Bad Dreams

It's been a rough week. No, not rough, but not good. Not not good but still bad. It's been a week.


My mom showed me what Alex had been saying about me on Facebook. That I used him, that it was all my fault, that I was immature, not brave or strong, that I wasn't independent and going no where with my life. And how he couldn't wait to start his new life, and that he was happy.

I was pissed.

How can I use someone who's 5000 miles away? I always took care of him while he was here, never accepted his money offerings (although sometimes he would just send it anyway) and I gave him things he could never possibly give me. I worked hard to give him the body he always wanted a female partner to have, and yet he didn't seem to want to work towards giving me the male one I wanted. How can I not be moving forward with my life? I'm graduating soon, earning my writers certificate, have another chance at getting something published, finding a second job, getting my motorcycle license, volunteering and even had my picture taken to help advertise pet adoption events.

Alex had this five year plan that HE HIMSELF made. He never asked for my input or thoughts. He never considered what I wanted while making it. But it was my fault when he could no longer go through with it. He's a control freak. Not to mention when we broke up he sent all our mutual Facebook friends a message saying that I left him for another guy and even called my MOM at work! It was no ones business! Maybe I should send his friends a message saying how bad at sex he is? How I never got anything out of that. My ex Taylor was better than him and we hadn't even had real sex!

Once the flames of my wrath died down (my mom described it as 'fueled by anger' not far from the truth) I found myself checking my moms Facebook almost everyday to make sure the conversation between them died. I pretended to be her a few times to talk to him and help him realize things. But things he says to my mom are different from what he says to me. He told her (me) that he is miserable but puts on a brave face. He misses and loves me and hopes that someday we can be together again. That I "changed" and that I wasn't the girl he once knew.

I told my mom that when we broke up Alex told me he didn't want anything to do with me. No friendship, no communication, no anything. So I told her that includes her, she's a part of ME. Therefore he can't keep in touch with her and "have his cake and eat it too". As he said I was doing several times.

I send out for university info from colleges in Florida and Hawaii. Warm places I know Frank can transfer to and would like to live. Some times I find myself wondering if I should be with Alex. I do still love him and feel as if I've lost something great - even given all the above. It'd be easier to pay for college with him but I remember being bored with him as well. Usually when I get back with an ex it's never what I expect it to be and I'm just disappointed. Would this be the same? Or is the hurt that much more painful because I'm fighting what is supposed to be?

God, I love that asshole.

 

 

 I remember England. I remember the green hills that made you feel like the world was flat and that there was no more beyond the peaks. The narrow twisty roads that looked like a two year old designed them. The stone buildings and the high fashion. How children ran around the super market because it was safe enough to do so, not to mention people never watched where they were pushing their carts - ahem - trolleys, so you were constantly dodging them for the sake of living to see another day. The wind. The rain. The clouds. How a high sixties day was considered nice. No.

I was not an English girl. I was most definitely an American girl.

I loved wide open roads and eighty degree days. Canoeing and tubing. I loved being able to drive everywhere and seeing the sun everyday. Alex said if I moved there I'd be a commodity. People would love to hire me because I'd be different. I would be good for business. But from my experience no one can understand me when I talk.

Me in Subway: "Pickles."
Guy making sandwich: "What? Onions?"
Me: "No, pickles."
Guy: "Cucumber?"
Me: "Yes, because that's exactly what pickles sounds like."
Guy: "Okay,"
Me: "I will murder you in your sleep."
Guy: "Huh?"

I suppose that could be a plus.

But now I find myself at a crossroads. I'm heart broken. Heart broken because I feel for an American man. So I lost more than England, I lost Alex. He gave me another chance, but I refused to leave Frank. And why would I? I'm tired of being alone for months at a time. Frank hasn't done anything terribly wrong yet. Besides chaining me down saying I can't get my motorcycle license or another tattoo. A part of me thinks that's just what I need. Someone to tell me no. But at the same time that makes me feel like I'm trapped and am being punished for no reason. When really Frank loves me and doesn't want me to get killed by a driver ("It's not you, its the other drivers"). And tattoos are addictive and I don't want to go crazy with them, but I've been researching this one for about a year now and I'd really like it. It's text and it would go on the inside of my arm. It's a curse that was inscribed in a pharaohs tomb.

"As for all men who shall enter this my tomb...impure...there will be swift judgement...an end will be made for him...I shall seize his neck like a bird...I shall cast the fear of myself into him."

Lots of double meanings in there too.

But that tattoo is an attempt to distract myself from what's really bothering me. What caused me to have a proper emotional break down. Cut my hair, looking for a drastic change. A motorcycle license to enhance my edginess. Anything to potentially cause self destruction. I've taken an offensive role in hockey and have gotten some requests to join roller derby teams. I'm a tough girl. The only thing that can kick my ass is the emotions from that man. Alex. The man bringing me to my knees and he's not even talking to me anymore. I refuse to take our picture off the entertainment center. And no one has asked me too. I'll take it down when I'm ready. If that day ever comes.

What have I done? I knew what I was doing when I did it. What about our travel tree? How devoted that man was. How loyal and faithful, and all he ever wanted to do was care for me and make my dreams come true. And breakfast in bed (the fastest way to ruin my morning).

I still speak to his Mum on facebook. Trying my best to figure things out and keep in touch. I emailed his work email and he didn't even respond to that. But I knew that wouldn't conjure any results. I've shattered him. And now I'm shattering myself. I'm a shell of who and what I used to be. A broken spirit. I feel dead already. I've thought of suicide. A thought I haven't had since Taylor and I broke up. Not killing myself, but what if I did die? What would I be missing out on? Nothing. I feel like I have nothing to look forward to anymore. Even with Frank, which will probably end up in heart break or divorce someday.

There's no such thing as soul mates. But merely someone who can make us happy. At least for the time being.

I closed the passenger side door and looked at him over the top of the car. He looked back, unaware. "Why do you always do that?" I asked, clearly frustrated.
"What?" He asked.
"At the end of every night you always say something to ruin it."
"I don't know," he said, meeting me on the sidewalk. "I guess I just like confrontation." Frank didn't seem to grasp the idea that I wanted a guy to be sweet and loving and everything I ever needed. All his ex's that I knew of seemed to be what I would call 'tramps'. And why did he have so many single friends with kids? Why did he go out of his way to take care of these other women's children?

Molly said I was immaculate compared to girls he was used to hanging out with and dating. She said he was intimidated by me. My cousins warn him not to fuck it up. Or else. And he knows better than to do so. But sometimes I wonder why he acts the way he does. Why he openly checks out other women, how he can ignore me on the couch when I purposely wore what he asked me to.

Since Frank's an only child he still lived with his parents and why not? He had no reason not to. He was going to inherit everything and didn't have a gf to live with or kids. He had lived on his own before; he had a house in the Florida Keys, until a hurricane washed it away and he came back to wonderful Michigan. He had a million stories to tell and he was interesting, which is what fuels my patience. What will happen when the patience runs out? What will happen when my heart can't take anymore?