Because Forever is a long time to promise.

"Because Forever is a long time to promise."

I get a lot of skepticism from married or never married people on my "not getting married again" stance.  Honestly, telling people I'm just not interested in getting married is easier than explaining why I would actually marry again, under proper circumstance.  If I said that, as simple as it sounds, I'd get, "oh the conditions will never be perfect."  True.  Proper circumstance does not equal perfection. 

But, that's not my point. 

I say, "because Forever is a long time to promise," because, well, it is.  I look back on clothing style choices back years later and think, "what the heck was I thinking?"

And, I've done the same with boyfriends, and one husband.  A few friends.

So, for me to marry again... well, it requires very special circumstances, and I don't know how to describe them.  I'm not certain I even know them myself. 

I'm really betting on, "you'll know it when you see it."  Risky.

This is a really good read:
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Tomorrow is my second anniversary, which means it's time to ponder marriage again. Or, rather, it's time to ponder the real horror that underlies it - to remind myself of what it means, and make sure I'm measuring up to the reality it exposes. It's time to dust off and ponder the realization that hit me right about the time I decided to propose to my wife, the one I haven't been able to shake since:

When you stand in front of your friends and family and say "I do," you're promising that one of you is going to watch the other one die.

I realize that this is old hat to a lot of people, but to me it means a lot. It means that some day I am going to sit beside a bed in a darkened room and hold her hand, and then she will be gone. It won't matter what I do or what I say or whether I'm ready or how many mistakes I've made - I'm going to have to watch it end then and there, and the beautiful, loving woman I've spent my life with will be gone. Or - maybe I'll be the one feeling my life slip away, having to watch the despair in her eyes as she whispers comforting, meaningless promises and entreaties into the stagnant air.

Maybe we'll get lucky and die together suddenly, and painlessly, after a long and happy life. More likely, something will happen at a distance, and one of us will be killed while the other one goes about their business - unaware and way, way too far away. Maybe we'll die fast, or well; maybe slowly, or badly. No matter how it happens, one of us will be suddenly and irrevocably deprived of the other, forever.

That's what marriage is, after all: it's giving up the choice of when to part. It's promising that it won't be a petty argument, a decision about a job or money, or changing personalities that separate you. It's going to be the Grim Reaper himself, with his scent of roses and his dry laugh, that does it for you. For all you know, he was standing at the altar too, looking into your eyes and taking oaths of his own in a low, heartfelt voice.

That's the decision I had to make back then: was I willing to hand one of the most life-altering and painful decisions one can make over to the ultimate horror of human existence, for a chance to live my life with this woman? That's the decision I remind myself of every year - it's not up to me anymore which day is the last day, which trivial utterance will be the final legacy of our relationship. In the end, of course, it wasn't a difficult decision, however difficult it is to think about. And I didn't see any black robes in the church that day - just a vision of loveliness with bottomless eyes that shone with just the suggestion of tears, and with infinite sincerity. So I said "I do," and I made my fateful bargain. I haven't regretted it yet. I just try every year to make sure that I remember what I meant when I said it, so I can live my life accordingly.

Credit to Velox: http://everything2.com/user/Velox/writeups/I+do

Perspective is Life

Can I tell my story here?  I hope it's okay.  It might sound like a "humble brag", but I ask you to please remember–perspective is everything.  Perspective is life.

I have been thin and, what I call, "class b pretty," my entire life.  I was never popular... but, I was the girl the popular guys liked, but were embarrassed to pursue.  I wasn't the girl you were supposed to be into.  I was by no means ugly growing up, but still...  I was kept in the shadow.  The back up girl.  I always felt if something better came up for "him," he'd leave in an instant.  I wasn't pretty enough.  I wasn't enough.

For so many reasons, I have such a difficult time disconnecting my worth from my looks.  They aren't a 10, or anything, I know that, but so much emphasize is focused there.  I am collateral damage from my mother's damage.  Much like many woman, her childhood and adulthood was all about staying thin and pretty.  If she wasn't thin and pretty and young, she was worthless.  She stood in the mirror daily--sighing in disappointment at herself and mumbling negative self-talk.  She tried hard, but this attitude of inadequacy passed to me–not quite so intensely.  My sisters were less lucky than I.  They are worse off, and I can't even imagine being more hindered than I am.

It's all really difficult to explain.

I'm not enough.  I think I let people use me because I thought, "This is what I'm made for.  This is what I am."  I've always liked being helpful.  So, I pleased in the most efficient way I knew how.  I sacrificed me.  I did for them.  For motherfucking decades.  Right.  Walk around and look pretty because that makes people(men) happy.

Since I was 15, men have been noticing me.  I know how to be sexy.  I don't mean just eye contact.  I know everything about being sexy.  It's natural to me.  I can turn it on and off.  But, I'm not allowed to want sex, right.  Women should be sexy, but not sexual, right.

While being told I'm pretty or beautiful or sexy does make me feel good (probably for psychological reasons that even I don't understand), that shit fades, right.  It's very rare someone sticks around long enough to break through my self-defense mechanisms (by the way, being sexy to distract is one of those mechanisms) to see me.  I know it's not fair they exist, I know, but so much has happened.  Think about how fucking long a decade is... think about it now.  Imagine meeting someone who has a DECADE's worth of living to do to catch up to you.  Think about where you were a decade ago.  Do you even know that person anymore?
 
Well, here I am, 35.   I've been divorced for 8 years, having been married 5 years.  I see the stress lines in my face.  I have a lot of scars... flaws, I guess.  I feel my age.   I'm 35.  While my looks begin to fade, I've changed so much internally.  I know what I am now.  I know how much more I'm worth.  I mean I can speak the words, at least.  To myself.

I know better than to lead with my sex, and I know better than to accept less.   So, I quit leading with my "class b pretty".  I quit leading with my sex.  I stopped making eye contact with every man and woman I passed.  I quit seducing people.  I decided I wanted to force someone to know me. 

Well, now I don't know how to make a connection without it.  And here I sit alone. 

I guess I'll just wait.  I mean... what else can I do?  Just wait.  Wait for someone to see more.  I'm just here alone in the meantime.

It's been about a year.  A year since I lost him.  I've lamented over the reasons.  Over and over and over all my actions I've gone.  Trying to find the 'why, who, what, where & when'.  But.  It's really come down to, I thought I found happiness.  I really thought maybe I did.  Now, whether or not I did isn't really important.  If I was happy, a true friend...a companion in this shitty life, should support and be happy for me.. Right?  Maybe he thought I had chosen incorrectly.  Maybe he had never seen me like this... Happy.  Maybe he was unhappy that HE wasn't my happy.  Maybe he's just a shitty friend, after all.

See.  There is the issue.  I don't fucking know what his god damned problem is and he won't speak it to me. 

So. I'm forced to make up my own mind. 

So. I've lamented. Over and fucking over.   He obviously doesn't care or deserve so much of my consideration.  So, I'm done. I will not look you in the eye, I will not mourn our friendship any longer as its obvious, you no longer wanted what I had, since you've found it elsewhere, so you're done with me. 

I'm hoping one day that it's less surreal and more normal.  It's getting there.  I don't care near as much and I only cry sometimes.  Progress.

Fucking dickhead. 

Not related but related, 2015 will go down as my hardest year.  It'll be my hardest year and in years passed I've sat through deployment, been divorced and undergone horrible treatments for disease.  But, 2015 is the hardest because I lost what I thought was the most important friendship I would ever have and it would never be gone. Ever.  The losing isn't the hard part.  The realization that he was never truly my friend is the hard part.  In 2015, I lost my hope.  Any sense of innocence is gone. Men and women cannot actually be friends.  That's a shitty thing to finally accept.  Or to swallow because so many told me I was wrong and in fact, I was indeed. So very wrong. I doubt I'll ever meet a man that can just be my friend without the desire for more. Men are such a flawed deviation of the species. I know that if the incomplete chromosome 'y' never occurred, women would have found ways to procreate.

He is so weak. 

We live in a world where gender bias is a conversation.  Just five years ago, it wasn't even a thought. No one talked about it on Facebook.  

I entered adulthood when sexual harassment was still a thing.  No one was talking about its unfairness or the ways it suppressed women. 

Now, we see it. I mean, I've experienced it my whole life, but it never had a name until this year. Now, we're all talking about it. 

Sometimes, I'm almost mad at myself for not stopping it.  I can't even tell you what 'it' is, but if you're a woman, you know.  I am mad at myself.  It should have never continued so uninterrupted. 

There I go.  Blaming myself.  Which is exactly what our society has taught us.  If I am victimized by a man, it is somehow my fault. 

I lift weights.  I used to think, I just wanted to look good. Until, I learned what it felt like to be strong. 

Never a victim. Never again. 

"You were red,

and you liked me because I was blue. 

But you touched me,

and suddenly I was a lilac sky. 

And you decided purple just wasn't for you. 

And now he's so devoid of color, he don't know what it means."

Jealous that isn't mine. 

Lonely is healing if you make it

I am more than:

legs

abs

body

sex
arm candy
a pretty face

I am worth more than what you see.  I don't repeat this for anyone other than me.  I don't need to convince anyone of my worth, other than me.

I repeat this for me.  For years decades I didn't realize it myself.  I still need a constant reminder that the mirror does not define me.  Society, and even my parents, convinced me that:

-No one will love you if you gain any weight.
-Skinny is beautiful.
-Women are meant to be soft, not strong.
-You should pluck your eyebrows.
-Don't smile with your teeth, it shows your gap.
-He teases you because he likes you.
-He's hard on you because he cares.
-He can and will treat you like shit because he doesn't know how else to deal with his emotions.
-You can change him.  You can help him if you just stick it out.  Be patient.
-If you don't give them what they want, they will leave you.

The right people will know my worth.  I won't have to define it for them.  They'll love me for me, and I'll be happy.

I keep repeating this for me.  Over and over until it's finally set in my brain.  I'll likely see Death's face before I stop, and that's okay.  Because I'm not perfect, and I don't have to be.  I just have to be me.  Me is fucking rad.

When Harry met Sally

I used to think men and women could be friends. I held a long friendship with a man until recently. Now I'm of the opinion that I can be friends with a guy, but I'm not so sure there are many that can be my friend. Unless they are married, and if not, they aren't close friendships. 

99% of men who have been or claimed to have been my friend, have really just been waiting. Waiting until I offer more. If I don't offer more, they eventually stop being my friend. It might take weeks, months or even years, but it happens 99% of the time. This stat could eventually escalate to 100%, but I'm still alive. It's pretty sad.

This habit men have leaves me pretty disgruntled.  More than upset, but genuinely sad. Sad that I lose friendships and that it seems perhaps all I have to offer is my sexuality. It's easy to slip into this thinking when, if I don't offer what that 99% of men want from me, I'm useless and they go away. 

Well fuck. That sucks. 

Don't date someone's phone.

If you've spent any time with me, you've heard me say, "dating is the worst."  Totally a true statement, but something dawned on me last night that can make that a bit misleading. 

I started dating when phone calls still happened.  You had to talk on the phone because you can't spend every day together, just not logical.  If someone said something that offended you, it was obvious and you'd either talk it out and come to a resolution or you didn't. Either way, discussion was had.  Phone calls remove the physical distractions that come with dating.  You get to know someone better I feel.  You focus on their tone of voice, laugh, inflections and it's easier to notice when they get excited about something. 

Now, we date through text. We're able to plan out each and every communication. There's not as much slips of the tongue, it's less natural, and, I'm totally guilty of this too, if someone says something that I don't like I can just choose to not respond. They don't respond, we never talk again.  You miss so much by dating in text, it's not surprising relationships are so short and easy to detach from now. 

So, my point is, if you like that girl or guy, call them on the phone.  Talk for hours, argue with your voices not your fingers, and give them quality time.  Read the same book, maybe to each other, go places where you sit and look at each other. Focus on your lover's facial expressions. Fall in love with their little flaws. 

I could say so much more on the topic, but seriously, just don't date someone's phone. 

On the same but different note... Don't date someone who cannot shut the fuck up.  I feel social media has created a sense, "everyone wants me opinion all the time."  I know it's ironic for me to say so as I've blogged on and on, but no one reads this, so while I am grandstanding a bit, i do have a point. Especially if you've dated lately. People do not stop talking enough to breathe. 

Breathe. Talk. Listen. 

My skin is on fire. 

I wrote recently, "Love rules the world."

Am I sure about that?  I am driven by it.  But, is sexual attraction being confused with love?  I fear it is so.

I am blinded by the physical.  I am addicted to sex.  It's true.

I don't know what I want to do about this information. 

Time has changed since the first love affair.  Technology has evolved us at a magnificent rate.  Everything is automatic.  We don't 'wait by the phone', or court, or cherish, or make grand gestures of apology when we've fucked up.  Life, and its conveniences have changed, but love never changed.  Love has been operating the same since day one. It's us that changed the rules in Love, as if we have that power.  We changed how we want to fall in love, but Love doesn't care... She is unmoved by our musings. 

I need you to know... I don't blame you.  I am not angry with you.  Perhaps... Perhaps because I'm only found sexy when I REALLY look at someone and maybe I stopped looking at you... REALLY looking at you, perhaps I destroyed it.  Perhaps you aren't at fault... At least not solely.  I need you to know this.  In the interest of honesty, with which I'm highly interested, I need you to know that it is not your fault alone.

We can blame Mother Nature.  There is no one else.

I am already defeated

Meet boy.
I look at boy... in the ways that I do.  As if I want only him.  I know what I'm doing.
Boy falls in serious like with me.  Overwhelming.  Consuming.  Deceiving.
Boy gets what he wants... or he doesn't.
and I can smell and feel and hear it furiously fleeting away from me,
before I can even see it.
Just a shimmer crosses his eyes, and in a breath, it's gone.
Boy gets what he wants or he doesn't... he's gone either way.
I am already defeated.
Every. Fucking. Time.

The pattern I cannot ignore.  I am the common denominator.  The results are never-changing.  So, I change the input.  I reserve myself, open up sparingly or not at all.  I attempt to make connections based upon personality, common interests, life similarities, his kindness, her heart, etc.  Things that make a relationship lasting.  This is a hard thing to do because I want "it" too.  I am finding I have trouble making connections outside of sexual.  Sex is just such an easy way to connect to someone... or so it would seem.  I don't think it's as simple as it sounds.  I am no sex addict.  I guess I could blame it on "they always leave," which is a common case... but sometimes I leave.  Maybe I leave because I get tired of waiting for them to leave, after all, that is the next step, or such is my life.  They always leave, and so I hide.  My trust is hard to earn, and they don't stick around long enough, which makes them unworthy of my trust anyway.  So, why mourn them (right, that's what I'm supposed to say and pretend it doesn't bother me when shitty people I care about leave my life).

"I guess I'm sick of aching so I'll stop dating..." only that didn't cure the throbbing.  It only put a new sort of hurt in its place.  Now, I am more aware of the loneliness than ever.

I really have no idea which path is the correct or best or easiest... I don't even know if I'm on a path.  Am I even moving?  I am at least thinking.  And, until I figure this out, there's no way it will change.  So, what the fuck do I do?  Stay the same until I learn how to change it.  Stay shut in forever.  Meet someone who will adjust with me.  Like I said, paths... who fucking knows, right.

I do know this... I know this for sure after several personal experiments have proven to always be true... never is it not so:  I am incapable of sex without intimacy.  It really fucks me up.  I am really glad I understand this fact now... or that I'm just not ignoring it anymore.

Well, here I am, just sort of this person in limbo not really participating in the most of life.  Here I shall be until... shit, I have no idea.  I have to break this addictive cycle.

The old me
One glance back with mirrored affections.
I am already defeated.
I will spend my days seeking its incarnation and nights reveling in your eye's reflection.
Every thought to your benefit.  I'll forget me.

The new me
I don't really smile anymore.  I'm looking for me, and only me.  If someone with more interest than what I can do for them comes along, maybe I'll find a new friend.  I'm just looking for me.

I have never dated a man that is proud to be with me.  I am not arm candy... no, I do not wish to be–but, I still want to feel that my man is prideful of attaining me–that he'd boast to his friends.  I do not know this feeling.  I've only ever dated men that are somehow embarrassed of me.  I don't really understand why.  I am far from perfect, but I've got some damn desirable characteristics and sought after features.

I do not know how to find a man that will love me for me, flaws and all.  I haven't been looking, either.  Why should I?  What's the point?  You all just want that perfect woman, and I'll never be her.

I'm just me, and I fucking like me.  Maybe someday, a man will feel the same.