Wedding Cake and Envy

Let’s talk about how going to a wedding isn’t a good idea when the person you thought you would marry recently left you. I guess that should have been a thought since it was a WEDDING! I can’t be accused of being the sharpest tool in the shed. I handled it better than I could have, I suppose. I didn’t cry or get overtly bitter. It was great to see my cousin get married and I look forward to getting married one day myself. Of course, I hope it will be to Chad (I will wait to continue for you to get off of the floor laughing. . . go ahead, I will wait. . . ) or someone who actually thinks I’m worth sticking around for. While I did handle stuff pretty good, I am rather depressed (no, me, surely not!). Waking up from naps in the car was really unfun. I’m not sure why naps bring on the dreams and sadness so much. Either way, I am so glad I missed pride. I couldn’t have handled it. Of course, I woke up to a message from a friend saying how they saw Chad in the parade and that he was drunk. I guess that message was supposed to make me say, ‘well, obviously I’m better off.’ It didn’t. How else would he be during pride? What about the other seventy-five percent of the gay population that were doing the exact same thing? I already know alcohol is more important than me. I don’t need messages reminding me. Thanks. Good intentions. . . . .

On a good note, I had three pieces of wedding cake. (I love wedding cake! I know, I am so full of surprises tonight.) On a bad note, it is going to take me a week to recover from the diet of the past three days. I never, ever eat junk food (such as chips and processed snacks) and I have lived off of them. Not to mention three meals in a row of barbeque. Well, enough negativity for today. That’s right, you’ll have to wait for your daily does of blah and cynicism for another time.

unexpected

It has been an interesting day for me, good and bad. The good, I got to read. I read the first Sookie Stackhouse novel (the one True Blood is based off of). I started the second one as well. Also, I had forgotten how much I loved and missed fireflies. Some of the most magical memories I have from childhood are in our backyard at night, the toads croaking and the locus screeching so loud you could barely hear yourself think, bats flying overhead, and fireflies surrounding you like an enchanted mist. I think it is the only aspect of living in Missouri that I miss, besides a few choice wonderful people, obviously. Of course with the supposed global warming, maybe they will migrate to Colorado. Yay greenhouse gasses!

The bad, or difficult part revolved around. . . well, you know what it revolved around. I was surprised though. I thought leaving town would make it easier, especially being away during Pride. I’m sure it did actually. If I had stayed in Denver and gone out for Pride, I would have been a total basket case. I’m not, so that’s good. However, when we got to Kansas City, it was everything I could do to not text Chad and let him know that I got here okay. If I would have, he would have been sweet and told me that he was glad and probably thank me for letting him know. He’s still sweet, even if he really wouldn’t care. I am used to thinking of myself as two, as Chad as my other half and me the other half of him. For some reason, being away makes it a little less real that he doesn’t want to be my other half. To me, it feels like he is at home right now, probably watching TV and taking care of the dogs. It feels like I will be walking back into the house Monday night and see him sitting where he always was, laying on the couch. The dogs would accost me at the door. I would pet them and drag in my suitcase, then lean over the couch and give him a kiss as he tells me that he’s glad I’m home. The feeling will leave when I get home and all that greets me are the dogs. Chad will not have been there and will have lived it up all weekend and not missed me at all as he celebrates Pride. I wasn’t expecting this when I came back here. I’m not entirely sure what to do with it besides acknowledge it and remind myself what the reality is.

Again, I have to remind myself of all I had in my arms, in my life; remind myself that so many never get to have what I got to hold; focus on being thankful for the time he gave me his love and shared his life with me, as well as thankfulness for him continuing to exist and be healthy and safe in this world. While it hurts, knowing that helps somewhat, and I am grateful for it.

Pride

Happy Pride!!!

(And thus week ten ends, and eleven begins...)

blech

Ya know how I’ve been wondering my anti-depressants are keeping me from crying? Well, I found out. They aren’t. Which is good news, I suppose. They do make it easier to stop, and less frequent, but they haven’t dried me out yet. I decided that tonight would be my first night to ‘go out.’ It was only going to be for a bit, but as it is the only night I will get to do anything Pride related (which I am sooooo okay with given the current situation), I thought I should go out for at least enough to say I went out. I ended up sobbing in the car. Actually, I got on here and was going to go on and on and ‘empty out all my emotions.’ Now I don’t want to. I’m so tired of crying and bitching. I’m tired of realizing he didn’t love me enough, didn’t love me as much as I love him, that he continues to choose everything lese over me, to be happy without me, to remember how things were this time last year, this time four months ago, and that I am merely going through the motions of being fine. Who knew that knowing that I get to escape to ridiculous heat, humidity, and wedding stuff for a few days would be such a treat? Hopefully, I can hold myself together during the wedding. Since there is a disgusting straight kiss at the end (shudder), I should be fine. Bah-humbug.

Powerless

For those who say my conscience must be dead and snuffed out in order for me to live a Christian-gay lifestyle, I have a small bit of proof to offer to the contrary. I was convicted during Bible Study last night. The Bible study I am going to is working its way through the twelve steps. Some people are there fighting their addiction to drugs, alcohol, etc. Others are there due to abusive relationships, co-dependency, etc. Others, like me, are there to discuss God in a small group setting in a way that is more real with some people they love.

Last night was step three. Letting God take control. This has always been an issue for me. Nothing new there. However, last night I realized that during the first several weeks following Chad’s leaving, I truly was turning things over to God, letting Him have control. Of course, I had no choice. I had no control over anything anyway. I was able to turn it over because I was so out of control. During the past couple weeks, I have spent less time in prayer, less time just giving everything to Him, and reminding Him (like He needs it) and myself that He is in charge of everything, not me.

As we discussed last night, turning things over to Him is difficult. For me, part of the reason is that I don’t believe that He promises a happy, contented life here on Earth. Just the opposite, actually. In addition, I know that often the things I want either aren’t things He wants or simply doesn’t seem fit to alter (ie. Grandma still died, Chad is still gone). I know our focus should be on Heaven. And while I want to go to Heaven (though it continues to scare the Hell out of me [for a guy who hates change, forever of anything is scary]), I also want to be content on Earth. I don’t need riches or lavishness, but I do desire to be happy and content. I am sure many would offer that as proof that I obviously have my priorities messed up.

Despite that I am functioning better lately, I still realize that I’m not in control. I can’t make Chad love me again. I can’t make him find our relationship more valuable than being single and going out and partying all the time. I can’t force my books to get published. I can’t make the people I love not get sick and leave me. I know this. Regardless of my frustration in that area, I don’t have a choice: I have no power to change such things. While it is scary, there is nothing I can do to alter that.

So, I continue to turn it all over to Him. I still plead for Chad’s safety, that he finds the answers that he seeks, that he remembers his love for me and returns. I still plead for my family and friend’s health. I still ask for His blessing on my ‘writing career.’ I have no promises that He will see fit to bring my submissions to fruition (just the opposite, actually), but I have no other power, no other choice, so I will continue to give everything most valuable to me to Him for safekeeping. The scoffers say that a person believes in God because they are too weak to think they are on their own in this life, that this life is all there is, and that there is no greater purpose. Well, that may be so, because I know I am too weak to face any of those things being a real possibility, and therefore I will continue to place my trust in Him, even when it seems my pleas fall on deaf ears, even when He seems to do the opposite (a majority of the time) of what I desire, even if He slays me. What choice do I have?

Gone

Most things are getting easier, mostly. However, as I have said before, on the occasional nap (I have always hated naps) and right when I wake up, those times are getting worse. Not that I’m sitting there bawling my eyes out (the medicine really does make it where I can hardly cry—which worries me a bit, but it is such a welcome relief), but his absence his so palpable. His side of the bed seems even more empty. Knowing he is out there waking up somewhere, that he chooses to not be by my side, is clearest at that time. Not really sure why that is, but that’s how it is.

Facebook and Connexion have been great to feel more connected to people, which I need so much right now, but they have also been curses. I always know what Chad is doing, which is helpful and harmful. On Connexion, on his profile, Chad still had the pictures of us we took at one of those photo booths when we first started dating (they are my favorite pictures of us). Well, yesterday, he took them off. He didn’t replace them, he just took them off. Granted, I took them off my a few weeks ago, but only because I had to do it first. There are several things I have done because I needed to do them first. Not to hurt him or try to get him back, but just so I would have a little more strength when I found out he had done them too. It would have killed me for some reason the other way around. Even now it is shocking how much it hurts to not have our pictures on his profile. However, under who he wants to meet, it still says, nine weeks later: “. . . as for meeting a man to love, to laugh with, to call my own, i have already met him. I love you brandon.” I know he probably just doesn’t remember that it is there. And I know that it doesn’t mean he still loves me or that he will come back. However, it is some degree of comfort (if nothing else a reminder of how he used to love me), and I dread when I look and it will be gone. It’s the only thing I really have left that shows the world he used to care for me.

I don’t know why you are still reading these posts. I can’t imagine wanting to read someone go on and on for months about this shit. I also don’t know why I think about it, it’s not like I’m making anyone read it. However, I know everyone is thinking, “Oh my God, get over it, he’s not coming back!” And, I know you’re right. I just don’t want you to be right. I want him to come back more than anything. And even though I am handling things better and functioning better, I somehow miss him even more. To a less in shock reactionary way, and just a pure the-man-I-want-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with is gone and it shatters me kind of way.

Missed Day, Ray of Hope?

So something happened that shocked me yesterday. Actually, I happened Saturday, but I didn’t even realize it until yesterday, which was even more shocking. The ninth week anniversary of Chad leaving came and went on Saturday and I didn’t notice until Sunday. Of course, a few days before (the eighteenth) I was preoccupied with the two month anniversary of the same event, so that could be why. Maybe that’s a good sign. I was so busy with finishing the rough draft of the book (yes, I finished the novel on Saturday afternoon) and with a ‘date’ that wasn’t a date (but a very fun, distracting time) that I didn’t have time to focus on the depression or agonize over why he is still having more fun without me. Maybe this means I will start being okay more and more. Maybe that means I will so simply be okay, and then he will come back. That’s how it’s going to work right?

This week I am focusing on doing as many massages as I can (money, mortgage, money, bills, money, coffee), and reading through the book before setting it aside to work on the next project. I want to jump into the sequel. I am so excited about it and know pretty much where I want to go and how I want to change some writing styles for it. However, I’ve got to re-work this one and the one I did last year and finally see if someone will publish them (hopefully submit by August/September). So scary.

I had lost myself pretty deeply to the little world I had created in this book, which is part of why if flowed out of me so quickly. My mind was always sort of there. Which was also such relief from my real life. Of course, a story that originally had a very happy love story ending became a shattered angst ridden conclusion to the first installment. Probably better writing, truth be told. Who says art doesn’t imitate life? It was thrilling and scary to type that last sentence on Saturday. It felt like the first step of a lot of hard work being completed, but I didn’t want to let it go or leave the safety of the vampire/demon infested world. Now, what does that tell you about my psyche?

So, now onto the next little phase of my self-absorbed little world. This weekend is Pride, which I normally love. This year I was desperate to not be here. I really don’t need to physically see how much Chad loves being without me. Blessedly, my cousin is getting married this weekend in Kansas City, so we are driving down and back in a very short trip. It is also telling about my psyche that I am happy to be returning to Missourri/Kansas!

Now that I am listening to SOME music again, it seems nearly every song has some relevance. I guess that is the amazing thing about music. Half the time when I am writing, I have to change the song, Chad and I danced to it, made love to it, grocery shopped every week to it, whatever. This one, we didn't, but it is both amazing and frustrating that someone else can write what I feel better than I. I have heard this song everyday for the past five or six days. (In the massage mix I made a long time ago). I need to take it off, it's not good to almost start to cry over a client. Right. However, with the exception of not showing my feelings, this song offer a sweet, painful, solace. I still hope he comes back one day, but if he doesn't I do hope he hold me in his heart and that a part of him hurts for us, and grieves a least a little for the life we shared, the life we could have seen through fruition, and maybe just because he missed who we were together.

Who knew love would come walking thru my door
Turn a light on somewhere down inside
And give me a feeling Id never had before
It was a long wait
It was just the wrong time

But I hope youll hold me now
Somewhere within
And when you think about
What might have been

Cry a river
Flood the sea
Cry a river over me
Take the bitter
With the sweet
And cry a river over me

How can you argue with a feeling in your bones
bout what is and what isnt meant to be
Some things you live with
But you never let it show
Like the pain I felt
The day I watched you leave

But I hope youll think of me
When tender winds blow
Sit on the shores of love
And just let it go

Cry a river
Flood the sea
Cry a river over me
Take the bitter
With the sweet
And cry a river over me

Cry a River

Amy Grant

They Say

They say that I’m getting stronger

I don’t cry every day

I learned to laugh again

Your absence becomes more real

They say that you couldn’t be the one

You’re too happy now

Your party never stops

Do you remember being a part of me

They say you're showing your true colors

That I shouldn't want you

That you will only bring pain

They don't know the real you

They say I will look back and learn

There’s nothing to do different

There’s nothing to change

I’ve learned how much I can hurt

They say there’s someone I will love more

You made me laugh most

You made me feel the safest

My love for you never waivers

They say that you’ve made your choice

You’re gone for good

You’ll never be ready

Did you forget who you are

They say I’ll be complete again

I’m with people all the time

I make healthy, wise choices

The ache for you grows every day

I say no one knows our path

I was wrong, you left

Maybe you’re wrong, and you’ll come back

My love is here, either way

Perdido Sin Ti

For once, I actually got up on time today and worked out and now I am ready to go on to the writing. Thank goodness for being able to get lost in a world of fantasy instead of having to constantly look at my own life. (Today is the 18^th, which means it has been two months. Can you believe it? It seems like years. I’m ready for this game to be over now. Can’t he just say, “April fools!” and come back to his home to the man who wants to give him his life?)

So, I have nothing really to say, at least nothing that I haven’t said about twenty-five billion times in the past few months. So, here is a random bit of trivia for you.

Since Chad left, I have been spending an exorbitant amount of time with my parents. As my ‘sanity’ and my writing time has increased, the time with them has decreased lately, but still. My dad is the quintessential channel flipper when he is watching television. It’s really rather ridiculous. If I am not there, mom won’t watch it with him, and my brother gets truly furious—which, in and of itself is humorous. There is one exception to Dad’s compulsive channel surfing. There are five or so Spanish channels. Every time. Every single time, Dad pauses on each one. Sometimes for a couple minutes. Often he looks a little confused; sometimes he is truly interested in what they are showing. However, after a bit (as I said, minutes in some cases), he realizes that they are speaking Spanish and that he can’t understand them. Then he changes the channel. At first, I found this odd because he kinda has a problem with there being Spanish-speaking channels to begin with. Now, however, I find it fascinating and a little disturbing at the frequency that this occurs, and how he seems like he has never done it before. I don’t know if he subconsciously has some attraction to the Spanish station, or if there is some mental block that makes it impossible for him to accept and remember that they exist in abundance on channels ten through twenty. I promise you, we have watched several movies (that have been dubbed in Spanish) for quite an extended period of time with me just sitting on the couch, watching dad, wondering when he will realize he has no idea what they are saying. I think he has become so accustom to his world not making sense with his oldest son being an overly tattooed homosexual, and his youngest son probably having a child in the next couple months. A channel that rambles on incessantly probably just feels like another typical moment in his life.

Song of the tattoo

A man on connexion saw a picture of my tattoo and sent me the lyrics to this song. They are nearly perfect for both how I feel now and for the inspiration f the tattoo. Pretty amazing. I love it even more now.

KISS THE SON by Kevin Prosch

"When You've been broken
Broken to pieces
And your heart begins to faint
'Cause you don't understand
And when there is nothing
To reap from the ashes
And you can't even walk
Onto the fields of praise

But I bow down and kiss the Son
Oh I bow down and kiss the Son

When the rock falls
Falls upon you
And you get no music for the pain
You open the windows
The windows of heaven
And then you hold me
And you crush me like a rose

Let the praise of the Lord be in my mouth
Let the praise of the Lord be in my mouth

Though You slay me I will trust You
Though You slay me I will trust You"

the void

It seems I have fallen into a pattern, one I don’t think I can control necessarily, although I do honestly try. It has started taking me over in the moments right before and right after sleep, and if I happen to fall asleep during the day, it is worse. For those moments (I don’t know if they are dreams or what), Chad is back. I’m not sitting there wishing he were back, in the dreams (or whatever) he is just back. Everything is right again. It is such an empty feeling when I wake up (or whatever) and realized he’s not. That it wasn’t real.

I’ve been amazed how good I am doing over all. I am writing like mad, and it is helpful to loose myself in the fantasy world I have created. I think I am almost done with the first draft, and it makes me nervous about where my mind will go when that is done. I am also with people all the time. Lots of my old (true) friends, and lots of new ones that seem to be pouring out of the woodwork. Despite me not being quiet so crazy anymore and not crying (I think the meds make it harder to cry—even during movies where I would be sobbing, I don’t—but for now, I am ok with that. I was so tired of crying), there isn’t an hour (sometimes minute) that goes by that I don’t wait for him to come back, wait for him to think of me, wait for him to remember that he loved me, wait for him to remember that I would give my life to him. As my dad said, ‘He’s not coming. It’s been this long, obviously he’s found something that he wants to be doing instead.’ Obviously. That doesn’t mean he won’t wake up and be Chad again. Right. I’m sure he’s polishing our house key, that he still has, right now and getting ready to use it.

I wonder if he is even able to remember what it felt like when he still loved me. If he ever misses it all. Misses me. It sure doesn’t seem like it.

a tear and a laugh

Two things:

One: It has been exactly a week (Monday) since I have seen or heard from him. We didn’t go a day without seeing each other or at least talking for over two years. Now, an entire week.

Just got a really nice email from his mom, not going to give the details, but she is so sweet. Made me cry.

Two: At church with my folks today, the interim pastor asked the congregation several “Jesus” type questions (everyone knows what they are supposed to say). When he asked, “Is this church a praying church? and an old man shouted out, “No!” (He wasn’t trying to be funny), I burst out laughing and couldn’t get myself under control for the rest of the service. Honesty is so much funnier than not! Sorta. . .

me me me

Maybe I’ve said this before (sometimes I have realizations and then forget about them and then have them all over again) but I have been waiting for the day where I feel like Brandon again. Then I would know that I am better. Granted it has only been eight weeks (today, 3:15), so maybe I shouldn’t feel like me yet. However, this is what I have determined. I won’t ever feel like Brandon again, at least not who I was before Chad, probably not who I was with Chad. I experienced too much. Too much that was amazing and life altering. And lately, too much pain, too much heartbreak. Agony that is life altering. So, I think I’m waiting for something that can’t happen. I can’t be who I was. You can’t strip away two plus years (not that I want to) and you can undo so much pain. Therefore, this is who I am, right now. I’m already Brandon. I don’t fully recognize myself. I’m familiar, sortta, but I’m sure not the old Brandon. Things affect and hurt me more than they did before, and other things that would have bothered me to death previously, I don’t give a rat ass about (not that I understand who is wanting to receive this alleged rat’s ass anyway). I imagine that the same is true for Chad. When I get to see him and talk to him, which is less and less all the time, he is still Chad, still sweet, kind, loving, and wonderful, but he has turned off the part of himself that was my ‘husband.’ Maybe one day he’ll turn it back on, for me or for someone else. Maybe he won’t. I’m sure whoever this new Brandon is will be much different in a few months from who he is now. I kinda feel numb about there being a new one. I don’t really him that much, but I don’t really have a problem with him either.

the gift

I have to give thanks. A few weeks ago, Mom told me that she had to go in for a mammogram. She was a few years over due. After all that has happened to both me and my family over the past few months, I just had a sinking feeling. It felt like everything that could go wrong was going to go wrong. Sure enough, after she got her appointment, they told her they would send her the results. She waited and waited. Finally, she called. They said they had already sent the results and they must have gotten lost in the mail. However, because people make so much sense, they said they could not give her the results on the phone. Finally, today, the results came in. Everything was fine, no sign of cancer. It was an answer to prayer. I had been praying like crazy, but had been having a hard time believing. I was expecting another blow, another rip through my heart. Someone who loves me that would have to leave me. I wish I could say I hadn’t doubted, but I can’t. However, I can say that God answered prayer in spite of my doubt. There is not enough gratitude in the world to say how thankful I am.

day on my own

After a full day of great writing time, and some quality work produced, I realize that I spent more time on my own today than I have since Chad and I got together. I’m not weepy or cryish, however, I can’t tell you how much I miss him. Not the trips, not the special occasions, just him coming home, him holding me from behind while we are making dinner, him farting on the couch, me farting bed, making love, just looking in his eyes and knowing he loves me and that I love him and that I could count on him and plan our future. I still don’t understand how that ended or why or what was so much more important. Not that it matters at this point. Answers wouldn’t satisfy the desire or make me miss every part of him any less.

therapy notes

I am getting ready to spend an entire evening writing on the novel, which I am nervously looking forward to.

I had my first therapy session today. No big revelations or anything. Of course I want him to just fix it. Make me quit hurting, make Chad choose our love over what he is choosing, makes things right. Of course, he can’t. I sorta expected him to say that I needed to get a grip and look at reality. Instead, he said that he was impressed with how well I am handling things (Yes, I told him about the incessant weeping, etc, etc.). He said that it is obvious that I truly love and am in love with Chad and that I was obviously committed, and that since I don’t shut off my feelings out of fear that I am feeling exactly what he would expect. I’m glad I’m not going nuts. Still, I wish he had the magic answer, the switch, the whatever.

Well, now off to write in fantasyland, about two lovers who truly are committed and love each other. Well, at least until they find less real and substantial things that comes along. Then all bets are suddenly off. Fuck fairy tales with reality endings!

the one who loved me once upon a time

I just returned from having lunch with Chad. Yes, that’s right, lunch. Next, it will be coffee, then running into each other by accident in sixteen street mall. Although I have shed a few tears, it is the first time that I haven’t wept for at least an hour after we have been together. I didn’t even cry when we were together. Although I got a little teary when he told me he and several of his friends were going to San Diego for their Pridefest. We went to San Diego last year. We were supposed to go this summer. I still have the paper he wrote down all the different flight prices. That felt like a stab to the stomach, but I looked away and took a couple deep breaths and smiled. Again, I know that people say I shouldn’t see him, shouldn’t talk with him. It’s not that simple for me. Plus, I can feel him pulling away even more. He only texts every three or four days, and we just had lunch for pete’s sake. I know he’s almost done, and I promised him and myself that I wasn’t going to drive him crazy. Even though he says that I can text or call him anytime I want, that he will always be here for me, I can’t. He wanted life without me. I have to give him that.

As he sat there telling me about his weekend, two things struck me. One, how are any of the insane, crazy things that his weekend entailed more important than the life we shared together, worth more than the love we had/have for each other. Two, how bored he must have been with me. Despite what the insatiable libido and all the tattoos suggest, you can’t find much more of an everyday humdrum homebody than me, no wonder he left.

It is so hard to see him and it is so hard to not see him. It is so sweet and so painful to see that his hair has gotten just a touch grayer. How I loved watching his hair get grayer as we were together. How I looked forward to seeing it complete its transformation. He looks fantastic with gray hair. I looked at his beautiful yellow green eyes, eyes that know me so well, that used to look at me with such love. His beautiful lips. I can’t even begin to say how much I miss kissing me. I’ve kissed a lot of people, it’s my favorite thing in the world and there was no one better. From our very first kiss, it was instant, he was the best kisser I have ever kissed. How do you walk away?

It means so much that he cares enough to still check on me and want to see me for a bit (as pathetic as that sounds). I was also excited to show him the tattoo I got with the money he gave me. Of course today was the first day it was really pealing and scabbing, so it looks the worst it has, but whatever. He’s used to that, since he also helped me get the massive tattoo that takes up nearly a fourth of my upper body.

A sweet friend sent me a message yesterday about how loving someone changes us (thanks, BW). I’m not sure who I’ll be when I finally get to the other side of this. I’m sure I’ll be a little deeper a little more sincere. However, I can’t imagine that I won’t also be more reserved, more quiet (as if that is even possible) from the amazing love that I was allowed to experience and pain that I was expected to survive. Maybe I’ll have more faith from having no choice but to turn Chad and I over to God, only being able to trust that if Chad can ever come back that God will lead him that way, and if not, that God will keep him safe and make him fulfilled.

siete las semana

I took a walk with the dogs. I actually listened to music, for the very first time. The sun was bright and warm. I was wearing my hot jeans. I said prayers for Chad. I sent my love to Chad. I reminded myself that he loves me, but that he made a choice. I breathed. I didn’t cry. I looked forward to working out, forward to writing and striving a dream that at least I some control over. I remembered that nothing is final in this life, that it seems everything comes full circle. I will keep breathing.

This is a song by Amy Grant: Missing You

It has been going through my head a lot lately, every single work strikes true.

Your smile lights up a room


Like a candle in the dark


It warms me through and through


And i guess that i had dreamed


We would never be apart


But that dream did not come true





And missing you is just a part of living


Missing you feels like a way of life


I'm living out the life that i've been given


But baby i still wish you were mine



And i cannot hear the telephone


Jangle on the wall


And not feel a hopeful thrill


And i cannot help but smile


At any news of you at all


And i guess i always will



Cause missing you is just a part of living


And missing you feels like a way of life


I'm living out the life that i've been given


But baby i still wish you were mine



Missing you is just a part of living


And missing you feels like a way of life


I'm living out the life i've been given


But baby i still wish you were mine


I'm living out the life that i've been given


But baby i still wish you were mine


choices

It’s after midnight, so, technically, even thought I have yet to go to bed, it is now Saturday. Now seven weeks since he left. It seems like years. It seems unending.

I have come to an ‘understanding’ today. One that I think I kinda, mostly, understood before. I have been trying to comprehend how Chad could leave when he loved me so much, trying to decide which is true. Like I have said before, both are true. Here’s how I’m looking at it today. It’s not that Chad wasn’t being himself or being true for the two plus years he was with me. It was real, he was real. However, there are two Chads (just like there are two [or more] of all of us). The other Chad, the one who isn’t able to be committed, have a relationship, responsibility, build something real, likes to drink, party, not have anyone to answer to, etc. While I felt he had ample time to indulge the second Chad with me, it was obviously not enough for him. I don’t believe the first Chad isn’t the real Chad (like I think Chad believes), however, I do believe he has turned that Chad off for now, completely. Who knows if he will ever choose to bring that other real part of himself out again, but it doesn’t make it less real. Chad is, and always has been, able to turn things on and off when he chooses, much more than I can. He made a choice to turn on the other side of Chad, and only turn on that side. While he didn’t do anything wrong, he did make the wrong choice. He just did. I am worth more than going out nearly every night, I am worth more than endless drinking and forgotten nights, I am worth more than partying, I am worth more than juvenile incessant celebrations with friends, I am worth more than being commitment free. Chad’s love for me is worth more than that, and is more than that. He chose wrong. That doesn’t negate the truth.

After I got home from a house party tonight, I walked by my bookshelf where there were a couple of Chad’s things. The final Harry Potter book and a stuffed elephant I bought him when he had his appendectomy. He has several things boxed up in the storage room, waiting until he has his own place. I have often walked by and patted that elephant, thinking of Chad. Tonight, I decided enough was enough. I packed the elephant and one of his boxes and the book. However, I, for some reason, looked in the cover (a habit I have with every book). He had written his name, the date (July 2007) and ‘Chad loves Brandon.’ He didn’t do this for me. I don’t think I have ever even seen it. I have my own copy, of course. He did that for himself. He chose wrong. I wrote a little note and stuck it in the book, with the date. Just a reminder that I still love him. Period. Who knows when or if he will ever see it, and I didn’t do it so that it would turn into some fairy tale and make him come back. It is just vital that he knows, both now and in the future, that he is loved and he experienced love that most people don’t get to have.

though you slay me i will trust you

I just had the shortest, most painless tattoo session of my life. I find this rather hilarious. It’s the only tattoo I have representing pain, and it hurt the least. Hopefully that’s a good omen, or maybe it was just a break. Once she got started (again, if you want a tattoo, go to her: Peter Tat-2; Jessica, she’s awesome), it only took half an hour. It is bigger than I originally wanted, but I am very happy with it. Actually, I am thrilled with it. I had an interesting evening last night, one I might blog about later, maybe not, it was rather personal, but I woke up and was unsure about the tattoo and everything else. However, it has been something I have been sure about for years, so I prayed about it (yes, I prayed about getting a tattoo), and I am thrilled I got it. I used half the money that Chad gave me for my birthday (otherwise I couldn’t afford it). It seemed appropriate that it came from him. That tattoo is not about him, but is about pain and somehow trusting God through it. “though you slay me i will trust you” It is about the death of my grandmother, my battle through and accepting my homosexuality and God’s love, about Chad, and a reminder to hold on (both now and in future times of hurt).

i don't know

It seems everyday is a different twist on the same theme. Like I keep eating this never-ending, bitter pretzel. Today is full of pure hopelessness. I am keeping myself busy. I had lunch with a new friend today, I went to Colorado Springs to visit my dear friend (MS) last night, I don’t just sit around the house, but the feeling is pervasive. I have yet to hear from Chad, and I know it is so stereotypical twelve year old girl of me to hold my breath until a phone call, but still. I feel it is confirmation that he was simply trying to get me through till my birthday and now is done. I am sure if I texted him to say hello (or say I love you, like I want to) he would respond and seem happy to hear from me, still being the sweet Chad that he still is. I imagine he is puling away to try to help me. Of course, it wouldn’t be because he was tired of dealing with his old boyfriend who can’t let go. Why would he not want to deal with that?

He’s not coming back. My best friend told me that over the phone this morning, and it was exactly where my mind was anyway. He sees Chad out (as he works in a gay restaurant and his boyfriend works in a gay bar), and Chad is perfectly happy. He traded me for freedom, for nights of endless beers, parties, friends, no one waiting at home; and he is loving it. I don’t know why I wasn’t more appealing, why the love he had for me wasn’t as strong as that. He doesn’t miss me, he doesn’t think about returning. He feels some sympathy and some guilt about causing me pain. He sees me as puppy he thought he loved for awhile and then returned to the pound, who sits behind his cage whimpering for what was lost, as his human goes and lives in the sunshine.

I am questioning the time we had more all the time, which I hate. Because I KNOW it was real. There is no question. However, in my pointless desire to try to understand, my brain warps what we had and tells me it couldn’t have been real. I know that not to be true, but nonetheless. Thanks to the meds or not, I am not weeping all the time, which is helpful, although makes me stay up a lot later, but in some ways this is just a painful, just different, a different slice from the same blade.

I don’t know how to let go, of course, part of me doesn’t want to (I still feel he deserves me to hang on, to trust in the love we had, even though he doesn’t want me to). I don’t know how to shrug and say, well, that’s over, next. . . I don’t know how to switch my thinking about a man I thought I would marry to see him in some other light. I don’t know how to be the Brandon who could talk about other things, think about other things, who could laugh and smile for real. I am sure I will one day look back and realize I have gotten through it (Chad returning or not—see even now, when I know he’s not returning I can’t stop), but I have no idea when that day will come or how it will come to pass. I’m so tired. Tired of being confused, tried of missing him and being miserable when he is happy and content, tired of hurting, tired of being eaten alive, tired of being tired.

on a rainy tuesday

I thought I was going to get my tattoo today, but it changed to Thursday. I realize I am learning patience. Before I would have driven all over the city to find someone else to give me the tattoo since I wouldn’t have been able stop obsessing until it was done. Now, I am so used to waiting on things (waiting on things that probably aren’t going to happen), that I didn’t do much more than shrug, and say, ‘oh, well.’ I know that is the correct response and I don’t need any congratulations around it, I’m just saying. It is going to be a small tattoo, so I don’t think it will take very long or be very expensive. I am using part of the money Chad gave to me from my birthday. It feels appropriate that it would be a ‘gift’ from him. More on that later probably. (Aren’t you just desperately excited?)

I am a little confused on what is actually happening inside of me. The anti-depressants aren’t supposed to start working for at least another week. However, I am a little better, so I don’t know if it just me or if they are working a little faster than they should. It definitely helps having my birthday over with. Although I can’t let myself think about it. I still can’t wrap my mind how things could change so much in a year. I just couldn’t believe Chad wouldn’t come back to me before my birthday, but now that it has come and gone, some of that anticipation is gone too. I also don’t have the anticipation of seeing Chad again on a certain day. This is the first time we don’t have a time set up to see each other again. It is both good and bad. I’m not stressing and building up to the day I get to see him; however, I am hurt by why he hasn’t wanted to set up a date yet. It takes everything I have not text him and try to set up our next time (if there is one), or just to say hi. I know I can’t, though. I told him that he wanted to leave me and that he knows what I want. If he wants to talk to me, he will. If not, I have to let him be. It may not bring him back to me, but at least I won’t shove him farther and farther away. Part of me wonders if he was trying to help me get through my birthday (he knows what a huge deal it is and how worried I was about it), and now that its over he is going to pull further and further away.

Several weeks before he left me, I had a few dreams that he was leaving me. They ruined my mornings, but I let them slide off my back and didn’t affect Chad and me. I recently had a dream that Chad is dating one of his friends right now. I can’t shake the dream. I keep thinking it is probably happening, and it may be. It’s been over six weeks, and he has the right to. However, I would have to look at that as though he left me for this other guy, especially when he said he’s not ready for a relationship. And, here I go stressing over things from dreams that mean nothing.

Like I said, I don’t know if it is the meds, my birthday being over, or what, but I am starting to shove it from my mind when I am able to. I start to feel desperate and devastated and I simply say a prayer that Chad will be loved and that God will take care of him, remind myself that I don’t have to have Chad love me for me to love him, and remember that at one point, I know he really was in love with me completely.

It is definitely time for the tattoo. “Though you slay me I will trust you.” I have never understood anything less and have never hurt more or been more confused, but I trust that God will take care of him and love him, I trust that He will help me to survive, and maybe love again (hopefully Chad).

Through it all the sun keeps coming up, my friends still call, Chad is still out there breathing and that means so much, my novel is growing slowly page-by-page, and I miss him. With every breath I miss the man I love, my best friend.