The Dating Hiatus

“There are times when it will go so wrong that you will barely be alive, and times when you realize that being barely alive, on your own terms, is better than living a bloated half-life on someone else’s terms.”  - Jeanette Winterson

As I’ve said, I’ve given up dating for the whole of 2013. 

See, I’m not…the best when it comes to picking healthy partners, creating healthy relationships, or acting in a healthy way while in couple-hood.

I realized a few months back: dating is my drug.  In the past I've used dating and relationships in order to distract myself from problems and all the bad shit in my life.  And, if you've been around the last few years, you know the bad shit was rather bad.  I used dating to validate myself and my worth.  

I ended up in a relationship with someone who used me up and spit me out.  Who took everything he could from me and then dumped me via text when I had nothing left to take.  I knew what was happening but couldn’t bring myself to end things.  Because I didn’t understand how someone can say they love you but not actually love you.  I know that’s ridiculous but, god, I wanted so badly to believe it.  To wish it into reality.  Once again, I thought if I tried harder, if I gave more, if I “loved” enough, it would be okay.  He’d love me like he said he did.  But that didn’t happen.  Just like it didn’t happen with the relationship before him.  Just like it didn’t happen with my parents.  I was 30 years old and still begging for love.  Still trying to earn love.  Still trying to be good enough to love.  But I never was.  (It probably isn’t surprising to learn that relationship began a few weeks after my dads suicide.) 

Six months later I met someone, someone who was different.  Someone who made me feel hopeful.  We were both broken in so many ways but being together in our pain made it less so.  He wanted me to be happy, he wanted to help me in any way he could, he cared about pleasing me in bed, he made me feel loved.  And I, so happily, gave him the same.  Then he committed suicide and I blamed myself.  I still do, honestly.  Even knowing and understanding the place he was in…I still carry that.

I also had a lot of sex during that year+ of mental instability.  I really don’t regret the sex itself.  I regret how little importance I put on my needs during that sex.  There were selfish lovers who didn’t care whether I came or not.  And I was so desperate for approval that I didn’t dare ask for anything I wanted/needed.  Some were awesome in bed and made me feel wanted and sexy.  But some weren’t.  You could say I was being used but, really, so were they. 

Here we are, three to four years later, in Alabama.  I dated a little, met a few people, fucked even fewer.  Making stupid decisions because I still wasn’t able to shake that need to be wanted and, therefore, worthwhile.  But dating is a numbers game and suddenly I went from a population pool of 9,000,000+ to one of 200,000.  Additionally, I live in a college town where online dating isn’t really the common way to meet folks, my looks are not most peoples cup of tea, and my OK Cupid profile listed my being an atheist, extremely liberal, and a feminist.  So, what?  I’ve got a handful of people left?  Then my age, my personality, my aesthetic, my everything else isn’t jiving with what a chunk of those people want so, basically, I have, like, three people I have any chance with.  This numbers game is not working in my favor!

I had a few crushes and I noticed how much space they took up in my brain.  I realized the reason I was kinda losing my shit was because I don't have the entire dating distraction down here like I did back home.  I don’t have anyone I can take care of and love.  I don’t have anyone I can fix.

I’ve tried to focus on accepting the fact that I’ll never find love.  Like, okay, fine, let’s break this shit down.  Worst case scenario, I’m single for the rest of my life.  This isn't pessimism, it's being realistic and using that possibility to move on.  My reason being, I can just live as if that’s already decided.  And if I take that as truth, how would I live my life?  What would I do for myself?  What would I focus on?  Work on?  How do I give myself that love?  If I was in love with Heidi, how would I treat her?  It’s a scary question because I have no idea how to do that.  All I have is me; and it's terrifying but exciting.

So, no dating for me.  I have amazing friends who call me on my shit and love me deeply in a way I don’t always feel I deserve. I have doctors who treat me with respect and compassion.  I have a nutritionist helping me to have a sane relationship with food.  I have a therapy group I can fall apart with while learning how to be a healthier and stronger person.  I have a therapist I trust to take me to my darkest places and then help me pull myself back out.  And I’m having the greatest sex of my life with people who love my body and make me come a thousand times before they even take off their pants.

Everything and everybody are slowly falling into place.  Maybe when my dating ban is over, I’ll find and date someone I can trust with my heart.  And maybe I won’t.  But I’m not going to allow that possibility to distract me from what I’m doing, from becoming the person I want to be, for having the life I want to create.

The Gym

I biked three miles yesterday. I never understood when people said they felt good after exercising. In my past it was always enmeshed with shame, self loathing, embarrassment, and a million other negative emotions brought on by the people whose only goal was to make me thin, regardless of what it was doing to my physical and emotional health. It's a completely different animal when you do this shit for no one other than yourself. When you work with your limitations instead of being forced to do things that leave you feeling broken and completely incapable. I totally get it now.  I wake up wanting to go.  It’s weird, really, but awfully nice.

I asked when it was the least busy and intentionally go when there are fewer people there.  It’s me and dozens of older folks.  Which is probably why I’m enjoying it so much.  Little old men exercising in their jeans and polo shirts, women in shirts covered with flowers and rhinestones.  The recumbent bikes are next to and face the indoor track and I watch these couples in their 70s slowly walking around it, holding hands.  This place is just so welcoming and helpful and non judgmental.  I really lucked out in this place being so close to me.  I know that in any sort of typical gym I’d dread going and would probably run in the other direction instead. 

I get on a recumbent bike and pedal my ass off.  Not caring about how my shirt keeps riding up or that I’m sweating like a motherfucker.  For whatever reason, I feel strong and determined and amazing.  And I love it!  I actually find myself wanting to go.  I think, eventually, I’ll care less about the place being empty but right now it helps a lot that it is.

My current goals are fairly basic.  1) Bike for five miles, 2) build up the courage to use the machines in the weight room, and 3) walk a mile - 12 laps around the indoor track.  They’ll take some time but they’re manageable goals that I know I can make happen.  I’m excited to do this for my body.  I’m excited to move my body, to make it feel better, to slowly push myself little by little.  I’m excited to give my body what it needs.  Because my body deserves it.

Nine Things I Really Wanted to Post on Facebook or Twitter During My Two Week Hiatus

1) When I said I had to read it due to the title alone, Sonya bought me "By My Father’s Beard, Suck My Cock!”  Sonya is the best.  And the writing was pretty good!  I even reviewed it on Amazon! *

2) About a gazillion quotes from Workaholics, Archer, MST3K, and Bob’s Burgers.

3) I went to Wasted Wednesday twice and didn’t drink at all!  Not even when I was handed one;  I said no thank you.  Not a single sip and STILL had fun!  Fun I can actually remember! **

4) I made money based on how many whacks I could take from a large wooden paddle.

5) My roommates told me they refer to me as “The Heidster” when talking about me and it’s the most adorable thing EVER!

6) My gynecologist and her nurse talked about how perfect my cervix is and how lovely the rest of my inner lady parts are.  Now THAT’S a compliment! ***

7) I now have the grumpiest cat in the world on my nails. ****

8) Oh, god, help me.  My roommates keep hearing me have sex.  Speaking of...

9) My sex life continues to be exploding with awesomeness.


*
 

** The bartender gave me my soda for free because I think he thought I was the designated driver.  And we played a huge game of Cards Against Humanity.

*** I actually looked forward to the appointment because she is an AMAZING doctor and the first gynecologist I’ve not felt anxiety and dread about seeing (even the kind and compassionate ones I've had before.)  But more so than that, I just kept reminding myself, “This is you taking care of yourself.  This is you advocating for your health.  This is so important and you can do it!”

****
 

You can totally get awesome nails for yourself!

I’ve joined the local sportsplex!  I went for a tour yesterday and the place is awesome.  Brand new everything, completely accessible, helpful staff, a ton of options…  The pool is even zero depth entry, which means no stairs and nothing I can be too heavy for.  I ended up talking to the instructor who runs the senior classes and asked if it would be possible for me to join them because I really need to start at my current abilities.  He said I totally could and then showed me all the senior classes.  Fuck man, there’s yoga, weights, cardio, stretching, a class for bad backs, a class for arthritis, etc.  Everything I want, at a pace I can handle.  Being able to start slower is a huge factor in my going or not.  It’s gonna be me and the oldsters, kickin’ ass and takin’ name! 

I’m nervous but excited.  My body is going to be so much happier when I move and stretch and strengthen it.  It’ll be hard to pay the $44 a month BUT I know it’s going to be so good for me and be such a wonderful investment in my health.  I just need to be patient with myself.  As my lovely friend, Keila, said, “It's gonna be a process, you know?  You're gonna ask your body to do stuff, repetitively, that it hasn’t done in a long time.  So as long as you’re both patient with yourself and consistent, you'll be golden.”

It was bad enough finding out that my roommates heard me having sex but then I found out they were at the end of the driveway and still heard me clearly.  They’d guess that neighbors across the way would have heard me if they’d stepped outside.  Like, not joking.  They mentioned my windows being wide open and I realized I must have turned the fucking handles the wrong way and opened them fully instead of closing them.  Oh my god.  I turned BLOOD RED.  Like, burning hot.  Everyone thinks it’s hilarious when  I blush and, usually, I don’t know it’s happening.  But this time?  I was blushing so hard my face was bright red and like fire! 

The next night they heard me from the living room but, god damn it, we’re all adults here and I have to trust the fact that if it made them uncomfortable or whatever they’d leave.  Which is what they’ve told me repeatedly while I tried to juggle things so I only have sex when the place is empty.  But I’m totally accepting that now because they’ve, obviously, already heard everything anyway.  Music.  Music really needs to happen when I get lucky.

Lost Time

Someone compared my hair to Froot Loops and it made my day.

Because of the massive amounts of time I spend on them, I’m on a week-long internet hiatus; no facebook, no twitter, no tumblr, no reading blogs.    I’m hoping that by not reading the words of others, maybe I’ll start writing my own.  I gave my log in information to Keila and had her change all my passwords.  (Dude, I suck at self control, as we’ve all seen numerous times.)  It’s really weird not having somewhere to put the little bits of funny or interesting I occasionally have.  And tv/movie quotes from whatever I’m currently watching.  This morning I decided to extend it another week.  I realized how much time I waste on all of those sites and that I’ve been looking for other ways ONLINE to fill that sudden influx of time.  Then BOOM it hit me…  Um, fuck trying to find more websites to fill that time with, I need to go do things. 

As part of my nefarious plot to be more social, I attended Wasted Wednesday.  I made the decision to stop drinking those 32oz well drinks because I started to completely black out and lose 95%  of the night.  It’s really self destructive and I need to remember that.  I mean, I have two welI drinks in a month so, really, that itself isn’t the issue.  It was way more manageable before but I was put on a new mood stabilizer a few months back and they made the blackouts even worse the one or two times I went to the bar.  Then my dosage doubled last month and the one time I went to the bar…it ain’t pretty.

Part of it’s that I feel the need to be drunk in order to handle large groups of people I don't know.  That I feel the need to be drunk in order to forget that I’m not especially interesting.  I wasn’t really conscious of that and didn’t do it deliberately.  But why did I keep doing it over and over again?  I guess I was conscious of it, to a degree.  Plus, due to how incredibly heavy handed the bartender is, one 32oz well drink and I’m hardcore drunk…which never leads to good decision making about whether I should get another.  I fucked up, time to get back in line.  I mean, what’s the point of having good times if I don’t remember them?

So, yes, WW is now Coke or water or, at max, two beers.  Beer doesn’t have the same impact on me that liquor does so I could drink more than two with zero problem but I’m staying behind that line.  Way behind.  Anyway!  Yes, I went to WW, had a Coke (which he didn’t charge me for), played a raucous game of Cards Against Humanity, and left early to get the roommate back home.  It was a short night but I had fun!  And I remember it!  And, most importantly, I now know I can go to a bar and be surrounded by people, not drink, and still have a really good time.

I received an epidural in my lower back.  It lasted a good 10 days or so before the pain was noticeably increasing.  But 10 days without lower back pain is pretty damn amazing!  Insurance will only cover it 4x a year but, hey, that's 40 pain free days all together!  I also decided to put myself out there and asked a friend - who has done unbelievably good things to my back through massage - if he could come do that again if I cover his gas and buy him lunch.  He said he'd definitely come up to help me.  So, fingers crossed, that will probably be happening this week.

Cat in a box!

Pain & Shame

I got the nerve test results from the neurologist. Not good. Basically, a vertebrae in my neck is fucked up (not currently sure how or why) and has been destroying the two main nerves that lead to my hands. The pain is the result of the damaged nerves misfiring. I’m currently at the “mild to moderate” level of damage/pain. I’m going to have to go in for another MRI so they can try to figure out what, exactly, the injury in my neck is and if it can be helped. The nerve damage and pain are only going to get worse. Which is…mind blowing.

See, I’ve been in pain every moment of every day for the last, god, seven-ish years. Morphine, Vicodin, Oxycodone,…none of them even touch the pain I have. I’m currently on a patch that pumps Fentanyl into my bloodstream on a constant basis. Fentanyl is 100x stronger than Morphine and I’m still in pain. (I seriously don't know how that's medically possible!)  I’m also on the max dosage of nerve blockers. And the pain in my hands is like nothing I have ever experienced. Ever. Even while on all that shit, the pain - when flared up - is so bad that I have to bite down on a pillow and scream into it because I don’t know what else to do. I can’t even wrap my mind around what “moderate to severe” is going to feel like. Or how to survive that. So, yeah. Not the BEST day ever.

Then today in the middle of an IM conversation something just hit me in a vulnerable spot and I’m currently crying over how imprisoned I feel by my body. How I've chosen to be imprisoned by it. How many times I’ve said “no” to things I desperately wanted to say “yes” to because I didn’t want to burden others with my pain and weakness. I don’t want to hold people up because I walk so slowly. I don’t want them to hear how hard I’m breathing or see how much I’m sweating when I push my body a little bit further than it’s used to. I don’t want to make people stop because I need to sit down again and again. I just…fucking HATE how inconvenient my body is to others.

So fucking afraid of other people seeing how truly broken I am. Saying “no” again and again. Telling myself that ONE DAY it’ll be different. ONE DAY I’ll be strong and healthy and have no pain. But I need to truly, truly, TRULY accept the fact that that bullshit magical thinking will never come to pass. NEVER. And, I guess, that’s what hit hardest with the neurological results. “It will only get worse.” It will only get worse. So may years feeling so fucking ASHAMED. Ashamed of this pain and this weakness. Ashamed of how much help and effort it requires. So, instead, I curl in a ball and hide. Too afraid to trust that I’m capable of so much more. Too afraid to trust that people can adore me enough to see my weaknesses and my pain and my shaky legs and gasping breath and sweaty face and love me anyway.

I need to learn to live with my limitations instead of allowing them to keep me motionless. Instead of waiting for them to magically disappear. Because, let’s be honest, they won’t. They’re here for good. And I can either figure out how to survive with them or just allow way too much of life to continue passing me by.

Rainbows and Bear Ears

I’ve wanted rainbow hair for years but knew it’d be a pain in the ass to do and keep up. But! I had, like, an inch of dye in red, orange, yellow, blue, and purple. So I decided it was rainbow time! It didn’t come out as clean and sharp as I’d like because some of the colors blended when I rinsed. I do wish it were brighter but, when blending, some of it just turned kinda muddy. I know better for next time though!

I’ve been debating for a few weeks whether I can justify/afford to become a member of the cities sportsplex in order to get access to the pool and whirlpool. Also, the recumbent bikes and weight room. But $44 a month is a lot right now. (The only other pool is at the University. It’s $9 less but I’d have to buy a parking permit. I already know if I joined, I’d never go because parking is a nightmare and I’d feel more self conscious around college kids.) I don’t know. I think my body would be so happy to swim and walk in the pool because it wouldn’t hurt and I love love love being in the water. The internal debate continues!

Speaking of making my body happy, I purchased this High Density Foam Roller. It acts as a deep tissue massage. My back only responds to extremely intense, agonizingly painful massage. I have a friend who has worked on me a couple of times and he digs in so deep that I, absolutely no exaggeration, scream for the entire 45 minutes. And then I could touch my toes without pain for the first time in years. Unfortunately, he lives nearly an hour away so I can’t knock on his door and beg him to make me cry on a regular basis. Hopefully this sucker will, at least partially, mimic the complete fucking agony my back needs in order to improve.

People in my therapy group say they can see so much growth in me. They see my walls crumbling and allowing people in. I hope they’re right.

I’ve decided to quit drinking the cheap 32oz well drinks on Wasted Wednesday. They seriously react hardcore with my medications. I black out and can’t remember 90% of the night. So, no more. Especially because some of my meds have been increased. I’m going to either drink Coke or water or, on occasion, one or two beers. I’m staying away from the hard liquor because, ugh, I can’t stand having no clue what I did or said the night before.



I sent this in to the I Embrace Body Love campaign. You have a couple of days left to do it too!

I called the office of my pain specialist because I hadn’t heard back from the neurologist about my nerve test results. The nurse informed me we’d discuss it during my next appointment. I have no idea if that means something good or something bad. Huh.

I’m kind of in the middle of a depression downswing. So that’s been difficult. Combined with me trying to write about my mom and dealing with laryngitis for a week and a half and a really incredible and important friendship ending, I was a major mess and took it out on my roommates. Lashing out and then falling apart once I got back in my bedroom. It’s okay now. They understand. It’s hard to get used to living with people, to communicate like an adult. But it helps that I live with people who understand mental illness and cycles and bad days/weeks. People who forgive because they knew that wasn’t me. That’s the reason they came to talk to me, “That wasn’t Heidi.” And they were right. It was pain and frustration and anger just exploding and they got caught in the crossfire.

The entry before this one, the one about my mom. I cried the entire time I wrote it. And I cried through my entire therapy session this afternoon. The fact that I’m actually opening up enough for that to happen is incredible to me. That wall of don’t let anyone see you fall apart, I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine is slowly coming down. And I honestly wasn’t trying to keep the tears in; most times they just didn’t happen. But it has been happening. In front of friends, my therapist, other members of my therapy group. It really does feel as if my defenses are crumbling. And as terrifying as that is, I also recognize how incredible it is. I think it means I’m finally ready to work on my past and how it impacts my present.

In the sob session, my therapist pointed out how much power I give my parents, even though they’re no longer here. And it’s true. I was raised to take care of them, to save them, to make sure they were okay. It’s hard to not feel that way still.

I’m…better. The crying helped a lot and my psychiatrist changed some doses when I saw him today so we’ll see how that goes.

Thanks for listening, you guys.

Crumble

I was trying to figure out why I feel like such a mess. Why I need to scream and lash out and cry and scream some more. And I just realized, as I stood in a burning hot shower, my forehead pressed against the wall, trying to piece together actions and emotions and causation…my mom. I’d made the decision to write about my mom. It’s harder than expected. Harder than my writing about my dad, even, which I didn’t expect. Ive said before that I can’t hide when I write. That it all comes spilling out, eventually. But about her… The words just don’t come. Because when I try to write about my guilt and sorrow and love, the past bubbles to the surface. And I don’t know how to reconcile the two realities; how do I love someone so much and hate them so fucking much at the same time?
 

You know when you tell a robot two conflicting truths it self destructs? (If you lack real world experience with robots reacting to conflicting truths, just play along for a minute.) It’s like my brain can’t handle the paradox of who she was vs who she was before that. So I’m imploding because I cant find the words or even the emotions to release what’s pent up inside. How do I forgive the years of abuse and rage and misery she heaped on me? But, then, how do I hate the woman who took care of me towards the end? 

To have her show me kindness and love for years afterward…it almost makes it worse. Because she was capable of treating so much me better than she did. And then I hate myself for not being able to wholly forgive her when I know how severe her mental illness was. When I know how much she suffered. When I know how much pain she was in. Why can’t that be penance enough?

This is only going to get worse. And I’m not strong enough for this. I’m not strong enough for this to get harder and harder. But I don’t know that I have a choice anymore. These aren’t scars on my psyche…these are wounds. Scars are healed over and can be forgotten or ignored. But the wounds - the open wounds dripping poison into my bloodstream - they can’t be. Well, they can be because they have been. But maybe they can be cleaned out and bandaged up. Maybe they can knit themselves closed and become nothing more than another pale white line I can run my fingers over while remembering how much stronger I’ve become.

I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to organize my writing because it is not linear. I generally have a handful of entries I want to write about that I jump back and forth between. But since I currently have so much I want to write, I’ve been struggling to find a way to keep things visible and easy to flip between. So I asked for suggestions and everyone recommended Scrivener. I downloaded the trial a few days ago and am in crazy love with it! I haven’t even explored 98% of it and it’s already helping me write more and feel more organized. Throwing it out there in case any of you writerly types could use some assistance!

A couple of weeks ago my hands started hurting. No. Scratch that. “Hurting” doesn’t even begin to describe it. I have never felt pain like this. This was fire and needles. The pain was so bad that I couldn’t do anything other than squeeze them together and scream into my pillow. I started doing carpal tunnel/peripheral neuropathy exercises which helped at times. I went to see my pain specialist and he increased my nerve blocker by a lot. Then he had them do a nerve test on my hands. It was such a cool thing! She put electrodes on my head and said, “You have such good brain waves!” Which was a damn awesome compliment! Anyway, so yeah, electrodes on my head and hands, sending pulses into my nerves, causing my hands to twitch. Once the neurologist looks at it, I should be getting a call.

I’m very pleased to say that a combination of the nerve blockers and doing the hand exercises numerous times a day have helped immensely. My hands still flair up repeatedly through the day and night but it’s actually a manageable amount of pain. These are the exercise videos I like most.



I really like her and I have a lot of her videos saved:


I also have a bunch of his saved in my agony playlist:


I’m so goddamn happy the pain can be controlled.

On Facebook they have this thing called Bitstrip and you make an avatar of yourself and place it in scenes with or without other avatars. Dude. How accurate is this?

For some reason I can’t pinpoint, after two years of drought, my sex life has exploded. I’ve somehow acquired several lovahs, all of whom are very focused on my pleasure and on getting me off. I’m sure it’ll taper off or stop all together at some point but I’m trying to just focus on it being currently awesome. One is a neighbor in the trailer park who, to my utmost surprise, is the best lover I’ve ever, ever, ever had. Holy shit. He fucking worships my body and fucks and eats me out for hours. It’s madness! We’re going to be attempting a two times a week arrangement.

Oh, ha, some kid on fetlife sent me a message wanting to fuck, saying he’d always wanted to be with “an older woman.” I’m “an older woman.” I have crossed a line and there’s no going back! Nothing ever came of it but there’s a tiny part of me that wept a little at my new title.

Well, I’m sick and cranky and phlegmy so I bid you adieu for now.