a little too much real

Arms cold. Body weak. Stunned. Lots of deep breaths. That’s my current emotional state as I go into this blog. It’s going to be shitty. To some it’ll feel unnecessary. Or mean. And to those who feel that way, my darlings, you have not lived the hell that was my last 4 years.

Let me start with the memory facebook gave to me today. 5 years ago on this day. “One of my fav days ever with my shorties. Train ride to st louis. The arch. Dancing in the fountain at the park. Good food. Lotsa laughs. I asked riley what her fav part was. She said "being with you dada." that one got me.”

5 years ago I had home, safe, and real with a beautiful 8 year old daughter and 6 year old son. A few months later I would sleep with a girl who had a boyfriend. And that was the beginning of a four year stretch that I’d give anything to have never lived through. And more importantly, to have not put my kids through. And honestly, maybe it’s fucking karma. I never should have started up with her when she had finished things with the other guy. It matters not what the girl wanted. I was capable of staying away from her. And I might hate myself forever for not doing just that.

I had a gut punch moment the other night. And it brought back all the awful memories. And what I realized is that last fall, I had no choice but to mentally check out of all the damage that had been done to me. I literally could not function. My ex-wife had to come pick up my kids one day, because I was in my room fucking dying in a pool of tears. And that wasn’t going to work. So I compartmentalized the relationship trauma that I endured and just focused on the kids and work.

I could be a dad again. I could take care of my responsibilities. But, I could not think about Sarita at all or I was fucked. And I knew the day was coming when I would have to face the realities of what I’d been through, but I put it off for the better part of 9 months and focused on other things, knowing I had to build up some strength if I was going to take it on and actually stare down the reality of the hurt I experienced.

And tonight was that magical fucking night. And it is not good. I’m just numb man. I’m not going to publicly drag her through the mud (and as I write that I realize that’s a dick thing to say when many reading this will conclude that that is what I’m doing), but what I mean is I just made a list.

And let me back track. Two things. One I get down on myself really fucking easily. If I don’t put in full effort at work. If I let the kids down at all. If I fail at even a small thing, I feel like a fucking piece of shit. And I’ve had nine months of not functioning well off and on. And plenty of days where I felt worthless. So I had to do what I did tonight for the sake of that. So, that I could look back and say “how the fuck did I live through that?” rather than getting down on myself for not batting a thousand as a human. And two. My deepest wound is being left behind. To feel insignificant. To feel powerless. Or voiceless. That shit goes way back.

So, back to the list. I made a detailed list that I refuse to share of all the things I did for the ex girlfriend. And I can’t even fucking get to the next sentence without just laughing an awful, tearful, shaking my head, what the fuck is wrong with me, gasping for fucking breath, tears won’t fucking stop, finally facing it after 9 months (plus 4 years) of avoiding it. The point is, I gave. A lot. And I kept fucking giving.

And I’ve suddenly gone from dying from hurt to straight up pissed that I gave all that. To someone who literally didn’t give a shit about me. It’s ironic that one of our favorite artists is frank turner. Frank has a lyric that goes, “love is about all the changes you make and not just three small words.” I love you was easy to say, but changes to prove that love real never materialized.

The actions speak to that. I wrote another list of what I got back for my generosity and support. And honestly, it’s just fucking embarrassing. I am that damaged little kid who got left behind by his daddy and abused by his grandma. And because of that I was so desperate to believe sarita’s I love yous were legit that I put up with getting back burnered on repeat for other people. Holy fuck if I could actually tell you the stories. If you ever…EVER…feel like a fucking toolbox, just trust me man…I wrote the book. I am the most naïve, desperate to believe anyone could love me son of a bitch of all time.

And that’s the fucked up thing. Back to that quote from riley above. When I was single. I was actually doing great. But, I got lonely and forced it and holy god did I pay a price. All those childhood wounds opened over and over and over. and I just kept taking it as if I deserved it.

And that was in the relationship. Where it gets truly fucked up is when we were done I had this moment of zen where I could hold her zero per cent responsible for all the shit she put me through and give her the most pure, beautiful grace I could imagine. Like I was in an amazing spot. it was life-changing in my mind…for both of us. It was such a powerful feeling to just accept that it was her past that pulled the strings on the damage she did to me and just tell her I forgave her.

And here’s where I don’t blame you if you think I’m an ass hole for saying this publicly, but it’s the truth…it wasn’t enough to take advantage of me for four years, give me hollow apologies, not appreciate me and continually open my deepest wounds…when she shit all over the undeserved grace I gave her by lying to me 100 plus times (she would absolutely admit to that…no exaggeration) about her relationship with another guy…there’s no other way to put it than the way my then therapist described it…I was retraumatized. She said it was like me going back into the depths of my childhood abuse. Taking this beautiful gift and turning it into something so hurtful and ugly.

Dawes is another one of our favorite bands. They have a line that goes “a poison that’s mistaken for the cure.” I kept going back to sarita in august, September and a couple more times beyond that, praying with all I had that it wasn’t as bad is it really was. In the moment I thought I wanted closure. Or the truth. Or anything that would tell me that I wasn’t as big of a piece of shit as all her actions told me I was.

The nights I spent by myself were awful. So, I’d reach out to her. And those nights were worse. If you know me well, you know it takes a fucking shit ton to piss me off. I’m an easy going guy. I want to be best friends with everyone. I want everyone to get along. So, I won’t go into detail about what she did in those months where all I needed was the comfort/truth/closure she refused to give me, but I will say what I did. I threw a fucking full quick trip cup down my hallway. I threw all her shit in my front yard. I got in her face.

And I will say that only now, looking back, can I see how much she baited me into anger as a way to even things out. she could be let off the hook a little if she pissed me off. God forbid she could have just said she was sorry. Or told me the truth, which I still don’t know. But, if you are facebook friends with me you probably have some idea that I’m a good dude. I care about people, especially broken people. I care about being a good dad. And I hurt like a motherfucker and have sympathy for others who hurt.

And on that night that I got in Sarita’s face, she was screaming at me to hit her. I didn’t touch her. I would never. But, I wish there was video of the whole thing. What it took to get me unhinged to the point that I would even get anywhere near her.

It took shitting on the grace I gave her. It took fucking my kids over. it took showing zero appreciation for all I did for her…the experiences I gave us. all the love I had for her. All the understanding I showed for her awful past. It’s the biggest mind fuck ever. I still have no place to put how I could be getting fucked over, reach out a hand of grace and get screamed at and lied to and all right. I need to just stop. I have no idea what this feels like as a reader, but as a writer I’m just fucking numb. It kills to relive it even in this way…writing…that generally keeps the emotions to a minimum.

But, what brought all this on was finding out the other day that Sarita started working at the bar a few blocks from my house. When she was actively fucking me over, I was still kind and set her up to live with a bartender buddy from my old bar. He opened a new bar a couple blocks from my house. It was bound to be my new hang out. it was sure to have some of the old crew that I came to know and love over the 8 years that I put in at the clarette club.

But, ya know…it fits with the theme of the rest of it. She drove me from my mind and from my home, as frank turner would say. She might as well become buddies with the people I spent years getting to know. So, take my bar and I’ll keep my sanity. Me and the kids need me to be as far as humanly possible away from that one. Facing these wounds is no fun. And I’m shaking my head at myself knowing that some people are going to take offense to this. But, this is my space. I invited her into my home. And she broke it to fucking bits. And as unkind as it may sound like I’m being, you didn’t read the list that I made earlier. It’s incomprehensible to me that my kindness could be returned with awful. And in this fucking moment, I’m right back to last fall. It’s fetal position level shit. As the national says, “I don’t need any help to be breakable, believe me.” But at least part of the truth is finally out.

yeah. Shit. A) I still have no idea what the actual truth is. And b) I’ve had to fucking live by myself with this fucking burden of knowing what I’ve been through for months. And I was the one who got called an ass hole and screamed at. God damn. It’s a fucking miracle that I have a shred of sanity left. And that my kids have their dad back. I’m broken. Again. But, I’m finally ready to share this story, so that I can talk with other fucked up people and get my own closure and my own healing. The wounds are still fresh. But, I’ll put this shit on the table in hopes that there are other people who will (unfortunately) get it and want to talk stories.

I got married one time. That didn’t go great. I had a best friend. That’s done. My family and the former bestie are friendly with the ex who is a huge threat to my mental health. And yet, I chose to take a shot at home and love again. Umm. Do over? I’m laughing a little, but it’s not fucking funny. And I know I’m going to put myself out there again, because despite all evidence to the contrary of those who claimed to love me…I AM FUCKING LOVABLE. And sometimes it takes the reminder of an 8 year old who five years ago said, “being with you dada”. I’ve still got home. And a shit ton of heartbreak. To better days, motherfuckers. Thanks for reading. This one hurt bad.

And that was the end, but i did want to add that there have been good people that i've met and/or been long time friends with and over these last 9 months...they've gotten fucked. i've been a bad friend. been inconsistent. hurt people, not because of them, but because of the shit above. it's been too much. and i can see i should have let all this out before, because it does feel like a weight is off me now. i don't have to carry around this pain. i can let it out and let others help me through it. so, my heartfelt apology to the people i've hurt with all my inconsistencies lately. i've been really, really fucked in the head...for good reason, but still, i'm pissed at myself for hurting people while i've struggled to get through each day.

edit: in reading this back, one thing i failed to highlight is that in no way do i wish sarita anything but the best. i know her past is fucked. unimaginably fucked. i know she has deep pain. and i can't imagine what it must feel like to know that she watched me sobbing uncontrollably at the hurt she caused and instead of giving me sorrys or sympathy, she screamed at me. it's hard to imagine what it must be like to know how much she hurt me when she knew all of my back story. this blog post isn't meant to be "fuck her". i don't want anyone to leave this space thinking that. this is...i need healing...i need closure...i've been hurt...here's my story. i'm thankful that sarita is in my rear view, but i do wish her well. and it's only been once she stopped talking that my head could get some peace. moving on. and healing up. that's what i want for me and for her.