The Proof

I don’t know how this is going to come out. I’m not sure what I’m going to say. I’ve been holding back. I haven’t been honest. What is this story about? The truth, just the truth, no matter what it says. So I keep telling myself.

Here’s one truth I know: I am ashamed of grieving and hurting on a public forum, yet here I am again. I shrink, want to vomit and think of myself as pathetic when I look back at some of the things I’ve written over the years.

But I also know it was/is necessary.

However, doing so—baring my chapped ass–is also what has prevented me from writing about my current relationship (until now). Yes, I have found love again. I didn’t write about it in the early stages because I was afraid. I already felt like such a fool for having yet another failed relationship—and writing about it–that I didn’t want to make myself vulnerable again. I wanted to wait until I had proof that it was going to last. You hear me? I wanted proof. Hmm.


We just got to truth 2. I also didn’t want my ex to hear about my happiness. I wanted her to suffer. I #thought she would agonize more about our breakup if she thought I was miserable. Wow. Now that is demented, and egotistical. Even I surprise myself with my own sickness. As if I was that important and powerful. That was just a low way of trying to hurt her. That was a classic example of what she used to call my tactics of manipulation, “Going in the backdoor.”

But I have compassion for myself. I didn’t know what I was doing at the time. I only know this in retrospect. Which also means I’m aware of my behavior and thereby able to make changes.

Quick history, it’s all in the blog if you want more: {I had a lot riding on my past relationship. I ended my marriage with my children’s father to be with her (she was the spark I needed to cremate the dead, but still, there was guilt, on both our parts.) By God, this shit better work, but it didn’t. And if that wasn’t enough, it was my first real girl-on-girl relationship. The stakes were high. Truth 3. I felt like I had something to prove which is why it probably lasted as long as it did, my guilt was like a cruel set handcuffs.}

And then life happened: A divorce, a move, an ex-husband, the stress of raising children alone; and the resurgence of my childhood memories, and the carnage of my innocence. I was still who I am–queer or straight–my problems followed me into the relationship and I couldn’t stop the flow of their destruction. Four years later it ended.

I spent the next eight months bruised, grieving and reeling from the breakup; and writing about my experience until one day I stopped.

(Cue the Texan)

I knew something the day we met. The first time I saw her, she was walking towards me, hot asphalt, slow motion, sun glasses, boots, and I thought to myself, oh no, here we go again. My ribs ached. It was home at first sight. She felt familiar, my next opportunity for growth. Fuck yeah, just what I needed, another reason to hurt. No, thank you.

But I stayed for the fun of it, the intrigue. It wasn’t supposed to last very long. I just wanted to be entertained. She quickly became the funniest person I had ever met, she had this way of making fun of me in a way that made me see myself as adorable. I don’t think she expected much more out of the situation either. She later confessed that she had a nickname she called me when talking to her guy friends. I had my own name for her, too, boy-toy. She was my boy-toy. (I almost feel guilty about calling her that, almost.)

Besides amusing each other we also found that we shared something in common, grief. We were both still grieving our past relationships; and we had both lost other people in our lives too, over the year. We bonded over our shared experiences. She was actually someone I could date and talk to about my lost-love, depression and human-errors. I held nothing back because I didn’t know that I was falling for her. I was still convinced that we weren’t going anywhere that we were just for play.

However, that was not the plan. Something happened between us. We accepted each other as is, at our worst, like dented cans, and decided that we could possibly become better people together. That was a year and a half ago.

Which brings me to today and the real reason, truth 4. Why I’m writing. I’m not writing to impress you with our awkward love story,but eventually I will, or to turn you on, although that is fun, but what I really have to say must wait.




About Runs With Tigers

I'm like air, forever flowing, moving, changing, gaining and losing myself, undefinable. View my complete profile
This entry was posted in change, crossing boundaries, Divorce, grief, growth, in love with a woman, Lesbian, Lesbian Marriage, love, painful childhood memories and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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