June, So Far

   So, here's what's been going on. I'm still living in my Grandmother's house. A lot of really shitty stuff has happened, and currently I feel horrible. I feel like the worst person, ever.

  Gramma always said that my next oldest cousin was the beneficiary of her life insurance. She didn't have much, mainly to cover funeral costs. That's fine. He lived here about ten years ago, the last time she updated anything. The funeral costs had to be paid up front, so, the very cheapest funeral we could do, we did. She absolutely did not want to be cremated, and she already had a plot, and a stone, actually. She used to take flowers to her own grave site, after the stone was put up, almost twenty years ago. She had her own stone carved, because she was certain we wouldn't put the name she wanted on it. Which is possible, as it was never her name. She didn't want my Grandaddy's last name on it, so she has her first name, her mother's maiden name, and her last name. She never actually had her mother's maiden name.  Most people don't. As an odd aside, I did, because my mom has never been married. In the aftermath of her death, and planning the funeral and stuff, he told me that he was going to give me anything that was left, because, you know, I have nothing, because I took care of her for so long. Just to help me get restarted. I think it's an overwhelmingly, huge amount of money, around $800. I've been told it's not. I don't know. I worked for the same company for almost twenty years, and that's more than my biweekly paychecks were, net. More than that, I guess I felt appreciated. It was a huge gesture. It would let me get my feet back under me. We had this conversation with no one else around, sitting in the carport.

  Turns out, he was wrong. My Mom is the beneficiary. She texted me last week, and told me that she was the beneficiary, and that after she paid back the funeral cost to another cousin, who paid for it outright, she would have just enough money to fix her truck. Her truck has been broken for a couple of months, she's been driving a borrowed vehicle. I was just, shocked. I guess I had been counting on that help more than I thought. I didn't say anything, at the time. I was so hurt.

  So, I talked to her about it this weekend. I told her that P had been going to give me the left over money. She said that she knew that, but she didn't think I knew. That she really needs her truck fixed, and she's tired of being poor, and that she has helped me out since I've been here, caring for Gramma. Which is true. She has paid my phone and car insurance, and helped with groceries when I couldn't afford them. She retired right before the economy crashed. She lost over half of her retirement fund. She works a full time job, now. I don't begrudge her getting her truck fixed. I don't. She can use that borrowed vehicle for as long as she needs, the owner honestly doesn't care. He's a single guy with five cars, he likes when they are driven more. He's out of town a lot. She says she feels helpless.

  I feel helpless. I did the right thing by coming back, I know I did. But I never realized how little help, or concern I would get from my family. Mom did help Gramma, but she resented every single moment. Every single dollar. They really didn't like each other. At all. Even during the hospital bit, Gramma yelled at her, about how she didn't know how they could be related. (I always stood up for Mom, for the record.) Mom is the executor of the estate, and she and my uncle will split the money from the sale of the house, or he will buy out her half, or whatever. The estate hasn't even been filed yet. Mom doesn't have time. She works. She's overwhelmed. I know these things.

  What would I do with that money? Live. Buy my own groceries without having to justify every apple. Buy gas. Finish moving my stuff.  I need my independence back. I need to be able to make my own choices, without needing help with every little thing. I need to feel like the past two and a half years of caring for Gramma were appreciated, maybe. To feel like, just maybe, my time and effort were worth something, or even appreciated. Yes, I've been told it was appreciated. Everyone else is treating this whole thing like it's a big inconvenience. Mom did say she would give me any left over from fixing her truck. It's going to cost more than the money she will get.

  I feel like a horrible person for even talking to her about it. She's upset. I'm disgusted. I don't even want to see her, but I have to go live with her. She knew he was going to give it to me. She's upset that I fucking knew, and she's mad at him for telling me. I haven't slept since Saturday night, for more than an hour or so, because I feel so bad, and I'm so upset. I go back and forth from feeling like the most shallow, materialistic, ungrateful human on earth, to feeling like I fucking earned part of that. I have made myself physically sick over this. I've cried until I feel like my head will split open.

  I called her this morning and told her I don't want any of the money. I hate how this has made me feel, and I'm done. She told me that she knew that wasn't true, and I screamed at her. It is true. I wouldn't have fucking said it if it wasn't. I'm packing up the rest of my stuff to get it out, I don't have any clue how that's actually going to happen. The flip side is, I'm not helping with the house, anymore. I'm not taking anything else to the dump, I'm not helping go through anymore of Gramma's stuff, I'm fucking done. Done.

  I have taken a job, I start next week, hopefully.

  I had made some stuff to sell, but I fucked something up in the process, and they are unusable, unsellable, so I'm getting rid to start over, but I may pack that stuff up for now. I'm very upset at how I screwed up, but I know that new things are a learning process. A lot of what I did was experimentation, anyway, so I'm counting this as a learning bit, and scrapping what I have. I must say, I have made some pretty lovely trash in this adventure. But i have the technique down now, I thing. When i make some money of my own to get the correct things I need, I'll try again. I was really trying to make some money to get through, but, defective.

  I'm not asking for help. I am honored at the love and support I have received from my friends to this point. I know everyone is exhausted of my being helpless.  Not nearly as exhausted as I am. Not nearly as disgusted as I am. I'll probably sell some of my camera stuff, maybe. To get me through. I'll be okay. I'm scrappy.

  I read back through this, and it doesn't read nearly as emotional as I feel. As painful. As horrible. As heart breaking. I thought nothing would ever hurt me as much as the relationship apocalypse. I was really fucking wrong.

  Things are changing. For the better. I just have to get through this bit.  There are flowers, and thunderstorms, and cats. I miss my dogs, they've been at Mom's since April. At first because I was at the hospital so much. Then, because I'm moving there any day now. Yeah. Pretty sure I can't get that dresser in my Corolla. When I walk out of here with the cats, I'm not coming back.

  There's even someone who makes me smile. A lot.

  It's a brave new world.

New Year's Day

2018 sucked, no doubt about it. I’m in a very dark place, and I have no idea how to get out. One of the biggest mental problems I’m having makes me feel beyond selfish. One of my oldest friends is dying, which makes all my suicidal ideation feel even worse. He is amazing and revered, and so very loved, in big loud ways. He’s a giant in body and spirit. He’s handling death far more gracefully than I’m handling life. I am having a stupidly hard time with the fact that I’m about to turn 45. My heart is still broken. That man took all of my ability to believe that I’m worth, well, any kind of relationship. Which is complicated by the fact that I have a crush. Or two. One is easy. It’s physical and involves a friend, who knows quite well. One of the biggest, shiny, bright spots of my year, was a completely unexpected, vigorous and thorough kiss. We were friends before. Friends we will remain. They’ve done a lot for my self-esteem, just for the fact that before that kiss, they are pretty much the shiniest thing in any room, to me, a smile like a son. The other is far more complicated but still seems to be happening. It would be a completely different thing if it were even possible. I wouldn’t even know how to approach it. Or if I should. Or if I’m prepared for the rejection. Or if I’m prepared for not being rejected. Not right now, I guess, anyway. Right now I'm just a wee spot completely out of control.

Romantic relationships, and the lack there of

So. I’m single. I’m not looking. Do I want to be single? That, like most things, is complicated. I am, in general, poly. I respect all types of relationships. To me, it just seems unreasonable to expect to find one other human that fulfills every single need or desire in a relationship. I don’t think it’s fair to be expected to have to give up something important to you, just because someone meets most of your needs. I completely respect those who pursue and follow that thought. I can do completely committed, monogamous relationships. I can be a partner to someone who has a partner. I can be a friend, with benefits. I find none of these things insulting, or belittling. I do not need monogamy in a relationship, but I do need safety, and honesty.

I was married once. I never thought he would be my “forever.” I do not hate him, though I do hate some of the scars he left. I do not think that he’s a bad person, I do think that together, we are catastrophic, and bring out the worst in each other. I have seen him only peripherally since the final split. I stood up, in a marriage counselor’s office, and said “I’m done.” And I was. I hope he found happiness in whatever he pursued.

I lived with someone, after that. We both knew it was not forever. I can acknowledge, now, that my damage runs a lot deeper than I had previously thought, before that relationship. I was still highly insecure, and jealous, and possessive, and angry, because that is all I knew how to be in a relationship. It’s all I knew, at all.

I was never a partner in the relationship with my ex husband, I was a possession. From age fourteen to thirty one, off and on. Something to be controlled, and mitigated. I did date someone else in high school, but I don’t even know how to describe that relationship. It always felt ethereal, not quite tangible. We are still friends.

Since then, I have only been in poly relationships. I know that part of the reason for that, is that I am very withdrawn, I like my space. I like having a space that is mine, somewhere that I can retreat to. I am weird about being touched. I am still dealing with how to express my needs and wants, without feeling selfish. I rarely ask for anything.

I found the relationship that I thought would be forever. There was a level of companionship that I have never experienced before. A level of comfort, and support that I didn’t think possible. Someone I was comfortable planning a future with. Someone I was just, comfortable with. He was charming, and outgoing. We seemed to fit and contrast in all of the right ways, bringing out the best in each other. Was it perfect? Nope. But we could always talk through things. We used to take adventure days, just drive and look for places to take pictures, little hole in the wall places to eat, tiny towns and roadside attractions. These were my favorite days, ever. Even now (it really hasn’t been that long, I suppose) I miss those days, most of all. I get panic attacks if I think about it too much, because I can’t imagine another human wanting to spend time with me, like that, ever again. He says, even now, that we could do it again. Anytime. That relationship ending, and the way it ended, broke something inside of me that I thought could not be broken. It was horrible. It’s still horrible. He is still in one part of my life, because I am too stubborn to give up something that I worked so fucking hard for, even though I will always fear that people think I got the positions I hold by dating him. Maybe I’m still trying to prove them all wrong. His choices have left me completely bereft in a way that I was not prepared for, and the totality with which he turned his back on me is unforgiven. In a fucked up way, he made me believe that all of the things my ex husband said to me are true, but with actions, instead of words. That’s enough about that.

What would my perfect relationship look like? Radical honesty. Don’t tell me what I meant. I actually mean what I say, which is apparently shocking. Being poly does not mean never getting jealous. Jealousy is like the check engine light on your car’s dash. It is not what is wrong, just an indication that you need to look closer before something breaks worse. To me, anyway. I expect someone to be with me, when they are physically with me. I need those who will accept me as I am. Which doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be challenged. Don’t fall in love with someone else, and forget to mention it to me. Know the difference between love and infatuation. Don’t hide things from me because you think I’ll get hurt. That’s not how relationships work. You don’t hide your actions to keep your partner from getting hurt, you hide actions so that your own needs keep getting served, to hell with anyone that relies on you. Of course people make mistakes, and do things that they regret, or were misthought out. Hiding it, instead of confronting the issue, is what makes it a lie. And every day after is a lie.

See? I lost track. I’m still angry. This is why I’m single.