I don’t know what to call him yet, so I won’t give him a nickname unless there are more dates.  After a very quick back and forth email session spanning less than 24 hours, we arranged to meet down in the East Village to indulge in some mojitos.  I thought he had a great smile from his pictures and in person it was so much warmer and welcoming.  He is definitely a cutie.  And from the full body pics (OMG that chest, those arms, those shoulders, that back – be still my cold, black heart), I anticipated that he is definitely a hottie, too.

We met at our designated bar at 8:30PM.  I was a bit early and it was packed…beyond packed.  So, when he got there, we decided to head someplace else less crowded and quieter.  That was bar #1.  Sat down at a table, ordered a couple mojitos and continued our conversation that started on the walk over.  He is really a pleasant, fun, easy going guy.  It was definitely comfortable and his smile was just awesome.  Did I mention what a great smile he has???

After a mediocre mojito at bar #1, we went on a search for a better one.  Now we’re at bar #2.  A couple more mojitos ordered and now we’re at least comfortable to start to playfully tease each other.  I like someone who’s not a stick in the mud and uptight.  After we finish there, we continue our tour and jump into a cab for the Lower East Side.  Settle on a place (bar #3) and have two more drinks…each.  By now I’m definitely feeling a little more than buzzed, but still totally in control.

We close bar #3 down (it was actually a restaurant) and head to some pub (bar #4) across the street filled with kids a good 10 years younger than us (I’ll add here that he is about a year younger than me).  I get us two beers and we take residence over by a window.  Now we’re both kinda drunk and I totally just leaned in for kiss.  I figured what the hell.  We’re surrounded by 20-somethings, might as well drunk kiss in a bar like one!  It’s been awhile since I made out with someone.  Too long, actually.  I need to do more of that.  Man, was it fun.

When I saw that it was after 2AM, I thought I needed to go home.  Alone.  I contemplated bringing him home, but 1) I just didn’t want to go there yet and 2) my apartment was a mess.  And frankly, I’m a bit uptight about someone seeing my place as a disaster area.  So, we shared a cab home, dropping him off first as he lives about 70 blocks downtown from me.

The next morning, after sleeping in, which I never do, I received a text telling me that he meant to text last night to make sure I got home to my bread cat* okay, but that he fell asleep with his phone in his hand (*backstory is I breaded my cat and showed him a pic.  I should post a pic of it on here, because breaded cats are really funny).  We texted back and forth a couple times over that day and the next and that was that.

A couple days went by of not hearing from him and while I was a little bummed at it, I fully understand that we went out ONCE and it’s no big deal and it’s a couple of days.  I mean come back down to earth, Amy.  But, he texted me Wednesday (yesterday) morning asking me about “how is the world of *blank* research” in which I work.  That led to a few more back and forths and he mentioned something that came out in conversation late, late in the night after many drinks on Friday.  That made me smile, cause it’s nice to know he was listening and remembering.  There were few more texts last night after I got home from a scotch tasting event (sidenote: I am not a scotch drinker, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t enjoy drinking the stuff last night).  He made a comment about meeting me around midnight (he thought the tasting was from 10-12PM), but I was home by 10:30PM when we were texting and already in bed.  I said we need to plan for another time and hopefully that will happen.

I’m trying to keep my expectations lower, so as to keep any potential disappointment manageable, but this guy is such a cutie.  I’ll keep you updated on what happens, if it happens

Epilogue

January 14, 2012

St. Elmo: I think we both know what we have to do.  Maybe after some time apart, we can be friends.
Me: I really don’t want to be just friends.
St. Elmo: I understand.

The End

Oh wait…you didn’t know that St. Elmo and I were still talking since we’d broken up and you want to read the final chapter so you know exactly how we got here???  Oh, okay.

For those of you new to my blog: The short of the story is St. Elmo and I started out of the gates in late 2010 with one another like a bat out of hell.  Fast and furious and we fell in love and prematurely began living together.  Our first break-up occurred in April.  By May, we reconciled.  Again, we were on the couple fast track and living together again.  Then it ended in mid-October 2011.  And the longest break-up in the history of break-ups went on and on and on.  For three months.

The thing with me and St. Elmo…we couldn’t can’t seem to make a clean break from one another.  After our romantic relationship ended (both times), we stayed in touch.  Some of it was for logistical reasons.  We were living together – he needed to get his stuff.  Some of it was for hopeful reasons – hope that we could work it out.  But most of it was because neither of us could just let go of one another.

After the October break-up, yes, we did what we should have never done.  We kept in contact…through phone calls, Skype calls, texts, instant messenger, even meeting up with one another (as friends).  None of those aforementioned activities were helping me get over the break-up and move on with my life.  I should point out here that I was not the one reaching out to him, but vice versa.  Most contact in the beginning was initiated by him.

I finally reached my breaking point when I found out that he was back on Match looking for someone new.  This was a pretty devastating revelation to me.  After all, we had only been broken up for a few weeks.  Upon confronting him about it, he confessed that he’d been on it for a couple of weeks at that point.  I’m no math genius, but three weeks minus two weeks equals one week after we broke up!!!  Naturally, I flipped the fuck out.  And with good reason.

By this point we’d been talking almost every day and hanging out once a week.  But finding out he was trying to meet others, while keeping me *hanging in the wings* just wasn’t going to sit with me.  After some thought, I decided to let him know that I can’t be his friend any longer.  I was breaking up with him, breaking up our friendship.  Closing that proverbial door.  (Many of you will recall that my dear blogger friend, Grey, went through the same thing.  I was so inspired by how she handled it, I felt I needed to do the same.  Our stories ran so parallel and similar that reading her posts was like seeing my story written by someone else.)

It was one of the hardest things I have had to do when it comes to him.  He’d been a part of my daily life for more than a year.  And my love for him was stronger than any love I’ve ever felt before.  But I just reached a point when I had to stand up and do the right thing for me.

In mid-November, I wrote him a “Dear John” email, while crying the whole time.  What?  You thought I could do this in person???  Psssshh, you guys don’t know me at all.  I sent the email.

Two minutes after I hit send, my cell phone rang.  It was St. Elmo.  I didn’t pick up.  I was too emotionally distraught to speak to him.  Plus, I was ending our contact and that meant no contact whatsoever.

That contact ban last mere minutes.  Yeah, I’m that weak.  My resolve crumbles so easily when it comes to him.  He is my kryptonite.  But I guess I was his, too, in a way, since he couldn’t just let me go.

He replied to my friendship break-up email and as I was about to reply to that, he texted.  That led to texting back and forth and eventually a phone call.  We spoke on the phone for close to an hour, talking about “us” and the problems we have.  This was the first time in weeks that we had talked about our relationship.  As it got past midnight, we decided to end the call, but not the conversation.  We would continue it another time.

We weren’t able to continue that conversation until after the Thanksgiving holiday.  We didn’t come to any good conclusion on what was going on with us.  Nor did we come up with any good ideas to fix things.  All we did was re-hash our problems.  Over and over again.  And then for another month after that, we were still essentially friends.  Still having daily contact.  Still going out for meals or drinks together.  Again, yeah, I’m that weak.

It then morphed mid-December into something that can only be described as a pseudo-relationship.  A half-assed relationship.  We spent a lot of time together, talked often, but there was no physical relationship.  No sex, no serious kissing, though we did greet each other and say goodbye with a quick kiss on the lips.  And a couple of times, he spent the night at my place, but we didn’t do more than cuddle in bed.  The line had blurred big time between friendship and romantic relationship.  And all the while still never figuring out how we could fix us and make it work.

For the holiday, I had a Christmas present delivered to his home.  He sent my mother a holiday package.  He met me at the airport when I flew home from Florida.  We spent New Year’s together, just the two of us and my cat.  All of this was happening, but still it was a pseudo-relationship stuck in limbo.

It took a long time, but the end came.  He said something one night during another tear-filled discussion of why we can’t work.  I won’t repeat it here, but it was the turning point for me.  I spent a sleepless night tossing and turning and going over those words and what they meant to me and how they affected me.  I finally realized (jeezus, it took me long enough) that whatever was going on with us had to end.  It wasn’t working for me anymore.  He also came to a similar conclusion.  A week later we had the conversation that took place in “the epilogue”.  It went much deeper and longer than that, but that was the important part of it.  I don’t know if I’ll hold to the stance of not wanting to be friends forever.  Right now I have to.  Ask me in 6 months and I might show total ambivalence toward him or I’ll burst out in tears because I miss him so much OR hopefully, I’ll smile and think back and have fond thoughts of him, but be glad at how my life turned out after him.

Even ten days later, it hurts to know it’s so definitively over and I miss him a lot.  But now the healing process, which had been stunted by our constant contact, can begin.  I had to break my own heart (and allow him to break mine again) in order for me to mend it.  Now I learn to move on with my life…without him.  I know I’ll be okay.  And one day I’ll meet the person that will make my heart flutter again.  But until then, I’m content with being who I am and working to make myself a better person and my life better for me.

Some other great penguin gifs!

From my cold, black heart to yours…Happy Valentine’s Day!

It was pretty interesting and during it, I began to think about how I would describe my American Dream.  In the 1950′s and even today, most believe that home ownership is an integral part of the American Dream.  Having a family (marriage & kids) is part of the American Dream.  Having a career is part of the American Dream.

All three of these things are items that I strive for myself, but I have to think that even if I don’t get all of them, I’m not failing my American Dream.  So, then what exactly is my American Dream?

I suppose at this moment in my life – right now – my American Dream is so basic and simple and doesn’t include anyone else or anything materialistic.  I just want to be happy and content.  I want to really love who I am.  I want to look at myself from the outside and appreciate who I see.  Not to say that I don’t love myself, but I do see lots of room for improvement, both mentally and physically.  I want to work through all of my emotional and mental road blocks and get back into solid/strong running shape.

But if I need to put down in words other things I want for myself, I suppose I do have a list that includes other people or actual tangible goals.

Part of my immediate American Dream is to get a serious handle on my finances.  I spent my twenty’s digging myself into debt, because even though I didn’t earn the 6-figure salary that my attorney friends did, I sure lived like I did.  What a colossal moron I was, though I did have a fabulous time.  I have a plan in action (self-imposed strict budget) and am determined to fix this problem as quickly as I can.

Fixing my finances will allow me to set myself up for my future, be it home ownership, more travel, adoption (!), or just ease of mind of saving for my future retirement.

Career-wise, I’ve been taking on more projects at work that will hopefully lead to the transition from my current role into one that is more appealing and beneficial for me.  I’m finally feeling like someone’s got my back and looking out for me.  I haven’t felt that in 2 years.

I’m not even putting “relationship” into my American Dream right now.  I mean, yes, it’s something I would like.  But I am not going to let my pursuit of one dominate my dreams of how I want my life to go or what it should be.  Right now, it’s more a back-burner thing.  If something materializes, great.  If not, well, I’ve got a lot of other things on my plate to keep me busy.

One of the main takeaways from that presentation was that The American Dream is very much still alive.  It’s just been modified to fit the times.  People are much more aware of what is in their reach and what is not.  However, they still possess a lot of optimism regarding reaching their goals.

My American Dream is still very much alive.  It might look completely different from what I wanted 15 years ago and it will likely evolve again over the next 15, but it’s still there.  I never want to give up my dream, whatever it may be.  And I hope that you never give up yours…

Since I’ve last touched on this subject, another two of my friends and another cousin have announced their pregnancies.  Yay!?  The total now comes to 10 friends or family members who are expecting.  And that doesn’t include the 5 babies born within the past 6 months.

I’m happy for them all, I really am.

I just want that too.

And kill me cause at my annual lady-parts doctor appointment, she asked me if I had any plans for pregnancy soon, cause you know my eggs are shriveling up as I type this.  Instead of bursting into tears and shouting “I’m probably never going to have the family I want!” I was able to show some restraint and muttered “Umm, not yet.”  All the while slowing dying a painful lonely death as a single-mid-30′s pathetic cat lady.

<sigh>

For all of you who are here for the first time having been directed here from Simply Solo, welcome!

I’ve undoubtedly been a bit MIA on here as of late.  I’m still working through some heartbreak issues (which had dragged on and on for waaaaayyyyyy too long.  Quite possibly the longest breakup in history.  OK, so I exaggerate just a little) and will maybe post about some of it.  Or maybe not.  But I will definitely start blogging about any upcoming dates courtesy of my (mis)match.com membership.  I hope to keep blogging about other nonsense going on in my life.  I just want to get back into blogging again, because it really is my best therapy.

Hope you all have a wonderful week!

~Amy

I hoard napkins.

There, I said it.  I admit it.  I am a napkin hoarder.

Napkins I keep by at my desk. And this is a *small* stash.

I don’t know what it is that makes me take a stack of napkins from wherever I may be getting food or drinks, but I just do.  Don’t get me started on the places that keep the napkins behind the register and only dole out one per person.  I’m a messy girl!  I need my napkins, as in plural!  It’s not like if I grab a big stack I use them all at the moment.  But I like knowing that if I need a napkin, I have one…or a thousand…at the ready.

My next race is a 10K in about a month.  My goal is to improve my pace and improve my level of running fitness.  Why am I so gung-ho about getting back into running?  Well, yesterday I registered for the lottery for the NYC Half Marathon on March 18^th.  My chances are slim of being picked in the lottery (I didn’t get in last year, nor did 30K of my fellow NYC area runners), but if I miraculously make it in, I am going to have to really ramp up training.

I totally let running fall to the wayside when I was with St. Elmo.  I’m not entirely sure why, since he’s a runner too.  But the winter was so evil and I didn’t want to run outside, much less wake up early in the morning to do it.  Then we broke up and I wasn’t physically or mentally able to run.  Then I had that ankle sprain.  That took me through the summer waiting for it to heal.  Then I ran out of excuses.  Fall came and I did a couple races, but my desire to run was gone.

Now, I feel it coming back.  I want to tie on my shoes and get out there and hit the pavement (or treadmill, though reluctantly).  I need to do it.  Running is always a challenge for me and I feel the need to challenge myself these days.

So, anyway, we meet at the designated location.  First thing I notice is of course, he’s shorter than what he said.  I’m pretty sure he said 5’8 in his profile.  I had on maybe 3-inch heeled boots, which boosted me to at most 5’5 and I was almost as tall as him.  But whatever.  The bar we met at was pretty crowded with nowhere to find a place to sit, so we took it to another bar around the corner.

Successfully sitting at a high top table, we ordered some beer, apps and start chatting.  I wasn’t blown away by the guy, but I wasn’t turned off either.  He was good looking and nice enough.  We had a pleasant conversation for a first meeting and I beat him in a game of air hockey on his iPad.  Overall, I didn’t want to run into traffic in a mad suicide dash escape.  That’s a positive, right?

You may be asking yourself why is the world playing a sick game with me?  Well, this guy, let’s call him Jack, and I start talking about where we grew up.  I mention Westchester.  He mentions Staten Island.  Shit.  I fucking hate Staten Island.  That borough will forever haunt me.  I don’t know if I ever mentioned it before, but Staten Island is where St. Elmo’s ex lives.  So any mention of that place reminds me of her, which just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.  I never had an issue with it before this past year, but now…ugh, it’s like nails on a chalkboard.  I don’t think I projected a look of vile disgust when he said that he grew up there, but who knows?

After a couple hours, we called it a night and we walked to the subway station and said our goodbyes.  My thoughts?  Ehh.  Still indifferent.  Would I hang out again if he asks?  Probably.  Will I be upset if he blows me off?  Not in the least.

I will admit that I’ve been having a tough time with the end of my relationship.  Being more introspective and going over events, conversations, looks, everything in my mind.  It’s like an endless loop.  Until I can figure it out and deal with it and all that has resulted from it, I need to step back from sharing with you all.

Don’t worry about me, I’m just feeling down and stuck in this malaise that is probably a result of me being inside my head too much.  I’ll come out of it – I just need some time to heal.

I’ll be back when I’m feeling more myself – snarky, smart-alecky and sarcastic – and am able to write about things that won’t make you want to slit your wrists.  I am still keeping up-to-date on all of your blogs, though, so please keep writing, because I love peeking in on your lives

Oh, and hope you all have a wonderfully tasty Turkey Day!

Up next in the Amy self assessment…intimacy.

Well, well, well.  I don’t have an issue with getting intimate with a guy, in say, the biblical sense.  It’s the heart, mind, emotionally-based intimacy that I need to improve on and that will be today’s post topic.

As I am very frank about my thoughts and feelings on here, in real life, I’m not as forthcoming.  Ask anyone who knows me in real life.  Writing for me has always been therapeutic and sometimes when I am contemplating seeing a therapist, I wonder if I’ll be able to really open up and talk to him/her.  Couldn’t I just give them the link to this blog and say “here you go…here’s the crazy that’s going on inside my head.  Now fix me”?  No?  Okay, well that just sucks.

So many psych theories focus on early life relationships and how childhood shapes your adulthood interactions.  I guess that’s a good place to start.

While I never ever doubted that my family loved me, growing up we were not by any means a huggy, kissy, “I love you” family.  We didn’t sit around and talk about our days and definitely not about our feelings.  We all did our own things and sadly (?) kept to our own devices most of the time.  Quality family time was not pushed in our home.  I mean we had dinners together and took family vacations all the time, but day-to-day activities were spent in our separate bedrooms or at friends’ homes or outside, but not necessarily together.  From a very early age, I was playing by myself and pretty content about it.  I think that has helped develop the ease I have with being alone.

I believe my mom to be the bestest mom on the face of the earth, yet I do recognize how some of the ways she raised us helped shape who we are.  (I don’t talk about my father as I’ve ceased to recognize that he even exists).  Maybe I should start off by explaining the dynamics of my mother and her mother.  My mother and her two sisters were essentially raised by their grandparents.  Their mother/my grandmother divorced (in the 1940’s) and lived with her parents and her three children.  My grandmother, being a youngish single woman was more interested in dating and having a social life than her children.  Now, I fully believe my grandmother loved her kids, but she also loved her own social life.  She loved them, but wasn’t very loving toward them.

Fast forward to my mother having her own kids.  As I said before, we weren’t a lovey-dovey household.  I don’t remember my mother telling me she loved me on a regular basis (she does now, which at first caught me off guard, but it was very welcomed).  I’ve no doubt in my mind that she loved us, but she just wasn’t all that affectionate.  This was likely due to her own less affectionate and emotionally-repressed upbringing.

She also wasn’t one to coddle us.  If there were truly a need to comfort us, she was there, but really for the most part I felt that if I were upset about something, I needed to toughen up and get over it.  Even with the break-up, she was telling me not to cry over it.  Now, I kinda need to cry over it.  I am sad.  I cry when I’m sad.  I learned at an early age to self soothe.  I probably really learned it in my first year of life in the orphanage.

Because I was so good at dealing with being upset by myself, I never got used to telling others when I was hurting or when I was mad or when I was distressed.  I still have a problem voicing what’s going on inside of me when it’s a not happy feeling.  Sharing feelings does not come easy to me.  I really have to be pushed and prodded to get me to open up (in real life).  This is one of my deficiencies of being an emotionally well-balanced person.

I’m not sure what exactly is holding me back from opening up.  I take that back, I know.  Fear of appearing weak.  Fear of criticism.  Fear of rejection.  Fear of making myself vulnerable.  I also know that I become over-emotional when I’m upset and cry.  I really don’t like crying in front of others.  Part of that is most likely all the pent up sadness that I’ve repressed for years while growing up.  Crying was frowned upon.  Letting life get you down wasn’t allowed.  “You’re stronger than that and need to just deal with it (without tears).”

I’m trying not to go the route where we blame our parents for our problems, but in this instance, I think I have to.  We were brought up to keep feelings repressed.  That is not healthy in the least bit and I think it’s left me emotionally stunted in this area.

I’m not sure what I need to do other than therapy to help me break through my emotional intimacy wall.  It’s easy to tell myself that I need to talk about my feelings, but it’s a whole other thing to actually do it.

I’m not entirely sure I am ready for this, but kinda accidentally unhid my profile on Sunday while trying to update it.  I hadn’t even gotten past the subscription screen when an email comes through telling me that someone winked at me.  To say I was surprised is an understatement.  And I kinda panicked.  But then I decided to just go ahead and do the inevitable.  Sign up for 6 months.  Now 6 months is a big commitment for me.  Last two times I was on, I only did the 3 month subscription.  And while I did wind up meeting someone in those three months both times, I’m not feeling as optimistic it will happen this time around.

Now, perhaps I should tell you who is also on Match…. ah, if you guessed St. Elmo, you are the big winner.  Before I actually went through updating my profile, I decided to take a gander at what kind of doucheroos guys were on there.  I’m browsing, seeing some of the same guys that were on 3, wait 4 years ago and all of a sudden I see St. Elmo.  WTF! was pretty much my reaction.

To say I didn’t throw a mini fit would be a big old lie.  While it is over, we have been on friendly terms.  That is until I bitched him out for being on Match so soon after we broke up (he admitted that he’s been on for more than a couple weeks).  I was pretty much incredulous that he jumped back into dating as soon as we broke up.  That to me meant that our relationship didn’t mean anything and that he never loved me because how could he date so soon if he actually had?  I won’t copy/paste the transcript of our Gchat convo, but it was not pretty.  Now I do realize that most of my anger and my lashing out at him stems from my being upset.  I know he did love me and he’s hurting.  But he’s a completely in denial thinking that he can take it slow (he tried to convince me that with anyone he meets, he’s going to go slow.  Whatevs!).  He’s going back to dating to “move on” and because I don’t think that he can be alone for too long.  He’s just going to jump right into a relationship head first with the first girl he gets along with.  He goes from relationship to relationship without giving himself the proper time to get over the last one.  I know it’s true, he knows it’s true.  Whatever.  He’s no longer my problem, right?  I have to focus on me and my healing.  If he’s going to dive into another relationship with the next girl without ever really getting over me and our relationship, that’s his (and unfortunately the girl’s) issue.  I had every right to give him a piece of my mind and make accusations whether they stemmed from me being upset or not.

But anyways, yes, I’m back on Match.  Unexpectedly and much sooner than I thought.  But maybe it’ll prove to be a good distraction in a bad way (dealing with douches).  Ehh, we’ll see.  I’ll be sure to keep you all posted about horror stories and whatnot.

I make no bones about it.  I want kids.

Now that I’m single again, it is like a fucking ticking bomb in the back of my mind.  My ovaries life line is running short.  Very short and will soon explode.  I know I’m only 36, but that’s getting on the old side to be starting from scratch (re-entering the dating pool, vetting dates, beginning dating someone, figuring out if you could have a future with them, finding out you won’t, starting all over again and again).  It’s very distressing.  It makes me sad.  It makes for one more thing that I will likely have to mourn – the possibility probability that I won’t have kids.

Yes, I know that adoption is an option.  But when I really think about it, is it?  It costs thousands of dollars and I’m talking thousands.  I am nowhere near a financial situation in which I can afford the expenses of adoption.  Hell, even if a baby miraculously appeared in my arms free of charge, I’d have to squeak by affording the expenses of raising a child and money would always be tight and it would be a struggle.

And money aside, if I’m still single (which is a very good possibility), I don’t really want to do it alone.  I applaud all the single mothers out there.  They have my utmost respect.  I’d like to think that I could do on my own, but I don’t think I can.  I don’t have immediate family at my fingertips.  Sure, I have plenty of friends who would help out here and there, but I need more support than that.

I love being around my friends and their kids, but it is bittersweet seeing them so happily interacting or excitedly anticipating the birth of their baby (no fewer than 4 pregnant friends & 2 cousins).  Seeing that and knowing that I’m probably not going to have that – it’s heartbreaking.  I struggle with flip-flopping between trying to be optimistic that it could happen and at the same time bracing myself for the likelihood that it won’t.  I don’t want to give up hope, because that’s admitting defeat.  But I also need to start dealing with the notion of not ever having kids.  And as each month, day, minute goes by, I am that much closer to not having kids.  I have to learn to accept it as a reality and come to terms with it.

We don’t always get the life we hoped for.  I am just going to try to make the best out of the one I have.  Mourn my lost dreams and figure out what new realities can replace them.

I have my own many issues with attachment and intimacy and trust.  I will never claim that I’ve got my shit together and I’m completely emotionally balanced.

I suppose that the first area I’ll dive into is attachment styles and attachment theory.  I’ve taken attachment style quizzes and can anyone guess which I came out as between Secure, Anxious, or Avoidant?  If you guessed Anxious, ding ding ding, you are a winner!  Yeah, go me.  I’m an anxious ball of fun.  I was actually very surprised that I scored as Anxious.  I thought I was typical Avoidant.

There are countless articles out there that go on and on about how our attachment styles are developed and forged when we are infants.  How our mothers interact with us in our first year of life pave the way to how we will interact with others as adults.  Well hell, I’m screwed.  I didn’t have a mother for the first (critically formative) year of my life.  I was in an orphanage, probably left alone without much communication and personal interaction for most of the time.  I don’t harbor resentment for this.  That is simply how my story began.  Back at a time when I had no control over it.  Now it’s up to me to figure out how my story will continue and evolve and eventually end.

I know that I wound up being adopted into a wonderful family.  I know how fortunate I am.  I can’t even imagine what it would have been like to grow up in a different family.  Don’t get me wrong, I faced some really tough shit by being a member of this family, but those trying times that might have broken most people ultimately made me stronger.

I grew up always knowing that I was wanted by my family.  Always knew that the members whom I hold closest to my heart would never abandon me.  But maybe there is some underlying feeling and fear of being abandoned.  I mean, after all, wasn’t it the ones who should have loved me so completely and unconditionally – my biological parents – who let me go?  Who didn’t love me enough so they left me?  Who abandoned me?  Now I know the reason that I was given up for adoption.  Or rather, I know what I was told.  I don’t know for sure if it’s the truth.  Without going into the details, I was told that I was given up so that my life would be saved.  Take that as you want.  I’ve reconciled being given up for adoption a long time ago and wouldn’t want my family to be anyone other than who they are.

But there is and has always been a fear of feeling unloved and unwanted.  Remember way back when, about a year ago, that I posted about how I felt like I was not wife material or girlfriend material?  And I included a quote, “Because if this theory is wrong, men don’t leave all women, Eddie. They leave me.”  I still feel that way.  More than one year later, that feeling hasn’t changed.  And I actually do believe it stems from the fear of having someone stop loving me and leaving me.  My history with men has been that anyone that I have ever fallen for has been the one to leave me.  Yes, I have walked away from men, but they were never men I deeply cared for.  But, every single man whom I have ever loved (and said they loved me) has walked out of my life.  You’re damned right that I am going to feel unwanted and abandoned.  And apparently very bitter.

I do believe that fear has me clinging to dear life (beyond what is reasonable) any relationship.  Especially a romantic relationship.  I am terrified of being left behind, so I will try to persuade and reason and plead and basically give up any self dignity to keep the relationship going. That seems to be very typical anxious attachment style behavior.  Anxious people are generally insecure, needy, clingy.  Now I wouldn’t describe myself as needy and clingy, but I am most definitely insecure in relationships.  I always feel like the guy is going to bolt at the next turn, hence the fear of abandonment.

I don’t think I’m afraid of being alone.  I’ve spent most of my life alone.  And really, any fear of spending my life truly, honestly alone doesn’t really have a leg to stand on.  While my immediate family are 1000’s of miles away, I do have a lot of friends and my ‘other families’ nearby.  At any given moment, there are people I can call if I need someone to be by my side.  I would never end up truly alone.  That fortune does not go unnoticed by me.  But there is still the need for someone to connect with on a deeper level.  Someone to turn to in the middle of the night when I need a hug.  Someone to wake up next to in the morning.  All of the intimate moments that come from a romantic relationship.

I know a lot of this is at the surface because I just went through a break-up in which I was the person left.  My “woe is me” ranting will subside with time as I heal and move on.  And surely *when I meet someone new.  (*when is the big $64 million question).

Thank you all for indulging me this crazy talk.  I appreciate it.

That’s what I am.  Yesterday, today, tomorrow, ten years from now.  When it comes to love.

I went back and forth about posting this, because saying it out loud (or on this page) means admitting it to myself and pulling myself out of the miserable state of denial I’ve been in.

The relationship between St. Elmo and me is over.  Completely and forever.  As of October 19^th.  Four days after we got home from a week-long vacation.

This may come as a surprise to those who are Facebook friends, because it’s only been three weeks since we took a trip to Florida (his first visit to Disney and to meet my mom).  The pictures posted of the trip showed two happy people on vacation.

What it didn’t show was the underlying tension, unhappiness, and turmoil that had been festering for weeks, even months.  What it didn’t show was the fight we had the night before we left that had me storming out of the apartment for an hour (we for the most part made up when I came back, at least enough to embark on our vacation the next day).

I didn’t ask for the end of the relationship.  In fact, I was taken by complete surprise when he said that it just wouldn’t work out and it’s over.  I was heartbroken when he told me that he’s lost the will to even try to work out our problems.  The plan was that he would spend some time in his parents empty apartment (they left for Peru for 6 months on the 19^th) to give us some space.  When he left my apartment the morning of the 19^th, he left for good.

I wanted the relationship to work so badly that I was blind to the fact that our differences and issues were too large to overcome.  I was so convinced that we shared enough love that we could work it out.  When he asked why we hadn’t worked it out before, I gave the answer of “laziness; nobody wants to change” and I still believe that.  I don’t think we made any real effort to make change.  He thinks that we did everything we could do and we failed.  I disagreed, and still do.  I thought that us spending some time not living under the same roof would give us space to ease the tension.  He didn’t see that as a solution or even part of one.

Now, I can recognize all the shortcomings we had and couldn’t work out.  I can now admit that I spent way too many nights in tears for the relationship to be working.  We both have so many deep-rooted issues that together we really never stood a chance.  There’s also the fact that I don’t think I ever really forgave him for the hell he put me through in April/May.  The wall I built back then never fully came down.

When things got tense, we both shut down.  We spent so many moments in stubborn silence, never giving in.  Now ask me what we were so stubbornly holding our ground for???  Pride?  I have no idea.  But if I was moody or he was moody (the more likely of the two situations) or one of us said something that ticked the other off, we would clam up in defiance, which caused the other to clam up and the result would be two people who supposedly love each other sulking at one another with hostility.  Nice, huh?  If I had a dollar for every time this happened, I could quit my job.

Another big issue was the dependency thing.  He’s very co-dependent and I am very independent.  As much as I want to meet all his needs, I simply can’t give him all he wants from a co-dependent relationship.  I don’t know how to be someone’s everything.  And truthfully, I’m not sure I want to be.  He is very much a “we” person.  He once accused me of thinking like a single person, of which I took offense and I’m sure it led to a silence stand-off.  I love the idea of “we”, but also need to retain the “I/me”.  I’ve spent 36 years as an “I/me”, it’s tough to give up completely.  And I don’t want to.  I’m an individual person with my own thoughts and ideas.

The fact of the matter is that we spent the last two or so months walking on eggshells around each other.  The tension between us was so palpable that I had a perpetual upper backache that even massage couldn’t alleviate.  Now that it’s been two weeks since he moved out, my back pain has gone away.  The tension is gone.  I suppose that speaks volumes.  I wouldn’t say I’m happier that it’s over, I’m not happy at all, but I am definitely less stressed.

I’m gaining better clarity as I start to move on.  You’re probably thinking to yourself that I was completely delusional that I thought I was in a healthy relationship from what I just described.  By all accounts, I was.

It still hurts like hell and I get all weepy sometimes.  I’m terrified of the prospect of having to date again (if I ever get the itch to).  I’m trying to come to terms that I may be single for the rest of my life.

I’m trying to understand my own inner demons and how they drive me.  I’ve been reading a bazillion psychology articles online and a few books.  I can identify some of the deep-rooted issues that I have that hinder my relationships, namely this one.  I’ve reached the point where I am starting to look into therapy for myself.  Some of my issues are rooted from infancy and attachment issues (being adopted and fear of abandonment) to other childhood and relationship issues that affect me now.  I really think that I need to work out some issues with myself before I can properly have a relationship.  I need to fix me, first and foremost.

I suppose I should be glad that I didn’t spend $10 million on a wedding and then have to file for divorce 72 days later???

side note: when I was typing “B2″ it reminded me of that ridiculous Aussie live action kids show Bananas in Pajamas.  My college roommate and I used to watch it.  The two bananas were B1 and B2 and there were three bears – Amy, Morgan, and Lulu.

So, I feel like I must brag for one moment at what a rock star St. Elmo was this weekend.  He stayed by my side as I was violently ill and let me tell you…it was NOT a pretty sight.

I woke up Sunday morning feeling slightly light-headed.  When I attempted to get out of bed, I almost fell over.  I attributed it to my typical low blood pressure.  I laid back down and when I turned my head to the right, the room started to spin.  Kinda like when you are drunk and the room spins.  Now the light-headedness (not to be confused with air-headedness, which is completely normal for me) is not something that I often experience, even with my low BP.  And the spinning?  Not in the least normal for me.  Now I started to get a little freaked out and yes, I will admit, I started to cry a little because I didn’t know why this was happening or what was going on with me or if I had a brain tumor or something.  St. Elmo rubbed my back, tried to reassure me that I was going to be alright, and then offered to go get me some cut up fruit, while I stayed in bed and tried to doze and sleep it off.

All day, I pretty much dozed on and off, trying to keep still so the room wouldn’t spin.  By the evening, I was feeling a lot better, so we ordered in some dinner.  As I had only eaten some fruit all day, I was quite hungry and scarfed my food down like it was my job.

Post-dinner, I decide to lay on my bed.  Yeah, that was the wrong move.  Immediately the room began to spin and when I say it spun, it spun around at such an accelerated rate that I was instantly nauseated.  I stupidly turned my head to the right and the room spun some more.  Now, I’m completely sick to my stomach and calling out to St. Elmo to help me get to the bathroom – and help me quick!

Let’s just leave it at if there was any reason whatsoever for him to want to leave me, it happened in the bathroom that night.  All that delicious food that I so eagerly ate came right back up and then some.  I proceeded to get sick, oh, about four more times that night.  Nothing is quite as sexy as a retching, dizzy, pale/green faced Amy.  Of course, with the Internet at our fingertips, we were able to self-diagnose that I was experiencing vertigo.  Fun stuff.

I was able to fall asleep on the couch face down as lying on my back induced the spinning.  In the morning, I still had the spinning action going on.  I knew I couldn’t go to work and as soon as the ENT doctors’ office opened, I called and requested an appointment asap.  Luckily, they could take me in the morning.  St. Elmo took the morning off of work to take me to the doctor.

Let me tell you about my ear doc.  I went to him last year when I had an earache.  He walked in and I was like “Hello, Dr. Hottie”.  Yeah, he’s good-looking in a Richard Gere sorta way.  Prematurely gray.  Good looking face.  Fit body.  Yeah, Dr. Hottie.  And last year, Dr. Hottie proceeded to put a scope up my nose to view the back of my throat.  Doesn’t get hotter than that.

Anyhoo, I explained the symptoms to Dr. Hottie (without once mentioning the word vertigo) and right away told me that it sounds like benign paroxysmal positional vertigo (BPPV).  He put me through the visual tests to watch my eye movement (watching them go round and round in circles following the spinning room).  He explains that it’s not serious and there is no real cause of it, but crystals have migrated to a part of my inner ear that is sensitive to foreign objects brushing the cilia and cause the feeling of vertigo.

Lucky for me there is a fix to my vertigo.  Dr. Hottie leads me through a series of physical therapy exercises that have me laying back, turning to the side and inducing the vertigo.  This did not make me happy as it also induced my nausea.  We were only able to do two reps of the exercises before I had to call it quits or else vomit all over the floor.  I was recommended to take a hearing test to make sure that my hearing was okay (it is) and after that, went back in the exam room for one more round of exercises.  Never quite did the third set.  Dr. Hottie took one look at my green face and knew that I was done with the therapy.  I’d have to do them at home.  Yay.

After St. Elmo got me home with more cut up fruit (it was all my stomach could handle), he went off to work and I dozed on and off for the remainder of the day.  He came back around 7PM and I knew that I had to do my PT exercises and should do them so I have time to settle my stomach down before I go to bed.  I flipped down on my back and turned my head to the right…no spinning…whoa!  Sat back up, flipped down on my back again and turned my head to the left…no spinning…hot damn!  It’s over??????  Can I get a Hallelujah?!  I continued to do the exercises for a few more reps without any signs of the vertigo.  I’m happy to say that the vertigo is gone and I’m back to my usual self.  Dr. Hottie is not just hot, he’s also a miracle worker (if you are in NYC and need an ENT doc, let me know and I’ll direct you to him).

But anyway, St. Elmo took care of me, cleaned up my puke, made sure I didn’t topple over in the shower, made sure I got to the doctor okay, ran out to get me food, straightened up my apartment, paid attention to the cat when I was in no shape to (and let me tell you, she needs constant attention).  He was a rock star!