The Ex Lover Book [intro:work in progress]

[An intro to the subjects.]

Your psychoanalytical bullshit is YOUR fucking disease….not MINE.

….so PISS OFF you fucking lunatics…..

So that was what I was just about to put into my headline and decided for the millionth time that feeding into this lame ass, deranged, maniacal, nightmare fairytale of something short of nothing, is worth just that…nothing. If that makes sense. And if not…I’m sure the entries that will ensue will paint a picture of the hate and the remorse and the distrust and the DISGUST of the things that I know…the things I shouldn’t know…but do, with good reason. Things that would make one paranoid and psychotic….unless you’re already that way in the first place.

Which of course leads us to me. Me: the strong, broken poet. The one that will audaciously reveal….how you all truly are. The one that writes and writes and writes. Hoping to get it all out –

Which is silly, really….I don’t think I could ever get it ALL out…since they were in there once, probing and attaching themselves to the insides of my brain like some life sucking parasite, that there is no cure, no hope, no death….like a cockroach that undoubtedly survives a nuclear war, AIDS, anthrax, swine flu, hpv, and the elusive disease some call :love: *shudder* The one that spreads the negative things you whisper about in your sleep. The suppressed serial killer. The junkie. The other junkies. The thieves, martyrs, swashbuckling pirates, and abusive deranged straightjacket mafia.The pathological liar. The insolent cheater. The boy stuck in a man’s body that will forever hate his crack-head prostitute mother and therefore reverse the Oedipus complex and treat the women he beds just like his whoring mother….go figure. Or maybe the one about the rapist. The convicted felons [many, many....], or potentially the the one that deluded himself for years, only to reveal his new life on the other team…to everyone but the “one he loves” And not to worry, the jezzebellesque tales of things I have done wrong as well. Albeit, there are few, will be included….

You want psych….I’ll give you psych just please don’t think I’m damaged to the point of silence or stupidity. I will scream their lies and the truths of injustice…of cruelty….of sadistic maneuvers only to be had from such unbelievable atrocities…..from every last page.

I’m very well sure that women everywhere will rejoice after reading such a memoir devoted solely…not just to him (wouldn’t that stroke his ego to the point of climax) but to all the men that have fucked my friends, stolen my money, my belongings, my heart….to the men that thought they all got away with it….and oddly enough, I knew about it all along and chose to stay silent….just so that I can uncover every bit of delicious deceit I can muster. Tonight is the start of so much more; many of you have no idea about….so much that could change your perception of the people you choose to call “friends”….

Unluckily for the ones that shred the wounds in the first place….I know things most don’t. And I can choose to reveal what I wish. But I’d like it to be known, that chances are, I could ruin your entire life.

I don’t, because I fully believe in karma. As cliché as it might sound. And even though your misery is so luscious and tempting….I’ve lived it long enough and it’s not worth it to me. But don’t worry….any woman that reads the words will know how much of a worthless, good for nothing (not even your cock) scumbag that believes the lies he tells….fully. Now what kind of an existence is that?

So before it starts I’d just like to say thank you to all of you that lied, cheated and stole [....among countless other monstrosities]. Without you….I wouldn’t have all this fantastic writing material.

Oh and yes..Fuck you…for each and every time.

xxx

-©S.C. 07

I want to be paid to travel, photographing the world, saving endangered species and snowboarding the most remote places on earth. This is the start of those journeys.

It has been one hell of a ride, and I’m sure you’ll find every emotion you know and some you didn’t. This is the beginning. The roughness. And your criticism, words of wisdom, insight, or whatever comes through those fingers you type away with at 3 am, have a home. Leave your mark. After reading you may get a hint that you’re not the dictator in this match.

“Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.”

I have had dreams of what I’m accomplishing for the better part of my life. All along I knew I would get to where I needed to be. All along I knew that everything I was going through, experiencing, learning from, crying over, writing about, watching, listening, and touching…every bit of it was molding me, and forming the life around me, enabling me to reach further than ever before. Every bad relationship (and the few good…). Every best friend that fucked my boyfriend. (and the genuine few that are still by my side – weapons high and mouths wide…) Each and every downfall and all the high-high-highs… Every road trip and the many that took in the experiences with me. All the people I’ve met along the way…good and bad…and yes *I’m sure you know exactly who you are. The business deals-most of which gone bad. All the photo shoots and lost photographs. The late night parties; rallies; conventions – any excuse to get wild…or not. All the pictures that got you in trouble, or made your world….It all came to this.

The stories, journal entries and postings and some non incriminating photographes within this blog are not in order…at least for now. All words, images,  ect [unless otherwise noted, quoted, and or given credit to] are copyright 2009 shyla .cameron. Steal my shit. I will sue you. True Story.

The eventual plan for this is a book. [ha. I know, just like the rest of the angsty love torn pen wielders....] Honestly, I just love writing about the** fucked up situations I happen into.

Enjoy.
ex.oh

*Names have obviously been changed, altered, or alias’ used to not-so-much protect the guilty, but to protect myself from later legal ramifications. Most situations are not altered, but may be, to protect the identities and myself from the po’ and the law…and well….protect myself from the lunatics I seem to attract.

**I am sometimes an outsider, writing of the things that happen to those around me. Some were even kind enough to share their insanely ludicrious stories as well. The same rule above applies.

ex.oh

the.leopard

I walked up to that familiar house, and walked inside. There was a woman there. I didn’t know she was going to die. I didn’t know she was another one of yours. I followed you and traced you, like you wanted me to. In and out of a haze, swerving in and out of traffic in your big SUV. Coming back watching the cats, driving around the house, searching for something that isn’t there. I was trying to find answers, beneath this full moon above…and then you gave them to me.

I went back to the house, her skull was there, dismembered with a present deep inside. A wig of all things, blond and short, almost how it was before you. And there was another there, claiming adoration, but never knowing of sacrifice. You were packing, leaving, going somewhere, with me apparently, and I couldn’t stop any of it. We walked outside, and sat on that small porch I almost recognize. We left in the truck and we talked, for what seemed like hours. You told me things that would happen. You told me not to worry, that everything was going to work out. That we would be together again and everything was going to be just fine. All these promises that will never come to full fruition, and I sat there, as I always do, wishing it to be true.

I reached down to your hand and held it. I felt your pulse to make sure you were there, and it beat at me with ferocious vitality. You felt and smelled just like you used to. I caressed your hand while we were speeding down that road, wishing that it was real, that this was really happening. The cars flew past us on our way to the mountain, where only my nightmares can turn into dreams. Your pulse was still pounding in my hand, your flesh as real as the air I breathe.

We reached the mountains, and the snow was there, welcoming and inviting. Just like your arms are on these nights; as they were years ago. You looked as you did in those years, strong and diligent, impressive and bold. Unlike now, bloated and angry, a needle in one arm with a smirk on your face, like you know you’re doing something wrong….and then, you disappeared.

And there I was, as I am now, unable to decipher between reality and lies; the truth and the fantasy. Wanting you in the snow with me, knowing that anything is a possibility, absolutely nothing is impossible, and you can’t change the laws of the universe. If it’s meant to happen, it will…Just as are the laws of attraction, chaos, and physics. To which, you, apply to all of the above.

**after writing this i entered a sentence from each paragraph and added it into a site called: http://www.wordle.com -check it. **

I find myself, about every night now, not sleeping. I take 2-3 hour cat naps -avoiding R.E.M. Sleep whenever I can. When the sun rises above the mountains to say good-morning; she taunts us with the 34 degree weather that makes people with a snow obsession such as myself, go abso-fucking-lutely insane. I am wide eyed, waiting to see the frost. To see the snow fall, which I’m sure at such time I, per usual, will not be sleeping. The anticipation is just about enough to drive me to madness…and the mantra goes: “one more month to go, one more month to go….” (and ya’ll wonder how I’ve stayed out of any type of serious relationship for almost 3 years. I’m in one, with snow. And not that bullshit you kids are still putting up your noses…I’m talkin’ real-deal Pow, in the one place on earth I feel more at home than anywhere before it. That my friends, is ‘Rado… (Colo-rado for those that just don’t “get it” or me…for that matter…ever.)

It’s the one thing that seemingly keeps me sane, stable and clear-headed. It’s my anger management. My workout that makes women hate me for staying skinny (albeit a bit too much – in fact right now with my impending low blood pressure issue and lack of appetite from stress). I’m suffering silently in more ways from Sunday-not that I want, need, or care to have any sympathy or compassion what-so-ever….because. I see; feel; hear; and smell the snow coming. I feel it in my bones, coursing through my veins like white blood-reminding me of the happiest, freest, most content times of my life. Where I have pushed myself more than anything else in my existence, where I found passion, and acceptance, and drive…Where I found…Myself…and in mentioning… Hey ladies, get off your asses and out from in front of your brainwash box…go outside and breathe for a change….I do every day and feeling the cold, but not getting the results I want from the faulty, lying sky above-is a persecution I live with every year. I hate summer…and am thankful it’s over.

Now this isn’t really a rant about boarding, skiing, season, hitting first tracks on a powder day, or really anything other than the fact that since 2007, I have found a new love besides fall in New England. My Dingo, that owns me heart and soul, the one being I KNOW is immensely grateful for everything I’ve done for her, even if I feel as though I’m never doing enough. Even if I scold her, she knows I’d die for her, weird, I’m positive she’d do the same, and for a part wild dog, well, it’s more I can say for most people I know. I’m sure it’s a similar feeling, in some ways, to being a parent, whether paternal or adoptive…I’ve seen her so broken, sick, sad, unsure, scared to the absolute brink of a puppy heart attack. I’ve had the honor of loving and caring for an animal that surely would’ve been lost with the 5 million others that die every year…only for them it’s planned….Bat on the other hand, was just never properly taken care of, trapped in the desert prison….until now. And no matter how much I try, some days I feel as though no matter what I do in my life, everything will continue to attempt to break me down. That will never change, because without it, I would never be able to grow and become stronger to deal with the never-ending-impending future before us. I have to be strong enough for me and her, or else it’s just a set up for failure.

Everyone wants something from everyone. And most certainly that applies to the people I have a tenancy to surround myself with-for the most part. Day after week after month after year.. I’m quite sure I’m cursed with a heart that just doesn’t quit. An empathy and intuition that most dream of or dread. I have dreams the things horror movies are made of. And I’m sure that fuels me to not sleep until sunrise. If you have ever had a severe night-terror, you may know what I’m talking about. It’s almost like being a little kid, alone at home, it’s dark, and watching the crypt keeper and the twighlight zone is exactly what my little impressionable mind needed at 3 am while mom was working (which I’m still a tad traumatized from since childhood…), so potentially my anxiety and lack of sleep also has just a small something to do with that and many other factors in my life….

I dreamt the other night, that he was trying to kill me. And he has been attempting exactly that- complete psychological, emotional, and subconscious warfare that was never meant to be fought, except to make me strong enough to make it through all this craziness we call life. …For almost three long insane, maniacal, torturous years, I have watched him, felt his presence even from thousands of miles away, been stalked by him, been attacked in dreams, worse than what he ever put me through in our deranged reality, lost friends-old and new, grew, learned, gained friends, broke down uncountable times, ruined parts of my personal life when he wasn’t even involved anymore just to be by his side; to be his “friend” and be there for someone that was and never is there for me. I lost my mind and still, foolishly I found myself as his crutch for the last year, under the alias of “Steve”, just so She wouldn’t know he was talking to me and all of his other ex’s on the regular. It’s funny, I believed all the inane scumbag bullshit he talked about the future and us, talking on the phone for hours upon hours…as he tried to reel me in with lines like ’sometimes I put the speakerphone up to my lips just so I can feel your breath and the vibration of your voice against my lips.’ Bet his girl would LOVE to know about that.

And the headline would read: Hey, fuck-face, newsflash….. YOU would NEVER, ever have that chance, you lost it when you starting messing with that 19 year old christian-after-school-special.

Honestly, he will probably never hear from or see me again. And it amazes me on some accounts that after all the times he cheated on her, (which I’m sure was more than me, since he thinks of me and every other woman he betrayed, instead of her, which is why his phone records and in-boxes are littered with my numbers and theirs….and his slimy emails) I still can’t believe she stays by his side. I mean really, is this 1956? Ill tell you, I full-well believe he is nothing more than a fucking CUNT of a being. He has hurt more people in his short life, than most people have the chance to hurt, kill, or destroy in their many lifetimes. He’s so fucked, that he wants to keep us ex’s at bay so that he wont ever be alone. I mean correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s pretty messed up. I tried to be a friend to someone, support someone, and all he did was string me along, lead me to believe things that were never true. And led her to believe that nothing was going on from his end. He’s really NOTHING but a fucking FAKE and a LIAR; how I trusted him, just because he went through anyone’s worst nightmare of a life changing experience, is way beyond my mental capacity at this point. The fact that he would still want to hurt the people that are trying to help him, just to turn it all around and play like I couldn’t take the heat. Get over yourself. I have better plans for my life than taking care of and attempting to love a man I can not ever love again-especially one like him. That word has meanings that have nothing to do with a relationship, like what he gave me. I love my dog. I love snowboarding. I don’t love, nor trust men or people – much, anymore…because his was like this inadequate, self-sufficient, needy, insecure, abusive, jealous, ignorant, grandeur illusion of what he thinks “love” is. Which is…well…emphatically wrong, twisted, and nothing I would ever want a part of. Mental brainwashing has never really been my gig. Sorry to burst the bubble and all, but we all know I don’t have secrets. I told him my deepest darkest ones and he persecuted me even to this day for it. I wasn’t the WHORE. He was…fucking all those girls behind each-others backs , as well as mine…. What a sick fucking waste of flesh.

I have worked so hard to get where I am. No matter what you, him, her or anyone else thinks. My parents are proud of me no matter how many times they want to scream because sometimes I make foolish decisions, difference is, I learn. You, her, him, and them…they wont. They’ll keep doing it over-like an insane lunatic. And I’ll be up 11,000 feet above sea level with my Dingo, hitting powder that makes me forget any of them ever took my heart to begin with. Because up there, he doesn’t matter, she doesn’t exist, and my life-then, never mattered, except to prepare me more for what is to come. Up there, alone in those mountains, I have my heart back, and he can NEVER take it back. I have succeeded in completeing more goals, dreams, and aspirations I’ve laid out for myself- ​than him, you, your family, my family and most of my friends combined. I have been in Magazines, on the covers of them even, without ever compromising who I really-truly am. I have traveled the continent 10 times over (5 lengths of it *approx 15,000 miles* just in the past year alone. -Bat the Dingo has seen over 15 states in 6 months and has probably seen and done more than most of you will in your life….and she’s a dog that lived in a cage for all of her life from puppy-hood until I found her.) I have trained myself to start to become an amazing canine trainer and rehabilatator, confidant enough to know what I’m doing and how to progress my studies further. I’m a Wildlife Conservationist to the max and have saved more animals than you would ever fathom or try….which saddens me. Don’t you want to see these gorgeous creatures that are imperative to our ecological system; food chain, and the balance of our Universe….survive and thrive and prosper? Why is it, Man is always trying to kill or conquer what He feels is beneath him, what He fears, and what He does not understand, and what makes him feel like he’s worthless without anyone making that feeling or decision but Himself. So understandably so, I will fight that Man and everyone else in between that gets in my way….because those animals and the people I have kept around for all this time, my ancestors, relatives, and spiritual guides and healers have always showed me more respect, love, admiration, and appreciation than the majority of the people I haphazardly allow into my life, just to suck me dry of every last bit of energy I possess.

Good luck. The love of my life…Winter, is on his way home for hopefully around nine months, and I swear if it were possible to get knocked up by a snowboard, I would be the richest Bitch in the world.(and let me just say, without conceit, how sexy those snow-board-bunny-babies would be…) Nothing in my life, besides the amazing spirit I rescued from certain death, my few friends I can still count on less than one hand, and myself…deserve my love, adoration, and attention. I have had people use me, rip my heart out, lie, bitch about money I’m struggling to pay back, while literally still living off the 101 ways to cook Ramen Cookbook – when they in fact are some of the richest people I know (monetarily-not necessarily in the way I want to be “rich”). For a change, I’m changing it all up. New careers, new moves back in the right direction. And all the right planning, with the no-plan-plan usually leading the way. I have lost the desire to allow anyone to dictate my life. I took control when I left that fucking lunatic (the first one at 16 the last one at 26….thank you Pops for raising me to be so strong, that even a seasoned abuser, trained killer, interrogator, and mind-fuck-control freak, nor the rapist, or the junkie, and everyone in the cracks…just couldn’t keep a grasp.) I should have stayed away, because now, I’m sure the steroids are going to make him that much more of a better person….good luck with that Whore. You got what you deserve, preying on other women’s men like a mantis, playing so coy and innocent, until you bite their heads off. You’re nothing but a home-wrecking filthy tramp just like the rest of them…it’s cool. Because Karma, always gets you bitches. Which is why I learned at an early age, messing with people that are ALREADY INVOLVED with SOMEONE ELSE-is nothing but a detrimental, corrosive way to live your life. I mean really, how’s your self esteem knowing he was always thinking of me when he was fucking you in my house after I was smart enough to leave when I did…-and yes foolish enough to get back involved even for the shortest times…throughout the last few years…enchanted with a Romeo Complex the size of the Himalayas .And then I came to my senses after I read the novel he wrote to my roommate on Myspace.

He’s fucking stupid, insane, and ridiculous. To even hit on other women in his condition with what he likes to call a “wife” that wont even make him a grilled cheese or fuck him or love him-(she’s just doing “the right thing…” remember that line? and I wonder how that feels for you-about the same it did for me and your ex wife-)how’s that bank account looking anyways with a girl that doesn’t work…, that sits around and does nothing, including motivating him to be a better person, go to physical therapy, become strong and healthy, which I thought someone was inexplicably trying to accomplish, but I now hardheartedly believe, that will never happen. He explicitly had the fucking audacity to type out in that email how hot that psycho I was living with was, and how he would love to have front row seats to me and her getting it on. And the worst part is, you’re not joking. You never were. You just like saying that to cover up the unbelievable things you say and think on a minute by minute basis.

But enough about you and back to me, because honestly, that is what we’re here for. Me, not you. For a change….wow. That’s interesting. My life is mine again…and the snow is going to come, and you and her and him and everyone in between will be obsolete. There is nothing positive you’re bringing to the table, so stay home. The whole ‘lot of ya’…me and my friends with actual dreams, goals and life changing experiences – we’re setting ourselves up for-will be killing it – Rock-star style, while you’re all lonely on the inside, depressed and hiding it so well with your drugs and lies and alcohol and deceptions and games….stuffing your fat faces to make yourselves feel better about being miserable in the first place. Suppressing all the bitter resentment you all hold inside yourselves without any hope to dig yourself out….because you don’t even know who you are, or what you want. Fucked up, huh?

I’ll be damned if I’m going down in that avalanche. That particular one has his name written all over it. Although, I would like to thank him for being a dick, taking the fall, and dying for me. Instead of letting him kill me, I stabbed him in that dream over twenty times (almost as much as I cut myself that night to get him out, because he just wont fucking go away-like a colony of roaches..)…even though he stayed standing so tall above me, I felt the cold steel of that enormous chef’s knife I pulled out of a bottom drawer knife rack, against the web of my hand, between my thumb and pointer finger….I felt the knife go into him…and he looked at me with that mocking smile, laughing, so I just kept stabbing, hoping if I kept it up, not only would he not kill me hypothetically, subconsciously, and internally through my dreams and my waking life…but metaphorically and philosophically, I would annihilate him from my life all together. I found closure in a dream that was so real, I haven’t talked to him since because of it. Nor do I ever want to again.

But now, I can’t sleep, because a dream like that, can change a person, and it did. It changed me in a way I’ve never felt before it…it traumatized me to the point of sickness for days. But it made me realize something. After stabbing him repeatedly in that dream against the kitchen wall, blood everywhere, him smiling and me blank and empty….After moving out of that fucking apartment complex with the matching bedroom we conceived and later lost our child….and not working at the bar he “died in front of”…well….I don’t think about it anymore really. And the colder it gets the less I think. [which can be hard for a writer…notice the novella with this…it’s been awhile – with moving 4 times and 8000 miles in a half of a year…it is a lot to digest, I still haven’t gotten the time, bearings and mental concentration to write about the last 10 years of my life…which have been filled with more memories, insanity, fun, crazy, life changing on the daily, friends and enemies coming and going, pushing pavement like the rubber tramps through the seventies….always so free without you or anyone else yelling all the time. I still feel as though I need more time and silence to gather my thoughts.

Life is obviously too short to listen to anyone’s miserable bullshit. Including mine, which is why I’m more happy for my friends that I’ll be boarding and teaching boarding and skiing within a month-month and a half…and I won’t be miserable, not one bit. No frowns. No worries. Hakuna Matata, Woosah, and ninja meetings in the glades will be making my life complete once more. That, and happy kiddo’s I can give back to mom and dad in exchange for a nice hefty tip for taking care of their little precious babies, keeping them happy….little beings they would blow up galaxies for…that I’ll never have the option of experiencing for myself…because he though being a dick, was cool. Way to go Big Guy. Look where it got him…and the rest of them.

As I get older, I watch shows and movies of women having babies. Funny, it makes me want a pack of dogs….

And as soon as I get back to ‘Rado…the Pack will start the Fall….and You…well…you will be gone.

Thank the Goddess’ for giving me the strength to finally let go of it all.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

“Love is a void, here in my room….”

I am the tenant of the void, whether or not she is there by your side, where I indefinitely belong . The emptiness you fill, consume, use, and abuse, when you’re deprived. When she’s there and never paying attention to you as you crave; almost how I crave it from you. When she doesn’t understand why or where you’re coming from. Even when your humor freaks the whole damn world out….and conveniently when she leaves you for months at a time. While she’s having fun out with friends and family and doing things I’m sure you wish you could be around for….and you’re alone, in that house, screaming at the walls, analyzing rumors, daydreaming of a time part of you swears will never exist.. Learning “To do things for yourself….” Surely you, as well as us are anxiously wondering why she took on the “job” if she couldn’t handle it, which she has proved wholeheartedly.. She can’t hold a JOB, period. So yes, she took care of you-when you needed someone there, but where is she now? At the bars where the memories make me so sick to my stomach I don’t eat for days…she’s out drinking, hanging with guys, thinking your friends wont see….thinking you wont find out about it….All the while, late at night…you call me. You call…I call…we reciprocate conversations and apologetic nostalgia, we laugh at everything, and sometimes pretend we’re as close as the breath through the speaker phone, and we talk. For hours…upon hours. Watching television together like we’re in the same room. Speaking intermittently, usually through commercials. And the comfort, as well as the conversations are usually the things rumors are made of. And after all these years, your friendship now means more to me than the world.

It amazes me on a few accounts, that I could be foolish [or logical] enough to think you’re going to leave your safe little spot in Make-Believe-Land and, to come running back to the woman you, myself, and the rest of world believe you belong with. The woman you lost. The woman you fantasize about. The woman that loves you for you, not for who everyone thinks you are. For the man I know you are. The woman you undoubtedly think about every day, as I do you. For years I’ve fought, won, lost, conquered, mastered, made a fool of myself, watched you and everyone else make fools of themselves. I’ve learned from the lessons we’ve had and are still going through; I learn from you every day I have the chance to be in your life. Some of those lessons are some of the hardest I’ve had to swallow. Watching you with other women. Lots of women, just to be that scumbag, dickhead everyone thinks you are. All just to try and make me upset, jealous, hurt, angry and everything in between. Loving you; losing you wrongly; suffering and then watching you suffer, and having to discover more about myself and life than anyone could comprehend has taken years of my life, as well as patience to work through the frustrations of never being in control of this. And for what? Comfort? Insanity? Her? An unhappy, unhealthy, negative, fake relationship based on “Doing the Right Thing….” and playing little Christian-After-School-Special…This isn’t a tv show, this is real life. And it doesn’t last long. What do you get when you live a lie? Absolutely nothing.

You are a man that sub-consciously yet detrimentally crucified my entire existence. We met, and I played the ignore and “be a bitch” game….as you may say. To me, I was terrified. I knew the minute I looked into your eyes, that all of this goes way beyond our reality. I know now, just as I knew then, that this one was for keeps….no matter the stakes. We stopped the world with one kiss and we gambled our way through months of trying to figure ourselves out. Trying to discover the world together. And attempted to make a loving relationship last through almost a year, working together, living together, and all the while building insecure resentments and bitterness that haphazardly and self destructively consumed and later devoured The Kingdom we built. Now a year may not seem like a long time to some, but with this…it’s different. It always was. It always will be. And because of that, is exactly why I feel as strongly as I do about certain things.

Such as: you being taken care of, mentally, emotionally, physically, psychologically, maturely, and well…, you NOT being taken care of. I tried to step up, but after 2 years of being done, and barely talking, me getting near you, let alone being allowed to “take care” of you or even help you out in any way has been an emotional roller coaster like I’ve never known, even with you, yet somehow also a positive addition to my life and my outlook on certain things. I do believe that everything THEY say is wrong. I do believe in you and your ability to Rock-The-Fuck-Out and take on the World. I have always believed in you, more than you or anyone else ever has. I have given you more credit then you ever deserved, from me, and still to this day, “I come running, full speed, just ‘to have my chance at you’.” Fuck your morphine, the nightmares, methadone, anger, and everything else that makes you more of a prick than you already were. I really like the man you’re trying to become and in all honesty, I am there for you because I love you-in ways they will never understand; ironically, the same goes for you. It’s not a matter of running; to or from, it’s just a matter of being, and learning.. End of Story.

I am, was, and always will be, the woman you love more than anyone. The woman you wish you never lost, and wish every day you had back. The one who got away. It’s chill, play it off. I know how you really feel….you can always see it in your eyes. And you could have it, if you could grow a pair and take what you really want, need, and deserve.

I can astrally taste your hunger, your lust, your love, and your anticipation from 1500 miles away on my lips, under my bones, and through my soul. I can tenaciously feel your hurt, your anger, your loneliness, and your veracity, determination, intelligence and spark of hope behind your beautiful eyes – halfway across the world resonating through my ribs, bouncing back and forth. Like a pinball inside the cage where you left that void. The day you stole the pulsing mass out of my chest, that allows me to live, and placed it in a jar, to watch it beat and shudder every morning when you wake, was the day it started.

I wonder if yours is as big as mine….and I hope it is. Empty and soulless. Rib bones just like guitar strings; I play the blues every night, and they always sound better, the bigger that hole gets….

xs

The Boxer, was one piece of work. I really should have learned my lesson over the years of dating men that have a tendency towards anger, jealousy, resentment, rage, the list goes on and on…mostly, men that enjoy beating things up. Men that get off on picking fights.You know the type, guys that like hurting things, just for sake of seeing them break. I’ve found more men than not, that have abusive tendencies in their relationships. [and yes, women as well...but we're not talking about us.]

He was a lot like many of the men I’ve been in relationships with. Tall [I'm short...5'8 is tall to me....] with broad shoulders, a strong jawline, charm that could talk any woman out of her pants, bank account and life….a perfect smile that could melt a million women at once, perfect white teeth and eyes that sparkle, not always in the way you want them to; a penchant for fighting; “Napoleon Syndrome” types – always have to have all the attention and cause and win the biggest war they can find. He was not only a boxer [ex] but, full blooded Native American/Indian/Native…what have you [just as I am...], and his father was an abusive alcoholic. None of us apples fall far from our trees…

I know I didn’t, but luckily my father has qualities like respect, morals, integrity, and sheer determination.  I think the reason we were so destructive is we not only both enjoyed destroying pretty things, we were impeccably similar.  So this 6 month insanity of a relationship where I was lied to, cheated on numerous times with his ex and at least one other woman I know of, mentally abused, stalked, and all around just treated like shit for the majority of what was.

At one point, I drove to west bum-fuck New England, from about five states south to see him, while he was working there. We were having drinks with his co-workers in one of their rooms, one of whom he’s enjoying flirting with-immensely, like I’m deaf, dumb and blind. [note to the men reading: most real women LOATHE being treated like shit. Stop being a dick. Some of us still enjoy being "courted" and treated like ladies; ask us out, grab some pretty flowers - iris' and orchids are always a huge hit, show up on time, have some respect and good hygiene, open some doors -you would be surprised how many of us pass the test, and know about it..., and seriously, just be a real MAN.]  I leave the room to get a hoodie, a few minutes later I’m back at the door over-hearing his obnoxious Hennessey soaked mouth spewing game and shit about me-as if I didn’t just drive 5 states to see his lying, cheating ass…., as my heart is pounding in my ears and I can’t breath; I realize this is what a “panic attack” is. I walked back to the room in a different reality. I laid in that bed staring at the walls for hours. Thinking. Wondering. Writing. My heart never stopping. Thudding, hammering like pulsing blood in my ears that wants out – to shower the walls with my hatred. He stumbles in around 4 am…claiming: “Oh What’s Up? I fell asleep on the floor, I was wondering…where you were….” Really. Interesting. I was in the bed, in OUR room, where YOU should have been. Needless to say, like every other coward in the world he denied until his face was red, and I left him there, anger simmering with his hangover, placing blame to fill the holes of his stories, he foolishly and inevitably believes.

Returning home I came to the absolute conclusion that he was insane. He called so much I literally thought my phone would explode. This guy just wouldn’t stop. I had to leave the state. [sometimes, that happens....] So I left. And changed my number. And “Ghosted”, as some like to call it.

Fast forward a year or so. I go to visit friends. We see one another, kind of thought we hit it off, again…and we were wrong – again. Everything was exactly as before [as it usually is...] and the living situation he was in was more than I could even take. There really wasn’t enough Hennessey, Mary Jane or Insanity for me to think that anything other than a brief period of playing “friends” would ensue. The Boxer, was one of my first lessons on a few accounts. First off – ex’s are EXACTLY that for a reason. You came to your senses once, why go back and play the fool again? Silly, silly girl. Second, You can always tell how crazy a man can get without doing a thing. Just watch him in public when other men are checking you out. ha! Third and emphatically not the last of many, but, listen to your gut. If it tells you the situation you got yourself into, isn’t right, then do what you have to, to fix it. So I made sure he couldn’t find me, even if he really, really tried.

Three years later I end up back at the place we met,  with a few friends, celebrating my birthday. He sees me and a huge smile crosses his face; my heart stops beating and I stop breathing. Bee-lining for me, he exclaims how happy he is to see me, how he has such great news, and how I look amazing, and blah, blah, fucking blah. This whole situation comes much to my surprise, since last I checked I had wanted less than nothing to do with him or his lunatic antics.

While I’m picking my jaw up off the floor, he informs me he’s knocked up some bimbo, and they’re naming their daughter after me. Commence jaw back on the dirty fucking floor.

For some time I couldn’t think. I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t react. And then…

I thanked him. And then told him he was a fucking idiot. Really? You cheat on me, call me names, drag me through the dirt, stalk me, lie to me, lead me on, and then name your crazy bastard love child after me because my name supposedly means “beautiful or flower” in some cultures and in others, it means Goddess.

It disgusts me to even think of what his definition of a “Goddess” really is. When it comes to him, mine is obvious. I hope that little girl with my name teaches him how he was a horrible man the majority of his life, and  once he sees the men she starts bringing home, that are just like him, I have a feeling, something will finally click.

Not all is really fair…in love and war.

xs

The trip we took to South Beach…spring of 2008, was to say the least, absolutely insane. Myself and my current Partner in Crime, decided to get the fuck out of dodge. You see, around these parts the drama can be as thick as the humidity, and sometimes, you just need to get away. Especially when situations arise that make you legally insane. So with little notice (As most of my journeys start) we set off. We left New England, and headed for Connecticut. Grabbed some things for a “friend” (who is no longer a “friend”) and continued the trip to the dirty south.

All was pretty uneventful until getting there. Wow, South Beach. This is what all the prissy, fake shit is about huh? Fanfuckingtastic. So I throw on my cute little pumps, a banging summer dress and head to the strip with my girl. Okay, so SB is…about 5 minutes long. It’s like Hawaii in a way. You get over it. Quickly. You can only take so many VIP rooms, swanky men offering drugs like water, roofies in your drinks, men with yellow Lamborghini’s that think they’re Gods gift to life, women only entrances to clubs, and you know, it’s really quite foolish if you ask me. Don’t get me wrong, I partied me lil bum off the two weeks we were there….working only 5 days to get by and get home. But honestly that was more than enough. And I love that I can say I wont ever go back.

SoBe was one place to experience, act like it’s Vegas, shut your mouth and keep the memories at bay. I think that’s why my Partner in Crime is still holding the photos hostage after all these years….blackmail. I see it already….that Dirty Trollop.

I can say, we were on the beach maybe one day. Hit the clubs at least a full week while we were there. Slept very little. Ate some amazing food. Got wasted at Outback (those pictures are hilarious). Ran around like we the owned the town. And were bored. Quite a bit. Not our gig really….well that and delivery to the penthouse condo thing that most people live in out there was too convenient, not to mention the AC and big screen TV.

Now the trip back (which I drove the majority of the 30+ hours straight….and alone with my sleeping co-pilot….) was an adventure in itself. The fake 5-0 scare was enough to make both of us pass out…for days. [I also believe this is when I ran into an old friend from Massachusetts that gets pretty girls tattooed on him, at a rest area in Jersey...crazy.] Getting back, we had changed. Myself and the Partner in Crime went separate ways-but still say hello when we can. And I vowed to attempt to stay away from Florida forever. Nothing good ever, ever, comes from there….

xs

-note: More information is going to be added to this. I could write one book just on our two week adventure, but without further incrimination or messing up the bits, I’ll wait for her to co-write this one. Her view is as priceless as mine. [getatme.trollop.]

We dated ten years ago. Back then, well, I was still me, just more reckless with short boyish hair and an attitude  bigger than a motorcycle club, and balls bigger than China, with not a care in the world, and he, was still the same as he is now. Difference is, I bettered myself. He…well…he didn’t.

We met haphazardly through friends and the ever-growing 1990’s rave scene. We shared common interests…like drugs. music. beer. liquor. sex. Normal teenage stuff. I moved him out a state or two over, and we moved almost immediately into a studio apartment in crack-central-white is the minority-run down up-state New York neighborhood. We shared 2 months of teenage angst and bliss. Drinking. Smoking. Fucking. Fighting. Doing what us east-coasters do best. Then along came Valentines day, and I apparently came to my senses. I kicked his loser ass out onto the street where he belongs…and got my karma three fold.

That night, I went out with a few “friends”. Namely: The Rapist. The Cop. And the Girlfriend. We met at an establishment on one of the main roads in the shitty New York town I once lived in. I myself was still way under age to be drinking…(take that po’!) but proceeded to get drunk enough to forget the events from earlier in the night. One thing leads to another and me and the Girlfriend are in the back of the SUV making out. We are driven by the half-hard, sweaty, and anticipating men in the front seats. Next comes the blackouts. I remember being in the house. Blackout. I remember me and her making out. Blackout. Cop is leaving, with Girlfriend in tow, by the arm. Blackout. Rapist is on top of me. Blackout. Clothes are partially off. Blackout. He’s fucking me. Blackout. He’s still fucking me. Blackout.

It’s morning. Everyone is gone. Except him. I gather my things and catch a cab back to my apartment-confused, hollowed and raw.

Natually,  Boyfriend packs and leaves. Only to come back a week later and fuck my roomate in the top of a parking garage (unbeknownst to me…) later proceeding to  fuck me in the bathroom before he leaves. Later that week…and I find out about them, and kick her out. (I hear she ended up joining the military. Great place for a whore.)

Fast forward 7 years. The Boy and I randomly run into eachother in a strip club I happened to work at for a number of years. There’s no hard feelings. Everything is great. We make my ex-fiance jealous all night long, catch up on old times, I meet his brother. We exchange numbers…and lose touch when I briefly revisit hell with the ex, and he was  seemingly brainwashed by some nasty crack-whore that goes by Kermit.

Three long tumulous years later, I’m in Colorado living my dream and happen upon his “single” myspace. (yes, it ruins lives.) We meet up, hit it off right away, and the Boy is talking marriage. Wants me to meet his kids. Move in. Start a life. Spits  all sorts of fun psycho-delusional stuff about spending his life with me and blah blah…two weeks into it, this Boy gets wasted. Unsuccessfully attempts to fight everyone in sight. I take him out of the bar and bring him to food. The Boy starts throwing plates and storms out of the resturant. Takes off into the cold winter streets with nothing but a shirt covered in angst and an ego the size of Jupiter. Two telephone numbers engrained into his vodka soaked brain. His roomate, and his ex, Kermit The Coke-Whore. I drive, nervously around the city, cops at every decrepid street corner, in an illegal car with no license, bums sleeping on street corners screaming for change in their sleep…for hours. I give up around 2am and head to the house. He calls the roomate, hours later, crying of frostbite and bitter residual resentment and is informed he isn’t the King of this world, at this moment. Who wants to talk to someone that acts like a five year old? He diverged-instructed us to “go fuck ourselves” and hung up the phone.

Three in the afternoon, the next day, he swaggers through the door, “Hey, babe…” escapes his lips, and he is out the door to work 30 minutes later-silent. That night, after he comes home and I question his where-abouts…he avows to his demise. Yes, he did in fact call Kermit The Coke-Whore. Yes, in fact, The Coke-Whore did come pick his Loser Cheating ass up at the gas station, where any Real Woman in her right mind would’ve left him. Yes in fact, he could’ve chosen to sleep on the floor (when asked about the couch, someone was conviently on it.), yet he *chose* to sleep in her bed. “With my clothes on, nothing happened I swear!”

Ha! Little foolish Boy, that thinks he’s playing the Game of Hearts. With his in the gutter and mine behind a lock. [Come now, and for once don't disappoint us with your idiosyncratic, detrimental stupidity.] So the next day, the Boy thinks it seemingly logical to purchase a new battery for my car, ten minutes before letting me in on his attempted master plan to break my heart.

Apparently, the Boy told me all that bullshit because that is what he “thought” I wanted to hear. Excuse me but where did I stamp “stupid woman wanting to be pregnant and barefoot and completely miserable while my husband cheats on me and brings me an std that I have to live with for the rest of my life” on my fucking forhead? He quite possibly could be considered insane, which is where his fault would lie. Yet, I don’t think anyone is really stupid enough to believe that….now if my assumptions are correct, doesn’t it make much more sense that he put me through all that nonsense for nothing short of his temporary revenge of our past. Oh no, I refute. I think he’s just a stupid little Boy.

Weeks later, he’s found in an establishment, talking trash about me being the one that was moving too fast, and “he’d still be with me, but it was all too much”. Will someone please inform this delusional fool that asking someone to marry you, is moving fast.

Lessons learned: Ex’s are that for a reason-let go of the past. Little Boys rarely grow up. They never just “sleep in a bed with their ex and not fuck them” -please don’t kid yourself.

I stared to the ceiling curious and anxious…hanging on each word as my longtime friend divulged on a situation that happened while I was on an emotional sabbatical 6000 miles from home. After I left silently. After the hell I endured. The seemingly never-ending tears. The frantic claustrophobic pain. The deception and the lies. After it all I saw him. The side I had been digging through for 9 grueling months. And it sickened me, more than anything before it. I felt my muscles tense as a nervous chuckle escaped my lips….my brain turned chaotic. I numbly watched the smoke curl up to that blank ceiling as the psych student in me began analyzing every frame, every angle.

This is his story…through my eyes, of how he wants to kill me.

My ex is quite the closet lunatic and sometimes people realize this on first impression. Others, it takes awhile to slice through his charm and passion into the hollow depths of his pathologically deceptive life. He has a psych file the size of most convicted felons’ rap sheets. And I’m sure his rap sheet from his childhood was no better….before the military thought it a splendid idea to turn him into a heavily trained sociopathic, manically delusional, killing freak of nature.

I had never really feared him, 6′2″, 220 lbs – on a good day, of mostly solid muscle. Until the day he methodically missed my face and hit the door. Unknowingly with good reason. I mean, that military career would be something great to waste on my face, no? After that the “love” faded, my anger simmered, my mind became that of a calculated hit-man and my fear, well it turned to jaded, bitter, cautiousness mixed with resentment and rage.

So I’m sure you can understand my utter disbelief (for no good reason) at the story that slithered out of my friends mouth. Word after word oozing onto the floor and surrounding me like a black hole. The familiar black hole of the lies and deception and fake façade of everything I knew. As she finished, the disturbing imagery set in…..

It began a little something like this:
The stage where I’ve watched so many of my favorite bands re-shred their hearts; their souls. The bar where I’ve played pool for years and drank some of the best beer around, with friends. MY friends…from my hometown…where he doesn’t belong. He’s on that stage belligerent, foul, growling. Looking ominous, heart broken, angry and lost. Screaming into the night veins pulsing and exploding with every wail, screech, and chant. Resonating with the voices of his fallen camaraderie, pure self expression is found. The smell of stale PBR and vomit, lingering like his naive girlfriend. He’s center stage, mic in hand, no one expecting that grotesque, whorish, latex, blow up doll (which is presumably all he thinks of women). She’s covered in the war paint of our past. My distinct permanent markings adorning her cold plastic flesh. The crowd watches in awe as he hoists her up by the caution-tape noose he lovingly fashioned for her. The music starts…loud, hurtful, mnemonic, pulsing through the building and there he is, screaming like a wounded wolf, slashing at the make shift flesh in front of him. Wishing openly that it was my heart he would later eat instead of being left with the empty metaphor. I can see inside of this deranged thoughts, while he’s screaming “KILL YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!!!!!!!”, fully believing that this was MY doing. He was looking deep into her hollow eyes, his gaze transfixed, envisioning me staring back in fear. Without blinking he thrusts his fist into the only part of her that he wants to bleed, rhythmically, smiling a drunken hate smile, never quite realizing the reality of his actions. Just like a child – mid tantrum. He threw my mangled pseudo remains into the crowd for them to devour like ravenous hyenas…..

And I wonder…did he fuck that poor unsuspecting doll before the show for one last “HOO-RAH!”? Verbally defiling me, his new imaginary coping mechanism. Is that what he would do to me if given the chance? Climb through my window in the dead of night. Stealthy like a sniper and fist fuck me while he’s punching me in the face with the other hand? Shredding me physically as if the mental wasn’t enough. Only to discard of my soul like it was nothing…..