The Breakdown

Friday night we went to a coulle birthday party fire and campout.

We had a blast!

We drank, we really drank.

I was pretty drunk. I have a few spots missing. Like when the BF’s doggo bit my hand, for example.

What I do remember is lying in that tent and telling the BF that I loved him. 

I remember him asking me if I was sure. I remember him telling me not to say it if I didn’t mean it. I remember him saying not to say it if I won’t remember.

I remember telling him I promised I would remember.

Saturday we were sitting on my deck. 

He asked me if I remembered what I said.

I told him I remembered. That I promised him I would remember, and I did.

He told me he wanted to make sure I remember.

He said “hey” and rubbed my hand.

I opened my eyes.

He looked at me:

I’d been 7 years since I had spoken to my father. 

Truth is, we’ve had a crazy relationship for the majority of my life. 

I first disappointed him the day I was born- I was born with a vagina and not a penis and that was the first strike against me. I know it sounds cliche’, but it’s a fact. When my brother and his twin sister were born 2 1/2 years after me, dad was thrilled, he finally had the boy he’d always wanted. 

Skipping ahead, dad always played favourites. Of course my brother was almost always one of them, though sometimes he fell out of favour. Dad couldn’t get along with all 3 of his children at the same time once we were 7 and 9 or thereabouts, maybe a little later in life than that but not by much. I think I was 11 or 12 the first time my father shipped me off to live with my mother when his new live in girlfriend found me too much of an inconvenience. 

My parents sent me back and forth between each other whenever they started new relationships, were too busy for me, or didn’t want me around. It happened so often, it just seemed routine at some point.

7 years ago when I spoke to my father for the last time, he had been in the hospital. I had been his emergency contact for several years, and this time, I wasn’t. He had changed it to my sister. I found out from a mutual friend that he was in the hospital. I’d gone to drop him off cigarettes, and he was ignorant with me. I didn’t understand why at the time, but a few months later, it all became very clear.

It’s a long story but I’ll summerize: there was money missing out of my fathers bank account. My sister lead the charge to blame me for the crime. My father, who at the time was a falling over alcoholic (and he still is) didn’t think about it too much and let her run with it. She collected whatever she could and took dad to the cop shop and filed charges. Originally, I was to be charged with theft over $5000, forgery, and fraud. I was eventually charged with fraud. I spent a year on house arrest, and a year minus a day with a curfew. I could prove that the vast majority of the money I was accused of taking wasn’t actually me, and that’s how I avoided jail time. 

3 weeks ago I got a call from a hysterical brother. He was crying so hard he could barely catch his breath and it took me a bit to find out what was happening. Someone had found my father on the floor in his apartment and called the ambulance. A couple hours after my brother had arrived at the hospital the doctor had informed him that my father would not likely make it through the night and to contact anyone who he though should come and say goodbye. His kidneys were shutting down, he just wasn’t doing well at all. So I made the 90 minute trip home at 11pm to go make sure my brother was okay. 

When I got to the hospital, I found my brother in the waiting room. We chatted for a bit, and then I went to go get my kiddo. I figured, if this was in fact the end, he should have the option to say “goodbye” if he wanted too. My kiddo and my dad used to be close, but when dad fell off the wagon again and deep into the bottle, that was the end of that. So I went and banged on my kiddo’s door at 12:30 at night to tell him what was going on. He did want to come and say “goodbye”, so away we went back to the hospital. I gave him the option to go first but he wasn’t ready yet. Not that I was either, but one of us had to be first.

When I walked up to his bed in the ICU he looked at me with blurry eyes and said “hi”. He told me I looked good (I’ve lost 80 pounds in the last 14 months). He said that he’s really screwed up this time, and that my sister had sure made a mess of our family. The statement “(your sister) sure made a mess of our family” is as close to an admittance that he knows he made a mistake when he allowed my sister to lead the way in file charges against me. It’s as close to an apology as I’ll ever get. I didn’t really have anything to say to him when I walked into the ICU, I went to the hospital to make sure my brother was okay, to make sure my kiddo had the opportunity to say “goodbye” if he wanted it, and to make sure I didn’t have any regrets. If he died tomorrow, the last thing he would have said to me is “Yeah, send (my kiddo) in”. And I’m okay with that.

Three weeks later, and the guy is still alive. If I’m being honest, theres a lot of people, myself included, that are surprised he has even lived this long, despite the fact that he’s only 62 years old. He has been an alcoholic since 1978-1980, so the majority of the last 40 years, with the exception of a few years between 2007 and 2010 or 2011. He’s had a stroke or two or three because of his drinking, among a slew of other health issues.

Almost a month later and I’m still in the city, still at the boyfriend’s place. With the pandemic, I’ve been afraid to go home. Not because I’ve been sick, not because the boyfriend has been sick, or that I’ve knowingly been in contact with someone who is sick, I’m afraid of the towns people. A significant amount of people in my town are demanding that our mayor ‘shut down’ our town. We’re a tourist town in the spring and summer months, with people from all over the world traveling to our town to see the sights, with many people from across the province owning ‘summer cottages’ in or in the outlying communities of my town. In my head I’m imagining the scene from ‘Beauty and the Beast’ when Gaston has returned to the village and told the villagers about the existance of the beast, they grab their pitch forks and their torches, ready to attack. At least, from reading the posts in our local discussion group on Facebook, this is what it sounds like to me. I’ve been tested, I’ve missed a call from AHS, and have not heard from them again. I’ve requested another callback but I understand the system is overloaded right now. I really want something that says I’m just fine to be at home.

Today I want to go home. The last few days I have wanted to go home. It’s not that I miss my house. It’s not that I miss my possessions, except for the few things that mean the world to me. I miss my friends. I miss my routine. I miss my normal. Of course, most other people right now are in the same boat as me- they miss their friends, their routine, their normal. Today, and yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that, I’ve felt like a burden for the boyfriend. I’ve done what I can- I’ve cooked (he doesn’t cook with the exceptions of frozen pizza’s and simple things that require one pot or a pan), I’ve cleaned, I’ve done the laundry. I’ve bought groceries, I’ve taken care of both our pets. I’ve offered him money for expenses, but he tells me to spend the money on groceries or dog food and the like. 

Roughly 2 1/2 weeks ago, before the boyfriend went back to work, he had a rough night. He had been drinking steadily that day and into the night. He was depressed, and he had a breakdown. It happens to the best of us. He confided in me things from his past that I won’t repeat because I won’t break his trust that way, but they were things that weigh heavy on him, even though one specific event happened almost 20 years ago. It was a very bonding experience for us. A week or so ago, after I had been tested for the virus and hadn’t received another call, I had called AHS and asked for another callback. The next day the boyfriend said something as he was leaving for the store or some place, asking if I had heard from AHS yet. I said “no”, that I was still waiting, that I wanted to know the results just like he did because “the whole point of getting tested is so I can get the fuck out of here, give you your space back and go home because I can imagine you’re sick of me by now”. He looked at me funny and replied “I’m happy I met you when I did. I’m happy you were here when we were all ordered into self isolation. I don’t think I would have made it this long sitting here by myself. I’ve been losing it the last while, sitting here and not working and you have helped me keep my sanity. I want you here. I won’t force you to stay if you don’t want to, but I want you here.” A minute ago I got a text from him that said he’d picked up a couple cheese burgers so if I’m hungry don’t wait for him, and he should be back in an hour and a half or so. This morning he was talking and said “when I get back to our- my place”. He corrected himself quickly, caught his mistake right away, I haven’t said a word about his slip-up- and I won’t say a word about it- but he did slip-up, and I wonder if that’s how he’s starting to see things. He’s off doing oil changes on his dirt bike and his quad, as long as he weather is good he’s planning for us to go to my town and go quadding/dirt biking on Saturday. It’s his plan. He contacted our mutual friend (who introduced us) about some riding trails he had been on with his son, wanting to know where they were. Our friend is going to show us where they are, he may even join us for the day, and another friend may join us as well. We both like dirt biking and quadding, and I’m really looking forward to the trip. But we’re going there together and coming back to his place together. So while I want to leave, I want to stay. And, even though he has been a bit cold and distant, it seems he wants me to stay too. Just more examples of my BPD brain making up scenarios and looking for things that may or may not be there, reading into things that may be something or nothing at all. Just my BPD brain looking for signs that I’m unwanted, or about to be abandoned, or if he’s just so used to me being here that it doesn’t phase him that I’m here, or if he thinks I’m supposed to be here, or or or... My BDP brain is searching for excuses and motives and signs and words and all sorts of things that it shouldn’t be searching for, and it’s twisting things around and confusing me and has me questioning things that I likely don’t need to question, but I am because that’s just how I’m built, and how I’ve always been.

Like half the people across the entire planet, I’m in self imposed isolation in hopes to be part of the solution to the global pandemic were currently facing here at the end of the 3rd month of 2020. I’ve only gone out when necessary-for groceries, for doggo food, other basic essentials. Okay, and we’ve gone out for drive through a few times. And for drives in general just to get out of the house for a while, see that big bright ball in the sky called the sun.

I came to the city to see the boyfriend 3 weeks ago. I’d been here only 4 days when he started feeling sick, and 6 or 7 days when the government started implementing the self isolation rule. Because the boyfriend was feeling sick, we did start the self isolation process. When I started coughing, getting fevers, and raspy breathing a few days after the boyfriend, we were still in isolation. Thankfully the breathing issues only lasted a day or two, the fever only 2 days, and the cough was mostly gone after 2 days too, though it comes back every once in a while. We’ve been in self isolation for going on 15 days now.

The boyfriend and I agreed the night before last that it would be a good idea if I went home for a night or two or three. Time apart and personal space is important, especially in a new relationship, and we have been cooped up together in a small space for 3 weeks. It’s not that we’re fighting or arguing, it’s not that things are going badly between us or we’re having conflicting opinions on issues, or really any issues at all, it’s just time apart and personal space is good. So, the other night I started packing my bag, getting organized to go home. Of course my brother, who lives with me at home, isn’t happy that I’d told him I was coming home, his reply was “I mean we’re all supposed to be self isolating, right lol?”. Yeah man, we are, but I can’t stay here until all of this is over, that could be months. He can’t keep me out of my home but he can pick a huge fight with me when I get there and basically force my hand so that being at home is so uncomfortable I will leave. It’s a legitimate fear. Right now, especially since I’ve been in the city for so long, and his own self isolation is adding to his paranoia, me being at home with him, I don’t believe it will be helpful for him.    

It was the boyfriends idea to take a few days apart. And I do see his point, I absolutely see his side. I had asked him earlier that day “Are you sick of me yet? Do you want me to leave?”. He’d given me a funny look and said “No, why do you always ask me that?’. I’d told him it was just a question, and it was, but I also felt he was sick of me and did want my doggo and I to leave. I understand why he would feel like that. My doggo and I are alien invaders in his small space and between us being here, him being off work due to being sick-NO he does not have COVID-19-, the parks being closed, there’s not much to do and he wants his space back. I think I’ve known this for a while, I just didn’t want to accept it. And if I’m being honest, I don’t want to go home so I’m trying to delay it as long as I can, but also, I think tomorrow I have to bite the metaphorical bullet and go home, as long as the roads are better, they’ve been terrible yesterday and today. I have to give him his life back, as much of one that he will have sitting here in self isolation, just his doggo and himself. And I need my life back, as little of one that I’ll have, sitting at home, likely arguing with my brother, hanging out with my doggo. It’s not like I can so visit other self isolating friends while I’m home-my brother will pitch a fit if I’m coming and going from the house frequently to go see people, which will lead to another fight.

Having BPD and being in self isolation, especially with a new partner is very nerve-racking. I’m analyzing the things he says them if me brain thinks he might have said it in a matter that feels ‘off’, even if it wasn’t. My mind is starting to believe that the boyfriend is resenting me for being here, for imposing. My brain is telling me that me being around so much is ruining his life. I say to the boyfriend everyday “Have I told you lately that I like you?” he usually replies “I think maybe you have” or “have I told you today that I like you too?”. It’s a reassurance thing, fear of abandonment is always hiding somewhere in my head, in my heart, hiding somewhere. He can’t abandon me if I’m here, but he can resent me and even start to dislike me if I’m here. My brain is playing 50 different scenarios in my head and these movies it’s playing are more like sad movies, horror movies, and movies designed to make the viewer feel wonderful and then crush everything about them into nothing but dust. The idea of packing up my truck and my doggo and leaving physically hurts.

Wouldn’t you know it, it’s 5 days after the Friday night he drove all the way down here just to see me and he came down again. It was Wednesday, my pool league night, which is fine. He picked me up. He took me for dinner. He went to pool league with me. I play pool on the same team as his buddy who’s bday we met at, so we were on a date/I was doing a scheduled activity/hanging out with his/my friend(s). We had fun! When pool was over more friends showed up. I have a woman I’ve known for 18 years. She spent almost 20 years in a very abusive relationship, and this woman can spot a red flag in a man before anyone else does. She’s pretty protective of me. She LIKES Party Guy. Likes him so much in fact, she hugged him before she left the pub. LIKES him so much in fact, she whispered in my ear as she hugged me goodbye “I like him, he’s a good one”. That’s pretty high praise. 

I decided that since Party Guy had put so much effort into driving 90 minutes each way- twice- that the following day, the Thursday, I would drive into the city and make him dinner. He couldn’t believe that I would be willing to drive to the city to see him, and he was even more shocked that I’d be willing to cook him dinner. He was as shocked that I would come and cook him dinner as I was that he would drive down to see me twice. It was February 13. I walked into his cute little basement suite with a backpack of clothes, a cooler full of food, and there he was with a single red rose in his hand and a little box of chocolates. He looked at me with a big smile on his face “Happy early Valentine's Day”. I was stunned. Embarrassed. Blushed. He handed me the rose and gave me a sweet little kiss. 

Melt!

It turned out he’d also gone to 3 different liquor stores looking for a hard to find bottle of Jack Daniels that I liked. He didn’t find it, bought a regular bottle in a nice box, but the fact that he went to 3 different stores to try and find this whisky for me!

Melt!

I made dinner, and we talked about our families, he told me about his sisters, his parents, his very normal childhood, a childhood of stability, loving parents, no moving around all the time. Just a very normal childhood. It made me feel insufficient because I couldn’t relate to the things he was saying.              

Making dinner was an experience. He doesn’t have an actual stove, just an element (we thought he had two but it turned out one didn’t work), a convection oven and a microwave. I made it work. He just watched me cook and kept talking. We laughed when we tripped the breaker trying to run too many appliances in the kitchen. We laughed when he had to go find an extension cord so we could use the microwave. And he slowly ate that damn dinner like it was his last meal. Turned out, he doesn’t really cook, doesn’t really know how to cook- with a devoted mom and 3 older sisters, he didn’t really have a reason to learn and just never has, but apparently, he can operate a BBQ like a wizard- and it had been 7 months since he’d had a home-cooked meal. He was over the moon about this damn dinner. 

We spent the rest of the night watching a movie on the couch. We watch a couple of stand up comedians. We just laughed and laughed and laughed.         I wound up staying at his place for a total of 10 nights.                                        

We went to the dog park every day- he’s got a huge black lab he takes to a dog park 20 minutes from his place every day. We’d walk through the park, he’d reach for my hand. If he had to let go for some reason, he reached for my hand as soon as he was back beside me. Even held my hand IN HIS POCKET one of the chillier days. We went grocery shopping- he’d been holding my hand as we walked through the parking lot, but I let go once we got in the doors, saying it felt too “relationshipy”, and he replied that he’s “not big on PDA”. Coulda fooled me. There were way more people at the dog park than the grocery store. He brought me breakfast and coffee every day from Timmy’s. On the days he would have to work that night we would cuddle and nap on the couch for a couple hours. I found myself feeling very comfortable and content in his space quite quickly, and I shocked myself when I realized it.                                          

After 10 nights, he came home with me. The first Friday he’d come to see me, he’d gotten 3 minutes out of my town when his car broke down. So coming home with me that Sunday made sense, so he could pick up his now fixed car the following morning. I had to be home that Sunday because it was my kiddo’s 19th birthday and I wasn’t about to miss it. We brought his black lab with us to my place to see if he would get along with my female chocolate lab. And they did. Aside from trying to hump her a lot, they did better than I expected.             We were lying in bed the Monday morning, I was half awake, half asleep, still groggy from my sleeping pills (I’d only packed enough meds for 2 nights when I went to see him the day before V-Day, so the first night back on my meds kicked my ass) when he says “Come back to the city with me today in my car, bring your dog, and I’ll bring you back tomorrow night”. I realized afterward what he had said, but at the moment, it was kind of a Charlie Brown “whah whah whah” situation in my head and I found myself agreeing just to make him stop talking. So, I packed a night's worth of meds, a change of clothes, everything I needed for my doggo, and away we went in his car back to the city. I was afraid. I didn’t have an escape plan. I didn’t have my own vehicle. If he refused to take me home, I didn’t know what I would do or where I would go. So when Tuesday evening rolled around and he was hesitant to take me home, I started to panic a little. As it got later into the night, he insisted we stay that night and he would take me home in the morning. What choice did I have?None. So we stayed, and he did take me home the next morning.                                   

He’s teaching me some pretty serious lessons in trusting people. Let’s face it, if you’ve gone ahead and read any of my other posts, you’ll know that I often find myself in situations where I get screwed over. And those are just the situations I write about. That’s not including the $200 I lent ‘You’re Safe In My Arms Now’ guy when he was broke and needed to buy firewood to heat his house when it was -40 outside, on the promise he would pay me back, and then refused to pay me back because he’s convinced I lost a $30 tool he’d left at my house (he never left a tool at my house). Or the $200 I lost on my birthday after the person that was supposed to be throwing me a bday party brought a new girl he was seeing, didn’t say 2 words to me all night because he didn’t want to make her jealous, didn’t pay me for what I picked up for him, and still won’t pay me. All the times I’ve had friends promise to show up and they don’t. The examples are countless. But Party Guy is teaching me that it’s okay to trust people, I just have to be more selective about it. 

I give him a hard time about his “other girlfriends” (that don’t actually exist) and say things like “your other girlfriends will be happy I’m finally going home” or “better warn your other girlfriends I’m coming to the city Friday night” or “I won’t just show up at your place out of the blue, I don’t want to catch you with your pants down and a naked chick on top of you”. He gets frustrated and says he’s “not a cheater” and that he’d “never ever do something like that”. Sure, all humans say that, but I actually believe him that he wouldn’t cheat. I understand why he gets frustrated, he’s a good guy, he’s a genuinely good person. He interrupts me all the time when I talk and I often can’t finish a story because he’s interrupted and talking about something else and it drives me kinda crazy, but he really is a genuinely good, kind, honest, respectful person.                                                                                                  

So here I am, right this minute, sitting at his place, chilling with his doggo while Party Guy is at work. I did have plans to go out with a friend tonight but plans changed last minute and I don’t care to make new ones at this point. However, tomorrow we’re doing all his running around and then we’re crawling in his car and going to my town where I just came from today, to spend tomorrow night drinking and hanging out with my friends/our mutual friends at the pub. We’ll spend Saturday night at my place and then back to his place early Sunday morning. It worked better for me to come into the city today, 1 so I could see my friend, 2 we get to spend more time together and 3 we can drive his car back and forth, it’s way cheaper to fill than my truck, and I won’t be trapped here, I can leave on Wednesday afternoon without an issue.                                          

So, as it turns out, the guy from my buddies bday party did, in fact, ask my buddy for my number. I got a text tonight around 6pm saying “Hi (my name)! It’s (his name). I got your number from (our buddy), I hope that’s okay”. Of course, I text back and told him that I had told our buddy that if (guy) asked him for my number he could give it to him. By 7pm he was asking what my plans were for tomorrow (Friday) night. When I told him I didn’t really have any aside from the usual go to the local legion and then to the pub, he said: “I would really like you to school me on the pool table, if you’re up for it”. Followed by: “what time do you usually end up at the pub?” I replied that we’re usually done at the legion at about 8:30pm. He offered to pick me up from the legion. When I told him that the legion is only a couple blocks from the pub and I’d have my truck anyway, he replied: “Cool, I will see you at the pub around 8:30pm tomorrow”. And just like that, this guy who I spent maybe 2 hours chatting with when we were half-drunk, actually a bit more than half-drunk if I’m being honest, is driving 90 minutes to come to shoot pool and have drinks with me. 

It’s a little weird. Maybe it’s a little weird because ‘You’re Safe In My Arms’ guy, we would go everywhere together for a year and be glued at the hip and I’d stay at his place all the time but I was the one putting in all the effort. And even though we were basically in a relationship, in his mind and as far as he told people “we weren’t actually together”. Maybe it’s weird because ‘My Drummer’, while it undisputedly made more sense for me to drive the 90 minutes to the city for our first (and last) date, every time he was supposed to drive the 90 minutes to come and see me he always had an excuse that day- he was supposed to come to see a band at the pub with me, but he had to “go see his parents” that afternoon, and even though he was done with them more than early enough to still come for the show and spend the night with me, he still chose to just go home and play video games instead, or the night of the STR release when he was supposed to come and play drums, and I’d gone through a ton of trouble and called in a few favors to get him a set of drums, but used the excuse that “the hiways were bad” (even though we had other friends come from the same city that left the city not long before my drummer apparently left and they’d said the hiways were a little crappy for the first bit but cleared right up and were easily passible in a pickup truck) and turned around and went home and didn’t even text me and let me know he wasn’t coming. And ‘My Drummer’ and I spent quite a bit of time together, and thousands of text messages, and hours upon hours upon hours on the phone, and hours upon hours on video chat. 

So I got drunk on Saturday night. It was a buddies' birthday party. We started off at his place- he and his wife made a killer spread of food to munch on before everyone headed out to a local brewery. He had friends come in from out of town, most of them were fairly nice, the women were a little catty, but I’ve come to expect that from city women. Thankfully a couple of our local mutual friends showed up shortly after I did, which helped make me a lot more comfortable instead of being in a house full of people I’d never met with the exception of my buddy and his wife. Nice group of people though. 

Between a couple drinks and a couple shots of mushroom tea, by the time everyone was ready to leave for the local brewery, I was in a good mood. I wasn’t drunk but I was a little tingly and feeling okay. So when they all went to the brewery, I took that opportunity to go home, shower, change my clothes. My roommate was nice enough to give me a ride to the pub so my truck didn’t drink too much and have to have another sleepover. 

The band at the pub was good. Of course, they were good, they play in there every few months, though this time it was only two members of the band and not the full band, they made it work and they were great. 

The night itself in the pub was like most Saturday nights when there's a band. We laughed, we joked, we played pool. We enjoyed the music, and it was fun. I yapped with a couple friends, I yapped a bit with the out of towners, the women pretty much stuck to themselves and made no effort to talk to me. It didn’t bother me, I didn’t want to talk to them anyway. I don’t do snarky, and they were definitely snarky. One of them was a local woman, who, upon learning who I was when we were at the house, became very judgemental. When you live in a small town, people know your name, they recognize your last name, and they make assumptions. It turned out that this woman knows my bro, she taught his son at one point, and the judgment flowed from her in thick waves. She wasn’t very nice to me once she found out who I was and who I’m related too. Jeez lady, I can’t pick who my parents birth, leave your judgments at the door and judge me for who I am and not some preconceived notion.

When the majority of us left the pub just after 1am, we all headed back to the house. One of the out of towners kept putting his arm around me, which I didn't like. I had a couple more drinks at the house, strong drinks. My good buddy mixed them and he mixes drinks two ways: the ‘normal’ way and his way, and his way consists of more than the standard ‘two fingers’ of liquor. I like his drinks more. So, the birthday boy passes out, half the group passes out. Lightweights. A few people from the group had left the pub at midnight headed back to the house. Pitiful. So I wound up drinking with a couple of them out of towners- a couple of the guys, and one of them, to my dismay, was the creeper who kept touching me, my good buddy and his younger brother. Eventually, when some other guy started hitting on me, the creeper sauntered off for a while before coming back. And then he’d saunter off again. My good buddies younger brother tried to convince me to get into the hot tub with him. Sorry man, no bathing suit, no bra, and thong undies mean no hot tub for me. He was pretty insistent but he didn’t get his way. He was saying something about “if you don’t get what I’m trying to tell you by now then you’re not going to get it”. Bud, you were wearing a wedding ring. I may have questionable antics once in a while, but a wedding ring is a gigantic “hands off” red flag, and a line I don’t cross. 

Eventually, it came down to three of us: the creeper, the guy that had been hitting on me, and myself. The creeper was still sauntering off and then coming back, sauntering off and coming back. The other guy was nice. Truth be told, I don’t remember much of what we talked about, but he wasn’t pushy, he wasn’t rude. and was just an enjoyable conversation, huddled around a fire. We chatted about our siblings, he told me about his job, I showed him a video on my phone of one of my kiddo’s accomplishments that I’m really proud of. I only live 3 1/2 blocks and across a highway from my buddies place, so I didn’t have far to walk home. Of course, it had snowed 7 inches in 8 hours and walking in all that fresh, unshoveled snow in my heels was not my idea of a good time, but I made it home. The guy I’d been chatting with had repeatedly tried to insist he walk me home, and after I repeatedly insisted I could make the journey on my own did he finally drop it. I got the vibe he wanted to walk me home to see if once we got here he could come in and ‘warm up’ and that’s why I was so insistent that I could walk my own damn self home. I could have been way wrong, he does have 3 older sisters and it could be just the way he is, but still. Besides, my brain was elsewhere.

And here’s the very dumb thing I did when I was drunk:

If you guessed I text the drummer at 3am you would be right.

I’d done so well! It had been 9 days since I had sent him any texts that had contained any actual words, and even then that text had been just thanking him for checking in on me- he knew I’d been having a rough few days- and 8 days since I sent him a text with a couple of emoji. I hadn’t replied to him at all. My theory had been if I could get through a week of not replying, I would be golden. And I made it through that week. His face didn’t stare at me every time I opened my Facebook messenger, he was far enough down the list I didn’t see his face anymore. He hadn’t been texting me- it had been 6 days since I’d gotten a text or a phone call, I thought maybe he’d ‘gotten the hint’ if that's what I was trying to do. I’d posted a selfie to Facebook right before I’d left for the pub. I can count on one hand the number of posts I have that he’s ever ‘liked’. Two. Exactly two posts. One in October that had said something about “Whisky Wednesdays” and that damn selfie I posted on Saturday night before I went to the pub. So, as you can imagine, it came as quite a shock when I saw his name on the list of people who had ‘liked’ my photo. So, between all the whisky I’d had, the mushroom tea, a bit of pot, still missing him even though I shouldn’t, and then seeing his name on that list, my brain was spinning. My feelings were spinning. My drunk brain combined with my wild BPD emotions and my phone was in my hand.

Text 1: I’ve spent the better part of a week trying my damnedest to not text you. And here I am, drunk, texting you. Why? Because I miss your stupid face and your stupid texts and your stupid calls. And I miss you and I shouldn’t miss you but I do.

Text 2: Why do I miss you? (My BFF) contributes it to being stupid. I think it’s because, well, I wish I could put it into words that someone would understand because I don’t even understand it.

Text 3: It’s bloody stupid. I’ve written about it. I’ve written you a ‘goodbye’ letter but apparently, it hasn’t stuck in my stupid brain because here I am drunk telling you that I miss you and I wish I could see you and that I care too much and you care too little and it breaks my heart and

Text 4: And I slightly hate myself for this shit

And then I called him when I was walking home...

Text 5: And I can’t even bring myself to let someone take me home. Or bring them home. Because it feels a bit wrong. And it shouldn’t because we know it doesn’t for you so what the fuck is wrong with me

Text 6, sent 24 hours later: I need to apologize. I never should have said those things regardless of my state of mind at the time. It was not fair to you to have to read the things I said, nor was it okay in any way or form for you to have to experience my drunken behavior. I’m sorry. I was unfair to you and I feel terrible about the things I said.

He’s read all the messages. If I remember correctly, he’d read the first 4 by 4am Saturday night (or Sunday morning if that's how you look at it) and the 5th at 6:15am Sunday morning. He’s not replied. I was only half honest in my apology- I am sorry for the things I said, and I shouldn’t have said them, not to him anyway. And he shouldn’t have had to be on the receiving end of my drunken anger and rambling, no one should have. I’m not sorry I said the things I said. I don’t feel bad about it. I shouldn’t have told him that I still miss him. I know he checks my Facebook page, he looks at the things I post, he’s told me flat out that he does. And sure, I’ve posted numerous things that were directed at him, and he knows that. I think he knows that I miss him and he definitely knows that I still care. I didn’t have to tell him. If I’m being honest right this minute, I said all those things to make him feel a little bad, to make him miss me, or in the hopes the things I said would make him feel a little bad and in hopes they would make him miss me a little too. Pitiful, I’m well aware, but I can’t take it back, and I can’t change it, all I can do now is own it and move on from it.

My Dear Drummer,

     You’ve been a near-constant presence in my life for the last 5 months in some way, shape or form. Your near-constant presence in my life has often left me half in love, dreamy, lonely, conflicted, confused, heartbroken. It’s left me with hope and hopelessness. It’s left me missing you like crazy. It’s left me avoiding you to try and rebuild my walls because you broke them down and I’ve been slowly bleeding out ever since.

       You see, I can see the day we met every time I close my eyes. I see you sitting down beside me in your black hoodie, your khaki shorts, and your red converse shoes, wearing the same hat that’s currently sitting on top of my dresser. I see your shy smile. I hear your voice. I hear you introduce yourself. I see you take my arm and trace my tattoo. I see you blush. I see your face as we laugh and joke and get to know one another. I see the slight confusion flash quickly over your face and quickly disappear as you discover I’d seen your band perform the night before, as you wonder why you didn’t see me last night, why you didn’t notice me before. I see your face when you ask me to dance in the dark, under the stars as the last band played. I hear the surprise in your voice because you surprised yourself when the words “dance with me” came out of your mouth. I hear your laughter as we danced, gripping each other, holding each other, tripping over the rocks, tripping over each other. I feel you touch me for the first time. I feel you pull me against you for the first time, nervously like we’re kids at a junior high dance. I feel the first half-drunken kiss. I feel the heat of the gypsy campfire. I hear the sound of the thunder and see the lightning that surrounded us in an incredible symphony of cracks and booms and lights. I feel the chill from the rain. I feel my hand in yours as we take cover from the storm. I feel your arms around me trying to warm each other under that slightly damp blanket. I see your face when you cheekily looked at me and said “you coming?” as you wandered towards the bedroom in that cold trailer. I see your face in the dark.

       You see, I see the day after we met every time I close my eyes. I see you waking up. I see your smile. I see how you procrastinated in leaving. I see you searching through the jeep for a piece of paper, any piece of paper and a pen so you could take my phone number with you. I see you walking away and the last look you gave me. I feel the anxiety of the ‘will he, won’t he’, wondering if I’ll hear from you, and I feel the excitement of that first ‘ding’ when I received that first text message. 

       You see, I see the day of our first date every time I close my eyes. I see myself agonizing over what to wear. I see myself changing 7 different times. I feel the excitement and the anxiety and the rush of leaving the house, resolute that I would see you in 120 minutes. I see the highway signs and the road. I see your truck sitting across that large parking lot. I feel the high of seeing you again for the first time, even though it had only been a week. I see the black holey ‘Bullet For My Valentine’ shirt you wore. I see you excitedly play me your music as we sat and finished a smoke before we went into the brewery/restaurant we got lost finding. I see the guy with the mullet who took our tickets at the science center. I see the flirty looks back and forth and I feel the light touches as we slowly made our way through. I see us plotting the ways we can steal the lights I adored and I feel you holding my hand in yours as we watched the ‘movie’ about space. I see us playing pool. I see myself blushing because you're trying to look at my butt, and I see myself letting you win. I see myself playfully shoving you out of the way so I could pay for the popcorn, and I had to shove you out of the way to let me pay for the popcorn because you wouldn’t let me pay for anything, much to my frustration. The movie itself, ‘Once Upon a Time In Hollywood’, is mostly a blur because I feel you there beside me in those reclining leather seats. I see us driving through the city in the dark singing along to ‘Kings of Leon’. I see the concern on your face when you’re trying to convince me to not drive home in the dark (even though it was only September, and I am a very experienced driver). I see the relief on your face when I finally agree to stay with you for the night. I feel the rush of getting that first hotel room. I feel you leaning against me, smelling my hair. I see your face as I tell you about my life. I hear your voice as you tell me your mother would love me. I feel your face against my neck, your hands on my ribs, my breasts, my hips my legs. I feel your kiss and your arms and your body against mine as we make love. I taste the whisky on your breath, my whisky, the same whisky I always drink. I feel you drag me across the bed in the morning and squeeze me tightly as I drift back off to sleep. I feel that kiss when it was time for our date to end and I see your tailgate as you pull out of the parking lot.

       You see, I see the day of the comic book show every time I close my eyes. I see myself counting the hours until I see you again. I see myself agonizing over what to wear, what to pack. I see your face when I jumped out of my truck that day. I see us sitting in the back of that jeep. I feel your hands against my leg, your hands on my face as you kiss me in front of your friends, seemingly without a care in the world. I see the cute little restaurant down the street from the comic book shop and I see the shop itself. I see you play and the beer you spilled on the floor. I see the frustration when we realize we’re spending the night on that terrible little couch in that band practice space, but I feel you holding me for the hours we dozed off and on, on that uncomfortable couch. 

       You see, I see the day after the comic book show every time I close my eyes. I see us headed back to the city in the back of the jeep. My head on your shoulder. Your head in my lap. I see the hotel we finally decided to stay in. I feel you against me as we crawled into that big bed, exhausted. I see bits and pieces of the day and night, as we slept, as we hold each other, as we make love and have sex. As we talk and laugh. As we watched tv, and dozed in each other's arms. 

       You see, I see the days on the tv set every time I close my eyes. I see the confusion because neither of us knew what was happening, and I see the excitement we both had. I see us sitting around the set. I see myself introducing you to my friend. I see the inside of the bar and the tent. I see you sitting across from me at the tables, and I see us huddled together to keep each other warm and still upright. I see you walking across the bar as we did take after take. I feel you behind me as I danced. I feel your breath in my ear. I see the days pass in blips and blurs. I see smiles and I see laughter. I see the ‘cancer plastic’ orange container. I see the crappy hotel. I see the new species of pigeon we discovered and named the ‘crack pigeon’ because it just sat there on that tiny deck, not 3 feet from us when we went out for a smoke and it didn’t move. We attributed it’s behavior to eating a piece of crack cocaine that it must have picked up off the sidewalk below because we were in a sketchy part of the city that was crawling with crackheads. I see the guy in the seedy bar trying to sell me a Rolex, a knife, a gun, a grenade, and steaks. 

       You see, I see the morning I left you every time I close my eyes. I see us In the parking lot. I feel you hugging me. I feel your lips against mine as we said ‘goodbye’ even though we didn’t want to leave each other.

       You see, I see the afternoon I left you every time I close my eyes. I see the photo you sent me, you in your new grey ‘Sessions’ T-shirt with an exaggerated pouty face and the text below that says “my shirt smells like you”. I see the chorus for ‘Lola Montez’ by Volbeat that you typed out for me, and the text that says “you’ve got me in your webs”. 

       You see, I see flashes of photos and conversations. I see us video chatting and I see video game streams. I see hours on the phone and I see thousands upon thousands of text messages. I feel the overwhelming joy I felt when you asked me if I’d ever considered moving to the city and I feel the concern and panic the night you told me your ex had been arrested after the cops had basically kicked your door in. I feel the excitement of the talks we had about the future and I feel the overwhelming sadness the day you told me you should walk away from me.

       You see, I see the night you didn’t come for the STR release every time I close my eyes. I see myself anxiously cleaning the house like a crazy person. I see myself stressing out. I see myself torn between being excited to see you and being nervous at the same time. I see myself in an empty house after everyone had left for the pub, after I learned you wouldn’t be coming because you told my brother the roads were bad. I see myself breaking down and crying. I see myself crying and crying and crying until I couldn’t breathe. I hear my own cries that sound like the cries of the most heartbroken woman in the world. I feel the weight of an elephant on my chest as I realized you didn’t even tell me you weren’t coming. I feel the weight of the world on my chest and the squeezing of my heart when I realized things would never be the same.

       You see, I see the last time I saw you in person every time I close my eyes. I see you in your plaid jacket walking across the parking lot to greet your friends as soon as I’d gotten out of my truck- you were the first person I saw when I got to that pub, you didn’t see me. I was opening my mouth to call your name when I heard your voice calling to your friends, when I saw the group approach you. I see you on stage. I see you in a crowd. I see you with a blond with short hair. I see you at the bar taking shots with the blond with short hair and your best friend. I see you not even realizing I was 8 feet away from you. I feel the shock, I feel the quick jabbing pain as the realization sets in that the short-haired blond is there with you. The one that I knew nothing about. I see your face when you finally saw me in that crowded Irish bar. I see the surprise on your face. I see the text message that said you’d left the bar without saying ‘goodbye’.

       You see, my dear drummer, I wasn’t in fact already in the city the day of your show in that Irish bar downtown but I drove into the city in the dark, on those off and on sketchy roads the middle of December to surprise you because I just had to see you. I drove in the dark because I just had to see you, the split, last-minute decision to come to see you. I’d made sure to buy my ticket from you so you knew I would be there. I didn't text you to let you know that I had made it to your show because I thought you already knew I was there. It broke my heart when I realized you were the with that short-haired blond. When I saw you put your arm around her waist. When you finally found me in that crowd, it broke my heart when I saw the shock on your face to realize I was there. When you gave me that one-armed hug it took everything I had not to cling to you, to pretend I hadn’t seen you a dozen times already, to pretend I hadn’t seen you with her. It broke my heart and I had to sit in that crowded Irish pub and pretend like I wasn’t falling apart inside, to pretend I wasn’t at all bothered, when in fact it took everything I had to keep myself together. I was thankful for your friends who gave me a place to stay that night so I didn’t have to drive home in sketchy conditions, and it hurt when I walked into their house and saw the couch we’d sat on together, when I sat in the spot I know you’ve sat in a hundred times before- I have a photo of you sitting right there in that spot. It hurt my heart to listen to your friend tell me about how excited you’d been about me when we met, about how you’d gone on and on about how amazing I was, about how incredible I was, how smart and wonderful I was. About how you’d wanted to be with me. It hurt my heart when your friend told me she was sorry things hadn’t worked out between us because she had thought we would be perfect for each other, that I would be perfect for you, that we should have been together. That she was angry with you for screwing it up. 

       You see, my dear drummer, I see us together every time I close my eyes. I see all these things we did. I see us laughing. I see us happy. I see the conversations about us being together, about our future, about what we want, about how all we wanted was each other. 

       I see us.

       And there is no ‘us’.  

       You see, my dear drummer, I dream of you. 

       You see, my dear drummer, I sit here day in and day out waiting for your text messages that are coming in almost daily these days. I sit here in pain because I have all these feelings for you and I have no idea how you feel about me. If you feel anything at all. I feel guilty when I’m in the pub and I catch myself flirting with some guy, and I feel guilty when I catch myself wanting to be touched or held by someone who isn’t you. You call me ‘lovely’ these days when you refer to me in your text messages, and you’re checking in on me when you know I’m having a rough day. You’d never called me ‘lovely’ before, and it messed me up a little when I read your text that said: “Good luck lovely”. You’re calling me at midnight, in the middle of the night, at 7am. When your with your best friend, who knows all about the short-haired blond, your best friend who knows about me, but I don’t know that he knows that you still talk to me as often as you do. And every conversation makes this so much harder.

       You see, my dear drummer, it’s killing me to not reply to your last text messages or call you back. It’s killing me to miss you like I do, and it shouldn’t still be killing me at all. I shouldn’t still be crying for you or heartbroken over you. I shouldn’t be excited over you or waiting for anything at all. And yet, I am. And I wish I could stop. I have to stop. I have to move on from you, from the idea of you, from the thoughts of us. I wish you would let me move on. But I don’t want to let you go. 

       You see, my dear drummer, It’s time. It’s time to say “goodbye”. It’s time to move on from you, from the idea of you, from the idea of us. And you have to let me move on. I have to let you go, and you have to let me go. I have to do this. If I let go today, it will give me 7 months to prepare to see you again. 7 months to steel my heart from you. 7 months to stop crying and to build up these walls you tore own that one summer day last year when you sat down beside me and asked me for my name.

       Goodbye, my dear drummer.

       Love,

I want to be your shelter from your storm

A safe haven you can run to

A comfort you will always find in the midnight hours

Run to me now

I want to help you shutter the windows

And brace all your walls

You will not need to look for lanterns

I will be your light in the dark

I want to help you block out the sounds

I have two sets off headphones

We can stay warm together in my light

And sing along to every Eminem song

I want to give you my calm

So we can weather the storm

Be your unbreakable fortress

Until the thunder, the lightning, the rain has passed

I want to hold your hand

As you walk back into the sun

I want to watch you as you take your first breath

Of the new life that is your freedom

I want to stand beside you, work beside you

As we rebuild what once was broken

I want to feel your heart mend, as my own mends

We can put each other back together with our pieces intertwined

Together we will weather every storm

“Just not a good idea if you come, sorry I know you have a costume and got tickets and what not. Just lots of drama that neither of us needs to deal with.”

Those were his exact words he sent me the day of his show, the day I was supposed to go see him. The day I was supposed to put on that so-not-me costume, the day he was supposed to find me in a crowd.

Those are the last words I have heard from him.

I doubt I will hear from him again.

Not until next summer when we attend the same music festival where we will run into each other. One that neither of us will miss- his band is a 5 year alumni, and lots of my very good friends are the creators, organizers and supporters.

I have the fall, winter and spring to let go of him, forget about him, and prepare for the inevitable run-in, and be strong enough by then to not let it affect me.

How we could have loved each other and had a most amazing life. The possibilities were endless.

I’m so conflicted. My drummer, the drummer, my drummer. We talked the other day, 5 days ago. We talked on the phone for 5 hours. We talked about everything that had been going on with him. He told me that he had been trying to work on things with his psycho ex. He told me that they had been fooling around, but didn't have full-blown sex. It’s not a secret she fucks around with other guys, even though she denies it. He told me he never should have bothered to try because even though he was trying, she wasn’t. That she was just using him and was never going to change. He told me it had been a waste of his time, and berated himself for even entertaining the idea that she would ever be any different. He apologized. Profusely. He told me he had made a huge mistake in pushing me away. He berated himself for letting a good thing (me) go. Fact: he had been drinking. But he said it all with such conviction. He insisted I come to the show he’s playing with his band, the Saturday following Halloween. He had invited me already of course, but now he insisted.

A few hours later, I got a text that read: “Yeah so I’m basically being interventioned out of my house”. His mother, who hates his psycho ex, had shown up and put her foot down. She forced him to pack his things and leave the house. Go mom! Over the next couple of days, my drummer and his mother boxed up his things from the house and began moving them into storage. This past weekend, the remainder of his things were apparently moved into storage with the help of his mother and some cousins. Did I say “GO MOM!” yet? I haven’t even met this woman, and I may never meet this woman, but jeez, I love her already. He also insisted his ex isn’t an issue anymore, but let's face it, we all know that toxic relationships have a way of hanging around for a little while. And this psycho bitch just wants to keep fucking things up.

Two days ago I asked him how it felt being completely moved out of that house. He said it was a “big weight lifted off (my) shoulders”. 

Yesterday he texts me “So just fell off the wagon. Bought and now sitting at my old house with (friend- no, not the ex). Watching Jurassic park.” Of course, I text him back an hour later when I saw his text simply saying “I don’t even know what to say to that”. I didn’t hear back. A few hours later I text him “My Halloween costume came in today. I don’t know how I feel about it. It’s very not me”. 

See, I’m a jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, sneakers (or my cowboy boots), hair brushed, no make-up kinda woman. I’ll wear a nicer shirt on a night out, and my cowboy boots or maybe (rarely) a pair of boots with heels, mascara and eyeliner but that's about it. My Halloween costume is the exact opposite of me. It’s a short, lace-covered little black dress. I’m 5′0 and this dress comes about 4, 5 inches above my knees. It’s short. I bend over, and the damn hemline is only 3 inches under my butt cheeks. And there are heels. Like I’m-gonna-break-my-ankle heels. Like 4-inch stiletto, skinny heel heels that I have 4 days to learn how to walk in. And a black masquerade mask. So, short, tight, little black dress, I’m-gonna-hurt-myself stiletto heels, thigh-high stockings, hair did, make-up done, masquerade mask. The exact opposite of me. Basically, for one night, I can be whoever I want to be. I just have to give my alternate persona a new name, find some courage, and away I go.

My drummer says he can find me in a crowd. He has no idea what I’m dressing up as. Let’s see how he does. Anyway, I digress. Let’s go back to the texts.

After the text about my costume coming in the mail, I still didn’t hear anything back. 6 hours later I text “Here’s what's been on my mind all day: If you’ve spent the day drinking in your old house, does that mean the ever-present struggle is also back or is it still “all good” and “not present anymore”? The ‘struggle’ is his ex. But he assured me that “now it’s all good” and that the struggle is “not present anymore. He went on to say that “I’m literally living at my parents' house to get out of that house”. I sent that “Here’s what's been on my mind all day...” text almost 24 hours ago. I still haven't heard from him.

The so-called friend he fell off the wagon with yesterday, in my opinion, isn’t a very good friend. This friend encourages the psycho ex to come to the drummers' house. He asks the drummer things like “how would (the ex) feel about (whatever he wants to do)?” and “are you home alone? It sounds like there's someone there. Did that girl (me) drive up to see you? She only lives 90 minutes away. You better not get caught with her, (the ex) will kill you both”. Of course, I wasn’t at the house, but I was on the phone and heard the whole thing. This so-called friend seems to like to stir the pot and revel in the chaos that his friend (the ex) likes to be able to create and the control she likes to be able to lord over the drummer. This so-called friend may or may not have encouraged this fall of the wagon, but he most definitely didn’t try to stop it and made sure the drummer was right back in a position where he would be forced to interact with the ex, right back in the very place he was trying to get away from.

Maybe that's why I haven’t heard from him since the “So just fell off the wagon...” text. He’s embarrassed because he did feel good being out of that house and yet he allowed himself, or put himself, or was lead, right back into the very place and situation he was trying to escape. Maybe he’s still drinking. Maybe he’s having the same ol’ fight with his ex. Maybe he’s chicken shit and doesn’t want to admit that, while he wants me, he’s far from ready to let her go. Maybe he’s addicted to the bullshit drama. Maybe he’s sinking down into his dark hole of depression again and doesn’t want to tell me. That’s what happened last time this so-called friend came around- they drank for 4 days, did molly and coke. I didn’t talk to the drummer while he was doing this, I didn’t know until after the fact, but he was honest with me about it at least.

I’m pretty resolute that I’m going to attend this show this weekend. That I will drive the 90 minutes and go. I’ve already bought my ticket- a few weeks ago when he originally asked me to come. I’ve bought the dress, the shoes. I have someone coming tomorrow to make a few alterations to the dress. I even bought contacts so I could wear the masquerade mask. I’ve already invested my money, my time, other people's time, into this that it feels like it would be letting them, and myself, down if I didn’t see it through. And even though the dress and the heels give me anxiety just thinking about wearing them all night, it’s also a little exciting. Pushing my boundaries. Being someone other than myself. 

It will also answer my question: will he or won’t he? Will he look for me in the crowd, will he find me in the crowd- he says he can (even though he has no idea what I’m wearing), or will he just not respond to the text telling him I’m at the venue, and not bother to look for me at all. Either way, I’ll know if he cares or if I was a game.

I’m pretty resolute that I’m going to attend this show this weekend. 

What would you do if you were me?

What would you do if you met someone incredible, potentially life-changing incredible, could potentially fall in love with incredible, would consider packing up your whole life and leaving everything you ever knew behind incredible, leave the only town you’ve ever lived in incredible, someone who makes you feel like you’re the most gorgeous woman on the planet incredible, tells you you’re beautiful incredible, sends you a photo of themself pouting, wearing a shirt I had borrowed for all of 45 minutes, telling me he was pouting because his shirt smelled just like me and he was wearing it so he was just sitting there smelling me and making him miss me more incredible.

I guess I should explain.

See, September long weekend I was at a music festival outside my small town. He’s a drummer. I caught his band- they were the second last act of the Saturday night- and my brother went on as the last act that night. My brother was the only reason I was even there. The next day, the Sunday, I was sitting at a picnic table with my friend, we’re chatting with some people and this drummer just asks if he can sit down beside me. Next thing I know, he’s asking about the tattoo on my forearm, so of course, I show him- I love this damn tattoo! I show everyone who asks!- and he starts running his fingers across the lines. Not in a creepy way, but in a ‘taking his time to really check this thing out and touch me a little’ way. We started talking. And talking. And talking. And hung out all afternoon and into the night. Himself, his bassist, and the bassists' girlfriend even stayed an extra night so we could hang out. We just hit it off. We drank, we danced- he asked me to dance- and neither of us knows how to dance but holy crap was it fun. We sat around the ‘gypsy campfire’ that night, watched an amazing lightning show and hid in camper trailers when the storm hit.

The next morning when they were leaving, his phone had died, but he was determined to get my number. It wound up on a receipt only after he dug one out of his bassists’ Jeep and asked 5 different people for a pen. I never asked for his. I found out later that he drove his friends crazy the whole 2-hour drive home asking them when he should text me, “is it okay if I text her as soon as we get home? Is that too weird?” They told him to give it a day. I had a text 2 1/2 hours later. And they just kept coming. And then the late-night, 2-hour, 3-hour phone calls started happening.

Before I knew it, I was driving 90 minutes on a Saturday morning to go to the city so we could go on a date. Yeah, a real date. I didn’t think those were still a thing either. He took me for lunch, we went to a science center and wandered around, watched a film about space. Playful little touches here and there, flirting like teenagers. We were devising plans to steal the ceiling lights because I liked them. He took me for dinner and drinks, we played pool, went to the movies. He wouldn’t let me pay for anything- which drove me crazy- I had to basically body check him out of the way so I could pay for the popcorn. By the end, it was almost 10pm, dark, and he didn’t want me to drive home in the dark. I’ve driven through the northern Alberta/BC mountains at 4am in the middle of a Canadian winter and enjoyed it, but he was concerned about me driving 90 minutes in the dark in warm, dry conditions. Eventually, I agreed to stay. We checked into a hotel, grabbed a bottle of whisky, and talked for hours.

Of course, I already knew about the ex by now. I knew she showed up at his house at all times of the day and night, drunk, looking for a place to crash. She had shown up one night when we had been on the phone. I knew he feels bad that she doesn’t have a permanent place to live. He hadn’t bothered to really put his foot down and tell her she had to get lost and stay lost, he wanted to be amicable. He hadn’t been looking to meet anyone. He hadn’t been looking to get involved with anyone. And then he met me. And that changed things for him. He does want her gone, he doesn’t want her to stop by all the time. He wants me to be able to come and stay with him at his house without having to worry about her coming in in the middle of the night and flipping because I’m there, If she doesn’t bat an eyelash about beating the crap out of him, lord knows what she would do to me. That's why we’ve stayed in hotels- no concerns for my safety that way. 

After our date, after I headed for home, he had been home several ours, and then the psycho ex showed up at his house with a mutual friend of theirs. The mutual friend had told the ex that my guy had been talking to a new girl. The ex had text my guy all night the night before, the night we were in the hotel together, demanding to know where he was, why he wasn’t home, when he was coming home and was he with that (my name here) whore. So when the ex showed up with that mutual friend, apparently it turned into a verbally accosting my guy shit show. He retreated into himself. I didn’t hear from him for 2 days after that. 

This past weekend he had a show to play several hours drive from where I live. So, I drove the 90 minutes to meet him at his bassists place so my guy, the bassist, his girlfriend and I could all make the drive down together. After I’d been there an hour or so, I was informed that the psycho ex may have found a ride down to the show. I asked the bassists girl, we’ll call her ‘M’, if I should maybe just go home, or find another place to stay and not go to the show. She said that the psycho ex likely didn’t have a ride down to the show, that she was likely just trying to cause shit, but that M would talk to my guy and tell him that he had to tell the psycho ex that not only was she not invited to the show, but she was absolutely not welcome. M, someone I hardly know, went to bat for me. That says something about this girl. I liked her immediately even more after that. And she did have a chat with him because shortly after that, my guy came to me, took my hands, looked me in the face and said “I doubt she will come down. But if she does, you’re safe. You will be with me. I will not let her near you. You will be in the ‘green room’ with me. She isn’t allowed back there. She would have to get through me to get to you and that’s not going to happen.”

We ended up spending 4 nights together. When we got back from his show on the Sunday, we checked into a hotel and spent the afternoon and into the night cuddling, sleeping, watching tv, slow, passionate sex, hard and fast fucking, dozing off in each other's arms. We spent the next 2 days getting paid to spend time together. No, I’m not going to tell you how, but it was completely legal, a ton of fun, and the perfect excuse to spend an extra 2 days together. We hung out, did something neither of us had ever done before, got to know each other better. He met a good friend of mine, and my friend really liked him. I hope we’ll see each other together in the background. 

When I finally got home on the Wednesday after those 4 days together, that's when I got the cute pouting photo, and “my shirt smells like you and it makes me miss you”. 

He sent me a link to a Volbeat song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DdPpRdImfuA

And then he sent me the chorus:

Wherever she walks She will be captivating all the men Don't look in her eyes You might fall and find the love of your life heavenly But she'll catch you in her web The love of your life

He says I’ve caught him in my web.

Later that night was when his psycho ex came over wanting to talk and attacked him. He had text me that his ex had gotten ahold of him and said that they needed to chat. He said she didn’t sound angry or pissed off, just defeated and tired. He sounded really optimistic that their chat would go well. But it didn’t. They argued. She knew about me. Not all about me, but she figured that he had been with me in his 4 days away. She knew my name, not my last name, just my first. They argued. She lost her mind and attacked him. The cops came out. It was a huge thing. I don’t know the whole story. I do know that he left the house for a while so the cops could deal with her. I know he told the cops that she could stay at the house. I know that if she had been hauled off to the drunk tank he was going to go down and get her out. 

I also know that 2 weeks ago he changed the locks on his house because he wants to be rid of her and move on. That he doesn’t want her to fuck up anything with me because of her crazy behavior. I know he thinks her behavior, the showing up all the time is inappropriate. 

He’s even talking about moving to a new place so she doesn’t know where he lives and can’t show up anymore.

I know that when he changed the locks on his house she threw a rock through a window.

It drives me up the damn wall that he still lets her in the house. That he even defends her in any way. It bothers me that he’s 90 minutes away and all these things keep happening and I’m completely helpless and useless and can’t do a damn thing about any of it. I can have my opinion, but in the end, he has to decide to completely cut her off. It has to be on him to get rid of her.

Until then I just have to deal with it all the best I can, bite my tongue- which is very difficult for me to do- and hope he makes the right decision.

I’m the right decision for him. He knows that. He admits that they’re poison for each other and that they’re not getting back together, he has no interest in getting back together. 

He wants me. I know he wants me. I’m ‘his girl’ he says. He asked me if I had ever considered moving to the city. When I told him that I didn’t “have anyone in the city I would consider being roommates with”, he told me to give it a few months and then think about it again. It’s way too early, it’s way too complicated right now, to even think about any of that, but 7, 8 months from now might be a different story. It’s way too soon to tell. 

So, now that you know that there's this incredible, wonderful, amazing guy I’ve met, a guy who takes me on real dates, who risks backlash from a psycho ex to spend time with me, who introduced me to his bandmates, to his best friends, who wants to keep seeing me, who is willing to deal with 90 minute drives so we can see each other, who is willing to move so he can move onto a new life- one that involves me-, what would you do if you were me?

Be patient and hope he makes the right decisions? Guard your heart and hold him at arm's length until you see some real changes with the ex? Keep letting him in and trust that he’s telling you the truth? I have no reason to believe that he’s lied to me, there’s been no proof he’s ever lied to me. The night his ex showed up at his house with their mutual friend he even offered to video chat with me so I was comfortable, so he could prove I had nothing to worry about in regards to him being romantically involved with his ex. 

Would you keep slowly giving him pieces of yourself, pieces of your heart? Pieces of your story, the honest pieces of your story, the ones you don’t tell most people? Or would you cut and run?