In Our Home

You know when you see a picture of someone you used to know and you can still smell them? And feel their skin?

I remember the first time we kissed. A connection so magnetic, I thought, but it wasn’t for the right reasons. I was just a placeholder, a solution for loneliness. I wasn’t chosen.

I’ve always gone back to the places we once were. Maybe it’s to still feel them there like Zolita says in “Oblivion.” Or to, each time, make the pain subside, to detach.

I look at former lovers’ pictures to feel the pain, an exposure therapy.

I wish I could type music for you, but I can’t. I remember sitting in the wooden booth at Outback when that song came on. I’ll give you a hint: clocks.

The irony. The irony of the ticking time bomb of the hearts.

When in that moment, curled up in a ball, surrounded by that neon yellow blanket in your old closet, you don’t think that it’ll get any better and that it’ll never end.

In that moment, when you hand your best friend your life because you’re just not in a good place.

In that moment, when you’re lying underneath your desk crying having an anxiety attack and the only one who can really help is them. And you call them. And they talk to you. And they don’t get torn up.

When they “don’t have a choice” but to continue on with normal life.

I felt like I lost myself and she gained insight on my expense tab.

I felt like I needed to drop off the face of the earth and not allow her access to me. It was like I was dead. And she didn’t seem to care.

I was on my hands and knees grabbing the bottom of her legs begging her not to make this mistake, I thought. If only I knew.

I would’ve done things a lot differently. When she told me, “I want you, but I want someone else more,” I should’ve said, “Okay,” and that’s it.

The agony was real.

The anguish was real.

But it was a blessing in disguise for many reasons than just one.

Preparation. A simmer.

No one should ever have to be put through that. But I am thankful she did put me through it.

One of my saving graces has been my puppy, Cooper. I rescued him shortly after everything happened and he has been the best thing that could’ve ever happened to me at the perfect time. He needed me, and I needed him. I saved him, and he saved me.

God knew what He was doing.

My house did not feel like home for a few weeks after everything. I had just made the transition of making our house my home.

Load, unload. Load, unload. Pack, unpack. There’s no telling how many miles I, and we, drove. For nothing.

The teal Pioneer Woman knife set with a few missing was put into the kitchen Goodwill pile. Along with the brand new Pioneer Woman teal canister set because of the memories attached unlike the lids.

I have triggers from my time back then all the time.

But at least it’s not from the teal knife set.

As my loving partner now tells me, “Do not let those things have power over you.”

At a local grille, I always ordered cheesesticks, grilled chicken with a baked potato, butter sour, and a salad with honey mustard. And we can’t forget the chocolate sundae. And the Diet Coke. She always shared the cheesesticks with me. I used to sit in their parking lot and cry. I couldn’t go eat there yet alone go to that city. I had to disassociate from those memories. I had to feel the pain to let it go so I could get those cheesesticks. And the sundae.

This time, the first time I went after the split, my best friend Rick shared the cheesesticks with me. And I was fine.

At the end of the day, she hurt three women: me, herself, and the one she chose. And I hope it was worth it.

We all have choices.

She once told me, “The only thing that would make me walk away from you is if you cheated on me. And if you do, I hope it would be worth it.”

So, was all that worth it?

In turn, of the month or so that I lived in our home before I was basically kicked out on a Sunday night at 10:30 p.m., I learned my favorite dishwashing detergent.

I now know how to fix poppyseed chicken, thanks Southern Living. After the split, she casually asked me for the recipe like a week or so after. I just now am able to cook it again. And it’s so good.

I’ve learned that I prefer liquid dishwashing detergent versus the pods and that the Downy beads are worth it.

I learned I need a removable shower head. And that fans are good for drying your wet body.

I fell for a new body exfoliant, a new face wash that I believe fixes all of my skin problems but it doesn’t, and discovered sugar scrub. I now have 7-8 different ones. And organizers I found on the TikTok.

I’ve learned to dry my dishes on a drying rack and not wait 5 days for them to dry in the dishwashing machine.

I’ve learned I can be okay with just sitting at home watching t.v. with the animals.

I’ve learned the importance of making promises and keeping your word.

I will never again allow someone to blame the ending of a relationship on my anxiety and insecurities and trauma when they had a sneaky link in the wings that they had never even met.

Curiosity kills the cat…every time.

I wonder if the grass is greener down there. I wonder if the carpet matches the drapes, if the euphoria matched the mystery.

Welcome to our home, where happiness seemed to grow and hearts appeared to come together. Where things were given and discussed, but like bubblegum, it lost its taste.

Welcome to our home, where the compost pile lived in the backyard.

One time, one of my best friends told them not to hurt me because I’m a good person and I’ve been through enough. And they sincerely promised they wouldn’t. I guess they didn’t remember.

I was just a placeholder; I didn’t mean much to them. If I did, they wouldn’t have made that promise. And they sure as hell wouldn’t have broken it. But most importantly, they wouldn’t give a best friend their word. I can’t describe to you what that all felt like.

The following are some very heartfelt statements from this person:

“It hurts to look at you because I hurt a good person.”

“Our relationship makes me want to drink and makes me have suicidal thoughts.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” (in regards to something harmful towards myself in a manic episode).

“I’m comfortable discussing everything except romantic about Matt,” (my late husband).

“You shouldn’t let those days consume you,” in reference to Matt’s anniversary dates).

“Would you still choose me if we were both standing in front of you?”(referring to my late husband).

I actually told her I loved her more than Matt because I was gaslighted and was trying to reassure her. Damn.

A true sentiment I was trying to show her. Matt and I said, “forever and always, always and forever.” I told her that trying to explain to her my feelings for her, it upset her. She didn’t want it connected to Matt.

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” (referring to the woman she wanted more than me).

“You can go ahead and use me as the next villain you talk about in your future relationships.” If the shoe fits, baby. Actually, forgiveness fits better.

Me: “You’re gonna regret this,” (choosing her).

Her: “I know. But I’ve got to see what happens.”

A few weeks after the breakup, she showed up at my door at 10:30 at night drunk wondering if my ex was at my house with the promise ring she ordered for me in her hand and proceeded to tell me she 1000% chose Mrs. Grass is Greener on the Other Side. Fun times. I had a nice little panic attack after she left.

It has taken me a long time to get here. Months. And I imagine a lot of you have been awaiting my return.

I was gaslighted. I was gaslighted into believing I lied to my therapist about my medication needs. I was gaslighted into thinking my anxiety was one of the main causes of the death of this relationship. I was gaslighted about the decisions we made together.

I truly don’t think she meant to abuse me, but she did. And she left a scar. And trauma. The pain and the anguish deserve to be talked about. I deserve to have my voice back. I took my own voice away when I gave her my power, when I allowed the abuse.

It’s funny when you have the best intentions, you always get f*cked over.

It has taken me a long time to get here and I am so glad and thankful and downright overjoyed that I am here and I can tell you guys about this. Never again will it happen. Will I lose myself. Or feel the way I felt.

Thank you for allowing me to open up and share this with you. It means more than words can say. I gave her complete power over my life and I am still upset with myself for that. But I have to forgive myself and her. She did not know what she was doing. I have written before, not sure when, but broken people tend to go with the Uno wild cards instead of the firm and steady regular Uno cards.

Sometimes I get mad and I do wish for her to feel guilty. And to feel remorseful. But, really, I don’t want that for her. Or myself. Because I did love her. And I do love myself. At the end of the day, I thought she was my wife. She was my whole life.

The greatest gift one can give oneself is the ability to forgive. Why allow more power over yourself when you could breathe easy?

I was driving to see my absolutely amazing girlfriend a few weeks ago and I listened to a podcast that Fletcher was on. The podcast’s name is “Call Her Daddy.” The host said, “Why not live your best life?” and I love that so much.

Friends, why not live your best life?

Until next time,

A