A letter to my parents

My life did not really begin until I moved to South Seattle in 2006.  I was 35 years old and finally started to live my life as my authentic self.  I started to only do things that I felt matched my belief system and only included people into it that I deemed uplifting.  I am grateful for the past that helped me find my true self, I am just sad it took me 35 years to find her.

Dear Mom

I am separating these letters because they address different things.  Mom, I am addressing you first because you were the one who was most prevalent in my life.  You were the nurturer and the counselor.  First off I apologize if this seems cutting and cruel. As part of my healing I need you to know and understand exactly how I feel and the pain I have gone through.

In the past I have blamed you for many things.  I blamed you for not being a good parent, for being abusive and neglectful.  I blamed you for forcing me to do things that were not in my best interest but most of all I blamed you for this sense of guilt that I carry with me over the things that were truly out of my control, yet i felt responsible.  I always thought you loved my sister more than me, I blamed you for giving up on my brother and for doing everything to control my life until I left home.

In the end it was not all your fault, I see that now.  I want to address some specifics.  Things that I found most painful and tell you how they affected me.  You always told me to reign in my rebellious spirit.  You even told family, friends and the pastors about my rebellion.  What you did not really understand was that rebellion is part of who I am.  I was not rebelling against you necessarily, but against those things I viewed as wrong in the world.  I found that suppression of my spirit so painful and stifling.  What you may not have realized, this caused me to hate myself,  I have low self-confidence because that voice in the back of my head that says reign in your rebellion.  I now see most of my actions as rebellion and a bad thing.  I often fall asleep thinking of myself as a bad person.  I do not trust my intuition and I tried for years to fit in because that was what was expected.  It took me moving away and not telling anyone for 6 months where I went to get any sense of place and belonging.

I tried for years to be a good Christian.  Going to church often, praying and putting money I could not afford into the tithes.  I tried to have faith in this imaginary being in the sky.  I tried so hard to connect, but could never find that connection, I faked it often.  I always felt that I was not ever going to be good enough.  This stems not from you so much as from the church.  I do not know if you were ever told about that night of the New Year’s Eve party at Jim and Cathy’s home?  I arrived with my sister and all the cool kids were outside in the street singing and being obnoxious because they were all drunk.  They were at the party with the pastor but they were all drunk.  I met a new kid that night, much younger than me.  He and his brother had moved in over Christmas break and they did not know anyone or anything about the town we lived in.  I told him there was a park near the school.  He was shocked he had no idea there was a park.  I took him down the road showed him the park and the school, it was still light out at that point.  I guess I should have told the someone where I was going, but the cool kids were all outside drinking, like anyone was paying attention to me?   I got back and Cathy grabbed me by the neck and threw me into the back bedroom.  She screamed at me and told me if I left the house again she was going to call my mom and tell her what a whore I was.  I was still a virgin and those words stung so deep.  I knew she was going to tell you something happened and I would get beat for it anyway so I had my first sexual encounter that night.  Rumors spread fast after that.  Not that the boys at school needed any more ammunition.  To this day I have an open view of sex and sexuality.  I have been called a whore so often that it does not even bother me anymore.

The next thing to address is how much I resented you for not hearing me.  I used to think you just liked to see me in pain, but now 30 years later I realize maybe you just could not hear my cries for help.  I begged to go live with relatives, I begged to move out of our school district, I even took a half day class through a college program just to escape.  You see the cries you did not hear were from daily abuse.  I was sexually assaulted daily and harassed so much that I gained weight after high school in an attempt to hide any form of attractiveness.  I married the first man who showed enough interest in me.  I never really loved him, but I needed to escape.  I married because I was basically told that was my only option.  I do not even know if those words were ever uttered, but the idea was embedded in my head so deep I could not let go of it and see the bigger picture.  I always thought this was another form of  your trying to control me, to make me submissive, by making me finish school in a place that tortured me daily.  I had one moment when you stood up for me, but that was more standing up for yourself as a parent, but I did appreciate you telling the counselor that I did not wear inappropriate clothes and you would not allow them to tell me my clothes were why people treated me like that.  It was just over half-way through my junior year, I think, maybe my senior year.  And yes you were right, I got more and more rebellious the closer I got to my 18th birthday, because I saw a way to escape.  I finally could walk away from the constant abuse.

Sadly that did not stop even after I left home.  Men at the bar I worked at would touch me and try to stick their hands up my dress.  That was the point I started to gain weight, I though I was pregnant and they seemed to back off quite a bit.  It gave me some power back.  Being fat gave me a tiny bit of power.  I do not know if you knew that my husband’s father was a little touchy feely with me as well. It is amazing I am not some kind of drug addict to be honest.

The final thing I want to address is when I was fighting my ex for custody, you said something that cut so deep, I never thought I would speak to you again.  It was part of the reason I moved away and told no one where I went.  You told me maybe the kids would be better off with my ex.  I seemed to want my freedom and they seemed better off with him.  What you did not know is that he is mentally abusive and Jessica was going to suffer the same low self-esteem issues I did if I allowed him to bully her over every aspect of who she is.  You cavalier attitude about my custody battle and your lack of support hurt so bad.  In the end I know it was more about putting my nephew back with my sister.  You always made me feel like you thought I stole her kids from her.  Here is a big piece of myself I am going to share.  I do no like kids, I never wanted them.  I resented you telling people who I had my nephew not because I stood up and took on the responsibility, but because my sister made the best choice for him.  I took on a child that had attachment issues, one that could not build a bond with me.  I struggled with him every single day and you made me feel like a failure about it all the time.  You made her to be the saint and me to be the child thief.  That probably hurt the most.  You could not or would not acknowledge that I stepped out of my comfort zone and took on a responsibility that was not my own.  One I was not prepared for.

In the end I am done playing the victim.  I am done blaming you for the pain I have suffered. I am letting it go.  I finally realize that some of that pain was not your fault.  It was not that you wanted me to suffer in pain, it was that you were unable to hear my cries.  Maybe you were too busy dealing with your own pain, maybe you were too busy trying to be a good Christian, or maybe you just were not able to hear, whatever the case, I am letting it go.  I do want you to know that you were right, if you had divorced dad and he had moved away, I would have gone with him.  It was never really you that I was trying to escape, it was the pain inflicted on me by my peers, my pastor and the school.  I was trying to escape that little hell hole as fast as I could.  I do not know if you realize that coming home causes me to physically be sick each time?  I get anxiety and fear overwhelms me just driving in that general direction.  It took finally escaping to understand how much pain I went through.

Dear Dad:

Since you were gone more often than not this is a short letter.  I feel my relationship with you is much stronger than the one I have with mom.  But you are not blameless in this pain I suffered.  I resent being lied to. I have you to thank for that.  You were always a chronic liar, I suppose it was not your fault.  I resent being called a liar, and there were times you allowed mom to go off on me and you knew I was telling the truth.  Like the time there was a beer bottle on the car floor.  It was yours, you told me so and asked me why I did not toss it out when I found it?  Because it was not mine and I did not want anyone seeing me with it in my underage hands, that is why I did not toss it out.  Or the time my sister took all your change and there was a ton of it, and I got blamed for it.  I ran away and was gone for hours that day, because no one believed me.  Every time a car drove by I dove into the brush or ditch to not get caught.  I know that you cannot help your lying, but allowing me to be accused of infractions I did not commit is deplorable.

Another thing I want to address is your lack of support.  You just allowed mom to assume the worst about me.  You allowed her to deny me things based on her warped perception.  To top it all off you partied for years with the kids I went to high school with when I was not allowed.  Do you think this helped my self-esteem issues or the ongoing abuse?  Hell no it did not.  I got to hear about what a cool guy my dad was every Monday.  How my dad drank with them all and partied like a high schooler.  You made friends with my abusers.  You allowed them to tell me how cool you were while they sexually assaulted me daily.  I never told you about this because you were so distant and you seemed to not really care about us.

The final thing is you moved in with my ex boyfriend.  The man who owed me a ton of money for supporting him for two years.  You betrayed my trust.  How could I ever trust you after taking that idiot in?  Do not worry you were not the only one, my best friend did the same thing.  As did another friend who allowed him to hide something of value at their home so I could not sell it, who the hell needs a $600 weed whacker?  Yeah he was supposed to pay mom back for a car she sold us, but instead the fucking idiot buys a $600 weed whacker!  Yeah I am still resentful because mom held that over my head for a long time.

Ultimately I guess you never heard my cries, because you were too busy being anywhere but home.  You were too busy being cool.  But I forgive you, you had your own stuff to deal with.  I just have a hard time accepting that you might have slept with some high school classmates, and that makes me feel very creeped out.  Sorry but it does.  It also makes me wonder if some of my abuse was a direct result of your actions?  I will never know really.  Because even if you told me the truth I probably would think you were lying.  We all reap what we sow.

So mom and dad, I am done blaming you.  I am done playing the victim.  I need to take back control.  I need to let go of the pain and let go of the past.  This does not mean I am coming home, because it never truly felt like home.  I always felt like a foreigner in an unforgiving land.  What this means is that I am letting go of my anger and blame.  I cannot heal and move forward until I do this.  I am moving on, you are no longer going to clog my energy.  I love you both, and I wish you the best.  I thank you for raising me to adulthood and just so you know all that abuse and all that pain made me a very strong person.  I have a refusal to give up that just never stops.  I still have self-esteem issues and a lack of faith in my own decisions, but I never stop fighting for those I feel are abused, and that is all due to my pain and suffering growing up.

I just wanted you to know that I forgive you, for things you probably had no idea I blamed you for, because as I said, you probably could not hear my cries.


Beyond growing up is growing whole

This is a personal conflict of mine.  It is a battle I have been fighting from the time I was young.  It is a battle I am tired of fighting.  It is the pain that still pierces my heart.


I am going to share first the pain I lived through growing up.  If you read my blog you know that I lived with sexual harassment and assault daily in high school.  I have so much trauma over it that as soon as I finally had found someone to marry, who was more of an escape than a partner, I allowed myself to gain a massive amount of weight.  I went from 120 lbs to 230 lbs over a 3 year period.  Until recently I have never really thought about my weight gain, mostly just about my weight loss and my healthier lifestyle.  I used to blame it on beer and pizza but in reality, I can finally say, it was about making myself less desirable.  It was about avoiding unwanted attention and making myself unattractive.  Even before I was married I suffered sexual harassment at work.  Men would try to stick their hands up my uniform skirt, they would say rude sexual things, they would touch me inappropriately and I did nothing to defend myself physically.  I never understood that I was the victim of the worst type of abuse and no matter who dished it out, I just took it.  I felt weak and alone.  I felt ugly and picked on.

This abuse built up over time.  When I was in second grade, about age 8, my family moved to a new school district.  It was hard enough to move in the middle of the school year but it was even worse that my mother dressed me like Raggedy Ann with bloomers and frilly dresses with pinafores (read aprons).  Some of my clothes even had bonnets like Holly Hobby.  To top it off my mother insisted that I have my hair permed in the biggest wooliest fro ever.  So she sent me to school as a target, literally.  The first day of class a boy named Richard Duran pulled the chair out from under me just before I sat down and I nearly broke my tailbone, I may actually have.  I will never know because my parents never took us to the doctor unless someone demanded it.  Later on that year I was the VIP for the week.  We all got one week to be VIP (Very Important Person) and we had a corner with a bulletin board to put up pictures and display our favorite things for the week.  As a child I collected Breyers horses and my mom would only allow me to take one.  I took the first one I was ever given. That Friday for some reason we went across the street to the high school and watched the boys basketball team play.  That same boy grabbed my horse out of my box and since he was a row ahead of me I could not reach it as he put it down on the gym floor and the basketball hit it and broke off all the legs.  I cried for hours, maybe days.  Actually I still cry.  This boy tormented me for years.  I hated him. I hated him so bad that about 10 years ago I heard he committed suicide and I was inwardly happy he was dead.  Is that not sick?  Is that not a sign there is something desperately wrong?  No that is a sign that a bully finally got what they may have deserved.  It is hard to mourn your tormentors, like a child suffering abuse when their abusive parent is arrested, they do not really feel regret, just relief.

This abuse in my younger years likely bruised my ego enough to leave me open to the abuse in high school.  If only someone would have stepped up and defended me? I still hate most of the people I grew up with.  Not because they all tormented me but because no one ever stood up for me or picked me up.  I came home from school everyday and cried.  Every new school year I made a list of goals for the year.  Number one on my list every year until my senior year was to be popular and to not cry everyday.  To this day I never cry in public, I rarely cry in private, it is a sign of weakness to me.  I  have a really hard time with crying.  It makes me feel vulnerable and weak and I refuse to be weak around anyone.

Church was no better for me.  I suffered abuse from the pastor’s wife.  I tried to be a good Christian but just never measured up.  I failed at everything.  I was in low math and English classes for years.  At some point, maybe 4th grade I got bumped to the upper English class.  They even put me in the Title 1 class for awhile.  Title 1 is the special needs but not super special needs class.  I cannot even remember how long I was there.  By 6th grade I made it to the top portion of the math class.  I worked my ass off to get there too. I made honor roll every quarter after that.  It was my one thing of pride in all my school years.  I was finally recognized for something good.  In all my grade school years I avoided recess any time I could.  I made excuses and I helped teachers make bulletin boards or worked in the library.  Any reason to not have to spend recess with the other kids.  I hated recess and would rather not play, maybe because it was so lonely or maybe because it was not lonely enough and kids made fun of me.

I think the turning point for me was being in the one physically abusive relationship I was in.  Learning to trust myself and trust other people to understand me was certainly difficult.  I think chat rooms helped me by giving me some distance from those who were interacting with me.  I became pretty aggressive and thick skinned over the barrage of verbal abuse.  I learned how to defend myself with words.  I also learned how to defend myself physically.  After the abusive relationship ended, I had a support group to lean on and learn from.  I also had made one of the greatest friends of my life.

I believe that relationships begin and end for a reason.  I believe that people enter and leave our lives at just the right times.  I believe that nothing is just a random point of fate. I believe we can either build ourselves up or we can allow ourselves to be torn down, but everyone needs to know how to do this.  I think I am strong but I can easily be broken down.  I put on a tough exterior and the tattoos and piercings are part of that.  It is my armor, my protection.  If I can be just weird enough only persons who understand me will stick around long enough to get close enough to get inside.

I have a long way to go to really become whole again.  I have grown up and I have found peace and joy in my life, but all of that buries the pain of my past deep in my head.  One day I will have to face it all.  One day I will have to forgive and move on. To this day I get a great deal of anxiety thinking about going to my hometown.  I refuse to even put any information about where I am from in any of my online backgrounds.  I have less than 5 people from my past on my Facebook or online accounts.

So the question I have for you, how do I move forward, how do I face that pain and focus on forgiving people I hate?  How do I accept this and move forward to becoming whole?  It is a question that has been on my mind lately and I need some answers?

What stares back at you in the mirror?

This blog is more about me and my life than about Jamaican culture.  Although the strong religious influence here has made me stop and pause and reflect on much of my past.  In the past decade there have been many cases of sexual abuse by Catholic Priests, there have been money scams done by devout Christians, and rampant denial of basic rights to anyone who is different from the mainstream.   What if I told you none of this matters?  What if I told you I do not actually believe in God?  What if I told you that I tried to find God for many years and somehow I failed miserably?

For years I was a Pentecostal raised in the Blood Christian.  So when people tell me how Christian they are I often scrutinize.  Why?   Because I know what I know about the Bible, and it is a ton of stuff.   I can tell you that polygamy existed, that sacrifices happened, and that God tends to be a downright bastard at times.  Why would you ask someone to kill their son?  Or turn a woman into salt for simply turning around to see her home one last time?  I for one never liked the vengeful God that causes preachers to scream at the people in church.  To cause children to fear God, why would God want us to fear him?  Hold onto you hats people!  I have a huge revelation for you!   The Bible is written in metaphors and it is written by man and interpreted by man.  Sooooo this means that all that flailing and crying and wailing that happens when you feel the spirit, well it could be real but mostly I think it is a show of fear.

You see I prayed hard for most of my life.  I prayed for people to accept me and for my marriage to work, for my children’s health and for a decent life.  I never wanted to be rich or have wonderful things, what I wanted was a way to find contentment.  Instead all I ever found was strife.  When I talk about finding real true peace, I actually mean it.  I hate war, I hate lies and I hate having to struggle daily to feed my family.  In the last 20 years I have learned so much more about myself once I gave up this idea of God coming to my rescue.  I have found an inner strength that cannot be destroyed.  I have found that I actually like myself and I truly dislike the people who do not accept me for me.

fallow land
fallow land

I find more peace daily by simply living.  I enjoy a cup of coffee and a nice breakfast in the morning.  I enjoy the silence or the soft music as I sip my daily coffee. Once I realized that conforming to anyone else’s idea of who I should be was never going to find me inner peace, only depression and despair.  When I stripped my beliefs down to what I truly believe and what I was taught, I began to understand myself even more.  And I was left with hurt, resentment and anger.  I was left with these due to those who were supposed to help me grow as a child of God but instead nearly killed my soul.  So I now ask you, what stares back at you in the mirror?  Is it an empty soul or a fulfilled one?  Is it a sad child that never really found their place or is it a strong adult who learned from the pain of growing up?

My mother was a super-Jesus-freak when I was growing up.  My dad lived with us but he didn’t live with us.  He was not religious and there was always tension in the house.  I grew up wearing dresses on Sundays going to church Sunday morning, Sunday night and Wednesday nights.  I even had to go for week-long revivals when those events happened.  I would get on my knees for altar call and I would seek God.  Any kind of touch would have been nice, but all I ever found was blackness.

Light in the darkness
Light in the darkness

In high school we got this wonderful energetic young pastor and his family at our church.  They worked to re-energize the youth group and I happily attended.  We went on skating trips, inner tube down the snowy mountain trips, and even to a CARMEN concert.  Sadly even in a church youth group there are the cool kids and the not so cool kids.  I was a not so cool kid.  I grew up thinking I must be ugly because this was a continual problem for me.  I just wanted to be accepted, no special treatment, just to be accepted, but I was always that fringe kid.  If I had not been so far out in the sticks I might have found my place much sooner.

There is one incident that always stand out for me.  I was a sophomore, 1986 New Year’s Eve to be exact.  There was a party held at the parsonage (pastor’s house).   I went and hung out for a while.  The cool kids were all drinking in the street. The church kids, the ones that were cool were attending this church party and drinking in the street.  I met a new kid at the party.  He lived across the street, moved there over the Christmas break.  He was younger than me by several years, but he was a nice kid.  I remember talking for a very long time with him.  I mentioned the park and was telling him the different things around the town.  He did not know there was a park 2 blocks away.  I decided to show him.  I told my best friend where we were going and then stepped out the door.  I even waved to the pastor and walked down the road.  I was gone for about 30 minutes and returned back.  As soon as I took my jacket off the pastor’s wife grabbed me and shoved me into the back room.  She proceeded to yell at me and informed me that if I left again she was going to call my mom and tell her what a whore I was!  Her exact words, I will never forget them.  I already struggled daily with sexual harassment and this woman who is supposed to be my role model tells this young girl who is a virgin what a whore she is.  That day I broke on the inside.

That demon that my mother feared was in me came out that day.  I had my first sexual encounter that night because I was going to get beat for it anyway.  That day the fragile girl who was always quiet in the corner became a raging beast.  I gave up on hoping to ever belong.  I gave up on trying to fit in and became a fighter.  I lost all respect for authority and started speaking up for myself.  I fought the boys, I fought the system and I hated everyone and everything.  If this is what Godly people do, I want no part of it.

When I was pregnant I tried to go back to the church because I wanted to give my children a good moral start.  I was not treated quite like that ever again, but my pain was very real.  I tried to connect in the church but I just could not.  I tried several churches and I sought God but just never found him.

Beauty in darkness
Beauty in darkness

Do not mourn my loss of faith, it was never mine anyway.  Do not pray for my soul, it does not need saving.  Just remember the words you say cut like a knife.  Remember young girls are actually listening and your words will mean the difference between sexual promiscuity and a faithful partner.  I have never forgotten those words, and frankly I have never forgiven her for her cruelty.  I keep that little piece of anger inside me at all times.  When people say things about me I call up that flame and protect myself.  The old saying sticks and stones break bones but words can never hurt me?  It is a lie!  Words do the most damage, because the healing never happens, the damage is invisible and often goes unnoticed.

I am a buddhist now. I practice yoga and meditation and being a good and kind person, I have no desire to inflict the damage that was done to me in the name of God on anyone else ever.  So there now you know why when I am invited to church I struggle.  I have a physical reaction to the idea.  I get sick to my stomach and my head begins to hurt.  My soul cries No do not do this to me again, so I am sorry if I offend you by not going, but I simply just can’t!

The person I see in the mirror is someone I admire. I see a survivor. I see the scars of a life well lived.  I see the pain in the eyes that swears to never inflict pain on others.  I see a happiness that has replaced years of sadness and despair.  I see someone who I respect and love and for me that is everything.  Living many years hating yourself gives you a greater joy when you can love yourself, so no I do not go to church and I really do not know if there is a God, but I know who I am and that is enough.

When you finally find the one you love.

I have been contemplating this blog for a few weeks now.  Considering I am one of those people that has terrible luck with relationships and felt that I was better off alone more times than not, writing about love never seemed possible.  I didn’t even believe in love.  I believed in a loveless relationship.  One where I can come home to someone but have my own life.  Well that is truly part of a great relationship, but love is essential.  I thought I loved my ex husband, I thought a loved a couple of my ex boyfriends, in the end I can look back and realize that no I did not love them.

My ex husband was the highlight of my senior year.  My boyfriend at the time had joined the military and he was his best friend.  He hit on me, which was shocking, most men didn’t like me in high school.  I was the girl with no prom date, and the one that people made fun of.  I never dated anyone in high school, well not from my own.  My first boyfriend was a guy from a town miles away.  We talked on the phone everyday, but we never had a real date.  Things were rocky and on and off for about a year, then he got back in touch with me to go to his going away party.  He was leaving for the military.  I was excited that he wanted me there, but I was also terrified.  I met my future husband that night.  I think when Brian left I felt abandoned, and things at home were not good.  I could not wait to leave my mother’s tyranny.  When he gave me his number and told me to call day or night if I needed anything, I took it to mean he was interested.  He liked me, but he was always trying to push me off on other people.  I finally wore him down and we had sex.  He then told me he loved someone else.  I just shrugged my shoulders and told him no worries it was what it was.  I think that was when the tide turned.  He was so shocked that I did not beat him and call him a jerk, he considered me to be far more mature than he had expected.  We eventually moved in together a few months after I graduated.  At first I wanted sex all the time.  I  wanted his complete attention.  This lasted for some time, then I got pregnant.  Well we got married first.  Maybe buying the house was the catalyst to years of pain.

The point is when we began building this life together, we found things were not so easy.  I wanted to finish school, he didn’t want to go, nor did he want me to go.  He blamed me for financial difficulties, when he was the one to buy all this new stuff.  He extended our credit to nothing.  I finished school and he finally left me a year and a half after that.  I had already given up to a life of dismal existence.  I focused on the kids, my job and church.  I focused outside my relationship, or lack of one.  Being told you will never find a job that makes more money than a Denny’s waitress and having a man who only has the dream of being a Denny’s manager wears on you rather quickly.  I just tuned out.

When he left me, I was devastated, but relieved to be free.  I can look back now and see that I left my mother’s prison for a far worse prison in a loveless marriage.  I realized that I never loved him years later.  I may have started to in the beginning, but when someone tries to change you or control you love soon dissipates.  I had a few other boyfriends along the way.  The first one had no job, he had one when I met him but funny how this works, as soon as he moves in poof job is gone.  I should mention here, that I had lost my job too.  I was holding onto a wing and a prayer.  I managed to make ends meet, but life was getting harsh.  The first boyfriend was an attentive lover.  He was not very bright but he was attentive.  I realized after a year or so, actually someone told me, that he had no intention of marrying me.  He wanted kids, mine were pre-teens, and I did not want to go back to diapers and crying.  I do not like babies.   I had no intention of having another one.  So when I found this out, I decided he needed to go.  He drug his feet and tried staying with me, but I was having none of it.  I even tried to move out with my brother just to get him out of my life.  One thing I cannot stand is someone that will not leave when it is over.

The next guy was a bad boy.  I loved the way he looked and thought I could love him.  He moved me to Seattle and isolated me away from my friends.  He was controlling and abusive and I finally left when he took my dog from me and gave me a concussion.  I had to walk at 3 AM 5 miles from one end of Beacon Hill to the other without my dog.  I took the dog for protection, he stole my dog from me.  I filed a petition for a no contact order and that was the end of that.

The next guy was supposed to be a one night stand.  He was a nice enough guy, in fact the first one that had a job and took me out and paid for things.  I told him in the  beginning that I would never love him.  I was incapable of love.  At the time I was not ready, and I suspected from the beginning that he was not someone I would love.  Again I set myself up for a loveless relationship.  Things were fine until we decided to move in together.  The day we moved in he announced that he was going to quit his job and go back to school.  Uhmm you might just want to pack your shit back up and move home to mom and dad.  This is not going to fly here.  I resented living with him, he was just like all the others.  He would not help clean he made messes and didn’t pick up after himself.  He took long showers and the list is immense.  This one too thought he could just live with me after we broke up.  Why do men think they can live in a place with their ex?

When I met Richard it was about 6 months after he moved out.  I liked Richard.  He was cute, at least through beer goggles he was.  And he was all about me. We spent the weekend together, and he was so honest with me, I realized that he would never lie to me.  Telling a person you just met the most intimate parts of your soul, is an indication of character.  I value honesty above all else, and for me this was as raw and honest as it got.  I didn’t think I would love him, I just thought I could trust him.  We both found that for the first time in our lives we found love.  It has been a magical relationship for me.  One that I hope last forever.  I have never known love before, but I am certain this is real, and Richard is the one.  And he rides a bike so even better!