struggle

i know i haven't been posting much lately. i have a LIST of things to write about but i've been half lazy and half struggling with how much to write.

there's a BIG topic i want to talk about but i keep battling with how much is too much to throw out there- coming from me i'm sure that's a little strange to hear. it's more along an "airing dirty laundry" line than an embarrassing TMI line. half of me believes that there's healing in getting my side of the story out, and half of me doesn't want my hardest issue out on the web for anyone to run across.

i keep trying to think of a tactful way to cover the issue but the truth can't be half assed or sugar coated so i think i just need to moxy up and throw it out.

in the mean time there's a few random things to throw out there. i'll start kicking my own ass and making myself sit down to write more regularly- there's nothing on the DIY network that won't be aired again later (yes, i'm currently addicted to home improvement shows).

what say you? do you think there's anything that's too personal to share? i've always believed that if it can help one person then there's not...but on this one i'm really questioning that.

do i stick to my guns? share my story no matter how potentially uncomfortable it may make me? edit it? i'm lost on this one...

16 again?

if you had the chance to be 16 again knowing what you know now, would you? it’s a question that’s been around forever. i’ve always said there’s no way in hell i would ever go back again, even knowing what i know now. i HATED my teen years, there was nothing good about high school or any of the things i went through back then.

who would want to go back to 16? even with adult knowledge and confidence? no thanks- i’m good.

well. things change.

last night i was 16 again. knowing what i know now. with confidence. i didn’t think of it that way at the time, but it really was just like being 16 again. and it was really great.

last night i had a chance to have a “re-do” with my first ever sexual partner. back in the day it wasn’t so great and actually left me with several of the insecurities that i’ve battled for years. long story short, he was my first lover and i didn’t have my first orgasm until i got married which was my 10th lover. so, you can tell i didn’t know my body at all back then or how to ask for what i wanted and he wasn’t exactly prepared to put in the time and effort to figure it out back then.

a LOT of things have changed since then. there was a spawn, marriages, marriages ending (mine divorce, his death). there’s personal growth and experiences and self discovery. there have been some EPIC fights, years of hating each other, years of tolerating each other, and here we are 14 years later and i would honestly count him among one of my closest friends. we’ve both been through so much and it’s been interesting to come together and help each other through those things and grow together and help raise our son together.

he came to town a few weeks ago and stayed a few days and we vaguely kicked around the idea of being together again but decided against it. last night he came back through town again and we both decided this time to see what happened.

like i said before, i wasn’t thinking of it at the time as going back to being 16. we did talk about how it had been 14 years since we had been down this road and both wondered how different things would be. details spared: MUCH different (and yes, worth it).

this morning i did get to thinking about it as going back and getting a do-over. i thought about how strong and confident i was last night and how it made everything so different. i thought about all the hang up’s i’ve been carrying with me for the last 14 years and how they really were just two inexperienced kids who really had no clue. it’s been odd today. it’s more thought than i expected. emotionally i’m good. mentally it’s been a trip. and in a GOOD way. i feel empowered. i feel sexy and sensual and confident as a woman. i feel like i don’t have to be so self conscious in bed anymore. all the things that were seared in my mind from those first few experiences don’t have to stick there any more. i can very confidently let them go.

so. for how much i argued against ever going back to 16, as much as i swore that i would never want to do that or experience that again, it was a very good thing. i’m really glad i did.

what would you do? would you go back to 16? i know not everyone would have the same good experience, but would the chance be worth it?

the story of asshats and fish...

so. here it is, 2 am, my sleep schedule is completely FUCKED at this point (since when does a 1 hour nap at 2 in the afternoon keep you up all night?). it sounds like the perfect time to catch you up on a few of the promises i’ve made but haven’t kept...what better place to start than dating horror stories?

all for you darlings. ALL FOR YOU.

harland williams:

i started this story the night it happened, FIFTY SIX DAYS AGO. jaysus, how have you guys not beaten me for my slacking on writing?

harland williams- it wasn’t actually HIM, but i swear it could have been his identical twin. i was at my fav bar for my usual wednesday night band support and even though the WHOLE BAR was empty, this jackass had to sit next to me and start being the typical out of town business man looking to get laid. his friend was kinda cute/nice but this guy...holy hell.

so he’s hitting on me, doing something that we’ll call flirting, trying to buy me drinks (no go- i’m odd like that- i’ll buy my own, thank you very much). this guy is laying it on, i’m being a bitch, he’s not getting the picture. at one point he flat out said: “i’m horny. i could either go to the strip club and back to my motel room and jack off, or you could save me the time and money and just go back with me now.” gee. how can a girl resist such an offer? he’s laying it on, trying to tell jokes, trying to impress me, telling me about his big shot job (hey BANK OF AMERICA...your asshole employees are GREAT company representatives in public...AWESOME). he is just not taking a hint. i’m flat out making fun of him, not holding back on the bitchy comments, making fun of his company and he finally gets pissed off and says “FINE. I FUCKING GIVE UP.” and then exits stage left to the bathroom. i let out a sigh of relief, the adorable bartender looks over and asks if i shot him down to which i said “he finally gave up.” jackass comes back from the bathroom, sits down, and STARTS ALL OVER AGAIN. i literally looked straight at him and said: “since when does giving up mean doubling your efforts?” the jack ass STILL kept trying.

when you make the bartender laugh it’s a good night. he laughed a LOT that night. i decided that since the jackass wasn’t giving up i was going to be a true bitch and have a little fun with it. harland williams ended up staying til closing, racking up a good tab, and tipping well in effort to try to impress me. when he FINALLY left (alone), the bartender asked why i convinced the jackass to stick around instead of letting him heading off to a club or back to his motel. my answer: “well, he can go to a club and spend his money there or stay here, run up a tab, leave a good sized tip, and provide us entertainment. this way the bar got more money, you got a good tip, and i got to make fun of someone all night. win-win-win.”  i take care of my bartender.  he puts up with my obnoxious self inappropriately hitting on him every wednesday. getting him good tips is the least i can do.

i WILL admit to feeling guilty the next day about being such a bitch. i ended up emailing harland williams (at his work email since the asshole gave me his card) to apologize. i don’t do bitch well.

the silent guy:

this, as the best are, is a plenty of fish story. this guy seemed normal at first. we emailed for a while, he seemed smart, had some good jokes, somewhat decent conversation. i will admit that he seemed like he might actually have the potential of a non-train wreck date. i should know better. he wants to get together for lunch but doesn’t let me know until 2 pm. i suggest drinks and we agree to meet for cheesecake/drinks downtown that night at 9. i get there right at 9 and i sit at a table alone and wait. and wait. and wait. and since i’m waiting, i go ahead and order a drink. if nothing else i’m totes comfortable sitting at a table out alone any day of the week, so it doesn’t bother me too much that it’s looking like a no show.

oh, how i wish that’s how the story ended. the guy shows up TWENTY MINUTES LATE. awesome start. he introduces himself then he sits down on the bench NEXT TO ME. umm...how the hell are we supposed to talk? not only that, he shows up and crappy jeans, a faded out untucked button up shirt, SLOUCHES on the bench next to me and looks like he hasn’t combed his hair in a few days. awesome first impression. so he’s just sitting there. and sitting there. the waiter comes over and asks if he’d like a drink and he just sticks with water. what’s the point of meeting for drinks if you don’t drink? we could have met for coffee or ice cream or a million other things. so we sit there awkwardly.

i try to ask a few questions, start a conversation which is DAMN hard when the person is sitting next to you. all i get back are 1-2 word answers and nothing else. spiffy. in the middle of it my son calls to check in on me and a darling friend calls to see if i need rescued. i’m trying to stick it out. FULL EFFORT. it’s just awkward and quiet and strange. fuck it. i finish my drink and tell him it’s time for me to jet. i go up to pay the bill and the waiter looks at me a little strange, asks how it went and all i can say is “get me the hell out of here.” the waiter cracked up and handed me my tab. kinda pointless at that stage of the game, but i went out the BACK door and hauled ass out of there. the guy actually emailed me the next day to argue something i had tried to start a conversation about (yes, there really is an organization called the IAVA- iraq and afghanistan veterans of america. look it up. support them.) nothing about how it went, no awkward attempt to make it better, nothing. just an argument. winner.

fister guy:

the answer is in the name. do i even need to tell this one? FINE. ok. another plenty of fish guy- go figure. this guy is a little off from the start. high strung, PTSD from one too many trips to the sandbox. he likes telling me about how he loves to be violent, play rugby, hit people...AWESOME. sign me the eff up. i’m trying to carefully let this one go. i try ignoring emails, phone calls, i remove him from chat (and block him). i was able to put him off for a while, but he was damn persistent. so. one day we’re talking on the phone...keep in mind i haven’t actually MET this guy in person yet. just chatted. we’re talking along, his questions are starting to get a little uncomfortable.

(yes, it was as awkward as me putting a kitty picture in my blog)

*NOTE: while i may be a trashy little trollop in life i TRY to appear a little more mellow and reserved when first meeting/talking to potential dates. i try like hell to keep any sex talk out of it for as long as possible. i know...doesn’t seem like me but there it is.*

so. the guy is talking along, questions are getting a little risque, i’m trying my best to avoid or give half answers then the BIG question hits: what are you into sexually?

*sigh* great. excellent question to get from someone you haven’t even met yet. so i try to brush it off: “oh, you know, mostly typical stuff, nothing to out there.”

all’s well and good, right?

his response: “i like fisting and rough sex.”

ummm...

fisting?

is that really even a thing?

don’t bother checking youporn. it IS and you don’t want to see that.

who the hell drops FISTING? to someone you’ve never even met? isn’t that something that if you’re into it you date someone for a while, get to know them, sleep with them, one day, a few years into things, maybe suggest some new porn, wait for their reaction, see where it goes from there?

YOU DON’T JUST DROP FISTING ON SOMEONE. in any way shape or form.

confession: while i avoided this guy like the plague after that i DID agree to go out with him on bin laden day. i mean, he did several tours in OIF/OEF and deserved to celebrate, you know? do what i can to support the troops. and NO, i didn’t see if he was serious about being into that.

and the saddest story for last, the one where i find out i have ZERO gaydar. did your heart just break a little too? so depressing.

i was invited to a masquerade ball for autism a while ago. an actual BALL. big gowns, masques, ALL OF IT. so i decide to go, get the dress, do the hair, nails, ALL OF IT. i hand made the masques even (they were AWESOME if i do say so myself- take a look:)

i ask an adorable young guy to be my escort for the evening, make a masque for him, rent the tux, the whole shebang. we looked ADORABLE together. so much fun. at the last minute my darling gay friends decided to attend the ball as well. this is VERY important. at the end of the evening my date isn’t feeling well and decides to leave. i’m a touch disappointed because he is delicious (although he was NINE when i was giving birth. creepy cougar much?). he leaves and my darling gays decide to let me in on something: he’s playing for THEIR team. if it had been any other friends i would have called bullshit, but i have a feeling their gaydar is pretty well tuned. insult to injury? another friend who was there came over to chat a bit and she ALSO had the gardar going off full force about my date. me? i had NOTHING. i turns out i have NO, ZERO, NONE, NOTHING when it comes to gaydars. i feel defective. like i should be on the reject clearance rack at the back of the idaho walmart. so depressing. i would like to point out that there is not actual evidence of my date being gay, but how can you question SEVERAL people with proper working gardars? *sigh*

so. that’s all of them lately. there was one guy at the bar that did a drive by “i just wanted to let you know you’re nine different kinds of fine.” but not much more than that. things are depressingly quiet on the dating front.

i still can’t believe i slacked for FIFTY SIX DAYS. i really AM a professional slacker. damn.

the good, the bad, the excited

well, there are MANY updates waiting to happen- don’t worry, i’ve kept a list of all the goings on so you won’t miss out on all the shenanigans.

BUT: the biggest update:

I BOUGHT A FUCKING HOUSE!

that’s right- me, the gypsy, the girl who has moved 11 times in 11 years (soon that will be 12 for 12). the girl who swore buying a home was not in any plan in any future in any way.

A HOUSE. a real house. a 1901, covered front porch, back deck, 4 bedroom, 2 bathroom, dining room with a small bay, purple kitchen HOUSE.

i’m still a fuck-ton scared of it. i mean- this means if the water heater shits out _I_ have to replace it. if there’s a leak in the roof _I_ have to repair it. when the lawn needs mowed...well, you can bet your fucking panties i’m calling someone else to do that last one. but it’s MINE. i can knock out walls or rearrange the kitchen (both of which i’m planning). i can PAINT it, rip up carpet, dance nekkid, ANYTHING I FUCKING WANT TO.

but. you know me. for every good there has to be a wrench in the works...here it is:

i called my brother the other day to wish him a happy birthday and he mentioned that one of his friends had let him know i bought a house. why hadn’t i let him know myself? well, because i knew something like this would happen. i’m chatting along, telling him a little about the house, how i’m nervous to buy it, how it’s a TON of money to spend all at once, and he drops this bomb:

“well, it’s not like it’s your money anyway.”

yes, asshole. i realize it’s not _my_ money. i realize i did not earn this money, this is not a nest egg that i saved up for years to make a purchase like this. i realize that this is my fucking lottery ticket. LUCKY FUCKING ME. you fucking asshole. i’m damn well aware of where this money came from. and, more than anything, that makes me extra nervous to spend it because i means that much more to me. i’m that much more on alert about buying a house my dad would be proud of. he always said he wished he could buy me a house and take care of me, and now he’s doing it. i want to make sure to pick out the best house i fucking can and make the best use of the money he left me. it’s been a HUGE pressure to me to not let my dad down. i realize that this is death money. i realize that several people died to provide me this opportunity. i’m more than well aware of that fact EVERY. FUCKING. DAY.

i remember more than once when my dad helped me move he would just shake his head and look around and be SO UPSET looking at the places i was going to call home. more than once he chewed my ass for picking a place he thought wasn’t up to his standard. he was always worried about me having a nice roof over my head. this is his way of taking care of me. it’s a shitty fucked up way, but it’s happening. and i want to make damn sure that it’s one he would approve of. in my head i know he’s still skeptical. he’s a dad. i know he would be looking around, poking at things, worried about something or other falling apart on me. but i also know that he would be so proud that i’m giving my boys a place of their own. i know that after the last two moves he learned to trust me that i can take ANY place and make it a good home for my spawns.

“it’s not like it’s your money.”

FUCK YOU. fuck you for shitting on such a big event for me. fuck you for not realizing how much time and thought and emotion i’ve put into this. i know it’s not what he wanted me to do with the money so therefore it must be the wrong choice. i know i was supposed to not quit my job, invest in college for the kids, make smart decisions.

WELL GUESS WHAT: THESE ARE FUCKING SMART DECISIONS. and they’re the RIGHT decisions for me. NOTHING can replace time with my kids. nothing can replace having a whole summer with them. NOTHING can replace giving them their own spaces to OWN.  they won’t have to move again. they won’t have to share a room. they can decorate, paint, make it THEIRS. i never had that when i was a kid. sure, my mom bought a house, but i wasn’t allowed to decorate it or put up things i wanted or make it my own space- i want that for my kids.  i want the quintessential hollywood kids room with wacky paint and posters all over the wall and a mess that keeps you from seeing the floor. i want them to have ownership and security.

and i ran out of steam about half way through that.

brass tacks: it’s the RIGHT FUCKING DECISION FOR ME.  IT’S A GOOD DECISION FOR MY KIDS.  i am damn well aware of where the fucking money came from.  i’m well fucking aware of how it isn’t really mine, and i’m making the smartest use of it that i can. i KNOW, hands down, that my dad would be proud of me for doing this.

back to the excitement:

I BOUGHT A HOUSE! i’m writing the check out for it today and i will OWN it, free and clear! i’m so excited

rant

dear plenty of fish guy:

can i just say how delighted i am to find out that your sleazy “not into casual sex” asshole self found me “sexy hot”?

why OF COURSE i’d love to stop by your office this afternoon and play dirty secretary with you in your obviously bustling successful office that allows their partners/managers to be online in the middle of the day chatting in completely sexually demoralizing ways with complete strangers.

i of course find it endlessly flattering that based on five pictures of me all from the shoulders up, you find me (and my deliciously sexy legs) to be such a complete and total turn on.

how can a girl resist such a temping offer as to be ravaged in a strange unknown warehouse by a complete stranger who has represented himself to be such an upstanding citizen? how did you know that was my secret fantasy for the day?

good luck finding someone else to entertain you during your oh-so-busy work day.

i hope you get locked in the supply closet and rot there.

not your arm candy OR dirty secretary,

(if i had that job, i'd quit)

me

houston, we have a problem

and now, back to your regularly scheduled crazy:

we have a problem.

ps: this blog is about sex, so if you don’t want to know things about me, you’ve been warned.

i’m not one to keep quiet about people’s freak flag. i get it, we all have one, i’m not judging (yes i am) but that doesn’t mean that i’m not going to take every opportunity i have to let EVERYONE know about the ones i run across.

i call it a public service announcement. where would we all be if i kept quiet? you’d be in for some unfortunate surprises in the bedroom is where.

tee shirts.

i love them. they’re an EXCELLENT invention. ring neck, v-neck, long sleeve, short sleeved, I LOVE TEE SHIRTS.

except during sex.

now i get it. some people are uncomfortable with their body. TRUST. my birthday suit is NOT in tip top condition. i understand stretch marks, wrinkles, unfortunate lumps when you twist and turn. hell, some of us have unfortunate lumps when we’re laying completely flat and still. i get that not everyone is comfortable baring all.

BUT.

this doesn’t make keeping your tee shirt on ok. in any way. even if it has some witty saying for me to read during said sex. and it SHOULD take longer for said sex than it takes for me to read any witty saying. also: although there are some things i enjoy reading over and over tee shirts are not one of them.

if i have to strip, well, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. TAKE IT OFF.

ALSO: if you’re oh, say...30 and maybe, perhaps...oh...a hockey player, in incredible, delicious, hard body shape (pause for drool) WHY ARE YOU KEEPING YOUR SHIRT ON?

there’s one simple reason: it makes the exit that much faster.

oh, i wish i was kidding.

i don’t care how good the sex is. i don’t care if you last two hours (not kidding on that one, there’s your TMI for the day). i don’t care how good all the kissing and (pause again for drool) all of it is. if you keep your tee shirt on the whole time and you can be out my front door less than 5 minutes after the grand finale- THAT IS NOT OK.

i will offer one allowance: SOCKS. men, listen up: YOUR FEET ARE FUCKING NASTY. i know some of you aren’t complete assholes- some of you actually know what trimming your nails means. some of you even willingly get pedicures. for that, I THANK YOU. you are allowed to take your socks off and have your bare toes in the same zip code as me. the rest of you: YOUR NASTY JUNGLE FEET SHOULD BE KEPT UNDER WRAPS AT ALL TIMES. i don’t want your nasty nails scraping my legs. i’ve had some expensive ink work done and i dont’ want to get gangrene from a nasty scratch and have to have my leg cut off. KEEP YOUR SOCKS ON. ALL THE TIME. fuck, i’ll even let you break the socks with sandals rule for that one.

everything else goes though. EVEN THE TEE SHIRT.

family legacy

my grandmother is 81 years old. it’s not the longest run in history, but it’s a damn good one. it’s interesting to think that she was born in 1929. that was the year of the wall street crash, the beginning of the great depression, the st valentines day massacre, the opening of the san fransisco bay bridge. in the same year martin luther king jr was born as well as audrey hepburn and anne frank. (read more here: 1929)

i found out last wednesday night that my grandmother has cancer. she will not be a cancer survivor. this will be the final chapter for her. by the time they found the cancer it was beyond any treatment options. the best they can do now is give her pain meds (which she doesn’t like to take because they make her too groggy) and wait for the end.

i’m angry at the universe about this. i get that 81 is a good run, but this is NOT a fair way for this amazing woman to go. there is NOTHING fair about this. here’s why:

my grandma is where i get my rebellious streak. there’s pictures of her in college holding hands with boys. i know- doesn’t sound so scandalous until you realize she went to a college with separate mens and womens dorms. not very unheard of at the time. but then you look in the background of the pictures and you see signs about men and women not being allowed to fraternize together. pictures of her holding hands with a boy with a sign about no fraternizing in the background. there’s also a picture of her and several girlfriends standing on a wall directly over a sign that says “no sitting or standing on this wall.” she had a strong wild streak to her. granted, i’m basing this off two pictures, but they do say a pictures worth a thousand words. she was also very in love with her first husband and there may or may not have been less than 9 months between their marriage and the birth of their first son. unfortunately at that time it was not at all something that people could deal with like they pretended to do when it happened to me (minus the marriage part). it caused a rift in her family and she was (i believe) disowned due to it. if not actually disowned it caused a large rift that caused great pains later on.

my mum was born in 1955 when my grandmother was 25 or 26 (forgive me, i don’t know her exact birthday- we’ll stick with 26). a few months before my mum was born my grandmother’s husband was killed in a plane accident. i can’t even imagine. 26, baby on the way, suddenly alone. in 1955. additionally, my mum has 3 older brothers. at 26 my grandmother was a sudden single parent of 3 small boys and a baby on the way. can you even imagine? i made the choice to become a single parent at 23 leaving my marriage. granted, not a choice i really wanted to make at the time, but still it wasn’t like having my whole life ripped from me. it was damn hard with two little guys. i can’t even begin to imagine three small boys and a baby on the way. she had to scrape together a few thousand dollars to have his body railed (yes, by train) back to his family AND pay for burial costs. you’d think at a time like this her family would step in and help. remember that whole great pains? they wouldn’t help. his family stepped in to help, but still. she was on her own. talk about a hard knock. she did it though.

in 1958 she married again and had two more kids. six total. that alone deserves sainthood.

now. our family has pretty tight lips when it comes to history but over the years i’ve heard a few things consistently enough to know that there’s a strong truth to them. still, please understand that this is a generation removed and a that no one is willing to talk about what went on.

my grandmother’s second husband is a pretty horrible person in my opinion. he is the type of person that never had qualms about using brute force to get his way. my mum talked only a few times about growing up with him and it was never good. one thing she remembered was my grandmother in the bathroom giving birth while he was in the kitchen demanding dinner. she talks about how when they got in trouble as kids (which was a continual thing due to the type of person he was) he would grab whatever was handy to beat them- a hairbrush, a belt, a metal rod. my grandmother and the kids went through this- no one escaped. in addition to that demeanor, he was also very politically defiant. he has strong ties to branches of the aryan nations and different supremacy groups. it was not 6 degrees of separation to our family when things like ruby ridge happened. it was maybe 1 or 2. hell, the wingnut even started his own “church” and considers himself a minister. hand in hand with all that goes a distrust of modern medicine, resistance to “government tracking” (drivers licenses and birth certificates), stockpiling weapons and food for the end of the world- the batshit crazy just goes on and on. did you know that if you eat mushrooms and ham you’ll catch aids? and that if you snort enough cyan pepper you can cure cancer? (one snort and i would NEVER complain about another medical problem as long as i lived. kind of like the egyptian answer to headaches). he is, to the core, in every way possible, a terrible person. even now, as my grandma is immobilized by cancer he’s demanding that she just needs to get up and walk more and she’ll be better. he gets angry with her for struggling through the pain and being confused or groggy. he talked yesterday about the “good old days” and how when they would argue she would simply say “you’re the head of the household” and that would be the end of the discussion. does anyone else catch the undertone to a discussion like that?

my mum did her best to keep my brother and i away from that whole mess growing up, one thing i am extremely grateful to her for. we rarely visited my grandmothers ranch and we NEVER spent time alone there.

53 years. my grandmother has endured 53 years of abuse after losing the love of her life, having her family shun her and being left on her own in 1955 with three kids and one on the way. she stuck with it because it’s what her generation does. you stay. there is no other option.

and she still maintained the beautiful person that she is. hidden in there peeking out when the coast is clear is that rebel. the amazing woman that gave me my love of vintage books. the first person in our family to go to college. the young lady in the picture standing on the forbidden wall. the woman that i look up to for what she went through and continues to go through. she raised six kids. SIX. she ran the ranch for over 20 years with “small” gardens that would put most gardens to shame (ACRES of gardens). she provided food for countless families that passed through and stayed on the land at different times. she made (and hand tied) quilts for all 9 of us grandkids. every year since my kids started school she helped make sure all their supplies were provided. visiting her over the last week i’ve still seen an amazing sense of humor, beautiful intelligence, unimaginable strength and patience. it breaks my heart to think of how much i missed out on growing up because of what she was stuck enduring.

and i’m angry at the universe because she never got a break. a few years ago her husband was very sick and it didn’t look like he was going to last very long. i was so excited for her thinking that finally she would be away from his tyranny. she would be able to get a nice little place in town and live a few years of her life in peace. a few years away from the constant abuse. a few years with her kids who had all distanced themselves as adults. a few years with grandkids, great grandkids that had been kept at a distance. instead he’s pulled through and is in fine health (aside from dementia) and she’s in the worst possible pain, completely overtaken with cancer and no chance of pulling through. no chance of peace. no chance to have the life she deserved. no chance to be the beautiful independent, free spirited woman she once was. i’m so angry. i’m so filled with hate and rage to see the scales once again not balance out. i don’t understand how the universe works. i don’t understand why things like this happen.

i’m also terrified.

my grandmother has lived with 53 years of abuse. my mother grew up in that household. i have to acknowledge that experience and how it shaped her adult life and approach to relationships. i have no question that her marriage to my dad was unhealthy. i love my father with everything i am, but i am not blind to his faults. i know that he had affairs. i know that he was young and didn’t treat my mother the best he could have. i know they were both young and both came from hard upbringings and didn’t have the healthiest examples of how to be a young married couple. i honestly believe that my mother would have stuck with him forever if he hadn’t come home and announced he was in marriage counseling. with the other woman. if he hadn’t left, my mother never would have. she would have stuck in an unhealthy relationship because it’s what you do. how do i know this? because she’s doing it now. she’s married again to a horrible man. a man that has lied to her, mistreated her, hidden things from her, abused her kids. she is in an abusive relationship now and she is sticking with it because that’s what you do. my grandmother married a second time because she needed help raising four young children. my mother married a second time because she needed help raising two young children. both stuck out abusive marriages because it’s what you do.

i’m TERRIFIED. i’m TERRIFIED to be a third generation of this. and i KNOW i’ve already broken the mold. i was in an abusive marriage and I GOT OUT. but the fact remains that i was in an abusive marriage. i followed their steps. i did it. i married an abuser. a third generation. i did get out, but i’m TERRIFIED that i don’t know any better. i don’t know what a healthy relationship is. i don’t know how people are supposed to work together. i don’t know what the good things are to look for and it’s damn hard shopping when you’re only going off the avoid list.

on the other end i’m terrified of avoiding relationships and not trying to find someone to try to give my kids a healthy example to look up to. no example is just as damaging as a bad example. they need something good and healthy and strong to learn from and aspire to. but i don’t know how to give that to them. i only know that i want to protect them from an unhealthy one. i don’t want to fuck up a fourth generation. i don’t want my kids to look back 15 years from now and be in the same boat facing the same fears and the same bad experiences. how do you fix things like this? how do you unlearn what you grew up with? how do you change the family legacy? i don’t want to be the third generation single mother who marries for help and stays no matter what.

and so what do you do? you’re terrified to get stuck in a bad one and terrified to not have one at all. i want to break the cycle. i want to be the generation that does it right. i want to be the generation that is healthy and happy and successful in a partnership. i just have no fucking clue where to start.