the first place.
So if I talk to myself, and I write this blog for myself, why are there some stories (conversations) I am terrified to write down?
It's not the only place I talk to myself. Whenever I am not in direct contact with another person, I have a constant dialogue in my head. Ben can be in the next room, and I'll still be talking to myself. When I'm doing something that requires concentration, like watching TV or playing games, the chatter is no more than a whisper. Being online is a bit more problematic because my mind interacts with that I see and my self-directed dialogue might be a pleasant "this makes me smile" or a more destructive "this upsets me." When I am completely alone, especially in my car, I literally talk to myself. Any topic at the top of my mind will do and I'll go over and over it endlessly. And if there is a BIG topic rolling around up there, while it seems to me I am working though it, I think I am mostly just making it bigger and justifying why I am talking about it in the first place.
So if I talk to myself, and I write this blog for myself, why are there some stories (conversations) I am terrified to write down?
life has its funny little ups and downs
I am a ship at sea and Ben is the anchor that keeps the waves from taking me.
I was a baby just months old. I can hear the song and remember the way my heart raced as my father threw me into the air - letting me fall - then catching me only to toss me into the air again. It was personal and I was happy to be in that moment with him as he sang and tossed and caught and tossed. I might not have known the words, but I knew that at some point the ups would turn to downs. I hated the downs. When the downs were done, the singing would stop. He would hand me off, or lay me down. I was anxious even then. I was helpless. What I wanted and needed could not be vocalized.
"Life has it's funny little ups and downs, downs and ups, ups and downs. Life has it's funny little ups and downs and downs and downs and downs."
I was a baby just months old. I can hear the song and remember the way my heart raced as my father threw me into the air - letting me fall - then catching me only to toss me into the air again. It was personal and I was happy to be in that moment with him as he sang and tossed and caught and tossed. I might not have known the words, but I knew that at some point the ups would turn to downs. I hated the downs. When the downs were done, the singing would stop. He would hand me off, or lay me down. I was anxious even then. I was helpless. What I wanted and needed could not be vocalized.
"Life has it's funny little ups and downs, downs and ups, ups and downs. Life has it's funny little ups and downs and downs and downs and downs."
As a child, my life was a never ending series of ups and downs.The downs would drag me down and down and down. The ups would leave me happily spinning in all directions as once. But most of the time, I was told to stop it. If I did not stop it I would be sent to my room (handed off, laid down) When the downs threatened to take me, I went to him in hopes he could lift my spirits. He told me I was just trying to get attention and to stop wearing my feelings on my sleeves. I had to toughen up and if I couldn't then I would be sent to my room (handed off, laid down) again.
I remember he never took my side when kids would tease me. Looking back, I can see how I must have been. There was no sitting still, or keeping quite, or stopping myself from yelling out the answers. Their words hurt me. Things were thrown at me. I was pushed down and down and down.
He never picked me up when I was down. He never wrapped his arms around me or let me know he was there for me, because he wasn't. I was the anchor that kept him from doing whatever he wanted to do. So he cut the cable and let me sink to the bottom, where there were was only down. He was clear it was not his doing, but mine.
Bad days and good days. It's all in my mind
I typically don't write about my mental illness. It's too revealing and I hate the stigma and misunderstanding what bipolar means
The important thing to know is that I'm not in control of my brain chemistry but I can control how I appear to others. Unless it's severe. I assume it's triggers, but maybe it's the opposite. When I'm depressed I find myself bringing triggers into my head which then sets up an avalanche of fear and worry about things that did happen and worry they might happen again.
Ben has no memory of even a bit of what he did and sAid. It's gone. But I. ant forget any of it when I'm in the midst of a depression
There is the belief he lied then and after what he wants me to know. But I know it was more than just him getting rid of her he was obsessed with her. He changed everingthing and I was left alone and crazy
And it the actions change...What happens to the trust. Does it slip away a bit at a time? What happens when the words change or maybe they are just the same words said before that trust was broken before.
We started over. It was different from the other times, because this time you brought your apology from an honest and raw place. You changed. You admitted to everything.You said I could ask anything and you would answer me. And from that moment I accepted your words.There were things I needed to know and to hear, but I did not look for reasons to distrust you. I did not obsess. I held your words close over years and they grew till I trusted completely.
Words matched actions, until they didn't. The actions changed. All at once. I was told that there would be change and to accept it. That you were changing and people said it was good for you. What people? I thought I was your people. I've always wanted for you to grow and be able to do more than you were able to before. But this was different. I was told I had to get used to this new you. The new you made plans without me and did things we'd always done together without me. I doubted myself. The more I worried you were putting me to one side, the more I looked for reasons. Was it going to happen again? And like that, the trust was gone, replaced with fear and the feeling I must be crazy. Crazy not to trust. Crazy and bringing it all on myself.
Fear and sadness. Worry and guilt. Confusion and frustration. Wanting to trust. Distrusting. So many times I've taken what was given and accepted. So many that I can't just let it all go and I'm once again pulled into a whirling mess of emotion. Wondering. Am I crazy?
I was told I'm not crazy. I've never been crazy.
I was told that while listening to my fears was OK, acting on them is not.
I was told to ask for what I need to make the fear and sadness and worry and guilt and confusion and frustration and distrust.
I was told to talk with you and let you know what was happening with me, why I was asking all the questions and obsessed with worry that you'd found a new love.
I was stop accusing you. To stop guessing. To face what was happening to me as what it really is. Actions changed and I was reminded of other actions another time and it hurt all over again. I was unable to separate then and now. It was not healthy for me. I needed help to stop.
I was told if you loved me, you'd understand what I needed to feel safe again.
I was told I needed to be given all the tools to trust. Transparency and honesty.
I was told that it would be given lovingly.
I was told there would be no push back or blame or intimidation or anger.
But there was. It hurts so much..."getting.snooped" Thats what you gave me for transparency. Passive aggressive bullshit. It does not make me feel you understand. It makes me feel even more unhappy and worried. It's like you are wanting to get even. I hurt you. You hurt me.
Maybe you think I'm bringing all this up to make you hurt for things you did in the past. I'm not wanting to hurt you by bringing things up, I forgave you, the wounded woman who took you back over and over will never forget. It's a part of me, of us. It just is. I thought I would never be worried about us or you ever again. I thought I'd moved past that. I had moved past that.
Maybe you think I'm just a snoop who wants to control you. I don't want to snoop on you, I want to know there is nothing to find. I don't want to control you, I want you to help me control my fear and worry that it could happen. I need your help, not your anger. I'm in a dark place. If there is no reason for me to be here, reach out and help me. I need you to help me.
Trust is built when words match actions over time.
I no longer trust you.
You happiness does not match my sadness.
This has happened before
I think I am doomed to have this happen again.
And it did.
It was less than 24 hours when I found proof that absolved me from being crazy or unnecessarily snoopy. It was clear, I am doomed bcecause this time had to be the last time or I will be hust over and over.
Trust is gone.
The photos I found, of you and her were ones you so professionally set up and shot. A door from my living room in the shot, You and your undeniable tattoos back to the camera while you left nothing to the imagination. When ever I let even a bit of "maybe if", I look at that photo. The others don't have the same power that one has. You have no remorse, no guilt. It was a want and you gave it to yourself without thought to the consequence, or maybe you knew it would finally set you free from me. But your freedom came with a stiff price. Your children, my family, my friends and even some of yours who will never speak to you again. And you feel that they are the ones being unreasonable, as if what you did to me was somehow justified. I've been so accommodating, why would they hate you. The hate comes from the all the other times, like this one. And I know, you won't be able to stop. It will happen with her, sooner than you think, someone will shower you with more attention than she is and you will swept up into a new game of hide and seek. You are very good at that game. But I hope you don't do that to her. It's isn't her, its for you. If you could figure out the "why" you could control the "why not"
This post is my real life and I won't leave it up forever. You would be oh so very angry that I put into words what you feel is "our business and no own needs to know" Well that would make it OK for you to have moved on since I seem so ok with hiding it for you. But for the first time in 20 years I the affect of your anger does not humble me. It reminds me of why this is the right thing for me.
Yes... Trust is gone, love is gone, our life is gone, your children are gone, you will never be the cool Grandfather. You will never be the funny uncle at the Thanksgiving table. You will have to learn to live on your own. What it means to have no one helping you remember. Soon this house will be gone.
I look forward to my new home, what every that will be. I look forward to the new friendships I will have once I can have them come to my home. I will be lonely, but I've been lonely for years. Lonely now will only help me go out into the world and take chances and see what and who is out there waiting for me to find it.
I am a rose bud slowed to open by the cold , but I will bloom. And I will be beautiful.
We started over. It was different from the other times, because this time you brought your apology from an honest and raw place. You changed. You admitted to everything.You said I could ask anything and you would answer me. And from that moment I accepted your words.There were things I needed to know and to hear, but I did not look for reasons to distrust you. I did not obsess. I held your words close over years and they grew till I trusted completely.
Words matched actions, until they didn't. The actions changed. All at once. I was told that there would be change and to accept it. That you were changing and people said it was good for you. What people? I thought I was your people. I've always wanted for you to grow and be able to do more than you were able to before. But this was different. I was told I had to get used to this new you. The new you made plans without me and did things we'd always done together without me. I doubted myself. The more I worried you were putting me to one side, the more I looked for reasons. Was it going to happen again? And like that, the trust was gone, replaced with fear and the feeling I must be crazy. Crazy not to trust. Crazy and bringing it all on myself.
Fear and sadness. Worry and guilt. Confusion and frustration. Wanting to trust. Distrusting. So many times I've taken what was given and accepted. So many that I can't just let it all go and I'm once again pulled into a whirling mess of emotion. Wondering. Am I crazy?
I was told I'm not crazy. I've never been crazy.
I was told that while listening to my fears was OK, acting on them is not.
I was told to ask for what I need to make the fear and sadness and worry and guilt and confusion and frustration and distrust.
I was told to talk with you and let you know what was happening with me, why I was asking all the questions and obsessed with worry that you'd found a new love.
I was stop accusing you. To stop guessing. To face what was happening to me as what it really is. Actions changed and I was reminded of other actions another time and it hurt all over again. I was unable to separate then and now. It was not healthy for me. I needed help to stop.
I was told if you loved me, you'd understand what I needed to feel safe again.
I was told I needed to be given all the tools to trust. Transparency and honesty.
I was told that it would be given lovingly.
I was told there would be no push back or blame or intimidation or anger.
But there was. It hurts so much..."getting.snooped" Thats what you gave me for transparency. Passive aggressive bullshit. It does not make me feel you understand. It makes me feel even more unhappy and worried. It's like you are wanting to get even. I hurt you. You hurt me.
Maybe you think I'm bringing all this up to make you hurt for things you did in the past. I'm not wanting to hurt you by bringing things up, I forgave you, the wounded woman who took you back over and over will never forget. It's a part of me, of us. It just is. I thought I would never be worried about us or you ever again. I thought I'd moved past that. I had moved past that.
Maybe you think I'm just a snoop who wants to control you. I don't want to snoop on you, I want to know there is nothing to find. I don't want to control you, I want you to help me control my fear and worry that it could happen. I need your help, not your anger. I'm in a dark place. If there is no reason for me to be here, reach out and help me. I need you to help me.
Trust is built when words match actions over time.
I no longer trust you.
You happiness does not match my sadness.
This has happened before
I think I am doomed to have this happen again.
And it did.
It was less than 24 hours when I found proof that absolved me from being crazy or unnecessarily snoopy. It was clear, I am doomed bcecause this time had to be the last time or I will be hust over and over.
Trust is gone.
The photos I found, of you and her were ones you so professionally set up and shot. A door from my living room in the shot, You and your undeniable tattoos back to the camera while you left nothing to the imagination. When ever I let even a bit of "maybe if", I look at that photo. The others don't have the same power that one has. You have no remorse, no guilt. It was a want and you gave it to yourself without thought to the consequence, or maybe you knew it would finally set you free from me. But your freedom came with a stiff price. Your children, my family, my friends and even some of yours who will never speak to you again. And you feel that they are the ones being unreasonable, as if what you did to me was somehow justified. I've been so accommodating, why would they hate you. The hate comes from the all the other times, like this one. And I know, you won't be able to stop. It will happen with her, sooner than you think, someone will shower you with more attention than she is and you will swept up into a new game of hide and seek. You are very good at that game. But I hope you don't do that to her. It's isn't her, its for you. If you could figure out the "why" you could control the "why not"
This post is my real life and I won't leave it up forever. You would be oh so very angry that I put into words what you feel is "our business and no own needs to know" Well that would make it OK for you to have moved on since I seem so ok with hiding it for you. But for the first time in 20 years I the affect of your anger does not humble me. It reminds me of why this is the right thing for me.
Yes... Trust is gone, love is gone, our life is gone, your children are gone, you will never be the cool Grandfather. You will never be the funny uncle at the Thanksgiving table. You will have to learn to live on your own. What it means to have no one helping you remember. Soon this house will be gone.
I look forward to my new home, what every that will be. I look forward to the new friendships I will have once I can have them come to my home. I will be lonely, but I've been lonely for years. Lonely now will only help me go out into the world and take chances and see what and who is out there waiting for me to find it.
I am a rose bud slowed to open by the cold , but I will bloom. And I will be beautiful.
So it's now about my disease.
Last week my therapist was worried I was sucidal. Me too, I felt trapped. Afraid. Hopeless. She asked if I'd ever been hospitalized. No.,but the message was clear. Maybe I was headed there if I could niot stop the downward spiral. She added a Valium 2x a day mandatory. She also bumped up another med. It helped. But 2 days ago I lost it with Ben. I got so worked up I wanted to break up. He asked it pf I'd taken my meds. I said yes. But I'd missed them . Oops
Next day I was up happy and chatting with my therapist. Everything was great.
Tiday I woke up in full blown panic attcack. Too my meds early and tried to relax. Got worse and worse till I tool anther Valium. Then I hit the wall again. Tears and panic. Could not see a reason to live. Then Ben found my main med stuck in my med case....and I'd missed my mid day med too. It's now 8pm and while I ish I had pot to zone out... I'm calm. No rushing thoughts rapid cycling.
I km ow, however, it's only a tiring get away from mania again,,,
Pinole is non stop angst
B
Last week my therapist was worried I was sucidal. Me too, I felt trapped. Afraid. Hopeless. She asked if I'd ever been hospitalized. No.,but the message was clear. Maybe I was headed there if I could niot stop the downward spiral. She added a Valium 2x a day mandatory. She also bumped up another med. It helped. But 2 days ago I lost it with Ben. I got so worked up I wanted to break up. He asked it pf I'd taken my meds. I said yes. But I'd missed them . Oops
Next day I was up happy and chatting with my therapist. Everything was great.
Tiday I woke up in full blown panic attcack. Too my meds early and tried to relax. Got worse and worse till I tool anther Valium. Then I hit the wall again. Tears and panic. Could not see a reason to live. Then Ben found my main med stuck in my med case....and I'd missed my mid day med too. It's now 8pm and while I ish I had pot to zone out... I'm calm. No rushing thoughts rapid cycling.
I km ow, however, it's only a tiring get away from mania again,,,
Pinole is non stop angst
B
From me to me - codependence
Hi, my name is Deborah and I am enabler.
This story is your me.
This time he seemed to smile as you cried about you'd seen. Did you see him cry? Did he get on his knees and beg you to forgive him? Yes he said he was sorry he'd lied and made you think you were crazy, but instead of staying with you to work things our - he least for the date he'd planned with her. You cried and called everyone who could support your emotions and they all said enough. You have to be strong. You can't keep putting yourself through this hell. His pattern will never change unles he can understand why he does it and wants to stop it.
You say he can stay if he gets help, What you mean is you would take him back if he changed.. But deep in your heart you know no one changes unless they want too. You want him back so much your heart beats faster when he's close to you. When he holds you, you melt. You want to believe that this time somehow - it will be different. And just like that, you enable him again
This story is your me.
You forgave his affairs once you caught him, and you always caught him.
You forgave him because before he broke your trust, he loved you "more than anything" and your life together was wonderful. Married to your best friend, though you can't speak for him.He had a life with you where he could do what he wanted and get what he wanted to created himself into a charming and enticing person.You bought the food and cooked and cleaned and took the cars in when they needed anything. You ave up your dreams to travel around the east coast with him and to travel to visit your friends. If there was anything he said he wanted, you made sure he got it.
You thought if you did all that, and kept him happy, he would not cheat on you again. He would realize that you, his soul mate was to be nurtured and cared for as you did for him. But every few yearsr - his behavior toward you would change. But his explanations did not end your feelings that is was happening again. The lies got bigger. He insisted you were wrong and looking for something to accuse him of that wasn't there.. But there was. There always was. He would stay up late while you slept, cell phone in his hand always texting. When you questioned him, there was always someone he could say who needed his help, or he texts all the time with lots of people, but worry drove you crazy.You came to believe that it was your making up problems and you doubled your efforts to show you cared. You made his favorite snacks so he would always have them. You cooked his favorite meals.What ever he wanted.you made sure he got them..You did all this even through you were bleeding money and the only way you had to stop the bleeding was to stuff the hole with money from your trust. And then that wasn't enough you took money from the house and prayed every month that this would the month the money would turn everything around
But there were all his reasons for why there was never enough money The stress you could not hide created the distance between you. And in that distance, he could indulge his addiction for someone who could give him the stress less, lustful sexuality and emotional attachment he craved. And like a a.magician he created a hidden life outside of your life, He called you a snoop, He said you were wrong, but you knew. Inside you knew that he what doing it again. and though the half-truths, anger and accusations - the truth always comes out.
Put this time was different. The other times you accepted his affairs, you forgave him when he said it would never happen again..You would bask in the loving attention he gave you. The sweetness of his heartfelt apologies and loving embrace took the pain away. He had changed for you and the high was undeniable. But not this time.
When the truth came out, it was visual, and the pain that shot through your heart left you feeling you would die.But even in the overwhelming grief you still wanted some excuse that for what you'd seen. In the past he'd convinced you of the things you'd done that in some way justified his betrayal. He would want to destroy the evidence. Without that solid proof, maybe things could go back to the times when you would forgive hin. He thought enough time would pass and the images you saw would fade until life was back to normal. All forgiven, forgotten.But this time there was no mistaking what yo u saw, It was the biggest and most obvious breach of trust. He did it. He liked it.Maybe he liked hiding it from you or at least thought you would not catch him even through you've always caught him. Or maybe he wanted to be caught.
When you look back, each time he broke your hart and shattered your trust. He he put you through emotional hell not knowing,how to feel. Or what to do. Because after the smoke would clear hes you to me to let him come to bed and hold you would let him. Because each time you believed it would never happen again.He would get on his knees with tears in his eyes begging for forgiveness. He would admit to everything and open his world to you to prove how much he cared. And you would take him back believing because you had to believe.
This time he seemed to smile as you cried about you'd seen. Did you see him cry? Did he get on his knees and beg you to forgive him? Yes he said he was sorry he'd lied and made you think you were crazy, but instead of staying with you to work things our - he least for the date he'd planned with her. You cried and called everyone who could support your emotions and they all said enough. You have to be strong. You can't keep putting yourself through this hell. His pattern will never change unles he can understand why he does it and wants to stop it.
You say he can stay if he gets help, What you mean is you would take him back if he changed.. But deep in your heart you know no one changes unless they want too. You want him back so much your heart beats faster when he's close to you. When he holds you, you melt. You want to believe that this time somehow - it will be different. And just like that, you enable him again
He left alone to think
You took everything of his and moved to other rooms. But you see it all, everyday on you way to you room. He's still here. A with all the people in my life who I trust to help me, I know THIS time I have to listen to them. I know that he was not crying when I found out. IN someways he was smiling. And when he left to their date, he was not crying. I don't think I've seen him cry and I think I know why. Why would I really leave him now when it is me that allows this pattern to go on and on. Because he knows I will give in. He knows I will take him back warts and all while my family begs me not to. And when I do, I will loose the respect of my family and of myself for not stopping the cycle once and for all.
It's been 2 days and yet I've let him sleep in my bed rather than be lonely. I have his familiar warmth against my back. There is no sex. There has been no sex for 9 months. So this feels like it's felt for all those months. I've made him food. I've held him when he needs it. Yes, he's held me too. But his lack of tears tells me he is not going to give up Joy, he will hold on to me until he can be on his own, and he will allow me to enable this because I always do, always have.
I find myself following him around the house still asking auestions, but mostly wanting to hear he loves me more than anything and that if he could he'd stay with me, the love of his life. That he loves me more. That he won't see her anymore. That he will get therapy and find the reason behindd his actions and if he can learn and change. And if he does I won't be the one who benefits from it. I'll be one he evaluates to get to where he should be. And all the hurt and pain he;s caused me will be nothing more than an "I'm sorry" as he moves on to someone new.
I am conflicted. I want to go back to bed and snuggle my husband because he still is my husband. We have to live in this house till we can figure out how to separate. He has someone to help him through this who will laugh and kiss and hold him when he's away from me. And I have him, the part of me he still gives to me. I have the sorry notes and the unhappy smiles - but really Im alone. I have my kids on chat24/7 and my therapist on chat and my sister on chat. Once I know I am free (will i ever be?) I can bring my other friends into the circle.... Lisa is right on the edge, and I know Patty and Laurel in Sf would be all in. (they tried to get me to leave him after the 3rd time. I told almost no one about the 4th....
I want to stay with him.
But only if he gets therapy
And then I will be seen as his enabler and I will need to be out of his life for his needs
And here I am crying again.
Because I spent so long in pain, and worry, and thinking it was always my fault he did this.
And it really IS my fault that I did not insist he stay in therapy after the 3rd one. Instead I worked on the things that made him feel less than a man and gave him al the power....
He's in my bed.
I should kick him out NOW
I should tell him to leave to his "party" in Mansfield with is Friends - who he says he will be doing photography stuff with after and not tell JOHN. Because I now where he'll reall be going. He will pick up up somewhere and maybe they'll use the empty vet clinic to fuck on the couch (Hell I did that with the best man at my sisters weeding... but I was not married//// and I was not hiding. And in no way did I call it love. It was lust. I just wanted to fuck him. Period. But him seeing her is why he had no tears for me. He isn't sad because he thinks I'll get past this and he can have both. He sees my tears but his sorry is for being found out. Maybe there is a real emotion that shows EXACTLY what he's put/putting me through and holds me to help me.
Conflicted
If he gets help, would be be together... not just work partners which we HAVE to be, but lovers again. Married with our dogs and another house - starting over.... But that will not happen unless I cave.
I have to be strong and get past my fear of being alone. I can have friends. I can do things I never had the chance to do with him. He held be back, down, his rules. But hey Deb, you know I love you more than anything" and I know he probably says that to her too.... he did to the others.
Help me
Help me know the things I can't change
And the things I can change
And the courage to know the difference.
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