Saturday, October 31, 2009

Post Apocalyptic Theories. Realized.

The past week I have been examining myself. Asking questions like "Where are you going?" "You need more purpose." I posed a big one yesterday. "Are you working hard enough?"

I received my answer last night when I fell into a blissful, slobbering sleep with the dogs.

Er, let me retract that statement, Champ layed on me like a napping toddler that had too much candy and finally collapsed into my arms for refuge. Champ, as you know, helps feed the mother in me. He is my connection. I love the other dogs, but Champ is an actual baby. I imagine panicked moments of the dogs being in trouble. Getting lost. Following their noses. Listen. If I begin to think about my little Champ lost and alone, I begin to have a huge panic attack. What am I driving at here? Well, I want to be just like everybody else. I want to open the door and find (a human) waiting for me, holding the fort down and being able to deal with the entourage of dogs. Oh, and having them like it. And take it seriously. And really having a clue how much my puppies mean to me. This, is my need.

What I am about to say, please don't take it the wrong way. In my short little life I have had (like you) trauma and drama fall my way. I have had to redo. Start over. I spent 7 years with a man who wouldn't EVER marry me. A man who didn't think anything was important but his JOB. (but that's a bartender for you.) Ha. I laugh very lowly, cause I have been played a fool over and fucking over. It's embarrassing. I then was married to Captain Douchebag who constantly reminded me I wasn't ever his equal. I never worked hard enough. I never did enough. I didnt make enough money. I caused stress. I didn't fucking love football. I WAS A BURDEN to this man. How do I know? Because he told me. Often. Then to torture me just a little more he would say shit like, "You know I love you." Then expected me to act like a stripper and suck his dick when he felt he needed it. I played along. I hate conflict. He had me trapped and convinced I loved him back and couldn't ever live without him. He devastated me. He ended me. I thought I was dead. I was in shock for probably a year. A YEAR. Here's the bitchy part. Think twice before fucking up your spouse's day. Get up. Help. Just fucking help. We can all say I love you. But are you fucking showing them? I remember saying these words to Bryan. Before dating him. It was a Tuesday. He had come over to do some work. I had a meltdown. I mean a sobbing, stomach hurting, meltdown. I used his shirt to blow my nose. I sat in the yard and SOBBED.

I grabbed him, I looked him in the eye, and said, It wont ever matter what you say to a woman, it will only matter what you show them in your actions.

I was so mad that day. I was so angry.

He empathized as much as possible.

That day that man watched me eat a plateful of pancakes. And survived.

This is how I know Bryan has it together. To be able to date me. I know how much doubt I have been full of? Can you blame me? With my baggage, my trauma and drama? Do you know how irritating it is to want to feel good about him and I haven't been able to? I have had a breakthrough, right? I actually call him my BF. Alright, I'm still a cowardly lion when it comes to this realationship stuff, but I'm trying.

I love you.
I miss you.
I need you.

Let's get together, K?

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