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That Hard, Bizarre Thing Series

RelationshipThat Hard, Bizarre Thing Series

That Hard, Bizarre Thing #45 of 45: “Hard, Bizarre, and Brave”

by Angela

Our experience was, indeed, hard and bizarre. But it was also brave. 

It was brave to open our relationship. 

It was brave to run wildly into our greatest fears.

It was brave to tell my love she could love someone else.

It was brave for Girlfriend to open her heart when she so wanted to keep it shut, when so much was at stake. 

It was brave to see what we both were capable of, how we would function in a relationship without the promises of monogamy and commitment.

It was brave to get hurt, but stay. To not run when the pain came rolling in. 

It was brave to let our most insecure, most desperate sides run amok.

It was brave to forgive what seemed unforgivable, to hold fast when others said to let go. 

It was brave to believe the words of spirit, to trust the cards, to trust our intuition, to trust the messages meant something, and to follow them as closely as possible no matter what.

It was brave to offer the benefit of the doubt, to test the edges of truth.

It was brave to break up.

It was brave to stay together. 

It was brave to open ourselves up to Girl, to be as vulnerable as possible, to let her in all of the way. 

It was brave to let ourselves be rejected by Girl, and to let her reject us again. And again.

It was brave to test our limitations, to find the edges where boundaries should live.

It was brave to give ourselves the opportunity to choose one another.

It was brave to face the ugliest parts of ourselves and offer them love.

It was brave to let ourselves become who we have become.

So now, as I move forward, as I continue to heal and grow, my wish is to always be this brave. To always leap when the Universe calls me to leap, to step out and weather the storm with as much grace as possible, to let myself become new over and over and over again. To be brave enough to be everything. To be brave enough to let life touch me in every way possible. To be brave enough to love with no regrets. To be brave enough to truly live. 

THE END (of this series, yay!)

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RelationshipThat Hard, Bizarre Thing Series

That Hard, Bizarre Thing #44 of 45: “What Moving On Looks Like”

by Angela

Talking about what happened until 4am, becoming increasingly impassioned the later it gets, swearing we will not talk until 4am ever again, doing it again the next night.

Reading a shadow work book and allowing its exercises to rip us open. Lifting lids off our boiling pots of hideousness, following a map until finding the X over our biggest shame, holding projections to the light and finding there is nothing there but the center of each of us. 

Training Muay Thai at the park, getting pissed, me yelling, her telling me to not fucking yell, being so enraged that I throw my hands up and we walk in opposite directions. Seething alone on a hillside as the sun sets until the golf cart park people tell me the park is closed. The video of that training becoming our most popular reel, maybe it’s good to film while angry?

Looking at Girlfriend, feeling overwhelmed with love, then scared I will lose her someday, scared I am not good enough for her to stay.

Getting dressed up, going to a party at a poolside, being the only people on the dance floor for a whole hour, wondering if Girl will be there, being glad Girl is not there, being disappointed Girl is not there, dancing until our knees hurt and being drenched by sudden rain as we walk to our car.

Looking at Girlfriend, feeling overwhelmed with love, then feeling blessed to navigate this life journey with her, knowing I am more than worthy. And so is she.

Raging battering-ram egos trying to push each other off the Mario Kart Rainbow Road, but in real life.

Sulking in therapy, crying in therapy, getting into bitter fights before therapy three weeks in a row and showing up with puffy eyes and lots of complaints.

Two hundred kisses every day.

Me spitting out “You chose her over me! You chose her over me!” in every argument, Girlfriend telling me it is not fair to always do this, me feeling like it is the only fair thing in the whole entire world.

Asking Girlfriend if she can be “All in”, her saying she is “All in”, realizing I don’t know how to let her be “All in,” learning how. 

No longer going to places we know Girl is going to be.

Deciding anything Girl likes sucks, unfollowing everything on Instagram related to her, feeling immature, then re-following several pages because I actually do like some things Girl likes. 

Pulling in from the world, avoiding all people, because people cause problems.

Opening up to the world, because we are here to be human beings that connect with other human beings. 

Fighting the night before Pride, waking up after four hours of sleep, crying during the parade not because we are mad or sad, but because Pride is such a beautiful celebration. Getting dehydrated and sunburned, buying coconut water from the ABC store, riding on The Bus for one hour, being elated to be home, showering, taking the most glorious nap we will speak of for the rest of our lives. 

Meditation, breath work, hape, kambo, sound bowls, moon ceremonies, gratitude lists, manifestation rituals, burning toothpicks in a flame.

Girlfriend, who had moved out of the bedroom for logical reasons (like both of us being able to sleep) before we ever met Girl, asking if she could sleep in the bedroom with me for just one night. Then two nights. Then three nights. Then moving back in permanently. 

Finally being open-hearted enough to say “This is my side of the situation, what I saw, thought, heard, felt, perceived… Can you tell me what it was like from your side?” and discovering perspective can be a mighty balm. 

Girlfriend doing more around the house, me letting her, finding balance with each other, creating a stronger home and family than we ever had before.

Girlfriend coming into the market with me instead of chauffeuring and waiting in the car. Discovering being together in Whole Foods is one of our favorite things, and that we deserve an award for our efficient check out and bagging technique.

Peeling back layer after layer of ourselves, finding the root always has roots, unraveling a lifetime of programming, picking apart decades-old patterns, holding space for each other to do the work.

Playing games with the kids, laughing until we are crying, ending the night holding each other in bed, feeling so lucky to live our lives.

Me saying “I don’t want to be non-monogamous,” and Girlfriend saying “Neither do I.”

Both of us working through “I am not enough” and “I am not safe” with EMDR.

Escalating into a fight, but ending up in productive conversation. Patting ourselves on the back for it.

Me realizing I was not “All in” either and choosing to be. To let myself wholly love. 

Me trying to put together this series for the fourth time, and discovering I am not angry anymore. That I can read my rawest work and feel nothing, then turn to Girlfriend and feel absolute joy.

Girlfriend editing my videos and having to listen to me read this series, where she seems mostly like a villain, over and over again.

Both of us learning to be in a relationship that feels good, learning to love without fear.

Many talks with the children about what took place, why, and how it was brutal but brave.

Debating whether we should get married in Hawaii, in Seattle, or somewhere in Europe with cobblestone streets and ivy crawling on the walls. Girlfriend telling me we are not getting married in Disney World, good thing I was just kidding about that. 

Accepting we cannot know what the future holds, but knowing that right now, and for what feels like will be the rest of our lives, we are each other’s people. Feeling we are fortunate to spend this lifetime together, in growth, in joy, in challenge, and deeply, profoundly in love. 

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RelationshipThat Hard, Bizarre Thing Series

That Hard, Bizarre Thing #42: “Hope Spring Eternal, I Guess”

by Angela

(NOTE: Written about an experience in the past, does NOT reflect the present.)

Life continued, we healed, Girl became a memory, and that was that.

Bwahahahahahaha, just kidding.

Girl cut us off, but not completely. After licking our wounds for a bit, and telling ourselves fantastical stories of how she was forced to banish us and how we could tell she didn’t really want to, we began to gently re-enter her orbit. We continued with our wayward mission of unconditional love and support, and felt like we were making a little headway, like she was opening up again, like we were making a difference.

During this time we told ourselves many a grand tale:

“I think it made her day that we showed up.”

“I think she felt really special on her birthday because of us.”

“I think she knows we care, and is trying to silently tell us she cares too.”

“I think it means something that we remember every detail of what she is up to”

“I think she wanted to say something to us, but caught herself and walked away.”

“I think she has not exited our group chat because she is still keeping a door open.”

“I think the lyrics of this playlist are secret messages about how she still cares.”

It was not the most dignified, rational time. And maybe some of those things were true, or maybe it was just all poppycock, because we really wanted to still be special to her since she was still so special to us. 

It went on like this for a while until Girlfriend accidentally offended Girl, which elicited a giant reaction that felt grossly disproportionate to the offense. Like throwing a crumpled up piece of paper at someone’s head, and them responding by running a sword through your gut. Or pointing out to your boss that their son is sometimes not very nice to you (because he isn’t), and your boss responding by firing you and pushing your car off a cliff. There was no physical violence or property damage, but emotionally it FELT like that. It was quite shocking, actually. We were at a complete loss for words. And as you know well, I have a lot of words in me.

After that we distanced ourselves, because it seemed smart. Like a wise technique for self-preservation.

YET (And you might be going “Seriously, you two? Have you no self-respect?” I know. I know.) after a couple of months of radio silence, we crept out to have one more experience with her that started out promising, ended poorly, grew significantly worse over the next week, and finally, at long last, the final bits of our rose-colored glasses vanished and we realized it was time to let her go. For real. And it was, at last, the end.

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RelationshipThat Hard, Bizarre Thing Series

That Hard, Bizarre Thing #41 of 45: “What Does This Sadness Say”

by Angela

(NOTE: Inspired by a journal about past events, does NOT reflect the present.)

I don’t know why I loved her, but I did. I don’t know why I miss her, but I do. I don’t know why I continue to love her, but I do.

Poem #1

What does this sadness tell me?
That I loved you,
that I still love you,
that love comes in all sorts of forms
and it is brave to let it live.

What does this sadness tell me?
That I cannot save you,
that I cannot rush in
like a knight on a horse
and whisk you from your demons.

What does this sadness tell me?
That I am not quite as done as I thought,
that I am not quite as free as I thought.
That it was brief but special,
and there is no denying this specialness.
There is no point in pretending
my world was not changed
because of you.

I choose to keep loving you.
To hope your dreams pour over you like rain
even if I am not there to brush the hair from your face,
even if you are not here with laughter in your eyes.

I choose to leave my heart soft and open
because you have only known hard and closed,
and even on this side of your walls,
engulfed by the shadows of your defenses,
my arms are wide.
My soul, it is waiting
even if it takes 1000 lifetimes,
for you to remember
I am here.

And this is not weakness.
This is not desperation or cowardice.

No.
This is bravery and fortitude,
to dare to love and receive nothing,
to love you in the chaos of your pain,
to love you when it wrings out my heart,
to choose unconditional love.
No expectation, no judgment,
nothing in return.
Just… love.

Poem #2:

It felt like you tried to take the most important thing in my life.
Like you pushed me from my spotlight and coveted my throne,
like you took joy in your pedestal enshrouding mine in shadows,
like you kept tugging the threads you knew would undo my entire tapestry.
So I hope it means something to you that
I loved you the whole time anyway.

(NOTE: I REALLY, wholeheartedly thought I loved Girl. Sometimes I wonder if that love was just trauma response, just codependency and fawning and people-pleasing, just trying with all my might to make a hard-to-get human being SEE me. Perhaps not love at all? But I really did try my best with her, to be kind, generous, forgiving, compassionate, nurturing. I was likely too motherly, too concerned, too involved. I thought if I could make her happy, if I could help her in life, she’d see I was worth something. But, of course, I was the one who needed to see that I was worth something. And now I do.)

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That Hard, Bizarre Thing #40 of 45: Why the Fuck Do I Miss You?

by Angela

(NOTE: Inspired by a journal about past events, does NOT reflect the present.)

I let you in so deep you etched your initials into my lungs, and now I am left breathing the memory of you wrapped around my confused heart.

To Girl.

You broke Girlfriend’s heart when you left, and it is hard to watch her mourn you so deeply. It is hard to see her tears falling for you, it is hard to see her frozen in time, it is hard to wrap my arms around her when it is your presence she is missing terribly. She is so sad, there is no joy in gloating, so I do not declare “Aha, SEEEEeeeeeeee, you are heartbroken because you were NOT just friends! I was right! I was RIGHT!” I just think it quietly in my head and hope she perks up soon, because it is both completely sad and totally annoying.

But my secret is, shhhhh don’t tell anyone… That I miss you, too. 

Right? RIGHT?!! Why would I miss you? It makes no sense. It is the opposite of sense. But I do. Like, a lot. 

I am listening to Die Young.

I am listening to Die Young because I was wondering if I could hear it without thinking of you, without feeling like my heart was being prodded and squished.

The answer to that is “no.” 

I really hope the answer is actually “not yet.”

And I don’t understand. I don’t understand this sadness. I don’t understand this pain. I don’t understand this longing. Longing for what? Missing what? Because my role? What I had in this, what I was in this? I was so little. I was nothing. And what I had, what I had was mostly pain. Heartbreak. Sorrow. Anger. Rejection. Hopelessness. Loss. Rage. Emptiness.

So what am I missing? Why would I miss watching you together? Why would I miss the agony of seeing my love falling for someone else? Why would I miss any of the shit that felt like it burned me alive?

It makes no sense. 

But I hear this song and I see the best moments of you. I see you laughing. Always laughing, your back against the ottoman, smoke swirling around your hair. I see you sitting in the car half in shadow, half in light because you don’t like the dark and want to see our faces. I see you excited, delighted, in wonder, nervous, giggly, your chin tucked into your shirt like a child. And these scenes play over and over and I miss them, but they were not mine. I was there, sometimes present, but they were not mine. Your smile was not mine, your laugh was not mine, your lighted eyes were not mine, your glee was not mine. So why do I feel like I lost it all? Why do I feel like I wish you and your smile were still here? 

What we had, you and I, it was awkward and agonizing. It was up and down, fragile and fearful, confusing and erratic. But also present was this bizarre, unexplainable, seemingly unconditional love flowing from me to you, not romantic in nature, but immense for reasons I cannot understand. It was just…. There. For no logical reason, there. For no rational explanation, there. Here. 

But that you I thought I was loving? Good god, did that you even exist? Because she seems to be gone now, that person. Like she was a figment of my imagination, of our imagination. Was any of it real? Was any of it fucking real? Or are you just a ghost? Were you always a ghost?

I do not know why I love you
I do not know why I miss you
I do not know why I want to protect you
I do not know why the light in your eyes is so important to me
I do not know why I feel for you even in all of this pain
I do not understand why I want to be special to you at all

And…

Were you able to turn it all off like a light?

Were you able to erase everything like our history was written in graphite and our moments drawn in the sand?

Were you able to wash your hands clean and forget they once held our beating hearts?

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That Hard, Bizarre Thing #39 of 45: “Gone Girl”

by Angela

(NOTE: Written about an experience in the past, does NOT reflect the present.)

Girl and I became sort of… friends while you were gone? I think?

Girl was supposed to come over on Wednesday after you got back. She was supposed to celebrate our kid’s birthday with us, we were going to play Boggle and Bananagrams and the 10-second drawing game.

Girl and I were supposed to go shopping for dresses, so I could help her be extra beautiful for important functions. 

But on Saturday Girl disappeared.

Then on Monday she wrote us two bizarre texts cutting us from her life.

And of course I wrote her a final love letter in return, waxing poetic about how she changed our lives, how she is worthy and deserving, how she is loved unconditionally, how we will always be here for her, how she set us free. I even thanked her for ending it with you. The savior and mother part of me poured out strong.

Now here I sit, in the quiet. It is surreal, it is bizarre, I am changed but it also feels like it was a dream. The past few months that felt like ten years, the endless heartache, chaos, pain, and reeling that filled my days, gone. And in its place, just quiet.

Girl is gone, but not gone. She exists, but the vortex that felt like it was swallowing me whole disappeared. It feels like a great storm came and shook our household, shook our existences like a snowglobe, sending us tumbling, careening, struggling to catch our breath, stumbling to right ourselves, efforting just to catch glimpses of reality through the snow.

The storm appeared in an instant, seemingly out of nowhere, and left in the very same way. In the blink of an eye, without a single snowflake remaining to tell its tale. The house is no longer shaking, her smell no longer lingers in our car, there are no strands of her hair on our floor, and I wonder if she was ever here at all? This force, this catalyst, this blood-pumping being, was she ever before us? Was it real? Was any of it real? And where do we go from here?

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That Hard, Bizarre Thing #38 of 45: “Time for Space”

by Angela

(NOTE: Written about an experience in the past, does NOT reflect the present.)

(A letter I wrote to Girlfriend after I asked her to go to Seattle for two weeks so I could be alone. Until this point we essentially spent every single day, all day long, together. So cutting off contact, even for a little while, felt like a big deal.)

I love looking at your photos and vides. Memories from several years ago, before we were anything at all. And I love you. Every photo I see, I love you with massive, overwhelming, giant love. I look at younger you and love her, love everything in her. I love the old video about your former crush, your passionate expression of your feelings, just so you. Expressive, full of color, full of texture, full of angst, full of awe about this world and the beauty within it. And I love you with all that I am made of, with everything I am I love you.

And you love me. And you are thinking of me, and also thinking of her. You are missing me, and also missing her. You are texting me in the darkness at 3am, and your delayed replies tell me you are also texting her. She may very well be the last word you have before you slumber. She may very well be the first when you awake.

I am breathing, Breathing through what feels like heartbreak while in the presence of treasured love. Breathing through the narratives that tell me this is not what being loved should feel like. Breathing through the challenging idea that you could feel so much for her and still love me large, still want our life more than anything else.

I wish you only wanted me. Only loved me. I wish I was your whole world and you admired other women, enjoyed other women’s company, but love? Feelings of love? Feelings that look a lot like love? I wish they were all for me.

But they are not because they are not supposed to be, at least not in this moment. I am meant to learn to hold this with grace and beauty and thrive. I am meant to relinquish ownership and any notion that you are mine. I am meant to be someone who revels in your presence because you have chosen to build a life with me and I with you, not because I am awarded exclusivity to your feelings.

Or I am meant to be someone that fucking falls apart and produces inspired art that serves… someone. 

Or I am meant to just be another human being who survives heartbreak and that is it. 

Who knows, really. 

And now I remember why I asked you to leave and give me space. So you know what it feels like to be separate from me. And I know what it feels like to be separate from you. So you know what it feels like to only have her. And as frightening as that is for me, because who knows what reality will surface, it is time to find out. Who are you without me? What do you want when we are an ocean apart, and my voice and face are memories, and our life is 2650 miles away? Who are you, really? What do you want, really? Who do you want, really? And these same questions for myself. 

So I think we should stop texting, stop talking, stop saying goodnight, stop it all. Cut off all contact for the rest of your stay in Seattle. I know in my heart of hearts that this space is meant to produce gold, that it is the pathway forward.

This terrifies the shit out of me and makes my heart feel like its been reduced to teeny tiny pieces. But I believe in it. And I believe in us. And I believe in you. And I believe SO MUCH in me. And I think we will, in the not-too-distant future, look back on this time and laugh at what a big deal we made of it (“Remember when we were apart for 13 days and it felt like the end of the world? Hahahahaaaa, we were different people then, hahahaha.”) but I also know that we will look back and see it was completely worth it.

I love you. Though love is not a big enough word for what I feel for you. My baby, my turkey-leg king, my protector warrior, my brilliant artist, my visionary alchemist. Mine, but not mine. I love you. 

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That Hard, Bizarre Thing #37 of 45: “Am I Safe”

by Angela

(NOTE: Inspired by a journal about past events, does NOT reflect the present.)

Today was a good day, I felt good, I felt stable, I felt happy, I felt like a miracle occurred that I could feel this happy after our break-up and un-break-up only days ago. I felt like my own fucking hero, like I was a god soaring above the usual pitfalls of human emotion, on my way to ultimate ascension with my newly expanded heart and infinite mind. You know, really feeling myself.

Then tonight, out of nowhere, a little piece of my heart closed in, setting off a domino effect of shutdown. Not triggered by anything in particular, it just started folding in on itself and kept doing it until it was a tiny, origami something-flat-and-tight. I felt sad, but for no reason. I felt heavy, but gravity had not changed.

Then I remembered. I remembered the feeling of standing out on the street in the rain with my hand spread open, palms up, asking “WHAT DO I DO WITH THIS PAIN?!!”

I remembered like it was only four weeks ago, cause it was, and it swirled in my emotions like paint in water.

Forgive and forget. Forgive and forget, How to forget? Time, I suppose. And gratitude? Intentional focus? Maybe just breathing and breathing and breathing the memory away? Maybe sitting down and writing on the computer instead of letting last month’s heartbreak squeeze my lungs until I am hunched over? Maybe sharing with all you, even though all of you are not here yet because I have not created my blog or anything I am supposed to be creating?

I have never successfully rebuilt a relationship that felt broken. I have never wanted to. So this will be my first, if I figure out how.

If I lay down my umbrella
will no boots drop from the sky?
If I sheath my sword,
will no foe leap from the shadows?
If I let the warmth of the sunlight
ripple across my skin,
will I not remember the pain of last winter
or fear its bitter return?
Am I safe?
Am I safe?
Am I safe?

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That Hard, Bizarre Thing #36 of 45: “Fine, Keep her”

by Angela

(NOTE: Written about an experience in the past, does NOT reflect the present.)

After we broke up in the morning and got back together in the early evening, Girlfriend meekly asked me if she could possibly, perhaps, if I was okay with it, maybe NOT cut off Girl, if she could try to actually be friends with her. No more non-monogamy, no more crush, no more agenda other than normal, regular ol’ buddies. Could she just try to have the friendship she wanted in the first place with Girl, before it got all weird?

Well. Everyone knows people who are deeply attracted to each other in obsessive, forbidden, chaotic ways are excellent candidates for becoming purely platonic friends. 

But I agreed. I AGREED.

Why did I agree? Because of the reasons in post #25 and #19 did not just disappear overnight. Brief review of reasons:

Fear

Proving my worth

Affinity for toxicity

Need for external validation

Desire to be a hero

Desperately wanting a friend

It was all meant to be

In addition I think… I think I wanted to prove to Girlfriend that she and Girl were never just friends and could never be just friends. I wanted to see them crash and burn, be validated as a victim, and tie up all loose ends. I didn’t want Girlfriend wondering about Girl and their possible buddy-ness, I wanted to let her explore all possibilities so I could never be labeled a limitation. Girlfriend would never be able to point at me and say “If you only let me be her friend, it could have all worked out.”

Also, I used to tell my therapist I wished the two could run away together for just one month because that would be enough time for them to fall apart, for them to probably get into an actual fistfight, for Girlfriend to show up at the door, begging me to take her back. It was not possible to send them off together, but judging from what I saw of their relationship, I had a feeling Girlfriend and Girl’s connection would implode in due time. So I gave them time. And it did.

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