Thinking Isn’t Always the Best Idea

19 07 2010

So, I know, it’s been what, a year? And it’s been a pretty crazy year. Ive battled a lot, gone through a lot of changes and am still battling a bit, but I have to believe I’ll make it through. This post could potentially be long. I am going to try and catch everyone up, although I don’t know my posting schedule, or if there will be one yet. I finally have internet again, and will have it in my new place again too as I’ll need it for school. I guess starting at the beginning will work best.

I stopped writing after a little medical issue. Well a few medical issues. First, I lost something that I didn’t know I wanted, but at the same time am better off without at this point in my life. Ironically it was the same day Michael Jackson died, and as a nurse came to talk to me about prepping, we were hushed by a large woman glued to the TV. It was funny. I thought I would be ok – that it was just a setback, but depression set in pretty heavily. I considered moving back to Miami Beach, I wanted to break up with my boyfriend, I just wanted my parents. Eventually they became aware of my downward spiral and came out to help me. “A” and I stayed together, working through what was going on with me and I started getting help.

Shortly after I was hospitalized for a severe pneumonia. My lungs were so filled up they thought I had a pulmonary embolism. I stayed in the hospital, hooked to heart monitors and would up having my IV repositioned 8 times because I was so dehydrated and my BP so low that my veins would essentially push the needle back out. I think that may be when I started to see things about “A” that I really didn’t love. He had to be begged to come visit me and would take care of a million and one other chores before he could show up and crawl into my hospital bed with me, falling asleep with me until the nurses kicked him out. That part I loved.

Over the next few months I struggled with my depression, with agoraphobia (fear of leaving the house), and we began to fight much more than usual. I got myself well enough to get a seasonal job at Williams-Sonoma, and it was a rarity for him to ask how my day went, regardless of me always wanting to be involved in his. He would hang out with his friends, or invite them over, even when I was so dog tired I could barely keep my eyes open. Our sex life had also dropped away at that point, my fears of going through what I did again outweighing any desire to be intimate with my guy of almost 2 years (At the time). But we got through the winter, and, by January, I decided I wanted to go back to school – I wanted to teach. “A” even helped encourage that. So I started taking classes at a local community college and started applying for grad school. I was accepted to Cal State LA, and for a few months there, everything was ok. Not great. We fought. A lot. And we lived separate lives. And he had stopped saying I love you by that point. But, we were still in it together. And I was happy with my new career path. I was assisting a seventh grade class, I was volunteering to teach kids how to read, I was going to school. I thought it was getting better.

“A” dropped the bomb that he didn’t want to look for places to live together anymore, that he wanted to move out on his own. Around December he fell into his own depression and sought help. Unfortunately, he only sought help for a month or two before declaring that he was much better and discontinued seeing his dr. During this time he became more and more selfish, taking and rarely giving – I’d have to beg and nag him for our utility money – and in the year and a half that we lived together he never once paid rent, despite having a job. He would always claim that it was because he had his own place to pay rent for, though everyone rightly pointed out (and I ignored) that if he were serious, he would have given up the place he was never at and just moved in with me. By now we had no real social life together beyond sleeping and living in the same apartment. He always had a reason to be gone over the weekends, and Id fall asleep during the week while he watched tv. We ate together, we’d watch what he wanted to watch, and we’d fight. Despite it all I still loved him, although had to question whether it was the beginning of the end. He couldnt love me the same way. Or didn’t want to. I don’t know. But he moved out. And like a good girlfriend, although a poor self preserver, I packed his belongings for him, oversaw the move, and then unpacked. We thought, it’ll be ok. We just need space, we aren’t breaking up, just taking some space and he needed to concentrate on getting his life together. I thought that he really wanted to grow up. Start his own business (dog training), earn some money, and we’d date, like normal people and move back in together when we were ready.

As I was packing his belongings I found a poster an ex had given him (actually there was a lot of stuff from his exes that he hung onto, which was a major red flag for me) and tried to be big about it and said, I don’t even want to see the pictures, just throw it out. He said he wouldn’t but that it would go into storage. That it was part of his past. I accepted it, not wanting to fight – we’d been doing ok for a bit – and I knew it was a few shots from her modeling days, but he swore it was all G rated. He even taped newspaper over it and showed me he was putting it in the basement or in storage. Well, as I was unpacking the paper ripped and all I saw was a nipple. I flipped. We fought. He called me insecure and said I needed to remember I was who he went home to every night. I pointed out that he was no longer coming home to me at night and that it was our relationship and the future or a poster of his past that made me uncomfortable. After the fight he tore it up, threw it out and that was that. Or so I thought. The fight never ended, I was still mad and hurt and no longer trusted him – he lied to me about nudity, no matter how much he swears he didn’t realize it was in that picture. I didn’t want to see the rest. Didn’t want to hurt any more and see him as a real liar. Eventually the fighting got so bad and so intense that a cop was called. We broke up that day. He moved out a few weeks later (had to wait for his new place to be cleaned out or something) and I was heartbroken, but tried my best to keep moving forward. That was in May.

A friend, who he introduced me to, was also going through a rough breakup and we thought – hey, lets move in together. Save money, the dogs will have a yard, we get along, we can help each other through this rough patch. So I did. I packed up all my belongings and with the help of her and “A’s” cousin (who I was still on speaking terms with) moved me into her house in July. July 1. She and I had discussed that she felt he had been abusive to me. That I deserved better. I parroted the sentiments for her. That while she was still on good terms with him, wed be ok living together because she didn’t want a social life with him outside of work. July 1, she, lets call her N, also started dating “As” cousin. I was ok with it at first. I figured it was early in the relationship (literally) and it wasn’t like he would be spending the night yet or be there all the time. WOW, could I have been more off. The night I moved in, with his help yes, he spent the night and didn’t leave for 4 days. Everyday I told my roommate that I was uncomfortable with this, that I didn’t want to live with a couple, that I wanted to get away from my ex, not have a constant reminder. That I needed a fresh start and it was too much too quick on their part for me to be comfortable living around. She said she understood. Everyday. And everyday he would still be there. Id go to bed crying, missing A more than ever, even though just a week before I had been standing strong. I also started working at a day camp and was in charge of hundreds of kids, teaching them how to cook without having a kitchen. Not easy. But at least N was seemingly taking heed to my request and she went out with her new guy rather than holing up here. But it was uncomfortable. I couldn’t talk to her without her texting him at the same time. And it all fell apart the next Friday.

N was going back and forth between going out with her new guy and staying in. Realistically she was trying to coax me into saying he could come by. Of course he could, but I asked that he not spend the night. He tended not to leave when he did. She assured me he wouldn’t. They spent all night trying to get me inebriated so I could go to bed and they could do their thing. Which was fine. I eventually went to bed on my own, feeling like the worlds biggest third wheel. They are the kind of couple who are ALWAYS on top of each other. (I should mention he is also 6 years her jr and lives with his parents because he is too comfortable there to grow up, not because he cant move out, but he doesn’t want to). So I would rather be in my tiny room than watch people escaping their own lives claw at each other.

When N and I were alone later that week I opened up a bit more. Talking about how it was tough for me. That I wanted to move on, but having the guy around made it hard. We talked about how she was able to escape her ex and move forward, but that it was in a sense preventing me from doing so, and that I just wanted some time and space to do that. She admitted she talked to him about finding his own place, to alleviate the amount of time they would be here, and said he would always change the subject. The weekend prior she blamed him for not leaving, claiming he would take a mile when given an inch. That day (we were getting our nails done like girlfriends would) she said it was her own fault, that she allowed it and would work on that not happening until we were more settled.

Two days later I was bombarded with texts from her guy. Saying he wanted to understand what my problem was, that my issues were inhibiting their budding relationship, and I explained that I just wanted space, the same space N had received after her own breakup, and that I wanted to be friends with him, but needed to get over A first. Then the attacks started. He wouldn’t leave me alone, trying to force me to get him to understand something he couldn’t, and trying to force me to let them do what they wanted to do. I told N to get him off my back and she retaliated that I was stressing her out at her job. Funny, I guess it was ok for him to do that to me. He begged me to call him. I said I didn’t want to talk to him yet. Then N started in on it, calling me a bitch, saying that it was her house and she could have anyone over any time she wanted. I said yea, but I was asking as a friend – pointed out that she was given her own space to move forward and I was only asking for the same. Pointed out that much of what she would admit to me (wanting to get everything of her exes out of the house, not wanting to be in touch with his family, etc) was all I was asking for, and for a short time. I think because I had gone out on a date, they thought I would fall in love and not care what they did. But it was my first date in 4 years and unlike them? I don’t rush into that. Nor was I ready. I’d been single for 2 months by this point and A had only moved out the week before I moved into the new place. AND I was still watching his dog! I think they got their hopes up and it created an escalated situation, but by the end of the week they were both attacking me regularly, or not speaking to me, I was hiding in my hole (my room is smaller than a rich persons closet) and crying everyday. It was affecting my work because I was so distracted, that I used all my energy to keep it from the kids rather than planning my lessons and approving my purchase orders. Friday, it came to a head. They both continued to say horrible nasty things, a lot of which seemed to come from A’s mouth in his own venting (fine, break ups do that). I told N I was moving out asap. Found a place on Saturday and that is where we are today, Sunday.

Basically I am lying in bed, having buyers remorse because the place is more expensive than I wanted to pay for, but knowing in my heart that I Need to get out of dodge before I lose myself. I’ll be closer to school, and while I wanted to find a one bedroom, not a studio, its cute, the building and area are safe, and I’ll only have to be there a year while I finish school. For all I know, I can get a good job right after I graduate and make enough to upgrade to one of their larger units. Or find a new more exciting place. Who knows.

I am lonely, and scared, and miss my friends and family something terrible. But this is my cross to bear for now. And im just hoping I make it out of this in one piece.