where i’ve been: part one

As I mentioned in an earlier post that probably got lost amidst all the old myspaz blogs that I copied over, I started a new blog here. This works well because I really only used Myspaz for blogging and this here site supports that quite well. Hopefully at some point I will have some blogfriends, but if not, that’s okay because really for me it’s just about getting things out of my head and into internet land where hopefully it will float around for a while and then die a quiet, peaceful death.

Moving on to today’s angst…

My son was in the hospital a few weeks ago with appendicitis. GoodMan (who needs a new name, by the way) and I were sitting with him when the doctor came in to see how he was doing. He was in a fair amount of pain, and the doctor asked him where it hurt.

“My APPENDIIIIIIIIX!” He cried.

That’s how I feel right now.

I hurt, but I don’t know specifically where. He had no idea where his appendix was but he knew it hurt. I know my heart hurts but I don’t know yet exactly how much. Or even what hurts the most.

Earlier this year I broke up with PVDD (my boyfriend of almost two years). Soon after that, I fell in love with someone else. All the nicknames that come to mind at the moment are mean, and I don’t feel like being mean, I just feel like feeling better, so I will simply call him Punk.

Punk is young, five years younger. It stands to reason that a young guy isn’t going to be interested so much in starting a serious relationship with an older woman who likes country music, has a kid, and doesn’t even have a mohawk, but I guess I kind of thought that we had something.

The worst thing, I think, is feeling like the world’s biggest idiot.

After spending so much effort telling him how much I appreciate him, and how much I love him, and how happy I am, and thinking that he felt the same way…to find out that he doesn’t was a bit of a let-down, to say the least. Especially to find it out so suddenly. One minute I’m just waking up from a nap and lighting a cigarette, and the next minute it feels like my guts have been yanked out, twisted, and put back in backwards, and the Dog has come along and taken a nice big poop on my heart.

That’s how it felt. More or less.

I have been searching my feelings to see whether it’s him or just the idea of him that I miss. Or am hurting over. Or whatever. I still don’t know.

I left the house after he told me that he didn’t feel the same way I do and he doesn’t love me anymore. I drove down the street, parked, and called 1N and Pocket, who put me on speaker so they could both give me some peptalk. I don’t think I was making much sense, probably sounded mostly like Ron Burgundy in the phone booth after Jack Black punted Baxter off the bridge, but I needed to talk to someone.

Seriously, it felt like my life was ending. Which really is not a fun experience when you’re only 32 and are having angst over a 26 year old that can’t appreciate a good thing when it’s staring him in the face.

So what do you do when this happens? It’s been long enough that I can’t remember.

1N and Pocket are encouraging me to spend time alone and rediscover who I am. I know that’s necessary. It’s hard though. I usually don’t mind being alone…I’ll take myself out to movies, to dinner, to coffee, to the park…I don’t mind it. I just prefer to have someone I could take with me if I want. I want the intimacy. The comfort of feeling like you’re facing the world not by yourself, but with someone else that’s standing with you and ready to take on anything…with you.

I do tend to get into relationships too quickly. It’s a problem. I suspect it has something to do with some deep seated insecurity or need for male approval. I’m sure if I was Freud I would have something to say about father-daughter-abandonment issues, but I’m not so we’ll just pretend that what it comes down to is that I like having someone to love. And someone to love me back. And I hurt when I lose that.

Pretty simple, I guess. Wish it was that simple to fix.

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