The loss of my relationship is extra painful because I always choose to keep things on the hush-hush. Oh, I did tell my few gal pals that I was SEEING someone...It's so rare for me to be able to preen a bit, to showboat a little that I was dating. It felt good to be able to say to them with a happy lilt, "Well, I've been seeing this guy..." I'm usually private to an extreme point: venting here is a side effect, because keeping the disappointment penned up inside is ripping me up. I didn't let on to anyone that I was seeing someone, couldn't stand to feed other people's curiosities about a late bloomer in their midst. Now I can't allow myself to breakdown or face endless prying from well intentioned do-gooders. The gal pals are now the same ones to offer up trite condolences when I updated them that after just under year, my circumstances were falling apart. How I detested the stale, useless responses: " Well, you'll find someone else, someone better.", "You should go out right away to get him off your mind." The way I felt at first, all anxious and fearful, I'd almost prefer hearing the funeral standard of "I'm sorry for your loss." that would show they understood the depth of my anguish.

It wasn't love, more in a way that my affection was a drug, a crutch that I used to happy to be in his company. Now in it's absence, it's akin to a missing tooth in the mouth sensation where your tongue keeps going back to the open gap in the gumline. I'm cast adrift, gun-shy of having to start all over again. To endure another round of unsatisfying, unsuitable partners: the thought is so distasteful now that I have a measure to judge by. Thanks for the love/hate dilemna, Mr. W. How'm I supposed to settle for less now?!

Oh, make the pain stop. I'm alone again.


Nothing tastes right. Nothing satisfies. I've nowhere to go again. I keep getting the crying jags; I'm actually starting to get angry and I want to scream at him. Go to his house and just get one shot at him... either he'd deck me back or I'd still be offering, giving of myself. I still have that book, I still never told him that I know more than I let on to him. Parting shots that coil up waiting to deploy. Even though there was that stupid "agreement", it didn't mean that I could just be dropped. That he could just ABANDON me! The fucking, chicken-shit, jerk wad...

Mr. W. you are a cowardly, lurking asshole.

The grieving period that the loss of yet another chance at happiness comes on like an emotional low grade fever: it refuses to be shaken until it's burned through it's course. Coming to grips with romantic disappointment often just stops me in my tracks, I can't function. I'll just feel like crying and I just wallow in the misery. It's not like I had that many opportunities to prepare myself for it, I mean I actually spent most of my life thinking I'd never meet anyone who'd want to spend any time with me. As it is, I'll be preoccupied with the sadness, only to have it pass for awhile and then it sucker-punches me with renewed intensity.

I hate my life: I have the need to say it out loud when pain spins in my head. I hadn't had the need to say it for awhile though, what with the happy pills working pretty well. The close company with Mr. W. was restorative as well. But that's not working out anymore as he continues to fail me. Not a call, not an email - he wants to be gone and the way he is, he can't be reasoned with. I'm growing more resigned that there's not much more I can do but to give up. I offered him help, and I would have done what I can to help him in his situation, but I can't expect that he'll just take it. The person needs to want help after all and I can't reduce myself to begging. I just feel crushed.

When I went through it the first time with Mr. P. ; I worked through my days like a zombie, and I wept when I was alone, it was the first time I'd had hope to be lost. By never risking anything, I convinced myself that I'd be safer that way. It took me a year, to a year and a half to be gone of most of that disaster. That was a six month investment of time...I can only wait to find out how long this will take to clear.

"I'm too nice." That's the reason I'm given for why the person I want to see is pulling away.


I can't catch a break...


And YES, I know that's code for the infamous "He's just not into you" line of thought. I've already had that scenario done to death (Thank you very much, Mr. P.) Problem with that mole-ish modus operandi is that until the line actually spills into the relationship scene there's at least one person involved who's oblivious to the scent of blood in the water. Oh, sure there's always foreshadowing of trouble - a wrinkle in the brow over why a particular incident may have occurred. (The handshake offered versus a hug, the inattention to the things that matter to you) But then, isn't it excusable to overlook the personality flag warning(s) because you're still learning about the other person, that you don't know all their moods and behaviors?

Too forgiving, maybe. A doormat, probably.


If only I knew how to work the skill of being able to treat someone badly. How to follow through on the old wheeze of "you gotta treat someone rotten to have em stay near". As is, I start most times being nice and go straight to "I want to see you dead!" depending on how the interaction goes. No middle ground. I'd probably be too inconsistent in the application of the punishments and the rewards.


I've watched the TV reality show "COPS" a lot. The police respond to lots of domestic disputes where people of all types abuse each other; yet these shambling wrecks are still capable of being together with SOMEONE. I may not envy the total level of satisfaction in their lives, but goddamn, it makes me burn to consider the situation I'm personally in. Do I have to be in a drugged stupor to be able to have a someone to hold hands with? Consider the average, dour-faced couple you may have randomly glanced at: How did they actually first fit together? Was it their being together that made them clench up like dried figs? Packed when plump but conformed shaped to the one next to it in it's dehydrated end stage package.

"Good Mental Health" seems to be in all around short supply lately. Here I am dealing with my metabolic mild depression stuff issues and while still dealing with the day to day highs and lows, I'm also faced with a need for finding help for two friends: Ms. S with paranoia & paranoid delusions and Mr. W with OCD and drug addition. In comparison to my own troubles, both of them have way more immediate problems, than mine. So how is it that I'm the only one that even tried to get help? It's "Caregiver Gal" to the rescue again! Even though there's no thanks to it all whatsoever...and that'll probably trigger me down again.

In fact, after looking up all sorts of info regarding psychatric depts of local NY hospitals, it occurs to me to consider those in my immediate circle and review their behaviors: at least 75 percent of them have SOME kind of issue going on with them as well, and again, I'm the only one I know getting any kind of aknowledged treatment. Dad: raging manic-depressive, bi polar symptoms, Mom: neurotic clingyness, Oldest Sister: Fear of commitment, cold feet in a decades long engagement, Middle Sister: hostile alienation from the family, Sister-in-law: neurotic, OCD symptoms, Niece & Nephew: neurotic behaviors.

Am I really able to even joke that I'm crazy then, because in my little corner of Hell it seems to be par for the course behavior.

SO, I created a blog today. Too much of my angst building up in my head, so maybe spilling it out onto a web page will help ease the pressure.

Here's an image that I saved on the PC: I found it online and don't truly recall where it came from. I renamed it as "note on the street" and it probably came from my doing a simple search for "lonely" or "love". From time to time I open it up to ponder over it:

I remember reading some comments by other folks over the true meaning of the written phrase on the card - "Love you" where the word "you" has been underlined. Just what was the person intending to say when the note was written and how did it happen to be left in the street as it was? Was it just a casual scribble, or did the underlined emphasis of the word "you" have a deeper meaning? At times when I'm feeling down about my own lovelife, I look at the picture and wish that I had someone writing me love notes, but so far, not happening for me. I think of what it might feel like to have that special tingle of knowledge: my special person was /is thinking of me!

As for how it came to be in the street; was it lost or dropped by accident? Did the person miss it upon finding out it was gone, did they have a twinge of" Aw, shoot! I lost it!"? I feel envy that some people have so much love that they could bear to throw any proof of it's existence away.