Questions I Don't Want Answered

I’ve been having dreams.

Mostly about Fuckhead.

In my dreams we talk. I’ve been asking him a lot of questions but I always wake up before I can ask him the one question to which I want to know the answer to: Do you miss me?

Last night was the worst of all. In my dream, he was married to the she beast and they had just had a baby. I cried (in my dream) and I cried and I screamed and I screamed. It wasn’t a fun night. That’s absolutely the last time I allow myself to fall asleep without some kind of artificial somnial enhancement to block such dreams from my head – Ambien being my personal drug of choice.

I assure you, this isn't some deep seated unconcsious desire for some kind of cinema-esque reunification. I don’t want him back. I don’t. I promise. I don’t want a pot smoking, un-motivated, emotionally dependent man still attempting to relive his frat boy glory days. 

But I do miss being happy and completely in love – that kind of love that you read about, that you hear about, the kind of stuff that inspires tales such as “The Notebook” – emotions that you never thought possible until experiencing them; that love the brings along with it the possibility of all things and the strength to handle anything life throws into your collective paths.

I had that and it's dissapation has left quite a large hole.

Frankly, it's probably best that I don’t sleep long enough to hear the answer to that one question.

  

 

P.S. I'm thinking about starting to password again - what do you think? I just hate that the more noteable ex's in my life have access to these pages and I find myself holding back more often than I'd like to admit. So what's your opinion? Passoword or start a new blog all together?

I'll Light a Candle

Do you believe in Love?

Real love? True love? The kind of love that makes all things possible and makes the world seem exciting again? The kind of love that makes you so happy that you could burst into tears at any moment? Where your face hurts from smiling and all the questions and doubt fade from your mind because you just know, in your soul, that this is right, this was the way that things were meant to be and that every hurt and struggle that you’ve gone through is all a small price to pay because it brought you to this point?

Its hard for me to even type that paragraph, let alone read to back to myself without a lump pressing urgently at my throat or the acrid blurring outlining my line of vision. 

I know this type of love is possible – but I don’t BELIEVE in it…anymore. I don’t believe in its impenetrability or that it lasts forever. 

I WANT to be that wide-eyed, optimistic girl again who believes in happy endings and that kind of love is possible again – but then again, I think that NOTHING is worth the pain I went through last year. NOTHING. 

So I’m scared. I’m scared to meet new people or to make myself vulnerable again. I’m scared to “get out there” and date because of what I not find – or even worse, what if I find it? I’m scared to let myself be happy again. 

I do WANT to be happy – everyone WANTS to be happy, right? But I found myself doing this a lot with Army – every time I even get that hint of happiness, that moment of butterflies or a touch of …. contentment (?) I stop. I pull back. I reign in. I can’t let go. I make sure that just in case I’m suddenly ambushed by sudden and utter indifference that I won’t be left in a complete state of emotional paralysis.

Recently heard an old proverb – that its better to light a candle than to curse the darkness. I do believe that, but what if that light inevitably goes out…?

Most of my friends would not describe me as timid or scared – quite the opposite, in fact. Yet, I am at a loss as to how I light that candle and still shield myself against the darkness, just in case the flame goes out? Is there some sort of emergency lighting system I can install in the event of candle failure?

 
Frankly, I still feel broken.

 

Intoxicated by my own tear's soul
And come tomorrow
When my beauty is old
Like a speckled princess
I'll try to cash in clovers for gold
So I'll light a candle and begin to
Write, turn to my work as refuge
Though my womb is a rush hour taxi
Ride, but I will try
To metamorphose pain along my plight
But I'll despise each word I write
So I am clinging to the
Edge like some soap-opera star
With her ten second fade
As the light cascades

~ Idina Menzel, "Straw Into Gold"

Hey, Romeo

Juliet was on my mind.

I wondered what she would have done if Romeo had left her, not because he was banished, but because he lost interest. What if Rosalind had given him the time of day, and he'd changed his mind? What if, instead of marrying Juliet, he'd just disappeared?

I thought I knew how Juliet would feel.

She wouldn't go back to her old life, not really. She wouldn't ever have moved on, I was sure of that. Even if she'd lived until she was old and gray, every time she closed her eyes, it would have been Romeo's face she saw behind her lids. She would have accepted that, eventually.

I wondered if she would have married Paris in the end, just to please her parents, to keep the peace. No, probably not, I decided. But then, the story didn't say much about Paris. He was just a stick figure a placeholder, a threat, a deadline to force her hand.

What if there were more to Paris?

What if Paris had been Juliet's friend? Her very best friend? What if he was the only one she could confide in about the whole devastating thing with Romeo? The one person who really understood her and made her feel halfway human again? What if he was patient and kind? What if he took care of her? What if Juliet knew she couldn't survive without him? What if he really loved her, and wanted her to be happy?

And what if she loved Paris? Not like Romeo. Nothing like that, of course. But enough that she wanted him to be happy, too?

If Romeo was really gone, never coming back, would it have mattered whether or not Juliet had taken Paris up on his offer? Maybe she should have tried to settle into the leftover scraps of life that were left behind. Maybe that would have been as close to happiness as she could get.

Maybe I was reading too much into the story. Romeo wouldn't change his mind.
That's why people still remembered his name, always twined with hers: Romeo and Juliet. That's why it was a good story. "Juliet gets dumped and ends up with Paris" would have never been a hit.

 

The Hottest Love, Has the Coldest End -- Socrates

I returned from the SouthWest rejuvenated if a bit sore…from climbing a mountain (lest you have your head in the gutter). And I will elaborate more on that spur of the moment jaunt later on – (thank you, William Shattner and priceline.com).

Reality however, waited for me at the arrival gate in the form an innocent beeping noise coming from the oh so cute CCP (cherry chocolate phone). “New Voicemail” it dinged. Not thinking anything of it I pressed the voicemail button, typed in my passcode, held the phone to my ear and out came the words ‘hi, baby’ in a northern accent. It was the Canadian. Ya know, it’s quite the trick to say goodbye to your boyfriend, fly 4 and 1/2 hours across the country only to have your OTHER boyfriend ready to greet you on the other side. 

I saw him for the first time in 9 months last night. It was very surreal. I tried to keep an open mind. An objective mind away from my thoughts and feelings for the Russian and focus solely on the problems and issues between the Canadian and myself. There I was, at a romantic corner table for two in a dimly lit Italian restaurant, sitting across from a man I thought I could spend the rest of my life with and strangely enough, I didn’t want to be there. In fact, the longer I sat there, the angrier I became. For reasons too numerous to detail in a single post, dear reader, though I suppose I could break them out into a string of posts with such titles as “I’m a grown woman and can make my OWN f*cking decisions”, “It’s been 3 years and I haven’t met your friends” and “Life in Relationship Purgatory.” 

Did he open up? Yes. Did we have a frank and honest discussion? Yes. Was anything resolved? Well….?? Mr. C thought that because he did open up to me about things he was thinking and feeling that got him out of the dog house. What he does NOT understand is that I’m tired of waiting at the end of this emotional tunnel for him to navigate his way out without a compass. 

Sharing feelings, while definitely a step in the right direction doesn’t begin to cover the amount of emotional distance between us but rest assured, I shared some feelings of my own:

Mr. C: Look at me! I’m being emotional and talking about my feelings

Scarlett: Take a look at THIS emotion – it’s called pissed off!

Mr. C: Don’t you care that I’m opening up? Doesn’t this fix everything between us?

Scarlett: Mr. C, unless your opening up involves a REAL relationship in which we function away from my apartment twice a year and into the real world where we don’t have MY friends or YOUR friends…we have OUR friends, where we spend holidays together, where we make an effort to see each other and be involved in each other’s lives…then what we have here is a failure to give a sh*t about emotional expression. 

Mr. C did not handle this well. I was belittling his emotions. Honestly, this was not my intent! I didn’t mean to be so cold. So angry. There was a time, not so very long ago, that this gesture – minute as it may be, would have sustained me through another 6 months. But not this time. And I was sorry. But the mere fact that I said ‘your friends are in town – am I going to meet them?’ and he said ‘no’. ….

I gave him an out. A way to fix it. A way to keep me. Another chance. And he didn’t take it. I think that’s what upsets me the most. That I have been running after a man who doesn’t care enough to salvage this relationship, suck it up, and do what is necessary to keep me. I’m not worth that to him. And that’s what kills me. 

Ya know what else kills me? I feel guilty. I FEEL GUILTY about leaving him. I feel guilty about wanting to be happy. I've been there for him - put up with his shit and now I feel guilty about wanting someone who wants to build a life with me. I know logically this makes no sense. But I feel like such a shitty person because I sit across the table from him and while I care, I'm not in love with him. 

So I said, can we take our relationship down a notch since you're not ready to give me what I want. And he made me feel like I was tearing his heart out. And so he got up from the table. I asked him to sit back down and talk. He took his coat. I turned.

Mr. C: I'm your boyfriend. You can't treat me like this.

Scarlett: You walk out that door and you're not my boyfriend anymore.

Mr. C turned and walked away. Leaving me stunned. Leaving me angry. Leaving me with the bill.

Frankly,