Update

We are crazy stupid happy in love.
My parents love him, his best friend loves me.
When his lease is up, he's moving in.
He lives at my house when the Kid is with his dad. The Kid likes him, but is being a little wary because his brand new step-mom is NOT a kid person. So the kid is nervous about sharing mom,and we're moving slowly in that respect.

My job and my ex husband are driving me crazy, but I'm happy anyway. I have what people look for their whole lives.

The Weekend Boyfriend

From May to July I was single and living it up, which for me means juggling a few guys, getting attached to no one, repeat, repeat, repeat until I feel like a slut and settle down for a relationship.

Sammy is out, Bentley is in.
Bentley is in the military, my height, solid body, a cute accent, he could keep up with witty banter and had an unusual piercing which was kind of a fun novelty.

Twice a month, he would come over and spend the weekend with me. He missed cooking so we'd go to the grocery store and he'd cook for me all weekend. He did a few minor repairs around the house, snuggled on the couch and watched Game of Thrones with me and we had ridiculous chemistry.

We always intended for this to be a a friends with benefits arrangement but he liked getting out of the barracks and I liked being cooked for. Bentley was due to get out of the military in October and would be moving back to his family in the south and figuring out what to do with his life. There was absolutely no long term potential which was fine with me.

But then Bentley started texting me. All. The. Time. When he had long shifts at work, when he was away on temporary duty assignments, when he was bored, when he woke up, and on and on and on. He's a totally nice guy, but this is not the deal we made. I was willing to be his friend, but not interested in being his emotional support system around the clock.

I had the kid for a weekend, then was out of town for a week, then kept delaying seeing Bentley again. How do you break up with a friend you fuck?
I decided to do it over text because it wasn't a real relationship. I told him we couldn't sleep together any more, and after assuring him that he hadn't upset me in any way, he was fine with it. Thank god. And we legitimately are friends now. We still text, I'm guilty of dodging him a bit, but he's funny and interesting and I don't regret the weekends we spent together.

John's Wedding

My ex husband, John, is getting married.
At the end of May, he started seeing a girl.
A week later he told me he was introducing said girl to our son.
Two weeks after that, they got engaged.


If you're tracking, and the timeline is correct, he's known her about a month.

The wedding is next month.
Their wedding falls on a weekend when I would normally have the kid.
I asked if we should trade weekends. The Bride to Be, or Princess Elsa as she will henceforth be known, was quick to jump in with, "We don't want to switch weekends."

Instantly in my head, I think, look at this bitch trying to cut Connor our of the wedding, not that he will care.

"We will be busy with wedding stuff but want Connor to be the ring bearer. We thought you could bring him and come to the wedding. Do you want to come to the wedding? We want you to come to the wedding."

WeddingWeddingWeddingWeddingWeddingWeddingWeddingWeddingWeddingWedding

There, with the two of them beaming at me with the fervor of cult members, chanting wedding, I acquiesce and say I'll do whatever they need me to do.

That was last night.
This morning I wake up and know, there is NO way I can go to this thing.

While we were getting divorced, we attended, separately, a wedding for mutual friends. Seeing John up there as a groomsman was very, very hard. Having John's brother and sister-in-law play with my kid, but ignore my very existence was crushing. Sitting at a table by myself with a 3 year old while 70 happy people celebrated around me was miserable.

There is no fucking way I'm going to John's wedding.

Setting aside the theories that he's inviting me to throw this in my face, or that this is to show off what a "great post-divorce relationship" we have, or to have me as a free babysitter for our son, there is no way I want to spend a weekend this way.

Hung Up

I remember all the faults that the relationship between Jack and I had. I remember them clearly and they are a good portion of my blog posts from Fall/Winter 2015. And I don't miss the dynamic of being made to feel like I was an obstacle because I existed.
But I miss our friendship. We had fun together when things were good.

These guys lately....they don't make me laugh. One is smart, very very smart but less funny. One is smart and funny, but moving away, and his politics are problematic. One is smart and funny but lives across the country, he wanted to come visit but I'm just not that into him. And the rest are dumb diversions.

I'm always surprised with how much shit I can get away with. I'm not a ton of fun. Frankly, I'm suicidal. I spent last Thursday on the phone with a crisis line. But they still ask me out for dates. Not even hook ups, but actual "Can I take you to dinner?" dates.
It's absurd.

So

I had a list of things I wanted to write about. I've been up to shenanigans. John has thrown like 8 curveballs this month.

But all I can think about is how much I don't want to exist anymore.

I have my THIRD sleep study later this week. Weeks ago I had to come off Prozac for this sleep study.

And I wish I was dead.

I'm not a good mom. I'm not a good employee. I can't maintain relationships, friendly or romantic. I feel helpless and hopeless. I don't want this life anymore.

The next person to tell me that things will get better, they'll get better when I can take Prozac again this weekend.

But no. That's not the case at all.

I've reached out.
I've taken the meds.
I've seen therapists.
I struggle and try. And I have. Every Goddamn Day. since I was 16.
I'm so tired.
I get up and show up. I graduated from college. I got two degrees. I've held a job with the same firm for 7 years. I've raised a child.
Don't you dare tell me that I need to hold on.
I have been exhausted and miserable for YEARS.
Motherfucking YEARS.
I don't want to do this anymore.

Yes, sure. My brain is a dick and telling me these things.
But guess what?
It always has and it always will.
My brain chemistry is wrong.
I'm put together wrong.
I'm not supposed to be.

Sammy

Sammy and I agreed we just want to have fun together. We meet on a week night and have dinner. We have a ton in common. His sister dropped out of the same college I dropped out of, we cheer for opposing teams but are similarly obsessed with sports, he seems nervous but nice.

We have dinner and then walk to another bar. We have a second drink. We go to my house and have a third drink. We get naked and I spend an hour lavishing attention on the most perfect cock and rock hard body I've ever been with. He is effusive with praise. Sammy calls me a slut, intending it to be part of dirty talk. Tears quietly flow but I keep going. He apologises, "I didn't mean it like that," "You aren't that word," "I'll never say that again." and on and on.

I know he's genuine. He couldn't have known that would have such an impact on me. I didn't know it would have such an impact on me.

We carry on. We finish. He apologizes more. I tell him its fine and I'd rather let the matter drop. When he leaves, Sammy kisses me on the cheek.

The next day we text filthy things to each other from work and Sammy tells me he craves my touch. He picks me up from work and we go to my house, to my shower, to my bed. He pushes my limits, makes requests of me. Some I agree to, some I don't. He doesn't press when I resist.

He wants to take pictures. You know, pictures. I agree but tell him, the pictures are taken with my phone so I control access to them and the pictures do not include my face. He eagerly agrees. He finishes and we watch a game before he leaves. I have work to do.

That night, he texts me asking for the pictures. I'm equal parts nervous and opportunistic. Our two encounters have been very...Sammy oriented. I tell him that tomorrow, its my turn, and if he's a good boy, the photos are his. Sammy thinks eagerly agrees.

Hours later, he's asking again. I remind him of the deal. Sammy insists. I demur. He pleads. I say no. He badgers. I tell him he's acting like a child. He tells me I'm playing games like his awful ex.

Wow.

I tell Sammy I'm uncomfortable. I'm not ready. I don't want to do this and want to delete them all anyway. He tells me he'll take care of me the next day. I tell him I don't want it.

The texts cease. I work myself into an anxious state. And argue with myself

"Now he'll never like me."
You should lose his number
"But he's so hot."
But he's pushy and mean and isn't' taking no for an answer.
"He did warn you he's a very sexual person."


I go back and forth. I send Sammy one picture. He tells me I'm a good girl.
I tell him I feel disgusting. He tells me "I won't share these with anyone else. If you are afraid of me judging you, I'm not."

But his judgment doesn't mean anything. Its not about fitting into the role he wants. Its about me being able to live with the choices I make.

Bye Brandon

This isn't working.

You don't tell someone you're in love with them after a month. It puts pressure on me to feel the same. And here I am, 3 months later, not in love, not falling in love, and sort of falling out of like.

I'm tired of being condescended to.
I'm tired of you over explaining unfunny jokes, and thereby making the joke even worse.
I'm tired of the way your beard gets in the way, of your complaints about your weight but inaction to change the situation, tired of trying to work around your...erm, shortcomings.

I regret giving you a key.
I regret coming to dinner with your family.
I regret letting you meet my family.

I don't know why I thought I could overlook so much. Like the way you wear basketball shorts everywhere, dates included.
That you spent 2 months on unemployment not looking for a job because you needed "a break."
That you lost the job you had when we met because you got drunk at a work event and put your arm around female coworkers and made them feel uncomfortable.
That you don't read, or follow the news, or politics, or anything that isn't prominently featured on FaceBook.
That you are such a picky eater that we could only go out for pizza or burgers.

You know how I know you're not in love with me? Because you're in love with the idea of me. Don't presume to tell me what makes me happy or doesn't.

***

So he came over. I told him it wasn't working. He pushed and pushed for me to tell him why. I finally told him I was tired of being condescended to and not feeling heard.
"Do you think that's just in how you're interpreting and hearing things though?"
So weird that I don't want to be in this relationship where I'm always wrong and you're always right.

"Are all your relationships this difficult?"
Pretty much. I'm stubborn, I'm fiery, at my own peril- I find it hard to shut up.
But I'm also funny, loving, kind, caring, and thoughtful.
And also not in love with you and not showing you my best self.

"I know you make rash, impulsive decisions. Is this what you really want?"
What a CONDESCENDING thing to say.

"Can we work on things?"
No.

"So this is it?"
Yes. I'm not going to string you along and tell you maybe things will be different in a month.

***

The other day, a man on the street told me to smile. I hate being told to smile. I think most women do. Please don't tell me what to do with my face. I don't walk around with a permanent grin because I'm not deranged.

But I smile because it was an instant reaction. My facial muscles betrayed my brain and my feminist sensibilities. Its also the easiest answer. Just smile so the strange man will leave you alone, leave you unharmed.

Later, as I recount the experience to Brandon, telling him how uncomfortable the experience was, he says, "Yeah, one time this hippy chick told me, 'You dropped your smile' to get me to smile."
This is not the same. This is not the same. This is not the same.
I tried to explain the power dynamic, the patriarchy bullshit, the inherent unease. Brandon is 6'4, built like a linebacker and has often worked security at bars and restaurants. I understand he probably hasn't felt unsafe walking down the street. But the part that pissed me off was his unwillingness to listen to me. What does it hurt to listen?

***


After 45 minutes of bullshit, he left. And I laid on the couch for about an hour, playing on my phone. And then I got up and got back to work because I have shit to do.
I woke up the next day feeling lighter and freer than I have in a long time.
I don't have any dating apps on my phone.
I don't have a stable of guys I'm talking to.
I have my job, my business, my son, my trips, my pets, my friends, my weekends and evenings all my own.
I can spend my time however I want. I answer to no one.

And won't have anyone mansplaining jokes to me anymore.