Setting the Record Straight

You know that saying “Methinks thou doth protest too much”?

This is going to be like that.

Exactly.

First let me just get this out of the way.  I put my life on the internet, along with eleventy billion other people.  It’s out there, of my own choice.  I blog, I tweet, I Facebook right along with countless other people.  I am aware of what I put out there, and I know that in putting it out there I open myself up to judgment and speculation and unsolicited advice, and varying opinions.  Welcome to the Internet in America.

It has been brought to my attention that lately, the majority of my tweets and Facebook status updates have been about stress, drinking, and Xanax.  And an on-line friend decided to hold an on-line intervention, you know to save me from myself.  Going so far as to suggest rehab or AA.

So, I’m here to set the record straight.  The problem is, because this is all online, and behind computer screens even if I emphatically deny the charges, it will sound like just that; denial.  But I’m putting it out there anyway.

I talk a great big talk.  I don’t walk a step of it.  I am gainfully unemployed, my son turned the magical 18 this year, the age I hung my hat on hoping he’d reach out to me when he became an adult.  It’s the Holiday Season, I am a single mom of two teenage daughters, and it’s my first holiday season without Brian (which was *another* bone of contention in this online intervention). I’m under a lot of stress.

And I’m bipolar.

And that’s where this all hinges.  Because BPD and alcohol either party really really well, or not good at all.  Ok, but did I mention I’m unemployed?  I am raising two teenage daughters? For those of you who don’t have 2 teen daughters, they are very expensive creatures.  My unemployment benefits cover my bills. Barely.  There isn’t much to spare, and if there is, the girls have a list of things they want or need.  I don’t have a whole lot of money to support a drinking habit to the point of putting myself in danger.

I mean seriously, give me a little bit of credit here.  How many people out there talk about having a glass or two of wine at night to relax?  I’ve tried that.  It really isn’t my thing.  Oh, and for the record? I hate vodka. It is vile disgusting stuff.  But I’ve tweeted and Facebooked about it several times recently.  Tequila is my poison, and I know my limits and tequila is not invited into my house.  I don’t drink tequila or margaritas alone.  Captain Morgan is also my best friend and he is also not allowed in my house.

Basically what I’m trying to say is I’m too goddamned broke, and responsible, to fuck my life up by getting lit all the time.  Yes I talk about it a lot.  It doesn’t mean I do it.

And then there is the issue of Brian.  Apparently I’m not getting over him nearly as quickly or completely as some people would like.  But then again, they are the same people who think that every single Facebook Status is cryptically about him.  As if there could not possibly be anyone else in my life.  Uh, this whole me getting over Brian issue?  That’s on you, because you’re just making assumptions about things without knowing the details.

Believe it or not, this was not about Brian that night

 

I guess the reason I’m writing this is because really, I understand you said you are coming to me because you care, but clearly you don’t know me well enough.  And to suggest REHAB and AA because of Facebook?  And I’d say I’m really sorry I’m disappointing you in how I’m handling the whole Brian situation but I’m not sorry. Your disappointment is on you.  I’ll handle it however I decide to handle it.  I’m doing fine, really.  Yes, Thanksgiving sucked ass, but that’s a personal issue.  Here it is Monday, and I’m still here.  So, thanks for your concern but forgive me if I won’t be making reservations to be spending Christmas with Lindsay Lohan or Charlie Sheen.

Now pass me the vodka.

My soul was for sale, and cheap too. Who knew?

The worst part of all this isn’t him leaving. I expected that.  As much as I knew I should have said NO when he asked me to take him back, I also knew it wouldn’t last, it wouldn’t work, and it wouldn’t be from lack of me trying.

The worst of this, is that I disappointed lied to a whole lot of people.  My family, my friends, you guys, everyone on the internet who supported me when I walked away after Sexapoloosa 2011,  but mostly I disappointed myself.

I knew beyond all doubt that taking him back was wrong. KNEW IT.  And yet there was that kernel of doubt, that said “Hey, he asked you to take him back.  He left the choice up to you. This time you get to call the shots.  You get to lay the ground rules.  You get to say This is what I want and if you can’t do it, then the answer is no.”  Knowing full well the odds were he’d lie, and he’d give me the illusion of trying.  For a while.

On yesterday’s post, Andie left me a comment, about how you think “Maybe this time.. Maybe this time things will be different. ”

Except, after 5 years, I knew things would never be different.

And I took him back.

Actually I sold my soul.

For a pair of $20 stilettos.

Apparently I am for sale.  And apparently I’m cheap. And shallow.

Remember these shoes?

The shoes I found on Pinterest and spent two hours hunting down on the internet only to discover they were ISL shoes and they cost $800 and there was no way I would ever spend $800 on a pair of shoes no matter how much I loved them.

So I went looking for knock offs and all I could find was grey suede and they were still three figure and did I really want to spend 3 figure on a pair of shoes I wouldn’t absolutely love b/c they were the wrong color?

Yeah, those shoes.

Right after Brian came crawling back, he went on vacation for a week with his family.  When he got back from vacation, the very next day he said “Let’s go to the Mall.  We’ll look at shoes for you, and Bass Pro for me.”

While we were there, we found The Shoes, ok major knock offs but still… beige suede 6 inch heel stilettos.

They weren’t exact, but OMG they were close.  And? They weren’t $800.  Also? He was paying.

They were $20.

And I loved them.

I put them on and danced and giggled and laughed my way through the rest of the day.  I laughed and giggled and adored them the whole way home.  I wore them all night, clear up until I went to bed, and left them on the floor by my bed (Yes I’m *that* dork).

I wore them to work the next day, and I showed them off.  I danced and giggled and laughed and told the story eleventy billion times about how I loved the $800 shoes but these were only $20.

And I never told a soul who bought them.

And I loved those shoes for about three days.

By then he was back to his old ways, he was too busy working, too busy eating, too busy driving, too busy watching television, too busy sleeping, too busy breathing, too busy finding ways to be too busy for me.

It was then that I realized this was not going to work.

But I couldn’t leave, he just bought me a pair of shoes. My dream shoes.  If I left it would look like I used him to get the shoes.  If I gave them back and left, I would have to explain where my dream shoes that I had bragged about had gone.

All of a sudden I realized I had sold my soul.

For a pair of $20 shoes.

That now, I hated.

Then, this weekend, it was over. Finally.  All that was left was to give him back a couple of things of his that I had.

And the shoes.

I boxed them up, left a note saying “I don’t care what you do with them. Maybe the next one will wear them.  I just know that I never will again.”  I left them in the mailbox and drove away.

He didn’t even say thank you.  I’m willing to bet they’re in the trash.  Draw your own correlation