Day 6 Back Home

Despite being immersed in love letters from the past, I decide tonight that it is critical for me to be objective and rational.  I am going to follow Jen's advice by embracing my feelings.  And in order to embrace how I feel, I have to fully accept all that was in my relationship with Robert.  I have to take not only the good, but also the bad.

So, tonight, I flip through all of my old journals to try and find the actual journal that I wrote-in when he and I broke up.  I am very regretful of not documenting that break-up.  I think it was so painful and intense at the time, that I just could not and was not able to write anything.  I knew that I wrote a very short entry somewhere and I was determined to find it.

The entry is dated 7/4/2004 and it is two days after our 2 year anniversary.  I am so dramatic and yet so honest at the same time.  I wrote "It is over. We are over. There is no longer a 'we' anymore. My heart is totally broken."  In my journal entry, I wrote that Robert has completely changed and is now condescending, impatient, intolerant, dismissive, and detached.  I quoted him saying: "Whether you like it or not, I am more independent now and no longer as attached to you as before." He also said to me, "I don't know if I can be with someone who is so insecure that I have to constantly explain things to her."

I am slowly remembering these conversations now and the context of these conversations.  It's no wonder I didn't call him back or want a reconciliation afterwards.  I did not want to seek him out because he was being an asshole but I missed him nevertheless.  It's still a blur to me, how we got to where we were.  All I remember was it being the summer of my sophomore year in college.  I was so busy with research.  He was so busy juggling school and work.  We were having less and less quality conversations on the phone and one of our last talks was him saying he felt "more emotionally distant" from me.  I had been very upset with his use of the word "more."  Why "more"?  Was there much to begin with that I had been unaware of?  We are surely physically distanced from each other, but I didn't know we were emotionally distant.  Why use the word "more?"  In retrospect, I think I should not have harped on this word choice, because our subsequent fight was simply unnecessary and completely provoked by me.  I remember Robert being SO upset about my picking apart his words and being SO pissed at me for reading so much into what he was saying.  Yes, I have a tendency to do that.  And I now realize that insecurity has ALWAYS been a problem for me.  So much of a problem that maybe this is why Robert didn't want to put up with me afterwards, maybe?

Nevertheless, I remember coming home after the summer research program and having some time to spend with Robert before going abroad to visit extended family.  It was during that time at home that we really started to explode or fizzle (however way you want to look at it). It was then that we broke up.  I remember having our 2 year anniversary together and not having it be great.  I also remember-- vaguely-- having a dinner together and crying through it because Robert had said "we need to talk."  I remember, still vaguely, that it was a very weird and confusing conversation.  Robert had told me that he loved me but that things were changing.  He said he was different now and he wasn't the same as before. He couldn't elaborate more on what that meant and I automatically started freaking out and wondering what that meant for us.  What's different now? Why isn't he the same as before? What has changed? How does it affect us? Does it affect his feelings for me?  I remember Robert saying that he still loved me and still wanted us, but that he was different now.  I didn't get it.  I completely did not get it.  But we were going round and round in circles and it just did not make sense to me.  Eventually I went home, confused as all hell.  And I guess I continue to be as confused today, just not as emotionally invested, perhaps.

I also know that one of our last fights was on the day of our 2-year anniversary and I had been utterly disappointed by his disinterest in me. We watched the movie, The Butterfly Effect, and when I tried to cuddle with him and to hug and kiss him, he was quite unresponsive.  He was apathetic about being intimate together whereas I could hardly contain celebrating our anniversary together with some physical love! Anyways, it was very humiliating for me to be physically (and passively) rejected for my advances toward him and I automatically felt like he was rejecting me.  I felt rejected.  I felt that he wasn't interested anymore, and of course, my insecurity shot straight up and I flipped out.  That's basically one of our last fights ever, I suppose.  We saw each other one more time but we basically said little to each other.  In my effort to rectify us, I called him to fulfill our earlier plans to go to the beach and for me to be the chauffeur of our trip. That drive was terrible and Robert had been critical, bossy, and condescending about my driving.  Right before arriving at the beach, we switched seats and he drove home with us in complete silence for about 40 minutes.  We said nothing to each other and that was that.  We were over.

Sigh.  Insecurity.  MY insecurity. Was that one of the reasons we broke up? Has that baggage been with me for so long that I didn't even realize its pervasiveness in my first relationship? This question is like asking which came first: the chicken or the egg?  Did my insecurity come into full force because he seemed so different and apathetic to me and our relationship?  Or was my insecurity always there and exploded into full force and made him feel like he was too exhausted by me?

Whatever the reason is, I can now feel the frustration, anger, confusion, and sadness that I felt 7 years ago.  I remember those feelings now, and I can acknowledge now that Robert changed and was different from the person who wrote me those beautiful love letters. I was probably different too, although I think I've always been the same.  Perhaps Robert realized something about me that I am only slowly starting to realize.  Because the honest truth is that I did not get it.  Ever.  I did not understand what Robert was saying and I needed more and different explanations to help me know what was happening to him, to us, to me.  As exasperated as he was to explain things to me, I know that this is me and my limitations as a person.  If I don't understand something, then I need to keep asking until I get it.  I need to hear it explained several times in several different ways, and I need patience, empathy, respect, and some tolerance for my inability to comprehend what feels so emotionally intense and overwhelming.  I suppose no amount of love letters can erase the fact that we did grow apart from one another, that we fought like cats and dogs and were unable to understand each other, and that we did eventually break up.

History of self-doubt

It is incredibly difficult for me to trust my perception of the world and the interpretation I derive out of what I perceive.  I think this is why I need so desperately to say aloud all the things I think and feel and see.  When things don't make sense to me (e.g., a break up, a conflict with a colleague or friend), I feel the need to tell the story as many times as possible to analyze and re-analyze the situation with as much objectivity as possible.  I want to tell several people about what happened. At the same time, I want to be as detached from the story as possible to avoid biasing their opinions.  I want to paint a neutral picture so they can decide what is "right" or "wrong".  I need them to tell me what is right or wrong because I don't know.  I don't trust my instincts and I don't know if my perception was actually reality.

My first-love haunts me in this way because I don't trust myself and my memory of what happened. I must have been incredibly emotional so was my perception really true? Did I interpret him correctly? Did I convey myself as clearly as possible?  I get caught-up in these details and can't remember what happened or why we really broke up.  My greatest fear is that Robert may have explained why we broke up.  Maybe he did it in a really unclear manner, but the point is that he might have done it but I didn't hear him.  Maybe I just didn't hear him because I was overwhelmed and emotional? I don't know.  I really don't know how it all unfolded other than growing emotional distance, frustration, tolerance, and impatience between us.

After we broke up, I think I was also feeling all of these feelings below:
a) angry at him and all of his negativity toward me
b) confused & needing time to step-back and figure out what happened
c) embarrassed to call him because I was so confused
d) self-blaming because I felt like I wondered if I did something terribly wrong
e) humiliated to ask him what/how/why I was wrong and why we got where we were
f) heartbroken because he was acting so differently from the person I fell in love with

In any case, it took 4 years later and an act of impulse to call him and to ask why.  WHY?  And I still don't think I got the answer(s).  Although I can't help but wonder if there will ever be an answer that will be enough for me.   I don't know.  I just don't know.

Day 5 Back Home

I had dinner with one of my childhood friends tonight.  Over our Thai iced teas and peanut satay skewered beef, I told her about my heartache, not with B., but with my obsession now towards Robert.  Because my friend Jenny has seen me in and out of this relationship, she knows that this topic is not something I casually or even frequently bring up.  She understands that unless I'm in extreme pain, I usually don't ever bring him up.

I remember when Robert and I first broke up.  No one really made a big deal out of it other than, well, me. For all intents and purposes, I appeared normal and decent to those outside of my home by plastering a fake smile on my face and numbing my heart whenever I was in the presence of others.  Home was a different story.  In the privacy of my own house, or my parents' house, I cried hysterically and did not want to go out-- ever.  One night, Jenny came over to check-in on me after hearing my voice crack on the phone. I remember letting her in the front door and promptly turning back toward her because my tears were uncontrollable. She watched me curl up into a ball on the couch and bawl.  She tried to hear me talk but I'm sure I made no sense. I was crying too much and too hard, and soon after, so did she. She cried with me because she was heartbroken seeing me cry.  She had never seen me in such pain, and it broke her heart to see that I could be so devastated.

So, you see, Jenny "gets it" and she has always gotten it.  Unlike my other friends, who I also adore but for different reasons, Jenny listens to me whereas others have casually brushed off this topic to say "oh, good riddance! We never thought he was that great, anyways."  I distinctly remember wishing I could talk on and on and on about Robert after the breakup, but not being able to because no one seemed to care.  It was so casual for everyone. So nonchalant.  Oh, a breakup.  It's all good, just move on, see more people, date more guys.  For me, it felt like the world was over.  But no one seemed to get that.

And so, about a decade later, over our dinner together, Jenny once again lets me talk. In fact, this time around, she tells me to let it all out.  She offered me such good advice.  She said that I should just feel what I feel and not stop myself anymore.  It hurts, so let it hurt.  Cry about it.  Mourn about it.  And when I feel like I'm done one day, then I'll stop doing it.  Jenny's simple response surprised me because in all these years, I never thought to allow myself to just... grieve about it.  Instead, I've avoided it, used to work to compensate for it, and I have fantasized different alternate stories to make sense of it rather than sit with the throbbing pain lodged between my heart and stomach.

So, when I got home after dinner and drinks together, I climbed into bed and allowed myself to think about Robert.  I cried a lot and I told myself it was OK to cry.  I missed him and told myself it was OK to miss him.  I looked out the window where he used to park the car and come to pick me up, and I gave myself permission to want him in that spot again.  I let myself fantasize, cry, hate, and miss him.  I let myself feel pathetic and desperate, and I considered it to be healthy this time, rather than "stuck in the past". 


I didn't feel better telling myself any of this stuff, but I did feel.

Day 4 back home

On Thanksgiving day, prior to preparing for our big dinner feast, my brother asked me to look for something in my room.  As I poked into old boxes filled with my belongings from college and high school, a giant wad of cards and letters fell out.  I picked those up and the first thing I saw was the valentine's day card given to me by my first love. In it, he tells me in his simple 18-year-old lingo that I am his first valentine and his first love.  It is my 1st year in college so he writes about missing me and wishing we were together.  He mocks himself for being so "sappy" and and for sending flowers and chocolate to convey his love.

I finish reading this card and feel hungry for more. I don't have to look further because right beneath that card is another card he sent for my birthday during our first year together as boyfriend-girlfriend.  He wrote 2 cards that year-- one to throw me off, and the second one which says "did you really think that that card was it? I didn't even get to tell you 'I love you' yet!" In this card-- the second one-- he writes about the importance of my birthday and how meaningful this day is for him. He also writes about the challenges of long-distance dating and telling me that he will love me forever and will do anything for me.  He draws a picture of us looking at stars (which is what we frequently did during high school) and he circles a cluster of stars to remind me of the same constellation we used to point out together.

As soon as I finish reading these two cards, my eyes fall onto an envelope that is stuffed with 4 different letters inside.  This envelope stands-out from the rest because of its thickness.  It also stands-out for me because I've read those letters a million times.  Those are the first letters that Robert ever wrote me when we first started dating.  They are the letters that he wrote when we were head-over-heels-in-infatuation during the summer before college.  He had written several letters within a 2-3 month period and had folded them all together and mailed it to me when I went to college.

I pore through each of them and in the first one, Robert is telling me that he likes me.  Not just likes me, but really really likes me.  He is so glad we went to a senior event together that day and is so grateful that he got to spend the day with me.  He also tells me that I'm his best friend and that he loves talking to me and sharing things with me.  Something romantic must have happened that day because he writes about his nervousness and embarrassment and he also discloses feeling happy that we can be vulnerable together.  In another letter, he is feeling terrible because he had a car accident that day and is feeling crummy and self-blaming. He is upset with himself but is glad I got to see him for even an hour that day to cheer him up.  He appreciates having me in his life and is happy that he'll see me 12 hours later.  In every letter, Robert concludes with his signature but also a quote/lyric from a movie/song.  They are each romantic and breath-taking and makes me feel like I am was so important to him, and that I am was the love of his life.

It's time to put the turkey in the oven and to prepare the side dishes for dinner.  I am an emotional wreck after reading these cards and letters.  I am so shocked and validated to see (in print!) that our love was real and that my feeling of being loved was real.  I am also dazed.  I'm not sure what to think.  I've spent the past 4 years thinking that maybe he didn't really love me to begin with, and maybe our love was not significant in his eyes.  I wondered if my intense feelings were/are a figment of my imagination and have to do with my own difficulty of letting-go.  But now look!  Here! All of this!  It's proof! Proof that we did happen, that it was real, that he did love me, and that at some point, our love felt like it would be long-term and life-long.  Robert did love me intensely at one point.  So why not anymore?  Why did it end?  Why does he no longer feel the same way as before?

I realize that I will never stop loving him.  Even in another relationship, Robert still remains as my first love.  My first and my pure love, unfiltered, unrestrained, in its organic and intense form.  Robert can date as much as he wants and he is sure to marry one day.  And even then, I will still love him, from afar. I hope I am meaningful to him because I was his first love.  I am the first person he wanted to spend forever with.  Our motto during long-distance dating was, exactly this: "This is only temporary, we are going to be forever."

I suddenly miss Robert with a ferocious intensity that it scares me.  I feel an unpredictable and uncontrollable urge to find him, see him, touch him, force him to remember that he used to love me and that we used to be best friends.  We used to live to see each other.  We used to want nothing but each other and we were so happy just to be with each other. I want to tell him that I used to love him.  Correction: I still love him.  As soon as I come home, I realize that I want only him.

I head downstairs to the kitchen to prepare dinner and pretend to cry because of the onions that I am cutting.  It's not the onions.  It's not the cooking.  It's the cards and letters.  I am officially transported back to the summer of my high school senior year during the honeymoon period in my first-ever relationship.  I am so in love.  I am so swept away by his loving words.  But it's actually not 10 years ago, is it.  It's not the same time period, and that same person doesn't even exist anymore.  He may still be just 5 minutes away from my house but he actually doesn't feel those things for me anymore, and we actually are nothing but strangers to each other now.

Days 2 & 3 Back Home

I haven't updated for the past few days because I've been in such emotional turmoil.  I am constantly thinking about my first love because everything I see/do/experience feels connected to him.  On my second day back home, some of our mutual friends got in contact with me to plan a get-together.  I was so excited and nervous at the same time because as usual, I wondered if they had any news to share with me about him.  I also wondered how I would broach the topic, and I thought of all the ways I could seem less pathetic in their eyes for being so stuck on what happened 10 years ago.

In the end, I had dinner with those girls and got very little information.  Towards the end of the night, when I couldn't imagine how else to weave his name into our topics, I just interjected and asked, "How's Robert? Do you guys know anything about him?"  In less than 3 sentences, they simply said that they just saw him last weekend and that he's fine and is simply working these days.  Period.  End of story. Change to a different topic altogether.

I wanted so desperately to ask more and to get them to tell me more.  What is he doing these days? What work? He used to be so passionate about graphic design but last I heard, he said he was switching to engineering to better financially provide for his mom who was diagnosed with cancer.  Is he doing engineering now or graphic design?  And if they saw him last weekend, was it because they were celebrating his birthday? Because his birthday was 2 weeks ago and I hope he had a celebration and he was surrounded by loved ones.

Alas, I said nothing and held my tongue.  These girls are not my friends.  They are with him and they will tell me as little as possible.  And as usual, I went home disappointed and regretful of the dinner outing because I feel worse than ever.  I mentally give myself a swift kick in the butt to remind myself that this happens every. single. time.  I always go out with these girls hoping to learn more, and end up having a miserable time throughout our dinners and biting my tongue from asking all that I want to ask.  I always worry about their judgment toward me and what they might tell Robert later on.  I fake laughter and poise to hold onto the last shred of dignity I have.  Even though deep down, I am yelling and screaming and begging for any information possible about him.  Desperate for anything that can help me be connected with him again or at least feel like I understood what truly happened between us.

In essence, I came home and cried and cried and cried.

Day 1 back home

Today is my first full day back in my hometown.

On the way to lunch, my family and I drove by my first love's house: a gated community that I used to drive in and out of (very frequently) during my high school years.  It's been awhile since I drove down that street.  It's been awhile since I've looked longingly at the houses on that street. Since I have been romantically involved with others for the last few years, I've stopped thinking about him as anything other than my past.  Rather than dwell on the whys, what-ifs, how-comes, and if onlys, I've thought to myself quite smugly that I'm over it and have moved on!  I've focused on the present instead, and I stopped wondering how he's doing, what he's doing, and where he's doing it.

It is a good and bad thing that he lives in a gated community. In all honesty, if it weren't gated part, I would have surely stalked him at some point to verify that he's a) still alive and b) still existing. I certainly would have done some sort of drive-by to see if he's still here.  If he's still on this earth.  If he's alive.

Right after the breakup, or more honestly speaking, right after we stopped talking, I wondered if maybe something terrible and dramatic happened to him.  I envisioned different soap opera storylines all with the same endings: he loved me and wanted to protect me so much that he had to disappear for awhile. I wondered if something terrible happened and he wanted to overcome it before coming back one day to explain it all today.  Maybe he was dying from some terminal illness and didn't want me to know about it.  I also wondered at some point if he died.  Oh, the drama in my head.  The multitude of stories I created trying to make some sense about what had happened.

Never in a million years did I suspect that he just fell-out-love with me or that he was too overwhelmed to want me in his life.  I never thought I'd be a burden in his life.  Shouldn't I be a support? Shouldn't I be the foundation and pillar of love and support for him?  The rock that is there for him when everything and anything goes wrong in his world?

Apparently I was none of the above for him.

But at least I didn't cry about it this time. Not today, at least.  Today, I just found myself reverting to what I was like post-break-up.  I went shopping with family and found myself looking around wondering if he might be there too.  I went to lunch and wondered if he might be there eating too.  I glimpsed at cars in the parking lot and remembered running into his mom in the same spot a few years ago.

For the first time in several years, I found myself looking for him today. Again.

Hometown memories

While traveling back to visit my family yesterday, I suddenly realized why I've been so emotional over the past few days.  It's because I'm coming back to my hometown AND it's it's the first time I'm back as a single girl.

I can't remember the last time I was was home for the holidays and single.

Actually, I do.

I used to come home from college/grad school and subconsciously look for him.  My first love.  I would anxiously and hopefully to run into him.  And I constantly wondered if he was around or nearby.  Whenever friends of ours (especially his) would invite me out, I would go out with them hoping that by chance I could hear some news about him.  I fantasized about the possibility of running into him by accident. Or even better, I dreamed of possibly attending the same social event as him.

In the house that I grew up in,  I would also be surrounded by old memorabilia from high school, like old diaries during those years, as well as gifts and pictures from the last part of my high school years. It set the scene for ultimate nostalgia as I would reminisce about my first relationship and how I used to feel and what I used to do when I would come home to see (my family and) him.

If I could capture my first love with a romantic movie, I would say it is the beginning and end scene from  Love Actually:




Most meaningful to me are these airport scene(s) when people who love each other reunite after traveling afar.  These include parents and their kids, uncles and aunts, grandparents and grandchildren, good friends, and most of all, lovers.  This is my scene. The scene that I often had with my first love! It is what I experienced and looked forward to during the period of long-distance dating we endured during my college years.

I watched Love Actually after our breakup, and I remember crying silently in the movie theatre at the beginning and end of the movie. For me, these airport scenes made me realize that losing my first love was not just saying goodbye to a lover. It was goodbye to a friend, my best friend, and it was goodbye to who I already considered to be my current and also future family member.

Grief grief grief

My grief is out of control.

It is spilling out of me like lava erupting from a volcano, and last night, it was unstoppable.  I cried for a long time after my entry and realized that my heartache dates way back to my first relationship and continues to haunt me as I try to rectify it in subsequent relationships.

Initially, I started this blog to talk about my unhealthy relationship with B., and to offer myself and others a community to talk about unhealthy relationships and the shame, heartache, angst, and suffering that we go through in isolation. I thought that I would write primarily about B. and about the contents of that relationship.  I also expected to write about some attachment issues I have so that I can explore my role in being in such a dysfunctional relationship for so long. Reviewing previous relationships also seem like a must-do for a blog that is focused on figuring myself out in relationships.  But to date all the way back to the first one, and to realize how intense my feelings still are.... that surprised me.  My emotions yesterday caught me completely off-guard and left me feeling so vulnerable and unfamiliar with myself and where I'm at.

Today, I am feeling a little better. I suppose you have to feel better after drowning in your bed of tears for half the night.  No, not really.  I didn't cry half the night, but I did cry without really understanding why or what I wanted.  I just cried.  That is grief, I suppose.  This is me finally dealing with my first loss and all that it meant to me.

My plan today is to continue to sit with myself and let these feelings emerge.  I will try not to judge myself.  I will strive to be compassionate and welcoming to the vulnerable me that is hiding deep within.   I'm working on removing my own self-contempt and choosing instead to accept that emotional mess (bad word choice) that I am.  Instead, I am going to positively re-frame how I see myself using some of my favorite things and images.  I will see myself as a multi-layered cake (better word choice?) full of raw feelings.  Each layer is a separate emotion and the grief and heartache can be the jam that oozes out. Especially because I just watched season 2 of Just Desserts, I have some images floating in my head to convey my self-representation.  Yummy!

Links to these two pictures can be found if you google: "Devil's food cake with chocolate buttercream, salted caramel and raspberries".  Again, Yum!

First love (Cont.)

After my entry this morning, I spent a good amount of time reminiscing my the past and crying.  I cried harder than I could have imagined while simultaneously cleaning the house, emptying the trash, folding the clothes, hanging up jackets. All the while, faithful Mr. Z trailed behind me wondering what was happening.

My heart still hurts from my first breakup.

There are so many things I don't understand about my first breakup.  And even today, it affects me because it has affected me for years.  Since my first relationship, I've lost all sense of self-confidence and self-worth.  By not knowing why we broke up, I spent 4 years trying to explain what happened, trying to play-out all the what-ifs in my head to understand how things could have been better.

Dear first love,
  Why?  I just want to know why?! Why did we break-up in the first place and why did you become so emotionally distant (while also being moody)?  Was it me? Was there something I could have done differently? Or was it you? And can you please tell me then that there was nothing I could have done to change the situation?  I have been a different person since our breakup. I am no longer the same confident, jubilant, optimistic, bright-eyed girl that used to see the world through rose-colored lenses.  Because I didn't know why we broke up, I spent 4 years afterwards being completely single, completely unavailable, and completely heartbroken.  I had no answers so I had no closure.  I worked so hard to make answers in my head and I must have replayed our relationship a million times in my head wondering what happened to make me so unappealing that you decided to leave and not even bother to explain why.  Am I that bad?  Am I so unworthy that you couldn't even explain why it wasn't going to work out?  I spent so much time wondering and blaming and criticizing myself.  Did I push you too hard to be successful?  Was I too self-focused and selfish choosing to attend a college that was clear across the country away from you?  Was it my temper that you couldn't stand? My personality? Could it be that I was too demanding at times, and not forgiving when I should have been?  Why couldn't I have had a second chance to "fix" the things you were unhappy with?  Why couldn't you have told me so that I could "fix" myself and make myself better? Your leaving was devastating to me and continues to leave me scared and anxious that in another relationship, my partner will be infatuated with me, fall in love with me, and then one day see-through to me (like you did) and decide to leave.  Like you, he may see something in me that is so deficient and flawed and therefore utterly unacceptable.  And like you, he may see it before I do and flee before offering me any explanation.  And I will continue to wonder, just like I have wondered all these years, if there is some sickly disease about me that makes me unlove-able after awhile.  Is there something about me that is so hidden that only you see it but I still don't know what it is?  Before our breakup, I felt good about myself because I didn't know how secure it could feel when being in a relationship.  When we were together, I experienced the highest "high" possible.  I felt like I was finally seen by someone, loved by someone, and appreciated by someone.  I felt so secure, so stable, and I felt like by being together, I had wings to fly, and limitless potential with you by my side.  I felt like the king/queen of the world and I felt like I could conquer anything because I had your love.  For the first time in my life, I felt special. I felt wanted.  When you left, I felt the profound absence of losing everything that made me feel good.  I felt discarded, abandoned, unwanted, powerless.  I hadn't known that being myself felt so low because I never lost anyone before.  Whatever potential I felt before, I now felt not only nothing, but I felt an absence of all the things I once had.  I lost it.  I lost you.  I lost me too because who was I without you and your love?

I get it.  You don't love me anymore.  When I saw you at the coffee shop 4 years after our breakup, I no longer recognized the person whose eyes I looked into.  I didn't feel the same warmth from before and your eyes, which used to seem so welcoming and loving, now looked dull and lifeless.  I felt doubly-heartbroken sitting across from you realizing that I no longer meant anything to you anymore, and that I haven't meant anything to you in a long long time.  Whereas you used to want me to stay longer, I could tell you just wanted to finish our talk and get the heck out.  Whereas I used to be a gift in your life, I could tell that you were burdened by my presence and wanted our talk to end soon. You were not the same boy I thought I would grow old with, love forever, had children with, and live happy ever after.  You are not the person who I thought would give me unconditional love. But you will forever be my first love, and the person that I continue to have feelings for.

I hate the way we broke up and I will always feel angry about that... angry at you and angry at me.  Aside from the breakup itself, I can't help but miss you and wish that we could have worked, or that you could have let me know what I could have done better. In retrospect, I would have been gentler, kinder, more patient, and made it more clear that you were a top priority in my life.  I would have talked to you longer on the phone when you wanted me to.  I would have given up time with friends so you know that I wanted to be with just you.  I'm sorry if I wasn't a good girlfriend and I hope you know that I would have tried harder if I knew what you wanted.  I'm sorry for everything that upset you because I just wish you could have loved me instead of leave me. My sorries don't even matter though because a) I don't know what to be sorry about and 2) you probably don't care.

It's irrelevant.  It's all moot by now, I know that. But you played such an important role in my life and you continue to haunt me in so many ways.  I wish you would know that you were the best relationship I've had in my life.  You helped me grow, you gave me confidence, you helped me feel like I could fly.  I was only 17 then, but by being in my life, you gave me hope, joy, motivation, and inspiration.  If only you haven't disappeared off of the face of the earth, I wish we could erase how we broke up and still remain friends. My formative years as a teenager going into adulthood was spent with you. All of my firsts were with you. To disappear in the way that you have is such a punishment to me. I am so pissed at you and at the same time, I miss you so much.




Adele - Someone like you

First love

I woke up today remembering that today is the birthday of my first boyfriend. He was my first love, my high school sweetheart, my initial foray into the world of heartstopping excitement and also subsequent heartache.

To commemorate this day, I'll write a little bit about us.
We met in high school during our junior year when both of our good friends started dating.  Soon after, our two groups of friends started going out together, to the beach, shopping, eating, playing pool, etc.  I'm pretty sure he liked me first because he started to tag along everything I did/wanted to do.  He offered to drive, to pick me up and drop me off, and he also went along with me to meet a celebrity when we were at a restaurant one time.  Slowly, our group outings decreased to just four people: our two friends who were already dating, and us.  The more time we spent together, the more I realized how much I liked him: how easygoing he was, how quiet he was (and yet talkative when something really struck a chord with him), and also how funny he was.  At around the same time, we also started taking a class together-- an unlikely possibility because we were on such different academic tracks at the time.  We were both enrolled in art history (at 6:50am) every morning, and I have to confess that I looked forward to running into him in the parking lot each day so we can walk to class together.

Our story felt like a fairly tale when he asked me to the senior prom and when he admitted to me during the first slow-dance at prom that he liked me.  He said that even though he knew I was going to the other side of the country to attend college, he still liked me and just wanted me to know.  His self-disclosure was so simple, yet so romantic and utterly dramatic in my heart.  Eventually we started dating and that was it.  We were together throughout my first 2 years of college and we took every opportunity to fly back and forth to visit each other.  He was my Romeo and I thought I was his Juliet. It wasn't until the summer of my sophomore year when we started fighting constantly about who-knows-what.  We were both so busy with school that we had barely any time to really talk or focus on one another. He was emotionally distant on the phone and he accused me of being the same. Our fights felt the same. They were difficult to resolve because it felt unnatural to break up via phone and it also felt artificial to make up over the phone.

When I got home that summer, I felt like he was emotionally distance even sitting in front of me.  We continued to fight, he continued to feel far away from me, and then after one dramatic fight one night, he just completely stopped calling me.  And I didn't call him either out of my own sense of pride.  Well, wait. I did.  I called him because we had plans to go to the beach and I hoped that the long drive would give us some quality time together. Boy was that a bad idea. During that whole car ride, he nitpicked at my driving (yes, the plan was that I would drive us) until I eventually got so frustrated that I stopped at a grocery store and said forget it.  We switched places and turned the car around and sat in silence for the next hour in the car. Back in our city, he dropped me off at my house and we said nothing to each other.  For the next few days following, we also gave each other the silent treatment until he sent a text one day asking if he should still take my mom and I to the airport for our international trip.  At the time, texting was so new, so unfamiliar, and felt so distant from a phone call that I simply exploded.  I said no and I expressed my disbelief at his insincerity. I tried to call him but since he didn't pick up, I gave up and a few days later, we left the country and that was that.  We were done.

Despite being broken up, I spent the next 4 years of my life replaying the breakdown of our relationship not knowing why it ended the way it did.  I spent 4 years blaming myself, wondering how I could have been better, more mature, and if I could have done anything/everything different to make it work.  I did not understand our break-up but I felt that it was impossible to get the answers from him as well.  In many ways, he simply disappeared and I did not feel like it was OK to find him, search him, ask him.  So I didn't.  The times when I would come home to see family, I would run into his friends (our mutual friends I suppose) but they never shared even a drop of information about him.

A few years ago, out of my own impulsiveness, I was at home visiting and I decided to give him a call.  I surprisingly knew his house number and he was shocked to hear my voice and even more shocked when I said we need to talk.  We went to a coffee shop where, as awkward as it could be, I asked why. I asked why did we break up? What happened? And his answers were, well.... I don't even know if you would consider them to be answers to my questions.  He told me a bunch of things having to do with family drama, like his mom being diagnosed with cancer, his dad's apartment being caught on fire, and his academic crisis and job crisis that had happened simultaneously.  I didn't know how to respond to what he said.  First of all, I couldn't understand why these things were relevant to our breakup.  Secondly, if these things were happening during our relationship, why hadn't he told me? Why hadn't I known so that I could at least help in some ways?  Aren't relationships about helping each other in times of need? Supporting one another? At least informing one another?  I automatically shifted into comfort mode to see how he was doing and to see how he was feeling. We made plans to take a walk next week but of course, he never called, and when I emailed, his response was that he forgot.

Could it have been any more blatant that I was simply a burden to him?

A few years ago, his close friends (a buncha girls) came out to visit me because they wanted to leave home and explore this new city and state that I live in.  They told me that my ex had told them he fell out of love with me and that our breakup was mutual and amicable.  Following our break-up, he also told them to give me no information whatsoever about him.  He made them promise not to mention him at all when they were with me.  I didn't ask about his family issues at all because his friends seemed not to know about his family troubles.  They just said that he became very introverted afterward and that he rarely goes out anymore to hang out.

So, that's it.  That's all I know about the first love of my life.  He is the person that made me question every aspect about myself and to wonder if they were THE deficiencies and flaw that made me unlovable and deserving of abandonment (with no reason).  He continues to be a mystery and a puzzle to me, and if I were to see him after all these years, I no longer know what I would do. In the past, I fantasized nine million times how I would respond, how I would look under the circumstances, and how I would want to portray myself.  By now, when I think about him, all I feel is tired.  I feel exhausted from the years of wondering and all the years of not getting any responses from him.  I may have saw him and heard him speak a few years after our break-up, but I still don't understand what happened, especially in light of his friends' testimonies.

So, at least for old times' sake, I think of November 16 every year and know that it's his birthday and a day that I used to celebrate and be more excited for than anything else.  Happy Birthday.

Thank you

I've always struggled with being honest... with myself.  Even in journal-writing, I have always imagined my future self flipping through the pages and judging me in my present.  What would she think? What would she say?  How would she see me?  Would she think I'm a loser? How do I make her feel proud?

So, for the past few months, I have been working hard to be honest with myself and with the reality of my situations.  I have strived to be brutally honest with myself and to be uncomfortably raw and vulnerable about my feelings and thoughts.  This process remains scary and difficult, and I continue to feel uncomfortable in my own skin, and to question (very frequently) the legitimacy of my own feelings and experiences.

I give thanks to all those who listen and who let me explore me. Thank you to my journal, to my blog, and to my therapist(s) for allowing me to do that.  Thank you for letting me talk, vent, express, and simply say out loud all the things I think of but don't dare utter aloud.  For me, the act of self-expression is cathartic, novel, and oh so empowering.

Coffee Shops

I've been sitting in a coffee shop doing some homework over the past 3 hours.  It's been awhile since I've done that. It's been a while since I've been able to sit here and enjoy... "being."

These days, it's because of Mr. Z. that I try to work from home and spend time with him.  Before him, it was B. and having to adjust my life around him.  I stopped going to coffee shops because his schedule was so random and he always wanted me to either pick him up/drop me off.  So, rather than going to a coffee shop so that I can work and enjoy the environment, I became like... a chauffeur for him. I had to be on stand-by for him because he was so unpredictable and impulsive and one minute he would want to be there for like 10 hours, and the next minute, he would want to just go.

It's so nice to live for me these days.

Going "crazy"

So, I woke up this morning and came across  this article written by a male feminist about emotional manipulation. His article is entitled: "A message to women from a man: You are not 'crazy'" from the Huffington post.  Read and let me know what you think!

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/yashar-hedayat/a-message-to-women-from-a_1_b_958859.html

In his writing, he touches on the effects of "gaslighting" on women's self-concept, self-efficacy, and self-esteem. I've since re-posted his article because I can think of so many women (and also men) who can benefit from this reading.  It applies to people who have lost their voices and their sense of selves after being (passively) attacked for so long. It applies to those who have been hurt by this as well as those who intentionally or unintentionally tear apart others using denouncing words thinly veiled in a joking and dismissive manner.

Reading this article makes me realize that it isn't just HOW you say it, it's WHAT you say that causes significant, irreparable damage. People learn to coat their words in light and airy tones in an attempt to soften the blow and deflect the responsibility of using words as swords and daggers. Nevertheless, the words they use are swords and daggers, and the more they say it, the more damage they create in a person's sense of self and his/her subjective sense of reality.

Someone has since commented on this author's post to ask, "So how are we supposed to respond? What is a strong, assertive, and healthy way to respond?" By no means am I the author, but I would say that it's not WHAT you respond with, it's HOW you feel afterwards.  When someone tells you in so many different ways that your reality is untrue, that your feelings aren't legitimate, that your actions are not good enough-- you begin to internalize their words and their reality.  You begin to lose trust in your instincts and your sense of the world. That is the long-term damage that spans way beyond one or two conversations or even providing a retort to the other person.

My greatest loss has been losing trust in myself: my judgment, my feelings, my responses to situations, my perception of the world, my values, and beliefs.... basically all of the things that make me who I am.  I began to question the legitimacy of all these things, and I began to believe that my responses are not worthy or even appropriate.  After being cheated on so many times in one relationship, I began to wonder if my hurt and my cries were appropriate responses.  Because B. was so nonchalant every time, I wondered if something was wrong with me.  I questioned if I was making a big deal out of nothing and if he was the person that was norma, rational, logical, and clear-headed.  I questioned if my internal experiences were out-of-whack, and I began to re-assess my entire value system about cheating and morality.  At some point, I wondered if cheating should be acceptable because it was clearly OK with him. Meanwhile, he was acting like I was crazy for thinking and feeling so dramatically and differently. My process of figuring out what was happening internally is the consequence of such "gaslighting".  The wonderment, the confusion, the self-doubt... those are the long-term damages already taking place. Of course, whenever I attempted to explain or express what I was feeling in an attempt to get some validation about my experience, I would fail utterly and miserably because he would maintain he is right and that I am reacting too strongly.  Thus, that process of negotiating with him further confirmed that something was "wrong with me" and that my reactions were not only completely inappropriate but also embarrassing and overly dramatic. In time, I stopped expressing and I tried to stop feeling altogether.  I stopped thinking, I stopped analyzing, I simply tried to stop existing as me.  I completely denied all that I was, all that I believed in, all that I felt, and I lost me.  I lost me, entirely.

Dumper Responsibilities

What are the responsibilities of the "dumper" who breaks up with the "dumped/dumpee"?

A girlfriend of mine, Connie, has been thinking about breaking up with her long-distance boyfriend of about 1.5 years.  They met before she came to school this year and they've been living apart for the past year. They try to see each other 1-2 times a month, driving the 3 hour distance to visit each other on weekends and long vacations.  Her boyfriend is a nice guy.  But he's emotionally unavailable and calls her back whenever it is convenient for him.  Sometimes, she goes for days and even weekends without talking to him because he's lost track of the time or placed the phone in another other room and therefore doesn't call her back.  When he does call her back, it's usually a quick, 2-minute conversation that goes like: "OK I'm going to bed. G'night."

Still. He's not a bad guy which is why it's been so difficult for Connie to break-up with him. He didn't do anything bad or explicitly hurtful to her, so she feels guilty about breaking up with him. She surmises that he won't understand their breakup, and that he will tell her (again) that he doesn't know what she wants from him. In the past year, I've heard her talk numerous times about having confrontations with him to tell him she needs more.  She needs intimacy, affection, attention, and feeling like she is important in his life.  Each time they have these discussions, he tells her doesn't know what to do and he accuses her of labeling him as a bad boyfriend. The fights are always the same.

As Connie talked, I couldn't help but think about B. and our relationship. Ah, even in such a case of explicit hurt and damage, I also had difficulty breaking up with him. I was in her boat for a long time too.  One of the reasons it took such a long time to break-up with him (and so many times to break up with him) was because he didn't "understand" why I was ending things.  For B., cheating was not considered cheating because his excuse was that it was acceptable in his culture.  His other excuse was that he loved me.  Whenever we started fighting, or whenever things started getting bad, he would simply say, over and over again, "But I love you. But I love you. But I love you."

As the dumper, I felt very responsible for him to understand why we broke up.  I wanted, nono, I needed him to understand why it was over.  I needed him to agree with me logically and rationally and to be OK with my decision. I wanted it to be our decision and I wanted him to not be hurt my the break-up. I was in that mental frame of mind for a long long time.  Half a year, at least. So I suffered in silence because I hoped that he would see how tortured I was. But he could never understood why things were bad for me, why I felt like he had wronged me, or that he was wrong to begin with.  B. didn't have a concept or understanding of morality.  As such, each break-up to him felt ridiculous and unnecessary.  And because he didn't understand it, I felt obligated to get back together. It didn't feel fair to me that he didn't understand our break-up. I thought to myself: as soon as he can understand and empathize with my experience, then we can amicably and mutually agree to a break-up.

Oh, silly me.  That never happened, and I know now that it will never happen.

To this day, B. still does not understand our break-up, and he still feels like he is a much-improved man for not having sex with every woman walking down the street. He feels like he changed so much for me.  He "credits" me for his moral behaviors.  Whereas before, sexual affairs were the norm for him, he has now "learned" that it is hurtful.  And so, he does not have sex with them. He "only" flirts with them, seduces them, leads them on, and does everything else but have intercourse with them.  Oh, an improved man he is.  Which is why he can't understand why I'm upset because, well, he loves me, and isn't that enough?

Which leads me to my initial question: What is the responsibility of the dumper when breaking up with the dumped/dumpee?  Is the dumper wholly responsible for the dumpee's understanding of the break-up?  To what extent can you expect or hope that they will have the same perspective and let you go freely and amicably?  Can you even hope or expect for a friendly or non-hurtful breakup? Breaking up has always been so difficult for me because I was dumped by my first-love in one of the most hurtful ways ever.  He simply stopped calling me and disappeared off the face of the earth.  Yes, he simply cut of all contact and asked all of his friends to say nothing about him so that I would know nothing about him.  We were high school sweethearts and after 2 years of long-distance in college, he became emotionally distant and then just disappeared.  I was so heartbroken I left the country and decided to study-abroad and be far away.  The breakup felt so out-of-the-blue to me and I couldn't understand it.  Why? What did I do wrong? What can I do to rectify the situation? Why are you leaving me?  To this day, I still don't know the answer. We had no discussion, no explanation, no closure.  Since then, I vowed that I would never break up with anybody and I really tried not to. I really didn't want to, but I ended up being in relationships that are so abusive and hurtful that I HAD TO LEARN how to break up with people.

Still, I struggle with the responsibility of the dumper and the dumpee.  Who is responsible for making sure that the dumpee understands the break-up?  How much are you responsible for?  And at what point do you just give up on explaining and just walk away? How do you define closure? Do all dumpees deserve closure?  As a dumpee, I need an explanation and I need the finality of saying goodbye.  As a dumper, I feel I am responsible for providing the explanation and offering a chance for redemption before saying goodbye.  And saying goodbye is important for me, so I want to offer that as well. Beyond that, I think that's all I can do.  If you can't understand this break-up even after I've explained it 100 times, then you simply can't understand.  And if, after 100 explanations, nothing has changed, then I have to stop offering more chances for you to make things different. At some point, I have to give-up on helping you see my point and just walk away.

I just have to walk away.

Very serious

I am very serious... at what I do.
When I am committed to something, I am very focused, I work very hard, and I am very determined to complete the task well.

My mom has said that to me several times in the past few years.  I am serious about my schoolwork, my career, my promises to others, and most recently, my responsibility as a mom to Mr. Z.  Just taking him on a 2-minute walk is not good enough for me.  I walk him 3 times a day if I can, and we take long walks until  he seems to have gotten all the excitement out of his system.  We are taking weekly obedience classes so he can socialize, make friends, and also learn how to be a good dog.  The courses also help him to be less anxiety-prone and to challenge his mental functioning.  My hope is to complete all of the courses so that he can be certified as a therapy dog.  That way, he can go to all of the health institutions with me when I do my work, and we can visiting nursing homes and hospitals so he can bring joy and happiness to others around him.

Even with Mr. Z. I am so serious and so committed to short- and long-term goals.  Over the past few days, I've looked through a ton of websites and visited several stores looking for a pet carrier that could fit him so that he can travel with me to visit family.  I also did some research on rain jackets so he won't get too cold during the winter.  When it rained a few days ago, he refused to do his business outside, and I ended up having to bundle up, hold an umbrella, and walk in the rain for a good 20 minutes with him to convince him to "go."  Afterwards, we spent another 20 minutes toweling him off and blowdrying his super wet hair.  So yes, a rain jacket for him is a necessity.

I take all things seriously, so how is it possible not to take relationships seriously?  I've never been the casual dating kind of girl and I hereby accept that I never will.  At some point in my relationship with B., I told myself to simply live-in-the-moment and not think about the future.  I denied my personality and the work ethic within me, and along with those core values, I also lost my sense of self-concept.

So, never again, never again.  I have to accept myself for who I am: a long-term planner and someone who, once committed, is devoted, dedicated and focused entirely on the task without wanting to look up or look around for other options.

The undocumented life

Recently, I've begun to wonder whether my life has meaning if it is not being documented.  I watched a movie a long time ago, in which a divorcing couple reconciles and they talk about the significance of being there to document each other's lives.  Their statement rang true to me then and has continued to linger in my thoughts ever since.

Whenever I am single, I wonder if my life holds meaning because no one else knows what's happening other than myself.  In a relationship, I have someone to update, to talk to about my day, to vouch for my activities, to care about and also document my existence.  Without a partner, and sometimes when I don't talk to friends, I wonder if anyone knows that I exist.

There is that infamous quote from Socrates: "The unexamined life is not worth living."

But what about the "undocumented/unnoticed" life?  Doesn't the undocumented life feel equally unworthy too?

Garlic. A difficult entry to write.

One of my most painful memories is having to give up garlic when I was with B.

I either stopped eating it altogether or I had to sneak it in.  I only ate it when he was out-of-town or if I were out-of-town.  And boy did I crave it and crave it often. I remember one night when I craved salsa and guacamole so much that I was no longer able to resist the temptation.  I love to cook in the kitchen and I was wanting so badly to have that strong flavor of raw garlic spiciness mixed with jalapenos, salt, and lots of lemon juice and cilantro.  That night, I made it and I satisfied one of the biggest cravings I'd been resisting for weeks, if not months.  And then he called to say he wanted me to visit him because he was missing me.  I had to say no no no no no because I knew that if I were "caught"-- that he would surely punish me for eating what he absolutely detested me eating.

And punish me, he does.
The first time he expressed his disgust was when he made a nasty face when I wanted olives and bread during our road trip.  He said he hated garlic and he didn't want me to have any either.  But at that time, he was at least more gentle and smiley and he almost said it jokingly so I relented and ended up eating something else.

Over time, he passively made me feel very badly about myself for eating garlic. One of the worst memories I have was when I hosted a huge party for an organization and catered delicious Chinese food to celebrate the Lunar New Year.  It was a lot of fun and afterwards, I stopped by his apartment because he asked me to just come over and say hi.  When I got there, he appeared ecstatic to see me and ran over to me to embrace me and to say hi.  He leaned in to hug and kiss me and I remember feeling so warm and cozy inside.  But just as intensely as he showed his love, he was equally quick with taking it away.  One minute, I remember snuggling and cuddling, and the next minute, he was literally shoving me out of bed and sticking a pillow between us as he said, "yuck, I smell garlic."  He made as many "get away from me" actions as possible, turning his back to me, pushing me to the farthest side of the bed, and then eventually sitting up and telling me how unattractive it was for a girl to eat garlic.  His exact words? "In Europe, girls don't eat garlic."

.... Are you kidding?  What part of Europe?  Because Europe is quite large and although I've only explored most of the Western parts, I'm pretty sure that in all of the places that I've lived there (i.e., the UK, Italy, Spain, France), people loved garlic.

So then B. changed his excuse and said that he hates garlic and that his family doesn't eat garlic.  When I expressed disbelief and asked about some of the foods he said that his mom makes, he emphasized that only his parents eat garlic, but that he doesn't, and that he never liked the flavor for as long as he could remember.

Now, this fight/discussion lasted for a good hour, and eventually, after feeling so physically and emotionally rejected, I got up and said goodbye.  I said that I can no longer be with him if that is how he feels and if he is going to restrict my dietary habits this way.  I felt like I was so disgusting to him, and it was so exhausting, draining, and defeating to have to argue and beg for him to accept that just because the food is gross to him, I shouldn't be gross to him.  I felt angry too because in my culture and my family, garlic is essential in all of our meals! Heck, my dad used to make me eat raw garlic for its health benefits, and even today, tons of our sauces and dressings are mixed with garlic.  I simply couldn't imagine having to cut that all out of my life, and having to bear that feeling of being disgusting to someone because I like it.

Of course, B. quickly got up and changed his story.  He said that I was being overly dramatic and that he doesn't dislike garlic, it's that he's allergic to garlic.  I challenged this statement because I had seen him eat some before, and eventually, he admitted that he wasn't allergic, he just didn't like it.

DO YOU SEE HIS MANIPULATION TACTICS HERE?  I DIDN'T BEFORE.  BUT I DO NOW.

I can't believe that I stayed with him for like... 1 year and 6 months after that.  Because I did and I did eventually give up eating garlic.  For awhile, he started to eat it and he later admitted to liking it!  But it was only when he ate it that I was "allowed" to consume garlic.  If I were the only one to eat it, the consequences would be the same: emotional and physical rejection.  Outward disgust towards me.  And a whole onslaught of insults toward people in my culture and to all the women in the world (i.e., non-European) who consume garlic.  In his world, apparently, "European girls never eat garlic because they care about being sexy".

Goodbye to my self-concept of being sexy, attractive, wanted, or even just... acceptable.

Basic need: Denied

There was a HUGE red flag with B. even before our relationship got serious.

It happened during one of the best experiences we've ever had together.  It happened when we were roadtripping for to a different state and having an almost-week-long vacation of touring, exploring, and driving.  It was my first road trip EVER and we had a really good time, considering we'd barely known each other but we found ourselves really enjoying each other's company.

This was about the first month into our relationship.  And it is the only good time/experience I can remember. It is also the last experience I remember that was fun and heartbreak-free. I have since wanted to pretend that nothing negative happened on that trip because it was way too early into our relationship. And if I accepted that there were red flags, even then then it would mean that I am blind.  To which, I was only... partly.  I was half-blind, and the other part of me wanted to turn the other cheek.

The first red flag-- which I've now processed in therapy-- is his denial of my hunger.  My basic need.  Hunger, for me, has a strong emotional component because my family is full of food-loving people who have always shown their love through food: feeding, providing, cooking, sharing.

On my road trip with B., there were times when we would be driving and I would be starving.  For example, 4 hours into the drive, I'd be really hungry and needing a snack.  Our conversation was like this:

Me: I'm hungry!
B: What?! No you're not.

Conversation over.
Except that I could never believe his response was serious, so I would continue...

Me: Yes I am! You're not hungry? Let's go get something to eat.
No: Noooo. I'm not. We just ate, like, 6 hours ago.  I can't believe you're hungry already.  You shouldn't eat so much. You should go on a diet.
Me: But 6 hours was a long time ago.... I don't eat that much...

NOW the conversation is over and I'm wounded, insulted, shocked, and unsure of how to respond because of all that he said in his one response to me.  I sit in silence and I'm utterly confused. He denied my hunger.  Told me I ate a lot.  Insulted me for eating "a lot"-- whatever that means.  And gave me a look that conveys: "you're fat." What do I say to that?!

On our road trip, I eventually told him it was over when he refused to let me get olives and bread while we were stopping by a grocery store.  He hates garlic and was adamant that I only get bananas and maybe an apple.  When he realized how upset and serious I was, he quickly changed his tune, and was like "OK, fiiiiiiine.  If food means thaaaaaaat much to you."

I have SO much to write about him and his issues with food.  I could dedicate an entire blog to his critiques of food, and me eating any of it.  My self-esteem in that arena is completely gone. Because of him, I spent the past 2 years changing my diet and monitoring what I ate very very closely for fear he would smell it on my breath and find some way to insult, reject, or hurt me.

I will write more on that later.  For now, I have to stop.

This entry itself is taking quite a toll on me, and I need to take a step back.

Perpetrator

I couldn't sleep last night.  Again.

I laid in bed for a few hours, tossing and turning, and eventually crying.

I thought about my relationship with B. and how my identit(ies) have changed since him.  I especially thought about adding "sexual assault victim" in my identity and how uncomfortable that feels for me.  How unfitting that seems, because I didn't even know at the time.

What else will I discover about myself that I don't know?  B. has already taken away so much of my self-concept, self-esteem, identiti(es), and my sense of trust in the world and in myself.  This additional domain of being a perpetrator and victim in the bedroom is just too overwhelming for me. Too intense for me to even accept as part of my reality.

Looking back, "perpetrator" is the best way to describe him because he does exactly that: perpetrate. He invades and pushes himself onto me in so many different ways, in so many different domains, with no regard for anything that I have ever had to say.  He has no respect for my boundaries. He completely trespasses me in all the times I have said "no".  It's as if the more I say "no", the more he will push and shove his way into getting it--- as if to prove to me that he WILL always gets what he wants no matter what.

"No, stop, don't touch me."  Immediately after, he will poke me 3 more times.


"No, stop calling me. It's over." A few hours later, he will be calling and calling and calling me.

"No, I don't want to go there."  He will cajole and manipulate so that I eventually go there.  And by go there, I mean nightly liquor runs because I detest those kinds of trips and he knows it.

The perfect example here is him calling over the past few weekends.  When we broke up, I made it explicitly clear that I wanted absolutely no contact from him.  I even said I would call the police! Still, he called me 3X on the morning of my birthday and for 2 consecutive weekends after.


It's sick.

He is sick.  

And because I was with him for such a long time, I feel very sick, too.

Feeling like I am (ir)relevant

I caught up with girlfriends over the weekend and had a mini-reunion.
It's the same girls I went to the wedding with, and the same bride who is now happily married and in-town visiting for the weekend.

... and I got some validating news that I'm bursting to share!

Remember that entry that I wrote about beneficial flirting? The quick recap is that I met a very nice groomsmen who I walked with down the aisle and who was kind, attentive, courteous, and oh-so-very-cute.  We flirted, we laughed, we danced, we chatted,  it was wonderful.  Well, after I came back from the wedding, life just resumed and I continued onwards.  I was a little bummed that my cute groomsmen didn't ask to keep in touch.  OK, I'm lying. I was super bummed that he didn't want to keep in touch because another groomsmen had gotten the contact information of my close girlfriend and they began talking through facebook, sending text messages, and having phone calls ever since. Oh, and did I mention that he wanted to come visit her this weekend??!!

So, it's been hard not to make the comparison between my groomsmen and hers when we both had such a good time flirting and having fun.  In fact, she had told me that she observed such chemistry between me and my groomsmen.  So then, why have she and I had such different experiences (romantically) after the wedding weekend? Why is she being pursued but not me?  It's been hard for me to be happy for her without wondering if something about me is deficient.  I mean, why aren't I relevant?  Why didn't my groomsman want to get my contact info? In the words of my girlfriend, why didn't he at least keep in touch as friends? Still, I'm very happy for my girlfriend and I think she SO deserves to be pursued and wooed off her feet. For me, I just feel a bit of a blow to my ego.  My already-weak and injured ego!

So anyways, over the weekend, I got some information that made me feel 100X better about myself and whether I even imagined the chemistry to begin with.  My same girlfriend dug some information from the groom to learn that boys talk! And boys gossip!  And that my groomsmen has had several conversations about me being "hot" and him being interested in getting to know me.  I also learned that the difference between him and the other groomsmen is that he's shy. He's more of a nerdy shy guy so he's not as proactive with chasing a girl.  Also, he's had a really bad experience in a long-distance relationship before, so he is wary of starting something that is long-distance to begin with.

Whewwww! So I'm not totally irrelevant and I did not imagine that we flirted.  Wipe that sweat off my brow, baby.  For awhile there, I've been wondering if it I imagined the flirting and the attraction. I started to think that he's just a really good guy all the time, but that I mixed-up the signals and began to think I was special when I'm really actually not!  So, WHEW. It's good to get that validation that he was interested. It's also flattering to know that the word "hot" was used in the same sentence as my name!  That my groomsman is a shy guy also is comforting to hear.  Perhaps I am going back to my roots!  I have always been more attracted to shy guys than those who sweep you off your feet.  The only person that's been a total romantic and a total woo-er has been B., and clearly, that has confirmed for me that shyness is 100000% better than a womanizer.


Ah, thank you, validation!  I need other people's perspectives to let me know that my perception of the world is the same as theirs. I no longer have the self-esteem or confidence to know whether my experiences are true.  I can no longer decipher whether my feelings are legitimate or if I've been fooled into thinking they are legitimate.

This. Is. A. Problem.

From now on, if I ever have a positive experience with someone I'm attracted to, I will never know if my reality is the same as his.  In my eyes, I may think I'm special and that he is treating me in a special way.  In his eyes, however, I could be just as common as the next stranger walking down the street!  This is definitely a consequence of my relationship with B.  In the 2 years that we were together, I thought he loved me and that we were special to each other.  I thought so many things that turned out to be untrue.  His honey-sweet words made me feel cherished and unique.  But obviously, he had those words for any female walking down the street! So really, how can I ever feel genuinely cherished and unique again?  I can't!  I can't trust my responses anymore because I'll never know if they are true. I can't trust others and I can't trust me, either.  Great. Just great.

Meet me where I'm at: In my pain

Sometimes, when I try to talk about my experiences with others, I am cut-off because my audience seems uncomfortable with my pain.  They just want to fix the situation and they want to give information to me.  Rather than letting me express my feelings and tell my story, their desire to give knowledge significantly impedes my ability to express myself and heal.

This entry may sound a bit ungrateful and critical.  But that's not my intention.  For me to understand my own needs, and for me to be a good listener to others, I want to acknowledge that some responses can actually invalidate me and discourage my growth sometimes.

What generally happens when I disclose negative experiences is that others will say: "You deserve SO much better than that, you know that, right? You are such an amazing, wonderful, blah blah blah person, and you deserve someone that is just as amazing, wonderful, blah blah blah some more."

Responses like this usually stop me cold.  Why?  Well, first of all, most people tend to interject these statements impulsively because they feel compelled to let me know that my feelings of shame and self-doubt are untrue.  I understand that the intention comes from a very good place in their heart.  They feel upset about the situation and they want to remind me to have self-worth.  But honestly, these kinds of responses generally have the opposite effect on me. From my perspective, I've been cut-off mid-way through my story-telling. And trust me, cutting-me-off when I am talking about something emotional and painful is the worst thing you can do because you've stopped a process that took so much time and courage for me to even initiate and express.  I will not be able to resume my story-telling afterwards because you've stopped the crescendo that was slowly building up. You stopped the emotional processing for me, and you've taken me off the path that I was on.  You've also taken the focus away from me, and instead it is actually placed on you and your viewpoint.  Rather than hear my story and hear about my internal experience, you have now projected "your perspective of me" onto "my perspective of me."  Purposeful or not, you have indirectly told me that my sense of self is incorrect and that I should listen to you.  YOU think I'm wonderful, fantastic, funny, smart, pretty, nice, kind, loving, blah blah blah.  YOU want me to believe these things. And YOU want me to let go of my perspective of myself as stupid, deficient, incompetent, unattractive, unworthy, etc. etc.  You want me to not see myself in MY way, but to see me in YOUR way.  So, in order to respond to your statement (and you do expect a response because you want so much for me to have self-worth), I now have to switch into a different frame of mind to think about YOUR perceptions of me rather than all of the dark, ugly, scary feelings that I have. Thus, instead of being able to put my pain out there so that I do not have to sit in it alone, I now continue to sit in it alone.  Even worse is that I feel even more alone now because you, my dear audience who I trust so much to share my stories with, have now conveyed to me that my self-perception is untrue, and that I should listen to your perception of me instead.

Another frustrating response that people have are the "should" and the "deserve" statements.  "You should be in a relationship where he values and respects you.  You deserve love.  You deserve to be cherished. You deserved to be a princess. You should be in a relationship in which you are a top priority." And blah blah blah some more.

These responses have caught me off-guard too. And again, I end up feeling more invalidated than ever before. Look, I know what I "deserve" and in an ideal world, everyone would have all of these beautiful abstract concepts in their lives.  But what you're saying is so far from my reality and it is as foreign to me as unicorns and christmas elves.  So, rather than send me into la-la land giving me hypothetical ideals that are abstract and vague, why can't you hep me cope with the reality that is my life?

Would you tell the starving children of the world that they deserve ice cream cakes and prime ribs?  That they should taste all of the candies at least once in their lifetimes, and that they are deprived of a life that gives them a buffet of meal choices?  I sure hope not because that is ridiculous!  And also excessive! Would you tell children at orphanages that every child deserves a family and that they should know who their biological parents are? Heck no! That's just an ideal situation in an ideal world.

Instead, I wish people could just meet me where I am at. If I am telling you about my unhealthy experience about a previous/current partner, help me either deal with that issue directly or help me identify why I'm not leaving that person.  Help me get out of my current situation.  Or at the very least, I beg you to acknowledge that this is my reality rather than paint an idealistic and unrealistic picture that is vague, abstract, and completely unknown to me.  With starving children, you would give them food so they can cope with their immediate hunger and to deal with the pressing issue at-hand.  With an adopted child, you would decide on a case-by-case basis what they need to know rather than tell them about an ideal world about love and families.  On a scale of 0-100, if I am doing in the negative zone, please don't tell me about how great life is in the 100 zone.  Rather than tell me that I "should/deserve to" be at the 100 level, meet me at 0, at the very very least.  If you can move to the negatives to be with me, then that would be even better.  My wish is for you to meet me where I'm at rather than tell me where you think I should/deserve to be at.

My last comment is that whatever information that people give me about me and self-worth are usually things I already know about myself.  I KNOW that I deserve to be in a good relationship.  I KNOW that I deserve to be respected and listened to, loved and cherished, treated like a princess, validated for my feelings, etc. etc.  I KNOW.

If I didn't know, then why would I be in this bad relationship?  Obviously, it's because I know and I hope that my partner will one day be like that. For me, the problem has always been that I hope they will change, and I hope for a fairy tale ending. The problem is that I am too hopeful about ideals, and I am applying them to the wrong people.  So please don't tell me about abstract ideals because that's actually more dangerous for me.  You are unintentionally encouraging me to continue to fantasize about a good relationship with the asshole I've dated/ am dating.


In short, please listen to me and let me tell my story.  Simply telling my experience is validating for me.  Letting me share my story is empowering for me. Rather than re-direct my negative into positives, please just let me sit in my feelings and let me know that my experience is real and that my feelings are also real.  By simply acknowledging that, I will already feel less alone and I will feel more validated for just being me.

"You're a catch"

How many of us dream of meeting someone and being considered "a catch" in their eyes?

A friend of mine recently wrote a book about love and marriage, and in it, she has a dedication to her husband that simply says, "you're a catch!"

Her one line is so simplistic and so profound.  It means you are valuable.  You are unique. You are one of the few that come along, and I am SO glad I caught you.

"Catch".  The word itself is so pro-active, so driven, so assertive.  It's not at all passive or reflective of accepting the status quo.  It's about going out there, being purposeful about your choices, and seeking out what is the best. And when you do have your eye on the prize, then you GRAB it. You don't wait for it to come to you. You reach for it and you quickly take it off-the-market before someone else does.

I'll provide an example. I don't fish, but I imagine that when you fish, you want to "catch" the best out there.  The biggest fish, perhaps.  The yummiest one.  The more/most unique one.  That is why there is "the catch of the day!"

In any case, the point I'm making is that we should look for that one who is a "catch" for us.  And we should also be confident enough that we are a catch ourselves.  When I think about it this way, then I am oh-so-grateful that when I was "caught" by the wrong people, they threw me back into the lake/pond/ocean.  I am also glad that when I have been the one doing the catching, I've been able to throw back the ones that haven't been a "catch" in my eyes. That being said, at least I was rational enough to throw them back and to wait for something better to come along.

So, a reminder to myself: believe that there is better out there.  Believe that I am better and that I am a catch and therefore also deserving of a catch.

Self-doubt

The same insecurities I have in relationships are just-as-present in my relationship with Mr. Z., my dog.
For the past few weeks, I’d forgotten about this initial self-doubt I had when I adopted him from the shelter. But in the past few days, my insecurity is returning.

In the same way that I wonder if I’m “good enough” in a relationship, I wonder if I’m “good enough” as my doggy’s parent. “Look, Mr. Z just sighed. Is he bored? Exasperated? Disappointed? If he were living with another family, would he be happier? More content? More fulfilled? Less lonely?”

Yes, I often wonder if Mr. Z. is lonely because he lives with me and me alone. Unlike “traditional” households, I do not have a partner and I do not have any children. Also, I don’t have any other pets other than him. And no, I don’t have a yard. I live in an apartment complex that is quite spacious for me, but still… what does that mean in the dog world? I can’t help but compare myself to families bustling with people and wonder if he would be happier elsewhere. In a family with 2 adults, 2.5 kids, another pet, and a fenced yard – (ah, the quintessential American dream), would Mr. Z. be happier?

And yes, Mr. Z deserve to be happy. So then, does Mr. Z. even know that these large(r) families exist but that he's not with them but with me, instead? When I adopted Mr. Z., he was living in a foster home with 2 adults (a married couple) and 4 other dogs. 4!! Imagine all the furry friends he had to play with all day everyday. And the couple also had a fenced backyard for them to run around and do their business!

Naturally, then, when I adopted Mr. Z., I couldn’t help but feel inadequate to begin with. In my “family”, there is only me, so I worry if he knows that and therefore judges me to be… insufficient. Sometimes, when I observe him lying on the carpet, eyes open and looking around, I wonder if he’s actually comparing me to the other families he has been with. Certainly his original owners sucked because they abandoned him and seems to have abused him for potty-training issues, but what about the good stuff they gave him? What about the good stuff they gave him that I can’t give? And what about the foster family that clearly was so good to him?

Ah, how familiar this insecurity is.

In my relationship with B., and probably with other ex-boyfriends too, I have often wondered how I compare to their ex-girlfriends. I wonder if I’m deficient in comparison, and I “observe” their responses to gauge whether they are happy with me. And in the same way that I watch Ziggy now, I have used so much more energy wondering if they are mentally checked-out and wanting to be elsewhere.

Hmm... “mentally checked-out”. That’s a good way to describe it. To physically be with someone but know that they are mentally elsewhere. Or that they wish they were elsewhere (instead of with you). That is the dagger in my heart that I wonder about. I frequently wonder if those around me (especially when they are sitting right next to me) wish to be somewhere else instead because I am _____ (fill-in-the-blank any word that is deficient; ex: boring, stupid, ugly, etc. etc.)

So, Mr. Z., do you mentally check-out on me? Are you wishing to be somewhere else? With another family? Well, at the very least, I know Mr. Z cannot physically “cheat on me” simply because it is not a romantic relationship and well, that’s just weird to think about. He can’t hurt me in the ways that men have, and he certainly can’t rip my heart out in all the ways that B. did. That at least, feels safe to me. If I really think about it, Mr. Ziggy is a dog and he can’t do those things. Also, I do think that Mr. Z. won’t hurt me in all those ways because already, he is 100% more loyal and loving to me than any boyfriend has ever been to me.

Bed time

Since my nightmare, I've had difficulty falling asleep at night.
As soon as I climb into my bed, my mind starts running at a million miles per hour.
I find myself unable to stop thinking about relationships.
I think about B. certainly.  But then I also think about previous ex-boyfriends and begin to reflect on why those fizzled out and why those were bad decisions as well.

In any case, that's what my process to sleep has been.  I'm just lying in bed thinking about my romantic history and all the negativity and heartache I've gone through.  I think about my feelings for each of those individuals now.  And I think about how I felt towards them when we had immediately just broken up.  And that brings some relief because in reality, my feelings toward them lean closer to apathy than any other emotional feeling.

The only reason I'm even thinking about them is because of my breakup with B. and how this triggers all of my previous relationships so that I'm prompted to reflect on it all.  Still, I have tons of thoughts swimming through my head each night, and I remind myself to journal it all in the morning.

Morning arrives, finally, and alas, I sit in front of my journal with... nothing.

Baby steps to vulnerability

I am taking baby steps to share myself.
In the past few days, I have told four friends about my nightmare.  I did not go into explicit detail with most of them. But I did begin to talk, which, in my book, is a giant step that I couldn't even foresee taking.

I'm talking.  I'm starting to talk.  And I'm grateful that I have people around me to listen.  Thank you for listening, for letting me feel like I can let it out without any pressures.  Thank you for not being judgmental, critical, or disgusted by the materials that I have shared with you.  Thank you for your empathy, your sympathy, and your compassion for what I have gone through.

More than anything though, I really really really thank you for just sitting with me and letting me pour it all out.  It is more difficult than you can imagine: organizing my emotions into words, letting my words sit in my throat, and forcing my words out of my mouth so that they are there.  Open. Floating. Soaring through the space to get to your ears and whoever is in the vicinity.  It is a huge risk and challenge that I am taking. And I am really trying my best to be vulnerable to you.

Trauma Bonds

I have been thinking about this topic for awhile now.  During my relationship with B., I had a vague sense that I was deeply attached to him for the wrong reasons, but I just didn't have the (whatever it is) to pull myself out.  The worse he was to me, the more I needed him.  The more he criticized me or criticized things surrounding me, the more I felt the need to please him-- all the while hating him inside-- but feeling compelled to make him proud of me at the same time.

Also, the worse he was, the more I needed to be with him.  That was how I felt anyway.  Sitting amongst friends, I would think about him and feel an urgency to rush to him.  Instead of enjoy the company of those who love me and who give me support and fun, my mind will always wander to B. and the need to quickly leave so I can be with him.  Ironically, I always left fun, relaxing atmospheres to get to him, and it was always utterly disappointing to rush there only to find him drunk, manic, depressive, inattentive, yes, always in this combination!

So the worse our relationship was, the less I talked.  The less I shared with friends.  The less I went out with friends. The less I thought about how I feel.

Which is why I have this blog now, and which is why I was so pleased to find this website today, when I googled trauma bonds:

http://victimsofpsychopaths.wordpress.com/traumatic-bonding/

I mostly know all of the facts and information.  What was most helpful for me was reading people's comments and feeling like there was support across all of our experiences.  What may be uniquely shameful to you is something that we have all experienced in some way, shape, or form. None of you are alone.  I can relate to your experiences and I hope you know that you have ever been the only person to go through what you have/had gone through.

Pain

Sometimes, I don't have the words to express how I feel.  That's when I rely on music and lyrics to let myself sit and cry with someone else.  There is something very comforting about someone else singing about your feelings and your pain.  I feel less alone and I feel validated that someone in this universe can relate to extremities that I experience internally.

Here is a song called "Grenade" by Bruno Mars.  I listened to it towards the end of my relationship with B. and cried boatloads of tears, realizing that this was THE defining song of our relationship.  Here I was, giving up everything for him, sacrificing my own values, beliefs, my own world, my own social life, for him because he was my world!  Meanwhile, I was simply an object of convenience for him.  A good toy to play with while he was here, offering good entertainment for the time being until he could go somewhere better. Below is also what the artist, Bruno Mars, wrote about this song:

"Today, I get to share with you the visual companion piece to my new single, 'Grenade.' The song is about loving someone so deeply, and the pain of knowing that the person you love does not feel the same. The actions in this video serve as a metaphor, and should not be taken literally. I am aware of the power of visual media, and I encourage everyone who watches this video to understand that it is an artistic interpretation of the song, and not something to imitate." -- Bruno Mars

Nightmare

I am feeling a little raw these days.
I am a little scared of how fragile I feel inside.

A few days ago, I had a terrible nightmare that involved B. holding my family hostage inside my family home.  There was also sexual assault, or at the very least, his attempts to coerce me into something I did not want to do.  And in the entire dream, I just kept running... from one room to the other, from one family to the other, crying for help.

But it was like nobody could hear the intensity in my voice, or the distress.  My family, who had been held hostage for so long by him, had already given up.  They were not very responsive because they were so sleepy.  As if they were drugged, or if they simply surrendered to his tyranny in the house.  I also felt like they gave up because that felt like the safest thing to do.  In order to keep me safe and to maintain some stability, they just had to accept the situation as it was, and let things... happen.

I still feel very disturbed by my nightmare.... all of its contents, all of its details, and also the ending.  Or should I say endings?  I woke up towards the end when I was running to open the front door to the police.  I had called the police and was trying to open the locked door when B. saw me and started running towards me.  The lock was jammed in the front door, so I kept turning and turning, looking at the cops who were simply on the other side of the door waiting for me... and directly behind me, was B. headed straight for me because he caught me escaping.

When I went back to sleep again, I think I continued to dream.  I dreamt that the cops came in, fortunately, and they arrested B. right then and there.  My family slowly came downstairs, terrified and still dazed, and all the while, B. is looking at me in total and utter confusion.  His faces bears the look of betrayal, of being misunderstood.  He does not understand why he is being arrested and he just keeps saying over and over, "What did I do wrong? I didn't do anything wrong.  All I did was love you.  All I've ever wanted to do was love you..."  He's saying this even while they are cuffing him and getting ready to take him away.

This dream is so symbolic because B. has hurt me in so so so many ways and I firmly believe that he believes he's done nothing wrong.  He will forever maintain that he loves me.  He will believe in his heart that cheating has nothing to do with his love for me.  And he will never think that when I say "no, stop," that he needs to stop, and to accept my "no" for what it is.

So, here I am, a few days since I've had this dream, and I feel very scared and vulnerable. I feel dirtied by this relationship and I wonder if I can ever return to my purity.  I wonder if this relationship has forever changed me, and I wonder if I can ever heal from this.  It was only after I went to therapy this week, that I realized the words "sexual assault" were in my relationship.  I thought that his blatant disregard for my "no"(s) were because he is an asshole.  That it carried into the bedroom and is equal to sexual assault makes me, then, a.... victim?

I have not thought about myself like that ever, and it makes me feel even more like hiding into a place where no one can ever find me.  More specifically, where he can never find me, never contact me, never even know about my existence.  I just feel very... sick.