Tag Archives: vulnerability

A Delusionary Love Story: The Conclusion

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Part 1

Part 2

People often feel as though certain events are their fault or were avoidable. It can be easy to go back and think, “If only…”

If only I had listened to that little voice inside my head.
If only I had paid attention to that gut retching feeling.
If only I hadn’t answered my phone.
If only I hadn’t gotten in that car.
If only I had listened to everyone’s characterization of him.

You’ll kill yourself with the “if only’s.” And if that doesn’t drive you straight to death it will easily drive you mad, at the very least. Find help and support, that is the only way.

The next morning I woke up, not at home like I had intended and wholeheartedly planned. No, I woke up next to this “friend,” puke beside this bed and a migraine from hell. I was so confused.

“Why am I hungover? I didn’t get drunk. Why the hell is the sun out? What happened to that time? Just a second ago it was 3am. What time is it now? SEVEN A.M.!? What the hell? Where am I and why isn’t this MY room?”

This was just a few of the thoughts that ran through my head as I was being shaken awake and led to a car and driven home, he never said a word. It was then I realized, he never got another bottle. He never had any intention of grabbing another bottle or taking me home that night. And worst of all, he won.

He pulled in the drive way of my house and my parents had both already left for work. I was scared, worried, and hurt. Usually when I leave without telling them, especially in the middle of the night and they see I’m not home the next morning (which was every other time I had slept at a friends house without giving them a heads up), they blow up my phone with text messages, phone calls, and voicemails until they reach me. But I hadn’t even gotten so much as a “have a good day, sweetie” from my dad. Something was wrong with everything, but good god, my head had never been foggier in my life. I needed more sleep. So I dragged myself inside and collapsed on my bed without bothering to change my clothes and slept into the afternoon.

Seven hours later, I woke up. Still with a headache but no migraine. I had more of myself. I got up to go freshen myself up, “maybe it’ll help me feel better,” I thought.

I don’t know if guys get this feeling the day after they’ve had sex, where even if they didn’t remember it they know something happened, but ladies do. Something is just different about your body. Especially when you haven’t been active. After all, Mr. Love and I were trying to work things out; even if we weren’t “official” it would just be rude to be with someone else while he’s fighting for my freedom during our reconciliation. (My family is greatly influenced by the military and has a vast military background, I got respect.)

So as I made my way to my bathroom; again I had this feel that something just WASN’T right. My body felt…used. Then I noticed the shorts I was wearing under my long pants were ripped. “What happened? When I last used the bathroom at ‘friend’s’ house they were in perfect condition.” I stood there in utter bewilderment as I watched the buttons that fastened the shorts fall to the floor. All were there but one, that one is still missing to this day.

I never cried so hard in my life. I felt broken. No, more than broken. I felt trashed and filthy. I felt such a confusion I never faced before. My head was swimming again. There was no way he could have done what I thought he did. He couldn’t. He was my best friend. He would never. I trusted him.

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I, then, did a series of things that are not advised. I took the hottest shower in my life and scrubbed my skin raw (not ideal for rape kits to be properly performed). Afterwards, I went to my other best friend’s house. I cried in her living room as I explained the events I could recall. I know that although it was my responsibility to take the proper measures to protect myself and take myself to the hospital, I was just too scared. I thought, like many victims, that it was my fault. That I brought it on myself. But Mrs. Friend didn’t help to convince me otherwise. A month to the day later, we had an explosive argument that would have gotten physical had it not been for two guys grabbing us both and separating us. My therapist helped me later by looking into that situation.

“If a friend had come to you in the state you had gone to her, what would you have done? I believe your outburst was repressed anger towards her for not doing what a friend should have done.” She stated.

Mrs. Friend’s solution to the issue at hand was not to talk me through my pain and help me find help but to hand me a cigarette, a valium, and a joint. That day I couldn’t bring myself to show my face at school. Plus, I didn’t trust myself to handle a knife in a kitchen with gas stoves while I was high as kite so instead I went to a party. Where my life began to find comfort in weed, pills, and alcohol.

Two weeks later, after I had been avoiding Mr. Love’s calls on Skype, I finally confessed to him what happened. Accompanied by my confession, I told him I wanted nothing to do with him. That I wanted him out of my life for good. I wouldn’t say why, just that I didn’t “feel single.” I will regret this day and these words more than anything else that happened. He was the only one that believed me and still believes me. To this day it kills me that I could have done this. Even if we are talking now, because I shattered his heart and now I fight for a love I am not sure I can ever get back.

A couple of weeks after shutting Mr. Love out of my life I continued to spiral. I made poor decisions, one of them being sleeping with a guy I had been partying with, Mr. Flip-Flop. I don’t recall any real desire to be with him. Or anyone else for that matter. But I thought I could gain a piece of myself back. I believed doing this on my terms, I could take back what was stolen from me.

The only thing I gained was pregnancy.

Although, now I can say, it was this baby that saved my life. If it weren’t for him I would have never gone out to seek professional help, I did this for him. I never would have quit smoking or popping pills and probably would have continued to drive drunk with all hopes and intentions that a tree would jump in front of my car. Even though at the time, pregnancy was the very last thing I wanted I wouldn’t change it. He is my everything and without him I probably wouldn’t be sitting here writing this.

This is my conclusion to a story that started with an entirely different intention. But I’m glad I got this out. It hurts to think about it again, yes. But I pray it can help one of you out there that might stumble upon this. Do what I was too afraid to do. Be stronger than I was. And don’t let it ruin the love of your life, instead let that love help you. Don’t shut him out.

A Delusionary Love Story Part II

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Part 1

Mr. Love and I have a complicated relationship. We were once stepping in stride with one another up until two years ago. Since then it seems one of us is always trying to catch up with the other. How can there no longer be anything when we’re still so involved with the other on a daily basis? I refuse to believe our love is dead.

For over a year leading up to February of 2013 Mr. Love had been showing me nonstop that I could trust him still. That what he did was a mistake and one that would never happen again. When he would go on leave he always made time to see me, for us to reconnect and earn back the friendship we always had that accompanied our love. An improvement was made in our attempts of a relationship; we discovered Skype. As long as he was docked, we would Skype for hours and hours. There were times we would even fall asleep on it together. It sounds corny but it was nice. When that is the best you can get, you grasp it with both hands for dear life. It was as though he were back home with me rather than thousands of miles away.

That year I had the best Valentine’s Day I was ever given. Even though he was not in town to spend it with me in person he still went out of his way to make it the most memorable. He also gave me my first real Valentine’s Day. He sent me an onyx tennis bracelet set in sterling silver and a beautiful bouquet of flowers that greeted me at the door when I left for school that day. I had never been sent flowers from a lover before. Even in the years we had dated, he never sent me flowers.

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He had set up plans to come home the following month to strictly see me. His family didn’t even know he was coming into town. He was to fly in, get me and take me to my favorite city with a river view hotel room for a week. While we were there we would be going to the most romantic restaurant in the city. Then spending the remainder of our trip going out to bars, beaches, and simply falling even deeper in love. Unfortunately, this trip never happened.

Just a week after Valentine’s Day, my world disintegrated and spiraled into a world of drugs and alcohol.

It was just another school night. I had arrived home after my kitchen class and was laying on my couch with my feet up, not far from making my way to bed simply out of sheer boredom. Then I received a text message from one of my dear friends who I hadn’t heard from in quite some time. He wanted to hang out. I was hesitant at first, it was late and this weird feeling was taking over my gut, telling me to just stay home. I ignored it…the worst choice I could have made.

ALWAYS trust your instincts.

He came to my house and picked me up. We drove around for a short time when we found a parking lot in an office suite. He parked his car and we sat in it for a couple of hours catching each other up on the latest gossip and news of the others life. That was when he handed me a glass that was in his cup holder and offered it to me.
“What is it, orange juice?” I asked.
“No, a screwdriver,” he replied.
I didn’t much feel like drinking, aware that I had school the following day and by now it was after 2am. I didn’t want to be rude though so I took it, only sipping on it as we continued our chatter. He never touched the glass though, which I found odd at first. There had been plenty of times we had shared drinks, why was tonight different? Instead, he pulled out a bottle from the back seat that contained his own screw driver.

Out of the blue, he was insistent that I chug this concoction. “Drink half, right now.” I know my limit when it comes to liquor, I know how I get and what I can and cannot handle. It was enough he got me to drink liquor and when I wasn’t in the mood for it. He wasn’t going to force it in me as well. Not that he didn’t try. He tipped the glass in hopes of getting me to drink more, faster. Instead his attempts landed on my shirt and jacket. He realized I wasn’t going to budge in my decision and finally decided to leave the parking lot. “I’m going to pick up another bottle of liquor from my house before I take you home,” he said. (We were only two blocks away from his house.) I told him while he grabbed the bottle then I was going to use the ladies room, then it was to be straight home for me.

Keep in mind, this entire time, I still had the bad feeling in my gut I had mentioned earlier.

I took one last sip from the glass when we got to his house, noticing only half of it was gone, including what had spilled earlier. I went to use the restroom while, I assumed, he rummaged through the liquor cabinet. As I stepped up to the sink to wash up, I stumbled slightly. My gut tugging harder than ever at me screaming, “GO HOME, NOW.” I exited the bathroom and found him, not in the kitchen waiting for me, but across the hall in his bedroom sitting at the end of his bed.
“I need to go home now, friend.” I insisted.
“Just sit for a minute, then I’ll take you home.” He said as he patted the spot next to him, “I can tell you aren’t drunk yet. You aren’t slurring your words. You need to get drunk.”

This is the last memory I have before things went black.

To be continued…

I had not intended this to be as long as it is but I suppose I have more to say than I thought. More than anything, I only hope for others to gain a lesson from this, self-awareness as well as awareness to one’s surroundings as well as courage. In the upcoming blog I will go into further detail of what not to do. I also hope for others to gain strength where I had not. Life goes on.

A Delusionary Love Story Part I

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I’m not very good at putting myself out there and ALLOWING myself to be vulnerable, but we’re going to give it a shot this morning. Let you guys get to know me a little bit. Here it goes:

Have you ever loved another person so much it hurt your bones, even hurt to breathe sometimes? I’m not talking about children today, I’m talking about real I-want-to-marry-you love. I guess if I was on the outside looking in, I would be saying, “That bitch is effing nuts.” But, I guess that’s love? In actuality no one knows our story but us. And maybe I am crazy but he does that to me. I’m crazy in love with him. Am I wasting my time and energy? Maybe. Am I missing out on being with someone who can love me and actually be here for me? Possibly. But I’m in love.

Don’t get the wrong idea now. It isn’t as though I’m out running around trying to find someone who’ll love me. In fact I’m not trying to date right now AT ALL. I have bigger fish to fry, and I’d like to finish frying the one I’ve been cooking for eight months before I fall into anything. I also have a number of others reasons unrelated to Mr. Love but that’s an entirely different story of its own, one that will make me even more vulnerable to you than this one. Baby steps, my friend.
So you may be wondering right now, “Then what the hell ARE you doing if you’re not trying to date?”

Well you see Mr. Love and I have known each other now for almost eight years. We dated already for about five or sixish years? I don’t know, a really long flipping time. We were serious as hell. It was rare to go a day without the other. Then the economy crashed, the company we were working for shut down and he found himself unemployed. He stuck around longer than most people would have, desperately trying to find a job. When his car blew up and caught fire (his first car, paid off, his baby. He loved that thing more than me but I understood. We don’t talk about it. It’s the only thing that brings a tear to his eyes even still, about three years after the event.) it was destroyed! The only thing that wasn’t damaged in the fire were his rear tires. He had gone clear across town for a job interview. When his car blew up, our lives changed forever. He found himself looking at the only option that would surely provide him with the security and stability he needed but had been putting off to keep me happy. He had to join the U.S. Navy. I had a difficult time at first accepting this decision he made without giving me prior knowledge, “I’ve already joined the Navy, you’re either with me or your not.” I was mad at him for a long time for that ultimatum however, looking back now it’s probably the only way he could have broken it to me. I would have done everything possible to talk him out of it.

The first year was a struggle. Struggle may be an understatement. But for a while we pulled through. Until everything felt like it began to crash down around us.

He graduated basic and had outdone himself in PT. He was a superstar. He excelled and still does at his job. I haven’t seen another individual take as much pride in everything they do as Mr. Love does. To this day I am incredibly proud of him. We began talking about getting married, setting possible dates, discussing what kind of ceremony we should have: elope without telling anyone, a catholic wedding, or just show up at the courthouse and then go home for a party with our families. Before long these plans had to be put on hold. He began drinking very heavily, even for a sailor. I wasn’t the best support system either but we were both new at this. Neither one of us was good at being there for the other while so far away, we continued to stumble for a while when things SEEMED to start looking up.

I finally moved out on my own for the first time, had two deaths in the family a month apart from one another, and had a difficult time figuring out what the next step was for Mr. Love and I. So I decided to take a sabbatical, then I discovered an interesting detail that explained all of Mr. Love’s odd behavior and sudden desire to get married NOW, RIGHT NOW (we got into some of the worst arguments because I wanted to wait, I didn’t want it rushed.) He had had an affair with a young woman who had been stationed with him during A-school. Now, many people will think if someone had an affair they would, if anything, be dragging their feet about marriage, not rushing it. There are exceptions though. He realized the mistake he made and up until she outted him, tried to forget it happened and right that wrong in a not so beneficial way. The guilt only made his drinking worse, he never was good at lying or keeping secrets.

Naturally, we lost contact for a few months after I shared a piece of my mind with him. However, call me what you want, we didn’t stay out of contact for long. We never could stay away from one another. Like I said, I loved him. We have a unique love that no one can ever understand. So we talked, he wanted to get back together but having been cheated on multiple times in previous relationships I wasn’t so easy to forgive. So for over a year, we spoke and Skyped everyday. We were stronger than when he had left two years previous. I was falling in love all over again, we made plans for him to come home for a week where he would take me to the most romantic city in the state and take me a restaurant I have wanted to go to my whole life. We were going to recapture what we had lost and rekindle our love. But I was foolish, oh so foolish and so damn proud.

I lost it all, in the blink of an eye. I may have even lost him for good. Saying that it breaks my heart doesn’t come close to describing how much it hurts. The only thing that gets me by is being almost delusional about us. Keep optimistic in that we WILL work things out, we WILL be back together and be happier than we’ve ever been.

How did I lose my way and lose it all when everything was going so perfectly? How does a years worth of work get thrown away in a matter of one single night? I’ll tell you how. You trust the wrong people and call them “friend” where they really never did anything to deserve that title. Be careful who you let into your circle, even the friendliest people have dark sides and always have their own ulterior motives. Some are just more patient than others.