The next days were filled with making sure he ate. Making sure he slept. Making sure he didn’t hurt himself.
I continued to work from his place. His child left to spend the Christmas holiday with mom, so for a couple of weeks, it was just us. He broke more than once during that time, & slept alot. He’d quit his job and was looking for other work, but prospects were grim at best. I was willing to help, but I wasn’t willing to enable him to live in this hole either. Nor was I willing to use myself & my financial resources up to “save him.”
Turns out, I didn’t need to. He climbed out. Or maybe I should say, he’s climbing out. The employment hunt took care of itself. He’s seeking long term outpatient care, though it’s been a battle. Not with him…but with insurance companies & providers. I wouldn’t say we’re out of the woods yet, but it’s a step in the right direction.
We spent Christmas with my family. They knew he’d been hospitalized, & I’d temporarily moved in with him following the medical emergency, but only my mother knew the details.
I mentioned it in a previous post…on Christmas Eve morning, I made my way into my room where he was sleeping (given mom’s rules, I was sleeping in my brother’s room, & the brother was kicked to the couch! lol). I laid beside him propped on my elbow, & we chatted …about what I don’t remember. But then he looked at me, all serious-like, & said “…but I do know…that I love you.”
I honestly don’t remember what came before the “but”. I was a bit stunned.
“oh!….well….I love you too!”
& I kissed him.
& it’s been said 100 times a day since.
He was in a black hole, & he saw no way out. That much I knew from my own depression experience.
But the acute problem I now faced was unlike anything I’d dealt with to this point.
1. His last text only stated he was at the hospital. And either his phone died, or they’d taken it. (A stupid, but not uncommon practice for suicide risk patients). It did not specify which facility, nor did I have any other information about when I might hear from him again.
2. I had to contend with his teenage child whom I got along with fine, but we’d never spent any time alone together. This child is also mildly cognitively delayed. I was going to have to explain why dad wasn’t going to be coming home that night.
As luck would have it, his child trusted me enough to not ask any questions past my explanation of “he went to his dr who admitted him for some tests.”
I sent a text to the Foreman asking him to let me know where & how he was as soon as he was able.
It was Monday afternoon.
24 hours passed without a word, & I could tell from the text app the phone had received my message, but it hadn’t been viewed yet.
The lack of specifics in his last communication, & lack of contact led me down a rabbit trail of fear.
Maybe he didn’t go get help.
Maybe he got to the hospital, but left.
Maybe he just drove away.
Maybe he was dead somewhere.
The only real hope I held onto was
1, he’d never lied to me before. Even when he was supposed to go to the dr the weekend before and didn’t. He legitimately had the appt. When he left the house to go, he never explicitly told me he was going to the dr. He just left. (& told me later, he got to the Dr’s parking lot, but just kept driving). The second I texted him about needing stuff from the store, he called & was completely honest with me that he couldn’t make himself go…even at the risk of seriously pissing me off.
2. His child. There wasn’t a scenario in my mind where he would leave his child in that manner, & with me no less. Not that he doesn’t trust me. But it just seemed like a highly illogical thing to do.
The issue with holding on to either of those factors is I’ve believed liars in the past & everybody tells the truth until they don’t anymore. And nothing about suicidal thoughts is logical. It defies all reason.
I tried to work.
But mostly I cried.
And threw up everything I tried to eat.
I held it together when the Foreman’s child was around. But during the day when school was in session & after bedtime, I was a complete, panic-ridden mess.
I spoke every few hours to the Foreman’s mother who lives states away, & would call to ask if I’d heard any news. Even though I assured her, I’d contact her the second I knew something, she still called. She insisted I should call all the area hospitals to find him. I explained that with HIPAA laws being what they are, no hospital can legally tell me a thing without his explicit permission.
By mid morning a couple of days later, I was at my wits end. His child was growing increasingly dissatisfied with my “still waiting on tests” response. There was never any actual questioning of why we weren’t visiting dad or what tests or why wasn’t dad answering texts (because his child was also attempting contact, as any kid would), but there was a general antsy attitude & an underlying knowledge that there was something I wasn’t saying. It was just never verbalized. And I knew my vague responses weren’t going to hold up much longer.
In addition to that, going from daily contact with a person you love to zero communication with the knowledge they are severely unwell is its own personal kind of hell.
Throughout these few days, I had been on the phone several times with my therapist. By that morning, she said “I realize it makes you uncomfortable to go through his things, but you are caring for HIS child. You need & have every right to know where he is and if he’s ok. Go through his things and see if you can locate his primary doctor’s name. See if they can tell you where they sent him.”
I had previously considered this option, but I didn’t know the name of his dr & I hate my personal space being violated so I’m overly sensitive to violating other’s. I also knew he had definitely seen his family dr Monday because he sent he a blank stare selfie from the exam room to prove he really was there (totally his idea. I didn’t ask for that. He just knew it would make me feel better considering he hadn’t gone on Saturday).
Following the selfie, he said they’d called in a crisis team, & then they were waiting in insurance approval. Then the “I’m at the hospital” text.
I didn’t want to go through his stuff. I didn’t want to make it seem like I didn’t trust him. Or that I was just a nosey bitch going though his shit while he was gone and vulnerable.
I did it anyway.
It took some searching, but I found some insurance paperwork that had the name of his doctor. I was just about to dial their office number on my cell when his home phone rang.
I checked the caller ID.
I didn’t recognize the beginning initials.
The last few letters spelled HOSP.
The man on the other end spoke in a thick accent. He verified my identity, & explained that the Foreman was his patient. He said the Foreman had expressed that he wanted to go home, but the dr needed to know he’d be safe & not left alone. Through the course of conversation, I found out the Foreman had only been at this location for less than 12 hours.
I began to get angry (though I didn’t let on). I thought the Foreman had lied. Had gone to the dr. Maybe to the hospital, maybe not. Left. Didn’t come home. Then went back to the hospital & was now calling for me.
I didn’t see how else this dr could say the Foreman had only been there at the hospital for 7-8 hours.
I let the man on the phone know I’d be there asap. I sent off a quick text to my mom & the Foreman’s mom letting them know I was headed to get him. I deliberately left out details, & said I’d tell them more after I had him with me. I shot my boss a quick email saying I had an emergency & would be gone a couple of hours.
I ran to get my jacket from the bedroom, & realized I hadn’t showered yet that day. Oh well. It would have to wait. I assumed, even if I was pissed, he’d rather see me ugly than to wait an extra hour at the hospital. My phone rang. It was my mother. My voice shook & I fought back tears as I told her about the missing time pieces. She said, “but he hasn’t lied to you yet. I’m sure there’s an explanation. Don’t get mad until you’ve heard it.”
The phone beeped in my ear. Another call was coming in.
I looked at the screen. The Foreman’s face.
“Mom, he’s calling. I’ll call you back.”
I switched lines.
He sounded exhausted, but relieved that I’d answered.
I tried to hide the fact I was again fighting tears just at the sound of his voice.
(I’m crying now writing this, & it’s been 5 almost 6 weeks).
I don’t remember the specifics of how the conversation went, but if my few days was hell, his was 1000 times worse.
At his family dr, while sitting with the crisis intervention team, the news came back that his medical coverage did not have mental health benefits. This launched him into a government system that borders on inhumane. (I can say that because I used to work in it. While there are good people in that system, most of it is full of callous disregard for human life. This is partly brought on by addicts who abuse the system, & therefore, those who work in it begin to see everyone through a jaded lens).
He was put into the back of a police vehicle, & transported to a local emergency room where he was ordered to give over his personal belongings (including his phone). He was put on a bed in the corner, & told to wait. He wasn’t assigned a dr. Or a nurse. Or a caseworker. He was guarded by hospital security in case he tried to leave. He wasn’t given food or water until much much later, & not until he asked multiple times for it. He had a massive headache, & was in the throws of panic attacks (something he was previously unfamiliar with) that were causing him to be extremely nauseous. At one point a nurse threw a plastic bag in his direction & told he’d “better NOT throw up in the trashcan because she wasn’t about to have to clean that up.”
He wasn’t allowed to contact anybody or have his phone back.
He told me at one point, he’d wondered if he could tie the bedsheets into a noose and hang himself before the security guard would realize what was happening.
The only reason he didn’t is he didn’t think he could do it quickly enough.
He was in a fucking hospital and they wouldn’t even give him Tylenol for the headache, much less anything else.
Nearly 48 passed before he was taken to the mental health hospital in the middle of the night. 7 hours later, the physician from that facility called me.
It sounds like a story someone would make up. But it’s not. It’s real. It’s the result of a mental health sigma that is alive and well in middle class America.
I listened to him recount the story as I raced to pick him up. My anger grew by the minute. Not at him, but at the failure of the medical community to help when he reached out for it.
He hung up with me, after saying he really should probably call his mom to tell her not to fly out just yet. That he was ok, & she needn’t panic.
I pulled in the hospital parking lot 15 minutes later. I’d warned him in looked like a homeless person sans shower. He said he didn’t care. I saw him before he saw me. He was standing just outside the front door as I approached, still on the phone. He hadn’t seen my car. As he turned in my direction, I heard him say, “she’s here. Ok. Bye.”
He moved toward me to close the remaining distance. “Your mom?” I asked. He nodded as he took the last 2 steps, holding eye contact but just barely. Like he wanted to look away. I slid my arms around him. He held me close, & buried his face in my hair.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I felt him shudder. He was trying not to cry. This man doesn’t cry, but he was spent. It was so difficult not to just lose it, let my own tears fall right there on the sidewalk. But I didn’t. I knew I couldn’t. Not yet.
I grabbed his hand, and we walked back to my car. After getting in, I joked about my not taking a shower. He replied that he hadn’t even been able to brush his teeth since Monday morning when he left. He said “thank you for dropping everything to come.” It was the first of a million times he would thank me in coming days for just being there. I reached for his hand again, & pulled the car out onto the road.
Home. We were going home.
The whole way he fought back tears…
And I realized how deeply I loved him, & just how much he was trusting me to let me in.
Now I just had to figure out how to keep the black hole from swallowing us both…
The holidays were stressing me out, but I was excited to spend the weekend before Christmas doing “Christmasy things” with the Foreman & his child.
He had come my home the weekend before to attend a Christmas party & see me perform in a couple concerts. He was a tiny bit more reserved than normal, but I was throwing him into unfamiliar territory. He met several important people in my life, all of whom immediately loved him.
The week following, he was having a rough time of it at his fairly new job. He was distant & frustrated. I was irritable as well. Combine pms, work overload, & scheduling conflicts to result in not feeling well while trying to cram 80 working hours into a short span of time so as to not let it bleed into our weekend. We didn’t fight, but things were a bit off-center. Friday, he barely communicated at all. By lunch, his silence had me concerned and I asked if he was ok. He responded that it had just been a rough day, & we could talk about it when I arrived at his place that night.
I was mildly put out. Exhausted myself, I wanted to be cared for, not take care of, but rather than lash out (which is my instinct when I’m tired & feeling deserted…& is also hateful & inappropriate), I simply said ok & that I hoped his day got better.
By the time I left home, with a several hour drive ahead of me, I wasn’t convinced I could make it. I seriously considered stopping to get a room halfway, but something told me to just push through.
He didn’t stand up to carry my things when I walked through his door. Generally, he’ll meet me at the car, or if he doesn’t hear me pull in, will grab my bag the second I’m through the door so I don’t have to carry it.
He just laid on the couch. His eyes were both worried & vacant.
Several times in recent weeks, we’d discussed the likelihood that he should see a doctor for his depression that seemed to be returning. He’s dealt with it for years, as have I. Though neither of us have permanently stayed on any medication. (I’ve been seeing a therapist for going on 2 years now though). He told me mid week he had an appt on Saturday.
In bed that night, he held me, & said he was sorry for being down. I assured him it was ok, and asked if he wanted company at his appt or if he’d rather go alone. I made a point to specify I only intended to go as far as the waiting room. Talking about these things with a professional is uncomfortable enough without added pressure of a girlfriend in the room. He said he didn’t care, that I could ride along if I wanted, or I could sleep in. His appt was on a “walk in” day, but he intended to go first thing in the morning. We fell asleep with the decision that I’d go if I was up, if not he could go on without me..or wake me if he wanted company. Either way, I didn’t want to be pushy.
He slept much longer than normal. Past the time he wanted to be at the doctor. I was up first. I’m never up first. Not ever.
He didn’t want to get up, but eventually made his way to the kitchen to get coffee, & then sat on the couch beside me for a good hour or so. I asked again if he wanted me to go with him, since he seemed indecisive the previous evening.
“No!” was his terse response. He’s never terse with me. Frustrated, sure. But never terse.
Fifteen mins later, he grabbed his keys and left without saying goodbye.
My intuition was saying something was wrong the day before. Now huge alarms were going off inside my head. I knew he wasn’t going to the doctor. But I didn’t know what I was going to do about it. I waited with his child for a couple of hours. The two of us discussed cheesecake. I decided to make one to fill a little time, but we didn’t have a couple ingredients. I text the Foreman.
“If you still want that cheesecake we need a couple things from the store if you’re up for it after your appt”
My phone rang almost immediately after I pushed send.
It was the Foreman.
I’ve mentioned before, we rarely communicate by phone. I answered, & heard him say, “So. I’m not ok.”
I smiled at his child, said I’d be right back, & quickly made my way to the bedroom to talk out of earshot.
“Uhm ok?”, I replied.
“And I didn’t go to the doctor.”
….silence on his end.
“Uhm, where are you? Do I need to come get you? Bring you home? Take you somewhere for help? What do you need me to do? ”
I don’t remember the rest of the conversation sequence as it all blurs a bit. He saying he was going crazy, & wanted to die, & didn’t know what to do about it. He said he put my name on his bank account the day before so I could access his money if necessary, & tried to get power of attorney put into my name but both places he tried said it couldn’t be completed that quickly.
I was at a loss. I remember thinking why on earth would I need either of those things?! The only thing that made sense was if he were to end up hospitalized for an extended period, & needed bills paid.
Within maybe 15 mins of being on the phone, he said he was on his way home. I refused to hang up until he was in the driveway. Minutes later I heard his car coming up the gravel drive, & hung up. He came straight to the bedroom, laid on the bed face down, & couldn’t… or wouldn’t… even look at me. He just kept saying “I’m not ok. I don’t know what to do.”
Any suggestions I had were met with indecision. We were supposed to go look at Christmas lights, & then come back to do Christmas presents with his child.
He finally said, “let’s just go pretend we’re happy for a while.”…. so that’s what we did.
Fast forward to the gift exchange. He faked happiness through it, & was mostly asleep on the couch by the time I was to open the last gift. I had to wake him so he could see me open the pair of drop diamond earrings he’d picked out for me.
Immediately after, he went back to sleep. Several hours later, I made him get off the couch and go to bed. The following morning, he slept in late, & after I dragged him to the living room, he wasn’t awake more than an hour before going back to sleep with his head in my lap.
I was due to go home that afternoon. I woke him to say goodbye. He promised to go to the dr the next day.
I was so torn about leaving. I had to work. I was under several deadlines, as is the nature of the job. Unless I was dead, not working wasn’t really an option.
Monday morning, he was still a mess. We discussed a few options to get help…well, I discussed them. He said very little. He finally agreed to go see his family dr. They, in turn, felt he needed hospitalized for a couple days.
I didn’t disagree.
I hurriedly messaged my boss, got permission to work from the Foreman’s address for an undetermined amount of time so I could care for his child, threw my work supplies & a few clothes into the car, and drove well over the speed limit to his home.
I text him to let him know I was on my way, & not to worry about his child. He responded with “I’m at the hospital.”
He didn’t say where. & he didn’t see my response.
I wouldn’t hear from him,
or know where he was,
or if he was telling the truth
for the next 72 hours.
Click the link to see her weekly hosting of beauties. My phone is being cantankerous & not letting me add her boobday banner. (Sorry Hy!)
I’ve been feeling especially odd about my body as of late. I, like most women, have the tendency to only focus on what I don’t like instead of what I do. Or…even more annoyingly…not believing the things I’m told by the Foreman about his enjoyment of the views he’s gotten. I’m horrible at being on the receiving end of a compliment.
I decided letting it all out in a fun photo might snap me out of it. I’m still unsure if it worked. Perhaps I should consider joining in her positive body image meme a little more frequently….
So when last we spoke, I mentioned the re-emergence of The Marine, & my continuing relationship with The Foreman.
But as we all know, my life takes twists down unwanted paths all too often. I’m sure you can relate.
So, in light of time, I’m going to speed through this just to get it out of my head for a bit. (I’ll try to fill in details in future posts) Buckle up.
(Also, I wish my job wasn’t staring at a computer writing/reading massive amounts of info cuz then id have the energy to actually maintain a proper blog. Ugh! )
Nearly daily contact with the Marine, though maintaining clear boundaries. Yay me.
The Foreman was a grand hit at the Christmas party.
He was lovely to me. And helpful.
He started a new job.
I sang in 2 concerts without a hitch.
Worked like crazy to meet deadlines.
Had Christmas scheduled with the Foreman & his kiddo.
Things were off.
He was highly depressed and slept almost the entire weekend.
He kept apologizing.
I left at the close of the weekend to come back to work..against my better judgement.
The following day, he mapped out a suicide plan, but called me first.
I got him to get help. Right away.
I through a bag, & my computers in the car, & drove 110 most of the way to his place.
I took care of his child.
For 3 days, I had no idea where he was.
He wasn’t getting my messages.
But not in front of his kid.
A dr reached out after 3 days. Then the Foreman.
They’d taken his phone.
I picked him up.
It was emotional.
He kept saying he was sorry.
I didn’t let him out of my sight for a while.
His kiddo went to the other parent for the holidays.
He quit the new job.
He spent Christmas with my family & I.
Despite the scary surrounding circumstances, it was the best Christmas I’d had in years because we were together.
He likes my family. He gets along well with them.
I worked more crazy hours from his place. I’m extremely grateful my boss allowed me to do so as it’s highly against protocol for security reasons.
By Dec 30th, I was exhausted from work & mental/emotional stress in trying to help him. (Mind you, he was having maybe the worst few weeks of his life but he wasn’t purposefully being difficult or assy with me). Our communication & vulnerability really grew exponentially through it all.
On a whim, we decided, after I worked til midnight, to drive through the night to the beach for new years weekend.
It was spectacular. Cold. But beautiful.
I’ve never been a beach person, but I’m finding that may be changing. There’s a serenity I find there that’s hard to match.
I continued to stay with him until today.
Today I’m back “home” with my mother. In case you missed it in earlier posts, I moved in with her almost a year ago to help her financially.
Nearly a month living with the Foreman.
I’ve not spent that much time with a lover …Maybe ever. I was going to day since my ex husband, but I don’t even know if that counts. He went to work or I went to work. With the last few weeks, I work from home, & the Foreman was taking a break…We were always together save a couple errands he ran without me, & when one of us has to poop…
That’s a LOT of togetherness.
And we survived.
Also, he said “I love you” on Christmas Eve. 💖
I apologize for the random nature of the post. I just needed to get it down to be able to come back later to fill in blanks….
I didn’t plan it this way. I swear.
Also, sometimes I’m an idiot.
(As if you didn’t know this already)
So, I posted about purging items from my life that remind me of the Marine.
…& please don’t shoot me…
…I uhm….I contacted him.
I know!!! I hear you screaming at me. Please stop punching your monitor. That will only break it, not me.
So here’s what happened. I mentioned I couldn’t get rid of thoughts of him. I threw away stuff. Then the thoughts got ugly. And by ugly, I mean, I grew increasingly worried about him.
Why? I’ll never know. I shouldn’t care, let’s face it. But I couldn’t shake the thought that something was very wrong.
We’ve been in contact a bit via phone and text. Turns out, his life is kinda a wreck. Nothing life threatening, but difficult nonetheless.
Before you go completely apeshit on me, I’ve already talked to the Foreman. He’s aware. He’s ok with it, provided that I’m not hiding anything from him, & I’m not.
The Marine is mildly annoyed that I’m dating someone seriously. Funny, right? But he’s also said he’s happy I’m happy, even if he isn’t.
Where do we go from here?
My life is moving forward with the Foreman. He’s helping me pull off a Christmas party tomorrow, & then coming to watch me perform in 2 concerts on Sunday.
So if you’re ever considering purging someone from your life, be careful what you wish for. Reappearances happen.
I’ve never been a fan of the fad diets. In fact, I’ve never been on a diet in my life. I’ve never understood the need of my friends to do random juice cleanses. It kinda weird stuff me out. But…. I’m doing a cleanse, nonetheless.
Maybe I should rewind a bit.
In the summer of 2014, which feels like a lifetime ago now, the Marine appeared to be making serious efforts towards a future with me. He had visited a couple of times that summer. During one such visit, we went bra shopping. He was annoyed that I wore the same black bra all the time. It was so old that the clip in the center front, meant to control the amount of cleavage, had long since broken, and it was now held together by a tiny black ribbon off a pair of panties. ( …seriously…. It broke while I was out with friends. I decided I’d rather go panty-less than without a bra, so I went to the bathroom, cut my panties with a pair of fingernail clippers, and fashioned a temporary fix for my wardrobe malfunction). What was supposed to be a short term solution, turned into a multi year, almost every day issue….at least for the Marine. To be honest, I didn’t care. Bras….good ones anyway….aren’t low priced. While I made decent money, I was busy paying off medical bills and the like. New undergarments just weren’t a priority.
He’d seen far too much of that one bra, and decided a change was in order. In all, I ended up with 4 new bras, probably 10 pairs of matching panties, and he made me promise to throw my old worn out, barely-held-together contraption in the trash. If I recall correctly, I actually made him throw it away. I may have even put up a tiny fight. It was like losing an old friend!
Since then, I landed a much more lucrative job, and while I’m not loaded, I can at least afford new lingerie choices when the need arises…. Or whenever the fancy strikes me.
With that said, I recently decided it was time.
Time for a cleanse.
I went through a couple of phases of throwing out things connected to him over the last 2 times he left me. A sports jersey he bought me. His hoodie he sent me. A twist tie that was a sort of a joke to us. His dog tags. Even vases that had come with flowers he’d sent. If it reminded me of him, I binned it. I deleted voicemails I’d had since 2008, a couple of them from when he was deployed.
When I recently moved, I realized my panty drawer contained pieces of him, as did the bras in the closet. I set it aside, and sort of decided it didn’t matter to be anymore.
But I was wrong.
It does bother me.
So I decided to rid myself of it. I went shopping. 10 new bras & 25 pairs of panties later, he can no longer say he’s seen me in any of what I wear under my clothes. Cute, practical, sparkley, lacy, downright sexy…..the choices run the lingerie gamut….but all of them are mine. Only mine.
The Marine is no longer present in what I put on.
The only thing I have left is a diamond ring he gave me during that same visit. I haven’t decided what to do with it.
Part of me wants to throw it in an ocean or off a bridge.
Part of me thinks maybe I’ll hang on to it, and use it to explain to my daughter, should I ever have one, how a long time ago, I let a man steal my heart, lie and manipulate me, use my love for him against me…in the hopes she will avoid that kind of pain in her life. Maybe we’ll throw the ring off a bridge together…..
Marine, if you’re reading this, thanks for letting me go. You were right about one thing. I’m better than you, and you didn’t deserve me. Maybe someday we can be friends. Maybe someday you’ll be forced to watch me be happy at some backyard barbecue as a man has his arm protectively around me while we chat with friends. Maybe it’s the Foreman. Maybe I’ll glance over at you, and you’ll shift your eyes away from mine knowing what you lost. Maybe you’ll look at the beer in your hand and be disgusted at what it cost you even as you lift it to your lips and finish it off. Maybe you’ll realize I was right. It ruined you.
It nearly ruined me…..
Let’s face it. The holidays are stressful. Unnecessarily so, in my case. This is, in part, due to my own perfectionist, borderline paranoid thought process. I worry about how everything is perceived from everyone else’s perspective to the degree that my own sanity takes a flying leap out the fifth story window….or it would, if there were a fifth story within sight range.
I play every. single. solitary. possibility. over. and over. and over. in my head, until I very nearly fall apart at the seams. I manage to do this so intensely that I will even dream nightmare holiday scenarios weeks before the actual event.
No joke …. I started planning the Thanksgiving menu in August. AUGUST!
Not because it’s anything terribly complicated, but because that’s when the Foreman and I discussed the potential of spending the holidays at the same location.
Insert minor. …err major… yes, let’s go with major…. panic attack.
I haven’t had a significant other at a family gathering since my ex husband’s presence nearly a decade ago.
The Foreman has met my mother & one brother. The other brother, he’s never met, but will be present at the dinner tomorrow along with his plus one & his child.
The Foreman is also bringing his child**….who loves me , but has never met any of my family & hates rooms of unknown. Bless that child, I hate rooms full of ppl whether I know them or not!! (**Not the knocked up party girl child…who turns out not to be knocked up. yay for cries of attention from states away…ugh. anyway….)
I have spent the day cooking and cleaning & cleaning & cooking til I’m fairly certain every dish in the kitchen has been used and cleaned at least three times.
Did I mention I do all of this alone? No one offers to help. It’s just expected that I’ll do it. All of it.
The Foreman actually said he wasn’t coming when he learned this. He assumed I was going to extra trouble because of him. We actually got into a pretty lengthy argument about it. I couldn’t get it through his head that this happens every year. With or without him, I’d still be doing just as much, & I’d be doing it alone.
He’s said he’ll help. But he’s three hours away. There’s not much for him to do from there, nor should he when I’m surrounded by family who should be doing something. anything…
He is coming early to help with last minute things, & we’re going out to lunch… because seriously, screw cooking twice on Thanksgiving.
All things considered, it’s a tipping point in the relationship…spending the holiday together surrounded by family that I both love and barely tolerate. Ha!
Here’s hoping there’s sleep in sight, because I’ve got a list a mile long to get done in the morning before my lunch date arrives….
Happy Thanksgiving, ya’ll!!
I won’t lose you
We’re meant to be together, so you can’t go and die on me. End of story.
Let’s run away. We could even elope if you want…
I’ll run, walk, skip, limbo….as long as it’s with you…
I choose you.
I might not always show it well, but I’m blessed to have you in my life.
I screen shot them to remind myself I didn’t make it up. This isn’t some fantasy in my head. He really does have feelings for me.
I need to convince myself because the Marine said these things too. Many times, in fact. I have the texts to prove it. He fluctuated from insisting he needed me in his life to swearing he was better off without me in a matter of hours. Over & over. And it was partly my fault for riding that roller coaster for so long. I should’ve exited that amusement park long before I did.
It effectively taught me nothing but mistrust.
So now, when I’m feeling insecure, I look at screenshots of conversations with the Foreman & realize when he says,
I keep telling you, I’m in this for the long term..
He’s serious. About me. About us.
Read the previous post to get the background story..
12 30pm. That’s how long I made it sleeping in a bed alone knowing the Foreman was only a wall away.
When I was confident my mother had fallen asleep, I made my way back to my room. The Foreman was sound asleep as well. He didn’t stir until I pulled the sheets back enough to crawl into bed beside him. He woke enough to kiss my shoulder and pull me closer.
Since we were awake before anyone else come morning, no one was the wiser. I don’t regret it. The hours spent sleeping beside him are the best part of my week. I’m still fighting insomnia most of the time, but even if I’m going to have tthe lay awake, I’d rather be awake in his arms.
It’s safe. Comfortable. I’ve written before that being with him feels like gravity. That was in June. It’s not changed.
He’s gone now. I’ll miss the weight of his arm around me holding me against him tonight. If only breaking the rules of adulthood and responsibility was as easy as sneaking into bed with him so we weren’t living 100s of miles apart….