davislove's ramblings

I used to love the taste of syrah.  It was flavorful and it had a gentle comforting burn as it went down.  It was all I had a taste for.  Then one day sauvignon blanc came along.  It was strong, refreshing and new.  The flavor aroused my senses and made me feel warm inside.  I fell in love with its flavor almost instantly.  I lost my taste for syrah and any other wine really.  But now the bottle is empty.  It’s been difficult for me to be open to others.  I’ve tried rose but it’s just not the same.  I know I can’t close myself off to experiencing other wines but my next bottle is going to have to be something pretty special.

 (in case you weren’t sure, wine = men)

This was originally written in November 2008 on my old blog site.  A song reminded me that I’m coming up on the 2nd anniversary of a major life change so I felt the need to repost here.:

I just experienced something very strange, very deep and emotional.  I suppose it’s been a long time coming.  I have been well aware that it was one year ago this week that I stopped holding my breath.  The day I finally opened my mouth and said, “I want to move out.”  The words that made my mouth drop as much as it did his.  I mean it when I say that I felt like I was speaking for the first time.  So much anger and resentment had built up and I stopped being afraid of what everyone else would think.  I decided to worry about me and my boys, a little late but……

I have been pretty happy this last year.  I have been spending so much more time with my friends than ever.  I have been doing lots of new things and meeting lots of new people.  I am learning as I go and I’m finding that things aren’t always easy.  But as this week approached, I joked with friends that it’s the anniversary of me telling him I was leaving.  Just one week before his birthday, happy birthday to him.  I started moving into my new apartment the day after Christmas and finished on my birthday, happy birthday to me!

But seriously, it was a big life change for me.  It’s nothing to joke about but I had no idea that it would hit me like this.  I was going through my old CDs and adding them to iTunes.  Yes, I still have CDs.  I grabbed an old CD by Sade called Promise.  After I finished adding it I decided to listen to it while doing dishes.   So when song 4 came on I just stopped what I was doing and turned it up.  I remembered that I used to listen to this song when things were bad with my ex.  It made me think of how the image I had of him when we met had been shattered.  He was not the man I had fallen in love with.  He was not the man who I felt safe with, the one who was supposed to love and protect me.  The song is appropriately named “You’re Not the Man.”  I used to listen to it, sing it, and cry to it at times.

So there I am in the kitchen, dish gloves dripping water and suds, singing this song.   About halfway through it burst into tears and I find myself sitting in the middle of the floor sobbing.  Not tears of sadness, not tears of happiness, just tears.  Lots of tears.  I don’t know, maybe they were tears of happiness to realize that there was a time I thought I would never get out and I actually did.  Or they could have been tears of sadness that I allowed myself to remain in a dysfunctional relationship for so long, to be verbally and emotionally abused among other things.  I think that it was a combination of the two.  He wasn’t all bad, had had his moments few and far between as they were.   We did have some good times.  What I find sad is that after 15 years I have not even one ounce of love for him.  Maybe one day I will find a way to forgive him.  Maybe that’s what I’m in the process of doing now.

I just wasn’t expecting this flood of emotion and tears.  I have to tell you, I don’t like it but I guess its part of healing.  Although my youngest had a hard time with the break-up I know that he sees it’s for the best now.  Our relationship has strengthened so much in this last year.  My oldest has always been the strong one.  When I was trying to put on a brave face for them he stepped in and let me know that he understood.  He looked me right in the eye and said the words.  I am so proud of my boys and I am so lucky to have them.  I am also lucky for all of the friends and family that were there for me when shit was going down.  Even though I went MIA for a period of time instead of dealing with things.  I completely shut down for months, a year almost, before I left him.  I didn’t talk to a lot of you for so long.  And you were all still there for me when the smoke finally cleared.   You all helped me find the strength to open my mouth and speak for the first time and I want to say thank you.  I mean that from the deepest part of my heart and soul.  I don’t think I could ever express the magnitude of the love and respect I have for all of you.

Always,

Davina

P.S.  Since I’ve written this I have realized that I never loved him.  We met, I got pregnant, we moved in together.  I tried to make the best of it.  And I know he never loved me.

Maybe one day I will know real love.  But for now I’m good.

Yesterday I said goodbye to my cat Bella.  She had been a part of my life for almost 16 years.  I had no idea I would be saying goodbye so soon.  Within less than 2 weeks it went from concern over weight loss to her not eating and losing partial use of her hind legs.  I had to make the decision to put her to rest.  It was difficult but I know it was the right thing to do.

I’m not going to write a long post here because I could go on for pages and pages about her and I don’t think I could handle it.  I just want to share a moment from yesterday that will make me smile and cry for years to come.

So my boys came to spend the last few hours with her.  We all kinda hung out in the kitchen where she was planted in front of her water dish.  She seemed disoriented.  She kept leaning down to her water but acted like she didn’t know how to drink.  My youngest kept leaving the room in tears.  My oldest wondered if she would respond to some tuna.  We gave it a try.  She perked right up, took a couple of bites and then drank some water.  We watched her for awhile then retreated to the living room to talk.

Bella had not been very active in the last two days and could only be found hovering over her water dish.  I’m not sure she had slept in her last 24 hours.  I had checked on her several times throughout the night and she hadn’t moved.   A few minutes after we left the kitchen she managed to walk into the middle of the living room and look at all of us as if to say, “Hey, what’s up guys?”  She then walked over to my oldest, let him scratch her chin for a minute.  She came to give me a little nudge then over to my youngest who couldn’t bear to pet her.  She gave him one of her silent meows.  Then she went back to the middle of the living room and just looked at us all for a minute then walked into the dining room and laid down.

It was as if she mustered up every last bit of energy for the boys.  Like she knew this was the last time she would see them.

Bella, I love you.

Maybe it’s the fact that I’m ovulating, maybe it’s the Riesling.  Either way my emotions are fucking crazy right now.  I keep feeling like I’m longing for something that I swore to myself I didn’t want or need.  I began to feel like I had betrayed myself.  Why do I want something?  Why?  Didn’t I have enough pain for 15 years?  Why would I want to go through that again.  I don’t have time to throw any more years out the window.

Then I realized that I’m not longing for what I once had.  I’ve become painfully aware that I don’t know what a healthy adult relationship is like.  I have no fucking idea.  I robbed myself of any decent memories.  And now I’m so afraid to give myself to anyone because I always think it’s going to end up like the last one.  And the only one that I might even consider giving a chance to, if he wanted it,  is out of my reach.

I liked life much better when my heart was cold and dark.

(draft written in May)

I wrote this in three parts.  Mainly because I wasn’t sure I wanted to even write about it and it’s a part of my life that I’ve always avoided addressing.  It’s hard for me to stick to the point because whenever I start thinking about the past, memories and emotions start running through my head in such a random order.  It becomes a bit overwhelming.

May 9th:

Day 2 into my mother’s visit.  Things are going smoothly so far but we still have a week to go.  This is the first time my mother has stayed with me since I’ve been on my own.

Today we are going to drive for 3 and a half hours to see my brother.  He is in a minimum security prison.  He has been there for a little over 16 years now.  It’s a long story why he is there, with an even longer rap sheet. The thing is I’m really not looking forward to the visit.  To begin with I haven’t talked to my brother in about 3 years.  He and I had a little falling out.  So it will be a little uncomfortable.  Not to mention, this will be the first time that the three of us will be in the same room since I was 14.

My brother is the product of a childhood that lacked both parents.  My mother is a recovering addict.  She is almost 12 years clean and sober now.  His dad lived in Southern California, where we were both born.  When my mom first got into drugs, my oldest brother said fuck this and went back to California to live with their dad.

With my mom off in her own little world, my brother had free reign.  He came and went as he pleased, had parties at the house.   Long story short, he too got into drugs, dropped out of high school and never looked back.   In my mother’s eyes, he could do no wrong.  I think she felt so guilty of the state she was in that she didn’t dare say a word to my him.  I remember how jealous I was of their relationship.

So  I’m going to this fucking miserable place to see my brother.   A place that I first went to ten years ago and swore I’d never go back again.  Maybe I watched too many episodes of Oz at one point but the whole atmosphere in there is dark and depressing.  I mean I am loathing the thought of spending my entire weekend traveling 150 miles for this, only to stay in a hotel and get up and walk back in there on Sunday, Mother’s Day.  I’m doing this for her.  I guess it won’t kill me to do something nice for her.

On a lighter note, I’m thinking of wearing something special.  Something ill-fitting, something that says frumpy & dumpy.  Maybe I should go to a sporting goods store and get some of that elk urine that hunters use.  You know, to throw them off my scent.  I really don’t want to walk in there feeling like a lamb among lions.  Who knows how long it’s been since some of them have seen a real live woman.

I’ll take any suggestions you might have.  Heh.

May 11th:

I wrote this on Saturday morning but didn’t want to post it.  It is now Monday and I have a different view on the trip now that it’s done.

I feel a little guilty for bitching and moaning about this.  Although my brother got himself in his own mess, I still love him.  I feel that I abandon him a little by not staying in touch.  He and I were very close as kids and when my mom fell apart and my oldest brother left, he took on the role as father figure even though he was just a child himself.  When he got into drugs I felt that he betrayed me.  I was very resentful of him.  Especially when he would lecture me on how I should feel about our mother, he was always defending her.

Anyway, back to my point.  The last time I went to visit him he was in maximum security.  We were were ushered between buildings through chain link covered walkways with razor-wire above us.  It was all very scary to me.  The visiting are was a room the size of a gymnasium with rows and rows of chairs.  We were among several inmates.  That is what I was anticipating for this visit.  I was pleasantly surprised that he had been moved to minimum security.  No walking through a labyrinth of scariness.  We just walked into what looked like the lobby of a doctor’s office and to the right is a “waiting room” area which was actually the visiting area.  Very small and personal.  In fact we had the whole room to ourselves for 3 hours.

But to get back to the tension.  My mom and I sat there waiting for him.  I’m nervous and anxious.  I hear the door open and turn to see my brother with this huge smile.  Immediately the tension and the bitchiness I had for being there disappeared.  I got up to hug him, which had to be brief, and we both just started crying.  I thought to myself, how dare I bitch about one single visit in 10 years.  What I thought would feel like a “Jerry Springer” moment turned out to be a nice visit.  There were a few more emotional moments and tension that I felt the need to alleviate by playing mediator but all in all it was good visit.

May 24:

I wrote this two weeks ago.  For some reason I have a hard time facing this part of my life.  Talking about my brother brings up the past with my mother more than actually being around my mother does.  I don’t understand it at all.  I’ve let go of the anger and resentment towards my mom.  When I have a moment of reflection on all that went on back then, I don’t blame her.  To me they are two different people, my mom then and the woman I know now.  As for my brother, I have no reason to hold anger towards him.  I think I just have a hard time with him because he’s a huge reminder of all the bullshit growing up.

During our visit I promised that I’d keep in touch.  It’s been two weeks and I still have yet to write him.  What the fuck is wrong with me?  How hard is it to jot a few lines?  This should be easier than sitting awkwardly across from him in a friggen prison right?

It’s hard for me to admit to myself that this is difficult, being alone.  I chose this for myself.  So why does it make me sad?  People ask me, well men ask me why I’m alone.  They say guys should be knocking at my door.  It’s definitely not that men are scarce in these parts.  My faith and trust in others has been crushed.  I keep men away because I don’t believe much of what comes out of their mouths.

But I am a woman and I am human.  I have needs and wants just like everyone else.  I have people that I am in touch with.  Yes, people I’ve met via the internet.  *gasps*  People that are far away.  I think it’s safer that way.  It keeps me from the danger of falling for someone.  Their words are comforting and I look forward to these conversations.  But even this can be tricky.  Eventually you come to rely on the comfort of those words and you start to want more.  The fact that it’s out of reach becomes frustrating but I know better.  I want more than words.  But words are all I can handle at the moment.

WORDS

He spoke and she was content, if only for a moment. 

She felt his words upon her. 

She wanted him to read every inch of her.

She had a story to tell.