I have had enough.

I have been spreading my wings.

No, actually, I have been staking my claim.  On my life.

I have spent an incredible amount of time in my life not rocking the boat.  Keeping my opinions to myself, agreeing to keep the peace, and going along with the status quo even when it really just rocked my core.

Know how well that worked for me?  It landed me in the hospital.

It was that fateful day in the hospital a friendship was born.  Via Facebook and text messages, I reconnected with a friend from high school.  He threatened to kick my ass, because I was being stupid.  I told him to get fucked.  It was destined to be love.

The conversations continued outside the hospital, and progressed from text message to phone calls.  Long phone calls.  Three hour phone calls.  We felt something.  We made plans for me to come see him.

It was as good in person as it was over the phone.  We laughed, we talked till all hours of the night.  it was fun, and easy and perfect.

And then life interfered.  He got busy with family, I started therapy, he got a job, I juggled the girls schedules.  The phone calls stopped, the text messages dwindled.  I tried to keep it going, but it was clear his life was too busy, too crowded for me.

I sent him a text “I’m tired of fighting to be a part of your life.”

He responded with “What’s your problem?”

I sent another text, “You have a life there that I can’t be a part of.  I can’t come see you there, you won’t come here.  You’re busy with family friends and your job.  There’s just no room for me.”

That? Took a lot of courage, on my part.  But what I wonder now is this:  Was any of it real or were the feelings I felt at the beginning due to the mania?  Did I imagine it, exaggerate it because I was manic.  And now that I’m getting my head straightened out, and I’m not as manic or crazy, it’s not as appealing.  I’m seeing it for what it was.

He phoned and called me Babe.  That? Is a gold-plated Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card.  I’m a sucker for a guy who calls me Babe. And yet?  This time I couldn’t.  This time I knew it was just him trying to reel me back in, but nothing would change.  It’s not like his family would magically disappear, or his job would instantly get less demanding.  I would still be an afterthought, something to squeeze in when he thought about it.

I deserve better than that.

Therapy taught me I have worth.  Even with my disease, I have worth.  That anyone worthy of me will love ME, want ME, and my illness won’t be an issue.

Comfort Zones: Who needs em?

This weekend?  Full of all kinds of lessons.

Britt wrote on her blog Friday about being ready and able to say “Yes” when opportunities arise.  Being able to grab the opportunity, being open to accepting it.  While she’s talking about herself being able and ready and open to accepting the invitation to go to Paris for a month, or travel the country for a year, I’m taking much smaller baby steps. But to me? Are just as profound.

For the past four years my life has been the same.  Live at my house Sunday night through Thursday night.  Go to work, send girls to school, dinner, homework, laundry, whatever during the week.  Friday night through Sunday evening?  Stay at Brian’s house. I never accepting invitations to plans with any of my friends from work on the weekends, because my weekends were spent at Brian’s house.  I never accepted invitations to anywhere with anyone because Brian is such a homebody that when he gets home from work, he doesn’t want to go out anywhere.  And going without him? Just wasn’t something I would have done. He would have gone with me if I had insisted, or he would have said I could go without him, but, well, I just never did.  That’s just the way our life was.  Homebodies.

Now, though, I don’t have anyone to answer to.  On the weekends the girls are at their dad’s, I have nobody else to consider but myself. I can go out with my friends if I want, I don’t have to turn down opportunities, or invitations.  I am free to go and do as I please.  And learning to step outside my comfort zone, (and my house) is taking some getting used to.

Take for example, last week.  I get a text from my friend Hateful Bitch, whom I haven’t seen since I moved to The Lou, and haven’t talked to nearly as much or as often as I should.  I will admit to neglecting our friendship.  So, her reaching out to me, makes her a way better friend than I am. Anyway, she texts she’s going to be down here in The Lou Friday night, maybe we could get together, hang out?  Turns out I’m taking the girls to their dad’s that night, and won’t be back until 9:00.  Ok, breakfast or lunch the next day?

Sure.

Come Friday, plans start to change.  And here’s where I have to step outside of my comfort zone.  Instead of meeting Saturday for breakfast, she asks if she can just come crash at my place.

Sure.

My house? Very simple. No cable/satellite TV, no internet, (and as of this past week.. no DVD player. We’re down to VHS here people. OLD VHS.  Like my television is almost never on now.) I live in a little hole in the wall town, and? I need to go grocery shopping.  I have almost no food in the house.  Coffee? Yes.  Food? Not so much.  Seriously.

All kinds of inviting and house guest ready I am.

Instead, she asks “If I get a hotel room downtown would you drive downtown and hang out with me there?”  Uh, let’s see… hotel, cable, internet, a bar…

HELL YES!

And that’s stepping outside my comfort zone.  Instead of going home after dropping the girls off, I plugged the address of the hotel into the GPS and drove downtown.  Something you should know about me?  I HATE driving downtown, but I will. During. The. Day. when I can see.  I HATE with a passion driving downtown at night.  Especially when I have no idea where I am going.  Add to that the fact that the hotel was three blocks away from the hockey game that just ended when I got downtown, and traffic was a clusterfuck.  I was way the hell outside my comfort zone. (I was wishing I had Brian because he always drove downtown at night. But if there was Brian, I wouldn’t have been at the Union Station Marriott, I’d be at his house sleeping in his bed instead of hanging out with my girlfriend)

And I did it all for Hateful Bitch.

Also? Other lesson learned? No matter how young and hot the guy offering to buy you a shot of Petron is… the shot? Won’t be worth it.  Petron will kick your ass. Hard. Especially when the bartender has a heavy hand and the shot? Is like three fingers.  Never shooting tequila again. Never.  (and nothing happened with young hot Petron shot buying dude. Nothing.)

One more lesson learned?  The Marriott at Union Station?  Charges you a fuckton of money for their rooms and valet parking and being right there at Union Station.  AND? Apparently internet.  It’s a fucking NICE hotel. And they can’t give you free WiFi.  WTF?