Tears of a clown.

The tears. The TEARS. I can't take the tears. Don't tell me what a wonderful woman I am and explain how devastated you are that you have to leave my circle, my home, my LIFE.

Too little. Waaaaaaaaay too late. Like giving a whale a tic tac for bad breath after tooth rot sets in. A waste of time. A useless gesture. At worst... foolish.

I've seen these tears before. Don't tell me what a blessing I've been to you. Don't tell me I'm beautiful, sexy, fun and funny, sweet, and an unbelievable best friend - when you can't control yourself long enough to respect me as the woman you described.

For once, I'm not moved. I can't respond, except to tell you what a relief it will be to be away from you and watch your shadow fade into my rear-view mirror. In fact, as I explained to you over dinner, we'll both be relieved - just for different reasons. My reasons are obvious. For you, you can stop pretending that you ever intended to honor me and quit taking advantage of my love, patience, friendship, and help.

I'm no longer disappointed in you, because you showed me who you were and I didn't listen. Unfortunately, you waited until I was invested, and I boiled with the proverbial frog. That damn frog is the only way I can explain why it took me so long to jump out of this pot. I doubted my ability to see straight. That scares me the most. I'll never distrust myself again.

I thank you for every good time we had. They were just as real as the lows.

I created a category called "breakups" for this blog. It's almost strange to have to use it now with such finality.

I love you although there's no place left for you in my life. In the bittersweet end, I'm okay with that.

I stole the pic from here. So sue me.

Love, American Style

One lazy morning, as I flipped aimlessly through the channels with hopes of finding some mindless entertainment, I stumbled across a well-known television pastor whose words gripped me. I don't recall the direct quote, but he described the prevailing expression of love as 'a thin veneer of acceptance that is easily scratched away when human frailties and flaws emerge in the object of our affection.'

That's love. American style.

I won't pretend that our limited human experience can fathom and sustain the pure God-like love the pastor went on to preach about. In fact, it is a promise of the human condition that we'll be flawed in ways that make us quite difficult to tolerate. Even when we think we have it all together, we're still a pain in somebody's ass who just may love us in spite of...

When I assess my own history with that thang called "love," I can see where appearances, circumstances, personal resumes, and other surface "veneers" played a role in choosing mates. I know for a fact I was doing the best I knew how at the time. I had no clue that I often made choices like a frazzled mom shopping while hungry after a long day. The groceries all look good until you get home, open the bag, and see the excess of junk food that seemed all-too-perfect on the shelf.

And all of this leads me to...

My girl Negril is the only person who knows and understands the trials, tribulations, and uncertainties I've faced while navigating my relationship with HisSide. He is the object of my true love. His flaws are many, to the point where I understand the need to be away from him. But not once in the throes of his deepest personal battles did I love him any less. Even when I became a convenient target... Even when forced to put some space between us... Even when he wanted to blame me for problems he's had for longer than I've known him... I loved him and did what I could to help him. When asked, he'll tell you the same.

We remain friends that can't stand to be away from each other. The feeling is mutual, but then again, love isn't a "feeling" anyway. It's the energy that keeps you attached to another while doing what you can to make their life better. Because their pain is your pain. When they hurt, you hurt. And for no material reason at all, you can't imagine life outside of their presence because their soul is woven into your outlook.

We're like two children on a playground. He knocked over my blocks. I kicked his sandcastle. We cried. Then we made up and kept playing.

It's been about two years since I broke-up with HisSide. But he's still at home and we still love each other like crazy. I requested that he leave because the reality of some human frailties means making hard decisions. I still don't know where this will take us. But I know I love him and I am loved in return.

I wouldn't have it any other way because I want more than Love, American Style.

Why does His Side remain in my heart and in the circle of my life?

At the height of turmoil during the looming breakup, LoveBabz asked me a simple question (paraphrasing):



'Why do you answer the phone when the departed His Side calls?"

I didn't have a ready answer, and I felt disturbed about my inability to respond to such a simple query. I knew answering the phone would probably expose me to a pained and frustrated His Side. I knew he would compel me into my own frustration. I knew he would fluster me into wishing I hadn't answered the phone.

For a while, I dealt with this by writing about the war between my own hope and deep disappointment. Much of my analysis focused on my legitimate frustrations with His Side's flaws. More accurately, I was focused on the hurtful ways that his flaws manifested against me in very personal and destructive ways.

But I always answered that phone for one reason: I never spent a day pretending with His Side. And he never had to spend a single minute pretending in an effort to secure my approval.

He always accepted my darkest and most annoying flaws. And I loved him in spite of the decimating wars he fought with his demons. He was unwavering in his sincerity to fight for a love he credits with changing his life. And by all accounts from his family, his love for me represents the most faith and fire he's lived since digging from beneath truly harsh circumstances.

So I kept answering that phone. We eventually fumbled and stumbled into the friendship we share now. Satisfying. Gratifying. Transparent. Tight.

I'll openly admit that many demons fled his presence. That man knows how to fight a good fight, especially after grasping the truth that loved ones should not receive any blows during the battle.

I recognize him now... as the man I saw looming beneath the armor while fighting the wrong war. We're not back together, but we're still a dynamic duo. I know better than to interrupt his transformation with the stress of caring for a romance. And I stay true to myself not to interrupt my own journey. Timing is everything.

I answered that phone because no matter the hardship, it was always real. I enjoyed the luxury of being myself in all of my glorious wonder and broken glory. I have never felt more human, loved, accepted, and powerful in all my life.

I don't worry about our future. I don't stress over the "ifs" of becoming a couple in the future. In truth, it may nevah happen. None of it draws my attention because I must live this day before I can live the day named "tomorrow." And my "todays" are good because 90% of the time, I'm glad I answered the phone.

A special shot-out to LoveBabz for this thought-provoking post:
What Am I Doing, Seriously?

Photo lifted from: Freelancedom

And now a break for the Tiger...

I know I just returned to the blog. I know you're waiting to hear what's-up in the land of Her Side and the elusive His Side. But I need to stop by and say something about our nation's current fascination with Tiger Woods' bedroom shenanigans.

Stop it.

Just stop it.

Even if that poor man wanted to reconcile with his wife, our prying-ass nosey eyes are making the man's plight difficult. Not too long ago, I would have quickly recruited myself to team Leave His Triflin Ass. But I slowly find myself creeping to the sidelines of team Make Dat Shit Work. Because folks want the fairy tale ending without the big bad wolf or the evil stepmother.

Not one day in my life will I condone cheating. Even if you spouse is a first-class jerk. Leave their ass first. But I'm all for couples looking for ways to reconcile such breaches before the lawyers get their grubby hands on the assets.

Can we leave the Tiger alone long enough to pay attention to the shit in our closets?

I'll do my best to say-no-more about this, but ooooooooh, I'm just itching to debate all theories from sex addiction to the stress of the good-boy image.

Would somebody be kind enough to stop me from turning this into a series???

Balancing Hope and Disappointment After a Breakup, Part 3 of ?

The words of BSEW regular, Big Mark, triggered this series for sure. He offered the following words to describe the His Side/Her Side split (and pinpointed a deep feeling that I had yet to specify on my own):

Keeping the disappointment from mixing with the hopes is a challenge for sure.

So instead of cussing out Big Mark for swimming around in my head and finding the words I couldn't even express, I decided to blog about it. LOL

Continued from Part 2, which I had to break apart because it was becomming its own damn book...

= = = = = = = = = = = =

The weekend ended when His Side returned to his cousin's house, tried to call me, but I was on the phone with an old friend that I reconnected with. The old friend was a flame in my late teens, and we've had a good time catching-up on all the changes that 20 years can bring. His Side Lost. His. Mind.... first when the reconnection was revealed through the magic of Facebook friends lists, and then when His Side actually couldn't reach me because my phone was busy. The nerve of me using my phone. Based on the accusation, clearly old friends only reconnect to make plans for hot steamy affairs... right?

Anyway, I take ownership of three mistakes I made in this process:

1. I underestimated the challenge ahead of me and got loose on my watch.

2. I greatly underestimated how difficult it would be for His Side to fight his own personal battle with hope and dissapointment.

3. I didn't take the sage advice to go "no contact" for at least 30 days straight after the breakup. Somewhere deep inside me, a naive hopeful girl believes friendship should never die. Well part of that girl died this past weekend. She needed to. And the next time I see her, I'm gonna slap her in the mouwf.

Everything happens for a reason. (Dammit. Another cliche I couldn't avoid because of the unmistakable truth at its core. But I digress...) Even our mistakes become springboards for lessons that we need to learn. I count this the tuning point in successfully balancing hope wiht disappointment.

I suspect there will be a Part 4 to this series. Shit, I may do like Rocky, forget when to stop making more "parts," and just continue this until I'm too old to box I complete all the transitions that come with the territory.

Holla at me in the comments... even if it's to spank me for being dense. Y'all know I can take it.

Balancing Hope and Disappointment After a Breakup, Part 1 of ?

The words of BSEW regular, Big Mark, triggered this series for sure. He offered the following words to describe the His Side/Her Side split (and pinpointed a deep feeling that I had yet to specify on my own):

Keeping the disappointment from mixing with the hopes is a challenge for sure.

So instead of cussing out Big Mark for swimming around in my head and finding the words I couldn't even express, I decided to blog about it. LOL

Just as Mark prophesied suggested, the war between hope and disappointment started the moment I asked His Side to leave the home. In fact, the hard line I took on the decision constantly drew swords to fight off hope that "well maybe he doesn't have to really leave the house." Memories of the last time we split kept me on track. The in-house split featured him on the couch and absolutely no work done to resolve the root of the problem. Bzzzzt. Not gonna do that again.

I won the first round of the battle between hope and disappointment because reality dictated the necessity of pushing the STOP button and gracefully exiting the ride. Misdirected anger, bitterness, and even rage stole so much peace from the home, and efforts to resolve the problem were met with an increased frequency of bad moments. Sometimes you have to admit when a problem is over your head. And this one was waaaay over my pay grade...

You see, I won't declare Armageddon over routine spats, droughts, imperfections, and petty squabbles. That stuff always exists in relationships where two imperfect people come together and their human frailties collide. I am not going to lose any sleep over occasional nuisances. There ain't enough hours in the day and there isn't enough malice in true love to be that petty. His Side faced issues that only he has the right to tell (or keep to himself, dammit). And I am not one to blow up anybody's business in a public forum. Besides, technically it's irrelevant if he shares or not, because I only have two concerns

(1) How am *I* going to conduct my life and

(2) Does my home currently offer an environment that is good for my boys?

Because really, those are the only two things I can control - my behavior and my decisions.

The entire thought process (at times a small act of mental gymnastics) led me back to a conversation I had with Negril about men/women who simply "settle" in a relationship. Men and women settle for bad mates all the time out of fear... or dysfunction... or plain old stupidity. Shortly before asking His Side to leave, I made a declaration. Out of the blue. No warning. Just a sudden moment of clarity. I WON'T SETTLE FOR THIS. THIS IS NOT OKAY.

There's a fine line between patience and settling. That line is just about as fragile as the distance between love and hate. For instance, a temporarily unemployed husband requires patience. So long as you're in it together, you can overcome. A chronically unemployed husband who prefers TV over the classifieds requires that you settle. Settle for disrespect. Settle for financial hardship. Settle for less than you hoped for or deserve.

The day I diagnosed that His Side and I were facing a chronic condition that needed the shit slapped out of it, I was sold. My hope that we could overcome was drowned by the disappointing realization that only one option existed...

As the story continues:
My first battle to balance Hope and Disappointment ended in a successful decision to split. Next time, I'll describe what happens when Hope tips the scale (in the wrong direction) and leads to an ugly post-breakup episode.

Crazy-Making sounds like the funniest term... till you live it.

Oh sweet dear Jesus, Son of Mary and one whom folks call when shit hits the fan... What the HELL just happened??

I asked myself this question a million times during my time with His Side. Keeping true to his ways, he lured me into another useless argument, making me look and feel crazy, right up until the time he left my home. It went like this:


Him: "I sure would live a lot longer if somebody would BLESS ME!"

Me, (turning from the computer screen): "Wha..???"

Him: "Yesterday. Riding in the car. I sneezed. And you didn't say BLESS YOU. I would NEVER do that to you. I always say 'bless you.' See how you are?"

Me: "Are. You. Serious? I was in traffic. I only vaguely remember you sneezing. Now I am responsible for you not living longer???"

Him: YES!

You can only imagine how the remainder of this conversation devolved into one of the most ridiculous exchanges I've ever had with anybody in my life. And the worst part is, this happened with His Side more than I would like to admit during our time together.

It didn't matter what... His Side found something to make my fault. I defended myself against some of the most juvenile and petty accusations - real and imagined. If I ignored him, he would rage for hours about how right he was about the thingy I won't defend... or worse, get angry and escalate to get a better reaction from me.

But here's the kicker. During the course of defending myself, without fail, he eventually said... "Look. Look. See how you're talking to me. Why are you acting like this? You blame me for everything. But Look. At. You."

That, my friends, is textbook CRAZY-MAKING. Because in fact, I did look and feel like a crazy person defending myself against the indictment of forgetting to say bless you. Grown-ass mature men don't initiate such petty conversations. I certainly looked like a crazy fool taking the time to actually respond.

When this passive-aggressive, crazy-making behavior first emerged, I did what most normal people would do: I took a moment to wonder if I was doing something wrong.

"You want somebody else. I can see it."

"You're going to cheat on me."

"You blame me for everything."

"You don't love me."

I was exhausted trying to trace the source of these sudden accusations which came along with his increasingly aggressive behavior and threats. The accusations were a ruse to provide ample excuse for his worsening treatment of me, stacked on top to cover his deteriorating self-esteem.

As one woman kindly put it, 'a crazy-making mate is also suffering, just in a different way.' And I believe every word of that. His Side was miserable. I was an easy target. And on some level I see he regretted that I was unable to provide what he needed to fix things for himself. But really, nobody can. What he needs right now can't possibly descend on him like a blanket from heaven and make everything hunky-dorey.

I didn't catch the signs early as they emerged. I left room for him to get comfortable. "She loves me. She'll never leave." I tend to get stuck with that label, including at work. There's dedication. Then there's stupidity. When somebody believes you're blindly loyal enough to stay no matter what, that is no badge of honor. Don't smile and say "Thanks." It means you are not recognized as dedicated to your own self interests. I believe His Side thought I would never arrive at this step. While I "stood up for myself" during the course of the chaos, I didn't really stand up to the plate with the best solution - which is stop taking the bullshit altogether.

About.com provides this summary under crazy-making emotional abuse:

Emotional abuse is used to control, degrade, humiliate and punish a spouse. While emotional abuse differs from physical abuse, the end result is the same…a spouse becomes fearful of their partner and begins to change their behaviors to keep their partner happy. The happier their partner, the less domestic violence the spouse has to suffer. By the time a spouse identifies the true problem they have begun to feel as if they are crazy. They will doubt themselves and their own sense of reality because emotional abuse is meant to cause the victim to question their every thought and behavior.

The article goes on to offer examples, and I have experienced most. Harassment, intimidation, including countless accusations that I must be cheating.

I'm exhausted y'all. I'm finally truly exhausted because the struggle is over and I can stop fighting. And defending. And hurting. And feeling more disappointed than words can express.

Sometimes I wonder how long it may take His Side to address the addictions and heartaches that drain his life. In reality, he's just a "hurt person hurting other people." Other times, I really don't care because I am relieved that he is no longer searching for that answer on my dime.

His Side is leaving our home but not the blog...

So here you have it, folks. After His Side had one-too-many and crossed some lines, I asked him to leave my home. He's packed and ready for his move on Sunday.

I took a hard hard line on this, and it stands as one of the most difficult things I've ever done. I am living the Battle Scars story right now, because I see where both of us picked up enough baggage to arrive at this place.

:: His abusive father.

:: My uber-independent mother whose biggest hope was for me to be intellectual and ambitious.

:: His ex-wife who cheated endlessly and then ran off with his kids.

:: My attraction to things that are broken.

:: His 18-year military history of watching things we hope to never see.

:: My tendency to batten down the hatches when I feel like things are out of control.

In the midst of the chaos, in the center of the storm, at the intersection of battle scars and exit wounds... I stand there still in love with His Side. But I do not like who I am with him when his baggage manifests.

Do you understand what I just said?

My biggest problem really isn't him, because I am not in control of - nor responsible for - his life. I don't like who I am with him. When I get angry. When I push too hard. Or even when I feel afraid... I don't like that woman. She looks like a stranger. And there's no peace in her home. There's too much turmoil out there to welcome any turmoil in here. In spite of the race I still need to run, I paid the price to reach an unbelievably positive place in my life. And when I am her... that person dealing with him, I am momentarily set back. I'll give my life to you. I'll share my life with you. But I won't sacrifice the spirit of my life for you.

I aspire to living an honest life that is full of... well... LIFE. Colorful. Sincere. Energetic. Authentic. Peace. Love.

With tears in his eyes and without clear understanding of how he keeps arriving here, he agrees with my decision and wants to go do what's necessary to fix his broken spirit. I know for a fact he is more than able to transform his life. As I reflected on the past year - when some of the biggest changes occurred - I see where unforgiveness has robbed His Side of precious life. He is stuck on a small but piercing set of past hurts that literally haunt him. I don't use that word lightly. I can physically see and spiritually sense when the movie reel starts playing. Reality exits. He doesn't even talk the same, as if paging through the book to make sure he has his useless references correct. He gets lost in a frame of reference that paints everybody "here" with the same ugly colors as those "there."

When the painting is finished, he admits to hating the result. Worse, he admits that breaking that chain has eluded him. I have an idea...

I wish him the gift of forgiveness, especially since the short list of those he needs to forgive includes his name. For me, learning to forgive helped me enjoy the "right now." I can love (or hate) every moment for exactly what it is... not for how it reminds me of pains from another place and time. Nobody gets this 100% right, but I bet my batting average would land me in the hall of fame.

Nothing is ever a total loss. I am grateful for what I learned about my strengths and weaknesses. Even more, I am shocked, amazed, and utterly thankful to see how the crushing weight of unforgiveness can affect a human soul.

I love ya, His Side. If this journey you are about to take on your own leads you to the wholeness you crave, I suspect you'll have a friend waving, cheering, crying, and celebrating where the road merges back into the life you hoped for.

Semi-cheating my way out of a strike...

I know I'm on strike. Stop looking at me funny. I just need to stick a single toe over the picket line to share what I thought was a FANTASTIC article about assessing the health of your relationship (past or present). The author, Susan J. Elliot, offers 10 evaluation factors that hit the damn nail on the head.

If you're pining over an ex, use the checklist to see if you're deluding yourself about wanting them back. If you are already in a relationship, use the checklist to see if you need to run screaming into the night.

= = = = = = = =

THE CHECKLIST:
Recheck: Was Your Relationship Good for You?

SOURCE:
Getting Past Your Past (Blog)

AUTHOR:
Susan J. Elliot,
Lawyer, Counselor, and Author of Getting Past Your Breakup.

Green-eyed jealousy and irrational rage - Dickhead outdoes himself this time.

Dickhead perpetrated an epic fuckup this weekend and the whole sordid evening changed the landscape of our relationship. It ended with my very calm and resolute words, "I can't do this. I don't want to be with you anymore." So now lets rewind the tape.


A mutual friend invited us to a dinner party. The dinner party was to celebrate his father-in-law's 68th birthday who Dickhead and I never met. We packed-up my nine-year old son and made our way over. I was actually excited, and you would be too if you ever tasted the mom's cooking.


Anyway, we arrived and met the birthday boy and other guests. Things seemed fine until Dickhead started doing tequila shots and another couple arrived at the party.


Dickhead immediately doesn't like the husband. Sure. The husband talked a little too loud. He was a bit flamboyant. And he kept getting church calls like he was the Pastor of a huge congregation with a direct red phone to God's private office. But so what? We're in somebody else's home meeting their friends. Social grace and basic laws of socializing dictate that you make small talk and keep dat shit moving.


Long and short - Dickhead starts slumping in his chair and staring glaring at the husband during a three-minute conversation about cell phones old vs. new. He appears to be seething about stupid cell phone small-talk. I see this, give Dickhead a smile, take his hand, and say, "Sweetie. You look like you need a cigarette. Come on outside with me."


What happens next? Arnold Alkie almost falls down the porch steps on the way out and finally stops stumbling in the middle of the street. And the house isn't really that close to the street. The stumbling was acrobatic and poetic as I marveled over how he stayed on his feet. (Note to self: Dickhead is a ballerina). I had to quietly call him about TWENTY FUCKING TIMES from the side of the house to get him out of the street. When he finally moves, The King of Stunted Social Growth loses his damned mind on me outside. Really. Out of the blue, he cussed me out about talking to the gentleman at the party. Reason? Because "I can see he wants you."


"But I'm here with you, baby. I don't know what you're talking about."


"But I can see it. You're gonna be WITH HIM!"


"I don't even KNOW him."


Thinking to myself, "If I didn't think I would end up on the news, I'd slap every tooth out of your mouth and make you search through these white garden rocks to retrieve them."

But my body went into appeasement mode to stop the tide I saw rushing towards the shores. This drunk asshole is losing his mind over small talk at a dinner party... the same small talk his dumb. ass. was having with the man's wife. And when he went into ranting how "he wants you and you're gonna be with him..." I knew it was time to grab the kid get get outta there before he could embarrass me beyond showing my face ever again.


I apologized to our friend, who I straight up told that "Dickhead had too much to drink and was tripping again." I apologized to him. Gave beautiful smiles and good-byes to the rest of the house, and left with my heart in my feet. Our other friends hadn't even arrived yet, and once again I had to implement Plan Damage Control for a crazy fiance who took his drunken jealousy out on me.


I honestly don't see how else I could have handled that situation. I was almost whining - almost begging him to calm down. It was like watching myself in a movie, except I was in the audience screaming, "Leave him you dumb bitch!" That night, on the way home, that's exactly what I did. I broke up with him.


He's the love of my life. He's still in the home. And we're still friends. But intimacy will cease as we return to "friends" and he takes time to work out some issues - ones that I wanted to help him bear but can't anymore. I don't want to be an enabler. I especially don't want to be a target, and I actually feel relieved. Right in the middle of feeling guilty for being so happy about the decision, one of my closest girlfriends said this:


"You were able to make that decision without second-guessing yourself because your actions originated in love, honesty, and purpose."


I couldn't find better words than that. I love Dickhead, I live honestly with him, and I see the deeper purpose of him getting over his frightening jealousy while outside this relationship. The pull of his problem was starting to weigh me down. He made me the object of his irrational jealous behavior and the load simply got too heavy. So for now, I'm a best friend helping her Dickhead male friend deal with some issues.


He is overly concerned that this is the end for us. I want him to recognize this as a new beginning for him. There is not "us" so long as there's an angry, unstable, and unhappy him.


He may breeze through here and talk about this. I am pretty sure a history of cheating ex-wives and his own insecurities over his joblessness are major factors - but the depth and fire in his reactions speaks to something even deeper.


I thank you for reading. As a woman, what else could/should I have done after the jealousy fuse was lit?


Bonus PS: Dickhead reads all of these posts, so it's not like we're talking behind his back or anything. He knows very well that I find just the right words to describe the depths of his insanity.