relationships – Page 5 – It’s All in Your Head

99, 44, 100% Pure Love. (Eddie Rabbit)

So, my ma and I were yacking yesterday, and we got on the topic of men. I was telling her how I was still missing my ex and how I didn’t know what I did to my 2 date wonder to make him run so fast. She said: “How do you know it was something you did?” Hmmm.

As my logical brain (not huge, just sayin’) tried to process this information, my emotional brain automatically blamed myself for the end of not only those, but all my relationships. Now here me out: 3 divorces (shutty the mouthy), an ex partner (who I thought was my soulmate), and some fizzly dates that probably never should have happened. And, my sweet grasshoppers, who was the common denominator in all of those? Go ahead and shout it out, I can take it: ME. Blech.

It’s been 6 months since ex and I broke up. Wait. Wrong choice of words. It’s been 6 months since ex broke up with me. And yes, he wasn’t the best to me during our 3 years together. Y’all have heard that before. Along with having had a really bad childhood, he has BPD and PTSD and I cut him a lot of slack because of all this. The cheating, frequent abandonment, lying, gaslighting, rages, and you get the point. I overlooked these or minimized them because of feeling sorry for him; because of how I was wanting so bad to make his life better than it had been. Because I wanted to fix him.

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Is that what we women do? I know there are so many women out there that don’t feel this way, but I think those of us who are overly sensitive and/or strong empaths do. It’s kind of what’s inside of us. How can I say how ‘sensitive’ and ’empathic’ I am if I don’t show this to the men in my life? To ex? He served 3 grueling tours in the Middle East. Didn’t he deserve to fuck up? He has mental health issues with documented damage in his brain because of an explosion he was in during his time in Iraq. Didn’t he deserve forgiveness from me for doing the things he did? God knows I’ve made a LOT of mistakes because of issues with the mania or depression I’m cycling through. Don’t I want the same treatment?

Well, maybe there’s a difference. First, he was consciously aware of every single thing he was doing because he spent so much time covering it up, lying about it, or making me feel I was nuts for thinking anything was amiss. If you are able to have that much insight into your actions, are they still the product of a mental illness you can’t necessarily control? Hmmm. That’s really one of the hallmarks of BPD, isn’t it? The instability of the person in every area of their lives. And with me, I know my impulsiveness has especially caused me to do and say things completely and totally wrong. That’s part of bipolar.

So what gives? I feel so much remorse after I’m in a better place, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself a fraction of what I’ve done. I also take full responsibility. I always blame myself, bipolar be damned.

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Is there another explanation for why I stayed then? I think because of my drawers. NO! Not my knickers…but my brain compartments. Like a lot of people, I’m very good at putting things in boxes. You put the abuse, infidelity, horrible words in a drawer and try to forget about them, while allowing the drawer of good times to be open. Remembered. Looked at.

Ma asked me if I would ever go back to ex. I truly, with all my heart, wanted to say no. But to be brutally honest, I don’t know. Not long ago, I really wanted another chance at our relationship and responded as such after he texted me. He shot that down. For him, it’s dead. For me, some embers are still burning.

After J ‘broke’ up with me, I dated a lawyer for a couple of months. Educated. Suave. Fun. And I thought, OK…this could work. And then, after a truly small issue that HE brought up, he got so mean with me (verbally…on the phone) that I couldn’t believe his venom. But in retrospect, I know where it came from. He and his ex have fought over their daughter for more than 10 years now. They have been back and forth to court scores of times for such ridiculous things (and it’s the poor girl that’s in the middle of this mine field). He talked about his ex-wife in such scathing, hateful, and cruel ways that it was always easy to see that anger about her in him. I just hadn’t realized the anger was now a permanent part of him.

Then I had 2 dates with another boob. We met for drinks one Saturday, and the conversation was good and he even hugged me goodbye. When he did this, I ‘thought’ I felt a hand on my ass, but figured it was probably my imagination. The next date was at his house. When I got there, he hugged me and when I left, he hugged me, with his hand on my (guess!) ass both times. OK, dude. You are almost 60 years old, and it’s obvious (from other things he said…and let me tell you, that second date ended VERY early) you want a hook up. Class act.

Then, my friend of 20 years that I asked out not long ago confounded me too. I had so much fun on our couple dates together…I really did! We had been such good friends and I thought building a relationship on that foundation would make for a great thing. Obviously, it didn’t (shocker, huh?). I could see us together, and I was really surprised at how his rejection of me hurt so bad.

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Here’s what I’ve noticed that pisses me off. In my life (and many other people have seconded this to me from their own experiences), men seem to have the upper hand in relationships. In terms of me, why is it that when they wanted it to end, it ended? Just because J (ex) was wanting to break up, why did we? Why did HE get to make that decision? I went to his apartment a couple of times to talk, and he literally would not let me in. So, I looked desperate, needy. But, if he came over here? I would have the courtesy to listen to what he’d say, and others might see him making that step as being so humbling for him. Men are pursuers, women are stalkers. Men are ‘ready for an emotional attachment’, women are needy. ‘Nuff said.

My friend decided he didn’t want a romantic relationship right now (better get off that dating site then, buddy), but I did. Once again, his decision prevailed. Ma asked me if I had talked to him about things, and I said no, not after that last text. Why? Because I would look too desperate. Right?

But maybe this isn’t about gender (now don’t send me crappy messages about not liking men: for fuck sakes, I’ve married 3 of them and gave birth to one), but about those of us who are overly emotional vs. those who aren’t. The over-emotionals don’t handle rejection well. We expect that others will treat us like we treat them, and understand relationships aren’t (or shouldn’t be) disposable. We grasp the insight that relationships take work, time and effort. Why is this so rare? Shouldn’t this be the ‘rule’ instead of the exception to the ‘rule’? Shouldn’t both people be part of the break-up like they were for the initial start? Why can’t both sides have input without judgement?

If one more person tells me it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I never have a partner again (thanks for the optimism, peeps) I’m literally going to punch them in the face. OK, not literally. And not even a tap. BUT, they will get one of my shitty looks…that’s for sure.

Look, I know it wouldn’t be the end of the fucking world. I’m a bit smarter than that. But I like having a partner. Actually, I love it. There are so many people that don’t admit that anymore. Maybe they think it makes them look weak. Or needy. Or pathetic. I’m not any of those. How does wanting someone to love and have them love me back weak? Needy? Pathetic? Isn’t that what life is all about? Building those intimate connections that make us feel loved, secure, and content, with the knowledge that someone out there is crazy about us. There’s even a phrase called “Poverty of Attachments”; according to this, I’m definitely poor.

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Maybe I am just asking for too much. Maybe I will be alone. But, maybe a guy will come into my life wanting me. Not wanting what he can get from me, or take from me, or do to me. But just wanting me. With all that comes along with me being me. Is my soulmate out there? Does that even exist? I don’t know the answer to that. But I do know I’ll keep giving 100% in any relationship I’m in and work my ass off in it. Maybe that’s good…maybe that’s bad. But to be honest with you, that’s all I know to do.

Kristi xoxo

“Sorry Seems to be The Hardest Word” (Bernie Taupin)

So, the other day in one of my posts, I talked about how guilty those of us with bipolar often feel because of the strain it can place on others. After reading some messages from you Grasshoppers, I know that others feel this in relation to their own mental illness. In fact, in an article published by the National Institute of Health, it states: “The stigmatizing attitudes toward mental illness held by both the public and those who have a mental illness lead to feelings of shame and guilt, loss of self-esteem, social dependence, and a sense of isolation and hopelessness.” Basically, any of us can experience guilt based on what we have, and not just necessarily by what we do.

Some of you commented that one way to combat the guilt tied to actions/behaviors/words/etc. was to apologize to those who were hurt by these things. I’ve been talking about this very issue with my counselor, and I totally agree. I’ve been wanting to apologize for a long time. But, my problem (among many) is how to go about it.

How can words possibly convey the burdens and hurt I’ve inflicted on others during my life as a bipolar? Will the words sound genuine if I speak them? More ‘real’ if I write them? What exactly do I apologize for? Being mentally ill in the first place? What I’ve ‘done’ during the course of this sickness? Both?

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If I were to list all of the people I should apologize too, the list would be too long for the gigs I’m allowed on this site. Seriously. I have tons of family members I know I’ve hurt. Ex hubbies. Friends I’ve had. I’d have apologize to entire classes for the times I was down and not totally ON for them, which is what each of my classes deserves every time I’m in front of them. And, sorries should go to people I haven’t been kind to since I was so far down to even be able to care like I should.

When I try to apologize to family, I can’t do it verbally. I get so choked up at the hurt I’ve caused that talking is difficult. Just writing this is making the tears begin. But, that’s no excuse for not apologizing…period.

My mom has taken the brunt of this illness. It was really starting to show itself when I was a teen, and the acting out I did during manic times and the anger I expressed to her during my depressive states is shameful to me. Mom was my scapegoat for everything I was feeling but couldn’t describe or handle at the time. I remember sitting at the table when I was around 16 or so, and she had made me an Italian sausage sandwich…onions, peppers, the works. She served it to me and I threw it across the kitchen, hitting a quilt she was hand-quilting while yelling and crying. Mom had no idea what was wrong, but instead of yelling back and punishing me, she hugged me. I’ll never forget that.

Another time in high school, I called my mom a ‘bitch’ for no good reason. Actually I screamed that word to her in her face. Right after, I stormed out of the house and rode my bike to my grandparents house. My grandpa was waiting for me in the kitchen with some food for me. Mom had called him, just to tell him how upset I was and what I said. I started nibbling, and grandpa sat down at the terry cloth covered table with me and told me he had never been disappointed in me during my entire life, but today he was. I sobbed. Having my grandpa say that told me how far I’d gone in hurting my mom. I apologized to her when I got home, and she accepted it with no further mention. That, my Grasshoppers, is forgiveness.

During the breakdown I had, mom took care of me everyday for a few weeks. Everyday. I know what an incredible burden that had to be and the guilt I feel for putting my 73 year old mom through such a trial haunts me constantly. She saved my life and never once said anything to make me feel responsible for what was happening. The words “I’m sorry” don’t even say a fraction of what I want too…but other words don’t exist that do.

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And my son? For all of his growing up years I tried so so so hard to hide my mental illness. His dad and his family don’t believe in ‘weakness’ and being ‘sick’ isn’t an option. How could I admit what was swirling through my brain and how that was affecting me to someone who rebuffed anything that had to do with mental illness? Plus, I wanted my son-shine to have the best childhood possible. So I wore the tightest masks I could find; I’d be damned if I’d let him see my illness. There was no way I’d have wanted him to carry any burden of it around as a kid. My job was to be a mommy and make his growing up years happy and stable.

But when I decided to ‘come out’ with being bipolar, which was a necessity after my breakdown, my son (26) became such a support to me. To be honest, it took him a while to accept this unmasked me since he had never really seen it before. But now? He handles all of my moods, cycles, insecurities, crying, quietness, hyperactivity and everything else with support, care, and understanding. He’s been my rock, which makes me feel like I’m failing him as a mom now. But he says he’s supposed to take care of me (since I’m an elder…WTF?) and says that just how it is. I don’t agree with that, but him doing it is more than I can ever thank him for. And not being the mom he still deserves is something I’ll never be able to make up for. He’s going to be moving out in a couple of weeks, but only 2 miles away so he’ll be close if I need him.

And these 2? They’re just the tip of the ice burg. What about apologizing to my ex-hubbies? I know my sensitivity, impulsiveness, strong emotional reactions, periods of depression and the list goes on, affected each of them. Would I still be married to O’s dad if I wasn’t bipolar? Would I have saved my son from going through a divorce had I been honest with him about the severity of what was happening to me? I don’t know. But the question makes me ruminate often.

My sis and dad have been so affected by this too. Both have their own struggles with mental illness (hello…genetics anyone?) and so many times when I’ve wanted to support them, I can’t because of the state I’m in. How can I apologize for this neglect, when I know how important support really is?

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So yes, apologizing is necessary, at least for me. I’m not going to say I’m sorry for having this brain disorder. That I can’t help. But to my family, friends, students, and so many other people that have been affected by me having this fucking bastard (you didn’t think I’d leave that out, did you?) of an illness, I am so sorry for what I’ve put you through. So very sorry. Please forgive me for all of these overwhelming burdens I’ve placed on your shoulders. I don’t know any other words that truly reflect how shamed I am by this. I hope you understand what I’m trying to say.

Maybe Elton John was wrong. Maybe sorry isn’t the hardest word to say. Actually, finding the words that will convey the depth of this apology is much more difficult. I just hope to find them someday, because I owe them to a lot of people.

Kristi xoxo

To Spank or Not to Spank

This title is catchy, huh? And, I’m wondering how many of you clicked on it assuming it’s going to be a naughty post? Hmmmmm… 🙂

So, a good friend and I were messaging back and forth this morning and had a discussion on whether or not bad acts in our life make us undeserving of happiness, or if bad things happen to us because we deserve the punishment. I’ve actually thought about this a lot over the years.

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First, I have a very hard time with guilt. You name it, and I feel guilty over it. Big things…little things, it doesn’t matter. With me, guilt is guilt. Now, I do come by this ‘naturally’ so to speak: when a bipolar is in a depressive state, we tend to ruminate on situations and feel a great amount of guilt for them (even if it wasn’t our fault), and some researchers are saying that women might do this more than men. I am also a STRONG feeler (I do put stock into the Myers Briggs Type Indicator) and those of us who are, feel lots of guilt for things “simply” because we personalize situations which forces us to take blame for them as well. Unfortunately, these tendencies lead people like me to apologize often for situations that are completely out of my control. Having a bad day…my fault, I’m sorry! Neighborhood dog bit you…I’m sorry! Work not going well…I’m sorry! And we aren’t just saying ‘I’m sorry’ to show sympathy for the situation, we actually feel a sense of responsibility in some shape or way. Trust me when I say this, Grasshoppers…it’s exhausting!

As we all have, I’ve done things in my life I’m not proud of at all. In other words, I’ve fucked up royally at times. Bad decisions, bad actions, bad thoughts. And even though I didn’t really think about these moments as being wicked at the time I did them, but the remorse I felt afterwards was overwhelming.

Now I’m not saying that we shouldn’t feel remorse or guilt; if we didn’t, we’d be psychopathic! But I am saying that an over abundance of these feelings that last for years and years is a tad too much.

During the breakdown I experienced a couple of summers ago, I told my mom over and over I deserved everything that was happening to me. I was being punished for my sins. Me having precancerous cells was my payback for not doing quite enough for friends and family who have had full blown cancer. The man who stalked and threatened me for a period of time? Of course I was blamed (which I was) because I must have egged it on. The abuse I experienced in a relationship was because of my own behavior. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

So, I was punished. I got what I deserved during that time. “You reap what you sow” right? All of my transgressions were saved up for this one big bout of retribution. Hmmm. Maybe my bipolar is a punishment too.

As illogical as this sounds (and I know it does), emotionally I can’t help feeling this way. Look at this quote from Warren Buffett. I GET what he’s saying, but I also KNOW how this isn’t fully possible for me. I can’t wish my emotions away. I can’t just turn off the ‘sensitive’ side of me (I hate that term because it’s used so negatively in our society…why is it a bad thing to be sensitive?) and click on the logical. It’s akin to asking Warren to change his eye color from green to brown.

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Maybe I feel like I’m punished for my misdeeds because I want the consequences. Do they relieve me of my guilt? Pay for things I did? Balance out my scales of good and bad? No.

When I’m depressed, I ruminate on my life and feel that guilt still. Things I did decades ago still haunt me, and I’m a sucker for saying to myself “What if.” What if I had been better to O’s dad?. Would we still be a family together? Or what if I would have stayed with O’s dad no matter what?. Would O have had a better life? (The guilt I feel over putting O through a divorce at such a confusing age anyway will haunt me forever). What if I absolutely accepted all aspects of Hubby 3’s outlaw motorcycle club? Maybe he wouldn’t have found someone who did. What if I had given J even more of myself? Maybe he would have stayed faithful to me. These questions swirl around in my mind.

So, I’ve learned to deal with that. I’m a Christian, and as such, I totally understand that Jesus has paid for my sins and I’ll reach heaven someday. But I also believe that justice can be meted out on earth too. How do I stop regretting the past, so I can move into the future with less burden to carry? Maybe that’s just something I’ll always have to deal with because of my lovely (sarcastically said) bouts of depression and tendency towards sensitivity. But maybe as I learn to love myself more, I’ll cut myself more slack, like I’d do for any other person I care about. Maybe this is just one more battle to fight in dealing with bipolar.

And if that’s the case, there’s going to be a brawl.

Kristi xoxo

“I’m stranded all alone in the gas station of love, and I have to use the self-service pumps” (~ Weird Al Yankovic)

So, I was thinking the other day (I know, that’s a first) while looking at social media and I started counting the number of times people say “I love you”. It was staggering. Now, I’m not saying that’s a bad thing at all, but I wonder if we use it in a casual context so often, that it loses some of it’s meaning. I say “I love you” regularly too, and I know I mean it when I do. But I also know there are so many different levels and kinds of love that I’m not sure I’m expressing what I intend too. However, that intention often times doesn’t have any other words for me to use.

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In Russia, the equivalent word for ‘love’ is most often reserved for romantic relationships, and isn’t often said between family members. In Asian cultures, ‘love’ is rarely brought up. Instead, it’s shown through actions and care. Same for Indian culture (which I know is Asian but they are often looked at separately) where ‘love’ is woven into the fabric of the culture as a whole.

I know that some people use the word ‘love’ very loosely. How can a person have true love for someone one day, and then decide they don’t love them the next? Obviously, actual love wasn’t there.

I’ve heard the word love in all of my serious relationships: 3 marriages (shutty the mouthy) and 1 dating relationship. In each, we used the word often, and I’d like to think love was truly a part of these. But, all of these ended, and when they did, that was it. Two ended because of infidelity and the others over issues that could have been worked out had my hubbies been willing to go to counseling. Unfortunately, they weren’t.

So, I guess what I’ve been pondering is this: what word would I rather hear other than ‘love?’ Everyone says the magical words in a relationship are I LOVE YOU…they are apparently the most important to hear, but are they really? If we are throwing around these words so casually, are they truly defining the actual feeling or emotion they’re supposed too?

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Take 90 Day Fiance’ (my favorite show…I literally can’t stop watching it every season). The people on it might talk to their beloved once or twice online and suddenly they love them to death and are convinced they found their soulmate! HEH? You don’t even know them yet! You haven’t seen them in person…touched them…smelled them…or actually got to know them! THEN, when they do, guess what?? Often they realize this isn’t their soulmate (go figure) and suddenly, the love is gone. Hmmmm…was it really there to begin with?

Are we so ‘starved’ for romantic love that we will label it, hoping that it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy? Do we think that if we say it, it will have to be? Are we under the impression if we don’t say it, the person will just leave us willy-nilly? Is saying it something that’s simply ‘expected’ but not actually there? Or, maybe we say it to a potential mate who we feel isn’t as interested as we are, so that maybe our declaration will affect their feelings and make them stronger.

I’ve been considering what I would like to hear if I ever (and it’s looking grim) get into another relationship. Do I want to hear the word ‘love’ again? I really don’t know. I’ve heard it used so often, and then thrown away so easily, that I’m not sure I trust what that word really is. Of course I want love to be a part of the relationship, but the words just aren’t enough for me anymore. I guess I want to feel the love, not hear the words expressing love. I want to feel the connection. Experience their care of me. See their work in terms of the relationship. I think those would all be bigger expressions of what we have rather than a quick ‘love ya’ before bedtime.

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When it is words that are said, I’ve figured out what would be so much more meaningful for me to hear. How about “I’m so proud of you!” Or, “Wow, I really missed you today!” I’d like to hear, “You know, I really need you in my life.” Or, “How did I get so lucky to have you?” The real clincher for me would be, “I’d be so lost without you…I’ll do anything I can to make this work.”

And you know what? I haven’t heard these before, and I’m wondering if that’s why my relationships have all failed. The word ‘love’ was there, but did they have pride in me? Was I important enough to miss (apparently not)? Did they feel such a need for me, that without me, they’d be lost? Did they feel enough for me that working on the relationship wasn’t considered a hardship, but a necessary thing they were willing to go through to strengthen our bond (another apparently not)?

You know, I love watching American Idol videos on YouTube and today I had one on while washing dishes. It was a couple who sang country songs, and they auditioned at the same time, but sang separately. They both played the guitar, and then each played along while the other sang. Obviously, they were both hoping to get a ticket to ‘Hollywood’ (meaning they were continuing in the show). After each sang, the judges praised the woman for her great voice and then told her husband that he sang well, but at this point in his career, he would be much better as her backup, and not a lead singer himself. Here’s what got me: when they got out of the audition, the man hugged his wife so tight and told her how very proud he was of her. She asked if he was upset he didn’t make it himself, and he said NO…that everything happens for a reason and he was just so damn happy for her.

I was bowled over. I think a lot of people (men & women) would feel a bit of jealousy. A feeling of having ‘lost’. But this guy? He won because she won. Isn’t that awesome?

I don’t know if there’s another relationship on my horizon or not. But I’ll tell you this: I’ll realize it’s the true thing if Mr. Wonderful says: “Damn. You are just it for me. I am so proud to have you.” Doesn’t that just sound great?

Kristi xoxo

To say or not to say, that is the question.

So, my counselor and I were talking a couple of days ago, and I was telling her about this blog (or as my sis and I pronounce it: blawg). I told her the purpose of it was to be open and honest about my journey with mental illness and to show others that you can be a successful person, even if you suffer from one. I told her I wanted to break down stigmas of the mentally ill as being dangerous, dependent, or volatile people who should be avoided; that I felt the need to take off the masks I wore for decades while trying to act ‘perfect’, so that others can feel more comfortable doing the same. She asked me what all I share, and I told her I was pretty frank in my posts, and got as personal as I saw fit.

Then, we started yacking about my 2 date guy because I wanted to tell her it was no longer in the works. I also told her that I thought him reading my blog may have scared him a bit (that may not be true…I just have a feeling), and off we went on a discussion as to whether or not me blogging was worth possibly sacrificing potential relationships.

And I had a long drawn out answer for her: “Yes.”

I’ve always been a talker (I know…huge shocker for those who know me) and I’ve always had a hard time respecting boundaries. Even though I’ve only started speaking out about being bipolar for a couple of years now, I still opened up way too much to people about other aspects of my life. I am one of these people who speak first, and think later! Not necessarily a good thing! Part of that has to do with being bipolar, and another part comes from being such a feeler while lacking enough outlets in which to talk, that when I get into conversations, I want to jump right in. Head first.

But what’s too much to share about myself on this public blog? Actually, a few things. Yes, I share things about relationships that I feel are pertinent to my feelings and behavior, but I would never share intimate details of alone time, if you get my drift. I’m also very careful what I share about family, and don’t use their names, only initials which aren’t always theirs. I never want to identify anyone on this, and even yesterday, when I used pics of ma, T, and O, I asked them first before I did so.

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We all have secrets, don’t we? Secrets that are only ours…only in our head…only in our hearts. There’s a place inside of me that’s for me only. And I protect it. I’ve learned through experience that revealing everything about yourself makes you extremely vulnerable, and can be used against you as well.

Those of my students reading this will tell you something I teach in my Marriage and Family classes is to zip it. We live in a culture where total self-disclosure is an everyday thing. We see people talk about everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. “Hey, Jerry…I had sex with my sister’s cousin husbands wife, stole a $1000 from my mom, and tried to boink the UPS worker when they delivered my box of sex toys.” OK. Good to know. Listen, I’m a huge believer that we DON’T have to share everything. NO! I think it’s so important to weigh the pros and cons of disclosing. Of baring yourself. I truly believe that not everything has to be heard. We may need to SAY it, but they may not need to HEAR it. Often, we disclose to unburden ourselves. To make ourselves feel better. But here’s the thing, grasshoppers: when you unload your burden when talking to another, it moves that burden to their shoulders. Why would we do that? What purpose does that really serve? When I need to unload, I talk to God. Edward. Dottie. They are all great listeners and I know they can handle any burden I give them well.

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Has anyone ever told you: “I really shouldn’t tell you, but…”? When that happens to me, I say: “Then don’t.” Look, if there’s something I need to know, I’ll find out. Why would you want to give me some juicy tidbit just to get it out there, when I’ll probably resent you for sharing it with me? You know, the ole’ ‘hate the messenger’ type thing.

BUT, you might be saying, what about guilt? Ok, what about it? I knew a gal who was attracted to a colleague, and although they had lunch together a couple of times, she realized she was close to a boundary she had set with her husband and what was at stake. So she stopped seeing him in any social capacity and only spoke professionally to him at work. Nevertheless, she just HAD to tell her hubby about this. WHY?? Nothing really happened. But, she told (against my advice). He wasn’t just upset (like she assumed he’d be), he was furious. He took it way out of context and told her that she had probably ‘fucked’ this guy too, and when she vehemently denied it, he called her a liar (‘thou doth protest too much’ type thing). Their marriage was never the same, and they divorced a couple of years later. Hmmmm. Was unburdening that guilt worth it? Ask her 2 kids. They are now living with a stressed, single mom who is fighting to make ends meet, while rarely seeing their dad. Guess what? If you have guilt, suck it up, Buttercup. THAT is the burden YOU live with…the penance, if you will.

Look, if someone doesn’t like what I share, then they don’t have to read it. That was easy to figure out. For Petes sake, close the freaking tab. Block my site. Turn off the damned computer or shut down that iPad and take a walk.

But I’m not going to stop sharing, because if I can’t be genuine and talk about my life as it really is…and not just a ‘filtered’ social media version of it that’s all rainbows and sunshine, then I’ve put those masks back on, and they will eventually suffocate me in the process. Not worth a couple of people disliking me.

There’s another problem I have too (among hundreds of others): I not only yap too much, I also ask too many questions. Hello! I have degrees in Psychology…it’s sorta natural for me to do that. And to be honest, I think the most important question that we don’t ask enough, is WHY. Why are you so angry? Why are you acting so hateful? Why do you look so down today? Why did you share that with me? Look, behavior and feelings aren’t just random. There’s a cognitive process behind them and knowing the ‘why’ can help immensely in understanding the person. Another important question is WHAT. What can I do for you? What do you need? What is hurting you?

We are so quick to judge people on their behavior, that we often don’t stop to ask what’s BEHIND it. The whats’ and whys’. Imagine if we asked kids who misbehave that question before calling them out in front of the class. “Little Johnny, I asked you to stay in with me during recess today to talk about what might be happening to make you act out so much today. Why are you doing this? What can I do?” Wow. Think that could change a life or 2?

I’m also a big believer that past behavior can be a good indicator of future behavior. Not always, but often. I like to dig around in peoples lives; I find it fascinating, and as someone who has worked with 100’s of students from my classes on their personal issues, digging can uncover truths layer by layer.

shallow focus photography of pancakes with blueberries and syrup — Photo by Olenka Sergienko on Pexels.com

I ask about past relationships when I’m dating someone new. Look, when you’ve been cheated on a couple of times in your life during both a committed partnership and a marriage, you want to understand where exes stand in their life. How closed those chapters are. It’s kinda hard not to worry about stuff like that. But that’s where the WHY comes back into play. “Why are you asking me these things, Kristi?”

Look, I know I share a lot. I know that some of it may not be the most comfortable reading material out there. But I also know this: I am NOT going to hide myself anymore. I’m not going to fake my way through the next few decades like I did before. I am not going to be ashamed to be me…warts and all. This is who I am. It’s my bipolar life. This is my experience with mental illness and it ain’t always purty. But it’s real. And to frank with you: I’m going to fucking own it.

Kristi xoxo

I Never Promised you a Rose Garden.

So, I actually wrote another post for today, and was getting ready to edit it, when something inside of me needed to write this. Having this blog has given me an outlet for so much of what I feel. It really helps me to get my thoughts, feelings, struggles, ideas written down and out of my head. And to have you, my sweet grasshoppers, read it, is just icing on the cake. (Hmmm…cake. Maybe I should send my son to Kroger to get one…).

food plate chocolate dessert — Photo by Alexander Dummer on Pexels.com

I started seeing a guy not long ago. I’ve known him for over 20 years, and he’s one of those friends that you can go a while without seeing, but then when you do, it’s like no time has passed. It’s just always comfortable. We were on the same dating site (something I will never ever do again) and so I saw that he was wanting a relationship. He asked me to dinner a while back, and I cancelled on him. I didn’t know if I was ready to go out with anyone, and I didn’t want to send the wrong message.

Not long ago though I saw him, and after a friendly hug, I decided to ask him out. He’s a really kind man and I was compelled to see where this could go. I’m a very very firm believer that the best relationships begin as friendships. You won’t always have the passion and you won’t always feel a lot of love for the person during difficult times. But, if a friendship is the foundation of the relationship, you have a strong base to keep you together.

So, we went out a couple of times. I loved it. I felt so comfortable and we talked about everything out there; and because I’d known him for so long, we shared so much about our lives and ourselves right off the bat. We cuddled, held hands, smooched but that’s all. I wanted to take it slow.

After those first 2 dates, I didn’t hear from him much and finally I asked him if everything was OK. He told me he had never wanted a romantic relationship in the first place (ummm…you were on a dating site…see the irony?), and said he had told me that during our first date together. I don’t remember him doing that. I was too busy admiring the flowers he got me and the dinner he had prepared. Hmmm.

I started crying after receiving that text. To be brutally honest with you, I thought he had really wanted to go out with ME. That he was the one that was really excited about it. That he saw me as a catch. In fact, my little brain thought he had had a crush on me for a while. Obviously, I was deluded! (Not the first time that’s happened…’nuff said.).

I called my mama and she was really taken aback by my reaction. She said: “You weren’t in love with him. Why are you taking this so hard?” I think I have an answer to that: because it’s another rejection. Another person saying, “You aren’t good enough.” Another man turning down all I have to offer.

white black and red person carrying heart illustration in brown envelope — Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

Maybe that’s the problem though. All I offer. Because I offer a hell of a lot. Not only because I’m such a feeler and giver (on our first date, I made a bracelet for his daughter and baby quilt for his new granddaughter), but because I can’t hide who I am. I can be a bit mouthy, a bit excitable, a bit…well, too ‘much’. But how can I not be who I am? It’s like when I was a kid and a teacher or my parents would tell me to calm down. I couldn’t! Literally couldn’t! Just like now, it was simply a part of who I am (bipolar) and there’s no switch to turn it off. I wish with all my might there was.

bipolar roller coaster

Now, I have a confession to make. It’s a toughie, but I need to say it. I asked my ex, J, if he would like to try our relationship again, with counseling to help us deal with our issues and understand how to manage each others mental illnesses. Listen to what I’m saying grasshoppers…I asked HIM to try again. I’m gonna say it again: I asked HIM…the guy who cheated on me (with someone that works at my vets…guess I’m gonna get a new one now since I’m sure everyone knows the drama). And his answer? To me asking HIM…giving him a chance…telling him we can get help? It was no. In fact, it took him a while to say that…I guess it’s quite the ordeal to tell me that I’m not wanted.

Another confession. I’ve never broken up with a guy before (including my hubbies). They have always dumped me. Rejected me. Damn.

Look, I know I’m different. I’ve known that since I was a very little girl. I know my mental illness was showing itself in childhood…we have proof of my depression and mania. Actually, now that I think about it, this guy didn’t lie to me about not wanting a romantic relationship until after I encouraged him to read this blog. After 20 years of friendship, I thought it would be OK. Hmmm.

This is what I wrote in the 3rd grade. I was already questioning why I was alive and how there was too much going on in my head to hear more than one thing at a time.

I know I’m not a bad person. At least I don’t think so. I think I have a lot of really positive qualities. I’m smart. I’m extremely loving. I’m loyal as hell. I’m forgiving. I can make a mean ass pot of chicken and noodles, and my bathroom is always clean.

For fucks sake (I had to get that word in for ma and sis), I know this rejection shouldn’t hurt so much. Shouldn’t make me question myself so much. Shouldn’t make me cry and wonder if I’ll ever find a partner again. I know I’m OK alone. But I don’t want to just be OK. I want someone to love me back. I need that connection. That partnership. That feeling of belongingness that is inherent to us all. And I’m not gonna lie: celibacy sucks.

So listen up, God. I’m 53 years old (I know you know that but I just wanted to emphasize it) and I am ready for my forever. If you want to send them along, I’ll toddle over and meet them halfway. I promise.

Kristi xoxo

The Tragedy of it All.

man walking on the empty street — Photo by Alex Fu on Pexels.com

So, I’ve written a lot since I’ve started this blog, and it means so much to me. When I began this, I told myself these posts were my chance to say some of what I need to say, some of what people need to hear, and sometimes, a little bit of both. But this is the first post I’ve written while tears are streaming down my face.

I’ve talked about my ex-partner in posts before, and I think it’s because the wounds from the relationship are still fresh, and because I thought he was my forever (actually, I thought all of them were until him, but c’est la vie). I also write about him because he’s mentally ill like me. He’s been diagnosed with PTSD from his 3 tours overseas in the Army, and also with Borderline Personality Disorder, which I believe is caused by a genetic component (I believe his mom also has this disorder), and also because of the abuse he endured as a child: serious physical and psychological abuse with periods of forced isolation where he literally couldn’t move from his bed for weeks at a time. I was attracted to him before I knew all of this, and after he told me his story, it made me love him even more; I felt so much empathy and compassion for this man who had been through so much.

For the last couple of days, he’s been messaging me. The messages are horrifying. Ever since his unfaithfulness last October, he’s been on a downward trajectory. He’s completely isolated himself from everyone, including his 2 kids, and has told his family members that he hates them and won’t have anything more to do with them ever. I know some of this behavior is the BPD. But I also know he’s taking all of the pain of his childhood and tours, and turning it outward as anger against the only targets he has. The problem is that many of his targets don’t deserve to be his scapegoat, most especially his children.

When I first met them (one was in Kindergarten and the other in 2nd grade), I fell in love with them immediately and completely. I love kids and these 2 are so smart, sweet, affectionate, and funny. To be honest, I didn’t know I could love other kids as much as I do them, with the same unconditional love I feel for my own son, and my nieces and nephews. The feelings blew me away. Once, my sister said this: “Blood is thicker than water, but love is thicker than both.” She’s right.

These kids have been through a lot in their lives. Not having their dad around because of his tours, moving around the country multiple times, and then experiencing a contentious divorce took their toll. The little guy is extremely sensitive and like me is a huge feeler who is at a loss as how to deal with the emotions of what he’s been through, so he internalizes them. He doesn’t eat well. He doesn’t have friends. And he lives in his own world, not wanting others to intrude. I’m lucky he let me in. The little miss is also a sensitive child, but as opposed to internalizing, she externalizes her feelings. She’s a clinger, and just wants to feel love from anybody and everybody. In that regard, she’s like me.

When J told me he completely cut off everyone in this life (I think I’m the only one he can talk, or in this case text, to), I assumed he didn’t mean these sweeties. You see, during our 3 years together, J learned so much more about being a parent than he previously knew. He built a strong relationship with them, and we did so many fun things together as a family: museums, zoos, hikes, eating out, birthday parties, swimming, playgrounds, movie nights, etc. and I could see the connection to their dad get stronger and stronger. He also worked hard to provide a home for them. He got a really nice apartment in a family oriented neighborhood, and the kids were thrilled at having this with their dad. J and I had fun buying bunk beds, comforters, toys, books…anything that would create a positive environment for them. He took them to the private school he got them into every morning, picked them up afterwards, started little miss in Taekwondo, made nice dinners for them, bought them birds so they could have pets, and hugged and cuddled them to their hearts desire.

Then, this BPD took over. Actually, it had taken over before, something that I experienced first hand. I was on the receiving end of rages, weeks of silence, damaging words and actions, but to be honest, I knew when it was the illness that was in charge, and not ‘him’. People questioned me again and again why I kept loving this man…why I forgave him over and over. The answer is simple: because I’m mentally ill too. When I’m in a depression or a period of mania, I’m not in control either. I do things, say things, act out on things that I never would do when I’m in a more self-restrained time. Sometimes…well maybe always…it takes someone mentally ill to truly understand another’s struggle. Once I had a student say to me, “I like talking to you, Professor K. When I tell you I’m depressed, I know you get it.” And yes, I do.

But this time for J it’s different. The BDP is in total control. 100%. And it’s going to stay that way for however long he lives because he’s doing nothing to try to fight it at all. He’s wallowing in it. Yes, I said wallow. He’s feeding that monster we’ve talked about an awful lot of food. He’s given up. He’s become trapped in this disorder without grabbing onto the rope that’s there, and pulling himself up as much as he can. He’s pulled up before…he just won’t even try to do it again. He said he likes the wallowing. The hating. The anger. The isolation.

And I think he’s a fucking liar. He experienced so much as a kid that like his little guy, he doesn’t know what to do with the feelings. So, by killing his soul, I guess he’s killing those emotions too.

But the real tragedy? These sweeties. After having a dad for these past few years, how can they ever understand why he’s no longer in their lives? Why ‘his’ home is no longer theirs? How can they take another loss? Another upheaval? Another piece of their hearts destroyed? He’s doing to them what was done to him (to a degree). Isolating them. Rejecting them. Maybe he thinks that will heal him. It won’t. All it will do is continue this generational cycle of abuse that’s been in his family for decades, and then cause these 2 innocent angels to grow up with what J is battling himself. He had been reversing this trend for years so well…the kids were flourishing and J seemed happy and content. It’s like he got the diagnosis of BPD and decided to live down to that as much as he can. It’s the excuse I guess he was finally looking for to hate. He’s making this diagnosis a label to be absorbed, as opposed to a diagnosis to aid in understanding. Dammit, J, you fought fucking Akeida for 3 years in desert conditions on the front lines, how can you not fight against this too? Your kids lives are worth the battles this is going to give you; you are worth the battle. I know J is still in there. I’ve seen him. I’ve loved him. He’s a smart, funny, passionate guy that he’s allowed this beast to consume.

Mental illness is a bitch to live with. Y’all know that. But I also understand first hand, that it’s a bitch to deal with in others too. I’ve put my mom, son, and sis through so much. I know I have. If I could take back what I’ve said and done, I’d do it in a heartbeat. It’s agonizing to know how they have been victims of my bipolar. I can’t think about it without feeling so fucking guilty and ashamed, and I know words can’t take away the pain I’ve caused them.

When I attempted suicide a couple of years ago, I laid on my bed, ready to go to sleep forever. And then God spoke to me. Yes, he spoke to me. He showed me my son. My mom. My sister. My family. My students. He showed me the pain they would experience. How horrible it would be for my mom to bury her daughter. For my son to bury his mom. And that’s what turned me around. This fucking bastard of a mental illness is not going to be who I am. I’m going to always fight and fight and fight to stay me as much as I possibly can. I’m gonna win some battles. I’m gonna lose some battles. But I tell you what, every one of those is worth the bloodshed.

Kristi xoxo

Letter to Myself.

So, I was digging around in my desk to find a clean writing tablet, and came across an older one. I started flipping through it and found this letter I wrote myself a couple of years ago. Here it is, word for word:

Me,

The first time you wrote yourself was last year when you were trying to figure out your life. In that letter, I told you to be strong…be happy…be true to yourself. I told you deserved so much more than you had gotten (from ex-partner). Than what was done to you. And I thought you were listening and believed that all to be true. But were you?

I thought you were going to die last summer. I was so scared for you. You were nothing…a shell…a body with only emptiness inside. When you’d get up every morning, you cried…knowing it was another day to get through. And the question was always there: would you survive it? Or was this the day you decided to end your pain?

J did so much mental manipulation on you…messing with your mind. But, you made the choice to stay. To keep letting it happen. You’ve been teaching your classes for years about abuse and you’ve always said emotional abuse is the worse kind of abuse out there. Physical injuries heal. Psychological ones leave scars that never fill in.

Is that why you took J back time and time again? Because you knew that he’d been abused and you were sacrificing yourself for a chance to fix him? It’s like being a mom…we don’t mind going hungry as long as our kid is fed. So, as long as you were helping J, it was OK you were being hurt?

Just this week you learned that J had been talking to that other woman for months. All of the months you were taking his abuse, making excuses for him, and trying to love him out of his moods. Instead, they were still in a relationship. His cheating wasn’t a lapse in judgement or a momentary lack of control…it was a calculated, planned continuation of what they had started years before. It wasn’t about you. It was about them. There was nothing you could have done to stop it. Nothing. Would you have tried so hard had you known that?

How do you get over months of deception? Months of lies? Months of giving all you have to someone who is giving their all to someone else?

You’ve always felt like less than, but until now, you never felt like nothing. Think about it…none of your love, devotion, help, etc. was returned. You were used, wrung out, and left…just like that. One day he was with you, and the next he was telling someone he loved them. He was sharing experiences with her he wouldn’t share with you. He let his kids be with her, and you were planning on being a family. All the while, he ignored you…rejected you…because you were nothing to him. She was everything.

Deep down…in a place you didn’t want to acknowledge, I knew he didn’t love you. You don’t hurt what you love. You protect it. You nurture it.

I’m starting to think you’re unlovable. Really. No man has ever fought for you. Has ever done for you what you have done for them. Why aren’t you worthy? Are you going to die…never knowing what true love is? I’m really afraid that might happen to you.

Kristi…I’m going to tell you some truths you need to hear.

You can’t make anyone love you. Period. They either do or they don’t. You can’t force it.

You can’t make anyone give you more than what they choose to give.

You can’t fix anyone…can’t undo all of the bad someone has suffered. As much as you want to make up for things in peoples’ lives, they are going to have to come to terms with it themselves and decide to forgive or live with the anger and bitterness.

It’s OK to struggle with trust and respect even after you forgive.

You need to ask yourself if you want a man who can’t hold you when you need it the most. Who fights to win at all costs. Who puts himself above you every time. Is this what you truly want? I hope not.

The most important thing is this: no matter what happens to you, you have so many gifts you can give someone who might be able to reciprocate themselves. And if you don’t find that person, you are going to be OK with you. Just you. Period.

Kristi

Wow. So there it is. I’ts hard to remember feeling so empty. I’m not ‘full’ yet, but I am so so much better! I can laugh and smile and have fun! I’ve decided that I am lovable, and have also come to the realization that I’m OK being alone. I like me, and I think I’m really close to saying I love me! When I see where I was, and where I am now, I’m proud of myself. I see growth. I see change. I see possibility.

You know, some people say you should just forget the past and move on. I happen to disagree. I think it’s healthy to remember the past (to a degree…not ruminate on) because it’s the history of you: your lessons, experiences, mistakes, and triumphs. And we need those to remind us where we’ve been, and what road we should now take in our own personal journeys forward.

Kristi xoxo

Invasion of the Monster.

So, a friend and I were yacking yesterday, and we were talking about what being bipolar is like. He truly wanted to know what went on in my head and how it felt to be me. Very few people have ever asked me this, so it felt really good for someone to be so interested that they asked me for my personal experience with it, as opposed to textbook definitions.

Here’s what I told him: “When I’m manic, it’s like a blender with ice, fruit, and juice, on high, with no lid…just spraying around the kitchen.” But really, in this scenario, the juice has an outlet…it’s escaping the blender. I can’t escape my blender…the ingredients (thoughts & emotions) just keep coming back and getting spewed out again and again.

Then I said this about depression: “It’s like there’s a monster with heavy metal chains that grabs my mood, reels it in, and makes me sink so low during this process that I can’t escape.”

black chain — Photo by lalesh aldarwish on Pexels.com

After listening to this, he said it helped him understand it more, but he had something to confess (Ought oh…I’ve heard that phrase before). His ex-wife had depression and would spend days in their bed, refusing to even get up to eat dinner or walk around. He said it would tick him off, that he just wanted her to GET UP and try. He said he feels guilty now, that after learning more about depression, he was so hard on her when she was down.

First, I can understand him feeling guilty. As much as I want people to understand bipolar and take that into consideration, I don’t always reciprocate well. Ex-partner has a personality disorder: I thought for a long while it was Narcissistic Personality Disorder since his treatment of me mimicked narcissistic relationships in terms of idealize, devalue, and discard (he repeated this cycle multiple times). A couple of months ago, he got formally diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder which actually does make more sense while considering other issues in his life. Anyhoot, I knew he had a personality disorder along with the PTSD from his military tours. But here’s the thing, I would get impatient with him. I’d try to change what I was seeing by getting angry with him and telling him what he should be doing instead. I’d respond to his irrational behavior by yelling at him and holding grudges. (On the flip side, he’d do the same: get mad at me when I was ‘too emotional’…get frustrated when I was bouncing off the walls).

So why did I do this in response to his behavior? Like my counselor has said to me before: “He’s Borderline…what did you expect from him?” Yikes. She’s right. Right as rain. Just like I’m bipolar, what the hell do you expect from me? I’m gonna be up and I’m gonna be down. BUT the behavior that results from mental illness can be frustrating, hurtful, embarrassing, anger provoking, etc. to others in our lives. It’s hard to deal with people like us! It’s hard for others to understand us when we can’t always understand ourselves. I get angry at me. I get frustrated by me.

Back let’s go back to my monster and depression. I do believe my monster is very very strong. However, I can’t lay down and always let him win; it’s time I started fighting back. You know, there’s not many times in my life where I’ve been a fighter against people who were hurting me. When I was being bullied in grade school, my sister always protected me so I never had to fight back. When the psychologist I was seeing at 16 sexually abused me for 2 years, I didn’t fight back out of fear and a misplaced sense of loyalty. When I was bullied my Jr. and Senior years in high school, I just tried to look away and make myself as inconspicuous as possible. When ex was cheating on me, I apologized for my role in it.

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I never really fought. But guess what? No more. Let’s all say it together: “NO MORE!” I fight that fucking monster, my biggest adversary, with as much as I can muster. When he’s dragging me down so far I can barely see any light, I grab that chain and pull up with all I have. Link. By link. By link. And then, magically, my feet the floor in the morning. Then Edward comes running to me to let him and Dottie out; so I hug my pooches and let them out to pee in the backyard (and eat poop). Then I have to let them back in and that propels me for a walk to the bathroom where I hop into the shower. Get it? I’m tugging back on that depression monster little by little. And, those little tugs are making me function. Making me ‘do’. Making me feel not so much at the mercy of him showing me only darkness. I have vowed that he will NOT keep me so down ever again that I stand in the middle of my floor for hours, not knowing what to do with all that’s in my mind.

Look, bipolar is a brain issue. My brain is different. I can’t help the roller coaster this brain has set me on; just like someone with a migraine isn’t to blame.

black and white roller coaster — Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

It’s not that I’m going to suddenly ‘cheer’ up and be happy. But yes, I can push myself little step by little step and show that monster Kristi is still here. Me. And that I’m going to take as much control as I possibly can; count my small victories and celebrate them. Just knowing that I’m fighting back makes me feel stronger, which makes me feel ‘better’ in the midst of this depression.

I’ve had enough ‘monsters’ in my life that I haven’t fought against and I’ve decided I’m not ever going to bow down to anyone (or anything) again. I’m going to fight. I’m going to do all I can with all I have to get wins in these battles. And at the same time, I’m going to get a little piece of myself off of that fucking roller coaster. That son-of-a-bitch monster has led me on this ride for too long. It’s time for me to start taking over at least a few of the controls.

Kristi xoxo

Forgive? OK. Forget? Hmmm.

So, my son and I were yacking while doing dishes last night, and we got on the topic of forgiveness. You see, his best friend found out his wife was cheating on him. After a week of thinking about it, the friend decided to go back to her to give their marriage another shot. I told my son I thought it was great they were going to try to build up their relationship again, and O said this: “Mom, you can’t do that. It will never be the same.” I argued and said it could be, if she worked diligently at building up trust. Again, he said: “MOM…it will NEVER be the same. He won’t be able to look at her the same way ever again.”

So I’ve been pondering this for a couple of hours, and I’m thinking he may be right. (He’ll probably be floored by that sentence if he reads this…rarely do we ever tell each other we were right about something).

Anyhoot, let’s look at forgiveness. To forgive something is to release it from yourself. To let it go. “To remember without anger.” (I don’t know where I read this, but I love this particular definition).

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If I lend you a thousand bucks, and expect you to repay it, that’s only right since it was a loan. BUT, if I say “Follower, I forgive you that loan. You’re clear.” that’s something else. You have been released from the burden of that loan. I can’t go back later and say, “Hey, forget what I said, I want my money back.” NOT FAIR! I have already forgiven the loan. Excused it. Cleared it. I wiped your slate clean.

Get my drift? You can’t say you TRULY forgive someone if you are going to keep bringing the issue up. Keep picking at it. Keep looking at it under a microscope. If you say “I forgive you”, then you pack it away and lock it up. Let’s take a look-see at cheating, something so many people will face in their relationships.

As we know, forgiveness isn’t always asked for by the person who cheated. It may not be ‘fair’ to give it to them. The person may not deserve forgiveness at all. So, you have to forgive them for YOU. You. Because if you don’t, the anger, betrayal, hurt, etc. will feed off of you again and again and again. But, forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting. It means you have become smarter from the experience you went through.

I know of whilst I’m speaking (I feel like typing formally tonight and am feeling quite British after watching Rocketman for the 10th time.) As I’ve said in past posts, my last partner cheated on me with his ex-girlfriend during our 3 year relationship. The first time was during a month stint when she was visiting from another state, and decided to stay with his family. He was living with me at the time, but chose to sleep over at the family home too. You know, just to protect the stuff (old clothes that no longer fit) he still kept there. Mind you, he hated staying there and never did after he moved in with me, but ya gotta protect those pants.

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Then, he cheated on me the last time I saw him in October: Him naked…with another woman right there. So I ASSUME it was cheating, although I didn’t actually SEE it. For all that is holy, I am grateful for at least that.

After that first summer of his cheating a couple of years ago, I couldn’t forgive. No way, Jose’. I think it’s probably because of a few things: first, he lied to me the entire year before he cheated in that he assured me he never spoke to her, never made plans to see her, never e-mailed her and blah blah blah. Second, it was over a month period, with a week here and there in-between seeing her, and he swore to me, actually held my hands, & looked me in the eye, and promised me it would never happen again. Because he loved me. Not her. (When she was here the last time, he proposed to her. Just saying.) And I took him back. Again. Again. And again. (Don’t say it…I know what you’re thinking). Then I said I forgave him. I lied.

I wanted too. I truly did. I loved him so very much. I was deeply invested in his life. His kids were a joy to me and I still adore and miss them terribly. I saw so much in him he never saw in himself. I understood his personality disorder because of my mental illness. I knew he had PTSD from his 3 tours in the Middle East. I wanted to give to him everything he never got from his family. I wanted to forgive him.

So, I said the words, and I thought I meant them. I was ready to go back to the way things had been (which wasn’t a good place either when you think about it.) I said: “I forgive you.”

Freedom concept

But I couldn’t stop checking his phone. He had lied about texting and calling her for an entire year BEFORE the cheating…I had to see his phone all of the time to make sure her number didn’t pop up. And yes, I’m sorry to say I checked his cell billing too. When he’d be out and about while I was at school, I’d ask him where all he went. I looked at envelopes in his mail to make sure she wasn’t writing to him. And this pissed him off. In fact, he told me this behavior was why he was cheating again. Because I was making HIM upset due to this invasion of his privacy. It made him stress out. It made him uncomfortable. So guess what I did? I apologized.

You can say it: “What the fuck, Kristi?” After I thought about it, and it didn’t take long, I realized he had deserved all of that. And more. Hello!!! YOU’RE the one that cheated. YOU’RE the one that lied. YOU’RE the one that broke the trust I truly had in you. I trusted what you said. What you promised. What you swore. You broke all of these things! Your cheating had to have some consequence, and that invasion of privacy was a small price to pay for what you put me through emotionally. You brought it on. You let it in.

Now, here’s the irony of the situation. I was thinking about him last October, after an argument we had on the phone. And while I was stewing about it, I finally realized I had a choice: I could forgive him and rid myself of this horrible behavior I hated to be doing, the angry feelings I was feeding into everyday, and the words I’d say to hurt him like he hurt me; or, I could continue being with him in a way that caused so much stress and rife in my life, that I was making myself sick and ashamed. So, I chose the first. And here’s what happened: I said to ME, “I forgive you, Guy. I’m letting it go.” And I swear that the burden I’d been carrying for those couple of years began to lift off my shoulders. I know it sounds preachy, but it did. I could finally remember all those things without anger. I packed it away and threw away the key. It was such a relief. So I went to tell him the next morning and you know the rest (as does his girlfriend who screamed at me in the hallway of ‘our’ apartment).

“Well,” you say, “guess you shouldn’t have forgiven him after all, huh?” Yes, I should have, Grasshopper. And yes, I have forgiven him again. Not because he’s asked. Not because he’s deserving of it. Not because he’ll even know. But I do. I flushed the anger, humiliation, embarrassment, hurt, and broken heart right down the crapper. It was great to see it spin down that hole.

I’m never going to forget any of this. It’ll fade. It’ll become something I don’t tear up about at times, but it will always be there. I’ll always remember, and I’m building up better boundaries, trusting my instinct more, and working on my self-love because of it. I’m remembering without anger. I’m forgiving, but not forgetting. Instead, I’ve turned all of that negative energy into positive stuff I’m using for me.

And to tell you the truth: it feels fucking great.

Kristi xoxo