I Am Enough

I can't be in a relationship with someone who gets angry with me - other than my kids. I allow their anger, of course. I want them to know that they are safe to get and be angry, even with me. I recognize their "kid-ness," after all. I recognize that I've passed anger onto them from my own abused child-hood. 

I'm working to change the patterns of abuse - taking a 52-week course called "Changing Abusive Patterns" at the Center for Violence-Free Relationships. It's been a few months and I'm already seeing the progress within myself. This course, which is a group therapy setting, along with counseling sessions with my son as well as the 12-step program and (new) sponsor, are having such a positive impact on my life and steering me into the direction of the woman I want to be. 

I'm 46 days clean and sober after my July 9th relapse with #40. I had taken a hydroxyzine as prescribed for my anxiety before going over to cook for him again. While I was there he offered me a gabapentin, and I took a second hydroxyzine instead of a gabapentin. It was almost automatic. A "strange mental blank spot" our big book calls it. No defense whatsoever against the "first drink" - or 2nd drug. Or 40th man in eight years after my husband.

If you've been reading about me for long, you know my disease manifests in a trifecta of drink - drug - man. I haven't had a drink since my first AA meeting on January 19, 2012, then relapsed on weed on March 1st and got clean and sober again March 2, 2012...then relapsed on weed again in October 2015. Got clean and sober again before the year was over, relapsed again on weed in December 2015, got clean and sober January 17, 2016, and can't remember exactly when the next two relapses and clean-and-sober-ness occurred, but I would get about a year+ clean and sober and then relapse, repeat. Got clean and sober from weed for (I hope) the last time on April 6, 2019. Then July 9, took that second anxiety pill. July 10, 2020 is my new (and I pray to God, my last) clean and sober date. 

Alcohol, check. Drugs, check. Men? Well...

My highlighted post on the desktop version of this blog, on the right hand side, is my sex & relationship inventory. It also includes crushes, molests and rapes - really, any "intimate" interaction with a man, whether real or imagined.

I've known for years now - a total of 7+ - that I've needed to drop this last rock. Knowing that this last manifestation of my addiction hurts me (and others) doesn't stop me from responding affirmatively to any man who is even possibly the slightest bit interested in me. And knowing that any man who would be interested in me must also be sick doesn't enter into my consciousness with sufficient enough force to stop me from engaging. Something deep within the deep hole carved by the lack of love from my parents constantly cries out for attention and affection, even if that means I also have to deal with the anger that comes when I say or do something the man I've found to "fill it" doesn't like. 

Anger was a normal part of growing up, coming from my stepparents, so I confuse that with love, certainly. But, I'm sick and tired of it. As aforementioned, I'm trying to heal my own anger. I, really, no longer want to compound it with the anger of another adult human any more.

I've said "I'm done" countless times. As we alcoholic / addicts know, it takes what it takes. Last night, it took me saying, "I don't like it when you say [insert here]," and him (#41) reacting lividly. And it wasn't the first time he's gotten so angry with me that it ends with us "being done" with each other. It's happened every day or two in the past few weeks that we've been seeing each other (every day, addictively).

But this is just another repeat. The common denominator is me. I can't blame any of these men any more than I can blame any of the 18 sponsors I've had. Sick people are attracted to each other, I think.

I'm not healed yet, and I want nothing more than to be restored. Once I'm healed, I know won't be entering into a "committed partnership" after just a few weeks of getting to know someone. I won't be painting the red flags green - my red flags, or his.

The bottom line for me today - the deal-breaker that ended this relationship with #41 - is that I'm done with anger. It's going to be a long healing process (the 52-week class and 12 steps - again!). Gotta keep on trudging the road to Happy Destiny. I know I can do this.

I love my kids unconditionally, and I'm starting to finally love myself, unconditionally, too - enough to change the patterns of abuse. 

Because I am enough.

My Memoir Outline:7-8

7

I work at Pizza Hut as assistant manager. It's 3:45 pm. I opened the store today and get off at 4. We need batteries for our scales. 

I walk around the corner and buy batteries at Radioshack. 

What are you doing later? the guy at Radioshack asks me. There’s a $300 karaoke contest at Acapulco restaurant in San Marcos and I’m thinking about going, I say. I’ll go with you, he says. He gives me his number. Okay, I’ll text you later, I say.

I get off work and get home and I change out of my work uniform. I put on the Batman tank top that I’ve had for years, and some jeans Ronnie got me at an online store in New York, years ago. I do my hair and make-up. I take off in my car for Acapulco.

I'm too early. The contest hasn’t started yet. I leave and go to the San Marcos Brewery across the parking lot for one of their Honey Ales.

I go back to Acapulco. The DJ is setting up. I sit at the bar and order a Margarita, double Patron Añejo. There’s a table of four Mexican guys behind me. One of them comes and sits next to me. He buys me another Margarita double. His name is Angel. I tell him about Ronnie and Lyle. He tells me about his ex and his kid. We show each other pictures of our kids on our phones. 

I sing Adele’s “Someone Like You”. My phone is dying. I tell Angel I gotta go out to my car to charge my phone. My plan is to leave. He follows me.

I plug my phone into the car charger and we go back into the restaurant. Angel buys me another drink. I drink it and say I have to go to the bathroom. I go to the bathroom and stay in there for a long time. I mess with my hair. I do more make-up. I go out and Angel’s still standing there waiting for me. 

Karaoke is over. The DJ is playing salsa music. Angel buys me another drink. I drink it. Let’s dance, he says. Okay, I say. We salsa for an hour until I can no longer stand.

I need to go charge my phone in my car now, he says. Come with me, he says. He pulls me by the hand and I go with him. 

We get in his car. He starts kissing me. I want to make love to you, he says.

We have sex. 

I tell him I have a boyfriend. He frowns and looks down. How can you have a boyfriend? he asks. Why didn’t you tell me that before? he asks. I don’t know, I say. It's not serious, I say. I told him I loved him and he didn't want me to use those words, I say. It really hurt, I say. You're gonna break up with him then right? Angel asks. Yeah, I say. Can I call you tomorrow? he asks. Sure, I say. I give him my number.

I’m drunk. I drive through In-n-Out Burger and get a #2 and eat it in the parking lot before the long drive on two freeways back home. I scream and cry and look at pictures of Lyle on my phone while I eat.

8

The next day, Angel calls and I don't answer. I text the saxophone player from SDSU who was in the jazz band with me three years ago in 2008. His name is Rico. He wanted me back then, but I was with Ronnie, and had been for seven years. Back then he kissed me after a jazz concert but I stopped him.

Hey, let's meet up tonight, he says. I can't wait, I say.

I don't work today. I go out and buy a little black dress and heels and new lingerie. I get home, shower, blow-dry my hair, and put make-up on. I put on the lingerie, the black dress and the heels, and I grab some jeans, Converse, and a button-up plaid shirt to change into for my ten-year high school reunion afterwards in Bonsall. It's tonight.

I get to Rico's parents' winery in Rancho Bernardo. I text him from the parking lot. He pulls up in his white BMW and rolls the window down and tells me to get in. I get in. He starts driving. 

I try to unbutton his pants. What the fuck are you doing? he asks. Did I say you could fucking touch me? he asks. I laugh and I stop.

He pulls over on a dimly-lit neighborhood street and pulls his pants down around his ankles. He shoves my head down onto him violently. Put your fist up my ass, he says, as he's pulling my head up and down by my hair. I can't breathe. I put my fingertips in first and he tells me to push them in harder. I throw up on him. Eat your vomit and keep eating my cock til I cum, bitch, he says. Put your fucking fist in my asshole, all the way, you cunt, he says. Oooh, yeah, fucking harder, he says. Now put your fucking fist up your ass, he says. I start with a couple fingers and he takes my hand and pushes it all the way in. He ejaculates into my throat and gag and I throw up again. He says, swallow all my fucking cum, bitch. Fucking swallow it, he says. Mmmm, you like that, huh, you like that you fucking cunt, he says. I gag a few times, then I throw up some more, then I swallow what's left.

He drives me back to my car. I get out. He drives away. I get into my car.

I clean myself up and I scream and cry. I take off my black dress and heels on the freeway as I drive and cry. I get into my plaid shirt and jeans and Converse shoes.

I park my car at the country club. Evan is calling. He doesn't know about Angel or Rico. I don't answer. I don't want to be with you any more, I text. Come on baby, don't end it so fast, he texts. Where are you? he texts. My ten-year high school reunion, I text. Let me come meet you, he texts. No, I text. I turn my phone off. I fix my make-up and hair. 

I go into the country club and sit down at the bar. I order a Jack Daniels Single Barrel and Coke, double.

I mingle with people I recognize. Jorge Montoya is talking to me, along with his friend Sakito Uchiyama. 

I drink two more Jack and Coke doubles while mingling. We all take some group photos.

Everybody is leaving the country club and going to a bar called Ringers a couple miles away. I go too. I'm drunk.

I sit at a raised, small table with Jorge and Sakito. They buy me a blue-ish green drink. I don't know what it is. I drink it.

There’s a band. Me and Lisa Lopez start dancing together up front.

I sit down at the table with Jorge and Sakito. They buy me another drink. Then I start dancing with Lisa again. The guitarist motions for me to get up on the stage. I get up on stage and the guitarist gives me his pick. I strum his guitar while he holds his guitar.

Jorge and Sakito buy me another drink. Sakito and I go outside to talk. It's cold. We put our arms around each other and we talk about our college majors, him math, me music. I hate how there's so little funding for music, I say. Music is math, I say. You could use music to teach math, I say. I work for the government, he says. I'll pay you $1500 to come up with a way to use music to teach math, he says. I have a software guy, he says. Cool, I say. We can have all kinds of exercises on it that use math and music together, I say. We’re going to Cambodia to an orphanage in a month, he says. We can implement the program and teach the kids how to build musical instruments using math, I say. Sakito says great, let's do it. Okay, use the $1500 to buy my ticket, I say. Sounds good, he says.

We go back inside. The band is done. They’re starting to leave. The guitarist puts his arms around me and walks me to their van with them and helps me inside. 

We smoke weed. 

The drummer in the front seat unzips his pants and the two guys in the back seat take my pants off. I go down on the drummer in the driver’s seat while the guitarist and someone I don’t recognize fingers me from the back seat. I make out with the singer in the passenger seat and then go down on the drummer some more. She gives really good head, you guys, he says. 

They let me out of the van and Jorge is waiting for me back at the entrance to the bar. He asks if he can follow me home. I say yes. 

Jorge follows me home and comes inside. We have sex in my bedroom in what used to be my grandma’s bed. Can I do you in the ass, he says. Sure, I say. He does. He goes home. I pass out.

The Berklee School of Music Singer/Songwriter

So, it's been determined that I am, in fact, insane, but to what extent hasn't yet been decided by my therapist.

While trudging through the Dark Night of the Soul this past month, I finally decided to go ahead and make a damn appointment. I hadn't seen my therapist in over a year. I called every day from this past Tuesday to this past Friday, trying to get the appointment. I was being persistent because I was being told that she (my therapist) would call me back, and each day I was falling deeper and deeper into a sort of depression that I'd forgotten could exist, and she wasn't calling me back. Thankfully, she did, finally, and was even able to have a phone session with me on Saturday. The session consisted of me talking for an hour, catching her up on the past year, and her talking for 15 minutes, suggesting a couple things for me to do, as well as setting up another appointment for Wednesday (yesterday). And yesterday she set up appointments for Mondays and Wednesdays, based on my apparently tragic condition, so she can see me twice a week and try to figure out what the hell is going on that makes me want to do absolutely nothing.

I've heard about people seeing the world in shades of gray. About not wanting to get out of bed in the morning, or do anything, or go anywhere, or talk to anyone. I missed four days of work and my world was the color of feces. I just didn't want to be in it any more. No matter where I was, it just wasn't where I wanted to be. Nothing in the world was good - not even being with my son, which is the thing that's saved me so many times before. I even freaking got baptized. But it only got worse.

Today's finally sort of a little okay. I'm missing work again (my boss is sick, so there isn't anything for me to do there any way since they took all my responsibilities away saying that I'm over-qualified and that now I need to train my boss so he knows how to do his own damn job since I'm going to be graduating from school at some point and will move onto bigger and "better" - not 20 hrs/week $10/hour - things). My work situation has contributed to my depression a lot, for sure. They just made me stop doing all the things I do because I'm so much better at doing them than my boss is, and instead of letting me do them, they want me to show him how to do them, because don'tcha know, I'm a "temporary" employee, and since they can't afford to really actually hire me, they're gonna keep paying me less than this guy who I'm training. Yeah, it's depressing, all right.

Of course, you know that's not the only thing getting me down. Ahh...what we're all here for...relationships. This blog began as a relationship inventory. Relationships just haven't gone too well for me, understatedly -- namely, relationships with my parents and their significant others, relationships with my other family members, work relationships, relationships with "friends", the relationship with my husband, relationships with all the men I've somehow managed not to be successful at not getting involved with...these have all driven me completely insane, apparently (and well, again, the therapist and my doctor are going to decide the level of my insanity).

When I last posted, I had gotten back into a relationship with the boyfriend I'd left my husband for (the boyfriend with whom I'd broken up over and over in order to be with other men who'd wanted to be with me, before going back to him over and over when it didn't work out with those men - for two years - until he took off to Canada in September for three months and I finally had to face these demons without him).

I like to rewind and recap: So this boyfriend's name is Evan (#1) (and not his real name, of course). Those other men I just talked about are #2 through #26 (DAMN). After Evan left to Canada in September, I went and dated and had sex with a guy I'd pined over for like a year, who, afterwards, told me he had herpes (#27). I considered that a good enough rock bottom to want to really be done with men (and what choice did I have, I thought, if I might have contracted an STD?). I told my friend Margaret about it and she started taking me to meetings for sex and love addicts. Margaret's boyfriend was cheating on her, she thought, and he didn't want to be with her any more; she was so torn up that she decided she might be a love addict and thought 12-step programs would help her. They didn't (she didn't really try, IMO). After Margaret committed suicide (I had completed 42 successful days of "no men" and was going for 90), I ran into a guy who'd composed music for a video about suicide. When I talked to him about my experience with Margaret, he asked for my number, asked me out on a date, and we had sex even though I didn't want to. He was #29 (I'm counting Jesus as #28).

So, I went back to "Day 0". I've still been going to meetings, but I just haven't been able to get back to the whole "no men" thing. I haven't been able to put even one day together without some kind of pursuit of them (or at least without responding to them favorably). Margaret's death flipped me completely upside down; she was the one who was helping me with this "guy stuff"...or maybe I should say her death just put me back where I was. It was helping me to write about it...but once she died, I didn't even have the desire to do that any more, and it's been hard to get back to this inventory stuff.

I managed to stop seeing the suicide video/satellite communications engineer guy, but then Evan came back from Canada in December and asked me to the movies. I accepted, because that's what I do. But after a couple weeks I remembered, again, that I don't like him that much, and, more importantly, I don't like how unmanageable my life gets in my "relationship addiction", so, I operated via the standardly oft-repeated modus, and I had sex with the suicide video guy again, just so that I could get out of the relationship with Evan again...because gee, don'tcha know, I can't just be all, "Oh, yeah, sorry, dude, I forgot, I'm too fucked up for all this, and I don't want to be with you - my bad."

That was on January 1, go figure. Way to start the New Year, eh? I totally avoided writing about it, too, until now. But I do feel a bit better, doing so.

Oh, but - there's more.

I had called #23 (refer to the inventory to the right, somewhere) back in November when Margaret died, and we started talking again. His story is, when his wife left him six years ago, he wanted to kill himself, but instead of pulling the trigger of the gun that he was holding to his head on the pier, he checked into a psych ward and then a rehab and got sober. I hadn't talked to him since April, besides a few tens of obsessive emails I'd sent him after I stopped dating him (and I had stopped dating him because I got painful withdrawals from being away from him, and I figured it would be better to just end it and let go completely than to keep enduring those withdrawals...they sucked a lot of ass and hurt really, really badly). When I called him in November I used him like a therapist and spilled my guts, and would do so about every couple weeks, until a couple Thursdays ago, when I asked if I could see him in person, because I was depressed and needed a friend.

When I spent the night with him, I told him that I didn't want to have sex. He actually respected me. I think that's the first time that's ever happened with a male. (That statement belongs in bold.) So, the following week I went and spent the night with him again (this was last Friday, the day before I finally talked to my therapist on the phone, which I did from his apartment). And this time he was sick, so, we didn't even hug. We just talked. He just...totally...cared...about me...both times. It was shocking.

My obsession for him was lifted back in May, so these days he really is more of a friend. And he just showed me what a friend actually looks like. But I have developed a new obsession.

Of course, we'll call this one #30. He's the real reason I got rid of the other two guys (the Pizza Delivery Boyfriend and the Satellite Communications Engineer), in one fell swoop, 22 days ago, by the way. It wasn't just me not liking those other guys, or actually finally trying to change for real now. Nope - along came Jason.

I've "known" him since July, when I started singing at the church he works at as the sound engineer. I added him on facebook on Dec 29, he said hi in a facebook message, we messaged each other for hours, and he suggested we "jam" because he's also a musician (he sings w/piano). The jam invitation, over these past few weeks, turned into daily texting, which turned into sexting, which turned into us hanging out, which turned into us having sex, which turned into him becoming my boyfriend a few days ago (on Jan 19).

Okay, I can't write about this any more for now. I'm glad I've gotten this much out so far, though. I hope to get back into writing again, even though my classes have started - I have three of them. And two jobs. And meetings. And a four year-old. And a boyfriend. And now...therapy that I'm paying for and will probably end up taking some kind of medication because of -- oh, but, well, I guess I shouldn't say that I'll be taking meds because of the therapy, but because of whatever "disorders" my therapist and my doctor decide I have. General anxiety disorder has been mentioned. The depression may be situational, she says, but she's not sure yet, so we're gonna keep meeting twice a week to figure this all out.

But I'm really depressed about it the whole damn thing, if you want to know the truth (sorry, I do love Salinger's Holden).

A video from the Husband to Me and the Pizza Delivery Boyfriend: "Scars/To The New Boyfriend" by Rudy Francisco

If the video doesn't work, click here.

Mary Karr

Day 28 of no men. I'm sitting here at a local Laundromat reading Mary Karr's The Liar's Club, recommended to me by a former writing professor of mine who's blog I'm following to see whether or not he's going to survive this bout of cancer. (We all know he will, again...but I'm on pins and needles, damnit.) His blog inspired me to start one. I'd all ready been instructed by the guy who wrote a popular sex and love addiction recovery book to make an "inventory" describing every relationship I've ever been in so I could see how the hell I made such a mess of my life. Now that I'm reading about a guy going through what sounds like living hell in a fight just to stay alive, the "hell" I thought I'd been living in doesn't seem so bad. Not that I'd want to go back there -- actually, the whole point of writing, for me, is so that I don't keep fucking men I don't even know and figure out why the hell I've been doing that for the past two years in the first place.

Of course, it was suggested I write about all my relationships: friends, family, co-workers, etc. It's a monumental task, so I'm just doing pieces at a time and letting myself write freely whatever comes to mind (and then edit like a maniac when it goes from my paper notebook to this notebook).

In Mary's "Introduction" she describes the power of narrative as cathartic and healing -- but even more than that, for me, it changes my very life in the present, every day. I'm not sucking some guy's dick in a church parking lot right now. (I couldn't have said that two months ago.) This weekend I read to my four year-old son the dinosaur book I bought him for his birthday in August, for the first time. (It's mid-November.) I haven't written much about my mom yet -- that post is drafted and will probably get published after maybe a good 'nother eight hours of editing -- but I when I was pushing my son on the swings this weekend, and my arms were getting tired, I realized that I actually have no memories of my mom ever taking me to a park. So I kept pushing him. Later, I called her, just to tell her that I love her.

I freak out every time I post because somehow I expect to tell the whole story, right then and there. I have to get over that. I guess I just want these secrets to stop making me so sick. I want to throw 'em up and run like hell.

"Run like hell!" That was my best friend Shawna's motto when I was 12. She was 15. She and I did all kinds of crazy things. Once we broke into a vacant apartment and peed on the kitchen floor, just for the hell of it. I thought of her while reading The Liar's Club's page XIV about a fan of Mary's who, as a girl, "got adept (as [Mary] had) at worming her way into other people's houses." I don't think that's what she meant, but still.

This is how you recover in a 12-step program: you go to meetings where people tell you what they were like, what happened, and what they're like now. If you want what they have (sobriety, happiness, freedom) and are willing to go to any length to get it -- then you buckle up for the ride of your life, hold on tight, and don't let go.

Step 5 is, "We admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs." Then we let it all go, and carry our message of experience, strength and hope with others so that they may recover also.

The real reason I needed to sit and read and write right here and now at the Laundromat is because there's still a part of me that wants to go to that church where that guy will be tonight (#21: The Black Jack Dealer). But there's a better part of me that wants that part of me to die.

St. Francis of Assisi said it best: "It is by dying that one awakens to eternal life."

Amen.

"Talk about it, the old wisdom says, and you get better. From narratives about childhood, [we manufacture] a self, neither cut off from [our] past nor mired in it" (Karr, XIV).

So -- let's face the music, and dance.

The Sex / "Love" Inventory

(Updated September 23, 2021 at 9:56 am)

 

"A business which takes no regular inventory usually goes broke. Taking a commercial inventory is a fact-finding and a fact-facing process. It is an effort to discover the truth about the stock-in-trade. One object is to disclose damaged or unsalable goods, to get rid of them promptly and without regret. If the owner of the business is to be successful, he can not fool himself about values." -Bill W. (whose friend I became on January 19, 2012)

 

Pre-Husband:

Born (March 1983)
First Molestation (1987)
Second Molestation (1987)
Third Molestation (1988)
Parents' Separation (1991)
Fourth Molestation (1992)
Fifth Molestation (1992)
First "Crush" (1992)
Many, Many "Crushes" (1992-2001, 2008*, 2011-2013)
First Boyfriend (1992)
Sixth Molestation (1993)
Seventh Molestation (1994)
Eighth Molestation (1995)
First Date (1995)
Second Boyfriend (1995)
Ninth Molestation (1995)
Daily Masturbation (1995-2001)
Third Boyfriend (1999)
Fourth Boyfriend (2000)
Fifth Boyfriend (2000)
Sixth Boyfriend (2001)
Seventh Boyfriend (2001)
Second Date and First "One-Night Stand" (2001)
Second "One-Night Stand" (2001)

Husband ("Ronnie": Met in May 2001; Entered into Relationship on January 28, 2002; Broke Up in May 2008; Became Engaged in July 2008; Married on January 28, 2009; Had Child on August 6, 2009; Separated on October 10, 2011; Dissolution Filed on December 5, 2011; Dissolution Still Pending as of December 2015; Widowed January 22, 2016)

Post-Husband:

1. The Pizza Delivery Boyfriend ("Evan"): October 10, 2011 to December 2012; July 2013 to August 2013; September 2013; December 18, 2013 to January 1, 2014

2. The Acapulco Parking Lot (Angel): November 25, 2011

3. The Sexophone Player ("Rico"): May 2008; November 26, 2011; October 2013

4-7. The Band in the Van: November 26, 2011

8. The 10-Year High School Reunion Guy ("Jorge"): November 26, 2011; December 2011

9. The Marimba Player: December 2011; December 2012; April 2013

10. Il Divo d'Opera: December 2011

11. The Obsessive Sexter: December 2011

12. The Organist / Accompanist: November 2011 to January 2012

13. The Old Black Bloody Mary Karaoke Man: January 18, 2012

14. The Young Drunk Mexican "in Love": January 18, 2012

15. The Hip Hop Producer: February 2012; March 2012; November 2012

16. The Crush from 4th to 12th Grade ("Rick"): March 2012

17. The Indian Guitar Player: November 2012

18. The Poetry Slam Emcee ("Edwin"): December 2012

19. The Hillcrest Prostitute ("Gary"): December 2012 to January 2013

20. The Hmong Literature Major ("Bruce"): January 2013; May 2013 to July 2013

21. The Black Jack Dealer ("Ryan"): February 2013; October 2013

22. The Fresh Ex-Con: February 2013

23. The Nuclear Engineer Navy Vet: February 2013 to April 2013; November 2014; April 2015

24. The Christian Airplane Mechanic: May 2013

25. The Shakespeare Connoisseur ("Deniro"): June 2013 to October 2013; October 20, 2020 to February 2021

26. The Alcoholic Asshole / Sweetheart: August 2013

27. The Propane Truck Driver ("Sterling"): January 2012 to October 2013

28. Jesus Christ: November 15, 2013 to April 17, 2015; April 04, 2021 to May 1, 2021

29. The Satellite Communications Engineer ("James"): November 21, 2013 to January 1, 2014

30. The Berklee School of Music Singer / Songwriter ("Jason"): January 19, 2014 to October 1, 2014

31. The Love Addict from SLAA: February 14, 2014

32. The Tech Support iPhone Guy: October 10, 2014 to November, 2014

33. The Christian Latino Music Student ("Carlito"): October 2014 to November 2014

34. The Atheist Latino Music Student ("Rodrigo"): November 2014 to January 2015; February 2015; March 2015; April 2015; May 2015; July 2015

35. The "Photographer" Rapist: April 17, 2015 (Rape)

36. El Bailador de Bachata: May 2015

37. The Dom Rope Artist: May 2015

38. The Existential Psychology Grad: May 2015 to July 26, 2015

39. The Executive Chef ("Bernard"): August 13, 2015 to December 23, 2019

40. The Gen-X Christian 'Tog: February 02, 2020 to May 18, 2020 (and a little bit of June-July)

41. The Retired Airline Captain: July 2020 to August 23, 2020

42. The 60 Year-Old Christian Construction Worker: February 2021 to April 03, 2021

43. The Drummer Who Married Me ("Matthew"): April 06, 2021 to Now

Introduction

If I had known that, after leaving my husband of ten years, two years ago, I'd somehow become romantically/emotionally and/or sexually involved with 27 men in 24 months, I - perhaps - would have tried a different solution to my marital problems. I'd equate what-I've-done to hitting myself on the head with a hammer - 27 times - to get rid of a headache. You guessed right - it didn't work.

I find myself now completely demoralized and devoid of identity, wondering what the hell just happened. So, I'm going to write about each of these relationships to figure out just who I've been and where I've gone wrong (and who the hell I really am, and should be). Thankfully, I have stopped this insidious cycle, though by no temporary moment of sanity on my part -- I just happened to jump off the last horse on the carousel because riding it may have left me with something unpleasant between my legs. Thanks for telling me before I got on, jackass. (But I'll get back to this in #27: The Propane Truck Driver. I know, he sounds like a real winner.)

Someone said Einstein said something about insanity being something like "doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results". Well, amen to that, with a few hallelujahs. What was I expecting? Prince Charming. What did I get? 27 bad apples. This one will be different. This one doesn't live with his parents. This one's not an alcoholic. This one's fully employed, and a father. This one's a spiritual guru...ad infinitum. Well, I mis-use the phrase, because there was finality, thank goodness; I should say, "...ad nauseum". I'm suffering from a nasty bout of indigestion right about now.

In my next post, I'll start with my very first relationships -- my relationships with my family -- because doing so will shed some light on how I got here. I suppose it's cliché to start with childhood -- or maybe it isn't, and J.D. Salinger isn't God. But don't tell that to guy #1: The Pizza Delivery Boyfriend. Holden Caulfield was his idol.