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Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Ok, so I lied... (aka My First Guest Post!!!)
As a neophyte blogger, I'm still learning the ropes about the blogosphere and the rules of etiquette that govern it. As a long time writer who simply took a 15-yr long hiatus from writing, I know what it means when a fellow writer asks you to bless their space with your words. It's one of the greatest honours/compliments that one writer can pay another. So when Tammy-Jade Vasquez (aka the Spotless Cussbud) asked me to do a guest post for her blog, White is too Pure for My Dirty Mouth, I was speechless. Spotty Cuss and I share one of those big brother-little sister relationships, where I feel like I could strangle her one minute, and give her a big bear hug the next. She is also the major reason why this blog is up and running today. If it wasn't for her persistence (re: nagging), this space would not exist. So thanks, cuss, for allowing me to bless your space with my words. It was an honour I will never forget, and always cherish :). (She is also a pretty talented web-graphic designer, so hopefully she will bless up my page with some art, ;))
Soundtrack for a New Year.
The message is simple...
(This is also my last post for 2009. Thanks for following, and I'm wishing everyone all the best for you and yours. May 2010 bring all hearts desires, and more importantly, all your life's needs. :))
(This is also my last post for 2009. Thanks for following, and I'm wishing everyone all the best for you and yours. May 2010 bring all hearts desires, and more importantly, all your life's needs. :))
Monday, December 28, 2009
Peace of Mind
*Consider this an epilogue to my piece, “My Father’s Son”. It was finished about 3 weeks ago, but was held back while I waited for a friend to scan the images. I have to give very special thanks to my step-mother. She did not have to answer my questions; she did not have to address the situation. Hell, she did not have to accept me. But she did all of those things, unquestioningly. And in the course of a 2 hour conversation, questions were answered, some long-standing open wounds healed, and some chapters were closed. And some peace was gained, I think by both parties involved in that conversation. Thank you for showing me love and respect, when you did not have to.
I guess you’re wondering why a 30-year old man has so many hang up about his father. There are many children who are the products of single-parent homes, who also fall under the classification of “love-child”. And I am sure many of them don’t give 2 thoughts about their father, especially if he was never there. Well, as I spelled out in my previous posts, I am my father’s son. And it goes beyond my tastes. The pic below should explain it. But there is more.
Unbeknownst to me, I worked with a close friend of my father for the better part of 6 months. The man never said anything, and neither did my aunt. I just knew him from passing him in the hallways. But I will always remember the first time I met him in the corridors of this company. I was polite as usual and said my good morning (old school upbringing: always say good morning even if you don’t know them). He has yet to reply to this day. More strangely, the first time he saw me, he literally turned white (you should know how hard this is for us people of colour), and kind of stepped around me. It was as if he had seen a ghost. Our future meetings in the corridor were never as dramatic as that first one, but he would always give me a very strange look. Only much later, after giving me a ride home from work, did he let on that he knew my dad. And in a very round about way at that. Even my step-mother made the same comment when we spoke on Saturday. She literally told me that it felt like she was speaking to a ghost. The resemblance surpasses just my looks apparently, and encompasses my gestures, personality and mannerisms. But the thing that kept nagging at me the most, is the way my mother always insisted that I at least try to get to know my dad, even when I made it explicitly clear that I wanted nothing to do with him.
So on Saturday night, I picked myself up with the intention of going to pick up my dad’s jazz collection that my step-mom was giving to me (there go the similarities again). And in the course of doing that I asked her what kind of person my dad. I did not get the exact answer I was looking for, but the question that was answered for me, is worth way more than what I originally asked. I basically got the answer to why my father “abandoned” me.
I left out what now is an important part of the story in my previous posts. See for the better part of my life, I always heard that my dad was sick. And my standard reply to that was “come on, n*gga, how sick can you be?” Well, I found out. My dad had lupus. It’s an autoimmune disease. He was diagnosed in 1983. At that point, he was barely capable of taking care of himself, and only got progressively worse. Why is that date so relevant? Well if you remember my last post, the last time I remember seeing my dad, was around when I was four. I was born in 1979. I googled lupus yesterday. I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally read that it usually isn’t genetically transmittable (I know that may sound bad, but it’s the truth. I did). Lupus is so fucked up, that it is given to differential diagnosis students as a case study (House, the TV character, specializes in differential diagnosis). Why? Because it is that difficult to diagnose. It attacks everywhere, and looks like everything. So basically, I have spent my life not knowing my dad, because his immune system decided one day that it did not recognize the rest of his body. So it started attacking it.
I heard all the stories. The renal failure. The pain. His hearing phantom sounds. The list of drugs he took. How he lasted 17 years, when he was only supposed to last around 5 (yea, apparently I got my trademark stubbornness from him). And after all of that, she gave me a picture that he bought after I was born, on one of his forays out the house, that he kept in his study.
I also heard that my birth was not easy for him to deal with on a number of different levels. I figured that there was a level of shame connected to me and my mom, but I never realized what he went through. (I won’t elaborate due to the fact that I do believe that some things should stay private.) In short, I understand him better now. And I feel the need to apologise to him.
So, Dad, I am sorry. I jumped to conclusions without knowing the full story. I was too stubborn to find out truth about why you were never there, even when I was presented with the opportunity. I was content to wallow in ignorance. I never gave you a fair shake when I was forming my misguided opinions. I wish things could have been different, and I could have gotten to know you beyond tales and pictures. But I guess this is what will have to do. Thank you for the qualities you gave me, and the family you left me. I will treasure them. Love you.
I guess you’re wondering why a 30-year old man has so many hang up about his father. There are many children who are the products of single-parent homes, who also fall under the classification of “love-child”. And I am sure many of them don’t give 2 thoughts about their father, especially if he was never there. Well, as I spelled out in my previous posts, I am my father’s son. And it goes beyond my tastes. The pic below should explain it. But there is more.
So on Saturday night, I picked myself up with the intention of going to pick up my dad’s jazz collection that my step-mom was giving to me (there go the similarities again). And in the course of doing that I asked her what kind of person my dad. I did not get the exact answer I was looking for, but the question that was answered for me, is worth way more than what I originally asked. I basically got the answer to why my father “abandoned” me.
I left out what now is an important part of the story in my previous posts. See for the better part of my life, I always heard that my dad was sick. And my standard reply to that was “come on, n*gga, how sick can you be?” Well, I found out. My dad had lupus. It’s an autoimmune disease. He was diagnosed in 1983. At that point, he was barely capable of taking care of himself, and only got progressively worse. Why is that date so relevant? Well if you remember my last post, the last time I remember seeing my dad, was around when I was four. I was born in 1979. I googled lupus yesterday. I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally read that it usually isn’t genetically transmittable (I know that may sound bad, but it’s the truth. I did). Lupus is so fucked up, that it is given to differential diagnosis students as a case study (House, the TV character, specializes in differential diagnosis). Why? Because it is that difficult to diagnose. It attacks everywhere, and looks like everything. So basically, I have spent my life not knowing my dad, because his immune system decided one day that it did not recognize the rest of his body. So it started attacking it.
I heard all the stories. The renal failure. The pain. His hearing phantom sounds. The list of drugs he took. How he lasted 17 years, when he was only supposed to last around 5 (yea, apparently I got my trademark stubbornness from him). And after all of that, she gave me a picture that he bought after I was born, on one of his forays out the house, that he kept in his study.
I also heard that my birth was not easy for him to deal with on a number of different levels. I figured that there was a level of shame connected to me and my mom, but I never realized what he went through. (I won’t elaborate due to the fact that I do believe that some things should stay private.) In short, I understand him better now. And I feel the need to apologise to him.
So, Dad, I am sorry. I jumped to conclusions without knowing the full story. I was too stubborn to find out truth about why you were never there, even when I was presented with the opportunity. I was content to wallow in ignorance. I never gave you a fair shake when I was forming my misguided opinions. I wish things could have been different, and I could have gotten to know you beyond tales and pictures. But I guess this is what will have to do. Thank you for the qualities you gave me, and the family you left me. I will treasure them. Love you.
Silence is Golden...
I try to promote my friends' blogs. They tend to be well thought out, witty, eclectic, and sometimes, hunger-inducing. I am pushing this one, because the concept is mad, but the structure is madder (yes, I passed primary school grammar). Like my boy says, he isn't going to be posting to it regularly, because that isn't the intent, but the potential is sick. Q, ah watching and I might hadda tief dat format sometime...
365 days of Silence
365 days of Silence
Thursday, December 24, 2009
2010...
Ahhh. The New Year. Symbolic of new hope, and refreshed potential. A blank slate to be chiseled anew. The time when we discard old habits and ways and prepare to make resolutions, life promises, and take a new direction in life. This new year approaches with me feeling somewhat sad and a tinge of regret. 2009 brought me both great success and painful loss. So for 2010, the beginning of a new decade, I am expanding on my assertion from last year. I am not making any life-altering resolutions, that are going to be broken by the time February rolls around. Instead I'm taking the lessons I've learned from 2009, and carrying them forward, in a positive way into the next year. But what have I learned from the year that has passed?
I had started off 2009 in a very bullish mood. No longer was I gonna let my head hang low. The year was mine, and I was gonna live it up to fullest. Nothing was gonna hold me back. Well, that kinda drive is all well and good, if you have some kind of direction to steer it. I had none. Not one. I just knew 2009 was not gonna be like 2008 where I spent most of the year pining for a relationship that had ended the previous year, and pushing a stupid war with a life-long friend. To use the cliche, 2009 was going to be mine. I was off to a bad start.
I became benignly arrogant (if there is such a thing). I wouldn't listen to anyone. I made stupid decisions and then tried to justify them. I bought a high horse on sale and then jumped on it continuously (metaphorically speaking) as though I was some all-knowing sage. I stopped opening up to and consulting with my then girlfriend, figuring it was my decision and she would have to just accept it. I missed landmark moments in her life, and didn't even think twice about it. To quote a good friend, I formed the ass. Royally. And all this occurred before June even hit.
June came, and I started studying for my SAP consultancy certification. This was a big deal to me. See, I never finished college. I have one year left to get my International Studies degree. As it stands, I'm one of only 2 members of this generation of my family to not have their degree. I take that very personally. For all the natural talent that I have always been told I have, I have nothing to show for it. So I took passing my SAP exams very personally. I threw myself into studying at the expense of everything else. My sleeping patterns still haven't re-adjusted. I now get up religiously at 4:45 on a weekday. I am in work by 6 am, at the latest. Conversely, do not call me before midday on a weekend. You will get cussed out. I also found time to start this blog strangely enough, on the recommendation of a new friend, the Spotless Cussbud (she has quickly grown in stature to the level of treasured friend). I honestly believe it is one of my saving graces right now.
July rolled and my birthday came with it. It also brought the lowest point in my life to date. They say retrospect comes with 20/20 vision. Whoever "they" are, they did not lie. I hung out with my ex from a previous relationship. I had never dealt with my emotions from that relationship, so of course they flared up. I even posted about the experience. I was shook. I then proceeded to do the single, cruelest, most thoughtless, most classless thing I have ever done. I broke up with my girlfriend. On the day after my birthday. After she had taken me out to the most beautiful dinner I have ever gone too the night before. While in bed, after we had slept together.
(This deserves its own paragraph in parentheses. This is why, more than anything else, I am not even 75% sure I deserve another chance. When reality and sanity finally took back hold of me, and I looked at what I did, I wanted to puke. It was beyond low. None of my friends even know that is how we broke up. Why? I'm too ashamed of myself. If there is one moment in my life, I pray to God I could take back, that was it. Once again, I am so sorry for what I did, Googs. Everyone feel free to call me a prick/c*nt/asshole. I'm still doing it.)
I focused almost exclusively on my studying for August. I missed my now ex's concert, after I told her I would make it for sure. Why? Cuz I forgot. I only remembered when I saw the pics on Facebook. And I didn't call to apologise either. In my mind, she should have called to remind me. (I am telling you, I turned into an asshole this year. All I needed was my picture next to the dictionary definition.) Then, to paraphrase Kanye, it all fell down.
Since the end of August, I have suffered one misfortune after another. My PC, which was my pride and joy, got fried when my room flooded out while I was out at my friend's bachelor party. I got hit with a 2 year old bill which cost me $2000. I was using a friend's car to go to work, when a tire blew out. Total cost of repair: $1700 (Thank God the rim wasn't damaged. She has chrome rims...). I did not pass the second module of my SAP exams. Total cost to re-take: you really don't wanna know (it's in US). I had practically drained my savings in a month and a half period of time. And then this happened. Karma can be a bitch, and she was paying me back in spades. I was reeling. But a funny thing has happened since then.
I wanted to hang my head low. Hell, I did for awhile. But I have some of the best friends in the world. They refused to let me do it. One in particular kept yelling at me (literally) to raise my head and keep it up. And since then, I have been taking time to find myself again, to get back to the habits and values that made me the person I was, not the person I became this year. I have been slowly dealing with all the issues I never dealt with. I have closed the book on one relationship, and have been writing the epilogue on another. I have been finding out about my father, and the kind of person he was. I have been slowly assuming more responsibility and leadership in my house. I have even made a promise to myself to start back going to church, and to go to the gym. It's slow and painful work, but I'm committed to it.
The results have been steady. I am more confident in myself. I am able to better process those downtimes that we all go through. I don't freak out at the first sign of adversity, or emotional upheaval. I am working on being a better friend. I am able to look at my ex with her new boyfriend, and accept the fact that she has moved on. Most importantly, I am not trying to make an overnight change. I am taking the small steps needed, to make permanent change. I am working on my attitude, because the Chad Hall that ran riot in 2009, was an impostor. I took him, and his high horse, out behind the proverbial woodshed, and I did not just beat their asses (American metaphor). I shot them. I plan to take the momentum I have been carrying out of 2009, and into 2010 and beyond. That is my resolution. And not just for next year, but for the rest of my life.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
I remember when I used to love her... (Pt. 2)
*I have omitted over a lot of things to keep this short. But trust me, I am understating alot in these posts...
Pt. II
And thus a new pattern was formed. Our fights now had a nasty edge. I would trying arguing using reason. She would scream and use whatever insecurities I had against me (There was a memorable one using some concerns I had about my sister’s new relationship at the time that will live forever in my mind). I would walk out the house and go for a long walk. I would walk as far as the nearby strip-mall (which was a good 20 mins away on foot, mind you), turn around and walk back home. This was when my smoking habit truly took off. I was a medium to light smoker back then. I turned into a heavy one almost over night. Then, after one particularly bad argument that left her crying and cursing (and me just confused and cursing), I took an extra-long walk. All the way to the proper mall, which was about 45 mins to an hour away. I turned around, walked back and entered my apartment, to the sight of her in the bedroom with a knife sawing away furiously at her wrist. And not a butter knife. One of the big kitchen knives. I started sleeping with the knives under my pillow whenever we fought. The straw that truly broke the camel’s back (aka my resistance) came not to long after.
It was another bad fight, but this time I started it. I had told her she needed to get professional help (who had tell me to say dat?). Eventually she went running for the knives. I told her that I could not deal anymore, and I was calling her sister to deal with her and the bullshit. She just watched me strangely, and asked what for. I told her simply because I wasn’t getting though to her and maybe her sister would. Her response was as chilling as it was calm: “Why? It’s not like she would care…” I called anyway. I laid out the entire scenario. Her sister asked to talk to her. I listen to TNO carry on a conversation with her sister that sounded relatively normal. She handed the phone back to me with a defiant, yet satisfied look on her face. Her sister then said: “She sounds fine to me…” My heart broke. In my mind, that was my last real chance to get some help from somebody else who also cared about her. Yet I was the one who was made out as looking crazy. As far as I was concerned, I was out of options.
We both moved home some months later (that conversation was a scene by itself. The short version involves me getting yelled at, and her threatening to crash the car with both of us inside, thus ending both our lives. And we were driving at the time mind you). We then broke up the month after that. The part that hurt me most about the breakup? She lied to her family, and then set me up for her mom to practically cuss me out. I went over to pick up my stuff, and the next thing I know is that I’m being yelled at by her mom, saying I was a little boy playing big man thing, and I only played with her daughter emotions, etc, etc, etc. I tried to be rational with her mom, and warn her about TNO, but she would not let me get a word in edgeways. “I know about that, it’s no longer your concern, it’s now a family matter,” was the quote. The next time I saw her mom, I knew by the look on her face, that TNO had been acting up. How did I know? Cuz for a year, I used to wear the same expression. TNO even called me and admitted she was going to therapy. I told her good for her, and wished her the best. I got harassing calls for about 3 months, then mercifully, they stopped. I have not seen her since then. She used to report on CNC3 when they first launched, but people have told me that they haven’t seen her on there in a very long time. Not that I care though, because I would walk past her straight, if I ever saw her in the street. And that’s an upgrade.
There are so many things I could say about this woman and my relationship with her, but none of it would be good. I never knew what true anger or rage was before I met TNO. I have good memories of all my relationships, except this one. I cannot pick out a single one. I have one ex-turned-very good friend, who honestly wished she had an opportunity to meet her, just so that she could kick her ass. She blames her for the marked change in my personality. It’s a taint I have yet to shake, even now. My intimacy problems (not physical, I’m perfectly fine in that respect, :p), stem from her. It is painful beyond belief to have someone who claims they love you, throw your deepest fears, regrets and insecurities back in your face, just to hurt you. Especially, when the only reason they know those fears, regrets and insecurities, is because you let them know about that side of you. I haven’t let anyone have that level of emotional access to me ever since. One person in particular has reached pretty far past my barriers, but even she met a wall of sorts. It’s a trend that has been present in all my relationships ever since.
I don’t know if I will ever be able to completely let my guard down again. That relationship took so much out of me, that even I have to admit that I have not been the same since. But I can try. And that’s the reason why I write. Not to look at my own words. But to get out pain for which, I have not found any other avenue of release. In the hope, that by setting that pain free for the world, I can heal and grow. My only problem in this case? Damn, the memory of this pain runs deep…
Pt. II
And thus a new pattern was formed. Our fights now had a nasty edge. I would trying arguing using reason. She would scream and use whatever insecurities I had against me (There was a memorable one using some concerns I had about my sister’s new relationship at the time that will live forever in my mind). I would walk out the house and go for a long walk. I would walk as far as the nearby strip-mall (which was a good 20 mins away on foot, mind you), turn around and walk back home. This was when my smoking habit truly took off. I was a medium to light smoker back then. I turned into a heavy one almost over night. Then, after one particularly bad argument that left her crying and cursing (and me just confused and cursing), I took an extra-long walk. All the way to the proper mall, which was about 45 mins to an hour away. I turned around, walked back and entered my apartment, to the sight of her in the bedroom with a knife sawing away furiously at her wrist. And not a butter knife. One of the big kitchen knives. I started sleeping with the knives under my pillow whenever we fought. The straw that truly broke the camel’s back (aka my resistance) came not to long after.
It was another bad fight, but this time I started it. I had told her she needed to get professional help (who had tell me to say dat?). Eventually she went running for the knives. I told her that I could not deal anymore, and I was calling her sister to deal with her and the bullshit. She just watched me strangely, and asked what for. I told her simply because I wasn’t getting though to her and maybe her sister would. Her response was as chilling as it was calm: “Why? It’s not like she would care…” I called anyway. I laid out the entire scenario. Her sister asked to talk to her. I listen to TNO carry on a conversation with her sister that sounded relatively normal. She handed the phone back to me with a defiant, yet satisfied look on her face. Her sister then said: “She sounds fine to me…” My heart broke. In my mind, that was my last real chance to get some help from somebody else who also cared about her. Yet I was the one who was made out as looking crazy. As far as I was concerned, I was out of options.
We both moved home some months later (that conversation was a scene by itself. The short version involves me getting yelled at, and her threatening to crash the car with both of us inside, thus ending both our lives. And we were driving at the time mind you). We then broke up the month after that. The part that hurt me most about the breakup? She lied to her family, and then set me up for her mom to practically cuss me out. I went over to pick up my stuff, and the next thing I know is that I’m being yelled at by her mom, saying I was a little boy playing big man thing, and I only played with her daughter emotions, etc, etc, etc. I tried to be rational with her mom, and warn her about TNO, but she would not let me get a word in edgeways. “I know about that, it’s no longer your concern, it’s now a family matter,” was the quote. The next time I saw her mom, I knew by the look on her face, that TNO had been acting up. How did I know? Cuz for a year, I used to wear the same expression. TNO even called me and admitted she was going to therapy. I told her good for her, and wished her the best. I got harassing calls for about 3 months, then mercifully, they stopped. I have not seen her since then. She used to report on CNC3 when they first launched, but people have told me that they haven’t seen her on there in a very long time. Not that I care though, because I would walk past her straight, if I ever saw her in the street. And that’s an upgrade.
There are so many things I could say about this woman and my relationship with her, but none of it would be good. I never knew what true anger or rage was before I met TNO. I have good memories of all my relationships, except this one. I cannot pick out a single one. I have one ex-turned-very good friend, who honestly wished she had an opportunity to meet her, just so that she could kick her ass. She blames her for the marked change in my personality. It’s a taint I have yet to shake, even now. My intimacy problems (not physical, I’m perfectly fine in that respect, :p), stem from her. It is painful beyond belief to have someone who claims they love you, throw your deepest fears, regrets and insecurities back in your face, just to hurt you. Especially, when the only reason they know those fears, regrets and insecurities, is because you let them know about that side of you. I haven’t let anyone have that level of emotional access to me ever since. One person in particular has reached pretty far past my barriers, but even she met a wall of sorts. It’s a trend that has been present in all my relationships ever since.
I don’t know if I will ever be able to completely let my guard down again. That relationship took so much out of me, that even I have to admit that I have not been the same since. But I can try. And that’s the reason why I write. Not to look at my own words. But to get out pain for which, I have not found any other avenue of release. In the hope, that by setting that pain free for the world, I can heal and grow. My only problem in this case? Damn, the memory of this pain runs deep…
Monday, December 21, 2009
I remember when I used to love her... (Pt. 1)
*I apologise for the length of this post. I have been working on it for awhile, and was under the impression I would not have finished it in time to get the first part posted yesterday. I try to keep my missives short but this one got out of hand, and I did not have the time to edit it properly. Sorry folk...
It’s difficult for me to write this. That may sound strange, when you think about some of the things that I have posted in this space. However, this may count as my toughest one yet. It deals with a major reason why my recent relationships have been so dysfunctional. And while this isn’t the sole reason, it was a huge influence over how I related to the women I involved myself with. I have tried writing about this before (about 3 times). I keep clamming up. There is still a lot of residual anger left in me, even now, some 7 years later. In short, I’m going to write about her.
Who is she? My closest friends could tell you in heart beat, just from that opening paragraph. In my adult life, I have cried from despair, sorrow, sadness and a sense of loss, numerous times, but always in private. Only she has ever made me breakdown and cry out of sheer unadulterated rage (in front my best friend and his girlfriend at the time no less). My friend's girlfriend (who was also a close personal friend) even recommended that I go to therapy, because she was worried that I wasn’t dealing well my emotions. In retrospect, she didn’t know the half. I have carried baggage from that relationship with me ever since, like a faithful roadie for a touring rock band. Well, it’s time to drop that baggage by the roadside. I’ve had enough.
By the way, for the rest of this post, she is going to be referred to as TNO, aka, The Nameless One. Why TNO? A friend, who was there for the entire fiasco, has literally rechristened her “She Who Shall Not Be Named”. At first I thought it was because she was a non-entity in his mind after everything that happened. Now, I honestly believe it’s in homage to the demonic entity in “Children of the Corn”, the titled “He Who Walks Behind The Rows”. And he WILL correct you if you call her by her birth name. I kid you not, she was bad.
The sordid story started in a party. I even remember the name of the party: H-1 (H-1 is the code for student visas for entry to the US). We were both home on vacation and met through a mutual friend. While there weren’t any fireworks, there was definitely chemistry. We hung out a couple more time afterwards, and then we both headed back to school, she in Boston, me in Atlanta. And then she disappeared. I found out through our friend that she was on an 8-month field-study in South America. I shrugged, cursed my luck and moved on.
9 months later, my friend was organizing to come visit me in Atl, when 9-11 happened. And if you know my friend, that means that a snowball has a much better chance of surviving an unusually warm day in hell, than she had of stepping foot on a plane. Anyway, I’m on MSN Messenger one day, and my friend logs in to tell me that she isn’t coming. Except that it’s TNO using her account (my friend was too sick to get out of bed, so she had her use her messenger). We got back to talking and catching up, and finally she decided that (unknown to me) as she was supposed to come on the trip anyway, she would still come. The weekend was great (and no, not just the sex…). We hung out, we vibed, we drank, we partied. She got along great with my boys. Sure, she had some quirks (more on that in a paragraph or 2), but she was cool. By the end of the weekend, we were practically in a relationship. (My best friend, who was also my roommate at the time, always shakes his head at that fact). Things were great. (N.B. There is a very good reason for the adage “young, dumb and full of cum…”)
And things stayed great for awhile. We did the long distance thing for a year. She would come visit me. It was hard for me to visit her because, while she was on scholarship and living on campus, I was living off-campus and paying my way through school. We talked on the phone every other day. We e-mailed all the time. I cheated a bit. (N.B. again: while I’m not proud of this fact, in retrospect, I’m not sorry either). Once again, everything was going great. Then all hell broke loose.
I need to give some back story here, to explain the kind of person I was dealing with. She was the middle child of five kids. Her father was physically abusive to the family. The bed in my bedroom was pushed up against the corner of the room. She could not sleep on the inside, i.e. close to wall, because she had severe claustrophobia. Why? Because her father would lock her in the closet as a child as punishment. (I thought her stories about her dad were out there, until I met her elder sisters. They confirmed them) He eventually ran out on them. She had a near-rape experience in form 6, and then actually was raped while on foreign study. She reported neither. Why? She assumed people would think it was her fault and she looked for it. Or that she was just flat out lying. I mean, this girl didn’t just have issues. She had problems stemming from issues, that came from real-life tragedies. And there I was, the super-caring, ultra-loving, ever-understanding boyfriend, who stood by her side when she swore no-one else would want her or love her. And I had no idea of the monster I was creating.
I didn’t learn everything in the previous paragraph all at one. It came out slowly. But the first sign I had that something may not have been right, was when she started sleep-walking. Not talking in her sleep, mind you, but actually sleep-walking. And here’s the funny thing about sleep-walking. Forget the movies. When you see that shit for the first time, if you don’t know what to look for, you will swear that the person is awake and coherent. I promise you that. The first time it happened, she jumped up, and started screaming and crying that she couldn’t feel her legs. I freaked. I tried to go for help, but she wouldn’t let me. She kept crying for me not to leave her alone. I didn’t know what to do. Eventually, she went back to sleep. I didn’t. When she finally awoke some hours later, I asked her how she was feeling and how were her legs. And she watched me like I was from mars. She had no recollection of anything, the screaming, the crying, nothing. She just watched me like I was on something, and then continued doing what she was doing. But did I run for the hills? Noooo… Your faithful blogger did the next logical thing (logic being used VERY loosely here). I moved in with her.
The next year of my life proved to be hell on earth. Not only did she not like my friends, she actively hated them. Why? Because they had the audacity to suggest that maybe, just maybe, our moving in together was not a particularly good idea. But where I saw people voicing concern, she saw traitors who were trying to stab her in the back (yea, logic didn't run too far with her). I was God's gift to women (I wish), so suddenly all women were threats to her. And I do mean all women. The only one of my female friends that she was cool with was the curious mouth, and even that had limitations. She bought a car (more on this to come, trust me), and immediately decreed that no strange bitches (direct quote, and you should know my stance on the word "bitch") would be allowed in it. Anything became grounds for a fight. Not an argument, mind you, but a fight (not physical though). I remember watching TV and getting into an argument, because I commented that one of the contestants for a reality TV show was cute. After she asked me if she was cute. Needless to say, I soon discovered that my couch was quite comfortable to sleep on.
This continued for the next couple of months. But there was a slow escalation that was almost imperceptible to me at the point in time. I mean I can see it clearly now, but back then, not so much. Then came the two incidents that showed me that I was clearly dealing with someone who was becoming unhinged. We had just gotten through our usual nightly bullshit argument, and I had taken up my customary spot on the couch, to watch TV till I fell asleep. I heard the bedroom door open, and she walked out, naked as she was born (she slept naked), in tears. I was confused. Our argument hadn't been that bad this time. So I asked her what was wrong. "You're leaving me", came the response. Brrrr? Nowhere in our argument had I ever said I was leaving her. I asked her who told her that, and got no coherent response. She just kept repeating the same thing over and over, that I was leaving her. Then something clicked. I got up, walked closer to her and asked, “TNO, are you up?” Same response. I asked her if she was awake again. Then I looked closely at her eyes. They had that rapid, shifty movement that is associated with someone who is dreaming. Except her eyes were wide open. She was sleepwalking. Again. I eventually led her back gently to the bedroom, and calmed her down enough for her to start back sleeping normally (think of the insanity of that statement, taking into account that she never woke up throughout the entire episode). Then I promptly had a cigarette.
(N.B. I did some research on people who sleepwalk after we broke up. And what I read scared me. Basically, people have been known to hurt themselves while sleepwalking. Makes sense right? But did you know they have also been known to attack others, and in very rare instances, even kill? Why? Cuz higher brain function is still switched off. They are basically running on autopilot. Ignorance is bliss.)
The second incident came about a month later. My best friend, and biggest opponent of us moving in together, was moving home. So we had a good bye party. Of course this was not sitting well with her. We had been back and forth about it all day. She told me I could not use the car. I simply called my other liming partner to pick me up. She told me to pack my shit and get the fuck out while I was at it. I calmly picked up the clothes she threw at me and started packing them in my bags. She told me I didn’t have the balls. I put my bags by the door and sat waiting. She started to cry and beg for me not to go. I didn’t even look at her. I had reached my breaking point. My boy called me to say he was at the traffic lights outside our apartment complex, and I started moving my stuff outside the door. Then came the words that made my blood run cold. As she sat on the floor, she said in a fairly calm voice, “If you leave me, I will kill myself…” (There is a huge difference between “I’ll die if you leave me,” and “if you leave me, I will kill myself.” Especially when they stress the “will.”) This is where the chain of events begins to differ from what my friends believe I should have done:
Me: “Wha?”
TNO (slowly, yet in that same calm voice): “I will kill myself.”
Me (trying to sound mannish): “No you won’t…”
TNO: “Yes…I…will.”
And then I made mistake no. 2. I closed the door and called my boy. I explained everything that had just happened to him. He went silent. The he slowly told me to stay home, and to make sure every stayed ok. He said he would explain to my boy why I could not make it to the party. So I stayed. And that was the scariest conversation I have ever had with another human being. Her voice never changed. It stayed that same eerily calm way throughout. To this day, I get asked why I didn’t just call her bluff and leave. All I can say is, you needed to hear her when she said it. There is a common saying, no matter how much you think the person is bluffing, always take them seriously. Well, I did not think she was bluffing. Not one bit. And the death of another person is not a stain on my soul that I can live with.
To be continued...
It’s difficult for me to write this. That may sound strange, when you think about some of the things that I have posted in this space. However, this may count as my toughest one yet. It deals with a major reason why my recent relationships have been so dysfunctional. And while this isn’t the sole reason, it was a huge influence over how I related to the women I involved myself with. I have tried writing about this before (about 3 times). I keep clamming up. There is still a lot of residual anger left in me, even now, some 7 years later. In short, I’m going to write about her.
Who is she? My closest friends could tell you in heart beat, just from that opening paragraph. In my adult life, I have cried from despair, sorrow, sadness and a sense of loss, numerous times, but always in private. Only she has ever made me breakdown and cry out of sheer unadulterated rage (in front my best friend and his girlfriend at the time no less). My friend's girlfriend (who was also a close personal friend) even recommended that I go to therapy, because she was worried that I wasn’t dealing well my emotions. In retrospect, she didn’t know the half. I have carried baggage from that relationship with me ever since, like a faithful roadie for a touring rock band. Well, it’s time to drop that baggage by the roadside. I’ve had enough.
By the way, for the rest of this post, she is going to be referred to as TNO, aka, The Nameless One. Why TNO? A friend, who was there for the entire fiasco, has literally rechristened her “She Who Shall Not Be Named”. At first I thought it was because she was a non-entity in his mind after everything that happened. Now, I honestly believe it’s in homage to the demonic entity in “Children of the Corn”, the titled “He Who Walks Behind The Rows”. And he WILL correct you if you call her by her birth name. I kid you not, she was bad.
The sordid story started in a party. I even remember the name of the party: H-1 (H-1 is the code for student visas for entry to the US). We were both home on vacation and met through a mutual friend. While there weren’t any fireworks, there was definitely chemistry. We hung out a couple more time afterwards, and then we both headed back to school, she in Boston, me in Atlanta. And then she disappeared. I found out through our friend that she was on an 8-month field-study in South America. I shrugged, cursed my luck and moved on.
9 months later, my friend was organizing to come visit me in Atl, when 9-11 happened. And if you know my friend, that means that a snowball has a much better chance of surviving an unusually warm day in hell, than she had of stepping foot on a plane. Anyway, I’m on MSN Messenger one day, and my friend logs in to tell me that she isn’t coming. Except that it’s TNO using her account (my friend was too sick to get out of bed, so she had her use her messenger). We got back to talking and catching up, and finally she decided that (unknown to me) as she was supposed to come on the trip anyway, she would still come. The weekend was great (and no, not just the sex…). We hung out, we vibed, we drank, we partied. She got along great with my boys. Sure, she had some quirks (more on that in a paragraph or 2), but she was cool. By the end of the weekend, we were practically in a relationship. (My best friend, who was also my roommate at the time, always shakes his head at that fact). Things were great. (N.B. There is a very good reason for the adage “young, dumb and full of cum…”)
And things stayed great for awhile. We did the long distance thing for a year. She would come visit me. It was hard for me to visit her because, while she was on scholarship and living on campus, I was living off-campus and paying my way through school. We talked on the phone every other day. We e-mailed all the time. I cheated a bit. (N.B. again: while I’m not proud of this fact, in retrospect, I’m not sorry either). Once again, everything was going great. Then all hell broke loose.
I need to give some back story here, to explain the kind of person I was dealing with. She was the middle child of five kids. Her father was physically abusive to the family. The bed in my bedroom was pushed up against the corner of the room. She could not sleep on the inside, i.e. close to wall, because she had severe claustrophobia. Why? Because her father would lock her in the closet as a child as punishment. (I thought her stories about her dad were out there, until I met her elder sisters. They confirmed them) He eventually ran out on them. She had a near-rape experience in form 6, and then actually was raped while on foreign study. She reported neither. Why? She assumed people would think it was her fault and she looked for it. Or that she was just flat out lying. I mean, this girl didn’t just have issues. She had problems stemming from issues, that came from real-life tragedies. And there I was, the super-caring, ultra-loving, ever-understanding boyfriend, who stood by her side when she swore no-one else would want her or love her. And I had no idea of the monster I was creating.
I didn’t learn everything in the previous paragraph all at one. It came out slowly. But the first sign I had that something may not have been right, was when she started sleep-walking. Not talking in her sleep, mind you, but actually sleep-walking. And here’s the funny thing about sleep-walking. Forget the movies. When you see that shit for the first time, if you don’t know what to look for, you will swear that the person is awake and coherent. I promise you that. The first time it happened, she jumped up, and started screaming and crying that she couldn’t feel her legs. I freaked. I tried to go for help, but she wouldn’t let me. She kept crying for me not to leave her alone. I didn’t know what to do. Eventually, she went back to sleep. I didn’t. When she finally awoke some hours later, I asked her how she was feeling and how were her legs. And she watched me like I was from mars. She had no recollection of anything, the screaming, the crying, nothing. She just watched me like I was on something, and then continued doing what she was doing. But did I run for the hills? Noooo… Your faithful blogger did the next logical thing (logic being used VERY loosely here). I moved in with her.
The next year of my life proved to be hell on earth. Not only did she not like my friends, she actively hated them. Why? Because they had the audacity to suggest that maybe, just maybe, our moving in together was not a particularly good idea. But where I saw people voicing concern, she saw traitors who were trying to stab her in the back (yea, logic didn't run too far with her). I was God's gift to women (I wish), so suddenly all women were threats to her. And I do mean all women. The only one of my female friends that she was cool with was the curious mouth, and even that had limitations. She bought a car (more on this to come, trust me), and immediately decreed that no strange bitches (direct quote, and you should know my stance on the word "bitch") would be allowed in it. Anything became grounds for a fight. Not an argument, mind you, but a fight (not physical though). I remember watching TV and getting into an argument, because I commented that one of the contestants for a reality TV show was cute. After she asked me if she was cute. Needless to say, I soon discovered that my couch was quite comfortable to sleep on.
This continued for the next couple of months. But there was a slow escalation that was almost imperceptible to me at the point in time. I mean I can see it clearly now, but back then, not so much. Then came the two incidents that showed me that I was clearly dealing with someone who was becoming unhinged. We had just gotten through our usual nightly bullshit argument, and I had taken up my customary spot on the couch, to watch TV till I fell asleep. I heard the bedroom door open, and she walked out, naked as she was born (she slept naked), in tears. I was confused. Our argument hadn't been that bad this time. So I asked her what was wrong. "You're leaving me", came the response. Brrrr? Nowhere in our argument had I ever said I was leaving her. I asked her who told her that, and got no coherent response. She just kept repeating the same thing over and over, that I was leaving her. Then something clicked. I got up, walked closer to her and asked, “TNO, are you up?” Same response. I asked her if she was awake again. Then I looked closely at her eyes. They had that rapid, shifty movement that is associated with someone who is dreaming. Except her eyes were wide open. She was sleepwalking. Again. I eventually led her back gently to the bedroom, and calmed her down enough for her to start back sleeping normally (think of the insanity of that statement, taking into account that she never woke up throughout the entire episode). Then I promptly had a cigarette.
(N.B. I did some research on people who sleepwalk after we broke up. And what I read scared me. Basically, people have been known to hurt themselves while sleepwalking. Makes sense right? But did you know they have also been known to attack others, and in very rare instances, even kill? Why? Cuz higher brain function is still switched off. They are basically running on autopilot. Ignorance is bliss.)
The second incident came about a month later. My best friend, and biggest opponent of us moving in together, was moving home. So we had a good bye party. Of course this was not sitting well with her. We had been back and forth about it all day. She told me I could not use the car. I simply called my other liming partner to pick me up. She told me to pack my shit and get the fuck out while I was at it. I calmly picked up the clothes she threw at me and started packing them in my bags. She told me I didn’t have the balls. I put my bags by the door and sat waiting. She started to cry and beg for me not to go. I didn’t even look at her. I had reached my breaking point. My boy called me to say he was at the traffic lights outside our apartment complex, and I started moving my stuff outside the door. Then came the words that made my blood run cold. As she sat on the floor, she said in a fairly calm voice, “If you leave me, I will kill myself…” (There is a huge difference between “I’ll die if you leave me,” and “if you leave me, I will kill myself.” Especially when they stress the “will.”) This is where the chain of events begins to differ from what my friends believe I should have done:
Me: “Wha?”
TNO (slowly, yet in that same calm voice): “I will kill myself.”
Me (trying to sound mannish): “No you won’t…”
TNO: “Yes…I…will.”
And then I made mistake no. 2. I closed the door and called my boy. I explained everything that had just happened to him. He went silent. The he slowly told me to stay home, and to make sure every stayed ok. He said he would explain to my boy why I could not make it to the party. So I stayed. And that was the scariest conversation I have ever had with another human being. Her voice never changed. It stayed that same eerily calm way throughout. To this day, I get asked why I didn’t just call her bluff and leave. All I can say is, you needed to hear her when she said it. There is a common saying, no matter how much you think the person is bluffing, always take them seriously. Well, I did not think she was bluffing. Not one bit. And the death of another person is not a stain on my soul that I can live with.
To be continued...
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