It's been two years since I left the city to come live in Concord in the house that Peach and I bought. These past two years were heavily loaded with emotions and challenging sentiments. For the entire 24 months, I will admit that aside from my separation from Peach, the other challenging emotion I had to face was my long-distance love affarid with San Francisco.
Within each one of those 24 months, I probably spend 20 days missing San Francisco and plotting my return. I think that if it wasn't for the unbelievable spike in rent prices in the city, I would have probably returned - regardless of how unwise of a decision it may have been. I missed the city so much that I was willing to leave the financial comfort of our real estate investment behind just so that I could be in the hustle and bustle of the over-populated city. I wanted to be able to feel the pride and joy and excitement that I would feel before every time I said the word "I am a San Franciscan."
In all honesty, part of me just wanted access to the party, to be able to get pissed and then just be able to stumble my way home after the bars closed at 2 AM. This behavior was a large part of my previous life in San Francisco. The city; along with a serious of drunk friends, turned me into somewhat of a boozer. Well, Concord has pushed to rethink everything.
It took 24 months for me to realize, that I am not a San Franciscan anymore. There was one particular weekend when a series of events led to realize that I was certainly welcomed to visit the city; come to work, come to party, leave your money there... but that I was no longer a city boy. I found myself; this very specific weekend, feeling like my ties to the city had finally snapped. I was now a suburban boy who got flustered driving in circles in SF, weaving thru mobs of pedestrians who showed no respect for traffic lights and crosswalks.
On this said weekend, I went to one of my favorite bars in SF: The Mint. I saw new and old faces, good friends, frenemies and flat out enemies. Nothing new there. The Mint had always been; for me, a place of excitement and joy, but somehow my plate of fun was always served with a complimentary side dish of drama. Drama that either involved me, or simply other people's drama. Anyway, the bar was always fun until this day when I, for the first time, was made to feel like an total outsider. Yes, I know that I don't go there as much as i used to, specially now that I have began to question the role of alcohol in my life and my relationships; but, I don't understand how it is that meaningful influential relationships can die or be weaken by a separation of three weeks or 30 miles?
The very interesting thing about friendships is that you learn and get to know everything about that other person; their weaknesses and their virtues. Unfortunately, when a friendship or relationship ends, one has a boat load of ammunition to attack the other person with. At the same time, when one is attacked by an ex-friend, you know it... because you know their tactics and ways of manipulating others. So when the broad got up to sing "Back To Black", everything fell into place - I recognized all of the times that I had been manipulated to sing a song that someone else loved or that they could not perform to the crowd's liking or whatever; a request that was made simply to press someone else's buttons. And now, the tactic had been used against me. And bitch, it worked. It worked because I nearly puked - I nearly vomited from the revelation when I realized at that very moment that I was no longer part of this place. I was on the outside and even more interesting is the fact that; after some thinking, I was okay with it. That act of treachery and manipulation, was something I needed to see and feel, to realize that my place was no longer in the city, but back home in Concord.
A second event took place that said weekend. My supposedly "best friend" sent me a Facebook message to advise me that he was fucking the guy I had been dating just the weekend before. Nice. Very nice. The night that the ex and I had our drama; which we never even discussed, that night the cunt moved right in and made my ex's acquaintance. I was ready to move on from the ex after having witnessed severe personality and attitude changes towards me after a few cocktails. Ex reminded of some drunk i used to know and I realized I didn't need that bullshit in my life - i was ready to move on because not only did I not want to deal with a drunk; but I had just gotten out of a five-year dysfunctional relationship and I was SO NOT ready for round two.
I will say that i certainly was not ready for my supposedly-best-friend's "We need to talk." Again, the funny thing is that when we are friends with someone, we get to know them, we get to see their good and bad behavior. So that when the "we need to talk" popped up on my computer screen, part of me wasn't surprised. I was okay with it... at first; but 15 minutes later I was angry. I was angry because I had trusted this person, even though he had given me enough signs to NOT trust him - i told myself how everyone deserved a chance, even if they cock-blocked you every single time you both went out to dance, even though they got you drunk as fuck and left you alone at the bar to go have sex with a trick. Ahhhh, city girls!
The "We Need To Talk" put into prospective my relationship with The Castro. I used to be there always, desperately trying to keep a hold of my relationship with San Francisco; this relationship that in essence boiled down to booze and dick. I was having a hard time breaking away from the drunken reckless nights during which i would feel hot and sexy and desirable and then rinse and repeat.
"We Need To Talk" translated to: "You Ain't Got Shit Here!" That might not have been the attempt of the perpetrator ex-best friend, or the alcoholic-ex; but to me, it translated to that. Those two things outlined to me the inevitable change that was to take place and that I had kept on delaying for god-knows-what reason.
So, here I am in Concord. Finally making peace with where i am; what I have and what I want to be doing. Yes, it's really nice to have quick access to all of the wonders of the city, and to have access to culture and diversity... but the bottom line for me is that I made a conscious decision to leave the city and I now have to make do with the consequences of this decision - the biggest consequence actually being a very positive one: I get to restart my life; and I am in a place where I can start new relationships with people that will be of a more positive impact to my life; break with those that only brought negativity and I get the space to sit back and question just what it is that i want to do - and if I ever were to return to the city, it would need to be for a very positive and valid reason. The alcohol and dick, are simply not reason enough.
Thank you San Francisco. Please sign the divorce papers and return to them to me.
Sincerely,
Inked.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Sunday, May 5, 2013
This Spicy Flavor Called Anger
The past year has been a journey of self discovery. It has been a time of facing or suppressing emotions and ugly truths. I have been successful at dealing with some of them; but i would be lying if I said that I tackled all of my emotions with flying colors.
Part of addressing my emotions has been done through conversations with my ex. Part of me wants to feel sorry for him because any time that we get together, the conversation always reverts back to our failed relationship and us. It never fails. And yet, part of me doesn't feel sorry; part of me wants to ensure that he hears me and that he is aware of my pain and all that jazz. Well, the conversations always end the same way, with an "I'm sorry", a hug and we both go on our separate ways. I want to say that I get more "good" than "bad" out of these chats; but every time that we talk, I walk away feeling abandoned and with the gash on my heart torn open again.
I know what you are thinking: "Girl!!! It's been a year!! Let it go!!". I know. I am trying to let it go. I am still working on repairing things, healing parts and to make sense of the puzzle that was left behind know as my life. I'm working on it. I really am. Don't forget that I am Mexican (we savor our heart ache like a shot of good tequila with lime and salt), and I am also a Scorpio (we never get over anything - we dwell until we rot.)
One specific conversation that the ex and I had was followed by a text that said: "When will you stop being angry?" My initial response to that was "Bitch, what the fuck do you know about my anger?" I put the phone away after that and did not reply. I wasn't happy; although the lengthy text was meant to be supportive, it just made angry. That's right. It made me angry, but it also made me think. The text got me analyzing this anger that I supposedly would not let go off.
It's been days since this conversation took place and a couple of days ago I realized that it was true. I am angry. I am very angry. Fuck, I am very fucking mad crazy angry actually, if you ask me. I think I may have masqueraded my anger under a mask of "heart ache", or maybe it changed from ache to anger, because right now, if you ask me again how I feel about my separation, I am actually quite bitter. i am angry that (although I love my house) I got left behind with the house 30 miles from the hustle and bustle. I am angry (although I love my children) that I was left behind with the cats. I am angry that I am not the one who got the chance to just throw my shit in a suitcase and walk away. i did not get a fresh start. I am mad that I have to sit here and figure out what i want to do with the house; how to get back to the city, if I should even move back to the city... where to go? why to go? Who to go to? Etcetera. Yes, it's true ladies and gentlemen: I am a mess. But that I never denied. When I started dating last month, the first thing I told the man I was seeing was that i was a mess and that he was welcome to date me... at his own risk. Oh lord, that's funny.
Anyway. I am officially an old-angry-broken-and-damaged queen. However, they do say that in order to fix things, you must first acknowledge that things are broken. I am working on it. I will continue to acknowledge my emotions and work on these - if anything, at least I will resurface from this mess a much stronger person, and wiser. And I will work on no longer being angry and just simply letting go of negative feelings of resentment towards anyone.
Remember; in the end, the only one that ends up losing with anger... it's the angry one.
Part of addressing my emotions has been done through conversations with my ex. Part of me wants to feel sorry for him because any time that we get together, the conversation always reverts back to our failed relationship and us. It never fails. And yet, part of me doesn't feel sorry; part of me wants to ensure that he hears me and that he is aware of my pain and all that jazz. Well, the conversations always end the same way, with an "I'm sorry", a hug and we both go on our separate ways. I want to say that I get more "good" than "bad" out of these chats; but every time that we talk, I walk away feeling abandoned and with the gash on my heart torn open again.
I know what you are thinking: "Girl!!! It's been a year!! Let it go!!". I know. I am trying to let it go. I am still working on repairing things, healing parts and to make sense of the puzzle that was left behind know as my life. I'm working on it. I really am. Don't forget that I am Mexican (we savor our heart ache like a shot of good tequila with lime and salt), and I am also a Scorpio (we never get over anything - we dwell until we rot.)
One specific conversation that the ex and I had was followed by a text that said: "When will you stop being angry?" My initial response to that was "Bitch, what the fuck do you know about my anger?" I put the phone away after that and did not reply. I wasn't happy; although the lengthy text was meant to be supportive, it just made angry. That's right. It made me angry, but it also made me think. The text got me analyzing this anger that I supposedly would not let go off.
It's been days since this conversation took place and a couple of days ago I realized that it was true. I am angry. I am very angry. Fuck, I am very fucking mad crazy angry actually, if you ask me. I think I may have masqueraded my anger under a mask of "heart ache", or maybe it changed from ache to anger, because right now, if you ask me again how I feel about my separation, I am actually quite bitter. i am angry that (although I love my house) I got left behind with the house 30 miles from the hustle and bustle. I am angry (although I love my children) that I was left behind with the cats. I am angry that I am not the one who got the chance to just throw my shit in a suitcase and walk away. i did not get a fresh start. I am mad that I have to sit here and figure out what i want to do with the house; how to get back to the city, if I should even move back to the city... where to go? why to go? Who to go to? Etcetera. Yes, it's true ladies and gentlemen: I am a mess. But that I never denied. When I started dating last month, the first thing I told the man I was seeing was that i was a mess and that he was welcome to date me... at his own risk. Oh lord, that's funny.
Anyway. I am officially an old-angry-broken-and-damaged queen. However, they do say that in order to fix things, you must first acknowledge that things are broken. I am working on it. I will continue to acknowledge my emotions and work on these - if anything, at least I will resurface from this mess a much stronger person, and wiser. And I will work on no longer being angry and just simply letting go of negative feelings of resentment towards anyone.
Remember; in the end, the only one that ends up losing with anger... it's the angry one.
The Yellow Room
As I have shared with you before, the house talks to me. Most of the time she likes to chat about Michael and remind me of the many things that took place here, both good and bad. I guess eventually the topic will become shaped around me and the cats. We'll see.
There is a particular place where she likes to corner me and emotionally abuse me. It's that Yellow Room. I don't know what it is about it, but a lot of emotional things seem to have taken place in that space. Maybe because that was the place where I used to go and write. Or maybe because that was the place where I went and bawled my eyes out after that night when Michael and I decided to part? And where I had actually prayed to God to watch over him and bless him in his new life. And I also prayed for the strength to get by.
I was in there late this evening on the exercise bike. Once finished, I lingered for a minute to give my body some time to pull itself together. I looked at the nearly empty space, with it's bare bright walls. This room is empty because at one point I thought of renting it out and get a roommate. I never really pursued the roommate thing. I looked around and began to remember all the things that I have had experienced in that room.
Because it's empty and because it's winter, I keep the door to this room closed to avoid wasting energy heating an empty space. So, over the past few months, it has sort of become a foreign place. Like a dark place in the back of one's mind where you put all the things you don't really want to think about. And this room has sort of become similar to my "memory" of him; I know he is there and he was really... but was he? Yup, the room is there... I know its there, but... sort of not?
The Yellow Room was where we slept that very first night once we had officially moved in. We had dragged in the mattress into the small room and slept there. Gosh, the quietness of suburbia had freaked me out so badly that first night. I recall turning off the light and being shocked by how quiet and dark it was - I was scared. I had become so accustomed to the bright lights and noise of downtown San Francisco.
As I sat there, I saw Michael painting the walls. That had been his project. He was so passionate about it at the beginning. Painting; although highly therapeutic, it is a lot of damn work!! I know that I have made peace with his departure, but I have yet to make peace with the void that was left behind. I still have a hard time believing that he left. Somehow; although he drove me absolutely fucking crazy, he was my friend and my partner, and we had done so much and were moving in a positive direction... so that when it all ended, it was really hard to accept it.
There is a particular place where she likes to corner me and emotionally abuse me. It's that Yellow Room. I don't know what it is about it, but a lot of emotional things seem to have taken place in that space. Maybe because that was the place where I used to go and write. Or maybe because that was the place where I went and bawled my eyes out after that night when Michael and I decided to part? And where I had actually prayed to God to watch over him and bless him in his new life. And I also prayed for the strength to get by.
I was in there late this evening on the exercise bike. Once finished, I lingered for a minute to give my body some time to pull itself together. I looked at the nearly empty space, with it's bare bright walls. This room is empty because at one point I thought of renting it out and get a roommate. I never really pursued the roommate thing. I looked around and began to remember all the things that I have had experienced in that room.
Because it's empty and because it's winter, I keep the door to this room closed to avoid wasting energy heating an empty space. So, over the past few months, it has sort of become a foreign place. Like a dark place in the back of one's mind where you put all the things you don't really want to think about. And this room has sort of become similar to my "memory" of him; I know he is there and he was really... but was he? Yup, the room is there... I know its there, but... sort of not?
The Yellow Room was where we slept that very first night once we had officially moved in. We had dragged in the mattress into the small room and slept there. Gosh, the quietness of suburbia had freaked me out so badly that first night. I recall turning off the light and being shocked by how quiet and dark it was - I was scared. I had become so accustomed to the bright lights and noise of downtown San Francisco.
As I sat there, I saw Michael painting the walls. That had been his project. He was so passionate about it at the beginning. Painting; although highly therapeutic, it is a lot of damn work!! I know that I have made peace with his departure, but I have yet to make peace with the void that was left behind. I still have a hard time believing that he left. Somehow; although he drove me absolutely fucking crazy, he was my friend and my partner, and we had done so much and were moving in a positive direction... so that when it all ended, it was really hard to accept it.
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