This is one of those nights where I should have been asleep hours ago, but I just can't seem to do it.
During my web surfing, I came across Michael's recent Facebook activity and decided to check out his timeline to see what he's been up to. Since it's been....2? months since I last saw him.
"I want to sleep with you. I don't mean have sex. I mean sleep. Together. Under my blankets. In my bed. With my hand on your chest and your arm around me. With the window cracked, so it's chilly and we have to cuddle closer. No talking, just sleepy, blissfully, happy silence." This was a picture he liked and I, without marking so, liked it too. Then ruefully noted how he could have had that with me all he wanted but nooooooo, he had to go and be way too flipping complicated about whatever the heck is or isn't between us.
Sometimes I just....I either don't understand men and their complicated logic (I say "complicated" when really, it's just stupid), or I just plain don't like them.
"I love her so much, I will sacrifice my happiness for her safety and utterly destroy her emotions by dumping her, leaving her, writing a letter to blame her for everything yet tell her I love her, then die."
"I love her so much, it's just not enough. So I'm going to break off our engagement, end all wedding plans, and effectively destroy her heart yet again even though I know Jake did a number on it. But I want her in my life! So I'm going to keep her as close as I can while denying both of us the happiness of a life together. Because that makes sense."
"I want to love her, but I can't. So I'm going to have a hot, steamy tryst with her wherever I can find a decent place to do it, even if it's in the back alley. But it's too dangerous for her to love me, so I'm going to act like a total asshole in front of her so she won't want me. But I want her in my life. Just not that much. Maybe?"
*bangs head on keyboard*
Sometimes I wonder where things went wrong. Like, what did I do to welcome such...chaos...into my relationship life? I was a good girl. I clung to morals, ethics, rules, righteousness. I didn't drink, didn't smoke, didn't have sex with anyone, didn't even date until senior year of high school. I went to church at least twice a week and worked hard to live what I preached. All I wanted out of life was a good home, a good career, but most of all a beautiful love story in which the guy loved me so much he'd give his life for me, but he'd never leave me.
The hopeful, faithful, loving voice inside me says that I just have to ride the waves, wait it through, that one day my prince will come and sweep me off my feet into a world of happiness and peace. The cynic in me says if I just "listened" more with my seer abilities, I'd have avoided this whole mess.
10.25.2012
10.02.2012
Moments
God and I hadn't talked in a long time. Not because I was angry with Him.
But because I was afraid of what He'd have to say.
"Why are you hiding from me?"
"Why did you let all this happen?!?" I knew He felt the pain edging my thoughts, the pain I've spent months burying under as many lies and half-truths I could muster.
"I gave you what you wanted. What you asked me for."
I scoffed. "A love story unlike any other. Really? No, what you gave...no, what you let happen, was some sick form of double-faced deception! What love story? How many men are you going to throw my way, all with the same face? How am I supposed to know???"
Even though He wasn't physically standing in front of me, I knew at this moment He turned around to face me with a brow raised. A very...paternal...brow raised. "Really? Have you forgotten already?"
People rustled past us as we lay on the grass outside the museum, basking in the warm September sun. He listened as I told stories, things I thought he'd only forgotten....because I thought he was Jake. At one point I looked over at him because I felt something stir in the air. He kept gazing at the sky and asked for another story, so I closed my eyes and started a new tale......
"You'll know it's her, that she's The One, when you have The Moment." I smiled at Shawn and playfully nudged Tristan. "It's the first time you realize, she might actually be your future."
Shawn smiled back and eagerly leaned forward. "When was your guys' Moment?"
Tristan and I looked at each other. "Huh. When did you have that moment with me?" I asked him, suddenly realizing we never really shared Moment stories yet.
He paused and thought it over. "It was Chicago, that day you and I walked around and explored the museums. I asked you to tell me those stories, and I realized that you'd gone through things too. And I realized that you might actually understand."
No. No. We were NOT going to go through this. "That's not fair. That was just....it wasn't..."
God smiled. And kept the tape rolling.
We laughed as we snuck up the stairwell, the bright antique bulbs glowing in the ballroom lighting our way to the balcony. Tristan stopped and looked around for the next set of doors that would lead us to the rooftop so we could see all of Chicago at midnight on one side, and the infinite darkness of the lake on the other.
A slow song started playing. Savage Garden. Tristan took my hand, turned to me, pulled me close, and we started dancing together next to the window. Outside the stars glittered, inside the ceiling was a soft golden glow. He even sang a few of the verses, and I smiled. Then I felt it again, that....something....and his face was considerably closer than it was a few blinks ago.
The slow song stopped. So did the "something". We broke the embrace, shared some small talk, and agreed to not tell a soul what just happened. And as we made our way back to the dance floor where our friends waited, Tristan glanced over his shoulder to give me that knowing smile.
I folded my arms. "Fine. It was real....then. But things change. We changed."
"You wanted something real."
I stopped. My stomach flipped. All I wanted was something real.... I closed my eyes and let out a deep sigh, hopefully expelling the memories as well as the pain. "I'm still waiting for that something real."
More memories. Moments. Isn't that what I'm all about? Moments in time, in life, that are captured in our hearts forever, no matter what happens afterwards. That's how I explained it to the seamstress as she helped me tie the corset of the wedding gown. I didn't care what the gown looked like, I had said. All I wanted was that moment, shared between my husband and I. Between Tristan and me.
"No!" I spun my back to God and plugged my fingers in my ears. Petulant, I know, but the best plan I could think of. "No! I'm not, I can't.....No!"
Memories of our first apartment together. Painting the walls, fixing the windows, listening to Tristan's stories and adventures and confessions. Laughing when he snuck a bear hug on me because he was so happy he finally finished painting the living room archway that horrid green I thought I loved. Clinking cheap wine glasses together filled with cheap soda and heart-shaped ice cubes because that was all we could afford. An early, freezing morning when he surprised me by coming home from work with breakfast and we huddled together under the flannel blankets.
I fought back with more memories. Of coming home to blood on the walls and spending a sleepless night searching for him. Waking up next to another double who tried to tie me up and throw me in the attic. Of Tristan telling me we were done, he was still in love with his first girlfriend....of the pain. It was over.
God pushed back with the journey to Spokane. Travelling west, plotting courses through the highest mountains of this continent, and not having a single argument. Falling on my ass on top of Pike's Peak and laughing at Tristan who was laughing so hard at me that he couldn't help me up for a solid two minutes. Almost drowning in a foot of bubbles in the jacuzzi tub in the room his brother negotiated for us. Playing "guess that date" at the italian restaurant we'd never be able to afford on our own salaries. Grinning at his first ever hangover and dragging him around the downtown tourist area at the crack of dawn, and the fact that not only did he never complained, he wholeheartedly humored my weird enthusiasm for sparkling water pictures.
"Oh, yeah, Spokane. THAT was a picnic." I shoved with the hell that experience was. The violence, the chaos, the fear. The ever-present fear. Of screaming at each other in the parking lot of the cathedral, of sobbing in the trashed apartment after dropping him off at the airport. Being alone.
"Love takes time, Mira. You know that."
"It wasn't-!"
"If it wasn't love, if it wasn't real, then why can't you say so?"
"NO!" No, no, no, no, no. Stop the tears. Don't cry. Just forget it all. Just focus on Jake and that he's dead and everything else that's super easy to use to block it all out.
God kept going. We'd avoided this discussion long enough, so it seemed. "You remember the first time, don't you?"
"Please...." I chanted to myself crap I was now having a hard time remembering. In my mind I remembered every second so clearly. "It was a mistake."
"Was it? I don't condone premarital sex, but this was no mistake. What was different about being with Tristan that you found with Michael?"
NO!!!! I couldn't answer because to do so would be admitting, confessing, the very thing God was pressing on my heart. The truth. I thought my dalliance with Michael meant I was free. All it really did was show me how meaningless and depressing sex without love is. Because I knew what it was like to have sex with love.
My chest constricted. No. Please. Not this. "God....Daddy....please. I can't....It wasn't real. It wasn't meant to be."
And then He hit me with my own words: "Wouldn't say 'yes' to marriage if it wasn't love."
Everything flashed through my mind at once. Tristan admitting that breaking up with me was stupid. Getting the text from him on his way home from the family cruise, "I missed you!!! Let's never do this again." Walking into a candlelit bedroom to find him smiling ear to ear and being asked The Question. Being surprised with a bouquet of silk roses in our wedding colors so I would have inspiration in the planning process. House hunting. Family planning. Church counseling. Family get-togethers, and struggles. Arguments that now seem so insignificant, but at the time felt like life or death.
Mom walked into the room to see why I was still up. I opened my mouth to say something...and all that came out were sobs.
I broke, I sobbed, I grieved.
While many would expect me to put life on hold to wait for the happy ever after, I can't. I asked God what to do now, and He said the same thing I've been hearing since the moment I read Tristan's letter. Keep going. I have to keep living. I have to keep moving forward. But sometimes in order to so do, we have to recognize what's been holding us back. It was just much, much harder to do than I expected (and took so much longer) because it meant coming to grips with reality. I messed up, a lot, and have to atone for my bad choices. The biggest one? Running.
I'll never forget those moments. I just have to keep making new ones.
But because I was afraid of what He'd have to say.
"Why are you hiding from me?"
"Why did you let all this happen?!?" I knew He felt the pain edging my thoughts, the pain I've spent months burying under as many lies and half-truths I could muster.
"I gave you what you wanted. What you asked me for."
I scoffed. "A love story unlike any other. Really? No, what you gave...no, what you let happen, was some sick form of double-faced deception! What love story? How many men are you going to throw my way, all with the same face? How am I supposed to know???"
Even though He wasn't physically standing in front of me, I knew at this moment He turned around to face me with a brow raised. A very...paternal...brow raised. "Really? Have you forgotten already?"
People rustled past us as we lay on the grass outside the museum, basking in the warm September sun. He listened as I told stories, things I thought he'd only forgotten....because I thought he was Jake. At one point I looked over at him because I felt something stir in the air. He kept gazing at the sky and asked for another story, so I closed my eyes and started a new tale......
"You'll know it's her, that she's The One, when you have The Moment." I smiled at Shawn and playfully nudged Tristan. "It's the first time you realize, she might actually be your future."
Shawn smiled back and eagerly leaned forward. "When was your guys' Moment?"
Tristan and I looked at each other. "Huh. When did you have that moment with me?" I asked him, suddenly realizing we never really shared Moment stories yet.
He paused and thought it over. "It was Chicago, that day you and I walked around and explored the museums. I asked you to tell me those stories, and I realized that you'd gone through things too. And I realized that you might actually understand."
No. No. We were NOT going to go through this. "That's not fair. That was just....it wasn't..."
God smiled. And kept the tape rolling.
We laughed as we snuck up the stairwell, the bright antique bulbs glowing in the ballroom lighting our way to the balcony. Tristan stopped and looked around for the next set of doors that would lead us to the rooftop so we could see all of Chicago at midnight on one side, and the infinite darkness of the lake on the other.
A slow song started playing. Savage Garden. Tristan took my hand, turned to me, pulled me close, and we started dancing together next to the window. Outside the stars glittered, inside the ceiling was a soft golden glow. He even sang a few of the verses, and I smiled. Then I felt it again, that....something....and his face was considerably closer than it was a few blinks ago.
The slow song stopped. So did the "something". We broke the embrace, shared some small talk, and agreed to not tell a soul what just happened. And as we made our way back to the dance floor where our friends waited, Tristan glanced over his shoulder to give me that knowing smile.
I folded my arms. "Fine. It was real....then. But things change. We changed."
"You wanted something real."
I stopped. My stomach flipped. All I wanted was something real.... I closed my eyes and let out a deep sigh, hopefully expelling the memories as well as the pain. "I'm still waiting for that something real."
More memories. Moments. Isn't that what I'm all about? Moments in time, in life, that are captured in our hearts forever, no matter what happens afterwards. That's how I explained it to the seamstress as she helped me tie the corset of the wedding gown. I didn't care what the gown looked like, I had said. All I wanted was that moment, shared between my husband and I. Between Tristan and me.
"No!" I spun my back to God and plugged my fingers in my ears. Petulant, I know, but the best plan I could think of. "No! I'm not, I can't.....No!"
Memories of our first apartment together. Painting the walls, fixing the windows, listening to Tristan's stories and adventures and confessions. Laughing when he snuck a bear hug on me because he was so happy he finally finished painting the living room archway that horrid green I thought I loved. Clinking cheap wine glasses together filled with cheap soda and heart-shaped ice cubes because that was all we could afford. An early, freezing morning when he surprised me by coming home from work with breakfast and we huddled together under the flannel blankets.
I fought back with more memories. Of coming home to blood on the walls and spending a sleepless night searching for him. Waking up next to another double who tried to tie me up and throw me in the attic. Of Tristan telling me we were done, he was still in love with his first girlfriend....of the pain. It was over.
God pushed back with the journey to Spokane. Travelling west, plotting courses through the highest mountains of this continent, and not having a single argument. Falling on my ass on top of Pike's Peak and laughing at Tristan who was laughing so hard at me that he couldn't help me up for a solid two minutes. Almost drowning in a foot of bubbles in the jacuzzi tub in the room his brother negotiated for us. Playing "guess that date" at the italian restaurant we'd never be able to afford on our own salaries. Grinning at his first ever hangover and dragging him around the downtown tourist area at the crack of dawn, and the fact that not only did he never complained, he wholeheartedly humored my weird enthusiasm for sparkling water pictures.
"Oh, yeah, Spokane. THAT was a picnic." I shoved with the hell that experience was. The violence, the chaos, the fear. The ever-present fear. Of screaming at each other in the parking lot of the cathedral, of sobbing in the trashed apartment after dropping him off at the airport. Being alone.
"Love takes time, Mira. You know that."
"It wasn't-!"
"If it wasn't love, if it wasn't real, then why can't you say so?"
"NO!" No, no, no, no, no. Stop the tears. Don't cry. Just forget it all. Just focus on Jake and that he's dead and everything else that's super easy to use to block it all out.
God kept going. We'd avoided this discussion long enough, so it seemed. "You remember the first time, don't you?"
"Please...." I chanted to myself crap I was now having a hard time remembering. In my mind I remembered every second so clearly. "It was a mistake."
"Was it? I don't condone premarital sex, but this was no mistake. What was different about being with Tristan that you found with Michael?"
NO!!!! I couldn't answer because to do so would be admitting, confessing, the very thing God was pressing on my heart. The truth. I thought my dalliance with Michael meant I was free. All it really did was show me how meaningless and depressing sex without love is. Because I knew what it was like to have sex with love.
My chest constricted. No. Please. Not this. "God....Daddy....please. I can't....It wasn't real. It wasn't meant to be."
And then He hit me with my own words: "Wouldn't say 'yes' to marriage if it wasn't love."
Everything flashed through my mind at once. Tristan admitting that breaking up with me was stupid. Getting the text from him on his way home from the family cruise, "I missed you!!! Let's never do this again." Walking into a candlelit bedroom to find him smiling ear to ear and being asked The Question. Being surprised with a bouquet of silk roses in our wedding colors so I would have inspiration in the planning process. House hunting. Family planning. Church counseling. Family get-togethers, and struggles. Arguments that now seem so insignificant, but at the time felt like life or death.
Mom walked into the room to see why I was still up. I opened my mouth to say something...and all that came out were sobs.
I broke, I sobbed, I grieved.
While many would expect me to put life on hold to wait for the happy ever after, I can't. I asked God what to do now, and He said the same thing I've been hearing since the moment I read Tristan's letter. Keep going. I have to keep living. I have to keep moving forward. But sometimes in order to so do, we have to recognize what's been holding us back. It was just much, much harder to do than I expected (and took so much longer) because it meant coming to grips with reality. I messed up, a lot, and have to atone for my bad choices. The biggest one? Running.
I'll never forget those moments. I just have to keep making new ones.
Sympathy
The woman sniffed, her dark sunglasses unable to hide the fact that she'd spent most of the day crying. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "It's just....someone tried to hurt me."
As we got to the counter and I set her products down to start ringing her up, I offered a small sympathetic smile. "I understand. Been there."
She glanced up at me. "Really?"
"Yup." I started totaling up her purchase and memories of Spokane flashed in my mind. "Psychotic meltdown. We were supposed to be married, actually. He's getting treatment."
"Oh, well," she sniffled, "this is different." Did she sound proud? I attributed that hint of pride to her myriad of emotions that were overflowing in her mind over this random guy she barely knew who she was pinning the attack on. She knew him enough to want to sleep with him, but not well enough to trust him to actually do it. "I think he slipped me something."
I took a deeper breath of air through my nose. Oh yeah. She had ingested a cocktail of weed and some other herbs, no hardcore street drugs like cocaine or meth. It was in her scent rather than on her clothes, and I found my tongue ready to vocalize this affirmation before my brain had a moment to process the wisdom of that action. Fortunately common sense slammed its fist down and I just gave her a listening nod.
"Good luck." I smiled softly and handed her the bag.
"What?" She looked at me in horrified disbelief. "Good luck??"
"It's better than nothing."
The final look she gave me as she left made me want to tell her, yes, lady, good frikin luck. You have bigger problems than the minute amount of drugs you injested, like your choice in complete assholes that your mind was scrolling through. And just so you know, I've seen worse and experienced far worse, the kind that there is not antidote for. Don't give me that flippant sob story when people have died from far stronger drugs than your pathetic existence can handle, and they were KIDS!
Instead, I moved on to the next customer, who was also put off by the woman's attitude. Suddenly no one felt sorry for her, and while I said a silent prayer for her good health, I fought the bile of disgust that threatened to surface. People like her.....women, really, like her. The kind that want to be the damsel in distress. Who want the world to know they suffer so knights in shining armor will come galloping in to save the day until the next disaster arrives for them to dive into.
Guess what, lady? Some of us don't have that option. Some of us have to keep fighting, keep moving forward, keep being our own warriors.
As we got to the counter and I set her products down to start ringing her up, I offered a small sympathetic smile. "I understand. Been there."
She glanced up at me. "Really?"
"Yup." I started totaling up her purchase and memories of Spokane flashed in my mind. "Psychotic meltdown. We were supposed to be married, actually. He's getting treatment."
"Oh, well," she sniffled, "this is different." Did she sound proud? I attributed that hint of pride to her myriad of emotions that were overflowing in her mind over this random guy she barely knew who she was pinning the attack on. She knew him enough to want to sleep with him, but not well enough to trust him to actually do it. "I think he slipped me something."
I took a deeper breath of air through my nose. Oh yeah. She had ingested a cocktail of weed and some other herbs, no hardcore street drugs like cocaine or meth. It was in her scent rather than on her clothes, and I found my tongue ready to vocalize this affirmation before my brain had a moment to process the wisdom of that action. Fortunately common sense slammed its fist down and I just gave her a listening nod.
"Good luck." I smiled softly and handed her the bag.
"What?" She looked at me in horrified disbelief. "Good luck??"
"It's better than nothing."
The final look she gave me as she left made me want to tell her, yes, lady, good frikin luck. You have bigger problems than the minute amount of drugs you injested, like your choice in complete assholes that your mind was scrolling through. And just so you know, I've seen worse and experienced far worse, the kind that there is not antidote for. Don't give me that flippant sob story when people have died from far stronger drugs than your pathetic existence can handle, and they were KIDS!
Instead, I moved on to the next customer, who was also put off by the woman's attitude. Suddenly no one felt sorry for her, and while I said a silent prayer for her good health, I fought the bile of disgust that threatened to surface. People like her.....women, really, like her. The kind that want to be the damsel in distress. Who want the world to know they suffer so knights in shining armor will come galloping in to save the day until the next disaster arrives for them to dive into.
Guess what, lady? Some of us don't have that option. Some of us have to keep fighting, keep moving forward, keep being our own warriors.
9.19.2012
C'est possible....
"So did you get into that apartment?"
I winced and sipped my cider. "I was approved save for one thing. Unfortunately, that one thing happens to be the bill from Tristan's psychotic meltdown in Spokane." With a shake of my head, I sighed and took another sip. "I scrubbed and scrubbed those walls, every inch of that place, and I still got slapped with a $2,200 bill."
Michael took a swig of his beer. "Should have called a professional," he said with a knowing wink.
"Yeah. We were in Spokane," I replied.
"Like I said. You should have called a professional."
I scoffed. "You were in Iowa! How could-"
And then it hit me. Like a pallet of bricks to the chest, it hit me. I stared at Michael over my glass, mouth open, eyes unbelieving yet calculating. He gazed back at me, his own eyes filling in the blanks before he looked away. I could barely find my voice. "You were in Spokane?" I whispered.
Michael took another swig of his beer, raised his brow in that playful "you know it" twitch, and slid out of the booth to go do who knows what else. Mainly, just to get away from my onslaught of unspoken questions. After a while I saw him head outside so I followed him, determined to get at least one answer out of him.
"How could you have been in Spokane?" I tried to fit the pieces together in my mind while listening to his at the same time. "You were-"
He turned his head to me just enough so I could see that look. The look that says, "You know exactly how. It's hilarious you're asking."
What raced through my mind wasn't so much a list of questions as it was a list of scenes. Images of Tristan's madness taking over, of his hand around my throat, of being slammed into the wall, of prying bloodied knives from his hands while begging him to listen to me through the haze. "Do you have any idea....how could....why would anyone do that to me?!?" I was so....confused I didn't know what to say.
Michael turned to look at me head-on and gave me a wry smile. "It wasn't about what we were doing to you." It's what we were doing for you.....
The look on his face told me I had heard the whispered thought correctly, and then that my immediate assumption was correct.
Tristan's not the only one with bodyguards.
I just now decided to scan through my Facebook and eh, why not, see if Michael uploaded anything new. There's a new-ish photo of him carrying two svelte young ladies in bikinis, one on each arm (and I literally mean on, they're sitting on his biceps while he carries them around) and I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes. Then I realized no one is looking at me right now so I rolled them anyways. Oh, Michael. Michael, Michael, Michael. Genius, warrior, guardian, playboy. I constantly remind myself of that last little attribute so I don't let the other three drag me into his seductive web.
Images race unbidden through my mind. Fingers tugging clothes....tongues tangling in a flurry of lips against lips....naked limbs entwined on the concrete.....bathed in moonlight.....gasps, moans, whispers.....
Drag you into his seductive web? My inner conscience scoffs. Honey, you dived into that web with a smile. Nay, a grin.
My mental foot swiftly kicks my inner conscience in the shins. We don't need to go into that. So what if I had a tryst with a sexy young man who may possibly be my guardian (or one of)? It's not like we're "together" or anything. Heck, I haven't seen him in over a week. Because you've forced yourself to stay away.
Shaddup, you.
I winced and sipped my cider. "I was approved save for one thing. Unfortunately, that one thing happens to be the bill from Tristan's psychotic meltdown in Spokane." With a shake of my head, I sighed and took another sip. "I scrubbed and scrubbed those walls, every inch of that place, and I still got slapped with a $2,200 bill."
Michael took a swig of his beer. "Should have called a professional," he said with a knowing wink.
"Yeah. We were in Spokane," I replied.
"Like I said. You should have called a professional."
I scoffed. "You were in Iowa! How could-"
And then it hit me. Like a pallet of bricks to the chest, it hit me. I stared at Michael over my glass, mouth open, eyes unbelieving yet calculating. He gazed back at me, his own eyes filling in the blanks before he looked away. I could barely find my voice. "You were in Spokane?" I whispered.
Michael took another swig of his beer, raised his brow in that playful "you know it" twitch, and slid out of the booth to go do who knows what else. Mainly, just to get away from my onslaught of unspoken questions. After a while I saw him head outside so I followed him, determined to get at least one answer out of him.
"How could you have been in Spokane?" I tried to fit the pieces together in my mind while listening to his at the same time. "You were-"
He turned his head to me just enough so I could see that look. The look that says, "You know exactly how. It's hilarious you're asking."
What raced through my mind wasn't so much a list of questions as it was a list of scenes. Images of Tristan's madness taking over, of his hand around my throat, of being slammed into the wall, of prying bloodied knives from his hands while begging him to listen to me through the haze. "Do you have any idea....how could....why would anyone do that to me?!?" I was so....confused I didn't know what to say.
Michael turned to look at me head-on and gave me a wry smile. "It wasn't about what we were doing to you." It's what we were doing for you.....
The look on his face told me I had heard the whispered thought correctly, and then that my immediate assumption was correct.
Tristan's not the only one with bodyguards.
I just now decided to scan through my Facebook and eh, why not, see if Michael uploaded anything new. There's a new-ish photo of him carrying two svelte young ladies in bikinis, one on each arm (and I literally mean on, they're sitting on his biceps while he carries them around) and I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes. Then I realized no one is looking at me right now so I rolled them anyways. Oh, Michael. Michael, Michael, Michael. Genius, warrior, guardian, playboy. I constantly remind myself of that last little attribute so I don't let the other three drag me into his seductive web.
Images race unbidden through my mind. Fingers tugging clothes....tongues tangling in a flurry of lips against lips....naked limbs entwined on the concrete.....bathed in moonlight.....gasps, moans, whispers.....
Drag you into his seductive web? My inner conscience scoffs. Honey, you dived into that web with a smile. Nay, a grin.
My mental foot swiftly kicks my inner conscience in the shins. We don't need to go into that. So what if I had a tryst with a sexy young man who may possibly be my guardian (or one of)? It's not like we're "together" or anything. Heck, I haven't seen him in over a week. Because you've forced yourself to stay away.
Shaddup, you.
9.09.2012
Lithium
Like with most medications, painkillers can be addicting.
And like most good friends, mine felt compelled to intervene for the betterment of my good health and well-being by nagging me about my "addiction" to my "painkiller": my affection for Michael. That man is a living, breathing, extremely effective human Tylenol. And a drunken playboy who talks crap which generally reflects on me making me appear to be a fool for even associating with him.
No one but Lydia quite understands why I like being around him. To be honest, I don't understand it either. I should be wary of him, I should be more than happy to keep my distance, I should actually be interrogating him with whatever means are necessary/available to finally get answers and explanations to things that right now only he knows. But instead, I find myself yearning to just breathe in his scent. Because for some inexplicable reason, he is the only person in the past three years to not only ease the pain inside me just by giving me a friendly hug, I start to forget about why I felt any pain at all just by being in the same room as him. It worries me. Out of all the men in my life who I am not related to, he has to be the most dangerous to me and yet the most irresistible, save for Jake (who by no means was dangerous at all, just incredibly irresistible).
I strongly contemplated my options in the grand scheme of things. I have no home of my own, my worldly possessions are stuffed in my SUV, I have a mediocre job that just reminds me of what I could be doing with my life versus what I am doing, and I'm still poor. I have no significant other, no children, and no prospects of either.
But I have my passion for knowledge.
So I contacted the local university and took a very thorough tour, discussed my options with several advisers, and looked at different on-campus housing options. My favorite? Selling most of my things, bunking down in a single-person dorm, surviving off of campus meals (which are actually amazing) and fully immersing into my studies and research.
Tristan has departed for treatment and therapy, or something like that, to improve his health and to gain skills and the overall ability to deal with himself, his issues, his health, etc. I approached the idea of not seeing him again for almost a whole year as casual as humanly possible, which was easier than I expected it to be. I'm going to miss him, though. Our farewells were going pretty smooth until he told me to be careful and stay safe because he won't be able to drag my ass out of trouble anymore until he gets back. Then I felt my stomach knot, a lump form in my throat, and I hugged him. We may have had an interesting go at a failed attempt at marriage, but he's still one of my dearest and closest friends. And I am going to miss him.
Lydia and Trev do NOT understand the concept of undying friendship after a dead romance. I deal with their criticisms and lectures with a grim smile and drum of my fingers. Trev is the worst because he is the most honest, which is because he cares for me like a brother to a younger sister. I care for him like he is my brother, but that also makes me want to punch him in the face every time he verbally bashes Tristan or Michael. Once, he started to bash Jake, and I gave him the icy stare of death.
"Jake was a marine, he was a great man, and he loved me very much," I said calmly, dangerously softly, and if looks could kill I'm pretty sure mine would have blasted him like a shattered shell. "You would have liked him. You would have approved."
"Where's the f***** now?" Trev demanded in his annoyingly bossy-because-he-cares tone.
"He died. In the line of duty." Which is true no matter which way you twist and turn the stories. Jake suffered an agonizing life for the sake of the greater good. He died doing what was right.
Trev gave a respectful nod and raised his bottle of beer. "Alright. I can understand that."
I'm tired. I'll write more tomorrow.
And like most good friends, mine felt compelled to intervene for the betterment of my good health and well-being by nagging me about my "addiction" to my "painkiller": my affection for Michael. That man is a living, breathing, extremely effective human Tylenol. And a drunken playboy who talks crap which generally reflects on me making me appear to be a fool for even associating with him.
No one but Lydia quite understands why I like being around him. To be honest, I don't understand it either. I should be wary of him, I should be more than happy to keep my distance, I should actually be interrogating him with whatever means are necessary/available to finally get answers and explanations to things that right now only he knows. But instead, I find myself yearning to just breathe in his scent. Because for some inexplicable reason, he is the only person in the past three years to not only ease the pain inside me just by giving me a friendly hug, I start to forget about why I felt any pain at all just by being in the same room as him. It worries me. Out of all the men in my life who I am not related to, he has to be the most dangerous to me and yet the most irresistible, save for Jake (who by no means was dangerous at all, just incredibly irresistible).
I strongly contemplated my options in the grand scheme of things. I have no home of my own, my worldly possessions are stuffed in my SUV, I have a mediocre job that just reminds me of what I could be doing with my life versus what I am doing, and I'm still poor. I have no significant other, no children, and no prospects of either.
But I have my passion for knowledge.
So I contacted the local university and took a very thorough tour, discussed my options with several advisers, and looked at different on-campus housing options. My favorite? Selling most of my things, bunking down in a single-person dorm, surviving off of campus meals (which are actually amazing) and fully immersing into my studies and research.
Tristan has departed for treatment and therapy, or something like that, to improve his health and to gain skills and the overall ability to deal with himself, his issues, his health, etc. I approached the idea of not seeing him again for almost a whole year as casual as humanly possible, which was easier than I expected it to be. I'm going to miss him, though. Our farewells were going pretty smooth until he told me to be careful and stay safe because he won't be able to drag my ass out of trouble anymore until he gets back. Then I felt my stomach knot, a lump form in my throat, and I hugged him. We may have had an interesting go at a failed attempt at marriage, but he's still one of my dearest and closest friends. And I am going to miss him.
Lydia and Trev do NOT understand the concept of undying friendship after a dead romance. I deal with their criticisms and lectures with a grim smile and drum of my fingers. Trev is the worst because he is the most honest, which is because he cares for me like a brother to a younger sister. I care for him like he is my brother, but that also makes me want to punch him in the face every time he verbally bashes Tristan or Michael. Once, he started to bash Jake, and I gave him the icy stare of death.
"Jake was a marine, he was a great man, and he loved me very much," I said calmly, dangerously softly, and if looks could kill I'm pretty sure mine would have blasted him like a shattered shell. "You would have liked him. You would have approved."
"Where's the f***** now?" Trev demanded in his annoyingly bossy-because-he-cares tone.
"He died. In the line of duty." Which is true no matter which way you twist and turn the stories. Jake suffered an agonizing life for the sake of the greater good. He died doing what was right.
Trev gave a respectful nod and raised his bottle of beer. "Alright. I can understand that."
I'm tired. I'll write more tomorrow.
8.10.2012
Surprise
Ah, geez, I should have known....
I wonder how many times a basic search on an unlabeled image brings up porn for the higher ups at HQ. Like, come on, people. This is ridiculous. Yes, I so totally appreciate the pure artwork and seduction in a man's carved chest, but what's below that....really, really, really don't need to see a thousand of those in one scroll down looking for a legitimate, clothed (mostly) image file.
Now I can see someone like Tristan dying to ask what sort of image search I was doing that would bring up such, ah, interesting results. Well....let's just say I'm more looking into the validity of statements made by a friend of mine and just cross-referencing what evidence I have to work with. Which....upon reading that....seems just as dirty as the search results. I'm trying to figure out if this person is who he says he is! Identity-wise, not....package....anyhew.....But instead of just finding links connecting to Twitter or whatever, I find places like "freeballinboys". Really? Really?
But then I imagine someone like Nicks doing a huge flatscreen projection search like this and suddenly *BAM*PENIS*!!!!! And I'm rolling in laughter, in my head he's chuckling pretty good, and then I'm sad because I remember that he was killed and the world is without a good man like Nicks. So I return to my search and keep going.
Oh geez, and I didn't even do a covert search. Please, please, please don't ask my about the browser history, oh conservative parents of mine. I swear it was legitimate research and I'm not....like that....I mean, what warm-blooded female human wouldn't want to see such God-manifested beauty in the world....?
I hate this. I hate my life. I hate what I am, or who I am, or whatever you want to call this.
Ooo! Chris Hemsworth made the list!
*Ahem*
I blame Michael for this. I thank him wholeheartedly for freeing my from my own prison, but now I blame him for doing such a good job about it.
Crap. I forgot what picture I was looking for. Yes, I'm blogging and researching at the same time. I just forgot what I was looking for. HEY. You show a long list of bare-chested, jaw-dropping gorgeous hunks to a 20-something single woman and ask her to look through the sea for a specific one. See how long she remembers what she's looking for. I rest my case.
As I was saying....
Michael did me a huge favor in proving to me that I can (because I so totally did) engage in, ah, intimacy with anyone I choose. I'm no longer locked into some seemingly cruel contract in which I am forbidden everyone but one, who is still in the wind, by the way. But at the same time, this new-found knowledge, and the forever-burned-into-my-brain-and-body memory of this revelation is becoming somewhat of a huge problem. Why?
I cannot be "that girl". You know exactly who I'm talking about. The vixen. The seductress. The woman in the bar who sits in the corner, raking up drinks from drooling men tripping over themselves just for one night with her, all the while you sit across the room wondering what the hell she has that you don't. Well, I think I figured out the secret to that question for myself, and now it's hard enough to drink a beer in peace without some weird guy stuttering for my attention. The secret? Realize that it's not about you trying to score the hottest guy in the bar. It's about men trying to score you (and failing miserably).
Maybe that came out wrong. Probably did. What I mean is, I realized that all this time I thought that the good guys, the ones with manners and intelligence as well as good looks, didn't want me because I wasn't pretty enough or sexy enough for them. Wrong. I wasn't confident enough for them, which is a huge thing even for women. I truly believed that Michael walking into the bar that first night, all gorgeous and "Hottest Naked Chest Contest" -competing, was what turned my social life around. He's got the looks, he's got the charm, he's a man who loves the ladies and yet commands the attention and respect of the men, even the owner of the bar forty years his senior. And he sat next to me, talked with me, kissed me speechless, and then took me around town on my birthday for the best shots of liquor in the city which ended with.....well, let's just say it ended. Weirdly.
That being said, my general perspective completely changed. I am no longer some girl wishing her knight in shining armor will come galloping in on his noble steed to save the day. I am a woman who can choose from a rather large pool of contestants, who really would just rather have God's chosen warrior reveal himself, finally, before I am forced to make a choice.
And I find myself so tempted to make a rather convenient choice for the time being, one that could potentially kill two birds with one stone.
But then....then my "better half" surfaces to remind me of who I really am. And I am not a woman allowed to have such conveniences and God's blessing in everything I aspire for. In my mind I see two versions of myself: one, fiercely beautiful with wild auburn waves, a rich amber gown that hugs every sensual curve, and a cunning pair of green eyes atop a seductive but knowing smile. The other wears a gown of white, hair soft and silky in more controlled waves, a softer hue, gentler smile, eyes brown and full of compassion and wisdom, crowned with a delicate gold circlet. These two women battle each other within me, the former saying this is what I need to survive and be happy, the latter insisting that I must stay true to the higher calling if I want eternal happiness. When I, should I, get married, the two women will become one and all will be at peace within me so far as that is concerned.
It is why I was supposed to wait until marriage. So that Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde would never exist separately, nor would one completely overtake the other. But as time progresses without my mate, their continual struggle makes it that much harder for me to enjoy life.
I should have known.
I wonder how many times a basic search on an unlabeled image brings up porn for the higher ups at HQ. Like, come on, people. This is ridiculous. Yes, I so totally appreciate the pure artwork and seduction in a man's carved chest, but what's below that....really, really, really don't need to see a thousand of those in one scroll down looking for a legitimate, clothed (mostly) image file.
Now I can see someone like Tristan dying to ask what sort of image search I was doing that would bring up such, ah, interesting results. Well....let's just say I'm more looking into the validity of statements made by a friend of mine and just cross-referencing what evidence I have to work with. Which....upon reading that....seems just as dirty as the search results. I'm trying to figure out if this person is who he says he is! Identity-wise, not....package....anyhew.....But instead of just finding links connecting to Twitter or whatever, I find places like "freeballinboys". Really? Really?
But then I imagine someone like Nicks doing a huge flatscreen projection search like this and suddenly *BAM*PENIS*!!!!! And I'm rolling in laughter, in my head he's chuckling pretty good, and then I'm sad because I remember that he was killed and the world is without a good man like Nicks. So I return to my search and keep going.
Oh geez, and I didn't even do a covert search. Please, please, please don't ask my about the browser history, oh conservative parents of mine. I swear it was legitimate research and I'm not....like that....I mean, what warm-blooded female human wouldn't want to see such God-manifested beauty in the world....?
I hate this. I hate my life. I hate what I am, or who I am, or whatever you want to call this.
Ooo! Chris Hemsworth made the list!
*Ahem*
I blame Michael for this. I thank him wholeheartedly for freeing my from my own prison, but now I blame him for doing such a good job about it.
Crap. I forgot what picture I was looking for. Yes, I'm blogging and researching at the same time. I just forgot what I was looking for. HEY. You show a long list of bare-chested, jaw-dropping gorgeous hunks to a 20-something single woman and ask her to look through the sea for a specific one. See how long she remembers what she's looking for. I rest my case.
As I was saying....
Michael did me a huge favor in proving to me that I can (because I so totally did) engage in, ah, intimacy with anyone I choose. I'm no longer locked into some seemingly cruel contract in which I am forbidden everyone but one, who is still in the wind, by the way. But at the same time, this new-found knowledge, and the forever-burned-into-my-brain-and-body memory of this revelation is becoming somewhat of a huge problem. Why?
I cannot be "that girl". You know exactly who I'm talking about. The vixen. The seductress. The woman in the bar who sits in the corner, raking up drinks from drooling men tripping over themselves just for one night with her, all the while you sit across the room wondering what the hell she has that you don't. Well, I think I figured out the secret to that question for myself, and now it's hard enough to drink a beer in peace without some weird guy stuttering for my attention. The secret? Realize that it's not about you trying to score the hottest guy in the bar. It's about men trying to score you (and failing miserably).
Maybe that came out wrong. Probably did. What I mean is, I realized that all this time I thought that the good guys, the ones with manners and intelligence as well as good looks, didn't want me because I wasn't pretty enough or sexy enough for them. Wrong. I wasn't confident enough for them, which is a huge thing even for women. I truly believed that Michael walking into the bar that first night, all gorgeous and "Hottest Naked Chest Contest" -competing, was what turned my social life around. He's got the looks, he's got the charm, he's a man who loves the ladies and yet commands the attention and respect of the men, even the owner of the bar forty years his senior. And he sat next to me, talked with me, kissed me speechless, and then took me around town on my birthday for the best shots of liquor in the city which ended with.....well, let's just say it ended. Weirdly.
That being said, my general perspective completely changed. I am no longer some girl wishing her knight in shining armor will come galloping in on his noble steed to save the day. I am a woman who can choose from a rather large pool of contestants, who really would just rather have God's chosen warrior reveal himself, finally, before I am forced to make a choice.
And I find myself so tempted to make a rather convenient choice for the time being, one that could potentially kill two birds with one stone.
But then....then my "better half" surfaces to remind me of who I really am. And I am not a woman allowed to have such conveniences and God's blessing in everything I aspire for. In my mind I see two versions of myself: one, fiercely beautiful with wild auburn waves, a rich amber gown that hugs every sensual curve, and a cunning pair of green eyes atop a seductive but knowing smile. The other wears a gown of white, hair soft and silky in more controlled waves, a softer hue, gentler smile, eyes brown and full of compassion and wisdom, crowned with a delicate gold circlet. These two women battle each other within me, the former saying this is what I need to survive and be happy, the latter insisting that I must stay true to the higher calling if I want eternal happiness. When I, should I, get married, the two women will become one and all will be at peace within me so far as that is concerned.
It is why I was supposed to wait until marriage. So that Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde would never exist separately, nor would one completely overtake the other. But as time progresses without my mate, their continual struggle makes it that much harder for me to enjoy life.
I should have known.
8.07.2012
Contradiction
This was supposed to be easy.
All I was supposed to do in life was fall in love with a good, honest, Christian man, get married, have children, live in a decent home and just enjoy life. That's it. No complications. No drama. I prayed and prayed and prayed that God would limit my selection so much that I'd be forced to stick with only one man, have my first kiss with him, give myself to only him, etc etc. And it seemed like, for the longest time, He was answering my prayer so well, it was driving me insane!
Now.....I don't know what happened. Well, I say that and then this soft voice in me whispers, "You know exactly what happened. You grew up."
I look in the physical mirror, and I see a somewhat baby-faced girl who needs to shed a few pounds and retrain basic combat skills. I look in the mental mirror at myself, and I see a cunning woman, not as much hardened as she is sharpened. Older. Wiser. Much, much more aware of the world around her, both seen and unseen. As much as I hate admitting it, sacrificing my virginity before marriage may have saved my sanity in the long run. It was just like Mom had described it: a greater awareness, an extreme sharpening of the senses, a powerful awakening.
But at what cost? I find myself grieving the death of my innocence, regardless of the reasons or who I was with. I will never regret my time with Tristan. I still, and always will, hold a great affection for him. He gave me wonderful memories and helped me achieve....a "level"? Whatever you want to call this advancement, or maturation, I will always have him to thank and hold no regrets, only happy memories. While ours is a tragic story of what happens when too many people hold too much power over your life, it is also a story of an unbreakable friendship, even when we cannot speak.
My grief is for the life that once was, that sweet longing for something that seemed so unattainable, so precious, that it held a priceless value in my life and made me a rarity among women.
Lately I've been looking at myself from another's eyes. Mostly Jake's. Not like I ever really knew what the man was thinking, ever (or I did but had no clue I was actually listening to his thoughts....I was....rather undeveloped in my abilities at the time.....). But still, I often wonder what he would think of me if he saw me now, if he knew what I have become, and the end result is a bittersweet blend of pride and grief. Pride for finally honing in my abilities, for standing strong in the midst of turmoil, for remaining resilient against the onslaught of pain and depression, and for just living a decent life. Grief, for not being the one to stand with me through it all. For having to, for lack of a better term, share me. And in some sense....a disappointment in that despite the logical sense of it all, I sacrificed the one vow I held on to so tightly. The one thing that made me different from the rest.
This was supposed to be easy. But no. Instead of playing Dorothy Day, I ended up playing a mash-up between Helen of Troy and a heterosexual Pussy Galore. Maybe I'm being too generous with the imagery, but hopefully you get what I mean. I could be nursing my firstborn and folding tiny clothes in a clean hamper, but instead I'm rifling through senseless crap trying to connect dots that have connections but no set pattern. And while I had imagined my life to, by now, be filled with nights of seemingly endless passion with my sexy, insatiable husband......I lie alone in my parents' guest room both grateful for and loathing my inability to control my "seer" abilities during coitus. I don't sleep around because I value myself, I value what people think of me, and I really, really, really don't want to/need to see/hear every little sordid detail about some random stranger because it's both depressing and slightly disturbing. This I say on theory, as I've only been with two men (in hindsight that just seems almost like two men too many). With Tristan, I was actually able to remain "surfaced" enough that I didn't consciously hear/see anything out of the ordinary. With Michael, what I heard/saw intensely was not creepy or disturbing at all, it was just incredibly depressing.
Ugh. What Jake must think of me. Or even Tristan. It didn't help that Lydia's fiance/husband said I "whored [myself] out" just to have sex. He didn't mean it in a mean way, he was stating it like one would state the current weather. It's cloudy outside, and I whored myself out. Thanks, dude. Love ya, too.
Ugh. This was supposed to be easy.
FML.
All I was supposed to do in life was fall in love with a good, honest, Christian man, get married, have children, live in a decent home and just enjoy life. That's it. No complications. No drama. I prayed and prayed and prayed that God would limit my selection so much that I'd be forced to stick with only one man, have my first kiss with him, give myself to only him, etc etc. And it seemed like, for the longest time, He was answering my prayer so well, it was driving me insane!
Now.....I don't know what happened. Well, I say that and then this soft voice in me whispers, "You know exactly what happened. You grew up."
I look in the physical mirror, and I see a somewhat baby-faced girl who needs to shed a few pounds and retrain basic combat skills. I look in the mental mirror at myself, and I see a cunning woman, not as much hardened as she is sharpened. Older. Wiser. Much, much more aware of the world around her, both seen and unseen. As much as I hate admitting it, sacrificing my virginity before marriage may have saved my sanity in the long run. It was just like Mom had described it: a greater awareness, an extreme sharpening of the senses, a powerful awakening.
But at what cost? I find myself grieving the death of my innocence, regardless of the reasons or who I was with. I will never regret my time with Tristan. I still, and always will, hold a great affection for him. He gave me wonderful memories and helped me achieve....a "level"? Whatever you want to call this advancement, or maturation, I will always have him to thank and hold no regrets, only happy memories. While ours is a tragic story of what happens when too many people hold too much power over your life, it is also a story of an unbreakable friendship, even when we cannot speak.
My grief is for the life that once was, that sweet longing for something that seemed so unattainable, so precious, that it held a priceless value in my life and made me a rarity among women.
Lately I've been looking at myself from another's eyes. Mostly Jake's. Not like I ever really knew what the man was thinking, ever (or I did but had no clue I was actually listening to his thoughts....I was....rather undeveloped in my abilities at the time.....). But still, I often wonder what he would think of me if he saw me now, if he knew what I have become, and the end result is a bittersweet blend of pride and grief. Pride for finally honing in my abilities, for standing strong in the midst of turmoil, for remaining resilient against the onslaught of pain and depression, and for just living a decent life. Grief, for not being the one to stand with me through it all. For having to, for lack of a better term, share me. And in some sense....a disappointment in that despite the logical sense of it all, I sacrificed the one vow I held on to so tightly. The one thing that made me different from the rest.
This was supposed to be easy. But no. Instead of playing Dorothy Day, I ended up playing a mash-up between Helen of Troy and a heterosexual Pussy Galore. Maybe I'm being too generous with the imagery, but hopefully you get what I mean. I could be nursing my firstborn and folding tiny clothes in a clean hamper, but instead I'm rifling through senseless crap trying to connect dots that have connections but no set pattern. And while I had imagined my life to, by now, be filled with nights of seemingly endless passion with my sexy, insatiable husband......I lie alone in my parents' guest room both grateful for and loathing my inability to control my "seer" abilities during coitus. I don't sleep around because I value myself, I value what people think of me, and I really, really, really don't want to/need to see/hear every little sordid detail about some random stranger because it's both depressing and slightly disturbing. This I say on theory, as I've only been with two men (in hindsight that just seems almost like two men too many). With Tristan, I was actually able to remain "surfaced" enough that I didn't consciously hear/see anything out of the ordinary. With Michael, what I heard/saw intensely was not creepy or disturbing at all, it was just incredibly depressing.
Ugh. What Jake must think of me. Or even Tristan. It didn't help that Lydia's fiance/husband said I "whored [myself] out" just to have sex. He didn't mean it in a mean way, he was stating it like one would state the current weather. It's cloudy outside, and I whored myself out. Thanks, dude. Love ya, too.
Ugh. This was supposed to be easy.
FML.
7.31.2012
Hangups
I debated on starting a new blog, separate from this one, mostly because I have zero contact with "Tristan".
We'll get to the reason for quotations later.....
I was enjoying my freedom. I really was. One Saturday night I ran into a guy I'd met four years ago at my 19th birthday party who I had a crush on then, but thought he was my best friend's boyfriend. He wasn't, but I didn't know until after they eventually did become a couple. But four years later, both of us are single and we quickly discovered we have a LOT in common. More than the average people. And it was incredibly fantastic to finally meet someone who is just like me and not directly tied to the shadow government.
Michael was the only one who showed up for my birthday celebration, which was okay given that it was an impromptu meet-up at the bar. We talked, shared a pitcher of beer, and then he realized I hadn't said a word about my birthday to the bartender. After shouting for a free shot, he insisted that we go around to the bars in the city and get my fill of free birthday shots, beer and music. We sang, we danced, we drank, we opened up to each other about who we are and who we want to be, what we dream of, what we fear...and he totally played up the fact that I was being escorted by an extremely handsome man. Because of our "skills" he was able to know exactly what I wanted when I wanted it and made sure everyone treated me like a queen, including him. I felt alive. I felt amazing.
I felt free.
I stumbled into the doorway around 3am to find my stepfather leaning against the kitchen counter.
"For some reason, I had to come up and tell you this," he said. "Don't let it happen again."
Reality sobered me up even more than the earlier events that brought me home so late. I know he couldn't know about.....stuff....but God always knows. And apparently God was none too thrilled, even though I had prayed for Him to just let me have this one night of freedom. "What?"
"I mean more like, don't make the same mistakes again. Just protect yourself." With that, he shuffled back downstairs to his room with my mother.
Protect myself. Right. Because that's what I really want: a life of isolation and desolation just so no one can hurt me. Michael and I have a profound understanding of each other and I know he isn't "in it to win it" so to speak. I know he loves being single and a lone wolf while he harbors a deep pain from his past betrayals. He knows that I yearn for moments of freedom far away from what supposedly is my destiny while deep down continuously grieving, always in pain, always sobbing inside my heart while raising an outer shield of strength and indifference.
I decided to check my Facebook for any birthday wishes from friends and family, of which there were many, but one thing caught my eye. A message from Tristan.
"Found this. I think it's from Jake."
I clicked the link. And I cried.
My Dear,
If you are reading this it means that they have taken me away. The reasons don't really matter anymore the fact is that it happened and, well, I've foreseen this coming for a long time. Your knowledge of this blog was to be kept under the strictest of confidence until such a time as this. I hope it didn't take you long to get here. I really didn't mean for it to be tricky if it was. Thought I'd try and make you laugh...
Reasons. We all have them and even though we fail to understand them sometimes, they are inevitable. Thus there is a reason I am doing this; having you search through things, journey back to cob webbed covered parts of your brain in order to find a discovery. First off I have to tell you that you were right, I was wrong. There it's in writing for all to see. You did the right thing in having me taken away. Although sometimes I truly believe that you don't know what's best for me, a sliver of hope remains a says, "yeah, she does."
I know you must be doubting yourself, your choices, your reasons and I'll bet my left nut you called some one to talk to them before reading this. You did the right thing.
What ever happens in the near or distant future just know that I'm lying there, my arm wrapped around you, holding you while you sleep.
I'm afraid we've come to the point where my reason for writing this must be stated. Mira, I'm not sure if when I get out and when I get back if I'm going to be the same person. Of course I'll be changed but I'm not sure it's going to be in the ways we want it necessarily. I have it on good word that part of me is going to die in there and I'll never get him back.
He always knew when and how he was going to go and he tried telling me, he really did! But I wouldn't listen. Everything has happened exactly as he said it would which is why I knew I had to write this.
So you know my reason but not really the intention behind the reason. I'm afraid this is good bye Mira. Not as in good bye, I'm never seeing you again. I mean good bye the part of me that I though stood a chance to be happy with you has died; expired. But you know what? It's ok if I die. He said he didn't want me to go with him but that he couldn't stop me. How could I live my life separate from him? The Tristan that knew is no longer here. He left the building...
We'll get to the reason for quotations later.....
I was enjoying my freedom. I really was. One Saturday night I ran into a guy I'd met four years ago at my 19th birthday party who I had a crush on then, but thought he was my best friend's boyfriend. He wasn't, but I didn't know until after they eventually did become a couple. But four years later, both of us are single and we quickly discovered we have a LOT in common. More than the average people. And it was incredibly fantastic to finally meet someone who is just like me and not directly tied to the shadow government.
Michael was the only one who showed up for my birthday celebration, which was okay given that it was an impromptu meet-up at the bar. We talked, shared a pitcher of beer, and then he realized I hadn't said a word about my birthday to the bartender. After shouting for a free shot, he insisted that we go around to the bars in the city and get my fill of free birthday shots, beer and music. We sang, we danced, we drank, we opened up to each other about who we are and who we want to be, what we dream of, what we fear...and he totally played up the fact that I was being escorted by an extremely handsome man. Because of our "skills" he was able to know exactly what I wanted when I wanted it and made sure everyone treated me like a queen, including him. I felt alive. I felt amazing.
I felt free.
I stumbled into the doorway around 3am to find my stepfather leaning against the kitchen counter.
"For some reason, I had to come up and tell you this," he said. "Don't let it happen again."
Reality sobered me up even more than the earlier events that brought me home so late. I know he couldn't know about.....stuff....but God always knows. And apparently God was none too thrilled, even though I had prayed for Him to just let me have this one night of freedom. "What?"
"I mean more like, don't make the same mistakes again. Just protect yourself." With that, he shuffled back downstairs to his room with my mother.
Protect myself. Right. Because that's what I really want: a life of isolation and desolation just so no one can hurt me. Michael and I have a profound understanding of each other and I know he isn't "in it to win it" so to speak. I know he loves being single and a lone wolf while he harbors a deep pain from his past betrayals. He knows that I yearn for moments of freedom far away from what supposedly is my destiny while deep down continuously grieving, always in pain, always sobbing inside my heart while raising an outer shield of strength and indifference.
I decided to check my Facebook for any birthday wishes from friends and family, of which there were many, but one thing caught my eye. A message from Tristan.
"Found this. I think it's from Jake."
I clicked the link. And I cried.
My Dear,
If you are reading this it means that they have taken me away. The reasons don't really matter anymore the fact is that it happened and, well, I've foreseen this coming for a long time. Your knowledge of this blog was to be kept under the strictest of confidence until such a time as this. I hope it didn't take you long to get here. I really didn't mean for it to be tricky if it was. Thought I'd try and make you laugh...
Reasons. We all have them and even though we fail to understand them sometimes, they are inevitable. Thus there is a reason I am doing this; having you search through things, journey back to cob webbed covered parts of your brain in order to find a discovery. First off I have to tell you that you were right, I was wrong. There it's in writing for all to see. You did the right thing in having me taken away. Although sometimes I truly believe that you don't know what's best for me, a sliver of hope remains a says, "yeah, she does."
I know you must be doubting yourself, your choices, your reasons and I'll bet my left nut you called some one to talk to them before reading this. You did the right thing.
What ever happens in the near or distant future just know that I'm lying there, my arm wrapped around you, holding you while you sleep.
I'm afraid we've come to the point where my reason for writing this must be stated. Mira, I'm not sure if when I get out and when I get back if I'm going to be the same person. Of course I'll be changed but I'm not sure it's going to be in the ways we want it necessarily. I have it on good word that part of me is going to die in there and I'll never get him back.
He always knew when and how he was going to go and he tried telling me, he really did! But I wouldn't listen. Everything has happened exactly as he said it would which is why I knew I had to write this.
So you know my reason but not really the intention behind the reason. I'm afraid this is good bye Mira. Not as in good bye, I'm never seeing you again. I mean good bye the part of me that I though stood a chance to be happy with you has died; expired. But you know what? It's ok if I die. He said he didn't want me to go with him but that he couldn't stop me. How could I live my life separate from him? The Tristan that knew is no longer here. He left the building...
I checked the date on the post, and it was from May 2010. One month before his contact told us that he was dead, surrendered to an illness he contracted overseas (if I remember correctly, India). Why now? Why did I have to get this now? A deeper part of me, maybe it was God, said that I needed to be reminded of who I am, who I love, what we're all fighting for. That deeper part of me scolded profusely, urgently telling me that we did not suffer and bleed and sacrifice, that he did not sacrifice, so I could go have drunken sex in some field with some random Seer and forget about everything.
A lady doesn't kiss and tell, and I definitely am not publishing the details of my birthday "romp", but I will say this: it opened my eyes to a lot. Not even sexually. The incredible ability to completely pierce through every possible barrier within his mind, and he's had years of practice building those barriers, rocked me to the core and I, like an idiot, told him exactly what I saw. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the complete lack of inhibition brought on by hormones and nerve endings. Whatever it was, it was mind-blowing and I barreled through every solid wall like I was reading a paperback dime novel.
Needless to say, Michael was not happy. I had just stabbed straight into the deepest core of his entire being with perfect accuracy, and it rocked him in the not-so-wonderful way. What would have been hours of passion ended rather abruptly after 10 minutes. Out of respect for male pride, I will not continue this particular story. Let's just say we have a new respect for each other and have remained good friends.
So I come home from this to be given a warning from God's mouth to my stepfather's, then "Tristan" emails me a two year-old letter from Jake confirming the long-suspected love he had for me and the fact that I have successfully ruined my reputation as "untouchable" sank in my stomach like a stone.
Here's the thing. After yet again grieving the loss of the one man who actually legitimately loved me unconditionally, I have to come to grips with the fact that even he gave up on us. And if he is alive, and checking in on my like my mother strongly suspects, then I have just one thing to ask: Why the hell have you not come back???? If you love me so much, why won't you at least let me know you're alive and still want me??? Do you have any idea how differently I would live my life if I had even just that??????? Okay so that's three questions, but they're legit. Not a single day goes by without Jake on my mind, no matter where or what I'm doing. Not. A. Day.
But then there's the possibility that he's actually dead. And I find it difficult to "save" myself for someone who may be a trail of ashes somewhere in the eastern wind. Let's not forget how I almost married a montage of "Tristans". Man, do I feel dirty. And kinda duh. In the back of my mind, I knew it all along. I just told myself I have to stop "listening" and "seeing" and just take things as they are because using my abilities to discern everything in life was driving me insane because EVERYONE LIES. But of course, I wasn't exactly planning on....okay maybe I was. Maybe, somewhere deep inside me, I just wanted to get rid of the "Virgin Gift" so the price on my head would decrease considerably and no one would be tempted to rape me. So maybe I told a certain person who I know for a fact cannot keep a fucking secret from "Tristan" if her life depended on it about this "gift", expecting what did actually happen. It was what, three days? Three days and he was rolling me onto the bed, eager for that legendary gift the women of my kind possess in their chastity.
Joke's on him. He didn't get it. I kinda figured out later on that there's a few catches to the process and so I might still have that all-important gift in me.
I'm not stupid. I was just....lonely. And I did fall in love with whoever the hell did most of the "acting" a little, at least enough to say that I hold a deep affection for Tristan and always will. But I'm no idiot, and we are not playing that game again. Mom had strong, super strong suspicions because unlike me, she was perfectly okay with using her abilities to gauge this individual who may have actually been more than one individual. I feel gross. I also have a new-found appreciation for Jake's "no kissing" rule he'd instilled rather strongly in his fellow men when dealing with me.
Ugh, this is why I like Michael. So he has a rocky past. At least he doesn't have 50 million other people living his exact life and using the people he loves for their own selfish gains. Like I said before, we're just friends. And part of me wonders if he keeps it that way because he, too, saw into the deepest core of my being and respects my own hangups.
I decided to still write in this blog because it says "The Goran Prince", not "Tristan's Life". For all we know, Tristan, "Tristan", whoever this dude or dudes is/are, is not/are not actually the Goran Prince. Maybe it was really Jake all along. Maybe it's actually Michael. Or maybe he is out there, waiting, reading this blog and wondering who the hell I am and why they allow an insane woman to blog all this fantastical shit. Why do "they" let me do this? Because it's a good read, it's far too much for an average person to accept as fact, and because I do keep it as anonymous as possible to protect the innocent and semi-innocent. Mainly I think it's because they find it entertaining. I could totally see CO having a chuckle over this if he were still alive.
A lady doesn't kiss and tell, and I definitely am not publishing the details of my birthday "romp", but I will say this: it opened my eyes to a lot. Not even sexually. The incredible ability to completely pierce through every possible barrier within his mind, and he's had years of practice building those barriers, rocked me to the core and I, like an idiot, told him exactly what I saw. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the complete lack of inhibition brought on by hormones and nerve endings. Whatever it was, it was mind-blowing and I barreled through every solid wall like I was reading a paperback dime novel.
Needless to say, Michael was not happy. I had just stabbed straight into the deepest core of his entire being with perfect accuracy, and it rocked him in the not-so-wonderful way. What would have been hours of passion ended rather abruptly after 10 minutes. Out of respect for male pride, I will not continue this particular story. Let's just say we have a new respect for each other and have remained good friends.
So I come home from this to be given a warning from God's mouth to my stepfather's, then "Tristan" emails me a two year-old letter from Jake confirming the long-suspected love he had for me and the fact that I have successfully ruined my reputation as "untouchable" sank in my stomach like a stone.
Here's the thing. After yet again grieving the loss of the one man who actually legitimately loved me unconditionally, I have to come to grips with the fact that even he gave up on us. And if he is alive, and checking in on my like my mother strongly suspects, then I have just one thing to ask: Why the hell have you not come back???? If you love me so much, why won't you at least let me know you're alive and still want me??? Do you have any idea how differently I would live my life if I had even just that??????? Okay so that's three questions, but they're legit. Not a single day goes by without Jake on my mind, no matter where or what I'm doing. Not. A. Day.
But then there's the possibility that he's actually dead. And I find it difficult to "save" myself for someone who may be a trail of ashes somewhere in the eastern wind. Let's not forget how I almost married a montage of "Tristans". Man, do I feel dirty. And kinda duh. In the back of my mind, I knew it all along. I just told myself I have to stop "listening" and "seeing" and just take things as they are because using my abilities to discern everything in life was driving me insane because EVERYONE LIES. But of course, I wasn't exactly planning on....okay maybe I was. Maybe, somewhere deep inside me, I just wanted to get rid of the "Virgin Gift" so the price on my head would decrease considerably and no one would be tempted to rape me. So maybe I told a certain person who I know for a fact cannot keep a fucking secret from "Tristan" if her life depended on it about this "gift", expecting what did actually happen. It was what, three days? Three days and he was rolling me onto the bed, eager for that legendary gift the women of my kind possess in their chastity.
Joke's on him. He didn't get it. I kinda figured out later on that there's a few catches to the process and so I might still have that all-important gift in me.
I'm not stupid. I was just....lonely. And I did fall in love with whoever the hell did most of the "acting" a little, at least enough to say that I hold a deep affection for Tristan and always will. But I'm no idiot, and we are not playing that game again. Mom had strong, super strong suspicions because unlike me, she was perfectly okay with using her abilities to gauge this individual who may have actually been more than one individual. I feel gross. I also have a new-found appreciation for Jake's "no kissing" rule he'd instilled rather strongly in his fellow men when dealing with me.
Ugh, this is why I like Michael. So he has a rocky past. At least he doesn't have 50 million other people living his exact life and using the people he loves for their own selfish gains. Like I said before, we're just friends. And part of me wonders if he keeps it that way because he, too, saw into the deepest core of my being and respects my own hangups.
I decided to still write in this blog because it says "The Goran Prince", not "Tristan's Life". For all we know, Tristan, "Tristan", whoever this dude or dudes is/are, is not/are not actually the Goran Prince. Maybe it was really Jake all along. Maybe it's actually Michael. Or maybe he is out there, waiting, reading this blog and wondering who the hell I am and why they allow an insane woman to blog all this fantastical shit. Why do "they" let me do this? Because it's a good read, it's far too much for an average person to accept as fact, and because I do keep it as anonymous as possible to protect the innocent and semi-innocent. Mainly I think it's because they find it entertaining. I could totally see CO having a chuckle over this if he were still alive.
7.12.2012
"This always reminds me of you and me."
I never quite understood what Tristan meant whenever he said that, which was every time we watched Blood Diamond.
Now I get it. And it only makes me sadder.
I remember sitting in the hospital room with him, fighting back every tear that threatened to fall after reading the letter he wrote to end our engagement. Logic, I chanted over and over in my mind. Logic and reason. Keep it cool and just use logic and reason. "So what do you want?" I asked, my voice a lot clearer and calmer than I expected. "Do you want me to walk out of your life forever? No contact? I can do that." In the back of my mind I almost preferred it. I'm good at running.
"No!" Tristan sat up straighter, a look of.....panic? on his face and he took my hand in his. "I want you by my side through this! I need you with me!"
"So what, you want me to act like your girlfriend/fiance/wife but you're stripping me of the titles and honors? It doesn't work like that!" To tell the truth, I was just confused as freaking hell. None of this made any sense. And all I wanted to do was run from it, run from the pain and humiliation and just.....forget.
Work scheduling did not let me visit him as often as I usually would, and a part of me was grateful for it. Mom insisted I approach all this logically, and to set aside emotion. So when I did finally visit him, I sat beside him in the little grove outside without saying much. The thing is, when you know someone as well as we know each other, especially after sharing virtually every aspects of our beings together, it's that much harder to hide anything.
"Tell me what you're thinking," Tristan said as he basked in the warm sun, "before I smother you with a pillow."
Oh geez, where to start. Knowing him, getting to the point, and bluntly, was usually what he wanted. "What's going on?"
"Nothing's going on." The corner of his mouth twitched.
"I mean, what's going on....out there....that you haven't been telling me?"
Now his face fought the grin that threatened to give it all away. "Nothing's going on!"
"Oh right. Like I believe that. You know you can't lie to me."
Famous last words.
I didn't see him after that, mainly because I didn't know if I'd be able to stomach any more plutonic visits when I felt like dry-heaving from the pain. From what I could gather from our mutual friends who did see him, Tristan never asked for me or remarked on my absence. The pain sunk in deeper. Most of the time, when able to, I just curled up in a ball and tried to wish my way into another universe, one so very far away from the pain.
Then one night, while watching some show about monkeys in India with my parents, Tristan called my cell phone. He wanted to let me know that he was going to be released from the hospital the next day, and that he may be going away for a while for treatment. I didn't know what to say. Really, what I could say. What I wanted to tell him was how much I loved him and missed him, how much I ached just to see him again so we could figure this out, so we could be together. Instead I thanked him for keeping me updated, mentioned that we should hang out sometime soon before he left for his treatment, and we said our cordial good-byes.
That was the last time I heard from him, at all. It was May. Now it's July.
I have tried to drown it all out with anything I can. Nothing works. My talks with the bow hunter leave me feeling sick deep down in my stomach. The mere thought of any potential "dalliances" make my mouth taste like ash. And I am constantly haunted by dreams and visions chanting to me that he will be back, that he will return, and this is something far more than what it seems.
"So, before we go, tell me why you love each other." The pastor we chose for our premarital counseling sessions smiled at us and motioned to Tristan. "What about you, Tristan? Why do you love Mira?"
I was expecting something like how I make epic cookies, or how I'm quirky and weird but that's okay, or something along the lines.
"Because she reminds me that there's still good in this world." Tristan's eyes got that far-off look for a moment, and in my own mind I saw all the worlds he's traveled, and all the darkness and pain he's endured. "She fills my life with so much light, and so much love. I see her, and I remember that life is still worth living."
The pastor smiled more and nodded, then turned to me. "And you, Mira? Why do you love Tristan?"
How could I put into words what is so difficult to explain? "Because....because he's good. Not just a good guy, but deeply, inherently good. After seeing so many men, having so many men in my life betray and abandon me, to cause so much destruction....." In my mind I saw my father, distant and cold as he walked away right after telling me not to call him "Daddy" anymore. I saw every face of every man who every abandoned me, and that was every single one except my grandfather, flash in my mind as I tried to piece together a decent explanation. "And he's still here. Tristan's still here, by my side, even after going through so much crap in life. He's the one man I know I can trust with my heart."
It's been almost two months, and I'm beginning to eat my words. No matter how many dreams and visions yell at me to hang on, the fact that Tristan won't even say hi to me is an eternal knife in my heart and lungs.
6.18.2012
Fin
"Who the hell told you that load of crap???"
A grim smile formed on my face and I informed Mr. Richards who exactly indeed told me such. Or really, told Tristan. Mr. Richards is the owner of a prominent industrial cleaning company in the area, and a regular customer at my store. It occurred to me yesterday that it would be worth my while to at least inquire as to whether one would have to replace the carpet in a mobile home that was owned by a woman with 4 cats and therefore had several stains and a smell, or if it could just be steam cleaned. Tristan's parents had informed him that we would have no choice but to rip out all the carpet and replace it, should we purchase that home. After bidding a lower offer and being turned down, we abandoned the prospect of such a nice home. I left out who was involved and just kept my inquiry to the facts when I asked Mr. Richards for his professional opinion and estimate.
Mr. Richards leaned in close and narrowed his eyes quizzically. "Who the hell told you that load of crap??? $200, maybe not even that much, could easily get the stains out and kill the smell. Why would anyone tell you you'd have to replace the carpet???"
I sighed and mentally checked that question off my list of questions I've started in a silent investigation into what exactly has been going on. This was the third, or fourth, "Who the hell" response I've received. For example, I asked a property investor who fixes up homes, including mobile homes, if the noted problems we encountered at our old home would cost $15,000 (which included a new roof, furnace, etc). The man balked, laughed, and then told me it would if we decided to pave the roof with gold. He was a bit more polite in asking me where I received the original estimate. I calmly explained it was from a contractor, which Tristan's adoptive father is.
In summation, it is incredible the amount of total deception that has occurred in Tristan's life and I can no longer feel anything but grief on his behalf. The people he is supposed to be able to trust implicitly in his life have done nothing but lie to him and betray him when he wasn't looking, and that's not just his family I am talking about. So-called friends hardly behave as such when his back is turned. What can I do?
Absolutely nothing. Not only is it not my place to call out every lie anyone has ever told him, the probability of him believing me is slim. Messed up, I know, but of course I am the one who's lying. The woman who gave herself to him, nearly carried his child and promised to bind her life with his for all eternity only wants....what? Money? Power? Glory? Sex?
To those of you who may actually be thinking "yes" to any of those, let me clarify something here and now. I don't give a flying flip about money; it is merely a part of a system and a means of doing things that don't actually require money if you have the patience. Already God is blessing my life in ways I can't even begin to describe and none of it requires any more than what I already bring home.
Power and glory only come from serving God. And I certainly don't need marriage to Tristan or any other man to obtain them. Should they be given it will only be because I served Him faithfully and with it comes a great deal of responsibility.
As for the sex....it is meaningless without love. It goes down sweet as honey but turns to ash in the pit of the stomach once the realization sets in. I could share a bed with any man I want (within reason of course) but it would mean nothing and be nothing more than a waste of valuable time.
I wanted to be Tristan's wife because I loved him.
I still love him.
So you see, I have no reason to lie to him. Nor do I have the desire to. The very thought makes me sick. I pray with all my heart things will come to light and he will see what has been done, and that they will see what they have done to him. I pray that these words will not fall on deaf ears or blind eyes. Someone out there must care enough about him to help him. Already I feel God moving, taking action, doing something in this mess. Now all it takes is for true friends, true family, to stand up for what they know is right.
I am not sure if I will write again. This journal has been a wonderful way to preserve the life experiences of a good man living a good life no matter what may come his way, written by the woman who loves him. It saddens me to think that this may be the end. At least we have a way to remember.
Y manu de tulu, Tristan Mu Nam.
A grim smile formed on my face and I informed Mr. Richards who exactly indeed told me such. Or really, told Tristan. Mr. Richards is the owner of a prominent industrial cleaning company in the area, and a regular customer at my store. It occurred to me yesterday that it would be worth my while to at least inquire as to whether one would have to replace the carpet in a mobile home that was owned by a woman with 4 cats and therefore had several stains and a smell, or if it could just be steam cleaned. Tristan's parents had informed him that we would have no choice but to rip out all the carpet and replace it, should we purchase that home. After bidding a lower offer and being turned down, we abandoned the prospect of such a nice home. I left out who was involved and just kept my inquiry to the facts when I asked Mr. Richards for his professional opinion and estimate.
Mr. Richards leaned in close and narrowed his eyes quizzically. "Who the hell told you that load of crap??? $200, maybe not even that much, could easily get the stains out and kill the smell. Why would anyone tell you you'd have to replace the carpet???"
I sighed and mentally checked that question off my list of questions I've started in a silent investigation into what exactly has been going on. This was the third, or fourth, "Who the hell" response I've received. For example, I asked a property investor who fixes up homes, including mobile homes, if the noted problems we encountered at our old home would cost $15,000 (which included a new roof, furnace, etc). The man balked, laughed, and then told me it would if we decided to pave the roof with gold. He was a bit more polite in asking me where I received the original estimate. I calmly explained it was from a contractor, which Tristan's adoptive father is.
In summation, it is incredible the amount of total deception that has occurred in Tristan's life and I can no longer feel anything but grief on his behalf. The people he is supposed to be able to trust implicitly in his life have done nothing but lie to him and betray him when he wasn't looking, and that's not just his family I am talking about. So-called friends hardly behave as such when his back is turned. What can I do?
Absolutely nothing. Not only is it not my place to call out every lie anyone has ever told him, the probability of him believing me is slim. Messed up, I know, but of course I am the one who's lying. The woman who gave herself to him, nearly carried his child and promised to bind her life with his for all eternity only wants....what? Money? Power? Glory? Sex?
To those of you who may actually be thinking "yes" to any of those, let me clarify something here and now. I don't give a flying flip about money; it is merely a part of a system and a means of doing things that don't actually require money if you have the patience. Already God is blessing my life in ways I can't even begin to describe and none of it requires any more than what I already bring home.
Power and glory only come from serving God. And I certainly don't need marriage to Tristan or any other man to obtain them. Should they be given it will only be because I served Him faithfully and with it comes a great deal of responsibility.
As for the sex....it is meaningless without love. It goes down sweet as honey but turns to ash in the pit of the stomach once the realization sets in. I could share a bed with any man I want (within reason of course) but it would mean nothing and be nothing more than a waste of valuable time.
I wanted to be Tristan's wife because I loved him.
I still love him.
So you see, I have no reason to lie to him. Nor do I have the desire to. The very thought makes me sick. I pray with all my heart things will come to light and he will see what has been done, and that they will see what they have done to him. I pray that these words will not fall on deaf ears or blind eyes. Someone out there must care enough about him to help him. Already I feel God moving, taking action, doing something in this mess. Now all it takes is for true friends, true family, to stand up for what they know is right.
I am not sure if I will write again. This journal has been a wonderful way to preserve the life experiences of a good man living a good life no matter what may come his way, written by the woman who loves him. It saddens me to think that this may be the end. At least we have a way to remember.
Y manu de tulu, Tristan Mu Nam.
6.13.2012
Trust
Stay away from him.
"But...." I sighed and felt the flicker of hope for something new and better get snuffed out. "He appreciates me. For me. Like, actually values what I value and believes what I believe, and......well, he appreciates me."
He's not who I promised you to. You are not his to claim.
If I wasn't standing in the middle of my work area, I would have stomped my foot. "Yeah? Well the man you chose for me has thrown me away yet again! AGAIN! What am I supposed to do?? Wait for him to come back and use me again, drain me again, treat me like his most precious lover then act like I'm nothing, like I never existed? What kind of life is that????"
You know the time is almost here. And you know you can trust me. What happened to trusting me?
Again, if it wasn't for work, I would have let the tears fall. Only a few days ago I met a handsome young man only a year older than me, charming and adventurous and completely enamored with me. He's strong in mind, heart and body, a practiced bowhunter and lover of all things Celtic and medieval. Things like honor and loyalty are central to his person code of ethics. Just by talking we learned we are identical in almost everything, so far anyways. He wants me. A part of me that yearns for better days minus the darkness wants him. If I were to be honest, a BIG part of me wants to forget who I am, where I'm from, what I know, everything that has both enriched and completely ruined my life, and just run off with him into the woods to never return.
Stay away from him. For his sake as well as yours. He cannot have you. You are promised to another.
"Yes. I know this." With another sigh, I felt my resolve crumble away to reveal a very shattered heart. A heart that still beats for a man who threw it against the wall. A heart that still loves, and clings to the last vestige of who I am.
You are my daughter.
Is it too much to just want someone who will fight for you, who will die for you, who will take on the world long before they ever let go of you? God did that for us. And in my heart and soul I know He would not bind me to a man of any less strength and resolve because I am His daughter! So why all this.....why do I sit here fighting back the tears and chanting to myself to trust Him, to trust Him, to trust Him?
It is easy to run away with a handsome bowhunter. It takes an incredible amount of strength and fortitude, and ridiculously intense trust, to stand still and wait for something that seems almost impossible. But nothing is impossible with God. He has been talking to me through everything, from the direct voice in my heart to passages in Scripture that I would otherwise have never read, and even bringing in people to randomly tell me everything is going to be okay, stand strong and fight. Songs start playing on the radio right when I wonder why I shouldn't just give up.
When I envisioned our wedding, starting wayyyyy back when I knew Jake as Tristan, I always saw myself getting shot. Or stabbed. Or someone jumping up to interrupt. Whatever it was, for some reason I couldn't "see" our wedding without some form of tragedy occurring to me, and I'm not much of a worrier in those respects.
Now.....I gave it a go and asked God to show me what exactly I have to look forward to. And it took my breath away. So many flowers, so many happy faces, and no injuries. No attacks. And there he stood, tall and strong and golden in his glow, smiling at me with so much love in his eyes. I yanked myself out of the vision because I couldn't believe it was still an option. And then I tiptoed back into it, hardly able to grasp the idea that this could still happen. It was better and far more beautiful than anything I have ever imagined on my own. And no one tried to kill me.
I must go to sleep. Tomorrow is full of battles to fight to get to the moment of peace.
"But...." I sighed and felt the flicker of hope for something new and better get snuffed out. "He appreciates me. For me. Like, actually values what I value and believes what I believe, and......well, he appreciates me."
He's not who I promised you to. You are not his to claim.
If I wasn't standing in the middle of my work area, I would have stomped my foot. "Yeah? Well the man you chose for me has thrown me away yet again! AGAIN! What am I supposed to do?? Wait for him to come back and use me again, drain me again, treat me like his most precious lover then act like I'm nothing, like I never existed? What kind of life is that????"
You know the time is almost here. And you know you can trust me. What happened to trusting me?
Again, if it wasn't for work, I would have let the tears fall. Only a few days ago I met a handsome young man only a year older than me, charming and adventurous and completely enamored with me. He's strong in mind, heart and body, a practiced bowhunter and lover of all things Celtic and medieval. Things like honor and loyalty are central to his person code of ethics. Just by talking we learned we are identical in almost everything, so far anyways. He wants me. A part of me that yearns for better days minus the darkness wants him. If I were to be honest, a BIG part of me wants to forget who I am, where I'm from, what I know, everything that has both enriched and completely ruined my life, and just run off with him into the woods to never return.
Stay away from him. For his sake as well as yours. He cannot have you. You are promised to another.
"Yes. I know this." With another sigh, I felt my resolve crumble away to reveal a very shattered heart. A heart that still beats for a man who threw it against the wall. A heart that still loves, and clings to the last vestige of who I am.
You are my daughter.
Is it too much to just want someone who will fight for you, who will die for you, who will take on the world long before they ever let go of you? God did that for us. And in my heart and soul I know He would not bind me to a man of any less strength and resolve because I am His daughter! So why all this.....why do I sit here fighting back the tears and chanting to myself to trust Him, to trust Him, to trust Him?
It is easy to run away with a handsome bowhunter. It takes an incredible amount of strength and fortitude, and ridiculously intense trust, to stand still and wait for something that seems almost impossible. But nothing is impossible with God. He has been talking to me through everything, from the direct voice in my heart to passages in Scripture that I would otherwise have never read, and even bringing in people to randomly tell me everything is going to be okay, stand strong and fight. Songs start playing on the radio right when I wonder why I shouldn't just give up.
When I envisioned our wedding, starting wayyyyy back when I knew Jake as Tristan, I always saw myself getting shot. Or stabbed. Or someone jumping up to interrupt. Whatever it was, for some reason I couldn't "see" our wedding without some form of tragedy occurring to me, and I'm not much of a worrier in those respects.
Now.....I gave it a go and asked God to show me what exactly I have to look forward to. And it took my breath away. So many flowers, so many happy faces, and no injuries. No attacks. And there he stood, tall and strong and golden in his glow, smiling at me with so much love in his eyes. I yanked myself out of the vision because I couldn't believe it was still an option. And then I tiptoed back into it, hardly able to grasp the idea that this could still happen. It was better and far more beautiful than anything I have ever imagined on my own. And no one tried to kill me.
I must go to sleep. Tomorrow is full of battles to fight to get to the moment of peace.
6.03.2012
"Great"
In this letter I will congratulate you, threaten you, and encourage
you but first I want you to know how wonderful of a friend you have and how
lucky you are to be sitting across from A Great. I’m sure that as the years go
by, people will look up to Mira Willis and wish that they were in your very shoes. She is going to become a great and
powerful woman someday and you should take this opportunity to learn all that
you can from her.
I have read that paragraph over and over in the past few days. "A great and powerful woman". "A Great". The fact that the letter was signed by our late CO is not the only thing that adds weight to the words; it is that there is the possibility that it was actually penned by Nicks. Written and signed, wholeheartedly endorsed, by the Goran Prince's guardian...and father. Perhaps the two most important mortal men in Tristan's life. Calling me A Great, foretelling of my rise to power.
There is a part of me, deep down, that knew of this already. But it is difficult to see the possibilities of anything like that happening when everything has been stripped away. As I write this I have no home, no car, and no means to obtain either. Material things don't bother me so much anyways. It's that Tristan has....well, he remains silent. And distant. Very, very distant.
6.02.2012
Pain
One individual I was so afraid to speak with due to my seeming inability to refrain from strangling attempts has, in fact, been most insightful.
Rachel and I....have our rocky history as frenemies, but within the past year she has been most decidedly a friend much, much more than an enemy. Okay, so some other friends shared with Tristan and I things she supposedly said behind our backs, but I just confronted her about it and she did have valid points to reconsider.
Anyhow, I digress.
It seems she spoke with Tristan the night before he gave me the letter stating our separation. Grilled, was the term she used. Just to make sure he was fully cognitive of what he was deciding to do.
"You know why he did it?"
"I know what he told me," I answered her as we discussed the elephant in the room. I have not gone fully public with these turn of events while Tristan was swift to announce it to his family and friends, such as Rachel.
"He was pretty lucid when I talked to him about it...and kind of irritated...."
I frowned. "What did he tell you?"
"That you weren't being very supportive of [him] being in the hospital and that he needed to have people in his life that will help him get better and not tell him to 'fake getting better so he can get out of there'."
My heart dropped into my stomach. An invisible sledgehammer slammed into my chest. Rachel meant no ill will, I understand that. I asked a question and she answered honestly, from what information he gave her. The fact that THAT was what he told her....
I made one stupid comment in the midst of frustration with medical science and its inability to do anything (or so it seemed at the time). What I meant to ask him was if he felt he had it in him to fight the entities that plague him and just ignore them as much as humanly possible, as had been done by many people in his same situation. I missed him terribly but wanted him to get better, by any means necessary, and shoving the "voices" aside is one means. What I wanted to know was if he thought he could potentially accomplish that. What actually flew out of my mouth was, "Can't you just fake it so you can get out of here?"
Tristan looked at me in pure, insulted horror. "I can't believe you just said that."
I couldn't either. I was dumbfounded by the callous voice that popped out of my own mouth with such a horrible question. After a moment's pause, and Tristan saying something in defense, I quickly and sincerely apologized. Even my apology sounded like someone else's voice. But it was still me.
Of course Tristan has no idea what I've been doing since the moment he was admitted into the hospital. The people I've talked with, the ongoing rallying among prayer warriors for his healing. An ENTIRE church is spreading the word like wildfire to pray and pray intensely for Tristan's full recovery and healing! I have consulted more church leaders than I can count, I have reached out to ministers in various cities, I've even inspired non-Christians to start praying! My workplace is humming with prayer for him. The internet is humming with (anonymous) prayer for him. And amidst all that, I have been consulting with financial planners to find a way to secure a safe home for us so he has a haven to feel comfortable and peaceful in. I've rewritten my budget so we can have healthy groceries, I've ended unnecessary accounts, I fasted for three whole days in prayer to bind myself even closer to God so I can be a better person and a better companion for him!
And yet, I'm not supportive.
If I thought the universe was kicking my ass before, it just dealt a harder blow. I feel like I could physically puke what little is in my stomach because, haha, I struggle to even find an appetite.
While everyone else scrambled for medicine to sedate him, I sought an actual cure. I have been searching for people to help us pray, to plead with God for mercy and healing on his behalf. I have been begging God night and day, even after Tristan broke it off with me, to spare him the horrors of what he's endured and to just let him live in peace. To heal him. To help him feel strong again.
To give him the best life imaginable, even if it means I'm not in it.
The pain is incredible. And yet I still pray, I still plead with God, I still beg.
I love him, so much. Doesn't that count for something?
Rachel and I....have our rocky history as frenemies, but within the past year she has been most decidedly a friend much, much more than an enemy. Okay, so some other friends shared with Tristan and I things she supposedly said behind our backs, but I just confronted her about it and she did have valid points to reconsider.
Anyhow, I digress.
It seems she spoke with Tristan the night before he gave me the letter stating our separation. Grilled, was the term she used. Just to make sure he was fully cognitive of what he was deciding to do.
"You know why he did it?"
"I know what he told me," I answered her as we discussed the elephant in the room. I have not gone fully public with these turn of events while Tristan was swift to announce it to his family and friends, such as Rachel.
"He was pretty lucid when I talked to him about it...and kind of irritated...."
I frowned. "What did he tell you?"
"That you weren't being very supportive of [him] being in the hospital and that he needed to have people in his life that will help him get better and not tell him to 'fake getting better so he can get out of there'."
My heart dropped into my stomach. An invisible sledgehammer slammed into my chest. Rachel meant no ill will, I understand that. I asked a question and she answered honestly, from what information he gave her. The fact that THAT was what he told her....
I made one stupid comment in the midst of frustration with medical science and its inability to do anything (or so it seemed at the time). What I meant to ask him was if he felt he had it in him to fight the entities that plague him and just ignore them as much as humanly possible, as had been done by many people in his same situation. I missed him terribly but wanted him to get better, by any means necessary, and shoving the "voices" aside is one means. What I wanted to know was if he thought he could potentially accomplish that. What actually flew out of my mouth was, "Can't you just fake it so you can get out of here?"
Tristan looked at me in pure, insulted horror. "I can't believe you just said that."
I couldn't either. I was dumbfounded by the callous voice that popped out of my own mouth with such a horrible question. After a moment's pause, and Tristan saying something in defense, I quickly and sincerely apologized. Even my apology sounded like someone else's voice. But it was still me.
Of course Tristan has no idea what I've been doing since the moment he was admitted into the hospital. The people I've talked with, the ongoing rallying among prayer warriors for his healing. An ENTIRE church is spreading the word like wildfire to pray and pray intensely for Tristan's full recovery and healing! I have consulted more church leaders than I can count, I have reached out to ministers in various cities, I've even inspired non-Christians to start praying! My workplace is humming with prayer for him. The internet is humming with (anonymous) prayer for him. And amidst all that, I have been consulting with financial planners to find a way to secure a safe home for us so he has a haven to feel comfortable and peaceful in. I've rewritten my budget so we can have healthy groceries, I've ended unnecessary accounts, I fasted for three whole days in prayer to bind myself even closer to God so I can be a better person and a better companion for him!
And yet, I'm not supportive.
If I thought the universe was kicking my ass before, it just dealt a harder blow. I feel like I could physically puke what little is in my stomach because, haha, I struggle to even find an appetite.
While everyone else scrambled for medicine to sedate him, I sought an actual cure. I have been searching for people to help us pray, to plead with God for mercy and healing on his behalf. I have been begging God night and day, even after Tristan broke it off with me, to spare him the horrors of what he's endured and to just let him live in peace. To heal him. To help him feel strong again.
To give him the best life imaginable, even if it means I'm not in it.
The pain is incredible. And yet I still pray, I still plead with God, I still beg.
I love him, so much. Doesn't that count for something?
6.01.2012
Dreams....Interrupted
I'm not sure what to write. Just....something.
Admitting my everlasting sadness over the loss of our would-be child did help. A little. At least now I don't feel like I'm hiding in the shadows anymore. Or as much. Often in my mind these days I hold her, praying that we will have her again one day soon. Most of the time I beg her forgiveness. While I'd still do anything to turn back the clock and undo the terrible mistake, I feel more at peace. Maybe because I know, somehow, she forgives me.
Some days ago I dreamed of glowing light and beautiful sunshine in a clean, warm home. Tristan and I lay together on the couch, nuzzling and softly talking about anything that came to mind. Our son, who looked to be about three years old, played with his toy trucks and blocks on the carpet just a few feet away. From another room came the soft cries and babbling of a baby, somehow I knew it was a girl. I asked Tristan if I was still beautiful to him. He smiled, kissed me warmly, and said I was even more beautiful to him now that I've carried our children. My body had the softness of a mother and he loved every curve. He was going to show me just how much he loved my curves but I reminded him that Junior was right there and we had a baby girl to attend to.
I woke up on a mattress on the floor of a friend's house, alone and in the grayness of early dawn. I smiled inside, knowing that soon it would be reality.
And that night, when I went to visit Tristan, he handed me a letter. Then after I read it and swallowed every scream of pain and horror that threatened to erupt, he told me he fell out of love with me. We're over, the wedding is off, he doesn't love me.
When I finally went back to our friend's house, I sobbed into a pillow and begged God why He would give me such a beautiful dream when He knew it would be ripped to shreds the same day.
To have something to hold on to.
Admitting my everlasting sadness over the loss of our would-be child did help. A little. At least now I don't feel like I'm hiding in the shadows anymore. Or as much. Often in my mind these days I hold her, praying that we will have her again one day soon. Most of the time I beg her forgiveness. While I'd still do anything to turn back the clock and undo the terrible mistake, I feel more at peace. Maybe because I know, somehow, she forgives me.
Some days ago I dreamed of glowing light and beautiful sunshine in a clean, warm home. Tristan and I lay together on the couch, nuzzling and softly talking about anything that came to mind. Our son, who looked to be about three years old, played with his toy trucks and blocks on the carpet just a few feet away. From another room came the soft cries and babbling of a baby, somehow I knew it was a girl. I asked Tristan if I was still beautiful to him. He smiled, kissed me warmly, and said I was even more beautiful to him now that I've carried our children. My body had the softness of a mother and he loved every curve. He was going to show me just how much he loved my curves but I reminded him that Junior was right there and we had a baby girl to attend to.
I woke up on a mattress on the floor of a friend's house, alone and in the grayness of early dawn. I smiled inside, knowing that soon it would be reality.
And that night, when I went to visit Tristan, he handed me a letter. Then after I read it and swallowed every scream of pain and horror that threatened to erupt, he told me he fell out of love with me. We're over, the wedding is off, he doesn't love me.
When I finally went back to our friend's house, I sobbed into a pillow and begged God why He would give me such a beautiful dream when He knew it would be ripped to shreds the same day.
To have something to hold on to.
5.28.2012
My Greatest Regret
Sometimes, okay all the time, the only way to find a cure is to purge the poison.
While Tristan needs an intense cure, both physical and spiritual, I have my own need for a cure. Too long I've gone without being who I once was. And I've held onto pain that I should have just let go, all because I couldn't bring myself to face my own consequences.
But I have to let it go. I have to confess, to face the pain, to purge it.
November.
The month started off with a change inside me. I'd only just given Tristan the last vestige of my purity and we were...well, we were greatly enjoying this newfound activity. Not just the bonding part, but the fact that it could potentially (we prayed) create the family we've dreamed of. Tristan wanted me to carry his child, and I wanted nothing more than to have that honor. Okay, I wanted to be his wife. Still do. But to have a baby, his baby, would make me so incredibly happy.
I looked different in the mirror. My eyes were brighter. My hair was fuller. Every morning I woke up with a strange sort of nausea in my stomach and I had the weirdest cravings. I was HUNGRY all the time, but nothing looked good. And I was smelling a coworker's cologne that he'd put on the day before, 12 yards away from him. Hell, I could tell when a woman was going through her "time of the month" from an aisle away, or if a toddler was still on natural milk. My abdomen ached. And I noticed things that were....different. Inside.
It was too early to take a pregnancy test. I think I tried, just one, and it came back negative. One of those times that made me laugh despite the anxiety, gazing at Tristan whose eyes were glued on that small strip of vital information. I think I asked him something and he merely grunted. Around the second week of November I was to go on a trip, a sort of mini-vacation to go see my friend who lived a few states over and was about to be married. I was her maid of honor, and to tell the truth, we've become best friends since our time together in college. I insisted on seeing her.
"I don't think you should go," Tristan said the day before I was to leave.
"But I have to." I was conflicted as well. There were bills to pay, food to buy, but I had made this commitment to my best friend and couldn't cancel on her the night before. "I promised her."
Tristan sighed and shook his head. "I just have a really bad feeling about this. Like if you go, something terrible will happen."
I had the same feeling. The same fear. But it'd been almost two years since I last saw Samantha and I missed her terribly. The fact that I had the opportunity to see her, to spend time with her laughing and talking and staying up late while planning her "marital fun" and going lingerie shopping....I couldn't miss out on this. "Baby, I have the same feeling, but I can't ditch her. I've been looking forward to this for months. I took the vacation days off and she's made her arrangements, too." I kissed him, hoping to reassuring him.
He grumbled but kissed me back. "I don't like it. Stay home with me, please."
The pleading in his eyes and voice was almost enough to convince me to stay. I wanted to, really, but I wanted to see Samantha. I wanted the adventure of travelling on my own (not a recommendation for other young unmarried women, by the way).
Samantha was overjoyed to see me again. We hugged, laughed, even kind of cried at our reunion. Somehow through all we'd been through in college, we'd become like sisters. To this day, she is still my go-to friend for everything from good news to horrible trauma. My first night there, she took me out to a local Mexican pub for awesome food and $1 margaritas.
I told myself the ice diluted the alcohol. Then I told myself I was worrying over something that might not even exist. So I drank the margarita. I downed the melted ice and sweet syrup, completely forgetting about the alcohol. And I needed her assistance to get down the wheelchair ramp.
The rest of the week was alcohol-infused. We made brownies and drank. We watched movies and drank. As I sat there on the floor in her living room, watching a movie while sipping my third beer for the night, I heard...no, I felt a soft, faint voice inside me. Calling to me. Pleading for me.
I told myself I was being ridiculous. I justified the drinking with the reasoning that if it was meant to be, it would happen. Genetics, our genetics, would reign. Things would heal. If I was meant to have it, it would survive.
Only a week or two later, I saw the blood in the toilet. The small blob of blood that occurred in the middle of my cycle, not when it would be normal to have that sort of thing happen.
And the horror sank in.
I didn't breathe a word to anyone, least of all Tristan. The pain was so deep, the guilt so fierce, I couldn't even cry. I couldn't bring myself to come to terms with what I'd done. When I went to the OB-GYN midwife, she said I had a minor infection which most likely caused the miscarriage. So I told myself that's what it was. I chanted that it wasn't my fault, that it was the infection. But I knew. I knew.
Finally I told Tristan, as a bargain chip for explanation for something he'd done. He was silent. And despite my pleas to tell no one, he told his parents that same night. So I told mine. Mom was understanding, and reaffirmed Tristan's mother's statement that our baby will be waiting for us in Heaven.
I don't want another 80+ years before seeing my baby! I want her back! I want my baby!!
God, I am so horribly sorry. Tristan....oh God, how can I even begin to tell him about the terrible sorrow that's plagued me since the day I found out? When he did mention it I'd get defensive, saying it's no big deal, that it didn't even implant into my body to grow. He would look at me, almost in horror, and protest that it is a VERY big deal!
During my visit with him today we realized that had I not gone on that trip, or even just not drank on that trip, I would have been seven months pregnant right now. Round, waddling, carrying our child, nesting for a new life with him and our baby. Our baby.
Our baby.
My greatest regret in life. My greatest sorrow. What I would give for that chance to take it all back, to hold my baby in my arms, to have our family. I beg God for forgiveness, for the ability to forgive myself. For Tristan to forgive me.
For another chance, just to have her in my arms and in my life.
I'm so sorry.
While Tristan needs an intense cure, both physical and spiritual, I have my own need for a cure. Too long I've gone without being who I once was. And I've held onto pain that I should have just let go, all because I couldn't bring myself to face my own consequences.
But I have to let it go. I have to confess, to face the pain, to purge it.
November.
The month started off with a change inside me. I'd only just given Tristan the last vestige of my purity and we were...well, we were greatly enjoying this newfound activity. Not just the bonding part, but the fact that it could potentially (we prayed) create the family we've dreamed of. Tristan wanted me to carry his child, and I wanted nothing more than to have that honor. Okay, I wanted to be his wife. Still do. But to have a baby, his baby, would make me so incredibly happy.
I looked different in the mirror. My eyes were brighter. My hair was fuller. Every morning I woke up with a strange sort of nausea in my stomach and I had the weirdest cravings. I was HUNGRY all the time, but nothing looked good. And I was smelling a coworker's cologne that he'd put on the day before, 12 yards away from him. Hell, I could tell when a woman was going through her "time of the month" from an aisle away, or if a toddler was still on natural milk. My abdomen ached. And I noticed things that were....different. Inside.
It was too early to take a pregnancy test. I think I tried, just one, and it came back negative. One of those times that made me laugh despite the anxiety, gazing at Tristan whose eyes were glued on that small strip of vital information. I think I asked him something and he merely grunted. Around the second week of November I was to go on a trip, a sort of mini-vacation to go see my friend who lived a few states over and was about to be married. I was her maid of honor, and to tell the truth, we've become best friends since our time together in college. I insisted on seeing her.
"I don't think you should go," Tristan said the day before I was to leave.
"But I have to." I was conflicted as well. There were bills to pay, food to buy, but I had made this commitment to my best friend and couldn't cancel on her the night before. "I promised her."
Tristan sighed and shook his head. "I just have a really bad feeling about this. Like if you go, something terrible will happen."
I had the same feeling. The same fear. But it'd been almost two years since I last saw Samantha and I missed her terribly. The fact that I had the opportunity to see her, to spend time with her laughing and talking and staying up late while planning her "marital fun" and going lingerie shopping....I couldn't miss out on this. "Baby, I have the same feeling, but I can't ditch her. I've been looking forward to this for months. I took the vacation days off and she's made her arrangements, too." I kissed him, hoping to reassuring him.
He grumbled but kissed me back. "I don't like it. Stay home with me, please."
The pleading in his eyes and voice was almost enough to convince me to stay. I wanted to, really, but I wanted to see Samantha. I wanted the adventure of travelling on my own (not a recommendation for other young unmarried women, by the way).
Samantha was overjoyed to see me again. We hugged, laughed, even kind of cried at our reunion. Somehow through all we'd been through in college, we'd become like sisters. To this day, she is still my go-to friend for everything from good news to horrible trauma. My first night there, she took me out to a local Mexican pub for awesome food and $1 margaritas.
I told myself the ice diluted the alcohol. Then I told myself I was worrying over something that might not even exist. So I drank the margarita. I downed the melted ice and sweet syrup, completely forgetting about the alcohol. And I needed her assistance to get down the wheelchair ramp.
The rest of the week was alcohol-infused. We made brownies and drank. We watched movies and drank. As I sat there on the floor in her living room, watching a movie while sipping my third beer for the night, I heard...no, I felt a soft, faint voice inside me. Calling to me. Pleading for me.
I told myself I was being ridiculous. I justified the drinking with the reasoning that if it was meant to be, it would happen. Genetics, our genetics, would reign. Things would heal. If I was meant to have it, it would survive.
Only a week or two later, I saw the blood in the toilet. The small blob of blood that occurred in the middle of my cycle, not when it would be normal to have that sort of thing happen.
And the horror sank in.
I didn't breathe a word to anyone, least of all Tristan. The pain was so deep, the guilt so fierce, I couldn't even cry. I couldn't bring myself to come to terms with what I'd done. When I went to the OB-GYN midwife, she said I had a minor infection which most likely caused the miscarriage. So I told myself that's what it was. I chanted that it wasn't my fault, that it was the infection. But I knew. I knew.
Finally I told Tristan, as a bargain chip for explanation for something he'd done. He was silent. And despite my pleas to tell no one, he told his parents that same night. So I told mine. Mom was understanding, and reaffirmed Tristan's mother's statement that our baby will be waiting for us in Heaven.
I don't want another 80+ years before seeing my baby! I want her back! I want my baby!!
God, I am so horribly sorry. Tristan....oh God, how can I even begin to tell him about the terrible sorrow that's plagued me since the day I found out? When he did mention it I'd get defensive, saying it's no big deal, that it didn't even implant into my body to grow. He would look at me, almost in horror, and protest that it is a VERY big deal!
During my visit with him today we realized that had I not gone on that trip, or even just not drank on that trip, I would have been seven months pregnant right now. Round, waddling, carrying our child, nesting for a new life with him and our baby. Our baby.
Our baby.
My greatest regret in life. My greatest sorrow. What I would give for that chance to take it all back, to hold my baby in my arms, to have our family. I beg God for forgiveness, for the ability to forgive myself. For Tristan to forgive me.
For another chance, just to have her in my arms and in my life.
I'm so sorry.
5.24.2012
Battle
"Be strong and courageous, do not be terrified. Do not be discouraged, for the Lord God is with you wherever you go." Joshua 1:9
I think we get so caught up in the conspiracies that we forget what exactly we're doing. Or who we are. I confess, I was so caught up in the idea, the knowledge that I will be marrying a prince and becoming his eternal companion.....I forgot that I am, first and foremost, a daughter of God. A "priestess" of sorts for the High King of Heaven and Earth, and in that effect a spiritual warrior. And here I've sat, watching Tristan suffer and asking God why He wasn't doing anything.
To quote Homer Simpson, "D'oh!"
I confess, again, that I also got caught up in my fury towards those who claim to be his friends and yet talk behind his back like his worst enemies. Since you know who you are, and I will never, ever say this in person, I will say it here. How dare you?? How dare you claim to be his closest friends, his most trusted companions, and then turn around and verbally degrade his decisions and his happiness? How dare you trash-talk his chosen wife? (Even if it wasn't me, I'd still be mad. You just don't do that to a friend!) You are not invited to his wedding, his reception, NOTHING. You are not told about his life because you have not earned the honor! You are not his best friend, and he is not yours! So shut up, stop blowing hot air into this world and go. Away.
Note: I needed to vent. Somewhere. I needed to get that poison out of my system before going on and doing what it is I need to do in the spiritual world, because that has been eating away at me and leaving a horrible taste in my mouth. Again, you know who you are. And shame on you. I apologize for the incredible harshness of my words and yet at the same time, you need to think about that. Hard. And really decide what your next move is carefully because you are watched. And you are heard. And we will know.
Then again, last night at church I was reminded that our enemies aren't truly people, but what lies within people. Our battle is against the darkness. So I pray for the patience, and the compassion, to keep remembering that before I rip a potential redemption story to shreds. So I say yet again, this post is a vent and while it is to be taken into consideration, it would be a very bad idea to go crying and complaining to Tristan, his family, me, or any of our actually true friends (which, sadly, has been narrowed down to one local and two out-of-state. Out of, like, 10 originals, we are left with 3 we can actually trust). I just needed to somehow express the stress within me so I don't destroy the planet. :)
I keep chanting the benediction from soooooo many years of liturgical church as a child. "And may the grace, mercy and peace of God that surpasses all understanding keep your hearts and minds with Christ Jesus, Amen." Oh, and the fruits of the Spirit: Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Self-control. Self-control. Self. Control.
Mom always said I'm a Peter. John would peek into the tomb, see that Jesus wasn't there anymore, and make a note of it. Peter ran inside (a big no-no for Jewish people who wish to attend church regularly, as it is highly unclean), tossed around the burial clothes (again, ick) and exclaimed that Jesus is missing. And to tell the truth, when I was a kid and read that Peter grabbed a sword and chopped off a guy's ear in a move to defend Jesus from arrest and eventual execution, I asked the teacher what was so wrong with that? I would, too! I didn't understand at the time that Jesus' death, and resurrection, was a good thing because it saved us all from horrible separation and eternal death. I just thought that Jesus shouldn't have been killed and I would totally throw myself into battle for Him. Now I understand. :) But I'd still go into battle for Him anytime, anyday.
And writing that has made me realize, that's exactly what I'm supposed to be doing right now.
I think we get so caught up in the conspiracies that we forget what exactly we're doing. Or who we are. I confess, I was so caught up in the idea, the knowledge that I will be marrying a prince and becoming his eternal companion.....I forgot that I am, first and foremost, a daughter of God. A "priestess" of sorts for the High King of Heaven and Earth, and in that effect a spiritual warrior. And here I've sat, watching Tristan suffer and asking God why He wasn't doing anything.
To quote Homer Simpson, "D'oh!"
I confess, again, that I also got caught up in my fury towards those who claim to be his friends and yet talk behind his back like his worst enemies. Since you know who you are, and I will never, ever say this in person, I will say it here. How dare you?? How dare you claim to be his closest friends, his most trusted companions, and then turn around and verbally degrade his decisions and his happiness? How dare you trash-talk his chosen wife? (Even if it wasn't me, I'd still be mad. You just don't do that to a friend!) You are not invited to his wedding, his reception, NOTHING. You are not told about his life because you have not earned the honor! You are not his best friend, and he is not yours! So shut up, stop blowing hot air into this world and go. Away.
Note: I needed to vent. Somewhere. I needed to get that poison out of my system before going on and doing what it is I need to do in the spiritual world, because that has been eating away at me and leaving a horrible taste in my mouth. Again, you know who you are. And shame on you. I apologize for the incredible harshness of my words and yet at the same time, you need to think about that. Hard. And really decide what your next move is carefully because you are watched. And you are heard. And we will know.
Then again, last night at church I was reminded that our enemies aren't truly people, but what lies within people. Our battle is against the darkness. So I pray for the patience, and the compassion, to keep remembering that before I rip a potential redemption story to shreds. So I say yet again, this post is a vent and while it is to be taken into consideration, it would be a very bad idea to go crying and complaining to Tristan, his family, me, or any of our actually true friends (which, sadly, has been narrowed down to one local and two out-of-state. Out of, like, 10 originals, we are left with 3 we can actually trust). I just needed to somehow express the stress within me so I don't destroy the planet. :)
I keep chanting the benediction from soooooo many years of liturgical church as a child. "And may the grace, mercy and peace of God that surpasses all understanding keep your hearts and minds with Christ Jesus, Amen." Oh, and the fruits of the Spirit: Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Self-control. Self-control. Self. Control.
Mom always said I'm a Peter. John would peek into the tomb, see that Jesus wasn't there anymore, and make a note of it. Peter ran inside (a big no-no for Jewish people who wish to attend church regularly, as it is highly unclean), tossed around the burial clothes (again, ick) and exclaimed that Jesus is missing. And to tell the truth, when I was a kid and read that Peter grabbed a sword and chopped off a guy's ear in a move to defend Jesus from arrest and eventual execution, I asked the teacher what was so wrong with that? I would, too! I didn't understand at the time that Jesus' death, and resurrection, was a good thing because it saved us all from horrible separation and eternal death. I just thought that Jesus shouldn't have been killed and I would totally throw myself into battle for Him. Now I understand. :) But I'd still go into battle for Him anytime, anyday.
And writing that has made me realize, that's exactly what I'm supposed to be doing right now.
5.15.2012
Fairytale Part 2
I have just spent almost three hours at a McDonald's so I could catch up on one of my favorite shows, "Once Upon A Time". And oddly enough, I found it to be far more encouraging than I expected.
Curses can be broken. We know this. Or, at least, we once knew this. All our modern fairytales call this world a "world without magic", when in fact it's just a world full of incredibly boring, and blind, people. Science is the new magic. But science does not produce results as effective as the greater powers in the universe mankind has chosen to ignore and forget.
Some turn to the darkest corners of existence for the power. I grew up in the arms of the High King, effectively raised and parented by God Himself in the absence of my blood father. And in the metaphorical absence of my adoptive father. Friends have called me blessed, favored by God, chosen for something great. And while I may not have gotten a pony for my birthday or a Ferrari for my first car, God has always taken care of me. When I need food or shelter, it is provided. When I was stranded in Texas with neither, and no money, some mysterious person no one had ever seen before showed up and handed the hostess $200 cash which was then given to me. I've driven a car that for all intents and purposes should have never been able to run in the first place. And I've been given not just a husband, but a prince, as the love of my mortal life.
So then I ask Him, I ask my Father, why it seems His favor is only given to me and not to Tristan. I ask while I sit beside him, holding his hand, feeling helpless in the midst of the turmoil in his mind. And while people may say it's ridiculous to take blame for something that I have no power over, the truth is I can and do take blame for doing nothing about it.
Curses can be broken. This world has curses, and it has cures. God provides the cure for any ailment, and any cure, but it's not a free handout. Not because He doesn't love us, but because we wouldn't appreciate anything He gives us if we didn't have some form of involvement in getting it.
It amazes me how people in this world, on this planet, can believe in God but refuse to believe there is a physical, living darkness. Dark beings. Demons. And the worst part is, they aren't all obvious. As someone once told me, if Satan was an ugly, terrifying beast of a demon, who would fall into his trap? Like moths to a flame, we are lured by beauty. And like so many similar creatures, we are unable to see the danger in the bits of joy just sitting out in the open....on top of a trap.
Who knows how Tristan got his curse? Nicks said it was the oxygen levels, the change from living as a toddler in a high-oxygen environment to growing up in an atmosphere blended with so many other gases. The doctors say it could be his epilepsy, which could be from the car accident, which he was never really in to begin with. It could be the kink in his neck, or it could be that little device that Mom thinks is either malfunctioning or being manipulated but all the same is in the base of his neck on the spinal cord.
Deep down, I truly, fully believe it is something much more, something much darker. I've already been scoffed at by so-called "friends" who think I'm some religious fanatic. At first, long ago, Tristan also scoffed, but not so much anymore.
"I don't think all of it is a hallucination," I told him once, while we sat in the commons of the mental ward in the hospital. "I mean, maybe some of it, but....I don't know. I think....Actually, I really believe, you can just see what no one else can see. You can see the invisible."
Tristan didn't scoff then. He actually mulled over it, gave me a soft nod, and we continued our card game. That was back in December, when we worried about his discharge timing up with Christmas. Now, if I bring it up, he brooks no argument and on a good day, he asks me what makes me believe it so fervently.
I dare not tell anyone else why. Only he knows, and perhaps maybe you, dear reader, have already figured it out. Because while I do not have to deal with the horror of physically seeing, tasting, and feeling the "invisible" world that has become so much a part of Tristan's life, I am fully aware of it's existence. I always have been. It's part of being a Seer.
And I know who, or what, it is that threatens to rip the last shreds of Tristan's sanity away before we have a chance to bind together in marriage.
Curses can be broken. And dragons can be killed. It's just a matter of believing that not only can it be done, but it will be done.
Curses can be broken. We know this. Or, at least, we once knew this. All our modern fairytales call this world a "world without magic", when in fact it's just a world full of incredibly boring, and blind, people. Science is the new magic. But science does not produce results as effective as the greater powers in the universe mankind has chosen to ignore and forget.
Some turn to the darkest corners of existence for the power. I grew up in the arms of the High King, effectively raised and parented by God Himself in the absence of my blood father. And in the metaphorical absence of my adoptive father. Friends have called me blessed, favored by God, chosen for something great. And while I may not have gotten a pony for my birthday or a Ferrari for my first car, God has always taken care of me. When I need food or shelter, it is provided. When I was stranded in Texas with neither, and no money, some mysterious person no one had ever seen before showed up and handed the hostess $200 cash which was then given to me. I've driven a car that for all intents and purposes should have never been able to run in the first place. And I've been given not just a husband, but a prince, as the love of my mortal life.
So then I ask Him, I ask my Father, why it seems His favor is only given to me and not to Tristan. I ask while I sit beside him, holding his hand, feeling helpless in the midst of the turmoil in his mind. And while people may say it's ridiculous to take blame for something that I have no power over, the truth is I can and do take blame for doing nothing about it.
Curses can be broken. This world has curses, and it has cures. God provides the cure for any ailment, and any cure, but it's not a free handout. Not because He doesn't love us, but because we wouldn't appreciate anything He gives us if we didn't have some form of involvement in getting it.
It amazes me how people in this world, on this planet, can believe in God but refuse to believe there is a physical, living darkness. Dark beings. Demons. And the worst part is, they aren't all obvious. As someone once told me, if Satan was an ugly, terrifying beast of a demon, who would fall into his trap? Like moths to a flame, we are lured by beauty. And like so many similar creatures, we are unable to see the danger in the bits of joy just sitting out in the open....on top of a trap.
Who knows how Tristan got his curse? Nicks said it was the oxygen levels, the change from living as a toddler in a high-oxygen environment to growing up in an atmosphere blended with so many other gases. The doctors say it could be his epilepsy, which could be from the car accident, which he was never really in to begin with. It could be the kink in his neck, or it could be that little device that Mom thinks is either malfunctioning or being manipulated but all the same is in the base of his neck on the spinal cord.
Deep down, I truly, fully believe it is something much more, something much darker. I've already been scoffed at by so-called "friends" who think I'm some religious fanatic. At first, long ago, Tristan also scoffed, but not so much anymore.
"I don't think all of it is a hallucination," I told him once, while we sat in the commons of the mental ward in the hospital. "I mean, maybe some of it, but....I don't know. I think....Actually, I really believe, you can just see what no one else can see. You can see the invisible."
Tristan didn't scoff then. He actually mulled over it, gave me a soft nod, and we continued our card game. That was back in December, when we worried about his discharge timing up with Christmas. Now, if I bring it up, he brooks no argument and on a good day, he asks me what makes me believe it so fervently.
I dare not tell anyone else why. Only he knows, and perhaps maybe you, dear reader, have already figured it out. Because while I do not have to deal with the horror of physically seeing, tasting, and feeling the "invisible" world that has become so much a part of Tristan's life, I am fully aware of it's existence. I always have been. It's part of being a Seer.
And I know who, or what, it is that threatens to rip the last shreds of Tristan's sanity away before we have a chance to bind together in marriage.
Curses can be broken. And dragons can be killed. It's just a matter of believing that not only can it be done, but it will be done.
4.22.2012
More stress
Many people think the idea, the possibility, of seeing into the future and to know what is to come is both amazing and awesome. People want it. People wish for it, and many Christians pray for the ability to be granted. Those who are not Christian (or who are the good ol' fashioned Christian-during-holidays kind) turn to the darker "arts" of the mysterious universe to glean just a scrap of the ability.
As a child, I had no idea that I was able to see the future. I sometimes wonder if Mom knew but decided to not tell me so I could live a normal life. Some would say she should have been forthright; I will always thank her and bless her for letting me keep what shred of normality I had left to my identity. As a teen, I started to piece together the puzzles; that my "de ja vus" was from last night's dream. Or, most importantly, that my writing "spurts" in which I did nothing more than let my fingers etch over the paper while I completely blanked out (this both freaked out my friends and earned their respect for my writing craft) was not some sort of writing genius. What I was "seeing" was not some incredible God-given plot idea, it was an actual encrypted vision of the future.
In college, I realized the my entire life had been building up to one moment, one man. Marriage to Tristan, Prince of Gora.
But people often forget, as Mom sometimes forget and I am daily reminded, Tristan did not grow up amongst his people trained in the arts of being "blue-blood". He grew up on Earth, with a regular family, in a world of simple agriculture and normal public school. Instead of proper social etiquette expected of someone in his status, he learned how to shoot spitballs and throw eggs down a chimney. Instead of world politics and intergalactic relations, he learned about Martin Luther King Jr. and the Gettysburg address. Instead of what's expected from him as a royal, he learned what's expected of him as a red-blooded American man.
And instead of high school, he got four years of exile into the worst of our world.
So while I knew my entire life has been building up to the great event in the makings even as I write, in no part of the visions did I foresee my car getting repossessed. Or our new home having a nearly-disintegrated-from-mold wall. And I DEFINITELY did not know that I'd be giving him the last vestige of my virtue before the wedding and then subsequently suffering a horrible, terrible withdrawal for 5 months.
The stress has been enormous. Part of me loathes the fact that I, a legitimately "normal" half-breed with zero expectations laid on me by anyone other than God and my mother, was raised to be a royal. I sometimes loathe it because the actual royal who should have received all my training got to shoot spitballs and despite the weight of what half the intergalactic world expects from him, including a good chunk of this planet, he can sit outside, light up a cigarette and breathe in the morning air.
And this creates a tension between us that just. Isn't. Good.
I weep for the childhood filled with thou shalts and thou shalt nots, even if it did make public relations easier for me. Sit up straight, pronounce clearly, write exactly like this 500 times until you're legible (that is no exaggeration; as a punishment for not doing my homework I had to write "I will do my math homework" literally 500 times. As much as I hated it, I did write like an adult from 5th grade on). What you do greatly affects what people think of you; what people think of you greatly affects what happens in your life. Do not lead others to believe you to be doing wrong. Only do what is appropriate in God's eyes so the public knows they can trust you.
Because, who knows, someday you may meet and marry some guy who will one day rule the oldest human civilization in the universe. And they need to know you're totally comfortable at a formal place setting for supper.
Maybe the worst of the stresses is the lack of Nicks. God knows (literally, I've spent days and nights praying for some miracle that the wrong guy was killed) that I miss Nicks. All the stresses and weight of expectations were lifted whenever he emailed me and let me know we're doing good. That I'm doing good. It meant so much to be reminded by him that no matter what hell came our way, no matter how much I sucked at whatever I attempted to do, he still believed in me. And I truly feel, deep down in my heart, that he still had faith in us even to the very last moment of his life.
People will tell me that the only approval I need comes from God. And I know that no matter what, God is always with me, on my side, cheering me on and standing up for me. As someone once told me, "Wow! God definitely shows you His favor!"
Don't get me wrong, nothing could be more amazing than that. But sometimes we, being human, need something tangible. We need someone to physically give us that same approval.
And....well....when the father of the man I'm about to marry took a bullet for me, stood up for me when no one would, and constantly reassured me that we're doing everything right.....it just made life that much easier to handle.
So I guess you could say that a HUGE chunk of the stress in our life now is knowing that deep, deep down, in the parts of our beings that no one else ever touches, we want to rip apart limb from limb the people who stole him from us.
As a child, I had no idea that I was able to see the future. I sometimes wonder if Mom knew but decided to not tell me so I could live a normal life. Some would say she should have been forthright; I will always thank her and bless her for letting me keep what shred of normality I had left to my identity. As a teen, I started to piece together the puzzles; that my "de ja vus" was from last night's dream. Or, most importantly, that my writing "spurts" in which I did nothing more than let my fingers etch over the paper while I completely blanked out (this both freaked out my friends and earned their respect for my writing craft) was not some sort of writing genius. What I was "seeing" was not some incredible God-given plot idea, it was an actual encrypted vision of the future.
In college, I realized the my entire life had been building up to one moment, one man. Marriage to Tristan, Prince of Gora.
But people often forget, as Mom sometimes forget and I am daily reminded, Tristan did not grow up amongst his people trained in the arts of being "blue-blood". He grew up on Earth, with a regular family, in a world of simple agriculture and normal public school. Instead of proper social etiquette expected of someone in his status, he learned how to shoot spitballs and throw eggs down a chimney. Instead of world politics and intergalactic relations, he learned about Martin Luther King Jr. and the Gettysburg address. Instead of what's expected from him as a royal, he learned what's expected of him as a red-blooded American man.
And instead of high school, he got four years of exile into the worst of our world.
So while I knew my entire life has been building up to the great event in the makings even as I write, in no part of the visions did I foresee my car getting repossessed. Or our new home having a nearly-disintegrated-from-mold wall. And I DEFINITELY did not know that I'd be giving him the last vestige of my virtue before the wedding and then subsequently suffering a horrible, terrible withdrawal for 5 months.
The stress has been enormous. Part of me loathes the fact that I, a legitimately "normal" half-breed with zero expectations laid on me by anyone other than God and my mother, was raised to be a royal. I sometimes loathe it because the actual royal who should have received all my training got to shoot spitballs and despite the weight of what half the intergalactic world expects from him, including a good chunk of this planet, he can sit outside, light up a cigarette and breathe in the morning air.
And this creates a tension between us that just. Isn't. Good.
I weep for the childhood filled with thou shalts and thou shalt nots, even if it did make public relations easier for me. Sit up straight, pronounce clearly, write exactly like this 500 times until you're legible (that is no exaggeration; as a punishment for not doing my homework I had to write "I will do my math homework" literally 500 times. As much as I hated it, I did write like an adult from 5th grade on). What you do greatly affects what people think of you; what people think of you greatly affects what happens in your life. Do not lead others to believe you to be doing wrong. Only do what is appropriate in God's eyes so the public knows they can trust you.
Because, who knows, someday you may meet and marry some guy who will one day rule the oldest human civilization in the universe. And they need to know you're totally comfortable at a formal place setting for supper.
Maybe the worst of the stresses is the lack of Nicks. God knows (literally, I've spent days and nights praying for some miracle that the wrong guy was killed) that I miss Nicks. All the stresses and weight of expectations were lifted whenever he emailed me and let me know we're doing good. That I'm doing good. It meant so much to be reminded by him that no matter what hell came our way, no matter how much I sucked at whatever I attempted to do, he still believed in me. And I truly feel, deep down in my heart, that he still had faith in us even to the very last moment of his life.
People will tell me that the only approval I need comes from God. And I know that no matter what, God is always with me, on my side, cheering me on and standing up for me. As someone once told me, "Wow! God definitely shows you His favor!"
Don't get me wrong, nothing could be more amazing than that. But sometimes we, being human, need something tangible. We need someone to physically give us that same approval.
And....well....when the father of the man I'm about to marry took a bullet for me, stood up for me when no one would, and constantly reassured me that we're doing everything right.....it just made life that much easier to handle.
So I guess you could say that a HUGE chunk of the stress in our life now is knowing that deep, deep down, in the parts of our beings that no one else ever touches, we want to rip apart limb from limb the people who stole him from us.
4.19.2012
Comfort
Yesterday I woke up before 9am, when my alarm was scheduled to go off. I couldn't go back to sleep, even after a quick trip to the bathroom, so I went out to the living room to lounge on the couch and surf the net, maybe do some wedding planning. I shut off my alarm so Tristan could sleep in, as he's been tired lately and recovering from a few nights ago.
A few minutes after I'd snuggled under a blanket and propped open my laptop, I heard movement in our bedroom. The bed creaked, I heard Tristan tug on his jeans, and then he shuffled out to the kitchen. I thought he'd go have a smoke outside, but instead he continued to shuffle over to the living room. He picked up my feet, sat down on the couch with me, tucked my legs under his arms and fell back asleep. Just like that.
It was THE CUTEST thing that day for me! I couldn't help but grin and feel thoroughly loved. Later last night I told him about it and he gave me this sweet little smile and he said he remembered doing that. Apparently he missed me. :)
This morning has been a similar tune. While Tristan got up before me, I was also awake and wanted to do some work online to (hopefully) build a better at-home income for us. He went outside in the strong winds to have a smoke, then came back in and sat down next to me. Now his head is on my shoulder and he's snoring rather loudly. It makes me happy to know I'm so comfortable. :D
Not much else is going on. I start cosmetology school in less than a week and a half, which is exciting! Finally, an actual career that I will thoroughly enjoy and I can control the hours I work in it. Tristan has been applying for better jobs, since his current one barely breaks the three-digit mark a month. He's also been working on his memoir, which I wholeheartedly believe will one day be a bestseller. I've read the first chapter and dang, is it good!
A few minutes after I'd snuggled under a blanket and propped open my laptop, I heard movement in our bedroom. The bed creaked, I heard Tristan tug on his jeans, and then he shuffled out to the kitchen. I thought he'd go have a smoke outside, but instead he continued to shuffle over to the living room. He picked up my feet, sat down on the couch with me, tucked my legs under his arms and fell back asleep. Just like that.
It was THE CUTEST thing that day for me! I couldn't help but grin and feel thoroughly loved. Later last night I told him about it and he gave me this sweet little smile and he said he remembered doing that. Apparently he missed me. :)
This morning has been a similar tune. While Tristan got up before me, I was also awake and wanted to do some work online to (hopefully) build a better at-home income for us. He went outside in the strong winds to have a smoke, then came back in and sat down next to me. Now his head is on my shoulder and he's snoring rather loudly. It makes me happy to know I'm so comfortable. :D
Not much else is going on. I start cosmetology school in less than a week and a half, which is exciting! Finally, an actual career that I will thoroughly enjoy and I can control the hours I work in it. Tristan has been applying for better jobs, since his current one barely breaks the three-digit mark a month. He's also been working on his memoir, which I wholeheartedly believe will one day be a bestseller. I've read the first chapter and dang, is it good!
4.12.2012
Randomness
Tristan has been reminding me to write. A lot. So, here is an updated post for you, my love.
I love our new home, the best part of it being in how it's actually ours. No rental restrictions, no rules other than basic legal and societal regulations. No roommates, something that I am ever grateful for. The only roommate I want or need is the amazingly sexy man sleeping in our bed right now.
He's been bugging me to write because so much has happened, and we need to document it in this epic saga of the prince of Gora and his lady of maybe-Atlantis. The jury is still out on that one; while the cradle of my mother's bloodline is certainly not from the Atlantic Ocean so therefore is not Atlantean, even the secular world of anthropology states that the islanders of her understood tribe came from the Sea of Japan, although how is not written. So long story short, we've kinda nicknamed her the "Lady of the Sea" and I'm the "Lady of Earth and Sea" since my father is most undoubtedly of the lush green forests and rich earth.
Anyhow, I digress.....
It's hard to believe that this time a year ago, Tristan and I were at each other's throats in an ongoing barrage of verbal abuse and accusations. To be honest, I easily forget about the crap that went on between us because....well, it's difficult to realize it ever actually happened. Tristan is who I'd always believed him to be, loving and compassionate and strong. When I'm cooking in our new kitchen, he'll slip up behind me and wrap his arms around my waist. I LOVE that. Or when he nuzzles me, or pulls me close just to spend a few moments kissing me and he whispers, "I could kiss you all day...."
I wish I could write more right now, but I really need to go take a bath and get all pretty so Tristan has a beautiful woman to wake up to in the morning. ;)
I love our new home, the best part of it being in how it's actually ours. No rental restrictions, no rules other than basic legal and societal regulations. No roommates, something that I am ever grateful for. The only roommate I want or need is the amazingly sexy man sleeping in our bed right now.
He's been bugging me to write because so much has happened, and we need to document it in this epic saga of the prince of Gora and his lady of maybe-Atlantis. The jury is still out on that one; while the cradle of my mother's bloodline is certainly not from the Atlantic Ocean so therefore is not Atlantean, even the secular world of anthropology states that the islanders of her understood tribe came from the Sea of Japan, although how is not written. So long story short, we've kinda nicknamed her the "Lady of the Sea" and I'm the "Lady of Earth and Sea" since my father is most undoubtedly of the lush green forests and rich earth.
Anyhow, I digress.....
It's hard to believe that this time a year ago, Tristan and I were at each other's throats in an ongoing barrage of verbal abuse and accusations. To be honest, I easily forget about the crap that went on between us because....well, it's difficult to realize it ever actually happened. Tristan is who I'd always believed him to be, loving and compassionate and strong. When I'm cooking in our new kitchen, he'll slip up behind me and wrap his arms around my waist. I LOVE that. Or when he nuzzles me, or pulls me close just to spend a few moments kissing me and he whispers, "I could kiss you all day...."
I wish I could write more right now, but I really need to go take a bath and get all pretty so Tristan has a beautiful woman to wake up to in the morning. ;)
3.10.2012
Hearth and Home
We have been on a continual hunt for a suitable home, and we have found one we love. It's difficult to explain to people how we make decisions like these, especially when it's 40% logic and 60% "sight". There were a few places we liked but would only be temporary fixes or more costly than needed. The one we chose and pray we'll get...we could see in it. I saw the spare room filled with a crib and soft baby things. Tristan saw us living there for a long time with our children. I could see the gardens grow, the stove sizzling with food, the pantries filled....a lot of people actually can and do "see" these things when they shop for a home, but for us it is something deeper.
Home. One of the least stable factors in my life. While registering for gifts it is difficult at times to think that anyone would or could afford such things that are a luxury, like soft Egyptian cotton or bone china. But what I do decide on is what I want for my family. To be able to tuck our little ones into soft, warm beds or to be able to make Tristan healthy and delicious meals with tools that are natural from this earth is something that I yearn for. To have a home that we will stay in for as long as God allows.....that would be a great gift in life.
Tristan is going over to the home today with his adoptive father to see what repairs need to be done on the outside of the house. We found some rotting along the outer windowsills that have them worried, Tristan especially. He says that in the winter we could be paying far more in heating costs than necessary should the cold air seep through the windows. I said that he likes a cold room anyways, and I registered for down blankets so we'd stay warm.
"That's foolish." Tristan's eyes narrowed a bit.
"I've never lived in a well-insulated home in my entire life," I explained, "well, maybe with the exception of the one apartment building. But no matter how much we caulked and insulated and lined, there was always a draft, and it was always colder. So we bundled up. What you're looking at is a luxury I can do without."
And then in my mind flashed what he was more worried about, and it made me smile and concede that rotting windowsills are a concern. All I'd been thinking about was how many quilts equal comfortable warmth, while Tristan was seeing images of his pregnant wife trying to stay warm in the middle of a freezing house. For him it's not just survival anymore. It's a man's duty to keep his family's best interests in mind.
At least, that's what I think flashed through his mind. I like to think so. :)
Home. One of the least stable factors in my life. While registering for gifts it is difficult at times to think that anyone would or could afford such things that are a luxury, like soft Egyptian cotton or bone china. But what I do decide on is what I want for my family. To be able to tuck our little ones into soft, warm beds or to be able to make Tristan healthy and delicious meals with tools that are natural from this earth is something that I yearn for. To have a home that we will stay in for as long as God allows.....that would be a great gift in life.
Tristan is going over to the home today with his adoptive father to see what repairs need to be done on the outside of the house. We found some rotting along the outer windowsills that have them worried, Tristan especially. He says that in the winter we could be paying far more in heating costs than necessary should the cold air seep through the windows. I said that he likes a cold room anyways, and I registered for down blankets so we'd stay warm.
"That's foolish." Tristan's eyes narrowed a bit.
"I've never lived in a well-insulated home in my entire life," I explained, "well, maybe with the exception of the one apartment building. But no matter how much we caulked and insulated and lined, there was always a draft, and it was always colder. So we bundled up. What you're looking at is a luxury I can do without."
And then in my mind flashed what he was more worried about, and it made me smile and concede that rotting windowsills are a concern. All I'd been thinking about was how many quilts equal comfortable warmth, while Tristan was seeing images of his pregnant wife trying to stay warm in the middle of a freezing house. For him it's not just survival anymore. It's a man's duty to keep his family's best interests in mind.
At least, that's what I think flashed through his mind. I like to think so. :)
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