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Posts Tagged ‘healing’

My Big Fat Life – Surviving David

In Uncategorized on September 30, 2015 at 7:06 pm

Recently I read something that reminded me that I need to be a little more open on my blog. I tend to filter a lot of things, because .. well… I don’t know. I guess I don’t want to hurt people, and at times I don’t want to hurt myself. But today I decided to start writing this blog entry that will pull back the curtains for a view into a part of me that I tend to keep tucked away.

Years ago I was married to a man who was really abusive. It was because of this marriage, that I was able to find my strength to walk away much quicker from the relationship that birthed this blog. For the sake of this blog, I will call him David.

When I met David I was seeing someone. I immediately marked him off as a friend since I was very loyal to my relationship despite the fact my significant other lived in New Zealand at the time. David and I talked over the phone a few times, and I was really taken in by his charisma, humor and charm. When Mike and I broke up, this new friend and I had already lost touch and I really had no intention of ever contacting him again. Mostly because I really put off by how he liked to say incredibly hurtful things in the name of “teasing” or joking around. I’m not an easy person to offend, but I am human, and I don’t like being made fun of. I don’t think anyone really does.

Some time had passed before I got a phone message on my machine. David had called to apologize for the things he said to me months earlier. He said he didn’t expect me to talk to him again, but really wanted to reach out and let me know he was sorry. I was touched that he thought enough about me to realize that what he did was pretty hurtful, so I called him and immediately we started talking almost every day. Eventually we started going on dates and hanging out together. For the most part I was a bit smitten, but I was still pretty apprehensive in some ways. From time to time he would say hurtful things in the name of joking around, and often I was the brunt of his jokes in public so he could generate laughs from others. It felt less like a team, and more like I was the last chosen team-mate for a game of verbal dodge ball.

Looking back, I don’t know why I let it roll off of me. I guess I internalized it all and put it on myself. Instead of feeling safe to say something about it, I wrote it off as me being too sensitive about shit. I am not going to go on some rant about being female, but it’s a true thing to say that many women are taught to just smile and be accepting, even when it hurts.

I was raised primarily by my Grandmother so being outspoken isn’t something we were encouraged to do. She was pretty old school and we were taught to that women had a role to recognize as being under the head of the household. Men will be men, and women should always expect that. I know my Grandmother didn’t mean harm; she really wanted to teach us the best she could. But that lesson served me terribly growing up. Finding my voice for myself took years to do, but I learned to hear myself in being a voice for others. Through my advocacy for others, I could hear myself telling myself to stand up and rise above as well.

I remember the first time David hit me. I was pregnant with our first child together. He hit me across the face and the force backed by his strength behind that one blow, sent me to the floor. I remember being numb, unable to feel my face and really scared that falling had somehow hurt the baby. Looking back, I should have run. I should have run as fast as I could after I was able to stand up. I should have changed my number, moved away and never looked back. But I didn’t. Instead I did what I knew how to do best, and what so many of us do.. I blamed myself. I thought it was my fault. That maybe I spoke to sharply, maybe I if I had been more patient with him and more understanding of how scared he was to find out he was gong to be a father.. all those lame ass excuses that sound so weak to me today, were so damn powerful then.

I wasn’t in love with David. Even if I had been, thoughts of love were supressed by my hurt from being hit, and my sense of duty and guilt to make things work for the sake of our unborn child. At first he seemed like he wanted to work things out and seemed to take a holiday from his abrasive nature. At one point, he found God and wanted to try to be a Christian man. I thought I could at least live through it in some sort of quiet way despite my increasing unhappiness and depression taking hold. I stopped talking to people, family and friends. I spent a lot of time standing behind him in public and over time started becoming the brunt of his jokes again. Over time I slowly started to just “be”. The quick witted sharp remarks that served as stabs to my self worth were only increasing with time, and before too long I was often the subject of his verbal attacks. By the end of it all I had been called a bitch more times than he ever used my name, and it was an unusual day if he didn’t insult me in someway. You could hear a pin drop when he walked through the door after work, and I would wonder what part of me would be under his scrutiny that day. It was a shitty way to live, even though I had started to believe I deserved it all.

I started to sleep on the couch a lot and we stopped sharing a room. Sexual contact was rare, and when we did have it I seemed to get pregnant. I was pregnant with our second child together before too long, and in spirit of keeping this blog focused, you can read about the pregnancy with the twins here: https://lesbianspaghetti.wordpress.com/2013/07/21/3537/

The stress of carrying both a live child and a deceased one took me down to an even lower place in my life, and the less strong I became the more powerful his words seemed to be. By this time many arguments had taken their place in my mind. I had zero self-worth. The blame I carried around with myself for the first hit, the last argument, the death of my child were all burying me in a grave for those who were physically alive but emotionally dying.

Within 8 weeks of the birth of the twins we had a 10 minute excursion that led to the pregnancy of our youngest child together. Looking back I can’t even begin to wonder what the hell was going through my mind to still have any physical contact with him. My only thought is I was so deprived of any positive attention, even to myself, that any crumb of sexuality was someway to feed my need for something that made me feel alive.

We decided to marry during my pregnancy with our youngest. We married on the front lawn of our rental with a couple of witnesses who were his friends and I barely knew. I was 9 months pregnant, and the only thing missing to keep it from being a complete white trash wedding was the mullet and barefeet. I know.. I can hear it. “What the hell were you thinking, woman?” I have a shit load of reasons, and not a one of them make good sense now. The biggest being I needed medical insurance. The one clear memory of that day wasn’t what most brides look back on as one of the happiest days of their lives. Instead it was my witness finding me in the crying shortly after our three-minute ceremony. She thought it was pregnancy hormones, or being overcome with joy. When she asked me why I was crying, she was the first person I admitted to that I didn’t want to marry David. She just looked at me bewildered and asked me why I married him just moments before. I told her and I felt trapped in a bad situation, but I didn’t know what else to do. I felt I had no options. I didn’t tell her the level of emotional and physical abuse I had been living under. Instead I dismissed it as a case of jitters when I saw she had no response to me, and tried not to talk about it with her agian. Our youngest child together was born three days later.

It wasn’t long after the birth when another moment of physical abuse took place. By that time I was I unable to recognize the woman looking back at me in the mirror. I had dark circles under my eyes, and I was my heaviest at 290. I avoided the bathroom mirror as much as I could and was thankful for the forgiving steam that clouded the reflections after I stepped out of the shower. When I wasn’t trying to avoid the reflection in the mirror, I spent a lot of time hiding in the bathroom just to cry and just be alone.  There were times I thought my only out was to take my life, but the thought of leaving my children alone to defend themselves against him kept me from ever thinking this was the best option I had. Instead I resided myself to living a life I had come to believe I deserved. I believed made my bed, so I needed to sleep in it.

The  disagreement we had was over a scripture in the bible. He asked me if I believed “once saved always saved” and I disagreed with his interpretation of what that meant. I can’t tell you exactly how the conversation went, but when we started talking it was in the hallway. The argument somehow led me being cornered into my daughters room. I was crying and he stood in the doorway, daring me to pass. I am sure the argument had something to do with him accusing me of disagreeing with him because I wanted to argue. The idea that I could have a vaid opinion about anything escaped him, and to be honest by that time it escaped me as well. I just recall standing there terrified to pass him, as he stoof there staring me in the eyes with the look of anger and disgust on his face. It seemed like 30 minutes or more had passed until my fear turned into the reality of the situation. I believed if I didn’t somehow get past him to get to a phone, I was going to die right there in my daughters room. My fear gave me the courage to rush past him as quick as I could, and I immediately ran to the phone and grabbed it to call the police. As he struggled with me, he pinned me to the floor while trying to grab the phone away from my hands. Somehow I was able to dial 911 before he could, and I screamed for help. I will not forget the feeling of his hands forcibly pushing my shoulders down to the ground, and how helpless I felt in that moment. I don’t recall the exact series of events in that moment, just small flashes of how I felt. I remember the police coming to the house, I remember the marks on my chest, and I remember being so scared that I was going to die that day. Something inside me was shaken enough to dig through the numb, and make me realize that if I didn’t somehow get out, my physical self would eventually catch up with my emotional self and I would become another statistic. I was starting to wake up enough to feel and the feeling was fear that led to my primal need to survive.

I started to secretly look for a new rental for the children and I. I finally found a place after a month of looking and one day as he was walking through the front door, I was about to carry the last box out to the UHAUL. He sat on the hearth of the fireplace and just watched before he asked me if he would be allowed to come over and do laundry at my new place. My oldest son called him a bitch as we walked out of the house that had become nothing more than a shell of a home that was covered in holes he had punched into the walls that held residual sounds of all the arguments, the anguish and nothing but pain.

I wish I could say that day was the last of it all, but like so many women who went before me it wasn’t. There was a short period where we though counseling might be able to help, but it didn’t. I knew it was happening, but I was still seeing it through the eyes of a woman so torn down that I saw it with a weakened state of mind.  It was shortly after a counselor spoke to me and told me that the abuse she witnessed from him during our counseling sessions led her to decide to stop counseling us as a couple, that I filed for divorce.

Our story doesn’t end there. During the course of our divorce his abuse turned to our children during visitations. I spent nearly 2 years trying to protect my children against a system that gave him more of a voice than our children ever had. The short end of the story is after voluntarily submitting to a polygraph that he failed, he confessed his crimes agaisnt our children. He is currently serving almost 13 years in prison for these crimes.

I have spent years trying to hide the reality of the abuse I went through in that relationship. It’s not something I am proud of, and it’s not something I really enjoy talking about. I still struggle with the embarassment I feel when I share my story. I can’t get past the feeling I am being judged as a weak person as I share our story, and often it scares me to share with anyone who even considers being a part of our lives. It’s a very vulnerable and hard room to open, but it’s something I know I need to do. Not just because there is power in being open, but because there is also healing.

You might wonder why I am sharing all of this now after years of just talking about my life as it’s happening, rather than reflecting back on the past. Recently I realized that in hiding something that took place, I was in fact giving this part of my past power to keep me shamed. It’s something I have hidden away, dealing with in private. I went to counseling to deal with it, I made friends who never knew about it, and I resumed my life the best I could having changed because of it. I’ve been afraid of people judging me as a weak character, and a push over. I didn’t want people to see what I saw as a failure, for fear they would never be able to see the woman who emerged. I guess I never wanted people to truly know how bad it was, and how I had allowed someone to pull me down so far in the name of them gaining power.

It’s because of my time with David that I was able to find my voice and strength to walk away from the relationship I had with the woman who inspired this blog. I had walked that road before, and I knew that I couldn’t.. wouldn’t… allow it to happen again. My life long dream had been to find someone who made me feel safe, put their arm around me and I knew I could count on to be there. Once I realized she wasn’t it, and the hands I had hoped would hold me had became the very weapons her words had, I knew I needed to leave.

There is a level of embarrassment that comes with talking openly about all of this. Somewhere deep inside of me I know I shouldn’t be, but I am. I don’t know if the shame I connect with it will ever truly wash away the more I share openly about that time in my life. Hopefully it will, but I hope a part of me never forgets what it felt like to sit in the bathroom while I cried in fear and pain after being told I had no value to live because it keeps me so thankful for the kind touches, the soft spoken words and the reassuring hugs. It brings a deep appreciation for the hands and words that catch me, rather than pushing me over. It might seem like a pretty small victory to some, but I can say I haven’t walked into a bathroom to hide my hurt in years. Instead I have found the power in talking things over and while it still takes me a fair amount of courage to, it is something that I stand proud about being able to do. Maybe no one else will appreciate that empowering moment as much as I do, but it’s something that reminds me how far I have come in learning to stand still when it’s so much easier to hide.

I don’t expect everyone to understand, sympathize or even empathize. That isn’t what this blog entry is about. I guess my hope is that the more I speak, the less shame will have a chance to thrive. My hope is that through being open and transparent, I will find the ability to be as kind to myself as I long for others to be. Sometimes we have to love ourselves unconditionally in order to open it up so that others might have the chance to as well.

Lyrics:
Oh no, did I get too close?
Oh, did I almost see what’s really on the inside?
All your insecurities
All the dirty laundry
Never made me blink one time

Unconditional, unconditionally
I will love you unconditionally
There is no fear now
Let go and just be free
I will love you unconditionally

Come just as you are to me
Don’t need apologies
Know that you are worthy
I’ll take your bad days with your good
Walk through the storm I would
I do it all because I love you, I love you

Unconditional, unconditionally
I will love you unconditionally
There is no fear now
Let go and just be free
I will love you unconditionally

So open up your heart and just let it begin
Open up your heart and just let it begin
Open up your heart and just let it begin
Open up your heart

Acceptance is the key to be
To be truly free
Will you do the same for me?

Unconditional, unconditionally
I will love you unconditionally
And there is no fear now
Let go and just be free
‘Cause I will love you unconditionally (oh yeah)
I will love you (unconditionally)
I will love you
I will love you unconditionally

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My Big Fat Life – Isaac Bear

In Uncategorized on April 19, 2014 at 10:29 pm

I wanted to take a moment and explain the red bear that often appears in the photos of Gabriel. The bear is Isaac Bear.

As many already know, Gabriel had an identical twin bother, Isaac. When I was 20 weeks pregnant, it was discovered through ultrasound that I had twins. During that ultrasound, they also told me that Isaac was not alive, though they were essentially connected by one umbilical cord and Gabriel’s heart worked for both of them. I carried Isaac to term with Gabriel, since they were in their own sacs. After birth, Gabriel was in the NICU but was released after 10 days later, with a clean bill of health, according to the doctors. Of course, we would find out that wasn’t the case, after all.

A couple of years ago, Gabriel was really having a hard time sleeping. I took him to the doctor and after recommendations, I tried melatonin and a sleeping aide. Nothing seemed to work. He really struggled to fall asleep, and stay asleep. One day I was looking for some things, and came across Isaacs box. The box holds photos, and things from his funeral, that I have kept. Dried flowers, the program, and things like that. I had brought the box out and shared it with Gabriel for the first time. When we went through the box, he came across the red bear. I had bought the bear originally, as a Christmas ornament to hang on the tree, in a way to keep Isaac with us. Gabriel asked if he could have the bear, and of course I said yes. I kid you not, that night Gabriel slept through the night, as Isaac Bear sat on his bed. Ever since, Gabriel has never struggled with insomnia, the way he struggled with it prior. Now Isaac Bear follows when comfort is needed. Gabriel has told me that in a way it helps him feel like his twin is close by, and that somehow gives him a sense of comfort. I am very thankful for that bear, and the connection to Isaac that it brings for Gabriel. Anything that gives Gabriel a sense of comfort, especially now, rocks my world. I love that bear.

I will share more about Isaac another time, but for tonight I just wanted to write about the bear.

(Gabriel with Isaac Bear in ICU shortly after his open heart surgery, 8/8/2013)

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My Big Fat Life – Thank You To The Zac Brown Band

In Uncategorized on December 20, 2013 at 1:05 am

Zac Brown Band,

Thank you. Today you extended an act of generosity that is much bigger than I think you can begin to realize. You made a difference. Here… Let me share what my son wrote on his Facebook this evening.

I have no words right now… I requested a small scholarship last year to request a new guitar from the Wounded Warrior Battalion to try and get a better quality guitar to play on for when I was finally back home, and after it being over a year I had sort of given up on it. Today, about 5 minutes before I Was leaving the house, my Dad knocked on the door and said I had a visitor, so I stepped into the hallway to see that I was actually looking at a Sgt I knew at the bn there. He was holding not 1, but 2 guitars, both he said was from the Zac Brown Band. One is an Ltd XTone 1 piece electric/acoustic that had been used at a concert and signed by the band members, and the other a brand new unused standard Gibson Les Paul electric guitar. The band members also want to try and meet me when they come out this way next. I still don’t even know what to say, but the fact that they received the essay I had to submit with the request for the charity organization I thought I was submitting to turned out to be a huge plan that had to have taken so many logistics and planning that I couldn’t even imagine. Thank you so much to those involved in the process and for making what I thought a dead hope become something more special than I thought.”

My son used to play the trumpet until the surgery left so much nerve damage that he can no longer play without pain. For such a musically gifted young man, I can not begin to imagine how that has changed his life. Music has always been such a big part of his life. But today you did something that will live on in his heart and the hearts of the people who love him. Thank you for that. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Someday I hope I can give you a hug and say those words to your face, but until then just know that tonight there is a young man who is so beyond moved and people who are giving you a high five for being just so damn kind.

Sincerely, A Mom

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My Big Fat Life – Gabriel Update

In Uncategorized on October 6, 2013 at 12:14 am

Well, I had been working on a blog that was going to be about how great things have been or Gabriel. But then he got sick. Two bouts of pneumonia and on his second battle against postpericardiotomy(syndrome) inflammation currently, I wish I had a much better update.

I’ve spent fat too many nights in the ER with Gabriel and his brothers, and see the pediatrician far more than I would care to. Yet I have to say that I am touched by the calls from the pediatrician to check in on Gabriel, and the ER staff has been amazing even though I am sure they could do without seeing me as much, as well. The boys have been amazing and supportive of their brother during our middle-of-the-night ER trips that turn into seeing the light of morning, before we get any answers as to why Gabriel seems to be struggling so much.

I am not sure we even have answers, all I know it is really hard to see my kiddo in so much pain when the symptoms begin. The fevers, the pain, the tears that come with pleads to give him something to make the pain stop so he can sleep….. it’s really hard. He is such a beautiful person, and it hurts that someone so young and so cool, should have to deal with anything outside of typical teenage angst. I wish his only complaint was about chores, and homework. I want that for him.

He’s only been to school two days this year so far, and the district has finally approved in home tutoring for him, until he heals enough to try and go back for as long as he can tolerate in a day. For a teen who is really social and loves school, this isn’t an easy thing to look forward to. Today the first candidate for tutoring called me to tell me she wanted to only come twice a week, for 2 1/2 days and I had to tell her that I didn’t think he would be able to handle that much one on one tutoring right now. She seemed to have a pretty big personality and want to keep pushing the matter, but I pushed back and told her she needed to call the school and let them know she couldn’t do it. I need him to be tutored to help prepare him for his return to school, but I also need to keep my home as peaceful and centered as possible.

In the midst of this, I have had a lot of time to think while standing around rooms. One of the things I have been thinking about is the title of my blog. I am feeling less like I need to talk about my big fat lesbian life, and just stick to my life. I am a woman who happens to have a life. Of course I may be over thinking it all right now, or not thinking clearly enough. When my kiddo feels better and I get a full nights sleep again, I will tell you.

That brings me to this.. I am really worried about my kiddo. Just when he starts to feel better, he gets sick again. It seems to be within a two day period. The cardiologist said to me yesterday that he doesn’t know why Gabriel seems to have such “bad luck” with this, and I don’t know either. All I know is that a surgery that was supposed to save his life, has him battling illness, and I really want to see my son who was so full of life and energy. I want to see the color in his cheeks, and watch him run around because it’s impossible for him to stand still longer than half a second.

I don’t know if you are the praying kind, but if you are, please lift my family up in prayer. Gabriel needs complete healing, total healing, immense healing, pure healing… all the healing you can imagine. Gabriel needs it. His brothers, who have been amazing, need peace and worry to be far removed. It’s been difficult for them to watch their brother go through all of this, and watch him hurt with fear when they need to do blood work. I’m working on keeping my mind and heart full of peace, so that the boys can see that and not worry so much. But of course I do worry, and it is hard to see my son struggling so much. It’s nothing any parent wants for their child to have to deal with. It’s not anything the parenting books prepare us for.

I need to head get him up for his next round of medications, and then I need to try and get some sleep myself. Thank you all so much for listening, and thank you for the love and support. It really means a lot… it really does.

My Big Fat Lesbian Life – His Heart

In Uncategorized on August 15, 2013 at 10:29 pm

I’m writing this from a hospital room where I have been for a week now.

Gabriel had open heart surgery a week ago. The surgery went smoothly, but the recovery has been really difficult to watch, as a parent.

When we arrived for surgery, I was so anxious. My son was going to have surgery and I needed to trust his life to people I barely know (which, is actually why the surgery didn’t happen sooner. I’ll share more after he’s home, but I decided not to have the hospital who diagnosed the defect do the procedure). I was actually able to stay with him and walk the halls all the way until they wheeled him into the operating room area. I watched them past the doors until they were no longer in view. Noting can describe the feeling I had at that moment. Nothing. So I won’t even try.

I made my way to the family waiting area, where I proceeded to hold his clothing he’d worn to the hospy that morning, in my lap. I kid you not, the moment the surgeon came to tell me the surgery went well, I wanted to hug him (and I did).

I was able to see him after they’d situated him in the ICU. He was asleep and on a ventilator. The relief of knowing the surgery went well, collided with the stark truth he needed a machine to breathe for him. Tubes everywhere. My little dude was just there, sleeping, and unable to breathe on his own. I stayed by his side, refusing to move from the chair, because even 1 foot away seemed too far away. It’s the utmost feeling of helplessness to see my child in such a state, and lack all capability to help him.

When Gabriel finally started to wake up, the look in his eyes of realizing he had tubes breathing for him, was so wrenching. He laid there unable to talk, trying to signal to me that he wanted the tubes out. Out of instinct I handed him my cell phone and told him to text me. He texted he felt like he was suffocating and couldn’t breathe. I had to try to assure him that the machine was breathing for him and he’d be okay, but then he started coughing and choking on the phlegm that was accumulating in his throat and tubes. His eyes wide, and there was nothing I could do. At one point he started throwing up while on the ventilator, sending me into the hallway screaming for help. After he had been on the ventilator for a day, my rock star son grabbed the suctioning wand from the nurse and did it himself. I think he was tired of feeling like they weren’t getting it all out of his mouth.

So fast forward from those terrifying first 48 hours (they really are)… Gabriel still has fluid around his heart. He has two JP tubes emerging from his abdominal wall to drain the fluid from around his heart, and two pleural caths, one from each lung. They started him on steroids yesterday, in hopes it will start to dry things up. It has a bit, but not enough to remove the tubes. It’s scary. It’s a reminder that we may have taken some big leaps, but we’re not out of the woods. I haven’t left his side yet, and I honestly don’t think I can. I’d rather spend all the time he needs to up here, if it means that when we go home we can go with the peace of mind that the fluid is where it needs to be. I’m still worried. I really want my son to be okay.

My Big Fat Lesbian Life – I Need Your Prayers.

In Uncategorized on June 30, 2013 at 6:20 pm

I was going to write when my oldest son arrived home, and tell you about how he finally made it home out of the Wounded Warriors Battalion. I wanted to write you and tell you all about how things are gong good, and I was looking forward to a summer of just trying to have fun with my family.

Instead I am writing to ask you to please pray for my family.

This past week, I took my children to Doernbechers Childrens Hospital for some appointments we needed to finish up, so we could just focus on summer instead of doctors. Three of my children have a range of disabilities, and we spend a lot of time with specialists. The very last appointment of the day was an echo cardiogram for my 12 year old son (he would want me to point out he is almost 13). I wasn’t expecting anything but a clean test result. However the test revealed my son has a rare, and very serious heart defect. He is scheduled to have open heart surgery next week. As I understand it, the doctors have only seen about 20 children with this defect and that adds to my worry. I am nervous, terrified, trying to find my logic through the emotion and more than anything I need the love, support and prayers for my son, Gabriel. 

There is so much more I will share when I find my words. Right now, I am having a difficult time putting into words all the things I am feeling. Right now the most important words I can share, are to ask that you please pray for my child.

Thank you..

 

 

My Big Fat Lesbian Life- My First Time

In Uncategorized on February 4, 2013 at 11:55 pm

Last time I wrote I had spoken of Bea, who I deleted from my Facebook. I have to admit I was surprised to see a note from her in my inbox asking me why I had. I didn’t think she would even notice to be honest. She did. I struggled with an answer for a bit, and had to process. Because I was still uncertain as to why in some aspects. But I wanted to be honest with her this time. She is the woman I just stopped contact with when I moved up here to Portland, because I found it easier.. safer.. to just stop talking to her, than have to be vulnerable and share with her the truths that I had been carrying around. So I responded. I am working towards being open with people, even when I don’t like being vulnerable. I guess I have believed if I kept it to myself, then it’s safe tucked somewhere away. There it can sit and that information can’t be seen as a weakness in my shield or expose some part of me that might show how vulnerable I can really be.

When I found myself in a place with her 20 something years after high school, she was  more than just a sexual experience with someone. She was by all accounts, my first. There was a lot of meaning behind what I shared with her. It wasn’t just a sexual thing that happened, though I knew it couldn’t be more. She was literally just out of a relationship with someone and both of us were in places that weren’t really the best foundation for the start of something new. I knew that, but my heart wasn’t listening to my head at the time.

When things came to a halt between us, I walked away feeling hurt and honestly I felt like maybe I was just a fling that didn’t mean much even though in reality I knew that’s all it would be for me. All this time I held the idea that what we shared, and what I had shared (unbeknownst to her) was nothing more than just sex. It hurt every time I saw her post something on her page, and for the longest time I guess I couldn’t really understand why. But when I sat down to write her back, the words just spilled out and there it was before me. There was no longer denying it, or even escaping it. For what it was, I knew I had to be honest with her and tell her everything.

I didn’t know how she would respond to my left field confessions, and I didn’t even know if she would respond at all. But there they were, and there was no taking the words back to fill in the cracks I was exposing in my shield. While writing I also realized part of why I never shared with her, was because I didn’t want to give that power to someone else. To know that they were given something that could be used against me in a way to hurt me, or have some sort of power. Yet, she wrote me back the most thoughtful, caring letter. It was more than I expected, and it was mindful and considerate. Tears that I didn’t realize I had for her flowed without restraint. She told me that I wasn’t just sex to her at the time, and shared some things that explained the space she was in at the time. It made sense to me, and I understood with consideration. This hurt I felt was healing, and I was feeling a closure that I couldn’t create for myself. I felt like that maybe a door was opening for me to be able to reach out to her in time, and a friendship.. a real friendship.. could develop. Bea had no clue that she was more than my first big girl crush in high school, she was also a first in many other ways and was becoming a first for me again in some way. I don’t regret that I shared those firsts with her, I only regret I wasn’t open with her to begin with. Who knows how things would have been had I been able to be more open with her, I am not sure I even want to analyze the reasons why. I just know that it felt good to show a crack in my shield and while I know not every response will be as generous or as caring when I do, it still felt nice to jump out there and be openly honest with myself.

They say you never really forget your first, but I would like to actually meet her.

My Big Fat Lesbian Life – Amazing What A Towel Can Do

In Uncategorized on May 8, 2012 at 11:04 pm

This might seem a bit crazy, but if you’ve ever endured the separation of property during a break up, you’ll completely understand my excitement.

I bought a paring knife.

It’s dawned on me that I no longer really have the small essentials that I used to have, before the marriage. I had some credit at The Kitchen Collection, and decided it was time to use it up. I’ve been doing a lot more cooking and trying out new recipes, and keep finding that the things I go to use, simply aren’t there anymore. I still need to get more pans, but that is going to be a month by month thing when the finances will allow. I have my eye on a set, but at 500.00 it’s not likely I will be able to purchase them anytime soon. Besides, storage space is pretty limited in my apartment. However, I do have room for a paring knife, so I picked one up while I was out.

I left the store feeling somewhat complete with my new paring knife and cutting board in tow. It almost felt a little like Christmas in May.

One thing I haven’t replaced by intention, is the microwave. I personally never used one much before I met her, so it wasn’t a deep loss to me when she took it. I guess thinking back I did replace it, but only for about a week or so. It sat on my counter virtually unused and I didn’t see a need to keep it sitting on the counter, so I took it back. But since then, I haven’t missed it and I have no intent to purchase another one anytime soon. I think I heated water a couple of times. I don’t need a 60.00 cup of heated water that bad.

It’s taken a year to rebuild some of the things that disappeared, but it’s the small things that have been the most exciting to me to gain. I think I literally smiled all the way home the day I bought new towels, handtowels and a lamp.

One thing I would love to get is a new bed. That stupid bed still sits in the room and I really just don’t like it. I want something that is my own. Something that is more my style and more my comfort. When that day comes, I am sure I will be smiling for weeks. Perhaps even sleeping in a bed again.

But for now, I will have perfectly peeled apples. That’s something to celebrate.