(Three posts in one month?  This must be some kind of record for me.)

A while ago, someone posed the question "do you think there is someone out there for you?"  My immediate answer was no.  My answer, a few months later, is still no.

There are a lot of reasons for this.  I could reach back into my past of growing up, and how I wasn't surrounded by the boys.  Few rarely showed interest in me; those who did, were the shy, quiet, and yes - awkward - ones, who didn't actually like me.  They just thought they did because I was kind to them when others were not.  Even growing into adulthood, and occasionally dressing up and wearing minimal makeup, men were not falling over themselves to get to me.  My former spouse once insisted that I'm incredibly attractive and that there are plenty of men out there who would be lucky to be with me.  He also said in the same breath that I don't give out vibes of being easily approachable.  He said a lot of things.  The majority of them turned out to be untrue, so we can't really say he's a reliable source.

I'm awkward.  I'm also quiet and shy.  I'm nerdy and weird.  I'm a lot of things, honestly.  But I at least know I'm awkward, and I pretend it's part of my charm (ha).  I don't really care one way or the other about it, frankly.  It's part of who I am and I live with it and that's pretty much that.

When I was younger (teens to early 20's), I usually found myself attracted to the tall, skinny, nerdy type of guy.  Largely influenced by my brother who, you guessed it, is tall and nerdy.  I used to say if he wasn't my brother I would want to marry him, because he's a good man.

Then I met the man I used to be married to.  And he definitely wasn't the tall/skinny/nerdy type.  He was strong and bulked and somehow didn't fit into the gym rat stereotype, because he was also intelligent and knew a lot about a lot, and could match my wit.  He was my kind of weird (the only other people who are my kind of weird are my family members...shocker, truly), he was nerdy, but he was also (at the time) gentle and kind.  I felt safe around him, and I loved that I didn't have to worry about being protected, because if anything happened, I knew he was strong, and with his experience in fighting, I knew he would fight to protect me, and win. 

We didn't have every single thing in common, but we did have some things in common.  And while he had a lot of interests in things I didn't particularly care about one way or the other, I made an effort to show an interest in those things, because they mattered to him.  There were a lot of ways he balanced me out.  I would get anxious about things, he would try to help me center myself and calm down.  I would always be in a rush to get from point A to point B on a trip, he would be there to help take things easy, and enjoy the journey, and not just race to the destination.  I believed certain things because it was how I was raised, and my answer to why I believed what I believed was "because it's right" and he questioned that.  Because that wasn't a sufficient answer.  He made me realise I needed to figure out why I believed what I believed, and not just believe it because it's how I grew up.  And he also helped me see the world isn't as black and white as I saw it before him (although it's still black and white in the ways of right and wrong, but his perspective helped me see that I needed to give people more empathy and grace).

I think about when I was a kid, and the boys I had crushes on, my crushes were superficial.  Because it was about looks, and I was attracted to their faces.  Also, what kid with raging hormones is going to think about things that matter when it comes to crushes?  Things like character, values, beliefs, integrity, etc.  Thankfully, none of those boys ever liked me back (with the exception of one in 6th grade and boy I blew it big time); but I also knew that I would never end up marrying them, so after crushing on them for a certain amount of time (who doesn't like to suffer from unrequited obsession?) I would work on suffocating my feelings until they went away. 

When I was older, I found myself attracted to guys who were decently older than me (think 10-13 years).  This was usually due to the fact that they were mature, and usually at least more intellectually on my level.  The man I found myself in love with (he never knew) was probably the first man who ever felt my equal in intelligence, and we got along well (in our very short interactions with each other), but he didn't share the same beliefs, so I knew it wouldn't work out.

The one thing that my former spouse lacked was sharing the same beliefs and values, even though previously I thought we did.  If we would have been on the same page on those things, he would have never broken the covenant he made on the day we got married.  He would have sought after the same things, meaning things that are not material and ephemeral, but things that truly matter, like doing what's right (even when it's hard), keeping your word, honouring and respecting and loving your spouse, etc. etc. etc.

He was a good match in a lot of ways.  Because he balanced me out, because I was attracted to him and felt safe with him, because I knew he would protect me, because we went on adventures together, because we were both introverted, because we had some shared interests.  It would have been better if he would have put in the same effort in sharing an interest in the things I liked, just like I did with him.  Or other things that I won't get into.  We all have room for improvement.

I don't think there's anyone out there like that.  Someone who basically would be like him, except sharing the same beliefs and values.  Someone who is intelligent, that I find attractive (because that does matter to a degree), someone who follows through on their word, someone who shows up, someone who fights to stay together and to nurture the relationship, someone who doesn't give up when things get hard...it's a long list.  Not to be weird (who am I kidding, this is me we're talking about), but it would be nice to find someone like me.  That's not to say I'm the best thing ever and someone should be exactly like me; more so that I just want someone who puts in equal effort.  Who sees I get tired of making plans all the time, and who would take charge and plan things here and there (but planning things we would both enjoy...not just what they would enjoy).  Who would make an effort to show an interest and spend time doing things I like, and not just be one-sided.  Someone I could have deep and intellectual conversations with about faith and things that matter, but also be weird and strange and goofy and not be judged for it.  Someone who puts in equal time in the upkeep of the living space because we both live there and contribute to the mess, so we both put in the work of keeping it clean.

 And this isn't even getting into the different political spheres.  The men who align more with me politically are - and this is a gross generalisation - men who think women are lesser, that women should be meek and mild, men who think that their word is law.  They see women as breeders of children and keepers of the home.  Not people of equal value, who also have a voice in the house and in the marriage.  It's a view I don't 100% agree with (although I am very much not a feminist - I just think two people of equal value and worth both have voices and perspectives that should be valued in a relationship).  But then the men who are more of the mindset where the house is shared equally (in terms of who gets a vote in things, chores done, care for house and children, etc.) are men I don't agree with politically.  Unfortunately, those kinds of men also tend to be on the more intellectual side, and on the more adventurous side (in terms of...intimacy, shall we say). 

It was rare enough the first time to find someone who seemed to like me for me (although he ended up not liking me), who was my kind of weird, who said he understood why men went to war over one woman (Helen of Troy), who found me attractive and I him, who was comfortable talking about normal human body functions, who was okay with crying, who encouraged me to cry and feel things (bet he regretted that), who tried his best to comfort me when I was sad or down, who was a renaissance man and knew a lot and could do a lot...

There's no way I'm going to find someone like that again.  The first time was a miracle.  It's not going to happen a second time.

 I think my whole life I've been chasing the high of feeling special.

 The earliest evidence of this was when I was a child in elementary school.  Every year near the beginning of the school year, the teacher did something to show/display when everyone had their birthday.  And every year I waited with baited breath, to see if I would be the one whose birthday was first in the year, or if someone else had a birthday before me.
I remember in second grade there was a girl whose birthday was the day right after mine, and even that felt too close.  She felt like the enemy.  How dare she try to upstage my birthday, by having hers the day after mine!

Every time someone pointed out I was unique, every time someone praised me for standing out, for excelling above others, even for the skills and talents I acquired (most of those are credited to my mom, who pushed for us to have opportunities to learn things), I, for just a moment, felt elated.  I glowed within.  I got an A+ in being different, in being special.  I was noticed in a positive way.

I'm pretty sure chasing that feeling, wanting to feel special, like I mattered in some way, was driven by growing up as the youngest child in a large family, who was often either overlooked or ignored unless I was misbehaving, in which case, I definitely got attention.  But the negative kind.  The kind that felt like I was being punished for existing (even though I was rightly being punished, because I was doing wrong).

When will I ever feel enough?

I remember back in May of last year when I travelled to Idaho to shoot the wedding of one of my best friends.  I got there a few days early to explore and hike around the area.  At one point I met up with my friend, because it had been years since we had been together in person, and we both wanted to catch up.  After we parted ways, I sent her a text thanking her for spending time with me, and admitting that my existence felt like an inconvenience to everyone.  She responded saying "your existence is not an inconvenience.  It's a gift."  I remember reading those words (I was hiking when she texted them to me), and feeling...well...nothing.  I wanted to believe her.  With my whole heart I wanted to believe her.  Instead, I read those words - I was grateful she sent them - and while they did hit me for a split second, I went right back to thinking the same thoughts.

My existence is an inconvenience.

Several months ago I went hiking with a new friend.  On our way back from the hike, she and I were talking about something I had been assigned as homework by my therapist.  I told my friend that I didn't think I was enough, and my therapist had challenged me to look for ways that proved otherwise.  A couple weeks later, my friend and I were working together, and she told me she had something for me.  At the end of our shift, she gave me a sticker.  It said "you are enough."  I felt so seen by her in that moment.  She had heard what I said, she saw that sticker, she bought it and gifted it to me.  She wanted me to see that I was enough.

I don't feel like I'm enough.

In the past couple of months, in one of my sessions with my therapist she told me "I think the way you love is very rare."  When she said that, at first I felt pleased.  I felt special.  Something rare about me!  Something others don't have in common.  But on the drive back to my apartment, I went from feeling pleased, to adding that fact to the list of things I hate about myself.  

Rarely in my life have I ever felt like being me is a good thing.

Growing up, being me got me in trouble.  So I smothered, I drowned, I suffocated as much of myself as I could, not feeling, hardly existing, so I could get through life.  I survived, but growth of emotions, of mental health, of maturity was stunted in a lot of ways.
Then I met the man I eventually married.  In the beginning, he told me I was unlike any woman he had ever known; that I was the measuring point of what all women should strive to be.  He told me he cared about me, and he didn't know why, because he didn't care about most people.  That made me feel special.  Even more, I felt cared for and cared about, things I hadn't ever really experienced previously, at least not in large quantities.  So I was myself with him.  And that earned me criticism.  It also earned me eventually being abandoned by him.

Being me has, overall, not proven to be an advantage.

I know a large part of not liking myself, not feeling like I'm enough, or feeling like my existence is an inconvenience is due to the way I grew up.  And due to the way people who I allowed to have major influence in my life treated me.  So the majority of all these things were outside of my control.

But I'm an adult now.  I cannot go back and change the past, nor can I change the way people treat(ed) me.  At this point, it's my responsibility to change and grow and be different.
But how?  How do you change that?  How do you go from spending your whole life not liking yourself (to eventually hating yourself), and shift to liking who you are instead?  How do you learn to feel like you are enough?  Like you deserve to take up space?  That you aren't an inconvenience?

It feels impossible.  It feels like a mountain too big to climb.  A task too large to take on, much less accomplish.

But...will I ever be free?  Will I ever feel like I'm enough?  Like I'm wanted?  I don't know.  I don't have enough hope to say "someday."  I suppose only time will tell. 

This should be a journal entry, not a blog post...

 Today feels like the quintessence of a spring day.  Blue skies, trees bursting in bloom, fresh air that isn't stifled with heat or humidity.  It's days like today that, when I get in my car, I just want to drive and drive and drive.

It's also days like today where my brain just picks up, doesn't stop, and things end up being worse than usual.  For whatever reason, the feel, the smell, the collective summation of everything that is happening, triggers my brain in usually two ways: one, being nostalgic and summoning a general feel of my childhood (with no specific memories), the other (often triggered by the aforementioned trigger), reflecting on...well, what feels like everything, but is usually dealers (i.e. my brain's) choice.

The past week has been what feels like a lot.  Not that a lot has happened, but my mind has had so much swirling around in it, that it's like I can't remember what was churning inside.  Mostly because when I wanted to write, and remembered what I wanted to write or what I was thinking about, I was working, so I couldn't drop things to whip out my computer and/or journal to furiously try to keep up with my thoughts.

Things are not permanent.  Nothing is in this life.  I remember being obsessed with the word "ephemeral" in high school after I learned it, because truly, most things are ephemeral.  And my peers at the time were obsessed with ephemeral things, things that didn't really matter in the long run.  Things that didn't hold actual value.  Eternal value.
On top of that, my life at the time taught me that things were not permanent.  That love was something to be gained based off behaviour, and something to be lost, based off that same thing.  My value was determined by what I could bring to the table (i.e. not take up the time and energy of my parents by misbehaving), so if I was good, or at least didn't draw attention to myself by way of getting in trouble, I was fine.  I was approved to be kept, to stick around.

I've been journalling (somewhat consistently) since I was 13.  I remember, even back then, being conscious of what I wrote, because when I grew up and got married and had children (ha), someday I would die, and they would stumble upon my journals.  I didn't want to write things I couldn't take back, or at least, write about things that weren't going to stick around in my life.  
The first man I ever found myself actually in love with, I never mentioned by name.  I wrote about him, to be sure, to process things that happened, the ways he made me want to be not me (but for the better).  But not once did I ever write his name in my journal.  Why?  Because I knew he wasn't permanent.  I knew he wasn't going to end up in my life in the way I so desperately wanted, because at the time, he did not believe the same as me, and that was a hard no for me.  (Also he had no idea how I felt, so it's not like he reciprocated feelings for me, although others assured me things he said and/or did indicated differently.)

The man I used to be married to found a permanent place in my journals.  Name, memories shared, and so much more.  Obviously, he ended up not being a permanent fixture in my life, in spite of the vows he clearly otherwise made.

I've been thinking lately (big surprise) about something that repeatedly breaks my heart every time I think about it.  Imagine knowing someone, having them be such a big part of your life, dreaming of a future with them, expecting to only part with them when death takes one (and eventually the other) of you.  And then imagine that it's not death that separates you, but the decision of a person who was not willing to put in the hard work that any and every relationship requires, at some point or another.

And then just like that, with no warning, that person becomes a stranger.

Yes, you grew apart when you were together, because the marriage was neglected.  You were strangers to some degree even when you were together, because of so much time spent with priorities placed elsewhere, and no curiosity was found to continue to get to know one another.  But then you were physically apart, and then vows were cut and severed.
And you still remember so much about that person.  Things they like or love (if they even still do), favourite colour, dream motorcycle, you see things so often that remind you of them.  You want to text them the things that remind you of them, you want to send them things you pick up from the few times you've travelled, you want to tell them things (even if you never felt heard, you still didn't stop trying to share, at least to some degree). 
But they are not part of your life anymore, as a consequence of their decisions.  And so the shared memories fade, the facts that were once true about them may no longer be true, you are not part of their life anymore and you become complete strangers.

He was once my world, my heart, the dream I never knew I had, and now I only see him in my dreams.  And it breaks my heart.

(I am living in a nightmare.  I have been for years now, and I cannot wake up.  Because it's not a bad dream, it's real life.  My world turned upside-down, I was betrayed in a way I never expected to be, and none of it was within my control.  I can't wake up.  Someone wake me up.)

I haven't felt seen the majority of my life.  Growing up I got in trouble, and unfortunately it was me fitting the youngest child stereotype of acting out to get some kind of attention, any attention, because I wasn't getting the positive connection and attention and affection every child needs.  And on the one day a year I did get positive attention (my birthday), the next day everything went back to normal (ignored unless I was getting in trouble), and the emotional crash and burn was real and hit hard.
There have been a few moments in my life where I have actually felt seen by my family.  By my dad, when he made a point to "fire up the grill" (so to speak) to make hamburgers for me when I visited home in 2021, because my parents know that's my favourite food.  Or when my mom suggested a local store for coffee, and my dad shot down the suggestion because he knew I thought their coffee wasn't the best (it's not).  Or when my sister-in-law passed on to me something my brother told her about me, that he commented to her that I'm extremely loyal.  Or the time when my then-husband had to drive a little bit a ways away for work, and saw some architecture where he was, and remembered I love architecture, and made a point to drive me back to that place to show me the houses that he saw.  (That was one of the few times I felt seen and loved by him to such a high degree.)

Recently there was someone who wrote me and basically pointed out they had a good idea that I would like things they sent me, because they (essentially) paid attention to things I said (well, not said, but wrote about, mentioned, posted online).  That floored me...because someone paid attention to me.  That got me feeling...well, a jumble of emotions.  Ones I'm still sorting, I think.
On one hand, I felt seen.  Haven't had a lot of that happen in my life, so it's weird when it does.  But I also felt exposed, because to be seen by someone feels like a vulnerable thing.  And it feels more comfortable (in a manner of speaking) to be seen when there's somewhat equal knowledge about each other.  Currently things are a bit one-sided, but hopefully that will change.  Maybe it won't.  I can't do anything about that, but I can hope that at least communication can continue, and perhaps even friendship.  (Also that person included a pun in their communication to me, and when I tell you I giggled like an idiot...I did, because it was both kind and funny, and if that isn't one of the ways to catch my interest, I don't know what is.)
I'm actually not reading into anything except that the person, for whatever reason, decided to pay some attention to me, and what that tells me is that they are observant.  Until communication about intent or anything at all is stated clearly, I'm not going to make things up in my head because that's dumb and will only get me in trouble.  Especially because I don't know anything about them, so I can't really make informed decisions one way or the other.

But I digress.

I haven't been to the gym since November of last year.  When I finished an 8-week fitness challenge I signed up for, made it to the final round of people to be considered winners, but wasn't a winner.  It was great progress though, and I was glad of the progress I made; although the burnout from that, plus the burnout of my job at the end of the year insanity that always happens, plus plummeting mental health meant I stopped going to the gym altogether, and have lost all progress that I previously made.
Consistency is everything, whether that's spiritual health, physical health, mental health, relational health.  You show up, consistently, frequently.  You put in the time and the work and change happens.  I know this.  I miss feeling and being strong.
I managed to make it to the gym a couple times a couple weeks ago.  But then I discovered the magic of sleeping longer (due to a change my manager approved for my shift to start later), and opted to sleep more instead of getting up early.  For one thing, you get super sore when you start working out after months of not.  So I wanted to rest and let my body recover.  But also, that was probably the first time in...I honestly have no idea how many years, where I slept move than 7 hours before getting up for work.  And the difference it made was insane.
I know I need rest.  I am perpetually exhausted, and feel like I never get enough sleep.  Sleep is incredibly important for health (physical and mental).  I know I should be okay with sleeping and allowing my body to rest.  And I am, for the most part.  But at the same time, I know I can't improve and get back to what I want if I'm not showing up at the gym.  The ideal is to go before work (even though that makes me exhausted the rest of the day), because the gym is less busy then.  Although with starting later, that means I get off later, which means not going right at the time everyone else is also going because they're off work...although even in the evening at 1900 or 2000, the gym is still pretty packed.  And mentally these days, I'm so exhausted, the thought of having to be in a crowded gym, avoiding people, waiting for machines, not being able to get in, do my sets, and get out...that adds to the exhaustion.  I need to figure out a way to get enough sleep AND be able to work extra hours (as I have been) AND get to the gym (ideally when it's not super crowded).

I have a surgical procedure scheduled for the end of next month.  I'm not in bad shape (gross shape, yes, but relatively healthy), but I want to be more fit than I am now when that time comes.  The only way that's going to happen is if I get back in to the gym.  I need to figure it out.  Or suck it up buttercup, and go back to not getting enough sleep in order to make it to the gym, but lack of sleep will hinder progress.  Ugh.  Fuck me, going around in circles like this makes me feel overwhelmed and I shut down.

There is just a lot going on.  In my head.  In my life.  Some things I'm trying to address, others I'm ignoring because I don't have the time (or money) to give.

I'm trying to process.  I'm trying to function (failing, most days, honestly).  The truest thing that is applicable right now is that my heart is still severely broken and it hurts.  That hasn't changed, even after all this time, even when thinking about the things that would indicate it shouldn't.

Love was not destroyed or lost or even lessened.  It is still there.  And probably, honestly, always will be.

 This evening my therapist told me "I think the way you love is very rare."  She then continued "and I think because of that, you won't meet many people who will see that, or understand and appreciate it for what it is."

I didn't ask her to expound on what she meant by that...I should have.  I think I know what she meant, but it would also have been nice to hear it put into words, so maybe I can see how she thinks I love.  Part of me felt special for her saying that.  The other part of me felt cursed, because that's how I feel about myself a lot these days.

Cursed to feel deeply.  Cursed to have so much love, and no one to give it to.  Cursed to have loved someone with my whole heart, and to still love him even though he abandoned and rejected me.  Cursed to be me, because not once has it ever felt like a good thing, being me.  (Okay, that's a lie, maybe for a split second there, in the first few months of marriage (when we weren't even together, so that's saying something), where I felt like I was flying high, because I was married to the man I chose to love, a man who saw me more than I had ever been seen in my life, and still decided he loved me and wanted to be married to me, where I got thrills when he called me his wife.  That felt good.)

Been feeling very angsty lately, in the sense of feeling like a tortured artist.  As a good example, I've had "Vincent" covered by NOFX on repeat a lot lately.  Because how they sing about Van Gogh is exactly how I feel.  "You took your life as lovers often do."  Yeah, no kidding.

I don't like the way I am.  I don't like how I feel deeply.  Even worse, I don't like how I allowed myself to start feeling things for a man I loved, because I thought he was worth it, which unleashed how much I truly do feel things, only for that (very big) part of me to be criticised and rejected and be treated as a bad thing (instead of treasured, which you think him being an artist himself would have known it was something to treasure and protect).  And how now I can't seem to not feel, and that's all I want, because feeling only means constant pain.  It's probably why I learned to shut myself off/down growing up, because feeling things got me in trouble, so it was better to not feel, to be less in trouble, and to not feel what would have been extreme pain of not getting the [positive] attention and affection I (as any child) needed.  

It would have been worth it if he stuck by my side through the hard time we were going through, but like so many people of the world who are self-serving and only care about their own self gratification, it got hard and didn't make him happy anymore, so he left.  And like my therapist pointed out tonight, you will not find people outside of the Church who understand the concept of sacrifice and sticking with a marriage in hard times, because it's a covenant that is not to be broken regardless of how you feel or how unhappy you are.

I also told her about the tattoo I have in his handwriting, and how I have the opportunity to have it removed and quickly talked about how that was making me feel, and my thought process on that, and even the part about my brain being stupid because of one particular thing I was thinking, and she commented "that's not because you're stupid, it's because you're a romantic."

Which then got me talking about how he called me out for being a romantic early on when we were dating, but like an OG romantic, in how things usually end in tragedy.  And oh look, my life DID end up in tragedy, but not because I caused it, but because him - of all people - caused the tragedy.  Love that irony, I really do.

Anyway.

At least someone, to some degree, sees me.  My therapist has so far pegged me for being extremely logical, being a romantic, my mind being creative, and for loving in a way that is rare.  Eventually she'll see that I'm not a good person, but for now I'll take her seeing some positive things about me.

 I haven't been to therapy in over a month.  First due to the holidays (the days my appointments are usually on inconveniently fell on both holidays two weeks in a row), and then due to the busy season at work and working as much overtime as I could in hopes of making a little extra money.  But one of the last sessions I had with my therapist, she said something to me.  Something she really had no extensive knowledge to speak on, and it was pure conjecture...and for all intents and purposes, I know she is most likely incorrect.

However.

It's the "most likely" part, and not the "fully without a doubt" part, that sparked something in me.  Something I didn't need to spark, because I can't live with it.  I can't hold my breath, can't wish she's correct, can't hope against hope that there might actually be a little bit of hope.

And that has made these past few weeks significantly worse.  Because before I wasn't thinking of him as often.  I hadn't necessarily moved on, but I wasn't as obsessive as I had been.  But her statement (and I'm sure she meant nothing by it) caused regression.  He is back on my mind every day.  I have had multiple dreams about him.  I'd say he's back in my heart, but truthfully, he never left.

I don't think I'm lonely.

I remember being 19, and feeling so alone and lonely, that I would cry at night in desperation.  Desperate to find "the one," because I just wanted someone to love me for me.  To want me, desire me.  It was around that time I read a book in the DTS I was doing with YWAM, where my perspective changed, and after reading that book, and my eyes being opened, that the extreme loneliness I felt previously was gone.

I didn't feel lonely for years after that.  I was content being alone; I didn't have any pressing desire to be in a relationship, to find "my person," or anything like that.  In fact, I was very anti-relationship, because people in my life that I loved and was previously close to, got in relationships, and I was left behind because I didn't matter anymore, only the person they were dating did.  And over my dead body did I want to become that person to the people in my life that I cared about.

Through a progression of situations and conversations with one of my best friends and other life things, I found myself trying out dating for the first time in my mid-20s.  I don't think my ventures were due to feeling lonely, but more so exploring and seeing what dating was about.  There were a couple of guys where things happened, but not really, and I was okay with nothing happening with them.  This was also around the time I moved away from my home town, out of what was a toxic environment at the time, and moving to someplace with a much bigger population.  And definitely not as many weird people.  (Yes, the people in my small home town are weird, anyone who visits there can clearly see that.  I'm weird too.  It's whatever.)

After moving and finding work and building work friendships with my coworkers, that's when I met the man that I eventually married.  A man who, at the time, made me feel safe.  Made me feel seen.  Made me feel desired.  All of that changed, of course.  But that's not the point.

It was only after being married when the loneliness hit.  The one relationship where someone should never have to suffer in that way, and I never felt more lonely or alone in my life.  (Maybe my childhood is a contender, but I wasn't as aware of my feelings in my childhood - from what I can remember of it at least - so that's hard to say/compare.)  Or I guess I should say, never in my adult life had I felt more lonely or alone.

Being married to someone, feeling things deeply, trying desperately to connect with that person, making bids of connection, convincing myself I needed to stay vulnerable and not shut down in hopes of salvaging the relationship and marriage, repeatedly trying to communicate how I felt, trying to communicate better in general, wanting to get help from someone who could counsel us on how to see each other and communicate better and do better and what effort needed to be put in...all these things, wanting to get over the struggles and the hard times, the "for worse" times, because I knew it was just a season, knew it could get better if we both put in the work...and all of it failing, because the other half that made me one whole, didn't want to change.  Didn't want to put in the work.  Didn't want to make the effort that any relationship will require at some point in the times when things are hard.

The rejection I felt, the clear disgust and lack of desire for me as a person (as a woman), the fact that my existence and who I am wasn't wanted...not having to live with that now is at least a change of pace.  Not that I liked myself, either, but at least one of us could escape me, I suppose.

The point of all of this, is that when I was married, I felt lonely.  The opposite of what one should feel in marriage.  (We were never a team, though, so it truly shouldn't be a surprise.)  And now, no longer being married, I am alone, but I don't feel lonely.

I am still mostly convinced I only had one marriage in me.  There are thoughts and speculations in my head that I will not post publicly about this.  But in the email he sent to me a couple of years ago (dear God, how can it have already been a couple years ago), I responded and told him he has my heart.  And it was true.  And it still is.  Just because he broke his vows, betrayed me on one of the deepest possible levels a person can be betrayed, that did not make my love for him go away or lessen.  I can't show him my love, I cannot actively love him in the ways I did before, but I can still love him from a distance.  Not that that means much...and I'm sure it doesn't matter to him and he doesn't care at all, but if he ever needs assurance that at least one person out in the world has seen him and loved him regardless of anything bad he has done, he should know that person is me.  But I know that doesn't mean anything to him, and I cannot tell him or remind him of that fact.

But there is another part of me that just wants to not feel all this pain anymore.  The fact that he was able to move on to someone else so quickly, and who knows if it's still that same girl, or how many other girls have come along, but - like so much in my life (and I don't want to seem like I'm harping on this, but goddamn it feels so uncontrollable) - it is so unfair.  Unfair that he walked away willingly, voluntarily, and wasn't any worse for wear.  His life didn't change much after abandoning me, because I didn't have that much of an impact when I was in his life.  And it was "his" life, because it certainly wasn't "ours," it wasn't a shared life, because a real marriage is when the two of you become one; you are a team, you consult each other, you make decisions together, because everything that happens impacts the both of you.

There's that saying that to get over someone you need to get under someone else.  I am not that kind of person.  I didn't sleep around before (even with the high sex drive that I have), and I certainly am not going to start now.  But it seems like the only way to move on is to have someone else to think about, obsess over, want to be with.

But is that selfish?  Is that a real desire that I have - to be with someone, share my life with them, build a life together?  Is that a good enough reason to pursue a relationship with someone?  But that also begs the question, how could the next person who comes along (if anyone actually does, which is a stretch, let me tell you) be anything but a rebound?  Because in thinking about it, it seems inevitable that whoever is the unlucky person to be next in line after what should have been a lifetime relationship imploding, that person can only serve the purpose of getting over the previous person.  It doesn't seem like there's any realistic or possible way to move on unless there's some poor person who is the scapegoat of the first step of forgetting the previous person.  And call me crazy, but I don't want to have anyone deal with that or experience that unfortunate placeholder.  I don't want to put anyone through that, because that isn't fair.  So that feels like even more reason to not seek anything out.

My therapist said once "when we aren't spoon fed love, we learn to accept it from the edge of knives."  I don't think she came up with that on her own (a quick internet search tells me it's not her original thought), but the point remains the same.  I was not fed the love and attention I needed growing up.  What all children need.  And after a lifetime of being starved of the love and attention I needed, getting even just a few drops of attention and what seemed like love (at first), that felt...life changing.  It's why I say love makes people bloom.  Because at first, when I felt loved and desired by the man who used to be my husband, the world felt richer and more alive.  I was doing better mentally and emotionally.  I was more creative in ways I hadn't been creative before, felt more inspired, wrote some of my best things when I felt loved.  People who are truly loved, and loved well, will bloom.  (This is also how I know I failed in loving him well, because he did not bloom.)

I have lived for over 30 years at this point not being loved well.  Not getting what I need or even desire out of relationships.  (Okay, that's partially untrue.  When one of my best friends and I lived in the same town, that friendship brought me a lot of comfort and life and love and I miss her so much.)  So what do I need now?

In a prior therapy session, I mentioned to my therapist what I did for my prior husband's birthday on the last one we spent together.  How I built him a fort in our living room, because he never got to experience that joy as a kid.  I made him a key lime cheesecake, which was one of his favourite desserts.  I bought him 13 sunflowers, because 13 is his favourite number, and sunflowers are one of his favourite flowers.  She commented "how well you were able to love him when your own cup was empty.  I wonder how much more you will be able to love someone when you find your cup full."  And she continued on saying how that may not necessarily happen in finding someone else to share my life with, but could happen in finding fulfillment in friendships and community.

I think I've mentioned it before, but I just remember feeling so desperate at times as a teen (don't remember my younger years as much, so I can't speak on that) to just feel loved and heard and seen.  Feeling like I had all this love in me that wanted to get out, that I wanted to love my family with all that love I had, but not feeling like I was accepted, so my love wouldn't be accepted.  So that love was shoved away, hidden and buried, occasionally able to come out and be given to others in my life (friends), but probably seen as intense and obsessive and I know there were a handful of times it came across as having a crush, because apparently paying close attention to people and their likes and dislikes and trying to make them feel seen is mistaken for liking them more than a friend.

Being married, I thought was my chance to pour out all the love I had been saving and hiding away for my whole life.  I thought I could be who I was, not having to hide anything, put on masks and pretend like things are okay when they aren't, reveal the less than appealing sides of me, and be truly seen, and still be loved in spite of who I was.  I was wrong.  I was seen and was criticised for it, told he didn't like being around me when I was sad (which is all the time), told he didn't like having sex with me because I'm me.  The love I tried to pour into him was...well, I don't know what it was.  I don't know if it wasn't accepted, or wasn't appreciated, wasn't welcome...but what the Bible teaches as putting your spouse first, laying aside your own desires and needs to meet theirs, the world takes and calls it "codependency."  That isn't to say codependency exists, but my attempts to love and sacrifice and support were seen as codependent and not for what they were.  Which, I suppose, what else could you expect from someone who perceives the world from a worldly view and has no idea what Love actually is or looks like?  (Another way I failed him, because I did not provide a good example of what Love looks like.)

The point of all of this, is trying to determine if I'm lonely or not.  I don't think I am, because I'm not actively going out looking for friends or company or companionship.  And as high as my libido might be, I am not about to go looking for someone to fuck, because the last time I had sex I was married and I cried afterwards on account of feeling nothing, and I'm not about to be intimate and vulnerable in that way with someone who isn't committed to me for life (much less risk pregnancy and other terrible things that can happen from sex).

I at least have therapy tomorrow.  Who knows if we'll get around to this topic/question, what with having a lot to process from not going for the past month.  But I can at least contemplate it on my own until we get around to discussing it.  Maybe I am lonely, but am in denial.  It could be that I am and I don't see it for some reason.  I'm hoping my therapist will know what questions to ask to help me determine if I'm kidding myself or if I'm truly content without anyone.

Maybe I'm only lonely for a specific person.

I guess we'll see.

 I told my therapist in my last appointment with her, that I never hated being a woman more than when I was married.

In the last phone call I had with my former spouse, he told me about his take on "feminine" and "masculine energy."  And then he proceeded to tell me about how I came across as masculine.  When I pressed for examples, he couldn't provide anything specific, just how in the last few months we were together (before he tore my world apart and turned it upside-down), I came across as "masculine" because of all the arguing that happened between us.

My takeaway from that is that apparently it's not "feminine" to argue or have opinions.  That the modern or new age way of thinking of feminine is that a female is demure, is meek, she does everything expected of her by her man (without him needing to communicate what that is), she doesn't have any opinions of her own, and no personality because she will blend in and mesh with him so perfectly, it's like she's an extension of who he is.

I remember telling him that I tried to be feminine with him.  He told me with the right person, I wouldn't have to try; it would come naturally.  Like usual, I worded what I meant poorly.  I don't have to "try" to be feminine; it's that I allowed myself to be feminine around him.  

To me, being feminine is an extremely vulnerable thing.  It means feeling deeply (an unfortunate side affect of being me), it means being soft, it means being vulnerable and open and all walls are down.  I allowed myself to be that way for him - with him - because I thought he was safe.

I was wrong.  I allowed myself to feel with him when I was first with him, because I thought he was worth feeling things for.  But over the course of time, he proved that he wasn't safe.  When I felt things deeply, when I tried to express how I was feeling, when I attempted to communicate and tell him where I was coming from with my perspective, it was ignored or written off.  He told me thinks like "you're being too sensitive" or "you're overreacting."  And then he would try to argue that how I felt mattered to him, but when I attempted to tell him how I was feeling, it was ignored every. single. time.

In that same conversation, he told me with the right person I wouldn't have to try to be feminine.  (Again, poor wording on my end caused the misunderstanding, but it doesn't matter now.)

With the "right" person, I can be feminine.  Because that person will be both emotionally competent and intelligent, and he will understand that me being "feminine" (i.e. soft, vulnerable, feeling emotions) will be something to protect and value, as well as encourage me to feel those things.

My former spouse is not that way.  He did not encourage my femininity, he was not emotionally intelligent to be able to understand my feelings or the way I was.  Emotions and what they are, are very limited to him.  Like thinking I will be angry for him asking how I am, when it's not anger.  Not at all.  It's indignation, and feeling misunderstood, because he was the one who made the choice to walk out and betray me and the vows he made, so he lost all rights to be able to ask how I am and find out anything about my life.

Unfortunately for me, I still love and care about him.  But as my therapist put it, "you didn't sign away your love when you signed the divorce papers." 

It feels like it has been too long, but not long enough.  I still feel like I am living a nightmare I can't wake up from.  That he was able to walk away free and happy and without burden, and I have been left behind, torn apart, a shadow of my former self, and forever unwanted.  How typical that he can walk away happy and without consequence, and I am left picking up the pieces, never to be the same.

That's the story of my life, though.  Suffering for the actions and decisions of other people, because they are not the ones impacted.

I hate that I still love him.  I hate that I still care.  I hate that I still think about him daily, when he so quickly moved on and doesn't think twice about me.

I hate that I gave my heart to someone who didn't treasure it, and who threw it away when it didn't serve him anymore.

I hate everything.

 There's been a phrase, or a kind of concept, that I've heard over the past few years.  The idea of parenting your inner child.  Letting that part of you that didn't get things it needed, or maybe was mistreated, or neglected, or whatever the case may be, feel seen and heard and soothe it, give it what it needs, help it to heal.  On one hand, it sounds like new-age, hippie-dippy shit that is stupid.  But on the other hand...I am beginning to understand it.

I was driving this morning, going no place of consequence for a short errand.  Because my brain is often my enemy, of course it was thinking about things too deep for what wasn't, but basically was, first thing in the morning.  I started thinking about the fact that I really do, deeply and strongly, hate myself.  I have been aware of this for years.  I became consciously aware of it back in 2019 shortly after I got married, and in all honesty, it was probably being with my now former husband that made me realise that I legitimately hated myself.  Yes, he was the catalyst for the realisation (considering how critical he was of me, how me just being myself wasn't enough, etc.), but I'm pretty sure the hatred was there before he came along.  It was just his behaviour and treatment of me that was enough to make me realise it.

But I digress.  If this deep self hatred existed before him, where did it come from?  I've struggled with depression for over half my life at this point.  Depression has been called self-hatred, and/or anger against the self.  You internalize the anger, because it wasn't safe to feel that growing up, so you criticise and blame yourself unrealistically, which turns into depression/self-hatred.

And that's when it clicked for me.  Of course I hate myself.  I grew up not feeling wanted or loved by my family (there is a lot of nuance to this; I know my parents did their best, but it doesn't take away the fact emotional needs that I had - and probably all of my siblings had - were not met).  Not feeling loved or wanted or like I mattered at all taught me to think about myself that same way. 
And as we know from a psychological standpoint, we gravitate towards that which is familiar.  Which honestly confuses my brain, because at the beginning, he was attentive and sweet.  Yes, he was very controlling and insecure and critical as well, but there was some positive attention there (the bad attention far outweighed the good, but I wasn't as knowledgeable back then as I am now to know to pay attention to that and take it for what it was - toxic).  In a lot of ways, he was like my dad.  There were some things he paid attention to, attention he gave me, but he was very, very critical.  It was familiar, because it's what I had been accustomed to my whole life.

(Side note: paying attention to, knowing, and understanding your family of origin when it comes to family dynamics and relationships is incredibly important.  I cannot emphasize this enough.  Know where you come from, understand how that impacts your relationships, and use that to do better, be better, and change those patterns so they don't continue should you ever be in a romantic relationship and/or married.)

My self hatred started when I was a child.  When I had big feelings, and got punished for them, rather than being taught how to manage them.  So eventually I learned to shut off all feelings.  It stopped me from getting in trouble, which stopped the negative attention I always got...
It makes sense.  Getting in trouble for feeling things, being ignored except when I was getting in trouble, not feeling like I was wanted or valued or loved as a child...realising this when I was driving my short drive made me sad.  I try not to cry these days, but I found myself tearing up over this.  Being sad for the little girl Aimee, who so desperately needed to feel like her family wanted her, like she mattered to them, but not getting it.  She was hurt for so long; she is still hurt.  She never got what she needed, which was affection and positive attention, and knowing that how she felt mattered to the people who claimed they loved her.

It all feels impossible.  And, quite frankly, unfair.  That the damage done to me (albeit unintentionally) was done by others, but now I'm the one suffering and the one responsible for fixing it.  How do I parent the child part of me?  How do I tell her that she is loved and valued and wanted, when even I don't feel that way about myself?

Self hatred started in my childhood, but it continued into adulthood and into marriage, because the man who claimed to loved me criticised me often enough to where on a subconscious level I learned that I was not enough for him and he didn't love me for me, even though I never once hid from him who I was, and that sadness was part of my existence.  Then, because he abandoned me rather than doing the right thing, keeping his vows and growing and changing and doing his part in the marriage, it reaffirmed every single thing I grew up experiencing and knowing: I am not enough.  I am not wanted.  No matter if people tell me they love me, they don't, despite them saying otherwise.  And people will never, ever, ever be there for me.  

I haven't come to some miraculous discovery and am now healed and love myself.  Especially considering all of this was just realised this morning.  But my heart hurts for the little girl that I was, who was simply starving for love, for affection, for wanting to know that her family wanted her...and never got those things.

Maybe someday she will heal from that.  Maybe even someday, I won't hate myself anymore.  That day isn't today, but at least the awareness is a start.