Invisible.

Waking up with a start this morning, I jumped out of bed and was astounded at what I realized.  He is still angry at me for the way I behaved last night, and he left without saying goodbye.  There aren’t enough words to explain how torn apart I felt in that instant.  I’d rather be given a kiss begrudgingly than made to feel as though I don’t even exist.  As if I don’t even matter.  I thought that “sleeping on it” would have made it seem better this morning.  Only now, it all feels so much worse.

Emotional

resentment

: a feeling of indignant displeasure or persistent ill will at something regarded as a wrong, insult, or injury

Sometimes it’s just so hard to let go.  I know that forgiveness is my best option, but I sometimes wonder if I’m capable of true forgiveness.  In general, it’s much easier for me to forgive than it is to forget.  This results in me later on remembering what has happened, and then continuing to build up resentment until it eventually explodes.  I struggle with this.  Always have.  I am ashamed to admit this, but I tend to hold grudges, and hold them strong.  I’m just not the type of person who lets go and moves on easily.  There, I said it.

Sometimes I remember the events of last March and I grow angry and bitter.  I remember back to how heartbroken I was, how totally hopeless I felt, and I feel like I could just erupt with anger.  I know it’s all over and done with — after all, it was more than a year ago, but sometimes I just feel angry towards B for the way he made me feel.  What was the most recent trigger?  I was playing around on MySpace (oh MySpace, I should just stay away from your evil ass) and I saw a video on a friend’s page from last year, just 4 days after B broke up with me.  In it, he was laughing and smiling and having a great time — being his usual happy self.  There was no sign of worry or guilt in his demeanor.  That very same night, I was at a friend’s house, trying desperately to forget, to move on, to just be happy without trying too hard.  But at the time, it was impossible.  All I wanted to do was fall apart, and have him put the pieces back together carefully, making sure to apologize and try to win me back.  It eventually happened, but the memories of those 6 weeks are still raw.  It’s stupid, I know.  But it’s how I feel.

Last night I blew up.  I had been having a bad day at work, frustrated with a situation that I have no control over, and I was desperately trying to calm down and let loose.  B was in a bad mood too, and about 10 minutes after I walked in the door, we were full out yelling at each other over stupid things.  In these kinds of situations, there is only one thing to do:  walk away and take a breather.  We retreated to different areas of the house, taking some time away from the argument.  At about 10:00, I approached him in the living room and informed him I was going to bed.  Upon sensing that he was still mad, I became even more angry and started crying.  Frustrated over feeling as though I’m the only one who has to worry about cleaning, cooking, laundry, etc (even though that’s so not true), I just blew up at him.  Crying, raising my voice…it wasn’t pretty.  What it all boiled down to was a bad day coupled with a reminder of my anguish of last year.  All of this added up to equal a mess of an evening.

I felt like we resembled Carrie and Aidan from that scene in Sex & The City where they have a fight and neither one of them is willing to admit they were wrong.  Instead of one of them being mature and just taking the steps to correct the problem, they both stayed angry and stood their ground.  It’s not effective, and neither were B and I last night.

This morning brought a little bit of relief.  Sometimes you just have to sleep on it.  When he left for work, he kissed me goodbye, hugged me, and said he was sorry.  So I apologized too.

But I can’t help but think — when will I ever let go of the resentment?

When words aren’t enough

I’ve always considered myself a good listener.  There is something inherent in my nature that makes me care very deeply for those that surround me.  When they hurt, I hurt.  When they are happy, I am happy for them.  I’ve lent my shoulder to puddles of tears from a friend numerous times.  I’ve found that in doing so, just being there can sometimes be enough. 

But I consider myself a woman of results — a woman who likes tangible shows of success that I have helped.  A smile.  A laugh.  Something, anything to prove that I have helped them out in some way.  Words are the best way to express sentiment, what but happens when words fail you?  What happens when words aren’t enough?

A friend of mine is going through a terrible time.  Her boyfriend of three years broke up with her suddenly, explaining that he just didn’t see a future with her.  Upon hearing the news, I immediately checked in with her to see if she was okay.  She wasn’t responsive to my messages, so I just let it go for a few days.  I thought back to how I felt when B ended our relationship last year.  I remembered how I mostly just wanted to be left alone so that I could think about things without other people offering me unwanted advice.  I gave her a few days to think, to process.  Then I sent her an email.

It was short, but to the point — I am here for you if you need me.  Please let me know if there is anything I can do.  And most importantly — I love you.

That was on Monday.

Today she checked in with me.  She was honest and raw, something most people aren’t willing to be anymore.  She said that she is falling apart — she’s not holding up well — and she doesn’t feel like she can go on.  Immediately my heart broke for her.  I know how it feels.  I’ve been there.  I’ve been to places so heart-wrenching that the only thing that felt remotely comfortable was a dark, silent room, and me in it, alone.  I instantly remembered feeling so empty and shell-like that it made me uncomfortable.  I did what any friend would do.  I told her that she’s strong, even though she doesn’t feel like it right now.  I told her I love her, and that I’m here for her.  I told her that if there is anyone in the entire world who understands what she’s going through — the realization that the person you thought you would marry no longer is in love with you — that it’s me.  And then I told her the truth, that nothing I say will make her feel any better.  It has to come from within. 

I wish I had more to say.  I wish I had a success story of making it through a break-up, heart in tact, though maybe a little care-worn.  The truth is, I was lucky.  B realized he was making a huge mistake, and we were able to put things back together.  I began to pull out of my misery mostly because I could see my dreams coming back together in tiny, barely recognizable, but recognizable still, pieces. 

My friend will not be so lucky.  And I have no words of advice to share with her.  The truth is, words are never truly enough.  Words aren’t even tangible unless written down.  You can tell someone you love them, that they will be okay, but does it ever really matter when they can’t see it, can’t hold on to it, in their darkest moments?

How do you help someone when words just aren’t enough?

Sometimes

It doesn’t really matter what my mood was like when I woke up this morning.  It doesn’t really matter that I rolled over, turned off the alarm clock, and tried to get out of bed with a smile on my face.  There are just some days that no matter how hard you try, things just aren’t going to go your fucking way.  If there’s one thing I hate, it’s being spoken to in a way that suggests that I am an idiot, an imbecile.  I don’t like being called names, or being insulted with “stop being pathetic.”  Sometimes people are just assholes, no matter how hard you try to keep your cool, calm, collected self from screaming at the top of your lungs.  Sometimes it doesn’t matter what you say — it’s more in how you say it.  When you’re the person on the other end of the line with someone who is having a shitty day, sometimes you’re going to get their negativity dumped on you.  It doesn’t really matter how forgiving you are — words still sting.  They find a way through your protective armor and burrow deep under your skin, where you will remember them for hours to come.  Sometimes it doesn’t matter how much you want to fix things — some problems are just for other people to stew in.  Sometimes you just gotta learn to let go and say “fuck it all.”

365 days ago

…something was wrong but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

…I was living in denial with a fake smile plastered to my face.

…misery ate away at me, bad thoughts pushing their way into my brain.

…we laid in bed together, unsure of the silence between us.

…he broke my heart with five words: “This isn’t going to work.”

…I laid in bed crying uncontrollably, desperately clinging to dreams as they vanished into thin air.

…our relationship ended.

What a difference a year makes.  When I look back on exactly one year ago today, I almost can’t believe the changes that have taken place.  On March 13, 2007, my entire world was shattered when B made a decision I never wished for — he ended our relationship.  He was unhappy and stressed out, and things between the two of us were not good.  I carried on, trying desperately to make him happy, to make him see that our relationship was worth believing in.  I was fooling myself.  I was forgetting something.

I had forgotten that sometimes everything has to fall apart before it can be put back together. 

The months of March and April, 2007, were miserable for me.  I missed B, even though I still saw him every day.  Living together, yet apart, was difficult.  I slept in what was once our bed and he slept on the couch.  He spent weekends away with his family, and I spent weekends with my friends.  He said that he didn’t know if he had any faith left, that things had gotten too hard.  He didn’t know if he could go on.  I soldiered on, trying to take my mind off of it, unsuccessfully.  I went on a four week bender, drinking heavily to self-medicate my emotional pain.  I stopped calling him, stopped hugging him, stopped talking to him.  But when we were alone, which was rare, I found myself reaching out, selfishly, stubbornly, trying to hold on to something that didn’t want me anymore.  I was angry at myself.  I was pathetic.  And then, I snapped out of it.  I woke up one day and thought “fuck it.”  So I put on the best mask I could muster, one of complete indifference, and faced the world.  And just like that, my prayers were finally heard. 

It was late in April when it finally came back together.  It took several unforeseen, random circumstances to bring this relationship back together.  It was his asking, just as it was his undoing, that sealed the deal.  For all along, I’d known the truth — he just had to figure it out himself. 

And now, a year later, things are completely different.  Our “house” is now a “home.”  There is a safe haven for us both to escape to in each other’s arms.  Our relationship is now based on mutual respect and friendship, instead of just passion and emotion.  We learned that you have to have all those pieces to make it work.  We’d been together a long time, and we had stopped appreciating each other.  It’s hard to explain…it’s almost as if the undoing of it all is what made the bitterness fade away.  It was as if someone had literally wiped our slate clean and said “please, start fresh with each other.” 

One night, a few months after we began again, as we lay sleeping in our bed, he woke me up at 3 a.m.  He said to me, “You are my best friend, but I want you to be my wife.”  Finally, all those years of wishing and praying were coming true.  But what I felt was not relief or appreciation — I just felt calm.  Like I could finally rest, knowing that my world was now on solid ground.  All my life I’d lived in fear of being abandoned by those who I love.  My mom, my dad, my brother.  I didn’t want to add B to the list of those who had gone from my life.  That night I realized that he had never really left.  I was always in his heart, where he carried me.  We fell apart to come back together.

March 13, 2007 seems like a lifetime ago.  We’ve come so far since then.  As B says, “Our relationship is in a different place now, from a year ago.  We’re standing on solid ground.”

I couldn’t agree more.

Love is about compromise…right?

Every girl who has ever fallen in love has experienced, at least once, a situation where someone in your beloved’s family despises you.  Loathes you.  Detests you.  Most girls in this predicament have the unfortunate luck of having that someone be His Mother.  For some reason, boys and their moms have a weird relationship that prevents the mom from liking us, no matter how nice, perky, or successful we are.  It’s a crap situation, and I’ve totally Been There, Done That, Bought the T-Shirt. 

But I’m not most girls. 

I’ve been relatively lucky with B’s family.  His mom and I got along great while she was alive.  His father and I have a decent, although sporadic, friendly relationship with each other (I don’t go around much…).  His siblings and I are on great terms.  His nieces and nephews adore me.  But then there’s his sister-in-law.

For the past 9 years, it’s been nothing but catty remarks, attitude, and major hostility between the two of us.  I’ve tried every route to peace imaginable:  I’ve ignored her.  I’ve sucked up to her.  I’ve confronted her.  I’ve been mean back.  No matter what I do, she hates me.  As I explained to B last night, I feel as though whether I say “Hello!” or “Fuck you!” to her, I’m going to get the same reaction - rolling of the eyes, a shitty remark, and possibly even an insult.  It’s been going on for so long, that at this point I don’t even notice anymore.  I don’t care what she thinks or says about me at this point because honestly, where would that get me?  She’s made me cry so many times that I refuse to allow it to happen ever again.  I made the unfortunate mistake of giving her that power.  Power that she loves and knows how to use to her advantage.

Don’t bother asking why she hates me.  I haven’t got a clue.  The first time I ever saw her, I was with my step-sister at a local place in town and The Witch was standing with B’s ex-girlfriend.  As I passed, she mumbled “ugly slut” under her breath.  Keep in mind, I was 16.  She was in her late 20s.  Immaturity knows no boundaries.  She had forged some type of friendship with B’s ex, even though the girl had broken up with B on his birthday.  In front of all of his friends.  The funny thing is, her and I ended up being friends the next year…  I guess she just made a bad decision on how to end things.  But she was a nice girl.  But you would think that The Witch’s loyalties would lie with B.  After all, her brother-in-law, cute and 16 years old, had been dumped by this girl and here she was joining forces with her and calling me an ugly slut? (Tangent: I was a virgin.  Slut?  Pleassssssssse.  But I digress.)

So anyway, now that you’ve got a quick history on my relationship with The Witch, let’s get to the present problem.  On Sunday night, I got a phone call from a girlfriend who wanted to inform me that she is hosting a get-together at her place on March 8, and she wanted to invite B and I to come to it.  After telling B the details, he looked at me, tense, with something on his mind.

“Well, the thing is, I was going to ask you to go with me that day for my nephew’s birthday party.”

Instantly, I had a headache.  Don’t get me wrong — I love his nephew.  He is adorable and sweet and he gives me lots of hugs every time I see him.  Naturally, I’d want to be present for his birthday and shower him with affection (and money).  But the thought of having to subject myself to hours upon hours of The Witch’s presence, coupled with thoughts of what has happened in the past, made me feel anxious and near vomiting.  I decided to take the “adult approach” and talk it over with him.

“The thing is, honey, I’m really glad you want me to go.  It means a lot to me.  But, you know how I feel about your sister-in-law, and no good can come from her and I being stuck in the same place for an extended period of time.”  I continued on, reminding him of previous disagreements between her and I, while he nodded slowly and agreed with me that yes, she is in fact a crazy, hostile bitch who no one wants to be around.  Eventually we just passed out, and didn’t mention it again.

Until last night.  As we were coming home from a wonderful mexican dinner, it was quiet, so I spoke up.

“So I guess I’ll go to the party on the 8th, and you’ll go to your nephew’s thing without me?” 

“Wait, what?  You never said you weren’t going, you just said you would feel really uncomfortable,” he ventured.

Ugh.  It’s a Pandora’s Box, my friends.  I should have never opened up my big fat mouth.  But I thought that our little trip down Memory Lane two nights before had made it clear that his sister-in-law not only leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but she downright makes me want to throw up said bad taste.  Apparently he was under the impression that I would just suck it up and we would make the best of it.  Years of being subject to her particular penchant for verbal poison have taught me that I will never win.  If I ignore her, she wins.  If I walk away from her, she wins.  If I fight back, she wins because she was able to succeed at getting me worked up. 

B explained that his feelings were hurt.  He really wanted me to go with him, and I should just be able to get over things if it’s really important to him. 

Defensive, I blurted out, “If you think this is the way to get me to want to go — by making me feel guilty — you’re dead wrong.  In fact, it’s making me want to not go even more.”

I could see the hurt written all over his face, and I knew that my Word Vomit could not be taken back.  We sat in silence the rest of the way home. 

When we pulled into our driveway, after we’d both had about 10 minutes to cool off and think to ourselves, I said to him, “It’s not that I don’t want to go with YOU.  It’s not that I don’t like your family.  It’s just HER.  It’s never a good situation.”

Then he said something that surprised me.

“Obviously I want you to go.  I want you to be with me in front of my family because you’re important to me and I want them to know that.  I don’t know when, and I don’t know where, but one day I just woke up and realized that I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life.  I want you to be my wife.  You are a part of me, and I love you.  I will never let her, or anyone for that matter, hurt you again.  Not if I can help it.”

Stunned, I responded with, “If you can promise me that if anything happens, you’ll address it directly with her and we’ll leave immediately, then I will go with you.”

He looked positively shocked.  He grabbed my hand and said, “I promise.  I love you.”

So next Saturday will find B and I making the two hour drive to see his nephew (and The Witch) for a birthday celebration.  I haven’t seen her in about a year.  There will be catty remarks.  She’ll make a comment about how I never come around, how I don’t care about the family, etc.  I will stay quiet and smile.  I may pull her aside and give her my two cents, but not in front of the children.  And when she does what I know she will do, I will wait for B to handle it. 

I really don’t want to go.  But love is about compromise…right?  Plus, how could I say no after what B said to me?