We all have experienced separation of some sort. It’s painful and often abrupt. For me the affect lasts for years. My curiosity and my memory doesn’t let me move on entirely. I go about my life and in the back of my mind is the niggling feeling as if I have unfinished business. No closure, even when I’m the one who closed the door.
To the first one: all I want to say is that it’s been a decade and I am not in any way regretful of letting you go. All I wanted to know all these years is if you are still alive. Since I got my answer, I’m am pretty good to go on with my life. I do not and did not intend to impose myself on your life. I made my presence known by mistake. A vast mistake and I apologize if my existence alarms you.
To the second one: we were never a good fit. I don’t regret walking away from you either. I learned a lot about myself being with you. I learned what I wanted in a man, and you didn’t have any of it, other than basic intelligence. We hung on to the last thread of hope for too long. I forced something to be, when there was nothing to support it. I wanted to prove others wrong, but all I did was hurt us. You hurt me with your blatant ignorance. You lacked the strength I sought in a man. You were weak…timid. You let me walk all over you and I lost my respect for you. You frustrated me on a daily basis. You said I would regret leaving you. I don’t. I regret ever having married you in the first place.
Your family never liked me anyway. I was too much for them, yet they lacked any interest in me or my life. I was the adopted black sheep in a family I didn’t like. You never stood up for me. Never asserted yourself. I was a non entity to your family and you weren’t on their radar either. All that mattered was family gossip and you weren’t part of it. I bet you were once the axe came down. I heard about what your family said about me after. I don’t care. You all are petty people. Your sister couldn’t even get to the Fleet. What a family of losers.
I don’t apologize for what happened. I’m only sorry I let it drag out for as long as it did. Young and naive, I was.
I’m happy now. I’m where I want to be. Out of the Navy and in school. I have a great husband, a sweet cat, and the cutest dog ever. I strive to be better. I always want better. To the two to whom this is addressed, you are insignificant to me now. Do I still wonder what goes on in your lives? Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean I miss either of you. That’s just me being nosy. Go on with your lives. I am happy right where I am right now, without you.
Sincerely, your ex.
I am a nostalgic person. My past has strongly shaped who I am today. That’s a good thing and a bad thing. I feel in the past, sometimes. I think about people who are no longer relevant to me. I find myself almost missing them. My curiosity burns on low inside my chest. I can’t help but pick at my scars and wonder what they may look like, reopened.
This thing called the internet is a powerful drug. It feeds my need for information. A sick, voyeuristic desire for information about things, people, or events. I get caught in the textual spiral, laden with images and teasing breadcrumbs. I can’t decide which link to click first, which piece of tantalizing and invasive information I can find on those who still control a part of me. I’m a prisoner to my own need for knowing.
“Did he die in Iraq?…it’s she still a horrible bitch?…is he still a major loser?” I look people up from time to time, out of what is disguised as boredom, but in the depth of reality, the bedrock of my neurosis, it’s because I want to KNOW! It’s like I must know out of some twisted OCD.
Where is this person? Did they get married? Is their life better than mine? And I sink into this hole I have dug for myself. I find out things I would have been better off not knowing. Or I am surprised and glad. Or I simply feel like a failure in my own life.
And this, the internet, the blood of social interaction for the twenty-first century, fuels that need. What does someone like me do, with access to anything I could possibly want? I’m a glutton for knowledge, yet my retention of this knowledge is limited. I remember useless information and discard what matters. My attention span is not what it used to be. I feel shackled to this thing, that I’m using to voice my thoughts. Oh the irony.
And after all is said and done, all I have achieved is to bring up new questions. “How does he afford that house?… How did she get that job?…must be nice to have parents that pay for your education…” and the cycle begins anew, until I force myself to stop.
Time heals all wounds, but you always have the scar to remind you. I stare at mine and am reminded of what was. A fleeting youth that I may or may not have squandered. So many regrets…but I always say, it is better to regret something you have done, than to regret something you haven’t done. So the battle of duality continues. The choices I make having endless outcomes for me to regret and think about later…perpetuated by the ability to revisit the past through the internet.
Yes. I am on here now…and I feel like my voice needs to be heard. I have an article on Buzzfeed, which I will post on here. It is imperative it gets read. More people must be aware of Detroit’s plight.
Since I started dating my Mexican boyfriend, I have been inclined to learn Spanish. Learning foreign languages has always been a hobby of mine and now I actually have a functional use for one of them. I never took Spanish in school, rather I decided to take the easy route and take German for four years. I already speak German, but didn’t have the grammar down.
Years ago, in college, I took a cultural anthropology class and I found it intriguing. I never thought I would find myself in a similar situation, where I would immerse myself in another culture in such entirety. My boyfriend’s mother does not speak English, so it is imperative that I learn Spanish as quickly and efficiently as possible, to accommodate her and show that I am dedicated to being part of the family (eventually.)
A little more than a year ago, my journey into Spanish and the Latin American culture started. I purchase the first three levels of Spanish from Rosetta Stone. Currently, I am half way through level two. My goal is to complete level two before my boyfriend returns from his deployment, but I am not sure that will happen. I only have a few weeks left and this level is a bear! Anyway, I began listening to Hispanic music and watching Hispanic television.
It took some getting used to when watching Hispanic television. A majority of their programming is telenovelas and they are extremely cheesy and poorly acted! I laughed so much at the start. Then I began to absorb the subtle information in the acting.
My vocabulary has grown every so gradually and I can now discern a lot more about what is happening in the shows. I still have no grasp on past or future tense. I struggle to understand the mysterious concept of the “subjunctive.” The overall sentence structure of Spanish baffles me. I have come so embroiled in the grammar and mechanics of Spanish that my vocabulary-building has virtually halted, aside from my practices in Rosetta Stone.
I am so involved with grammar in English and in German that it only seems natural that I desire to have the grammatical skills in Spanish, but it has hindered me. I understand better than I can speak. Perhaps I will get lucky and not have to talk a lot when I go to Mexico. In reality, my boyfriend will probably be my interpreter, again. I will hopefully understand more, though, in conversations.
Something else I have to get used to is Mexican culture. I know very little and much of it is tied to the language. A simple sentence that may seem innocuous in English can be something offensive or incomprehensible in Spanish. The first time I ever went to Mexico, I went to drink and did not embrace the culture, per se. I embraced the drinking. The last time I went to Mexico, it was for a day and I saw very little of the place. I read about what goes on in Mexico and it scares me. I am intimidated by the fact that I will be the foreigner, for once. The one who doesn’t speak the local language (very well, if at all). There are evil people out there who could harm me because I’m American—or at least that I don’t look Mexican. And what compounds that is that I am a female. Is it paranoia? Maybe…but what will I do when I am out there, in the public, looking around wildly, unsure of what to do or say?
My greatest fear is that I will forget every word I have crammed into my head and be unable to even ask for a glass of water. What’s the polite way? Should I say thank you or just nod? Will my accent make me look stupid? My second greatest fear is being laughed at. I have been laughed at before, in Germany, by friends, because my grammar or pronunciation sucked. I have been reassured by a few people that I won’t be laughed at, but commended for my attempt to try to “integrate” in some way.
I don’t want people to think I am a poser, as if I am trying to somehow turn Latin. I do admire their culture. It’s like a colorful garden of flowers! Robust, large blooms of various shades and sizes, each uniquely beautiful in itself and together, truly harmonious. The men and women seem so lively! They love deeply and feel with every fiber of their beings. I have noticed that with my boyfriend. He has an intensity I have not seen in any other man I have met. I have always fancied Latin men, but only slightly. I never pursued the desire. I have always enjoyed watching Antonio Banderas. He is the epitome of a romantic man!
The women are “thicker.” Being skinny is not a desirable state of physical appearance, from what I have noticed. There are indeed skinny Latin women, but most have some thickness in the thighs and ass. My boyfriend has always desired my rear end, that I have condemned for the longest time. I am slowly beginning to accept that a woman’s ass a highly coveted feature among most men. Hispanic women seem to like having long, flowing hair, rather than short, constricted hair. All I see on television is long hair styles. But the negative aspect of the Latin woman’s culture is that they seem to emphasize plastic surgery just as much as white people. Breast implants and face work is abundant. You aren’t pretty unless your skin is taught as a drum and your boobs stick out as far as your ass does.
I admit that I used to have some rather negative opinions about Mexicans. My initial experience around them was not positive. I experienced a massive culture shock at a young age, after my parents and I moved to California…from Kentucky. I didn’t know Mexico really existed. There was a time when I thought Arizona had a beach! The kids made fun of me for how I talked and they would talk about me in Spanish. As I grew older, I became more introverted because I felt ridiculed constantly. I also began to learn about the immigration issues. For years, I distanced myself from Mexicans. Then I met my boyfriend. He explained it all to me and a door opened. I realized that I had a very biased opinion and only had learned half of the story for a very long time.
There was a time that I disliked Mexican food as well. It stemmed from a time when I was served extremely dry chicken and I could barely eat it. Also, one of my friends, who was Mexican, had given me this insanely huge burrito to eat. I could barely finish it all—not that it tasted bad, but it was slathered in sour cream and other accouterments. Years later, in high school, my then-boyfriend brought a quesadilla for lunch. It was a very simple and rudimentary thing that he had made in the microwave. I tried it and immediately fell in love with it. I didn’t eat much other Mexican-type food for a while, but eventually, I expanded my horizons.
I am still in the process of trying new foods. I can’t get past the sight and smell of refried beans. If it weren’t for my best friend, I would have never tried avocados (which I now LOVE!) I have tried flan and almost threw up (but that was at a Filipino party, so it may be different in Mexico.) I don’t like corn tortillas and prefer flour tortillas. Most of all, I cannot eat spicy food—ever. I prefer not to eat anything that burns my mouth and leaves my tastebuds numb and burns my throat. This limits what I can eat on the menu.
I am trying to accept all aspects of Mexican culture, but one thing I will never accept is bull fighting. Along with that, is cock fighting and greyhound racing. Basically, any sport that condones brutality towards animals is not acceptable to me. I cannot take in the culture of watching a bull fight. I know that my boyfriend and his family grew up with that, which is fine, but I will not accompany them to such an event. His sister’s husband goes to cock fights, which is a deplorable “sport.” If my boyfriend ever went to such an event, I would never speak to him again. I have no tolerance for that.
I know I will never be entirely accepted in the Hispanic community. I know I will always be an outsider. But at least I can try to understand and interact within the community. I love my boyfriend enough to learn Spanish for him. He never requested for me to do it. I did it willingly and he is grateful for it. I know his mother will respect and be surprised by my effort and progress. She will admire my motivation, I’m sure. It will take years to become proficient in Spanish, but I believe that I am on the right track. I just have to keep and open mind and be willing to adapt to new and different things.
Ever since I started dating my boyfriend, I found it surreal because of how we initially met. It is such a crazy way, in my opinion, how the stars seemed to align. The spark that he and I share arrived very late and at a time that did not seem right at all. He came into my life about two years too late. I was married, unhappily at that, to my “high school sweetheart.” Our relationship had been on the rocks for a long time, even before we were married.
Deployment 2009, my boyfriend and I were on the same ship. For the sake of anonymity and his privacy, I will call him Bob. I hadn’t spoken to Bob in about a year because he had come across as crass and offensive. He had been on board the ship for maybe a week or two, the previous year, so he was brand new. He decided to make a snide comment about my last name at the time. We had just returned from the first deployment, that had started in 2007. I was still considered a newly wed because I hadn’t been with my husband that long. We married a month before the first deployment. So when Bob made his comment, I grew immensely angry and made it a point for him to know how annoyed I was with him.
From then on, I ignored Bob. We crossed paths rarely. We once had a heated argument in a passageway about how he wanted to pick up some items from my shop, but it was lunch time. I had just made rank and had a fat head (as is usual) so I told him he would have to wait until after lunch. The yelling only lasted a few seconds before my friend, who was higher ranking than both of us, told us to stop and she straightened out the issue.
After that, he fell into obscurity in my world. There came a time when he had to work on the mess decks, in my department. I would sit there, at meal times, and criticize him in my head. Quietly picking him apart and considering him the most unattractive person ever. I thought to myself, “Who would ever want to marry him?” I did not know anything about Bob, nor did I care to.
2008 wore on, as well as my miserable marriage. I was in denial about my situation. I lived with a man-boy, who did not know how to maintain a proper household, or his own bills. Before the next deployment, in 2009, he almost lost his car because he couldn’t keep up with the payments. He simply neglected his mail and did not realize his payments were not coming out of his bank account. I helped him out as much as I could, but I was also paying for all the rent and utilities, as well as my own bills. He only paid the electricity bill, yet somehow, he never had money.
Our intimate life fell off the map as he kept frustrating me in various ways. Christmas 2008, I actually took away the Xbox and my computer so he couldn’t play anymore video games for a while. He had infuriated me so much one day, I felt it was necessary. I am a clean freak, but not so much so that it is irrational. It seemed that every time I came home, I found something in disarray. He had left the bed unmade almost daily. He also left dirty dishes in the sink and would leave his dirty laundry on the floor on his side of the bed. The very day after I had spoken to him about all these issues and requested he put more effort into helping out around the house, he leaves for work with a dirty pan on the stove, a dirty spatula on the counter, the bed unmade, and laundry everywhere. I had a meltdown. So, the punishment for a man who acts like a kid is to be grounded from his most precious possession (my possessions since I paid for it all) and that were the games.
His progress was minimal at best, if at all. I was so depressed, I began to question whether I still loved him. I would cry myself to sleep sometimes, wondering what was happening in my life. Work was stressing me out more than anything, yet I hated coming home because I was stressed out there as well. My husband did not console me, ever. He never caught on that I was deeply upset. He was oblivious that the world around him was slowly crumbling.
Deployment 2009 came around and I wasn’t too upset about it. I cried my eyes out on the day we departed. I still cared about my husband, even though he had displeased me. I pleaded with him to email me as much as possible, telling him that it was a good morale booster and I would write him all the time as well.
On this deployment, I quickly fell into my routine. I began to feel a physical need that I needed to have fulfilled. I would rarely get emails from my husband. He wrote me maybe once a week or so and when he did, it was a sentence or two. Eventually, I began to flirt with people on the ship. I liked the attention. I eventually made an “arrangement” with someone to fulfill my physical needs, to say the least.
Three months into the deployment, my husband tells me that my car has been crashed into by a drunken bastard. My husband had been driving my car since his was still in limbo with the bank and did not have registration plates. Luckily for me, my car insurance took care of the hard part and he had little to do with it.
Sometime in the thick of the deployment, I encountered Bob and his co-worker/friend. They were in need of some items that my shop controlled. I did not have the key to the space they were trying to access, so we stood by and waited as someone came to open the space. Something in the back of my head decided to give Bob the benefit of the doubt that he was worth talking to. He had apologized a while back for having made fun of me the way he had when he first came to the ship, so that had flipped my opinion on him, slightly. I also had a bit of a grudge against his friend, Peggy (for the sake of maintaining anonymity). She had basically stolen one of my guy friends from me when they started dating. It was a petty grudge, but that is a separate story.
The conversation in the passageway was innocuous. At some point, Bob revealed his age. I was impressed because he looked younger. Apparently, he is four years older than I am. We got on the subject of studying together for a warfare pin the ship required us to obtain. I took this opportunity and agreed. For some reason, I felt that he and I could study well together.
It wasn’t until a few days later that we actually met up to study. Studying lead to talking about other things. In the following weeks, we naturally began to learn more about each other. Eventually, our studying took place in an area where few people went. Things began to become rather interesting, as studying became less of the reason I went to see him.
The last half of deployment, I got very little sleep. I would stay up and wait for him to finish with work or watch so I could talk to him. We would stay up until two or three. Things became intense when he bore some of his soul to me. I learned that he has a strong sense of integrity and loyalty. I thought to myself, inside, that I desired what he had to offer. I wanted so badly to be one of the friends he looked out for and helped. He exuded this sense of confidence and security I had never felt before. I was overwhelmed with a feeling I didn’t quite know.
I shared with him my numerous qualms and issues with my husband. As a friend, he advised me that what I had done was settled and that I was in an unhealthy relationship. Clearly, I wasn’t happy and that is not what marriage is supposed to be like. My feelings for Bob grew faster and more intensely than his for me.
When the ship made an emergency port stop to repair the ship, Bob and I went out on liberty together as much as we could. We would drink at the base club, as was the usual thing to do. For me, the truth came pouring out of me faster than I could stop myself. Eventually, we discussed the status of our friendship and relationship. By this time, we had already passed all the “bases” one could pass with a person. At the time, it was frivolous, but with the first kiss, something changed within me that I couldn’t explain. It was this electricity that shot through me. It was like the spirit of Christ had struck me from the heart outward. (I use that as an analogy because that seems to be the most powerful example. Bob is not God!)
I don’t know what had come over me. Bob had changed me and didn’t realize it. He had shown me the light about my marriage. He forced me to admit that my relationship was on bad ground. He wasn’t trying to sway me to leave my husband. He wasn’t after me in that way. As I said, his feelings developed way later than mine did. He insisted that it was my own decision what I do with my life and marriage. I had a lot of thinking to do. By the end of our extended port visit, we were secretly together, in some degree. The dynamic of our friendship/relationship had shifted to something more, subconsciously.
We stopped in our last port before our homeward path. Bob and I went out alone and stayed in a hotel room for a few hours. We wanted to enjoy a real bed for once, as well as have some real time together, without the risk of discovery. We had a great time at that port. During that visit, I went out with another friend, at which time I drank in excess. I ended up drunk texting my husband that I had cheated on him. This was two weeks before we were to return home. This text, which took me about half an hour to type, began the whirlwind of disaster that followed for months after.
In the end, my husband and I separated in less the amicable ways. He stayed at my house a month after the separation went into affect, which is not allowed, but he had to wait until he could transfer his job back home. He had somehow finally managed to get his car licensed, after I got back. I still had to ferry him to and from work, though. During these drives, he would say nasty things to me and lament the way I treated him. I let him say what he wanted because I deserved how he treated me, to a degree. There were times where I was fed up with him.
Things were uncomfortable and complicated. Bob was my solace when my husband harassed me too much. One night, he wouldn’t let me go to sleep because he wanted to know answers to ridiculous questions. Another time, he tried to have sex with me. He tried to undo my pants and I wouldn’t let him. I left the house for a few hours after that. He proceeded to get drunk and eventually pass out so when I returned home, I just sneaked up to my bedroom and went to bed. Also, he propositioned me for sex and I immediately declined, which upset him.
When he finally moved out of my apartment, it was odd being alone. Bob did not like staying at my apartment because of the past memories associated with the place. A few months went by and my lease was about to be up. Bob offered for me to move in with him and his friend. I took the offer.
Eventually, we went to California, separately, and we each met our families. Everyone approved, even my dad, who is not easily impressed. Then we celebrated our one-year anniversary, which ended horribly because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut about something that could have waited or not been said at all. Nonetheless, we stayed together.
We have had some explosive arguments that could have ended a relationship. His drinking has been an issue ever since he became physically aggressive towards a refrigerator at a friend’s house party. He does not know his limit and insists it is not a serious as I make it. We have argued about his drinking on numerous occasions. He has disappointed me after promising not to get out of control and doing it anyway. The most recent time was in January, when he was in a port in Europe. I am no longer on the ship, but on shore duty, hence I wasn’t there to basically babysit him.
Overall, despite his drinking, he is the best thing that has ever happened to me. It’s crazy, though, how things worked out. Here I am, ready to spend my life with him, and just three years ago, I was wondering who would be willing to marry him! His attractiveness increased over time. Physical features are secondary to personality for me. It worked the same for my ex-husband. I still fancy after attractive men, but I have learned that the attractive ones are not as emotionally fulfilling for me.
We just had our two-year anniversary, which seems unreal to me. We decided to pick a date close to when we were at the emergency port because that’s when the truth came out for us. Even though I was still married and our relationship was very unauthorized, we have taken that in stride. I believe everything happens for a reason, even if it comes a few years to late. Bob came into my life at a critical time. He has changed me for the better, as I have changed him for the better. He is now my blood and soul. I bleed for him. He gives me a reason to wake up in the morning. He truly is my life. I love him more than anything. Whether he understands that or not, I do. He feels that I pick at his flaws too much or nit pick at him. It’s to make him better, not to change him. I want him to live long and healthy with me.
Sometimes the people you don’t like at first end up being the ones you would give your life to.
Hello, from Pluto. I have been searching for a proper outlet to spout my nonsense that no one cares about and I believe this will be the perfect venue. I have had so many rants and frustrations building up inside me. I am a political paradox because while I perceive myself to be a liberal, many of my philosophies about where my money goes can be viewed as conservative. I recently discovered (or more like finally admitted) that I believe in Jesus, but I find it difficult to restrict myself based on the rules in the Bible. I rather keep living how I have been living, but now with the light of Jesus in my heart…that is contradictory since I am the antithesis of a good “Catholic.”
What can I say that hasn’t been said a thousand times before? I look back at things I have posted on other sites and I feel foolish. My naivete that I had six years ago follows me.
People have told me I am an intelligent woman…but I feel like I lack the smartness that others seem to possess. I cannot recall lines from a movie, even thirty seconds after having watched it. I cannot recall specific dates of wars that have been fought in history. I don’t know when Hitler died. I don’t know when the Civil War actually started. I know the reasons and generalities of both, but it’s not enough to debate about them. I cannot debate anything. I take the side of the last person who talked to me. That is to say, if a person told me that chocolate was bad for me because it causes heart disease, I would take his word for it; then ten minutes later, someone else can tell me that the information I was given was hogwash and that chocolate is actually good for your heart. I will then flip flop and agree with him. I can easily think for myself and I usually do, but I have no ability to defend my opinions or beliefs. I go based on feeling. If I feel that something should be a certain way, then that’s how it should be. I don’t need to explain myself to anyone. I am also seemingly gullible, to a degree. I am more of a skeptic and a cynic than anything. I doubt a lot and have little faith in anything. I have been taken for a fool so many times in my life. I distrust a lot of people around me and I find it easier to build a wall around myself.
Just ask my boyfriend, who has been with me for almost two years. He has just barely broken down my barriers against the outside world. I don’t do well around strangers and prefer not to interact with people I do not know. I seem hostile and off-putting at first, but once you are in my circle of trust, I will be the best friend you ever had. I will do my best to look out for my loyal cohorts. Any of them can contest to that. I listen when people talk to me and I am willing to provide feedback and the minimal advice I have. But the caveat to that is that I am opinionated and speak what’s on my mind, regardless of how offensive it is. Hence, most perceive me to be a bitch. But I would rather be a bitch than a doormat pussy. I can hold my own when I have to, but I would rather keep the peace.
When I feel threatened, I will clam up. I avoid confrontation when I can. I can’t think straight or even find coherent words when I am infuriated. I don’t like to stress out my heart more than I need to. Anger leads to violence. I like to think through what I want to say in a methodical manner before I respond to a critical issue. I can’t think on my feet too well in intense situations. I have to mull things over for a while before I can answer correctly and coherently.
When I dislike someone, they know it. I will avoid them at all costs. I do not look at them or acknowledge them. Eventually, it becomes difficult to even try to pretend that I like the person or want to be civil with them. I prefer “out of sight, out of mind.” If I don’t like you, I will cast you out of my life entirely, with no return.
And with that, there is my first entry. Nice to meet me. Indeed it is.