Take Back the Breath

6/30/16 Own your breathI’m sitting in a conference room at the VA in an empty meeting. I’ve been wanting to write on this prompt from my brain for some time but I’ve been scared. I’ve been letting someone else control me. Someone mentioned last week that I hadn’t posted on my blog in awhile. There’s a reason. It’s just not pretty.

5 weeks ago my boyfriend broke up with me. Things had been getting progressively worse for some time and he decided a FB message was the appropriate tool to communicate with. He brought over my stuff, we exchanged keys, and he left. You’d think this would be the end. It was only the beginning. M- started (or continued) stalking me. He sent me notes through text, email, Facebook, Messenger, left me voicemails and off-topic comments on my blog. He went through other people to get to me, asking them to text me for him or contact me another way. He contacted my mother. He even hijacked someone else’s Facebook profile whom I was talking with to get to me. He at least stopped dropping by my house unannounced or at least I don’t know it. I took him off my FB profile as a significant other. I was confused but felt relieved.

It has been up and down since then. I haven’t felt this boxed in or trapped ever. Some of the things he’s done leave me honestly scared. He won’t let go. I can’t post on my blog because he reads it, can’t share in group because it goes back to him. Every time my phone dings or buzzes I’m on edge because it’s usually him and I don’t know what he wants. Will it be insults today or over the top compliments? Have I ruined his life or saved him? I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t care. He researches me online, talks to everyone about me. I don’t even know what people know about me anymore because he tells everyone everything. I’m a pretty private person. I don’t appreciate mass sharing. There have been days I went to comfort him and was yelled at for an hour. He’s the first person who’s ever said something to me so mean or hurtful that it literally took my breath. I couldn’t breathe. He acts as if his assumptions are truth and won’t believe anything to the contrary. The mood instability and purposeful manipulation grind me down and make me mad. He’s texted me “911” to get me to respond when there was no true emergency.

He asked to stop by after church on Sunday to drop off a letter to me. He stayed awhile. The conversation was uncomfortable but he was respectful. I thought maybe he’d changed. Nope. He went home and started messaging me that I need to change my profile picture on FB because it’s not very flattering, not the best of me, and he’s not the only one who thinks it. FUCK YOU. Who the FUCK do you think you are? I AM NOT YOURS.

In a continuation of the emotional blackmail, he posted on his website that any donations would go to me for my Phoenix Rising tuition. He put up a story about me that’s not true speckled with tiny spots that were. That night at group he brought me a journal and some candy and a drink. So wait, now I’m good again? I can’t keep up. I accepted them and said thank you. I asked him to take down the story since it’s both private and not all true. The one thing that’s really important to me and my future is that Phoenix Rising training and he KNOWS I need money for it. Why not tie me to him for the money? Brilliant idea, except that it isn’t. It only hurts me having to choose whether or not to stay in the abuse for the money. The answer is no. Thing is, I’m not even sure he sees what he’s doing. He honestly believes he is helping… I think.

Today I went to his baptism with another friend. He asked if my last FB post was about him. That SO pisses me off and he knows it. He’s back to saying he loves me and that he’s going to marry me and that when he gets back from rehab he’s going to chase me again. He says he KNOWS I still love him and am still IN love with him and KNOWS we’re still lovers in our hearts. He says he KNOWS he broke my heart (by cheating on me, et. al.) “Stop pretending like you don’t still love me,” he says. He claims to know what I think and how I feel and my history, which he doesn’t. He wants to be “friends.” He says, “That’s all we really ever were anyway.” No, it’s not. We were in a relationship. He was part of my family. He messages me in despair and sadness begging for attention and help. Last time I called him when he sent me crisis texts and he said he was fine, that he had talked to some friends and used some skills. I was livid. He said, “Well you didn’t HAVE to call. I’m trying to give you some space since you think I’m stalking you, even though I’m really not.” He wants me at his going away party this weekend and to agree to take one phone call a week from him while he’s in rehab for the next two months.

I can’t do it. I have laid back, kept quiet, tried to deal with this on my own. I have respected his privacy, though he doesn’t respect mine. I have altered my life. I have constant anxiety. When I think about him I get angry. When I see him in person it’s hard to breathe. Texts and FB messages haunt me. Hugs eat at my soul. I can’t get away. Last time I saw him he told me he was going to frame all my PRYT art and hang it around his house. That’s just creepy. I have waited, played along, pretty well I think. Friends and church members have encouraged him to keep pursuing me. He told me we are destined by God to be together and that no matter what he’ll find me and we’ll be together. I don’t know what to do.

I’ve been waiting to set any boundaries because I’m scared, both of the backlash towards me and the very high probability of a spike in his suicidality. I don’t hate the man. I have compassion towards him. I care but I am not in love. I am under attack. I really don’t want to hurt him.

Since what I send to him usually becomes public knowledge anyway, I will spare him the hassle and make this an open letter:

Dear M-,

I’m sorry you’re feeling so scared about this new journey next week. You will make it. I’m also glad to see you get baptized today. You are a man of God now and strong in your faith.

The past 5 weeks have been very hard on me. Your constant pursuing and intense emotions and reactions have left me trembling, fragile, ANGRY. I don’t hate you. I have compassion both for you and what you’re going through, but it can’t include me anymore. Contact from you (good or bad) sets my body on alarm. I feel fear. It’s hard to squelch my anger about what you’ve done. Apologies don’t erase memories. And neither does any other excuse. I truly treasure the time we spent together and what you’ve done for me. We both grew and expanded our lives. But that time is over now. This is a new time. And in this new time we need to focus on ourselves.

You are leaving for rehab on Tuesday. I’m proud of you for going, for having the courage and strength to face your demons. I don’t want you going there thinking the whole time about how you’re going to get back with me when you’re released and live happily ever after. You’re not. I’m not interested. I’m not in love with you and my heart is not broken. I do feel sad though that it had to end like this. It’s not what I expected.

It’s important for me to be specific so these are the boundaries I’m asking for.

Boundaries Needed

  • Please do not call, text, email, FB message, other instant message, comment on my blog or communicate with me in any other way except for true emergencies (impending or imminent death) or about DBSA business matters no other board member can answer or solve.
  • At DBSA meetings, please choose a different room than I’m in.
  • At board meetings, please stick to business.
  • I do not want to work outreach together.
  • At the VA MH Council, please stick to business and be professional.
  • Please do not attempt to contact me through someone else.
  • At church, please sit in a different pew.
  • I do not want to pick up the refugee family anymore.
  • Please do not come to choir practice just to see me unless you intend to join the choir.
  • Stop asking my permission to do or attend things.
  • Stop bringing me gifts.
  • I don’t want to salsa with you.
  • I don’t want to “hang out” or listen. You have other support.
  • I don’t want to be chased or to have a 3rd run at our relationship.
  • I don’t want to be your friend (by your definition).
  • I don’t want to go to couples counseling.
  • I think it would be better if you didn’t call me from rehab.

What is okay:

  • Basic interactions at church
  • Contact about DBSA business
  • Contact re: life & death crises (in progress, imminent death)
  • It is okay to write to me snail mail from rehab if you want.
  • I am willing to work with the staff at rehab if needed.

I know it’s a lot to take in. We will see each other when you get back and maybe someday when we’re both healthier we can be friends (by my definition). I’m not your best friend and I’m not your lover. Until then, we can be fellow group members who really care about each other.

Please leave me alone, M-. Please.

With respect,
Michelle

(deep breath)
It’s time I take back my breath. This is my life and I want to live it. So, hopefully you’ll be seeing more posts from me soon. If not, at least you’ll know the pause is not from fear. Just sadness. And living my life.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2016

He bought me shoes

3/23/16     7:25pm2016-03-25 16.25.34

He bought me shoes. M- bought me shoes today. We went to the outlets by the border to find him shoes and I found an Aerosoles outlet. He gave me money and I pitched in and bought four pairs of shoes. I feel guilty but happy. It’s been a long time since I let myself indulge.

I have a hard time accepting help or gifts. I am constantly telling him, “No.” Even now I’m curled up on the couch at the massage place because I declined a massage. He’s getting one. What does accepting kindness bring up for me? Hope. Guilt. Shame. Fear. Anxiety. Self-hatred. Sadness. Automatic thoughts: I’m not good enough. I don’t deserve this. I don’t matter. I don’t want to owe him. I want to be independent. But there are things I can’t afford that I want. I’ve done really well the past year or two not buying, denying myself. I don’t know how to find balance between getting everything I want and buying nothing. It’s self-deprivation and even looking brings up shame – shame that I’m not independent anymore, that I couldn’t make it.

The more amazing he is, the more shame I feel. I’m not. I try to be. I try so hard, but I’m not. I want to be everything for him, for our lives to intertwine and not just intersect. I want to learn to stop running. M- is safe. I am safe… We are safe, Michelle. He bought me shoes.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2016

Sad

12/25/2015     10:49pm10553833_10154419045254307_1138106686227162752_o

It’s Christmas night 2015. I’m crouched on the floor. The tree is lit, as well as a vanilla candle. My mom and the pets are asleep. I feel sad. SO sad.

Today I woke up at 9am and opened presents with my mom. My brother, nephew and two friends came for dinner. Mom made green beans with bacon, spiral ham, mashed potatoes & gravy, fruit salad and a whole spread of appetizers. We even had a Hershey pie. I went to visit my friend in the hospital and got to see some of my favorite staff. That meant a lot.

I feel sad today. Part of me is disappointed that I don’t feel happy. The other part of me is just grateful to feel. I’m not dissociated. I’m feeling sad. I’m feeling…

There’s a Christmas movie on. I can hear my mom snore. I really hate the holidays. My providers are out of the office until the first week of January. What am I supposed to do?

X- texted asking to try again tonight on my terms, in God’s hands. I told him I’m not sure. He said he’s more sure than he’s ever been. He said some other wonderful things I have no great reply to. I don’t know what to say. Why is it so hard for people to understand that I’m terrified of people? I have strict boundaries and specific fears for reasons I don’t care to share. I’m a pretty private person. And why does he stick around for what little I have to offer? I can’t absorb what I need. I can’t have what I want. I don’t understand what I’m being given or what I’m supposed to do. I just know that, except for just after ECT and early in the morning, I feel sad and don’t want to be around people. Or I want to be held by S-. I feel calm mostly. I’m experiencing each moment. And each moment kinda sucks. But I’m okay with that. I’m here. I’m just sad. It feels good to be able to just be sad.

I’m so grateful for ECT & my team. Thank you, God. Thank you.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2015

Resolution

12/4/12     12:50am

Today was a little better. I didn’t sleep much last night. Woke up a bunch of times semi-clear and paranoid. I was really agitated so I took half a Xanax. I went to the dentist to talk with the billing lady and couldn’t think at all. Then I slept the entire day. But before sleeping I went to the mall to return something and actually shopped a little. It was a good sign to me.

I slept all day with my kitty next to me and went to group tonight. And J showed up at the end to see me. I was caught off guard but we had a good chat. A heart to heart and I was able to be assertive and not aggressive and listen actively. I’m proud of myself. We are now on, I guess, somewhat good terms. We are not a was but I’m not sure what we will be. For now we are slightly more than friends, which is okay with me. I got to share in group too. It was good.

My muscles are only moderately painful today and didn’t start bothering me a lot until this evening. Granted I did sleep all day, it’s still good. I’m hoping I’m on the tail end of this round. My head barely hurts today. Fingers crossed. It’s been a long 19 days.

My kitty’s sitting on the table giving me the “PLEASE take me to bed” stare so I have to go. I’m so grateful for today. When I have trouble walking I can still dance. When I have trouble talking I can still sing. And tonight I can pet my kitty.

Love you, Michelle

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

Life Update

12/2/12     9:54pm

I’m having a really hard time.
My muscles are fighting me.
Round after round of sustained contractions in my back, stomach, left arm.
Almost constant moderate to severe head pain. Small windows of reprieve. Weakness that makes it difficult to breathe, move.
My brain feels heavy, paralyzed.
It’s hard to think.

My mood is up and down. Sometimes euphoric or elated. Others suicidally depressed. Small periods of effective work. Minutes. Trouble standing. Pain sleeping. I wake up thrashing, throwing my head back and forth. My left hip keeps popping out. My wrist is improving slightly from the fall.

I can’t hear my stream of thoughts.
I can’t feel my feelings.
I don’t want to shop.

It’s 10pm & I’ve been ready to sleep for hours.
Hours…
Hours.

I need to sleep.

Some days I wonder how long this can go on. The voice in my head says “forever.” My history says usually about 2 weeks. When I’m in it I think it will never end. When I’m out I forget what it’s like. Right now I watch NCIS.

(stare)

I have sharp pains in my muscles too.
Happy Sunday. (weary grin)

(eat chicken rice)

My organs get in on the action.
My heart, bladder & bowels. My stomach.
My eyes.

(stare)

I started talking to a recorder on my phone. I’ve yet to transcribe. Feels good. Eventually they’ll be on the blog.

I’m really glad I write.

Mom’s boyfriend is going back to New York tomorrow. I don’t want him to go. We’re not buddy buddy but I like him. And he makes her happy. The house will be quiet without him. I feel lonely.

J’s back in town. (It feels good to write.) I haven’t seen him yet. He texts me on and off. I don’t want to see him. It was good while it was good. And it was bad when it wasn’t. It was better when he left. It will be better when it’s over. His texts and actions and inactions and lies make me angry. I’m proud of myself for keeping my boundaries and for knowing and believing at my core that the ending does not devalue the good. I just can’t do it anymore.

He’s texting now. I feel frustrated. I can hear the sales-pitch in his tone. I feel bad because I think he honestly doesn’t know or understand. I love him. I want the best for him. I want him to grow up. We can play, but I can’t be his mother. I can’t be his God. And I can’t be his taker.

I haven’t written in so long it’s like unclogging a pipe – the one from my hand to my brain. Reconnecting with an old friend. I do not control what comes out. I just watch.

My brain and body are fading. less pain. falling asleep. NCIS is like family.

My eyes feel glazed in plastic.
My feet are tingling. My tongue is curled.
My back needs to crack.

I’d like to paint my nails but my muscles are too weak. It’s better than being cramped.
I wonder what my Potassium level is.

I feel like I have to keep writing even though I have nothing to say. And I have to pee. Hmmm…

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

Grateful to breathe

10/16/12     9:54pm

Gosh, life is hard. (deep breath…)

I made food tonight. I’m so proud of myself. On the energy of a Rice Krispie treat I made chicken-flavored rice, popcorn and a few pieces of bacon. I never cook. It terrifies me. But I was hungry tonight and less terrified than usual. I sit here now listening to KLOVE and cry. I feel so alone.

Today was the first day in a very long time when I could rest. I slept in and took a shower and did some errands, at my own pace, on my own time. I tried the tv but settled on silence, then KLOVE. I feel so alone.

I went to Sea World with my boyfriend yesterday. (He prefers I call us “co-persons.” I don’t.) I had a really hard day, some of which was great. I’m having trouble communicating and getting sucked into the Borderline attachment/abandonment vortex. He’s leaving. It’s not that I’m imagining his leaving or that I’m scared that he will or that I did something to make him leave. He’s leaving the area for a traveling job and he doesn’t know if he’s coming back. I don’t want him to go. I feel safe with him. I’m using every skill I know to be honest and open, even when it terrifies me, and I’m astonished to find that he doesn’t hate me. He actually likes me most days.

I feel so alone. I know there is a purpose for this leaving, but I can’t see it right now. And tonight it is quiet and it all covers me. We’ve been playing house this week and I’ve been thinking I’d really like to do that, to play house with someone or on my own… My mom’s coming back from NY soon with her boyfriend and my guy will leave and I guess all will go back to the way it was. But I’ll be different. (crying)

I want to love. I want to have a family. I want not to be lonely. I want to need to cook more than three pieces of bacon. And to feel okay enough not to cry every time there is silence.

I feel close to God lately. He’s not but I pray for him. I know God is doing something in me. I want to use whatever that is for good. Tonight I just cry. I trust Him. I trust Him. I surrender it all. Every day. Every time. (deep breath)

I’m so grateful for the ability to breathe.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

Just for a moment

12/29/11     9:11pm

I had set out to write three letters and a blog post about Mexicans and refugees tonight. Didn’t quite get there. I’m sitting at Eddy V’s with some jazz friends. I have the beginnings of a migraine and I feel very sad. Almost crying sad. But I can’t cry cuz I’m sitting in a loud bar.

I like M- and I’d like to ask him out. I was looking for some reassurance and I asked a friend if she thought it was a crazy idea. She said yes it is crazy and that she doesn’t think he’d go for that. Cuz I’m crazy. I’m going to cry. Why can’t I be happy? Why do I have to be crazy?

I am flawed, unwanted, unlovable.

I’d like to tell M- I like him anyway, even if it’s just a pipe dream.
Even if it’s just a pipe dream.

I really shouldn’t dream.—

It is so loud in here. SO loud. And alternating hot and cold. I can feel the vibrations of the talking and the music in my head – literally. I smell seafood and soy sauce and my face is tingling. I just want to leave.

It’s not that I don’t know I’m 3 classes down on the pecking order. Can you just pretend for a moment I’m not? Just for a moment that I belong here? Just for a moment.

When class-jumping it hurts to be put in your place, especially when you don’t have a place.

(body freakout)

11:45pm

I feel so sad.
My left hand gave up a good hour ago.
I’m not one of them.
I’m just one.
I don’t belong anywhere. —

I felt like I belonged yesterday.
Today I am groundless.

I hear “Accustomed to Her Face.”

My left hand fingers are swollen. I am cold.
Zoe just slept on me & purred for awhile. It was nice.

Loving me is like adopting a cat. I offer awesome conditional love in return for food, shelter, attention, maintenance and love. —

Someone said in the group on Monday that not telling someone you like them is being rejected. But the worst that can happen if you tell them is the same rejection. It seemed smart at the time, but I don’t really agree. If I don’t tell him, it’s torture but I can continue to dream and scheme. But if I tell him and he rejects me, I just want to die and there are no more dreams. I need dreams.

I like to dream that someone like M- could love me. That I could have a good life and be safe and taken care of. That I would have someone to hold me instead of holding a teddy bear. I’m not 3. I just live with my mommy. And I dream that someday someone who can take care of me decides I’m worth loving and sets me free. I am high maintenance. I’m difficult and I’m sick. But I still love me. Why can’t he?

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011

The Storm

12-20-20    2:16am

S-’s grandma died tonight. It’s got me thinking about storms. Helps that it’s raining. I texted, “I know right now it’s a tornado. Just remember I’m not afraid of the storm.” She took it as me thinking she was afraid. It had nothing to do with that.

I like storms. All kinds of storms. Most people hate them or are afraid. But I don’t mind getting wet. I also don’t mind putting myself in danger most of the time for a good cause. I stop on the freeway to help people who are stuck. I talk to homeless people. I give money to strangers. I salt the chickens and empty the whitehouses. I search for people who are in danger. I listen. Instead of running from the fire or crisis, I walk towards it.

When I am in crisis or someone I love has died and I am devastated I find that most people are afraid of the storm. They mean well and say things like “they’re in a better place” or “I’m here if you need anything” or “I’ll pray for you.” But when it’s 3am and I’m pissed at God ‘cuz it’s not fair and I haven’t showered in a week and am a mess from crying, calling them will not yield support. I don’t need to hear that it will all be okay or that time heals or that they know how I feel. They don’t. And it makes me mad.

I do my best to be the friend who brings an umbrella for you but is not afraid to brave the storm. To sit with you in the rain until you’re ready to come inside. I’m no stranger to hospitals, 3am phone calls, people crashing on my couch, safety missions, long text or IM conversations. And I don’t bullshit. I choose my words carefully. Silence is often more powerful than words.

I know what it’s like to walk alone in the rain. To have someone who walks with me for awhile, who listens, who’s not scared of my plight and respects me – that is a Godsend, a gift I pay forward.

I may be terrified of my own storm, but holding hands through yours makes me stronger.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

I’ll Be Home for Christmas

(written during flashbacks of my dad after listening to I’ll Be Home for Christmas)
12-17-10 10:15ish pm

I’ll Be Home for Christmas

See the color
Feel his fingers, his breath

Bathroom floor
Tears flowing
All I want is a family.

I want someone to take care of me
To love me
To fight with
To sit quietly with
My dad.
I just want my dad.

Little trees
Pine needles
Running Away
Space People
Nurses’ Stations
Wristbands

The floors
The ceiling –

Laundry.
(deep breath)
Laundry.

I miss my dad.
For What he was
What he wasn’t
What he could’ve been
What he taught through the silence I’m not sure I’ll ever learn
But I’m still grateful for it.

Why didn’t you stay on that mountain?
Why did you choose to come home?
Your life from my view is a map I don’t want to follow
But it’s my map.
I don’t get to choose.

Did you like jazz music?
What helped you get through it all?
I’m pretty sure it was your space people.
Crazy keeps us alive.
When I hugged you, could you let go or did you not want to?
I love you.
I want you to love me too.

So I put on a face and everything seems alright.
But inside I die
A little more each night.

I am sitting in a bathroom terrified of my life.
It’s just life
But it’s so much more than that.
This is IT.
Don’t you get it?
I’m not coming back.
There aren’t any do-overs.

I’m scared…
So scared.

S- wants me to sing tonight.
She knows it makes me feel better.
I don’t want to be on display.
I just want to be held.
Please, God.
Comfort me.

I am a child in need. –

I am worried about S- leaving.
I’m so scared of losing her.
So scared.
So scared.

Last night at the W-?
I am scared.
And I can’t seem to pull it together.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

It’s all a game really

11-27-10     4:35pm

If you don’t want me for what I am, I don’t want you for what you’re not.

It’s all a game really. I just got off the phone with S-. She’s got a date tonight she’s getting dolled up for. I have a headache. We had a conversation (well, more like an argument) about the institution of dating and expectations. She believes and plays along. I play along but I resent the game.

She was telling me how it’s important to look your best and how you can tell a lot from how a person looks about what they believe, who they are, their character. In reality these are assumptions & judgments. The thoughts are real but not necessarily accurate. She was saying how it’s important not to put all your cards on the table in the beginning or they won’t want you. I know that well. But anyone who doesn’t want me because of who I am or where I’m from or how I dress is not someone I want anyway.

I KNOW it’s a game. I dress the part. I play but I don’t follow all the rules. And the last thing I need to do is reel some guy in who thinks I’m something I’m not, fall head-over-heels for him and have him leave me when he finds out who I am. I also don’t want to fall in love with someone who’s not all of him. I want to see the unacceptable side, to know what I’m getting. Show me the CARFAX.

Her interpretation of me based on my dress is that I’m meticulous. I am, but not about my dress. What she sees is what I choose to show her in the game. What she believes based on that image is her interpretation. I have no control over that. I know very well that people are looking, for the most part, for a sane well put-together self-sufficient mate with little drama, little debt, and a rosy disposition. I am also aware that I am not that. I may play the game to get what I want (or close to it) but in a mate I want someone who loves me for me. Someone who loves that I put my hair in a clip and carry Play-Doh in my purse and walk my cat, who’s not scared that I’m sick and doesn’t roll his eyes at my food rules. In return, I can accept imperfection, unpolished shoes, “bad” feelings, and annoying habits. Just love me for me. In the words of Meredith Gray, “Pick me. Choose me. Love me.” I’m tired of playing the game.

I want someone who loves me when I don’t love myself. In pearls and in sweats. When I haven’t showered in a week. When I can’t stop throwing up. When I’m inpatient. When I’m angry. And when I’m not.  Because that’s me. There is more to me than just what you see.

S-,
What do you see when you look at me? What goes through your mind? Sometimes I think you get it. Then there are days like today when you’re so far away. (deep breath) So very far away…

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

The Forever Trap

9-9-10                  11:40pm

I was talking to a friend tonight about her new boyfriend and she was all stressed that (in a nutshell) they’re not forever material, that everything’s not quite right. I thought about it. I do it all the time. I did it tonight. I talked to a guy I kind of like and, while it may have appeared to be a conversation, it was more like math – a puzzle or equation. Does he fit? Is he what I need? Are our lives compatible? In reality it doesn’t matter. I can’t control forever. All I have is tonight and even that’s out of my hands. But I always come back to that. The forever trap.

Sugarland has a song “Settlin’” that says “Mr. Right Now not Mr. Forever.” While I do want a Mr. Forever, I want a Mr. Right Now. Because right now IS forever and it’s gone in a blink.

Right now I am happy, and cold.
Right now my thumb hurts from texting.
Right now I’m not worried about my problems. I’m just riding the trolley one-mindfully.
Right now.
I like right now.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010

Beyond Complicated

5-20-10                 2:30pm

I had a relationship this past winter. It was so far beyond Facebook’s description of “complicated.” It ended badly. I work with this person and I didn’t talk to him for awhile. But recently we’re civil again. He gave me a ride home this week and said something I can’t quite shake.

It’s a long ride and toward the end he apologized for what he’s put me through. He said he was following his own agenda and motives, that he realized I wasn’t keeping secrets. He just wasn’t listening. Then he said it. “I hardly even noticed it was you.” I get goosebumps when I think of that.

I’ve known this person for a very long time. At one point we were close friends. I shared with him almost everything. I’m not sure why he shared this with me. “I hardly even noticed it was you.” It’s kind of the equivalent of “I was just using you” or “I really didn’t care.”

Nice to know he realizes he’s an ass.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2010