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Use Your Words

February 5, 2015
Picture if you will (the narrator from The Twilight Zone saying that)
A crowded Chinese restaurant. There is a couple at a table. 
Over the din of clanking plates and drunken rhetoric you hear this, spoken in that angry clipped tone reserved for sullen children.
“I cannot believe you wore that out, you look cheap”
“Why did you order that? Aren’t you fat enough?”
“Why are you looking at the server like that? Are you flirting? You are an embarrassment. What is wrong with you? Oh sit down, you aren’t going anywhere.”
What do you do?
If it’s a woman talking to a man like that, statistically, you do nothing.
It happened to me, I was on the receiving end of said barrage. I got rescued by a rugby team, took me over to their table until he left and made sure I got in a cab safely. I was lucky. Sorta, that was one of the culminating incidents that led me to leave the soon-to-be rapist. I still went back after, but for one night I was safe. Thanks rugby guys.
That is not what this is about.
Once upon I time I answered the phone.
‘Help me, I need help’ smash bang boom.
Dead air…dial tone.
What the actual fuck?
Check the call display, it’s a friend.
“Get your coat honey, we gotta go”.
Jump in a cab, arrive at friend’s house. Door is busted.
Call out hello, walk in. My first thought is burglary. The house is trashed. Get a little further into the apartment, my friend is crouched in between the kitchen table and the wall, bleeding.
All of a sudden I get shoved hard into the table. Turn around and it’s his girlfriend, holding the house phone like a weapon.
All of a sudden his bloody nose and the phone call make sense. So did his insistence on wearing long pants and long sleeved shirts in August.
She beat the shit out of him, for a year. And when he couldn’t take it anymore, he called me and boyfriend. Not the cops, the shame was so immense.
I know exactly how he felt, a few years later, the morning I escaped the rapist, I called his best friend to come get him out of my house.
I watched a video on Facebook the other day. It was a montage of women hitting men. How is this thing circulating without these women being found and charged?
There is a Battle of the Sexes and fuck me, we are all doing it wrong.
I have borne witness way too many times to my friends, male and female being financially, emotionally and physically abused by the partners they are with.
When did we replace the word love with ownership?
No one has the right to terrorize another person or control their actions.
You don’t like what your partner is doing? Fucking leave.
Didn’t we learn in kindergarten to keep our hands to ourselves and use our words?

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Good Wife Bad Wife (take one)

February 3, 2015
original artwork by Angelique Houtkamp
2 things happened.
I should probably just assume all y’all know it’s always two things.
I rarely have a singular revelation. Ima Gemini.
If I ever do, you might want to duck and cover for it is the coming of the lesser known horseman of the apocalypse, the Lone Epiphany.
Everybody knows good cop bad cop, yes?
Let’s extrapolate. Good wife bad wife.
Now make those into one woman, yes me. (It’s always about me).
Walking around in the same body, daily playing that dynamic.
It was ugly, told you Anthony earned his sainthood.
I read an article http://www.sunnyskyz.com/blog.php?blogid=610%2FI-Wasn-t-Treating-My-Husband-Fairly-And-It-Wasn-t-Fair#T4zo3tOvJZXJc5ry.01
I saw myself in it. I didn’t like looking in that mirror at all, it reflected the screaming nagging harpy I was.
Now on what planet is it more important to be right than to love the one you are with?
Apparently I visited said planet and brought back a parasite, I never want to go back.
My nagging had purpose though god dammit. I had to be as unlikeable as possible so he had to prove over and over that he liked me because I had a GIANT hole in my ego that needed filling.
I grew up in a house where the squeaky wheel got the grease. I fell back on what I knew.
Ya, that makes all the sense.
I have the ability to look back at everything I ever did, objectively, and see where I went wrong.
I also have the ability to apologize and adapt.
I read another article.
It’s a thing I do.
http://www.xojane.com/sex/it-happened-to-me-im-a-homewrecker?utm_source=FBPAGE&utm_medium=post&utm_campaign=Sex%2FLove
2-1+1=2 but not the same 2 as you started with.
Follow my logic.
First article ‘I found myself berating and attempting to change my husband until he looked like a little boy being punished’.
Second article ‘sorry I keep sleeping with your boyfriends but um, I just act like myself and take an active interest in the things they do and shazzam, we fuck. Sorry about that, so sorry’.
It’s easy Not to nag when you are the mistress, too busy fucking. You don’t really have time for that.
If one of these dudes would just see what a diamond she is and put a ring on it, I think she would make a fabulous wife. She gets it. She just doesn’t know she gets it. Because other women say things like “she needs help”, or worse, “she needs a slap”. Go team (sarcasm)
So…Can anyone really and rationally tell me you know exactly how much time you have on this planet? And that (if for some reason you can) that you have definitely been granted some good quality ‘spare’ time to nag and control your husband. The man you chose to marry and share a life with. 
Life, as I know it, is too short to freak out over muddy boots or beers with the boys.
You want more time with your man? Buy a case of beer, make a pot of chili and have everybody over on game night. Wives included. Be the damn change you want to see. Practice kindness at every opportunity. Please believe me when I say, being kind feels so much better than being right. Besides, he doesn’t really think you are right, he just wants some peace. No one is winning here.
I think margarine and diet coke are the fruits of the devil. I won’t buy them, but past a quick explanation as to why they are really bad for you, I don’t have a hissy fit if the man I care about choses to imbibe. His body is not my body. It’s not mine to control.

We had a pretty big war over the owning of slaves, we all collectively decided it was a bad idea. So why treat your marriage like that?

That being said the words ‘I love you’ can take many forms. “Fasten your seatbelt”, “grab a hat its cold out”, “here is some butter”.
To me that is what marriage and relationships are about. Contributing to the well-being of another being of your choice, and the sex, and the snuggles.
Hold each other up, don’t tear each other down.
Happy wife happy life? Whoever thought that up should be slapped.
How about HAPPY SPOUSE HAPPY HOUSE.
This rant is far from over, but I am over my word count…to be continued

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Wander Wounded Heroes

February 1, 2015
I have been pondering a blog post about the vilification and disappearance of the Warrior Class for ages now.
This isn’t it.
2 things happened simultaneously, as they often do.
I wrote half a piece about ‘waiting’. It was the wee hours of the night and sometimes I forget what I have written, that is when my muse takes over, she is always welcome.
The next afternoon my psychic friend wakes up from a nap and messages me out of the blue.
“Who is the soldier?” he says.
“What?”
I’ll spare you the hour of back and forth before I opened my documents and saw what I had written.
There was a grand and glorious joyous noise unto the Lord. Sounded a lot like me laughing.
Instead, here is what I wrote.
There is a thing I believe in, and it happens because I believe it, not the other way around.
They say lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice. Ask the Eiffel tower, she’ll tell you that is a lie.
If you live a monumental life the strikes of light and electricity are bound to be frequent and spectacular. Especially if you are always reaching up into the heavens, emulating and taunting the gods. The hits just keep coming. Sometimes all you have to do is be walking through the storm. I love to dance in the rain.
My matriarchal legacy dictates the following is absolute truth.
The women in my family, for generations, have seen “him”, and that was it. He was the one, they were just done.
I believe it (as undeniable fact) that this was my destiny, I had concrete proof that, ‘yes, this happens’. It’s not a concept I adopted, it is an integral part of how I was raised. Some day I will meet the one and I will just know it.
Amazing right? They write books, movies and music about this shit. 
This is poetry and art.
Most people go their whole lives and don’t get anywhere close to this.
Wait for it…
This legacy I was conceived from has a disclaimer, not a price, but a disclaimer.
“You can have this, but you gotta wait for it”.
Cue 2 wars, my dad and grandfather were soldiers, met my Mom and Nana before they went overseas. These women waited.
It is why I am here.
I met a lovely girl online, her love is a soldier.
He has “war is the answer” tattooed across his back. She has ‘love is the answer’ across her chest.
I think they are gonna make it.
I want them to make it.
I feel strange using the war analogy now, this woman Jena and her story have altered me.
I think I glorified the idea of being an army wife. 
Yes, I am loyal and yes I love my free time, I hate goodbyes but I love hellos.
Patience does not come easily to me.
I am not that brave nor do I stand idly by very well. It is much more like me to take up a sword and fight beside him than to keep the home fires burning.
 “What is he whose grief bears such an emphasis, whose phrase of sorrow conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand like wonder-wounded hearers? “
(Hamlet, the answer is Hamlet)
I always remembered the last line as “wander wounded heroes”.
My wander wounded hero. My wanderings have wounded me too.
Sometimes lightning just strikes.

Luck isn’t a thing to be earned, it just happens.
Just exist, that is enough.
Conquer what you need to conquer, I’ll wait. 
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Novel Romance

January 29, 2015
Go forth and unfuck thine self.
I did indeed fuck myself. 
Nay, not like that.
Of course I do that too.
To misquote Louis CK ‘there are two kinds of people, people who say they masturbate and fucking liars.’
Shit, where were we.
Oh yes.
I picked up my first romance novel when I was 12.
Winterbourne by Susan Carroll.
Read it until it fell apart. No matter, the missing pages were burned into my skull.
The heroine had a deformity, as do it. 
There was hope for me.
This also explains my penchant for saying “aye” and “nay”.
I have notes and research to write one of my own and it could still happen. So far though, mine would end “and then he threw her under the bus”.
The formula.
1 heroine + 1 hero / conflict x miscommunication (to the power of a million) + wars (internal and external) + time + epic sex = 3% conclusion ie. Happily ever after.
It’s the 3% that eludes me and we have no instruction manual for. Nor much interest in.
Who would read a book that went “they met, fell in love and then lived their lives together until they died. Awesome, the end”?
No one, the answer is no one.
“The Bible? Oh that’s over in bestsellers, next to Twilight” (Easy A)
Case and point. Second book, hero thinks he is doing the heroine a favour by fucking off to save her from his darkness. Sorry Edward, she kinda knew what she was getting into, broody sparkle stalker inner rage and all. They spend most of 563 pages depressed and self-destructive.
At least it’s her doing the rescuing at the end of that one.
But still. Nay fucking nay.
Give me Jane Burnham and Ricky Fitz.
Give me Pat and Tiffany.
Give me Ethan Waite and Lena Duchannes.
First example. Just good old fashioned compatible. You can just see the sigh of ‘oh there you are, I was looking for you’. (not a book but it’s my blog, I can do as I please)
Second? Same same, similar psychosis. Ya, the timing was a little off, but they figured it out in fairly good time and then had biscotti and snuggles and football.
Third. And still probably the most satisfying 60 seconds of a movie ending ever. Goosebumps galore.
She dug her heels in, pushed and pushed and pushed some more and had help pushing. He just stayed strong and loved her anyways. Accepted and adored everything she was. “it’s the boy who protects her now”. Yes, this.
Still under a year from the day they met until…
The glorious end.

I hereby rescind my accidental misguided agreement with the universe that things have to be hard to be worth it. 
I have 26 years of waiting that I would like to cash in for a fresh start. I have the same amount of time invested in conflict that I would like to trade for, well, happily ever after. 
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Thrown

January 27, 2015
Daniel Danger http://tinymediaempire.tumblr.com/

I will now stop pretending I know a damn thing about love.

I don’t.

All I have is hindsight, bad habits and the retarded heart of a martyr.

The latest installment? Knocked up pimped out and thrown to the wolves, twice in a row. The first for 2 years, the second lasted a few months. Good god please let me be getting smarter, or luckier, or throw off this whatever this is, feels like a curse.

I just PollyAnna’ed the second guy only using me for 2 months instead of years.
Still cost me $7000, each.

I just totally grossed myself out.

I got treated badly at a job. Criminally badly.

Boyfriend at the time worked with me. He had this ‘policy of non-involvement’, kinda like the Catholic Church during the Holocaust. Truth be told, he was a coward. I was quite literally abused. He claimed to love me alone in the dark, but just stood by and watched. He then knocked me up and I got fired. He almost testified AGAINST me in court. After I carried him for over a year whilst he couldn’t keep a job. After I moved us TWICE to make him happy. Let me go off and strip everyday so he could keep himself in whiskey, beer and buy a Tonka truck.

There is a word for that. 3rd ugliest in the English language.
1. Pedophile
2. Rapist
3. Pimp Daddy Extraordinaire

I came home from a vacation in Florida to dead houseplants, a sick dog, a trashed house and he had quit yet another job.
What would you do?
Get out.

He stopped fucking me 8 months prior, truth be told, I was not overly interested. I was exhausted from treading water for the both of us, the Carpathia never came. In the post break up honesty he said (and I quote) “I figured you were just cheating on me.” Which, in one sweeping sentence validated leaving him forever.
Two things,
you let this go on for 8 months and you didn’t stick up for yourself or try to fix it or confront me? I have never seen such weakness. The second? He didn’t know me. He never listened to a word I said or he extrapolated that what I had been through didn’t alter me to my core.

Grossed out, again.

Saint Anthony used to say “the rest of the world is always trying to fight us, just be on my side”. Except the cheating (which I also did, so hush) fucker was right about most things. I am now the age he was when we were in the thick of it and I am catching up at lightning speed.

That young un’ I dated? I was his sugar mama too. I could not possibly wrap my head around the idea that he would stay if I didn’t give him stuff. The more I gave the more he stayed away.

My two best girls are always harping at me to ‘stop being so nice’. I DO try to look after everyone. St. Anthony says the same. He was going to testify FOR me in court as long as I swore not to spend the money on another loser. That was his condition. He wouldn’t even let me buy him breakfast as a thank you.

I was talking to another ex when I was with young un’. He said “ask this guy if he would take a punch for you, ask yourself if he would, if the answer is no”, leave. The answer was no, I stayed. I loaned him my truck and he took his new girlfriend to Niagara Falls in it. Then broke it and me while I woke up in a pool of blood, alone.

My movie love I go on and on about? Fucker slept with my t-shirt for 3 years before we slept together, then he promptly moved to another city with another woman. We sorta got it together again years later and he wants me to come shack up for a week (at my expense) and “we’ll see how it goes”. This is my ideal romance? This is the love of my life?

I bailed my rapist out of jail, 3 weeks prior to the rape.

I invite all women to bring me their men, if my instinct is to protect him or he lets me buy him dinner…throw it back, he’s no good.

This is my gift?

There is the meme floating around says “throw me to the wolves, I’ll return leading the pack”.

NAY, NAY FUCKING NAY, stop throwing me places, stop abandoning me, stop thinking I got this. I will fight my way out, but why make me fight alone in the first place? To further prove I am better off alone? Good job. Point noted. Go away.
I have come to the realization that even when I was in a ‘relationship’ they were canoes and I was the only one paddling or bailing, I would have been better off alone, without the weight. All the things I accomplished are thereby mine, all the times I capsized, mine too.

I pick partners badly, but not lightly and I give it everything I have. I am worth something, I believe in chivalry and I’ve earned it. I’m a good woman.

I am currently questioning everything, except my ability to survive all things alone.

I deserve better.

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The Hulk

January 25, 2015
Strip club co-workers have been responsible for some of the sweetest utterances I have ever heard,
“I don’t need you with me I just need to know you exist.”

“I am so glad you were born.”

and

“I don’t want to be anywhere but under your wings when you get mad.”

This new one is definitely under my wings, in the safe place.
Speaking of wings.
And lo the Angel of the Lord appeared unto some shepherds totally freaking them out, and he said a bunch of shit which included bringing ‘tidings of comfort and joy’.
This girl (yes me) puts her hand up, clears her throat and says
“Um no. that is not in the bible, that is just what the song says. And isn’t the concept of comfort and joy an oxymoron, like ‘friendly fire’?”
The Angel of the Lord rolled his eyes and in a great booming voice replied
“Ya, I’ve heard about you.
Shepherds, go for a walk.
Not you missy. Sit your ass down, we gotta talk.” 

The shepherds all scurried off and left the two of them alone. The Angel of the Lord cleared his throat and said,

“When is a metaphor not a metaphor?”
It became her turn for the rolling of eyes
“Lose the cryptic, I am not in the mood. Comfort and joy sound like safety and exhilaration to me, they cannot co-exist.”
“That is where you are wrong puddin’. Remember the Hulk?”
She did, and her eyes lit up at the memory of it. The roller-coaster in Florida she couldn’t shut up about. The one with the magnetic propulsion system that launched you into a blind curve at 70 miles an hour. Strapped in, safe with all the padding in the world and yet, every time that last car hit the magnets she thought she was flying into space. And it was addictive and it was good forever and ever AMEN.
Went on that thing until my legs shook and then a few times after that. Somehow my brain would forget while I was in line that this was indeed safe and for a split second I thought, okay this is it, this is the time it breaks and we are going to sail off into nothing. What a cool way to die, this sensation of flight.

This feels familiar. Crazy deja vu, I have often dreamt of flying and falling.

Despite how thoroughly I was tucked in, I still thought I might die and it was kinda wonderful.

Loved everything about it, the waiting, the anticipation, the fear, the comfort mixed with joy.
All of it.
ooooooh, there it is.
When is a metaphor not a metaphor?

When it’s a simile, and a triple entendre.

The Hulk huh? The man, the monster, and the ride.

Holy trinity making my legs shake.

God I love being wrong, and this is why.

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Saint Anthony

January 23, 2015
Felicien Rops
I wasn’t baptised.
However, I attended every church I could get invited to as a child, looking for God.
I remain uncommitted. I am now content washing my own soul.
The only religious anything we had in the house was (you can laugh, I was 4) a vinyl record from Kentucky Fried Chicken of Christmas carols. I loved the way they sang hallelujah. I love the word, saying it, spelling it, thinking it and especially feeling it.
I had a grand mal epiphany last night. A glory, glory Hallelujah that made me shake.
There was a tiny aside in a prior post wherein I said ‘everything makes sense now’.
Apparently that was not so much of a statement, as a call to the Universe for everything to really make sense now.
My God sounds like Patrick Stewart ‘make it so’. 
So, I am involved in an unpleasant legal matter. By the grace of God, their lawyers thought to throw ex-hubby at me as a scare tactic. You are privy to the knowledge that he and I are friends, the rest of the world…not so much.
I propose a change in moniker. Ex-Hubby shall now be known as Saint Anthony. It’s my blog, I do what I want.
I try not to bother him too much, he has his own life and I have mine, but this court shit has led to bi-weekly contact. He is speaking on my behalf. Bless him.
I have spent almost the entirety of my life feeling like a strange changeling, never fitting in, feeling everything too much, uncertain, confused, outcast, terrified of fucking up and basically unlovable. I never found Jesus, so he didn’t love me either.
So I met St. Anthony, and he has his shit together. His life philosophies are wise, there is nothing he doesn’t know how to do and he is afraid of nothing and no one. You know in the movies when a guy can knock another guy out with one punch? Ya, I saw him do that.
So this guy picks me.
What the ever loving fuck. That can’t be right.
Why me?
He told me and showed me over and over.
What did I do?
Oh I am telling ALL y’all, I sabotaged it. At every opportunity in every way I could think of, outright and subconsciously.
I was like a 4 year old pushing every rule and every button, with exactly that much grace.
I threw the best temper tantrums.
He started to pull away and protect himself from the onslaught. Who wouldn’t? Saints are human.
I was JUSTIFIED, VINDICATED I was right all along.
Except I wasn’t.
I am now some semblance of the woman he saw me to be. Hurts my heart to think of how I pushed him and hurt him to get MORE. I wasn’t enough and I ended up making him feel that way too. 
No words could prove my worth, just time.
I am finally realizing my potential.
I have been given an opportunity to be what I needed. Infinitely patient. So I am.
Love someone exactly how you found them because of exactly who they are.
And if somebody loves you, let them.

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Bad Kitty

January 22, 2015

Ten months ago I had lunch with my girl. She had a new Monster and he gave her a Kindle.

I had my own Monster.

“He looks like hurt”, she curled her lip and went back to her toy.

“I know but I am doing it anyways”.

I left with a bad taste in my mouth, it wasn’t the coffee.

Hearts want, we abide.

Wait.
How was her shit more viable or less fucked up than mine? I’m 40 he was 24. Hers lives in another province with his wife.
I had exactly as much of a chance of finding a time machine and making mine into a grown up as she had for him to leave his wife.

My philosophy, I found mine like this, if I had decided to love him, I’d love him as is. I don’t put conditions on people. I came by this the hard way.

I supported her because I found her like this.

When you enter into someone else’s relationship you are thieving, taking apart joy that belongs to the original two. Also a philosophy I came by the hard way.

She and I were new friends, my ex-husband made sure we never met. She was now living my old life playing the part of the interloper. A familiar role for her, as she had history with my ex-husband while he and I were falling apart and drifting back together. She was part of his harem.
I forgave, yet another thing I do.

Shocker, her married guy stayed married. Mine dumped me for a 20 something.

I looked to her for love or a “hey, you tried”.

She said “I should get paid for my psychic predictions of the future”. Fuck you sister.

I put aside my educated ideas about ‘the other woman’, I helped her pack and move. I wanted her to be happy.

When it fell apart, she summoned and army of fishwives from the internet to attack this man. This man she knew to be married and moved for anyways. I sent her a gentle message saying ‘are you sure you want to do this’, she said yes.

Then she attacked his wife. Sent her all the sneaky night time selfies with him in her bed. I can’t abide. That was the most thorough and vast unfriending I have participated in since hubby and I split. This time, I didn’t want any of them. Did I miss the memo where we all went back to high school?
I have to thank her to a degree, watching her flail helped me. My disgust with her behaviour was really me looking in a mirror. I didn’t like what I saw, so I changed it.

I am not perfect and my horse is not high. I have never been able to justify quitting something without first trying it.  Truth be told, my scarlet letter is a tattoo, and like most of the tattoos I got in my old life, it is a reminder of who I used to be and of somewhere I chose not to visit ever again.

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Second Verse, Same as the First

January 20, 2015
REM “The One I Love”

I try not to deal in absolutes.

Good, bad, right, wrong, normal, weird.

Those ideas feel like cages, with no room for intention or humanity.

We are all just star dusted meat puppets with varying levels of awareness. Wandering around hoping to bump into someone that says ‘me too’at the right moments or any moment.
Wanting to love and be loved and stealing little moments of peace where we can find them.

This is why people go to church, it’s a shortcut to ‘me too’ and peace and love. Me? No, I don’t find satisfaction there, I can’t bow down to false idols, I find these things myself. My urges are mine, I don’t need an imaginary God to tell me that some of them are right or wrong.
I prefer to float. Every person and situation either feels light or heavy. I gravitate to the light and shed the weight.

The man I like asked me ‘why’. I stumbled through an answer laced with giddiness from breathing him in and a bit of Jameson’s. I write, talking…talking is hard for me. I managed to get out that like him because he is gorgeous, smart, honest, strong and I love listening to him talk as much as I love kissing him which is a lot. My mouth felt clumsy, there were holes in what I said.

I mumbled into his shoulder that he and this just feels light, lighter than I am used to. I want the overwhelm. it just feels good. I’ll pretend he didn’t hear me. He already knows I am weird but I harbor this delusion that I can hand it out in metered doses. But he knows.

How do you put into words that I saw him, weighed and measured Everything he is. Because he showed me and I finally had the option to make an educated decision. He doesn’t lie, even when it’s the easy, natural thing to do.

What I came up with is that I want him. I was thorough when I looked for him. He is my choice. There is no room for argument here, this decision is mine.

I spent a year pretty much* alone just to make sure I could be alone. Figuring out who I am and why I do what I do.

I dated a 24 year old for a couple months this summer.

I didn’t mean to date him, I am fucking 40.

We sat in a bar, drafted rules. Within a week he broke every one, I let him.

I met his friends, he told his mom about me, he was here, a lot, doing things that weren’t just fucking me.

My ego was pleased. All the other parts of me just sat back and gave into the experiment. No point arguing with Ego when she gets on a roll.

And then he was gone.

Not a good clean gone either. A messy, raggedy gone. Occasional messages and pop bys, it dragged out longer than it existed in the first place.

Maddening.

If I had a map or a script and handed it to this new one, it could not have gone any more the same.
He was here, it was good and then he was gone.

With literal similarities. I left Sunday Again. No net.
I said the door was open and he stopped walking through it.
Second verse same as the first.

I got stubborn and decided to be me, do things my way and somebody would like it. I started to doubt.

What the ever loving fuck?

Except it’s not the same.

I didn’t balk or pout (okay I balked and pouted a little, quietly, in my own house).
Instead I shed an even bigger net, the net to end all nets, dove down deeper into me and looked for other things I could let go of.

It’s one thing to say ‘I don’t blame others for the actions of one’. It’s another to throw all out reference points and similarities and empty that filing cabinet to make room for new experiences. There is comfort in the familiar even if it’s shitty.

It’s an act of lunacy to say ‘technically you are fucking this up, except I am not going to let you.’

I didn’t get any resolution or vindication from the young ‘un. I don’t want it.

What is the point of hollow words from some hollow boy? I got something so much better, a shining example of a man that had absolutely no integrity, no bravery, not an ounce of truth in him, all wrapped up in skinny jeans and bad shoes.

And then this glorious juxtaposition from the universe. “We are going to show you bad and then immediately show you good, so you can see it, clearly. Keep doing what you are doing, and it will work itself out. You are not wrong.”

This new one, that did all of the exact same things in the exact same order has more integrity than I knew one human body could contain, more strength and grace than I have ever witnessed in a single person.  Honesty and honor are simply what he is made out of. Someone who came by these things through work and experience, not because he read the words in some book and decided to be like that. Someone who just is brave.

I got to practice on the unworthy, push my limits and figure out what I can handle and then I pushed it some more. I KNOW what it feels like to settle and make excuses for someone. Then in waltzes the new one, this collection of traits I haven’t dared dream exist in one place since I was a little girl, before the world got at me and made me feel like I deserved less. I don’t.

Everything I have done, seen and been through up until now makes sense.

Uncategorized

Something Old, Something New (Jesus part 3)

January 18, 2015
Only once in the history of me being the Mistress of Jesus did I ever call him.
I said before that I was raped.
I wasn’t just raped. I was held hostage and beaten in my own apartment for 7 hours. I escaped by zigging when he zagged and running across an icy parking lot without pants or shoes, to the neighbours. Once inside I didn’t call the police, I called his best friend.
My rapist was my ex. He was out on bail for beating me severely a few months prior. So badly people believed me when I said I got hit by a car. 3 months later he got caught and I bailed him out.
I didn’t know it at the time but I was experiencing Battered Wife Syndrome.
We were supposed to spend New Year’s together. I cancelled when he called me all drunk and mean.  Drinking violated his bail. I went to work instead, where there were bouncers and it was safe. He was waiting in my house when I got home, drunk and high out of his mind. Being at my house also violated bail.
Only once in the history of me and Jesus did I ever call him.
I used to carry this air of superiority. I was a ‘well behaved’ mistress. When Jesus and his girl walked into a restaurant I was in, I left. When I saw them walking towards me on the street I would cross to the other side.
I called him when I realized I could not be alone. And he came.
The sun went down and I was wide awake, skin crawling, petrified at every tiny noise. I was terrified the man who hurt me more than I knew was possible and who had threatened to kill me would come back, and do the rest of what he promised or more of the same. It was a nightmare.
Jesus came and stayed until the morning and held me as tight as my body could bear.
He left his fiancé sleeping in their bed, to climb into mine and take care of me. His Broken Concubine.
Quickly now, everybody feel sorry for me.
Now stop.
The fiancé I knew he had, and had no regard for, she didn’t know about me and I thought of her as an irritation, when I bothered to consider her at all.
Is emotional cheating worse than physical?
The answer is a resounding and undeniable
HELL YES.
Exhibit A
“I got drunk and she sucked me off. Sorry honey, it won’t happen again”
Versus
“I care about this girl and she is scared and hurt. I held her while she sobbed, rocked her to sleep, brushed the tears from her face, kissed her gently so I wouldn’t hurt her where he did and put my hands everywhere she wasn’t bruised and beaten. Sorry honey, it won’t happen again (because she said she can’t be my mistress anymore, only after I let it slip that you and I are getting married)”
Which one would break your heart?
The prosecution rests.
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