Category Archives: love

Forgiveness

I was originally going to title this post “The Exhaustion That Will Not End,” but the exhaustion is a symptom of, possibly, other things. It would all come back to Glenn one way or another, so I’ve decided to simply write about him. I am having a difficult time remembering what I’ve said about him in posts here and what I”ve written to him. Therefore, I’m going to assume that I’m repeating here what I’ve written in letters. If I repeat myself, I do apologize.

I wrote to Glenn, the love of my life I met in undergrad, and told him that I forgave him for something absolutely horrible he did to me about ten years ago. What he did had a profound effect on me and, had it come from someone else, I would never forgive. It took me many years to understand the reason for his betrayal, but I think I finally have with age and experience. The reason was two-fold. It was revenge for basically coming out to him in a less than stellar manner after he’d left me high and dry for two years, then called me so he could have phone sex. Needless to say, I was a little bit annoyed that he’d done that. Hence, the “Sorry, I’m not sleeping with men at the moment,” comment. He said a shocked “What?!” I repeated what I said and he hung up on me. Then, some years later, after being emotionally devoured by a cousin I couldn’t fight back because of our uncle and patriarch’s wishes, I tracked Glenn down at a club and, after several conversations leading me to believe he was still interested, he said that he was joking and that he didn’t want me because things changed. Mind you, he didn’t say this until I pressed him for a date when we’d get together since he’s 500 miles away, or was then. Now it’s more like 400+. This is the man I’d hoped to spend my life with, but he decided to marry someone else. Still, we couldn’t stay away from each other. So, for two or three years, we continued to see each other. If he’d married a woman I gave a damn about, even a stranger, I probably would have at least attempted to end things. He had to marry the woman he did and I could not have cared less about her feelings.

I believe second reason for the above-described betrayal was that he hoped I’d stay away on my own because he still had/has feelings for me. It is this reason and this reason alone that I didn’t get it. I didn’t think he had any feelings left for me at all. How could he and knowingly do what he did? Then, I began to think about men and what men will do when they are desperate and have too much pride for their own good. I didn’t want to believe that he still had feelings for me. That sentiment was born from the same one that wouldn’t allow me to believe he had ever had feelings for me. In the end, it had more to do with my lack of belief in myself than anything he hadn’t said, although he really should have said something. He broke me. No, I truly mean that he literally broke me. He pushed me up and over a cliff called “Suicide.” I almost made it.

My mother died probably not knowing that I’d forgiven her for something she’d done that wrecked both our lives. I can’t go through telling the story again, but suffice it to say that I could not go through life not forgiving Glenn for something that was nearly as bad. Like I still loved my mother, I still love Glenn, though differently than my mother of course. Furthermore, I want him back. I got so damned tired of hating him for what he did and being afraid he’d do it again that I couldn’t do it anymore. I finally threw up my hands and pulled out the tissues and wrote to him. I began the process on July 10 with one letter. It took me two days, but I finished the second one tonight. But for the fact that I had to go through his online store to tell him that it may have gotten lost between my computer and his, I’m not sure he would even have known I’d sent private e-mail. For all I know, he’s got me filtered out. In one sense, I can’t blame him. I’ve made several attempts to reach him over the years with no response, which doesn’t mean he’s not reading, but doesn’t mean he is. If he’s behaving like he did when we were in college, he had to wait to see how serious I was before he’d make a move. I wouldn’t move past the initial couple of letters because I thought it was pointless. That ended on July 10. I’m very serious. I haven’t let another man into my heart since he went off to marry the woman I’ll assume he’s still married to. He can have her. I just don’t want to be without him at all.

This is going to be a long, drawn-out fight unless he actually grows the balls to tell me that he’s uninterested. Even then, he’ll have to tell me to my face and not on the phone. Skype is a wonderful tool, isn’t it? So are the airplane and the highway. I’ll be in his area in October. If need be, he can tell me then. My guess is that I’m going to have to keep things going until he gets a big ass clue that I’m not going away quietly into that good night again. As I think I said here before, if two people have to work so fucking hard to stay away from each other, then there’s a reason. As my mother once told me, I’m a threat to his marriage. I prefer to think that I’d be an addition as opposed to a threat. The only reason I give a damn is that I know he has at least one daughter. I don’t want her caught in the games grown-ups play. I wish I hadn’t let him go so easily when he told me he was going to marry that woman. I just didn’t have the experience to fight back. All I could do was cry and I cried for days and weeks. He didn’t enjoy my pain. It hurt him, too. However, the marriage was logical. That’s the other thing I’ve had to accept.

Knowing how to fight for him meant that I had to remember things about him that I knew probably wouldn’t have changed and believing in myself. I don’t doubt one bit that I’m going to have to move once/if we reconcile. He can’t explain long absences the way he could before. With Mom dying, there’s no more reason to stay here except one and I can fly in to see her or have her fly in to see me. I’m referring to my last living great-aunt. She’s like a mother or grandmother to me. She has more than enough people to take care of her, but I adore her. I’ll also have to leave the only blood cousins in my age group. That, too, will be difficult. Basically, I don’t want to move. It’s just that I see it coming.

I’m also going to have to figure out, with his help, how do deal with my sexuality. It doesn’t lend itself readily to monogamy. In the past, I’ve used polyamory as a way to detach myself. It’s what I learned to do from those who’d practiced polyamory as the central figure in past relationships. That isn’t the way it should be. I think some part of me knew that there was only room for one love of my life and, therefore, thought it better to keep my distance on some level.

In addition to being “fluid” in my affairs of the crotch or heart, I still consider myself as a practitioner of BDSM. In short, I consider myself a leatherdyke. Or, perhaps, a leatherbyke. Whatever, BDSM is in my soul and he isn’t into it. What’s so funny is that he’s the one who got me started without knowing it. If need be, I can give it up.

The question I’ve had while making all of these compromises is: What is Glenn willing to give up to be with me? Only time will tell, assuming I can break through to him at all. I may have to resort to changing e-mail addresses periodically and actually chasing him around the Internet until he stands up and says, “Go away!” If he does that, then, aside from a few questions I want satisfied, I’ll leave him be. I’m betting he won’t, but I don’t know for sure.

I vaguely remember telling him that while I forgive him, there’s still a large part of me that doesn’t trust him not to repeat the same evil deed. It’s true. That’s something I’m only going to be able to work on once we’re in conversation again. I can’t do it alone. There’s a difference between forgiving and forgetting. I don’t know that I’ll ever forget. I do want to get to a point where I can put my distrust in the past and not have it staring at me in the present. People make mistakes. At last glance, he was a person. He is a person I want back in my life.

Hypotheticals

I said I’d write more about what I think may have been going on with Glenn since what seems like forever. I’ll write and he won’t return e-mail even to say “Don’t e-mail me.” I am honest with him in more emotionally intimate ways than is safe to be publicly. Therefore, he knows what’s going on if he’s reading my e-mail at all, even if just the subjects. I feel as though I’m trying to make someone do something that they don’t want to do. I guess I am in a way. I don’t “want” to hear from him. I genuinely need him. This isn’t some bullshit excuse. My frakking mother died, for christ’s sake! I know that he wasn’t a huge fan of his own mother, so perhaps he can’t relate. He didn’t rape me either, but that’s one time he helped a great deal. It’s not the only time, either. There were other times he didn’t even realize what he was doing. So, having said all of that, I think I’m just going to present some scenarios, think about them and try to figure out which is closest to being correct. Phbt! Actually being right isn’t even a dream. It’s something I can’t even consider. Only he knows why he’s doing what he’s doing.

Hypothetical #1

He hates me and despises me enough to play a very cruel prank that, from his perspective and mine, went sideways when I attempted suicide and almost made it because I couldn’t believe someone I’d been with for so long could willfully betray me. Now, although he still hates and despises me, he can kill two birds with one stone by: a) not talking to me because I’m despicable in his eyes, and; b) watch me writhing in emotional pain without copping to any responsibility or taking any more action than he did in the first place.

I wish I could say for sure that this isn’t even a remote possibility. Unfortunately, it is. Not so much the narcissistic aspect of creating pain to watch someone else suffer on purpose. He did that, but I don’t think he thought his words would have such a profound effect. They did. Now, although he may hate me, he can just toss me into the bit bucket and forget that I exist. I’m not going to call him or bother him in any way other than MAYBE write another letter. Honestly, I’ve run out of things to say to him. I can only be responsible for myself and my actions. That wouldn’t be the case if I thought he was reading. Then, yes, I’d have some responsibility not to be a fetid vagina.

There is also the possibility that he’s afraid to speak to me given the suicide attempt. If I’d pushed someone so hard that the only way they could stop the pain was to end their life, I think I’d have a hard time too. However, I would be there for them. For one thing, there would be a lot that needed saying. For another, I’d pretty much hate myself for being such a fucking asshole as to do something like that in the first place.

Hypothetical #2

He can’t look me in the eye because he knows that he did push me over a cliff and doesn’t hate me, but is afraid of me. He can’t give me the kind of relationship I want and he isn’t listening to me or giving me a chance to tell him what I can deal with.

You see, in my book, this is the most likely. He’s consigned me to irrelevant ancient history and doesn’t wish to go back to what he did. Furthermore, he fears doing it again.

In a way, I can’t blame him. The difference is that I’m fairly savvy about mental illness and I don’t think he is. Not to mention that he loves his family. Actually, I haven’t in any way asked him to ever give up his family. But, if we did get together, how torn would he feel? That brings me to my next hypothetical.

Hypothetical #3

This is the conclusion my mother drew. She believed that I was a very real threat to his marriage and that he wouldn’t talk to me because he knew that if he did, there’d be a certain amount of pull that could cost him everything. I would love to believe this, but I don’t know. I can see a combination of the second and this hypothetical. No, he can’t look me in the eye because he knows that he did push me over a cliff and is afraid of doing the same thing again. Frankly, in my current state, it wouldn’t be difficult. I want to fully flesh this one out.

OK, I’ll bite. I’ll consider that he still loves me and knows how much I love him. (I think I’ve just realized what he needs to know.) What does that mean for his home life? What does that mean for me as someone who is at least bisexual and is more often fully lesbian? That’s when the shit hit the fan. If I was fooling around with some guy, he could deal with that. He can fight back. However, dealing with someone who doesn’t share your sexuality is next to impossible. The only reason I say it isn’t completely impossible is because I know couples who’ve done it. It isn’t uncommon for a gay or bi man to marry a lesbian or bi woman for the purpose of companionship and raising a family. While I haven’t married a gay man, or anyone else, I have had sex with three that I know of. Two I knew were gay from the jump. The second made it fairly obvious, but I didn’t want to believe it. God, he had a dick the size of a horse’s! If I wasn’t adequately “warmed up,” the result would be PAIN. As a human being, he ended up as a pathetic, horrible individual. He didn’t do as much to me as he did to my cousin, but that’s another topic.

Truth be told, I don’t know if Glenn is still with the woman he chose to marry instead of me. For all I know, they’re divorced. On the other hand, I’m not sure Glenn would divorce her even if I weren’t in the picture nor if he was otherwise unhappy. Although I know he makes really good money, she makes REALLY good money. I could very easily be wrong, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of his venture capital came from her. I can’t compete with that. He can’t risk his marriage at all under those circumstances. For that matter, he may still love her dearly and not wish to risk it. I’ve never thought he married her just for what her bank account would show. I’ve always known he loved her. What I didn’t know was whether he loved me. Mom was, I believe, right about that. I think he did, and may still, love me.

Hypothetical #4

He didn’t want to take a chance on a disabled woman disabling his dreams.

More than any other, this is the one that hurts the most. It hurts even more than the thought of him as a narcissistic terror. He did have problems in the beginning. In addition, as my shrink asked, why didn’t anyone know we were seeing each other? He and his current wife were, at that time, not exclusive. It’s very possible he was ashamed. In looking at current photos of him, he’s all about the image these days. I definitely wouldn’t fit in as far as he’s concerned. It would be easy for me to say that he really is a narcissist to look at him. However, in his business, he has to look hip/cool/young. He has to dress well and look like a yummy milk chocolate bar of sexuality. It’s the same with actors and musicians. He’s kind of in a similar business. So yes, this is a real possibility and it hurts a lot.

Conclusion

I have no way of proving any of these scenarios. For all I know, elements of all four are present. He could hate me for reminding him of what he’s done if he’s not all that happy. He certainly went for the jugular when his betrayal pushed me not just over the edge, but made me not mind the fall at all. But why? That’s the question he’s never answered. Why was what he did necessary? If I was so horrid, why did we see each other for 17 years? I realize that having kids alone would change him. Why, however, isn’t he saying that? Oh, I got the, “Things change,” bullshit. Duh! Yes, they do. But they don’t change by doing something that is deeply disturbed, exposing a lack of empathy. That’s always been my problem with the “You’re a threat to his marriage” answer. What he did was just . . . twisted. The only way I can see him doing what he did and NOT being a twisted human being is to push me away with enough force that I never come back. He didn’t count on me planning on not coming back to him or anyone else. I think that scared the crap out of him. If not, it should have.

The one thing that I haven’t mentioned is that I go running to Glenn when my life sucks. Why won’t I do it when life doesn’t suck? The love is always there. It’s never left although I’ve grown as a woman. Just as I’m a more mature and confident woman, I expect him to be a more mature and confident man. We both have more experience with life’s bumps, tumbles and joys. That’s the way with everyone who doesn’t stay where they were 30 years ago. They don’t generally change their entire personalities. For example, I used to hold a lot back from him when we were young. Now, I doubt seriously that I would, at least as often. What if he’s wondering if I’m turning to him when things are shit and will walk away when he patches me up? It won’t happen, but I can understand why he’d have his doubts.

I have to think about these. I know I won’t come up with something definitive, but maybe I’ll find some peace. What concerns me most is that he’d be ashamed of me. Unfortunately, that seems to be the most likely of all the scenarios I’ve listed. Put that together with not wishing to risk his marriage by actually loving me and there’s the formula for what he did. Damn.

I need an answer this time. I can’t deal with this as I have before. It’s time for me to change now.

Sigh

As I’ve written, I am looking for a former lover/FwB, Morgan, I knew my last year or so in undergrad. I’ve asked two sources, only one has gotten back to me, a longtime friend, and he didn’t remember him, but did remember the first name. I can understand why, actually. It wasn’t my longtime friend’s job. He booked, we had a stage crew chief and I directed publicity. However, since I know when and where I first seduced Morgan, and since it was our favorite watering hole, I’m almost surprised he didn’t have a face to go with the name. But, boys will be boys and my longtime friend is definitely a straight male. I haven’t heard anything from my second source as yet, but I kind of thought he may not check his e-mail regularly based on what my former besty wrote back. I really miss her. It’s a damn shame she’s married to an ass.

I have been very dissociative since July 4, especially today. I had to go to the main post office to mail off the final known insurance and benefits forms and almost rear-ended a car in the lane ahead that had stopped to make a left turn. Thankfully, I have quick reflexes when I think about my insurance rate getting higher. I just barely missed him by turning into an adjacent lane. If I was six inches from the rear bumper of the other car, I would be surprised. It’s one thing to dissociate at home and quite another to do so while driving. If I tell my therapist how bad things have gotten, she’ll probably insist that I see someone who specializes in dissociative disorders. As long as things were at least somewhat under control and didn’t interfere with therapy or daily life on a consistent basis, she could deal. I don’t remember ever having this kind of dissociation while out in the world. I’ve had other kinds, but in their own way, they were better.

In trying to find a reasonably thorough explanation for the condition, I ran into one that said dissociation is a risk factor for PTSD. Nooo! Ya think? Thankfully, I haven’t had any flashbacks and the memories I’m getting are, for the most part, either benign or pleasant. That is, they are where Morgan is concerned. The most present memory of Glenn, I truly hate to say, was the last time he actually communicated with me. Believe me, it was anything but pleasant. Then, he cut me off with no explanation, apology or anything. I was devastated for weeks. It got so bad that I attempted suicide and almost made it. There are days when I wish I had. Today isn’t one of those days, though. Today, I just want Morgan to be OK and I want me to be OK as well. That doesn’t seem like too much to ask, but I guess it is, at least for now.

Cover from the Robin Thicke CD Sex Therapy

Robin Thicke shares love and sensuality on his Sex Therapy CD

There are other, happier memories with Glenn too. They give me good flashbacks that are more visceral body memories than visual. Let’s just say that I can’t listen to Robin Thicke’s Sex Therapy CD at all anymore.

In re-reading the above paragraph, I am just sad. His non-responsiveness is why I had to ask myself if he was a narcissist. Narcissists love hurting people and watching the fall out. I don’t think he is, but there is that possibility. I am hoping my mom was more on the money when she said that I represented a threat to his marriage. Otherwise, I just have to lay this down to simple cruelty. I don’t want to do that. That would hurt even more than I’m hurting now. If my longtime friend can interrupt his working vacation with his wife and stepson to play phone tag with me and temperamental cell coverage, then Glenn can pick up the fucking phone or type. I guess 17 years doesn’t count for much. Yeah, there’s something that I’m missing and I think I know what it is. He can be cruel, but not this time, although that is the unintended consequence. I’m going to look at that in my next post.

On another front, I got to hear Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band’s three-hour concert from the Prudential Center in Newark taped in early May. It was great! The only song I missed was Thunder Road. I’m going to guess he played it within the first 20 minutes or so because it wasn’t there for the close. Between the van and my iPhone, I got to hear LOTS of Bruce and that made me happy.

B. Springsteen at a 2008 Obama rally

Bruce warms the thrilled audience for then-presidential candidate Sen. Barack Obama

I saw him in person performing an acoustic set when Obama made his last campaign appearance here in 2008. Alas, the view was horrible because it was raining lightly and I was slightly behind and on the side of the podium because that’s the space that was set aside for disabled people. I think I’ll have a word about that when I get back in touch with the campaign. I took photos, but I can barely see him. I had a great view of his younger kids who traveled with him on Obama’s plane. That was the second time I’d heard an acoustic version of Thunder Road. The first time I heard it was at the funeral for NBC’s Meet the Press anchor, Tim Russert, who died tragically, but quickly, while doing what he loved–working politics. I sobbed for hours because it fit so well with the very romantic story of Russert and his wife, also a journalist, but whose name I can’t remember at the moment. She works for Vanity Fair. Russert and Bruce both had an affinity for this city and Russert had more than an affinity for Bruce. He was a diehard FAN! It was only logical that Thunder Road be performed at the funeral. The acoustic version changed my entire perspective of the song, even more so the second time.

I don’t mean to write a disjointed post, but I’ve just remembered something. Yeah, the bar I hung out in with my group of friends was almost always crowded, and I could/would often find Morgan there smiling wickedly once I made my presence known. Even so, at that time, an interracial couple composed of a black woman and a white man, especially a redheaded wild man who was visibly older than his “companion,” should have been noticeable. I have to grin thinking about it. I got pretty good at pussy blocking. There were times when Morgan got a kick out of it and there were times when he left me sitting there steaming. It was probably about 60-40.

Bob Seeger & The Silver Bullet Band Greatest Hits CD

Detroit’s Bob Seeger & The Silver Bullet Band’s Greatest Hits CD is a must-have for any rock & roller.

Now that I think about it, it’s kind of funny. No, it is funny! I admit to being a bit hypocritical since I just wrote a letter to Glenn this past weekend that decried the possessiveness of straight women. Well, although I knew I was bi, I didn’t come out until I was in my late 20s, many years later. So, I guess I had reason to behave like a possessive hetero girlfriend, although we weren’t girlfriend and “boyfriend.” We were friends who very often found ourselves exchanging bodily fluids of one sort or another. Bob Seeger & The Silver Bullet Band’s We’ve Got Tonight is appropos for both Glenn and Morgan at different times. I hate to admit it, but I kind of miss those exchanges. He was definitely one of my better lovers. Halcyon days. *sigh*

I also remembered why Morgan and I didn’t make our liaisons public unless they happened in public or semi-public spaces, which was frequently where they started. There was already a really intense relationship going on between a staff person and a student that was not making things great in the organization. For that matter, it was making things difficult throughout the department. I remember sitting up with both of them at different times, drying tears, seeing that they didn’t get too drunk and just listening. I was younger than both of them. I’m sure our faculty adviser, a colonel in the Army Reserve, wanted to aim a Sherman tank at our office at times. We kept him in aspirin and Mylanta. I think it was my longtime friend who said he wasn’t having any of it, especially since our stage crew chief was in the midst of a nasty divorce. The only person who knew who was in my bed, or whose bed I was in, was the intermediary I contacted to reach the aforementioned second possible source of information regarding Morgan. At that time, about the only thing we didn’t do together was sleep with each other or anyone else.

I’ll end with Bonnie Raitt and I Can’t Make You Love Me. That song was released long after undergrad, but I’m pretty sure it was at a time Glenn and I were still seeing each other. Whenever I’ve heard it since then, he’s the one I always think of and it almost always makes me sick to my stomach. It reminds me of the day he told me he was going to marry someone else. I thought I’d die right there, but I didn’t. I cried all the way home, including the days I spent with a cousin who didn’t know what to do with me. Neither did the flight attendants. Had it not been for Jeff, someone I don’t think I’ve written about here, I doubt I would be alive. Or, if I were, I would have been self-medicating my way into an overdose or cirrhosis of the liver or both. As much as I loved Jeff, and I did, I’ve never loved anyone like I love Glenn and doubt I will. I’ll have some sort of relationship with someone, I guess. However, emotional intimacy? I can’t see it.

Understand Mom, Understand Myself

Before getting to the material referred to by the title, I want to thank the Sound Gods for big, male cousins who run to their defenseless female cousins’ rescue when called. In this case, to move my bed so that I can put my real speakers on top of my headboard and lean them against the wall. I will have REAL sound after Wednesday and he can say a word to a certain “grabby” neighbor to grab something else besides me. Gotta love it!

I’m noticing more and more changes in my perspective now that my mother is gone. Of course it was she, more than any other person, who influenced me in both negative and positive ways. I will be forever grateful to her for teaching me how to use my intellect. She never copped to her own brilliance, preferring to say that it was my father who was the brilliant one. Oh, she’s definitely right about that! He was absolutely, stunningly brilliant and it kept him alive far longer than one would think given the vocation he had for most of his life.

Now, this is where my brain and heart part company. One says go for it and tell what he was and the other says, STFU. I think I’ll take the latter tack. I want to write my Master’s thesis on my father, so he will get his due one day. He’d be deeply ashamed that I knew more about who he was and why than he ever wanted. He was who he was and things were the way they were. I can’t judge him. He, however, judged himself far, far too harshly.

Be that as it may, Daddy had a very deep love for my mother and had from the time they were barely teenagers. He also understood her in ways no one else did. Her family pretty much hated him and that didn’t help at all. I can posit the greater family and many friends asking her why she was so in love with him. Yes, he was handsome. Yes, he was smart, but that wasn’t unusual. In truth, no one could swing a cat without hitting someone with at least a Bachelor’s degree and, frequently, a graduate degree, in Mom’s family as far back as the late 1910s. When I get that longed-for M.F.A., I will be the third generation in my mother’s father’s tail line and I think the fourth on his distaff line to do so. My great-uncles and my grandfather were the product of both violent Southern racism and the combination of two highly intellectual black families. Business and fear brought them North.

Mom was different. As brilliant as she was academically, she was a deeply gifted artist. It is the latter that I’m coming around to believing caused her to be misunderstood a lot of the time. I’ve misunderstood her and I lived with her for most of my life. Had her relatives been more open-minded about her artistic talent, I think she wouldn’t necessarily have seemed shy to the point of being ice cold. How many times can you justify a dream before wondering if your dream is foolhardy? She was a visual artist and a dancer. She spent most of her life in education. It was there that I realized how incredibly talented she was. There is no way I could ever hope to have half her ability to handle the most undiagnosed, but deeply disturbed, children she did on a daily basis. She teased the desire to learn out of them instead of throwing them away as many would. The thing is, she wasn’t even a special ed teacher. Her memorial service was a grand testament to a highly distinguished career. It could have easily lasted another hour but for a minister I could throttle. Believe me, I wasn’t alone. x:(

People who’ve known me for lengthy periods of time remind me that I’ve always been a writer. It’s not something I really give a great deal of thought. Writing is as much a part of me as the blood coursing through my veins. I remember the woman who was my best friend in college and for many years after we’d both graduated saying, “You’ve always written. Don’t you remember . . .?” Actually, one of the amusing memories I’ve had while looking for Morgan (that sounds like the title of a book and/or screenplay) has been remembering a rather surprised Marketing prof who returned a marketing plan I’d submitted for a fictional product with a good grade and a notation that said something like,”This is definitely one of the most unique products anyone has imagined in my years of teaching.” Well, I did float the idea to my female friends and we thought it would sell if it were real. Actually, only in the last few years have products like the one I’d described been on the market, usually by Trojan.

I have a fertile imagination at times and, so I’m told, a very different way of understanding and applying concepts. I was really glad to hear that recently because it meant that my law school experience had finally been changed from conformity to inspired. My general theory is that the law is a living, breathing organism that must change as society changes. While it may be a laggard at times, laws do change either through legislation or through case law. If one assumes that my theory is correct, then why can’t laws be applied in new ways for new reasons? If there is nothing prohibitive in legislation, then it may be possible to make the argument that the law is applicable in a different way. This is an area of law left to litigators, yes, but then handed to appellate attorneys who will inevitably end up before higher courts.

I phoned one of my mom’s besties for a zillion years to check on some information and to try to explain what is going on in my life. She’s a retired college professor and now spends most of her time writing. She’s also an ordained minister I wanted to officiate at Mom’s service, but couldn’t due to some crap about her not being Christian enough. If only I could get to arrange her service again, but I can’t. So in speaking with her, I confirmed the premise of this post. Yes, my mother was greatly misunderstood. Yes, although this friend wasn’t exactly a fan of my father’s, she confirmed that he understood her in a way few did. She also confirmed that I’m correct about something else by telling me how wrong I was about it. That’s not at all to say that she was wrong. She wasn’t. However, it comes down to perspective. Mine includes multitasking. Hers didn’t. Because I only have so much emotional energy to pour into my personal life; so much to pour into pulling a miracle out of the mess that is Mom’s estate (Where the hell is the money??), and; so much to throw into my own project, Mom’s bestie has an excellent argument. My head needs to be in the game and it isn’t yet. How can it be? I’ve just hit bottom and begun to scratch and claw my way up. I’m already exhausted from the effort, but not being able to keep anything down may have something to do with it too.

I don’t even waste my breath trying to deny accusations of those who say that I’m too cerebral or that I don’t travel a straight line to get from Point A to Point B. It’s pointless. I do, however, try not to waste people’s time. Sometimes that means speaking so quickly that I sound like I’m on speed. No, just trying to be considerate and forgetting that most people’s brains don’t work as quickly as I can speak. *shrug* When I get the inevitable, “Huh?” I go back to the beginning, explain that I’m trying to say what needs to be said quickly and continue from there. I must admit that there are days when I’d like to scream out of pure frustration that the listener doesn’t get it. I think that’s my real problem with Mom’s lawyer. He doesn’t get me at all and he’s a journeyman at best when he should be far more skilled and careful than he is.

As I said, I tried to explain what’s going on in my life and that meant Glenn and Morgan. Glenn doesn’t even know why I’m looking for Morgan, assuming he didn’t simply delete my e-mail. If he did, it would be a shame. For once I can say that I am truly satisfied with what I wrote to him. I’ve been able to put a lot of things together since Mom died, especially since I’ve spent hours navel-gazing these last few days. Some things simply made me sick because I was so freaking wrong in an effort to be both right and not afraid. I realized that I’d done to him the same thing he’d done to me. We were both wrong. What I couldn’t stand was the thought that one of us would die and leave so much unsaid. I have good reason to be afraid of that circumstance sitting on a shelf in my china cabinet. I also needed to have a fictional conversation with him in my head as I waited for word on Morgan. That, too, was the impetus for my letter. I know I’d be absolutely destroyed if I learned long after the fact that Glenn had been killed or died. No one in this world or the next would ever be able to console me. Take what I’m going through now and multiply it by ten and that might be an accurate assessment, but probably too low on the scale.

One of the things I wrote in my letter was an acknowledgement of the importance of the people in his life. He has a lot to lose by getting involved with me again. The potential damage I might unknowingly do isn’t worth it. Why would I want someone who’d hate me for ruining his life? I’d be crazy and I’m not crazy at all. I would one day love an acknowledgement of what he’s done to me. He’s never done so. There have been those who’ve said that, in and of itself, is grounds for punting my feelings. It’s just not who I am and I can only be true to myself whether anyone else likes it or not. That’s not to say that I haven’t reached the end of any attempts to verbally touch some part of him. Every time I’ve thought I had, something else crops up. Like I said, we’re in different situations. Nevertheless, two people who have to hurt each other so badly just to stay apart probably belong together. I can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do. I needed him, and still need him, to help me get through the grieving process in a way only he’s ever been able to do. I don’t know if he’s realized how completely open I was to him. Actually, in many ways, I still am. If he were to ask me what I want at this very moment, I’d say hold me, let me cry and don’t let go. Absent the ability to do that, tell me what he’d do if he were here and I don’t mean sex. He never really understood, perhaps until fairly recently, the innate ability he has to bring out certain emotions in me.

Since hitting bottom the other night, I looked in the mirror and saw a different person staring back at me. In some ways, I think I’m much gentler than I’ve been in a very long time. I couldn’t continue to carry all that anger around with me anymore. I was really angry with Glenn, with my mother, with a couple of other people I’m trying to decide how to handle and with myself most of all. A lot of it is simply inconsequential now. I’ve said everything I believe needed to be said. I think I’ll ask another friend about Morgan and then leave it alone until the fall. If it’s still important, then I know the best next step. I’m hoping like hell it won’t be. I don’t think I’ve got enough tears left to cry. I “only” feel a deep sense of profound loss.

Let’s Try This Again

When I resurrected Naked, I did so with a post that was a letter to my recently deceased mother. I’m going to beg your indulgence and hope that you understand that by giving my thoughts and feelings voice, maybe they’ll reach her and/or help me cope. I’m pulling out all the coping mechanisms I can because I cannot absorb any more loss. I sent a message to my friend of very long duration to give him a heads up that I know there are only two reasons he’d put his phone number out there publicly for me to find and told him the story of why I needed to find Morgan. I’m just trying to prepare myself by taking care of the old business before I can deal with the new. Mom isn’t really “old business,” but she is the least recent.

Dear Mommy,

I know you’re still around. There are times when I hear you next door in your bedroom. I don’t go in because I won’t see anything and I already know you’re with me. Hence, there’s no point. I know that the most pressing concern is that I move on and do those things I have to do to survive. The truth is, my head is so muddled that I can’t remember where I’ve put anything anymore. I am what the Brits would call “at sixes and sevens,” although I’ve never understood the origins of that term. Basically, I’m a basket case. My emotions almost always come up way after the events that inspired them, you know that. I couldn’t give in right after you died because there was so much to do. There are still people who don’t know and should. I just haven’t had the heart to tell them. Trying to comfort another person when you haven’t figured out how to deal with your own grief is overwhelming. When I told Pat, she collapsed in sobs. She loves you so much. I haven’t called her since your memorial service, but I will as soon as I get a grip.

I believe in my heart and soul that this house killed you the way it has tried to kill me. Neither of us needed to have, in essence, three floors, not to mention the evil energy here. I know that you didn’t want to hear it when you were alive, but it was part of the genesis of my return to school. I just couldn’t take it anymore. My body was breaking down a lot faster than it should have because it just takes too much work to deal with all these stairs. My personal opinion is that the bank can have it. I know that’s not what you’d do, but you’re not here and left me a mess to clean up. I don’t want to shame you, but I also can’t help but say, “I told you so!” OK, I’m more than a little angry about the state of your estate, especially since I did tell you what would happen and I’ve found that it’s far, far worse than I ever knew. *sigh* It is what it is.

Shortly after you died, I posted on the Choir page and reported what happened. There were a lot of people who remembered you, chief among them was Mr. B, god love him. I don’t know if he’ll ever understand how much a part he played in making me who I am. Now that I think of it, virtually every person who influenced me was an artist of some sort or an historian, including you. Oh! I got the piano tuned when the funeral home sent the remains of the small policies. I haven’t sat down to play it OR my guitar. It’s like there’s some sort of barrier that keeps me from them. I want to play them, but something in my head says, “No, not now,” and I don’t know what that means.

There are things that I want you to know, but I’m not sure they’d mean much.

I just couldn’t cope anymore and reached out to Glenn. Honestly, although he is exactly the right person to help me get my head together, there’s a certain amount of fear and distrust. I know that you’ve watched me struggle with losing him. I know that you’ve always believed that he’d be back. Actually, right now I’m hearing you say, “Yeah, like a bad penny.” Um, well, you made me laugh. You see, the thing is, I think I’ve finally unravelled the “why” of a lot of things that went on between us. He was a boy who grew into a man who just couldn’t communicate his feelings. It drove him batty because I could communicate mine and, therefore, work through them. I remember him driving over one weekend once we’d actually gotten together and the bomb went “BOOM!” He was heading back but we stopped to lunch. I don’t remember being particularly chatty, but he was in a foul mood. He said, “Don’t you ever shut up?” It hurt, but I also knew that for him to say that, there had to be something else going on. I did, however, learn to be quiet and that doing so was OK.

The thing is, I really need him now and I really don’t think I’m going to get out of this in one piece without him. I’ll forgive anything and everything if need be immediately, especially since I didn’t have a chance to tell you before you drifted away that I’d forgiven you. I know he broke me. He had help, but in the end, it was him. I was hurt, furious, in disbelief and learned to tell myself all of these things that were true to some degree, but not true to a greater degree, in order to survive. You know what it was like divorcing Daddy. I was with Glenn longer than that and we had this child that never got to live. The difference is that having me made the gulf between you bigger. I think that would have been the short-term situation, but I doubt that it would have lasted. Still, he only found out about it after we were done, supposedly for good.

Mommy, if you believe nothing else, please believe this: I need Glenn now. He’s the only person on this earth who knows how to help me. It’s instinctual with him. Can you whisper in his ear? If I can’t get him, I really do have to cut the ties and I haven’t been able to do that in all the years we’ve been apart. You may not like him, but you were the first to see, too late for me, but see nonetheless, that he loved me.

I’m really worried about your brothers. I strongly suspect that you’ll see one of them again this year. Please, help give me the strength to carry on. Both you and Daddy had your faults, but you were both strong people, often hurting yourselves in the process. I’m possibly going to hear news of the loss of someone else very dear to me and between that anxiety and the near certainty of what I’ll hear, I’m more shaken than I was last night. This is someone you’ve never met, but I think you would have found him more than amusing, though very strange. I can see you peering at him through a curly, deep red mane of hair and a beard topped off with dark eyeglasses. Just know that he was always honest with me, true to his beliefs and a very, very decent human being. I never told him this, but I’d always wanted to re-create the Jonh Lennon and Yoko Ono photo in bed with him in B&W. I think even you would have liked it.

I’ve been dreaming about you a lot lately. In fact, these are the first dreams I’ve remembered having about you. I do remember waking up and thinking that you were here, forgetting that you weren’t. I don’t know whether the dreams make life harder or easier for me. They are so real and it is such a let-down when I wake up and remember you’re not on this plane of existence anymore. At the same time, I love seeing you again.

I’m dealing with the Food Monster again. I haven’t been able to eat for well over 24 hours. I have to force myself or I won’t be able to take care of the furkids, not to mention someone will get some bright idea to force feed me. I’ve come to really detest interfering relatives. That’s another reason I need to leave. I know you love this house. You can have it because it can’t hurt you anymore. It can and does hurt me daily. Right now, I’m nauseous as hell and not looking forward to going out in the heat. However, it’s not an option. I have to do it. Nevertheless, I think I’m coming straight home.

I wish I could say that I’ll be OK soon. I can’t. It may take a long time before I’m OK. I am working on it, though. Right now, that’s all I can do. There are going to be some happenings that will make you very sad. I know because they make me sad and I’m the one doing them. But if I am to keep me and the furkids together, I need to do whatever I have to do. That’s straight out of the mouth of your youngest brother who, I might add, believes you didn’t like him at all. You need to visit him because he’s crushed. He doesn’t say it, but it’s there in everything he does. I think that you’d be very proud of him. Out of all the relatives, he’s the one doing his best to take care of me and vice versa. I’ve tried to reassure him that you love him dearly, but it’s no good coming from me. It has to come from you. I fixed an error in your estate paperwork that would have definitely given him the notion that he was right about the way you feel towards him, but he needs more. Go to him in his dreams. Let him dream about being a little boy and you making clothes for him. He said that you made them for the middle brother, but specifically not for him. He’s hurting deeply, Mom. I don’t know what to do for him that I haven’t done. He needs his big sister.

Well, that’s about it. If I’m right about my redheaded friend and you somehow encounter him in your travels, say hello and be nice! He’s a really good guy. I dare say that you would have liked him more than Glenn. Oh! I almost forgot to mention that you once decoded him for me. It was using your insight that I finally got it. If we have to work so damn hard to stay away, then he’s feeling a danger. I have been reacting to what he’s done. If he reads this, he’s going to be unhappy, but at least the truth will be out there somewhere.

I love you,

T.

P.S.: I think I may be able to send in those lyrics I started writing so long ago. I Don’t Know How To Let Go.

And It’s Only 12:35p

Right now, I am beyond thrilled that I set this blog up a couple of years ago even if I didn’t use it then. Here, I’m anonymous. It may or may not be possible to figure out what I do, but that’s not a big deal. What is a big deal is that I can say whatever I want, ruminate on it for a bit and figure things out.

With that in mind, I have a sick feeling that someone I’ve tried to find since yesterday from my ancient past is dead. I contacted a friend I’ve had for a very long time–as in since junior high, high school, college AND college extracurriculars “long time”–to ask if he remembered Morgan’s last name or was in touch with any of the people we worked with. I’m trying rather hard to find him to confirm something from my own history that I believe to be true but may not be. My friend posted on my FB Wall, something he hasn’t done in the three years or so that we’ve been in semi-contact again. He left his phone number and no, this wouldn’t be a booty call. We’ve always been platonic, sometimes antagonistic, fun-loving, dear friends. It didn’t hurt that we did have the camaraderie of one particular class that will probably link us until we’re both older and more grey. In fact, I’m going to be pissed if I don’t find at least one grey hair among the blonde should I decide to attend the next class reunion.

When I phoned the number he left, the girls were going crazy because a neighbor was getting ready to repaint a room I need to set up as a studio. I tried to sound very normal and just glad to hear from him, but he isn’t stupid. He knows me. He knows that I’m probably going to figure out what’s up and why I can’t find someone in what amounts to a fairly small group of people with certain skills. I’m going to have to make that call again because I don’t know if he could even get my phone number due to all the enthusiastic barking and I don’t answer the house phone, a number that would be super easy for him to get given a shared set of friends and acquaintances of old. Indeed, I was kind of surprised to learn that he’d moved across town. People in this ‘burb tend to stay here unless they leave the state altogether. But, change comes to everyone and everything. To stay static is to be left behind.

There is one thing I wish would stay static, my youngest furbaby. I was on the phone with the aforementioned neighbor, walking into the house when a wasp followed me in. Can we say “ALLERGIC!!”? I don’t need to go to anyone’s hospital at all for anything right now, even if it is just for a shot of epi, which I foolishly never carry even though I am very allergic to something else no one has ever been able to identify and that I’ve encountered twice now, I think. So, I’m on the phone, the wasp comes in to the house, instinct takes over and I try to get away from it, dropping the youngster’s leash in the process. Off she goes, running behind two squirrels she’s been after since forever. Although I was close to panicked, I had to laugh at her attempts to climb the tree and get them, silly girl that she is. She almost made it, too. In the process of convincing her to come home and forget about the squirrels, I found the spot where a local bat has been hanging out, no pun intended. Indeed, we have our first bat and our first owl. I have to remember to write about the indescribable awesomeness of watching an immature bald eagle riding the air currents, probably trying out its new wings. I thought it was a golden eagle at first, but the beak was the wrong color. That’s how close it was. I could see its beak. I love raptors!

Between the old friend’s message, the youngster’s foray into the adjoining backyard and a really bad night, I think it’s safe to say that I’m fried emotionally. I never intended to get up from bed except to take the girls out, feed them and bring a water dish up. Last night was brutal and I can’t say that I’m any better today. I narrowly escaped the third panic attack in two days by calling my friend/ex-Mistress/lawyer to talk me down. She really needed to work today and I knew that. My solution was to say what I needed really quickly and take as little time as possible. I can tell myself to breathe, that my buddy may only wish to find out why I wanted to contact Morgan, (Ha!! He isn’t dumb. He knows me and he knows perfectly well how I worded the request.) or try to convince me to come to the reunion. (Ha!! Ha!!) I finally said, “Fuck it,” and took a hit from a joint the neighbor was about to light. I only needed the one to calm me down and let this all sink in.

I came close to wrecking my van as I was driving back from a prescription pick-up that’s about 20 miles or so away. I’m not sure I wrote about it, but I think I may have mentioned a flash of memory that came around the same time as my second panic attack yesterday. What I didn’t write is that I feared he’d died of either cancer, an accident involving alcohol or cirrhosis. Those boys party hard and he was already in his 30s when I was with him. The term “friends with benefits” hadn’t been coined yet, but that’s essentially what it was, although I had this crazy notion that I could help him heal inside. What I now understand is that his body was in incredible pain from a construction accident that should have killed him, but he was doing the thing that he loved: hanging lights, running cable and unloading semis. I honestly envy him that. There is nothing that beats watching a warehouse-sized or bigger venue come to life as a concert hall. It is an absolute marvel that I hope to see again one day.

Karen, the lawyer, asked me what I could do if he is gone. I told her I’d cry even more, try to pick myself up and phone up a mutual friend to raise a glass of JD, which I hate, to Morgan, the redheaded wild man.

The above was written a couple of hours ago. I’ve had some interruptions in the meantime, not the least of which is me in tears again. I don’t know how to absorb another loss. Morgan was a part of me, though in a much smaller sense than Glenn. I can see his face as clearly as if he were sitting next to me. I’ve remembered bits and pieces of facts that I haven’t thought about in a very, very long time. I hope like hell that a friend who’s now a prof at another university had the presence of mind to save Morgan’s photo. Yeah, I think that if Morgan is no longer alive, it’s time for a reunion of the Roach Patrol. No, “roach” has nothing to do with insects. However, I’m more than sure that I need to go “home” again.

Naked Honesty

I’ve been running around in circles all day because I couldn’t decide what to do. I damn near had an accident on the freeway because I was trying not to have another panic attack and not to cry at the same time. I am in so much pain I don’t even comprehend it. How can I expect someone who isn’t in my head to do so?

My mother and I had a very complex relationship, to put it mildly. I was 10 minutes too late to tell her that I forgave her for allowing her husband to molest and rape me. She needed to know and I hope more than just about anything else that there was enough of her brain functioning to hear me when I took her cold hand and told her. I don’t think I’ll ever forget her collapsing in my bedroom and on my bed, face contorted, no doubt that it was absolutely urgent that she get medical attention immediately. My thoughts were confirmed when the paramedics/EMTs did a “scoop and run,” much against her wishes. Then, they got diverted from the closest hospital to the Cleveland Clinic. That would have been great IF she’d had a survivable injury. She didn’t.

I got back to her cubicle as they were running a second code. I knew who they were trying to save, but I asked anyway. Cardiology wouldn’t come down unless they could see her via either a CT or MRI, I think the former, but my memory is a little fuzzy on that detail. She coded for the third and last time. I got there just as they made a decision to stop compressions and call time of death. (And yeah, that part of it is very much like one sees on television.) It was the only thing they could do because they were just doing more damage, but she hadn’t been conscious since the first code. Had I ridden in the ambulance, I would have had a few more minutes. I don’t think they’d let me anyway, but I knew there was no way she was going home with me and drove to the hospital myself. That took so much longer because I couldn’t risk being stopped by the cops and further delayed. Damned if I did and damned if I didn’t. The death certificate says “cardiac arrest,” presumably doing as cursory an autopsy as possible since I didn’t want her body to go through that at all. In reality, she died of an aortic dissection. I know far too much about medicine for my own good. When the attending told me that, I called the attorney and told him to begin preparing the paperwork. He insisted on waiting, not that it would do any good. However, he’s one of these holier than thou people who work my last nerve. I think that was the first time I wanted to yell at him, come to think of it. I called my uncle and his wife answered. I told her to haul ass to the hospital because Mom is dying. My uncle’s wife made it, but he didn’t.

[ETA: Remembering that night made the dam burst.]

I remember when my cousin died in Arizona died around the same time I ditched one of my dear friends because she wouldn’t pick up the phone and tell me her father died, no doubt because of her asshole racist husband who didn’t think I belonged and made it his mission in life to break us apart. I collapsed. I mean absolutely collapse in wails and screams on the floor on this very room, my bedroom, the same room in which my mother, for all intents and purposes, lost her life. I haven’t had the chance to grieve like that for my mother. It is costing me a lot in so many ways. It’s not that I don’t feel it. I do. I feel it probably more than many would think. I don’t know what the reason(s) is/are, but I strongly suspect it has something to do with the past, the present and the pressure to will myself to go on because, if I don’t, I’ll never stop crying.

Oh this is just great. I’ve just received a push news alert that means I’m going to have to find a way to insert myself into the Obama campaign. FUCK!! The last thing I need is to work right now. However, I’ve got to get my butt in gear before it’s too late. I haven’t watched much television since my mother died. That was months ago. I’ve only paid a scant amount of attention to politics because I knew who the Republican nominee would be. I’m far more interested in the senatorial campaign. *sigh* Yeah, I’ve got to make some decisions and start putting them into motion early Monday or Tuesday. It was inevitable, but I’d really hoped to be farther along in my healing before all this hit me in the face. There are too many ways to screw up.

Colder Weather by Zac Brown Band is just ending. I’m looking for the person that song brings to mind and hope like hell I still know someone who knows someone who knows where he is and what the hell is last name is. I’ve tried to remember for weeks. I got home today and an old black & white photo of him working on a gel light for one of the gym shows at my alma mater popped into my head. I wonder if the kids running the organization know anything about its history and, most of all, where that photo might be. It might give me his last name. My life is just too damn complicated. I was going to write about him but thought I’d better wait until I hear something definitive. Honestly, I’m hoping he’s still alive. Please, God, let him be alive. I don’t think my head can take any more deaths of people I’ve loved even a little. And yes, it is quite possible to not remember a lover’s last name if it’s been as long as it’s been and I had to leave while he was out of town. Don’t judge!

Between all of this and trying to figure out which part of my brain is trying to reinvent history, I’m a barrel of laughs these days. I want to go back before conception and start again. I’ll get there one day. I’ll get there.

Crap! This Can’t Start Again!

I can’t breathe. I can’t hear anything but the rushing of blood in my ears and a plaintive cry inside my head that keeps whimpering, “No. No. No.” I don’t want any more tears to fall at all, much less because of this individual. I know that I’m trying to prevent a panic attack, but I’m struggling with whether I should accept it and let it pass or try to fight it. I just don’t want to cry. Is that so wrong? Too late.

Truth time.

Glenn hasn’t been on my mind, which is a very good thing. Why should he be? We were over a long time ago. I don’t really know who he is today. I don’t know if I’d still love him, hate him or something in between or both. He always crops up in my head when I’m at my lowest. I think any idiot could see that’s because my brain takes the A Train to happier times. I haven’t forgotten all the times he’s hurt me–and there are far too many to count since we were teenagers. But in the bitter end, he’s the one who got away and the one I’ll always love. That is to say, the Glenn I love is the Glenn I knew and I have a really strong gut feeling there isn’t all that much to set them apart. Important things, without a doubt. However, I suspect evolution as opposed to revolution.

This started when I took the girls out about an hour ago. I looked at the house and a memory of him being here, having dinner and then making love (or having wild monkey sex) flashed into my brain. It occurred to me that he’ll never be here again. He’ll never be anywhere again and have even one good thought about me. Part of it is my fault, but it’s not like I was all alone in this. I’ll be generous and say it was a 50-50 split. I don’t believe that, but it really doesn’t matter. What matters is that all I have left are memories. He made a choice to marry someone else. I don’t know if they’re still together and it really doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s not here and won’t be again. What also matters is that I’ll never love anyone the way I’ve loved and love him, especially if my suspicions about him are correct. Then again, I don’t think he’d ever let me know if they were.

I wrote last night that my uncle is one of these people who won’t strike back himself even though he believes someone has done something unwarranted towards him. He’d rather wait for God/Fate to deal with the reckoning. I have something I have to fix. It’s something I believed because I needed to believe it and had to believe it in order to get on with my life. Not to mention that he did show a great many symptoms and a shrink would have a good ol’ time with him on his/her couch. Nevertheless, I don’t believe he is a sociopath or psychopath. I’m split on whether he’s a narcissist and that can actually be worse. However, if he’s a narcissist, he’s been one ever since I’ve known him and that’s the him I’m used to encountering. My tendency is to lean toward him not being a narcissist but someone who couldn’t and wouldn’t put himself out there for me. Why? I don’t know and don’t think I ever will. I do, however, have some thoughts.

I think that I was too innocent for him in his eyes. He was probably somewhat right. If he’d only known the truth, he’d know that I wasn’t as innocent as he’d believed. Then, years later, I think I scared the bejesus out of him when I became involved with BDSM. It really wasn’t his thing, although he’s the one who actually introduced me to handcuffs. It’s a big leap from handcuffs to learning how to properly swing a flogger; the different types of floggers; playing with blades, and, my favorite; hot wax. He would have made an excellent Master, though. That’s assuming he could deal with the responsibilities that go with it. I think he could. The only person I ever came close to loving as much was my first Master and his sub who was either my first or second Mistress. I’m thinking second. Again, it really doesn’t matter. What matters is that men will inevitably go back to their boyhoods in some form or fashion at some point in their lives. What he did to me was close to being unforgivable as a boy-child, but especially as a man. Could I learn to forgive him? Yes. Do I want to? Yes, and it is costing me every ounce of will power I currently have to not actively send this to him. To do so would be selfish. Now that I’ve finally gained an understanding of what hearing from me, someone he loved a long time ago, can do, I don’t want to hurt him. It’s bad enough that I have been so hurt. Let it end.

With that in mind, I guess I’m not only mourning my mother, but a certain young man I’ll love until the day I die. As the song says:

For me you’ll always be 18
And beautiful and dancing away with my heart

Exes

Wow. I’m listening to The Highway on sat radio where Jerrod Niemann is singing a beautiful song called What Do You Want? It’s about an ex-girlfriend who calls and the guy is asking the question while going through the pain of being taken back to the time they were together and the time they fell apart. It’s a sad, poignant song, especially when performed acoustically. That was the first substantive question Glenn asked when I first called him after we were apart for so long. God, what a mess!

C.A.B.

I woke up around 3 a.m. and the first thought I had was, “I’m a Crazy-Ass Bitch,” and kinda smiled. For those of you who have been following this season of I Can’t Quit You, the former keeper of my affections, Glenn, pulled the great mindfuck on me a few years ago after being my lover for 17 years. At the time, we hadn’t been in contact in nine years since he freaked out about my sexual orientation which, at that point, did not involve sleeping with men. (If you’d like to know precisely what he did, then click on the “glenn” Category.) Helped along by a very bad reaction to one of the benzodiazopines, his non-consensual sadism put me in ICU for three or four days, followed by a psych ward on a three-day hold. There is so much more to the story, but it’s all rather irrelevant now. The point is, I must have been dreaming about him because I heard his voice call me a “Crazy-Ass Bitch.” It made me smirk in a particularly devilish way. It still does as I’m writing this. I wouldn’t have found it amusing until that moment because I was mourning and seeking answers. I was deep into the deep dark pit of my soul looking for some way to make sense of what he, and probably a friend of his, had done. I still can’t grasp the enormous cruelty on any “normal” level because what they did was abnormal. Right or wrong, since Glenn wasn’t talking or writing except to say that he’d kill me if I went anywhere near his family, which was not even on the table, (too many viewings of Fatal Attraction I suppose), I had to come up with my own answers.

I’ve also been listening to the loop inside my head from a conversation I had with my lawyer/friend/ex-Top, Karen, who pointed out that Glenn really wasn’t that great of a catch to begin with. Certainly, on several levels, she’s absolutely right. However, when things were good and held the promise of being even better, yes, he was worth it. That’s the person I loved and will always love, and; that’s the person I have mourned. The current incarnation of Glenn is an abusive sociopath/narcissist in my eyes. Be aware that I can only provide my own point of view and a lay person’s reading of symptoms from the DSM-IV because my medical degree was lost in the mail from Granada.

My shrink and I talked about him for a bit. I told her I’ve tried to find a way out of my obsession with the “why” part of the whole, sordid mess and with him altogether. She said that I shouldn’t even acknowledge the thought, but when I do find myself thinking about him, just wave it away. Strangely enough, it’s kind of worked. I didn’t expect it to, but it did.

I think I like being a Crazy-Ass Bitch. I don’t normally condone the use of “bitch” when referring to humans, but in this case, it’s a statement that I choose to reclaim. Where Glenn would view a C.A.B. as a woman unworthy of his time and energy while being annoyed that the woman has taken up his time and energy, I see the term as empowering in this instance. After what he’s put me through, hell, he should be glad I’m 500 miles away from him because you never know what a C.A.B. will do. I have visions of Miranda Lambert and Jazmine Sullivan when I think of the appellation. It means strength, forthrightness, perseverance in the face of obstacles and a deep dish of mischief. Nevertheless, even though C.A.B.’s are strong women, we can be very vulnerable. In fact, I’d say that the reason there are C.A.B.’s in this world it’s because we’ve previously opened ourselves to love and had our hearts break into a million and one pieces. When we finally do catch our breath, it is then that the “crazy” comes out. For me, it was continuing to refuse the acceptance of silence when I ask Glenn “Why?” That is the very least he could give me.

A little voice inside won’t shut the fuck up, though. I think it is influenced by my wish that Glenn would still be the man I loved for so very, very long and my mother’s belief that, eventually, we’ll find a way back to each other even though she didn’t particularly like him. It’s the same voice that says, “Maybe he was trying to protect your feelings because he wasn’t attracted to you anymore.” That would make Glenn semi-noble, but it flies in the face of reason informed by his actions. Hence, I’ll go with Miranda Lambert and Jazmine Sullivan.

Little voice aside, I’ve accepted that I love both the dark and the light sides of the Glenn I knew. You don’t spend 17 years of your life not loving someone in some fashion. I was so naive to the point of stupidity then. I should have realized that he loved me back then, even if the words weren’t forthcoming. I can’t blame myself completely because it was his responsibility to tell me. It’s all pointless now. That Glenn is no more. Glenn 2.0 is not someone I want to think about. However, I do like the thought that he’s probably called me a “crazy ass bitch” dozens of times even though he can’t manage to tell me why he did what he (and another) did to me. As far as I’m concerned, he’s less than the man that was. It is he that is not worth my time and energy.