Nail in the Coffin

Has the impending doom of something you never wanted to face gone from impending to real in 2.7 seconds? 


And I don't mean death.  Not of yourself, but of a loved one.  Everyone's been there.  And I don't mean that.  Because if that were my question, not one person could say that they hadn't.  And, if by some off chance you're reading this and can, I probably hate you.


So much death has been around me, I think I've officially found a way to be callous about it.  Be jealous.


I feel like I am forever waiting for "bad" things to happen.  Not because I'm a pessimist - or so I like to think.  But because I'm a realist.  


I've recently become aware (due to a bomb drop) that I'm truly never going to have a truly healthy relationship with David, my boyfriend.  And that sucks.  I'm not going to go in to detail as to why this became something I was aware of, but I will tell you this:  it's a shocking, disturbing, saddening, and truly mortifying reality (look up mortification/mortifying in the dictionary - it makes that sentence more awesome in the grand scheme of this post).  


This bomb doubled as a nail.  In a coffin.  


Something I have held dear (outside of my relationship with David) for years has officially been buried and has to be over for David and I to be healthy as a couple.  But that hasn't actually happened.  And probably won't.


And to make sure you understand how shitty this is:  David and I won't be happy until someone dies.  Not necessarily one of us.  But someone.  To kind of put it all in perspective (and that's me being coy in case someone I don't want to read this reads this....).  


Long story short:  I got screwed.  I got betrayed.  And really have no place to go.


To "fix" this as best I can, I have to run.  And that won't be good.  And will suck.


So fuck.

Something To Say

Disclaimer:  The entirety of this post is just me talking.  If you're dumb and decide to take it personally, do it.  But, honestly, if you do that, more than likely you are someone I could be saying the following about.

I talk a lot.  A LOT, according to my "sweet" boyfriend... And somehow I never think of much to WRITE.  That said, I've been thinking about something for a few days and seem to finally have something I may as well write about.

Lately, I've realized how I can't help people.  That sounds like something I should know without having to realize... 

Long story short, a few people in my life have been causing drama.  Not real drama.  Attention-seeking drama.  Where they talk incessantly about how many horrible things happen to them and how this and that never goes right and how they're always the real victim in every possible way they can come up with.

That said, normally they aren't.

Normally they are causing some level of drama to get some kind of response.  And they thrive on the fact that they're getting a response.  It doesn't matter if it's positive or negative.  They're just stoked that someone is giving them the time of day.  

It is beyond frustrating. 


How does this tie in to me realizing I can't help everyone?  Simple:  when people pull this crap with me, I don't respond positively or negatively.  I try to help them see how x, y, and z are their fault and how they aren't a "victim."  They're an idiot.  And THEN I get frustrated because I can't actually help them see how they'll be happier people if they stop being unhappy and causing the problems themselves.


However, if there is legit drama in someone's life, I have no problem helpin 'em out.  I have no problem sitting down with you and talking to you about what's really going on.  Example:  A good friend of mine (more of a sister) is dealing with a "break up."  I call it a "break up" because she was beaten up by her boyfriend and so she got rid of him.  It's more than a break up is my point.  Anyhow, I spend lots of time on the phone with her just chatting about what's going on.  And that's not just attention-seeking.  That's actually dealing with drama.  Granted, she should probably seek better help than little ol' me, but that's completely different than, "I'm upset because this person said this and now I feel like I should commit suicide."


So, sorry if I belittle problems, but I've really started realizing that more often than not, people who are seeking drama don't care what type of response they get.  So I'm gonna stop responding.  I'm gonna go right ahead and say things like, "I'm not gonna talk to you about this."


My life's gonna be so easy if I actually do that....

Haven't Blogged In a While...

Clearly.  You're not stupid (I'm assuming).  Well, actually, now that I think harder about that, you probably are.  You're reading my blog.  No offense.

Anyhow... I haven't been blogging anymore because most of what I have written is just insanely angsty.  It puts my previous angsty posts to complete shame... If that's possible.  

Point is, I haven't posted in forever because my life sucks.  Any type of drama you can think of - I have it.  Family, work, life, health.  What have you.  I have it.  It sucks.

I'm not a crier, but you'd never know it because I seem to be a water fountain.  Nothing's going right and that's all I have to write about.  So, this is me basically typing up a place holder to let you know that I am writing... I just can't post it.

Tonight - Final 3 Segments

            Finally, I heard my little brother walk into the front door.  I screamed for him, “Nathan, get Sean off of me!”  Sean moved his hand out of my pants before Nathan came in, but kept holding me down.

            Nathan walked up to him in full force.  He was much smaller and lacking the physical strength it would take to really hurt Sean, but he attacked anyhow.  He started hitting and kicking Sean and yelling at him to get off.

            “NATHAN, JUST CALL THE COPS,” I yelled.

            He left the room quickly and said, “Ok, good idea.”  Immediately, Sean stepped off the couch.

            “What do you think I was gonna do to her, Nathan?  She’s fine.  I was just joking around with her,” he said.  “I’ll just go home since she’s apparently dramatic.”  Nathan came over and sat down on the couch with me.  

            He patted me on the shoulder, “You ok?”

            “Yeah, sure,” I said and headed down the hall, adjusting my disheveled jeans.  I needed to change.  I didn’t want to wear that shirt or those jeans ever again.  I wanted to shower, but didn’t have time before my student got there.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            I had been sitting on my bed just a few days after David and I broken up, carrying on a very lame texting conversation.  It was then that I realized that his dating me and making me feel wanted – even if only for a few months – changed my outlook on life and love.  It made me realize that there is more than the love of friends and family in the world and that my heart is actually capable of it.  I thought about Sean and what his violating of my body and soul did to me and how it made me kind of callous and left me with a sense of worthlessness that allowed me to be swallowed into a harmful relationship with Chris.  Those feelings have never fully left me.  Before David and I even “technically” started dating, he was able to hack through the layers and layers of thorns and vines that encapsulated my iron-clad heart.  When we started dating, he found the key to the iron and chains and let the chocolate pudding gush out of the cold, hard dungeon. 

            The pudding flooded everywhere and changed my whole outlook on life.  I was a different person according to almost everyone who knew me.  Not that he changed me or the fiber of who I am, but he made me capable of feeling emotions I had strictly avoided since early high school.  After mulling over our relationship, having rehashed my past with him, and allowing for him to know who I am at the innermost depths of my heart and soul, I realized that everyone who says he made me a different person was right.  His fight to my heart actually made me a truly happy person with the capacity to love and care about someone as much as myself.  I hated to admit it to myself, but I did – with much emotional writhing and gnashing of my teeth. 

            As a cold-hearted bitch, I had always said that there was no way I would ever get married or feel a love that was appropriate for a long-term, committed relationship.  I never wanted to feel that.  I had no intention of ever falling for a man on a deep level or wanting to spend time with them.  I never wanted to find completion or happiness from them.  Independence on full-scale had always been my plan. 

            All these thoughts made my head spin.  My journey from virginal to attacked caused me to live my life in a way that I found was not complete.  But I wouldn’t have discovered its lack of completion without the help of David and it gave me a new outlook.

            Now, tonight, sitting here on my balcony with a beer and listening to a sad song, I’m elated.  I’m still changed.  David as my boyfriend or not, I’m changed.  The light flooding over me from my bedroom reminds me that I don’t need anyone.  Affordably and comfortably living alone in a 1200 square foot apartment proves that.  It is satisfying, but one day having a man sitting in one of the other chairs on my balcony may not be so bad.  Or he could be sleeping in the bedroom and I could finish typing and walk in and lay next to him.  Right now, I wish that were him.  In a month, who knows, it could be him.  In a month, I could still be alone.  All I know is that being comfortable with my man being with me is not something I would have even tolerated hearing about just a few short months ago.  I credit him with that.

Tonight - Sixth 3 Segments

            Jon, David’s roommate, answered the door and accepted the goods.  He hugged me and I immediately broke into tears.  They were tears of frustration and sadness.  I explained to him in about twenty words what was going on and why I was so upset – talking down the sadness surrounding David and my breakup.

            The next few hours are not very important except the waterworks never fully subsided and I let Jonathan’s dad see me sob and see me heave when I couldn’t catch my breath after all the sobbing. 

            Monday, the next day, was the funeral.  I got dressed without crying and made myself focus on why I was singing – to make Mary happy and to be a blessing to Peter.  I sang “Amazing Grace” acapella.  Blessed, I never fell of key, stayed in tune and didn’t choke up.  As soon as I sang the last word, Peter said, “Thank you, Kekky.”  Jill’s face was moist with tears and a lady on the other side of the room stood to grab a box of tissues to pass around. I sat back down in my seat and began to cry – the intensity of the emotion filling the room was almost too much to handle.  Jonathan handed me a tissue. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            When our classes were over, Chris and I met at the shuttle stop for a ride back to the parking lot.  He didn’t acknowledge my existence as he stepped onto the bus with his headphones on and his hands in his pockets.  We drove home in silence.  He stepped out of the car.

            This occurrence was not irregular.  In fact, it was quite common.  It was not abnormal for him treat me like scum and act like I didn’t matter to him.  I had supported him financially for about a year and he was “saving” for when we got married even though we weren’t engaged.  Scenarios similar to this could take up page after page and bore a person to tears.  His hatred and distrust of me only got deeper the longer we were together.

            Finally, it all came to a head.  He hated when I talked to “other” men.  Even if those other men were my brothers or my grandfather or my dad.  He hated that I talked to any guy in any of my classes or ran into mutual friends of ours.  He yelled at me incessantly and cursed at me telling me he hated me and wouldn’t care if I died.

            Eventually, we were on a break.  He said that he would dump me if he heard that I spoke to anyone of the opposite sex.  My response was simple, “Ok, then we’re done.  I live with two guys, have three male teachers, and work with five guys.  Have a nice life?”

            “Ok, fine!” he yelled into the phone, “You can talk to those ten guys, but that’s it.”

            “Yeah, ok.  So then we should just be done because I’m guaranteed to run into some guy I know somewhere and I’m not going to be rude just because you can’t handle the fact that there are other men in existence.”

            I didn’t want to be done.  I had invested so much of myself into my relationship with Chris that I figured that was what relationships and love was.  It was work and fighting and an attempt to keep each other happy.  But I knew that realism would have to set in at some point.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            After burying Mary, I was only able to tolerate work for about two hours before I had to go home and take a nap.  Because I couldn’t sleep, I decided to go to Jonathan’s house for delicious rum and cokes like the ones Mary used to drink.  After watching TV and trying to focus on the good things in life and giving David his space, I decided it was more important to just work the whole thing out in my mind and find closure.  The only way to do that was to write an email to David explaining exactly where I stood and trying to ask him to grant me some level of closure.

            I figured the email would only be a couple of paragraphs long.  It ended up being three straight pages, single spaced.  It was a fairly intense piece of literature. 

I've been screwed over so much that I rarely let a guy be more than a friend.  That's why I turned you down the first time you asked me.  Then you tried super hard; you even played poker with an old woman so you could hang out with me.  You were patient enough to deal with my not letting you kiss me or really more than hold my hand or cuddle with me for like... weeks.  I think like a month and a half.  And that's because it really took that long to trust you.  Not because it was YOU but because I don't trust dudes.  As you may recall - my first sexual encounter was rape.  I have reason not to trust guys.

It went on from there.  I explained why being dumped over text message hurt, I attempted to explain where I stood as far as our relationship when we were still together.  My main point, which was rather buried can be summed up with one of the paragraphs:

I care about you more deeply than you understand, I think.  There's no good way to say this, but I love you (in the sense that I love many people, but have an additional care for you for obvious reasons, please don't let the "L" word freak you out...).  Knowing you're going through something that is so troubling that you can't talk to me about it kinda kills me.  I want so badly to be there for you and don't want to lose the friendship part of our relationship but understand that that is more than likely something that you won't be capable of.

I wanted so badly for that paragraph to hit home in such a way that he wanted to continue dating me.  I wanted him to know how much I really cared.

Tonight - Fifth 3 Segments

            Driving to Chris’ parents’ house the next morning, I was not excited to see him.  I knew he was only “happy” for the time being and would be angry with me for something else soon.  I didn’t know what it was, but I knew I was going to be in trouble on some level very soon.  I pulled into the driveway and texted him that I was there and ready to roll when he was.  I sat in the car patiently.  He was wearing a black, grey and white baja jacket, jeans and black converse when he walked out of the house.  He opened the back door of my orange 1977 VW Rabbit, threw his backpack off of his left shoulder into my back seat, slammed the door, opened the front door and dropped his body into the seat and again slammed the door.  He didn’t say hello or good morning.

            “Hey, babe.  How’s your morning?” I asked.

            Silence.

            The silence lasted all the way to the school parking lot.  It was only about a twenty-minute trip, but the silence was deafening.  Ok… I thought.  Didn’t expect to already have him hating me today.  Thought I’d have to talk to one of his friends or something. 

            We rode the shuttle from the lot to campus in silence.

            We walked to the oddly placed structure on the university campus called the “Center of the Universe” in silence. 

            He leaned over and kissed me and we walked separate ways to class.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            I left the record convention before Jonathan did and ran some errands, got a few things done.  I killed time and then met with Peter and his girlfriend, Jill, to discuss the service.  I didn’t shed a tear when I was with them.  I was sad, but the reminiscing helped with the closure of Mary’s death. 

            After deciding what I would do in the service I left and went home.  I had decided I needed to get David’s stuff out of my apartment and I needed to do it right away.  I grabbed his shot glasses and sippy cup and almost walked out of the door. 

            And then I remembered the shirt.

            David and I had only been together for a couple weeks when he left one of his shirts at my house.  He often wore a long sleeve, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled half way up over his comical t-shirts.  I tried to give it back.  He touched my cheek and said, “No, I want you to wear it.”  I kept it and slept in it sometimes.  After a week or two, he picked it up and dropped another off. 

            He needed to have the shirt back.  I needed him to have the shirt back.

            I drove the five minutes to David’s house and noticed I no longer had a working odometer or speedometer.  Can anything else go wrong in my life, I thought.  Mary’s dead, your car’s a piece of shit, and the only guy who has ever gotten to you decided to dump you.  Two days before you bury someone you care about.  What the hell did you do to deserve this?  This has to be your fault.  No, David is the piece of shit who made this all tumble.  Sure, he couldn’t help Mary dying, but your life wouldn’t fall apart with just Mary dying.  I knew these were all ridiculous thoughts, but I had never been dropped by someone I truly cared about – I had never truly cared about someone.  Fuck your past, Kristen.  Don’t dwell on what others have done to you.  Just because you were assaulted as a kid doesn’t mean you can’t find love and can’t trust guys.  Not all guys are Chris, either.  They won’t all abuse you, and David has a reason for what he did.  God only knows what it was, though. 

            When I pulled up to the house, I parked on the street.  I normally pulled into the driveway, but for some reason, that didn’t feel right at the time.  I gathered his things off my passenger seat, got out of the car and walked up the driveway to the door.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            I thought that if I were moving around the couch enough, Sean’s hand wouldn’t make it to his destination.  I figured it would skip past and go down my pants far enough that it just wasn’t comfortable.  Then I realized that if I got it to move down far enough, I could lift my body and slam myself onto his arm under me and maybe break something.

            I was wrong.

            Moving didn’t help.

            His fingers moved their way into my panties directly to his destination.

            Finally they made it into my vagina.

            I had to stop moving.

            It hurt when I moved.

            All I could do was scream and hope I didn’t pass out.

            “See?  You like it!  You’re not moving.  You love what I’m doing to you,” he spoke slowly and lowly.

            I bit my bottom lip.

            I sucked air into my body as quickly as I could to fight through the pain. 

            I have no idea how it happened, but his pants were no longer all the way on.  They were unzipped and started to fall down his body, over his butt and over his thighs.  He wasn’t completely exposed, but exposed enough that I was afraid of what would happen next.

            His fingers were still inside my vagina.

            He was moving them around.

            They came in and out of my body.

            Suddenly, he thrust more of his fingers inside me and I screamed in pain as my vagina was stretched and filled with his dry hands

            More screaming.

            “Don’t scream… you like it,” he whispered.  “You can’t rape the willing.”

Tonight - Fourth 3 Segments

            Chris’ text read, “I’m so sorry I said I hate you and that you’re cheating on me.  I don’t hate you and I know you’re not cheating on me, I just don’t feel you’re respectful to me when you talk to other guys.”  Right then, I should have known to meet with him so I could end our relationship.

            All I said was, “I know you are going through a lot.  It’s ok.  And I’ll try to avoid doing stuff like that.” 

            “K.  I’ll see you in the morning.  Love you.”

            “Love you, too.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            After the break up with David, the only way I could keep my mind occupied was to hang out with some awesome friends and get pierced.  It worked just as planned.  Afterwards, I went home and was able to sleep rather well – which was abnormal. 

            I woke up the next morning to go to the Albuquerque Record Convention with Jonathan, my best friend who kind of doubles as a husband (minus anything romantic).  While walking in, I got a text message from my friend Pete whose mother Mary, who is like a grandmother to me, had just passed away.  It read, “Good morning, love.  Call when you get a chance.  Wanted to talk about Mom’s service.  Had a question for you.”  The memorial service was the next day and immediately I knew that Peter wanted me to speak or sing during the service.  I called right away and was in tears by the end of the phone call in which we really only decided that I would be participating in the service and would meet later that afternoon to discuss details.

            I had always given myself a tear limit.  I’m never allowed to cry uncontrollably about death or breakups.  I hate crying.  Most of the tears I have shed in my life are caused by frustration at myself, stress, or anger.  I could not keep the tears from streaming down my face as I walked to get in line with Jonathan. 

            “I can’t stop, Jonathan.  I’m so upset.  Everything is going to hell.  This is absolutely ridiculous.  Everything is going wrong at once.  Mary is dead and my boyfriend – ex-boyfriend –   dumped me over text.  What do I do to make my life go so shitty and down the crap shoot all at once?”

            “I don’t know, dear.  It’ll be ok.  You can handle it all.  And you don’t have to be involved in Mary’s service tomorrow.  You can definitely say ‘no’ to that.”  He gave me a hug as he attempted to comfort me.

            “How in God’s green earth do you tell a friend that you won’t sing in his mom’s funeral?  You don’t.  I have to do that.  I could kill David.  And then I could start doing better.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            “You will not get your hands—“

            His hands slid down my pants and grappled to get under my panties.

            I squirmed and kicked.  Thrashing and screaming.

            “Stop moving.  You know you want this.”
            I raised my elbow and pulled with my shoulder to swat him however I could.  I didn’t care what I hit.  For all I cared, he could bleed to death on top of me, but he wasn’t going to get what he wanted.

            He seemed to get heavier and heavier and the pressure of his hands in my pants and around my wrists seemed almost unbearable as I did everything I could to get away.

            Suddenly, he made it under my panties. 

            I felt his hand continue to slide down my inner thigh.

            I screamed.  I don’t know what I screamed.

            I was scared and my fright was making my head spin.