I opened an old blog post this morning called “Not Forgotten”.
I read the words, knowing that I had written them, they sounded like mine, the subject matter familiar etc…but I swear I forgot I had published it.
I am not sure if that is literal irony or just the way Alanis Morrisette uses it, which, in itself is ironic.
I think I’m at 300+ posts by now. Sometimes they get lost, then remembered.
I found another called “Rainbows and Unicorns” about finding a lovely tattooed Scorpio surfer boy on the beach the day after I’d asked for a summer fling.
He didn’t last the summer.
But I was monkey-barring, hanging on to one and reached for another.
Once I let go I fell in the nicest of ways and was caught so there is that then.
Not sure what happened. Thai Fighter went ghost. Maybe his best friend saw me on Tinder, maybe he met another girl…it’s all part of the great unknown at this point. It’s okay. I wish him well wherever he is.
I think/hope he is back in the Philippines, his happy place with his baby boy changing nappies.
We had a good run.
No harm no foul, I knew exactly what he was when I found him. I didn’t get attached. Just enjoyed the ride.
I have been turning this over in my mind a lot lately.
All of my exes have been immortalized in one way or another up in here. Some more than others.
But titling something open letter to my exes is click bait extraordinaire.
And lately I have been grateful as fuck for all of them, all things considered, so here goes…
Open letter to my exes,
Thank you. All of you.
I wouldn’t be where or who I am now without you, and I love this house and this self/life I have now.
I know it would probably be a more popular post if I ripped into them, one by one said horrible shit, personal things, gossip and drama.
But I am not that girl.
I sat on the porch last night, drinking wine with my Sunshine and I said “Men are my drugs, doesn’t matter how bad they are for me, I do them anyways.”
I also said, I’ve never had a good relationship.
This is also true.
And yet, here I am, trying again.
There are no good drugs, sure they can soothe and balm for a time, but in the end, you are alone on the bathroom floor with your addiction and the drugs are gone.
We were originally speaking of addiction, and how I came to date my rapist and how she ended up with the one who hit her. We were both a little out of control with the partying with the actual drugs before we met these men who had a PhD in control, just not in a good way. But they served their purpose.
We decided to be grateful for them and I felt lighter.
I stumbled on this a while ago, touched on it lightly.
Rumi said ‘you have to keep breaking your heart until it opens’.
And I have.
I don’t know if I’m done yet, but I know I am more open than I have ever been.
I spent 4 years not being in a relationship. I was still with men, but one of us always had our arm out holding the other away.
Sometimes I made bad choices. Often I made bad choices. On occasion I would try to summon my inner girlfriend. When they were over 22 at least or not raging manwhores or admitted fuckbois they didn’t seem unattainable, until they were. But then I held on anyways.
I pretended I didn’t want to be in a relationship, but deep down I did.
What was that movie where the girl made a wish for an impossible man, one brown eye one blue, rides horses, flips pancakes?
Ah yes, Practical Magic.
I can’t remember why she didn’t want to get married, but I understand it.
Once again, never been a priority for me, we’ve talked about this.
I think my wish was a little more practical, I just wanted to be someone’s first choice, see subtext wherein I wanted them to be my first choice too.
I had that dream October 8th 2015 about finding my perfect man in a communist dystopia, all concrete, grey and right angles. I wrote about it in a post called “Dream Love”.
Not perfect, I believe in the concept of perfect like I believe in marriage. Unlikely, but possible. Compatible with me. The two sides of his body distinctly different, giant sized tall, lounging on a couch watching movies and laughing and keeping me safe. Just being happy we found each other at all.
I think I found him, finally. He is 6’ 5” half covered in tattoos, each side of his body distinctly different.
He is away right now and I feel like I am in a relationship with my phone. But god knows I have been through worse.
I saw a meme today.
I see memes every day.
This one said ‘god heard you, be patient’.
I’m fucking trying I really am.
Huge shout out to all the boys I’ve waited for before now.
Thanks for the practice in perseverance.