I logged in to a match.com account yesterday, I don’t know why. Curiosity, boredom, intuition? I created the profile when a friend called me over to drink wine and create her own profile. I created it because hers was glitching so we were testing whether it was Match, wifi or whatever. I didn’t delete it.
I swiped right and left, feeling nauseous as I lingered in the place where people have become dispensable, where I have been dispensable. Throw them in a no pile or a yes pile. Go on a date all the while thinking Mr. Rightnow should be nookin4nub instead. Dispense and on to the next one.
So, I come to a profile, a “match”…clearly a first responder. When I click on it, a “More like this:” section appears. First profile up: firefighter. “Online now”. This is why I signed in. Intuition. The universe rattling my cage saying “End this, you deserve so much more than this! WTF are you doing girl?”
I’ve spent hours being a therapist, listening to someone pine for an ex who has already moved on. I’m happy to help, to listen, to be a shoulder. However, when you figure out someone is still in love with someone who still exists here among us, you have to remove yourself from the equation. Hours of being weighted down when I’m trying to live lightly and purely. I’m no runner up, I’m not here to compete with anyone else, I’m not some interim girl and I’m certainly not here to convince anyone of my worth. I will not do that ever again. I will not spend energy defending my worth and value.
I’ve only ever discovered heartache in online dating. Sociopaths, narcissists, and the awesomely unavailable or unattainable perhaps. God, I hope when I find him it’s at the grocery store, dentist’s office, gym or coffee shop. I have zero faith in the online world.
Four weeks after leaving the relationship, the narcissist was back on POF. It’s not a good feeling being dispensable to others.
Get back in the corner faith, you’re better off there for now. I’ll replace your blanket of fear with romantic love. That way, when it’s time, when you rejoin the other components of my heart, maybe I’ll feel the magic again and feel it’s real.
Until then…self-care and teenagers. That’s where my energy belongs.
Final blog, I thought so, but a career change affords me the freedom to write. Although my previous blog posts make me want to re-consider this…
I have just re-read some of my previous posts which at the time I probably thought were brilliant and insightful. Now, I read them and see the wreck I was. Self awareness is a wonderful lense. It brings things into focus, magnifies things, good and bad.
Lenses…a catch phrase I kept repeating to my most recent ex(She says feeling like a poor version of Elizabeth Taylor). “Change your lense not your location.” Blending a family is hard, it doesn’t happen in 11 months. Ironically, I am the one who needed to change my lense. I needed to see the situation for what it was. Mission impossible. You cannot change people. When they speak their truth, accept it.
Blinders. Codependent behaviour. Those final days. Friday, June 16. We walk to the park. My lense is to get things back on track. I’ve just been to therapy, I’m entering the conversation with tools for success. His lense – anger. The cursing and yelling because I said I didn’t believe that I needed to take the internet modem every time a child was sick. So much yelling. When it’s over for someone else, it’s over. All this the night before I have to get up and do a reading at a funeral to honour my best friend’s mother, my aunt.
Saturday, June 17. Funeral. Stress. In the morning I am met with more anger and button pushing. I state I’m not open to this interaction as I have a funeral reading to do. I’m met with “Life stops because you have a funeral to go to!?!?” Lense change! Focus.
June 19…text message. A name. “Is that a marriage counsellor?” I ask. Nope, realtor. The end. The two months that follow are just bewilderment and disappointment and a lot of wine. A lot of wine.
Therapist “I’m not sure there’s comfort in this but you need to know, this relationship literally ended over nothing.” She understands. She met the ex, she saw what I was up against. So much unhealthiness existed there. Dooped. Disappointed. Discouraged. Discombobulated. Devastated.
New lense. Re-reading the transcript of the last two years. I have been Codependent in my relationships. Most of my relationships have been with narcissists. Gotta fix that situation. I think I’ve bought out amazon.ca books on narcissism and codependency on a quest to never repeat this again. The codependency books are helpful but the Narcissist books take me to a bad place, I’m not ready for those.
Lense: You can’t be so in love with the idea of happy ever after that you aren’t seeing the now for what it is. The person in front of you is who they are. See them. Screw the happy ever after and see them, see them because if you don’t, the ending is just a natural disaster.
Heart of ice. “Feel no feelings.” I’m hoping this is a lense that will re-focus with time. Flowers at work ignites my anxiety. I want to actually be sick. Boys wanting dates just leads to sighs and indifference. A Facebook message from someone telling me, I’m the one that got away but alas they’re engaged, their initiation out of the blue- my first tears in months, they pour. Where’s the comfort in being the one that got away? None. He needed me to tell him it was okay, so I did. Done.
The old me would have received those flowers, compliments and messages and started that happy ever after movie playing in my head. Those lenses are gone. This is a good thing but the lenses will certainly need to be adjusted. Damn, they were pretty flowers.
Slowly adjust the lenses…
Koi Fish – I read that blog post… Geezus. I very rarely remember my dreams. The koi fish dream came after I met a widower online. The widower was wrought with grief and pain. A handsome, intelligent, writer, father… but broken like me. Only worse, he had found happy ever after and it was taken too soon. I remember reading his blog about the loss of his beautiful wife and full on weeping. I had not met him face to face. We were both existing in sadness. Then the koi fish dream. The widower standing by the pond. Happy. The brain is a messed up thing when we slumber… what lense does it wear when we sleep? Multi-focal lenses? Mary Jane type lenses…. What came from this? Some writing.
Bumble? Friends with benefits? Dating yet again at 42. Ugh. No thanks. I’m enjoying my kids, my friends, some running (disc don’t give out on me now), a fantastic new career and a mentor who thinks I’m some version of Carol Burnett. Sure, okay…
Is it because it’s Halloween? People soon masquerading as things they are not. Is it the moon? Is it the email that sat in my inbox at work yesterday? The email was nothing, just blah blah blah about the trailer. Stalling… It’s seeing the name and the thick swallow that comes before opening the email.
I do know I set out to have some of this blog be about my life with a sociopath-narcissist. So this is a continuation of the blog post living with a sociopath…. Deep breath.
When you hear the word sociopath, you likely think of criminal behaviour…things the movies or crime shows tell us a sociopath might be. Scary, violent, serial killers…good people like myself would think based on Hollywood portrayals that a sociopath only exists in the movies and that encountering one would be rare. But this is not the case.
1 in 25 people is a sociopath and they are not typically serial killers as we know them from the silver screen. They are soul killers. They gleefully and without remorse tap in to your soul and set out to extinguish it’s light.
When Maya and I spoke, she was convinced our sociopath was a pure narcissist but my instincts were sociopath. It turns out we are both right. He is both and he is evil. Ever looked a devil in the eye?
So My relationship with the sociopath was on fast forward. He said and did, literally, the same things to me, Maya, Téanna. I’m sure if Téanna had have given him the engagement ring back, I would have been the third woman to sport it. Unlike the average person who might feel guilty doing such a thing, the sociopath would have gotten some sort of sick high out of it and in his psychosis wouldn’t have had a problem bringing me to mom and dad and having me show off a ring they’d already seen on the hands of the previous two women.
Meeting his family
That leads me to meeting his family. December 24, 2013. I was going to meet the family. It was Christmas, I was going to experience my first Christmas morning without my babies and I’m meeting this guy’s family for the first time. I’ve been waiting for it all day. He picks me up from work and starts telling me he doesn’t want to go, he fought with his mother and told her he wouldn’t be there. Chaos…drama…just the start of it. Who fights with their mom on Christmas Eve??? He told me he was close with his family and friends, especially his mother (Mirroring societal norms and mirroring what he knew I would want; a family oriented man). So how does someone close to their family, fight with their mom on Christmas Eve? They are a sociopath and they’ve lied to you. I made him get on the phone and call his mom, apologize and tell her we are going to be there. I adore Christmas and being with my family.
Red flag hello!?!? I did not like this. So we get ready to go and he is going in to work in the middle of the night. Yep knowing what I know now – he left me all alone to be with another woman on Christmas morning.
As we get ready, he says to me “We will not talk about me working overtime. We’re going to go for like an hour and then leave.” I am bewildered. Why are we lying about this? He claimed his uncle would get seriously annoying about it, calling him money bags and going on about the overtime. He didn’t want to deal with that. And so why do we tell them we’re leaving early? Then just before we leave he tells me his brother is crazy, that he tends to fly off the handle and say crazy things. He’s aggressive… Oh my God, at this point I was freaking out. What am I walking in to?
His dad was a big deal in the department of the City the sociopath worked for. His dad would have known there was no overtime or at least blown his lie up. Nothing to do with the uncle.
The brother needed to be this crazy person to be feared because of the text. The text in which the sociopath pretended to be his brother. If the brother is crazy, then I am less likely to believe what he says. His brother is likely the only one in the family that does not enable his psychosis.
I was so stressed walking in to that place. We walk in and the room falls silent, the young people in the room (our age-ish) are looking at me like they’ve seen a ghost. Well, I’m the third woman within 3 years to come to Christmas. Vomit. Nobody says a word to us until we hit the kitchen. His aunt and uncle are welcoming. His parents too. His dad especially. I get introduced around the room and no one says anything. It is so messed up. The sociopath proceeds to put his head on his mom’s shoulder and starts sobbing. Wtf?
I, being compassionate and good, attribute it to the fact that the brother is bouncing his baby boy on his knee and the sociopath did not have his son. I convinced Téanna to bring the child on Boxing Day for an hour but she’d have none of Christmas Eve which makes sense now. In my mind he is crying for his son. Being me ,I step to the kitchen trying not to cry myself, to give his aunt the cheese ball I brought. Here I get a bottomless glass of wine for which I will take my first round of abuse on the way home.
Everyone was nice, they seemed normal. The only person that didn’t fit was the sociopath. People made some conversation with him but it was forced.
The uncle keeps pouring me wine. The sociopath tells me that’s the last glass we need to leave. We eat and the family is going to play euchre. I love euchre!! I wanted to play. The brother is friendly, offering me fudge. The sociopath says we are going home and I will not be playing euchre. No one gets why we have to leave. We can’t tell them about the overtime…. The sociopath is getting agitated, restless, he wants to leave. He has somewhere to be. I chug back my last bit of wine and we head out.
In the jeep, he unleashes on me. “I told you I wanted to leave by 11pm. You agreed. Instead, you keep drinking and then make me look like an asshole because we have to leave and you want to play euchre.” How is this my fault? His uncle kept pouring the wine. No one understands why we are leaving. We can’t talk about the overtime. It’s my first time there. It’s Christmas for goodness sake!!! This tongue lashing goes on and on until we get home. 45 minutes of it!!! Even going to sleep. I went to sleep on Christmas Eve like that, no babies to wake up to and believing I was some insensitive woman given he had to get up in the wee hours and go to “work”.
I’ve had three deaths of family members at Christmas: my paternal grandfather, my aunt, and my mother-in-law. This Christmas was worse than those. At least in the loss there was love. This was abuse but he had me convinced I was insensitive. Me? What a farce, looking back.
This would not be the last of it. It would exist in our daily lives. This chaos and abuse. It would come out of nowhere. It would lead to threats of abandonment. When questioned he would lie or deflect things making me the bad guy for questioning him. It would include character assassination.
He would take opportunities like talking about his first girlfriend to tear me down, hit my weak spots. I have stretch marks from babies. They started with my son because I gained too much weight too fast with him. They became worse having had 14+ pounds of baby in my belly with the twins. I am extremely self conscious about it. It impacts my self-esteem greatly. In talking about his exgirlfriend, he threw in she was super skinny, a runner and never wanted to have children because she didn’t want to ruin her body. He did things like this…under the radar, less overt than a lot of his abuse. Going for the Achilles…
I wish I could post his picture. This God’s gift looking down on everyone.
He’d pick me apart as a mother. Pick my kids apart. Go on about how he was sure they were better than this at their dad’s. This guy was a douchebag, they knew it and they were unhappy. I remember him going on about how he couldn’t live here, in this town home, the kids weren’t following his rules for the chocolate lab, I was not supporting his authoritarian dictatorship in the home. He ranted and ranted at me. I finally lost it, I came upstairs locked myself in the washroom and called Kim. I was breaking… It felt like a nervous breakdown… She had to talk me down – I had never made a call like that to her. Broken, hysterical and crying – we’ve known eachother 40 years. Even as angry as my ex husband was and as nasty as sleeping as the enemy could be, I never made a broken phone call like that. I’m the strong girl, who cries tears of compassion but typically keeps her shit together. Kim “You can’t go on like this. You’re an amazing mom. This has to be his last chance.” He was knocking on the bathroom door. I told him I was on the phone. This made him extra agitated. One he didn’t want to look bad because he is superficial and two if I start involving other people he loses control. His ability to completely extinguish my soul will be blocked. Damn right asshole!
This behaviour would be followed by fake apologies. The learning curve claim. I’m the most amazing person he’s met. He hadn’t known love until me. In speaking with Téanna, he made the same pleas to her…verbatim. I can’t explain that feeling. The abuse was bad enough. Knowing that he said the same things to her, to Maya…the loving things, the compliments, the good things you think only your soul owns. It wasn’t reserved for me and ultimately it was just a tactic. A calculated move.
June 2014. One of the worst moments for me, although they were all horrid, happened on his birthday. The Friday before, he worked “overtime”. The girls and I decorated the house, Abbie made a cake. I made a beer bottle cake I saw on Pinterest. The dining room table was taken up with gift bags. He was walking in to an undeniable celebration of him. We were excited. Saturday night we were going to go on a date and my son would watch the girls. He was acting a little strange. A lot of smoke breaks… Oh well. I got ready. I have a lot of hair so it took me over an hour. I put on a lace top, over which a jean jacket was going, black pants, and black boots with a low heel. I came downstairs and the girls were like “Oooh mommy, you look so pretty!”. Not the sociopath, he says “Can we talk upstairs?” . He proceeds to tell me he’s not going anywhere with me looking like this. I look like a slut and just want attention from other guys. A slut? I may have amped up the sexy a bit but a slut? No way. He says we’re not going out. All that effort for nothing. I wanted to look good for him! I wanted him to be proud. I wanted him to have a peacock moment like “That’s right boys, take a good look but I’m taking this cutie home.” It was insane. It went on and on. Pure insanity. I changed my top. Black Gap tshirt right up to the neck.
We got in the car at one point and then he decided he wasn’t hungry. We stopped in Sobeys parking lot where he proceeded to tell me he couldn’t be with someone who needed this kind of attention, who acted this way and matter of fact he’s not sure he even loves me! The devastation of those words. I don’t even know if I really love you!!! I’ve had two relationships previous and even in the worst of times it is not something that was ever said by either side.
I told him he could leave. I didn’t need this in my life. I spent my entire Friday night running around in storms, to get cake mixes, beer bottles and decorating my home for him. I’ve never had anyone speak to me like this. Complain that I look good and tell me they do not love me. Abuse. I’m not sure what he expected. I’m not sure if he had plans with someone else. I’m not sure if it was just sick fun. He backtracked of course because I was serious. Take the door and get out. He manipulated and managed to stay but things were just not going to sit right with me from this point on. I felt trapped we had signed on for the trailer and 4 wheelers and I was breaking, weak, tired and I let him stay. Ten more months. Ten more months of abuse, isolation from my friends, isolation from my parents.
He used my line of credit as Monopoly money for Kijiji deals. Felt entitled to my money. I should cover his debts and we would work as a team to pay it off.
Team work was his mantra. We’re a team babe. Maya says this is her fault because in the end that’s how she convinced him to action stuff. Teamwork and joint bank accounts. He is a sociopath and he will develop his skills in order to succeed.
I read this crap I am writing and I can’t believe it. That is only a snapshot. A handful of examples. I’m a smart lady. I have two degrees. The other women are university educated as well. It’s something we ask ourselves “How could we be so stupid?”
Then there were lots of tantrums, fake crying to manipulate. Statements like call my mom or call my dad when he was backed into a corner. Weird!!! Téanna and I laughed over that one. Such an absurd statement. It was nice she and I could find laughter in this insanity. Both being broken, her more broken than me. She lives in a constant place of fear because they have a child. There is no closure for her ever.
Tantrums of I’m leaving or going upstairs to mope. Texting me to come upstairs and then ranting at me over the fact there was no place on the couch for him or something stupid. The girls were likely snuggled in and getting my attention. He couldn’t lie his head on me for me to rub his head for the 50 millionth time or rub his lazy ass feet!
He thought he was God’s gift. His mom told him he was. He has a weird thing with his mom. My mom says only I can pull of a pink shirt, my mom would say these pants are my style.
He loved the mirror. Every time he got off the couch he would check himself out and flex his non existent biceps with his lame tribal tattoo. If we were out, he’d flex his bicep, looking at it when he’d put his elbows on the table. He would flex it when he got up to walk to the washroom. He was obsessed with himself, what’d he need me for??
I’m horrible at ego stroking. Im not the girl who’s gonna be like look at my big strong man carrying this or that. Unless it’s really noteworthy. Oh you cleared out the dishwasher. Great, thank you. Wait a minute don’t you live here too? Do I get an award when I wash your shit stained underwear?? Get over yourself. Unless we’ve done something monumental or pulled off a really chaotic day, you won’t get any achievement certificates from me from simply pulling your weight. But he needed that desperately. “Bet no ones helped you like this before, right?” “You’ve never had anyone like this in your life right” Nope, never had anyone quite like you. The selfishness and empty promises, yep been there.
Then the question every woman loves “Am I the best lover you’ve had?” Yes, yes dear. Reality: Worst ever! Horrible lover. You can’t be selfish and be a good lover. Lazy… worst ever!!! Téanna and I had a chuckle over this too. Seriously, what were we thinking. He was ignorant, ill mannered and there was no mind blowing sex to cloud things. We had a good chuckle on that one.
He had constant questions/statements like this. Aren’t I the best because…
The day he came to get the rest of his stuff, Carly was here. He had to go to the jeep to get a pen. We watched him as he checked himself out in the window before opening the door. I was like see! See how much he loves himself. Even in this moment he is checking himself out. Then he needs a hose and mount from downstairs. Out comes the bicep check and Carly is like Huh??? Sigh.. It is just sickening. Again, I wish I could post a picture so you can see…see the delusion!
Even in the ego existed insecurity and the shadiness. A weak handshake and no eye contact. All very bad signs. Everyone in my life hates the no eye contact. The initial first impressions were that he was a bad dude but I didn’t see it yet because I was being groomed…
So tonight I rest my weary head with tears… Not for others tonight, not empathy… Selfish tears I suppose…
I read something heart wrenching this morning and as a mother, my heart dropped to my stomach and stayed there for a couple hours…
But that’s not what’s doing it tonight…my tears are self-related…
I’m a single mother of three children, I have my children every day and night of the month with the exception of 4 days. It’s been this way for 8 years… I am crying tonight because I am realizing that I may just be undateable.
Most divorced people have fifty-fifty custody. Each parent has equal amounts of “free” time to explore life and their own interests. It’s easier to find someone when you know you’ll have a whole week together or your weekends coincide.
This is not my reality and the alternative for me is having my children go to a home where they will be miserable, where they are second class citizens whose needs and feelings are secondary. A home where they are afraid to express themselves. A home where they are yelled at for the most inconsequential things. That is not a viable alternative.
My priority in this lifetime is my children’s well-being. Their happiness. I could be selfish, I could go along with my ex husband’s request for shared custody. I too would have free time, maybe I’d actually find that all-star, my Rock. Maybe… ,
This weekend I will be compiling documentation to request that my ex take our children less. Will that happen? I don’t know…will I become entirely undateable…is that totally accurate, undateable? Probably not, my kids are older and only getting older. This can be managed. I think I can still have a life…
My ex husband is remarried, he has the time to invest. He met his new wife and within three months they moved in. Why? Because they spent those entire three months together and figuring it out. Three months after that they were engaged and then a year after that married. They have all the time in the world to be a couple and just be with eachother. They go to Jamaica or Cuba every year and generally live the life of Riley…
So where does that leave me tonight…feeling a little blue….
Who wants the amazing girl you can’t see, hold, make love to when you want… When you’re at home with free time and she can’t be there… I don’t know… I’d say be patient…its temporary…
I never pictured myself going to bed at 40 without someone’s chest to rest my head upon. I never pictured coming home every night and doing all of this on my own. It just never occurred to me, I’d be here… I was with my ex husband from the time I was 16. I never dated. I hate dating, I never had to do it. Clearly I haven’t been the greatest at it…
Tonight I fell asleep on the couch watching Halloween Wars, with one twin snuggled in on either side of me. A cat on my chest and another in between our legs. These moments are nice and comforting.
I woke up to texting with Tania and talking about wanting what is not available. Wanting to be somewhere you can’t be… Timing …
I long for the day that I tuck myself in to bed with the arms of a good man open and waiting for me to settle in. One beautiful person connected to another… These things can’t be rushed. I can’t rush it ever again. I just can’t…
This is not easy…I’m not easy to date…I think I’m worth the wait….dating is temporary once you find the right fit…patience… I’m sad that I’m here… This sadness is temporary too, this is not my first night feeling this way and I’m confident that eventually nights like this won’t exist but I’m tired too and it’s not helping things…
I’m a girl, I’ve been raised on fairytales… I’m a fool for romance but for now I just need to be content in these arms…
This is the question every newly single likely asks themselves and it is an important question. Everyone in your life will have opinions on your readiness, many of these opinions will be prefaced with “You should…” At the end of the day only you can find the answer to this question. How do you know? I don’t have the answer. You need to be connected to yourself and trust your gut. Maybe a better question is why are you looking? What is drawing you to the dating world? If it’s solely to fill a void, to distract you from your disappointment or loss or just for comfort, then I would say you’re probably not ready.
I’ve been through a trauma. It’s a trauma to me because I am a genuinely good human being and because I move through everyday with genuinely good intentions. This tends to make ‘bad’ behaviour a little more shocking and bewildering to me. There are women who could have lived the same experience I just did, dusted themselves off and moved on without flinching.
I’ve learned a lot from my experience. I’ve learned that the first person I need to trust is myself. Trust my gut and stand by my principles and values. I’ve learned that the right person won’t ask me to ignore my values, my needs and if I need to take it slow, the right person will accept that and move at the same pace. I need someone in my life who is independent, who is busy with other things but wants to make time for me even if that time may be limited or we have to get creative. No one is meeting my children until I feel confident in them as a human being. That could mean 3-4 months of dating someone. I have my kids 95% of the time. There are other people in my life that want pieces of my limited time and the person that I date will have to be accepting of the fact that I will choose time with friends too. Developing a relationship will take time, having lives that completely converge will take significant time. My kids are rooting themselves here finally and it would take something of epic significance to make me even entertain the thought of changing that. Any man who’s in a rush to be exclusive or to have me permanently warm the empty space in their bed is not the one for me. I won’t be able to spend a Wednesday night at my man’s house because I have my children every weeknight and they are not of an age where I can or want to leave them overnight without back up. I’m certainly not calling in grandma for a mid-week booty call. I want more than that and it will be a challenge. Someone special will eventually rise to that challenge.
Am I ready? Ready as I can be. I am open… Am I terrified? Yes, I am terrified. Trust will be a hurdle for me. But that hurdle will be there if I postpone dating for another 6 months, 1 year, 5 years… I fear if I wait too long – fear will be all I have and it will paralyze me. My two cats will become 15 cats and I will be that lady… I don’t want to be that lady. I want to find my ‘person’, the first person I turn to when something great happens, when there’s an adventure to be taken… The person who wraps their arms around me and makes the world disappear for a while.
Yesterday, in my conversation with Ginger we talked about some self-realization as a byproduct of the sociopath. She said to me “Remember I sent you that email about knowing when you’re in a controlling relationship early on with the sociopath?” I was like yussss and I was in denial. It went on a bit… And landed on her saying “Do you think you think you can fix these guys or something?” No, I am not quite so naive and coincidentally a couple of weeks ago I had a realization of why I tend to tolerate horse shit for far too long. Other than being far too freaking nice… I was a teacher for 12 years. That was my passion. I was a good teacher. I believed in teaching students not subjects. Math was my subject but I was teaching children the subject, those kids learning was my focus not just the content of the course. That meant I needed to connect to each one of those kids, even the difficult ones. I needed to look for the potential, the ‘good’ sometimes, in every one of the children entering my world. That’s a good philosophy in the classroom, it made me an effective teacher. That philosophy doesn’t necessarily translate to the dating world. I realize this is what I was doing. I was always looking for the good in people who were showing me good was lacking. I was going for the underdog looking for the potential and banking on the one or two good things I saw. That’s all well and good in dealing with a 13 year old who is still figuring out who they are. For a 37, 47, 57 year old man, if you’re 95% a douchebag then you’re 95% a douchebag and the other 5% doesn’t really matter. I don’t want to fall in love with potential. I want the real deal. I am ready for the allstar baby! I don’t expect perfection – I want human. I just want a good man. I expect at 40 something we all have some shit being thrown on our plates. And I don’t mind being there to support somebody, to be leaned on a bit. But I am not going to take your plate and deal with what’s on it to my fatigue while you live the life of Riley. I’ll hold your plate for you temporarily if need be, if you’ll take mine sometimes. But you’re getting your plate back!! With a hug and a kiss of course 😉
I planned on this entry being concise but I digress…
I know some of what I have written seems like I am damaged beyond repair but it is not the intention nor is that accurate. What happened is a big deal. If anyone should happen upon this and see themselves reflected in a relationship with a sociopath and it helps them in some way, then it needs to be raw and real here for that to happen. I’m just trying to lighten my load. I still have residual feelings and I am terrified of the unknown but I won’t let fear take the wheel. It can take a back seat and eventually it can get the faak out of the car!
Every day I have colleagues who make me laugh, friends who warm my heart and children who give me a reason to be and keep me in touch with my inner goofball.
Things are good here. I’m ready to be connected! But I am in no rush for anything.
Sens exhibition game tonight. Off I go to find a Neil t-shirt 🙂 Happy Saturday!!