I lay on my bed in a daze and glaze downward to view the sparkling ring that is placed on my left hand's ring finger. I twirl it around with my thumb and forefinger of the other hand to view it's entirety. A hand-me-down ring, or what I tell people an "air-loom" because it sounds better. The 1.5 carot jewel sparkles in between six twinkling baguettes that lie on each side of the platinum setting. When I recieved this gorgeous piece of hardware I could barely fit it on my pudgy finger. Now it easily slides from side to side and I am amazed it still can sit on my finger. I think about getting it resized but have put it off until it can no longer stay in place, a sign that I have gotten considerably thinner. I am not thin enough yet. I will get thin so it would be a waste of money to get it resized now.
Our engagement has been nothing but the typical traditional cliche. The one in which the man slowly gets down on one knee, in the midst of glowing candlelight, and tells his lover that there is nobody else in the world that can amount to the beauty that she holds. He is the luckiest man on earth to have found her, that he is the one who thanks God everyday that he found her. That she completes him and wants nothing more but to spend the rest of his life with her. Then, finally pulling the soft covered box from the pocket of his slacks, brings it to the front of him and opens it with one hand as the box is centered directly in the palm of the other. The words "will you marry me" come from his lips softly as he holds back emotional tears because he had just poured his heart out to her. Then she, standing directly in front of him in her little dress, puts her hands to her mouth as she loudly says "YES!" He rises to the floor and they embrace and cry in each others arms.
There was no perfect moment, no fairytale story to describe the beginning scenario of our engagement. It was fourth of july, two years ago, and James and I went to see a display of fireworks in the parking lot of the Meridian Mall in Okemos. We found the perfect parking place, toward the back by the tiny and ancient movie theater. We were sitting in the back of his truck, cuddling under the open sky with a blanket over our legs, our backs pressed up against the side of the bed. The fireworks began as they were shot up over the open field across from the parking lot. I had never seen fireworks so spectacular in my life. They were straight over our heads, even some of the ashes fell onto the ground beneath us. I kept thinking to myself, in this moment of pure bliss, that this would be the perfect moment for a romantic proposal. I sat there, waiting for the fairy tale that would never come.
On the way back home, my heart sunken, James looks over to me and tells me "that would of been a good moment to propose." Funny how things work out, I thought the same thing. We decided, on the way home, that we would get married. We could just tell everybody that there was the fairy tale story. It would be fine. Until now, when I keep thinking that I should have waited. I shouldn't of settled for nothing less than my story-book ending. Is there a story-book ending like in Cinderella? I am finally realizing, in my mid-twenties, that it may not exist.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
A few weeks ago, James and I attended a homeowners counseling class. It was more like a one-on-one meeting through a nonprofit organization which describes the process of buying a home. Three hours of talking money, credit, and government programs later we decided to go to lunch. While driving we went from casual conversation about our "top five list," suggested by the counselor, which includes one's priority characteristics that the house should have. We agreed on a nice neighborhood, fenced in yard, garage, and so on. As we got near the restaurant parking lot, the light and fluffy discussion concerning our dream house (and life) dramatically transformed into a brawl over money.
It all started when we stopped in the parking lot, ready to get out of the car. After a frustrating conversation about what to include as income and debt, I felt a knot of pent up hostility starting to unravel.
"Maybe we shouldn't do this then...just keep living at your parents house forever," I said in a sarcastic tone. As he gets up I feel a huge sense of remorse as he replies with "oh shut up!" That was it, any feeling of regret was washed away as I was overcome with rage. Fuck you! I don't need you...I am too good for you...go to hell!
Although there were numerous blows to each other's egos, the most evocative came as we were walking toward the door. "What do you have to show for yourself? At least I have a degree," I replied after he told me that I can't pay for anything.
After flashing my degree in his face, like a five foot tall gold trophy, he came back at me with another sly remark. It was something along the lines of: yeah and look what good that's done.
Inside I was laughing the comment off, it was just another ignorant comment coming from a uneducated farm boy who didn't know how the world works. However, after lunch while driving home, I was hit with devastation from the remarks impact as a fly slamming against a semi-truck on the highway. I was struck, not knowing the repercussions, oblivious to the pain that will result. To think that the work I've done the past four years, work that absorbed my life, was somehow worthless.
When we arrived back at my apartment, James stayed approximately two minutes before he leaves. In the dark to where he was going, my heart racing, I spring for the slider door and I see him walking towards his blue Dodge truck. "Where are you going?" I yelled frantically. He turned around briefly and replied "for a drive!"
Oh great Melissa! Way to drive him away!
The moment I saw him drive out into the distance I could feel the heavy beating of my heart as I was thinking of the worst possible scenario. James has never done something like this before...I must have gone too far this time.
I scurried to my bedroom and quickly pick up my cell phone, dialing his number. I must have called at least five times with no answer. "Please don't leave me...I'm sorry...please come back." As I am speaking the words to the voice message box, I came to a conclusion: I have an overwhelming fear of abandonment.
I finally get a hold of James thirty minutes later and he tells me that he was at the store and would be back shortly. After desperately telling him to come back, he tells me that he just needed to clear is head. When he gets back to my apartment, we both reach for an embrace as my heart finally begins to maintain a steady pace. He did not leave me for very long, nor do I believe he would truly leave without a trace. However, there still lies an underlying fear that he will eventually disappear from my life.
It all started when we stopped in the parking lot, ready to get out of the car. After a frustrating conversation about what to include as income and debt, I felt a knot of pent up hostility starting to unravel.
"Maybe we shouldn't do this then...just keep living at your parents house forever," I said in a sarcastic tone. As he gets up I feel a huge sense of remorse as he replies with "oh shut up!" That was it, any feeling of regret was washed away as I was overcome with rage. Fuck you! I don't need you...I am too good for you...go to hell!
Although there were numerous blows to each other's egos, the most evocative came as we were walking toward the door. "What do you have to show for yourself? At least I have a degree," I replied after he told me that I can't pay for anything.
After flashing my degree in his face, like a five foot tall gold trophy, he came back at me with another sly remark. It was something along the lines of: yeah and look what good that's done.
Inside I was laughing the comment off, it was just another ignorant comment coming from a uneducated farm boy who didn't know how the world works. However, after lunch while driving home, I was hit with devastation from the remarks impact as a fly slamming against a semi-truck on the highway. I was struck, not knowing the repercussions, oblivious to the pain that will result. To think that the work I've done the past four years, work that absorbed my life, was somehow worthless.
When we arrived back at my apartment, James stayed approximately two minutes before he leaves. In the dark to where he was going, my heart racing, I spring for the slider door and I see him walking towards his blue Dodge truck. "Where are you going?" I yelled frantically. He turned around briefly and replied "for a drive!"
Oh great Melissa! Way to drive him away!
The moment I saw him drive out into the distance I could feel the heavy beating of my heart as I was thinking of the worst possible scenario. James has never done something like this before...I must have gone too far this time.
I scurried to my bedroom and quickly pick up my cell phone, dialing his number. I must have called at least five times with no answer. "Please don't leave me...I'm sorry...please come back." As I am speaking the words to the voice message box, I came to a conclusion: I have an overwhelming fear of abandonment.
I finally get a hold of James thirty minutes later and he tells me that he was at the store and would be back shortly. After desperately telling him to come back, he tells me that he just needed to clear is head. When he gets back to my apartment, we both reach for an embrace as my heart finally begins to maintain a steady pace. He did not leave me for very long, nor do I believe he would truly leave without a trace. However, there still lies an underlying fear that he will eventually disappear from my life.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Evolving Friendships and Emotional Breakdowns: Part I
I was driving back home from my co-worker Danielle's apartment when the tears that had been held back progressively began to flow similar to the rain currently hitting the windshield. I had received a call the evening before and Danielle implored me to take her overnight shift. After inquiring about what was going on, she told me that she was having mental breakdown. I told her that I had no problem taking the shift (I desperately needed the money), and I attempted to empathize with her in an effort to process her feelings. I heard the panic tone in her voice and I say, "Danielle, it sounds like you are feeling really devastated." In an effort to help her to calm down, telling her to take deep breaths, it didn't have the effect I eagerly hoped.
"It's more than that," she responded while sobbing. She continued to tell me that she could barely breathe and would call me later. After graciously thanking me, the phone call ended, and I felt extreme concern. I knew from previous conversations that her fiance and her were having relationship problems. Several nights I would stay over my shift to support her after she came into work in tears over his cruel remarks and often tempered demeanor. After all, I've had some personal experiences with emotionally abusive men.
My once strictly co-worker relationship with Danielle, a single mother in her early thirties, had evolved into a genuine friendship over the past several months. We had gradually developed a trusting bond enabling the disclosure of innermost feelings, which is extremely difficult for me to express. I have always been apprehensive in forming new friendships, since I have had a few heartbreaking escapades. The reason for friendship, I believe, is to establish a trusting environment essential for the communication of personal experiences, emotions, and beliefs. It is when two people connect in a way that when one person shares their emotions, either positive or negative, the other is there to listen and provide support regardless of personal differences.
When a friend, of whom this type of relationship is established, is in crisis I tend to overextend myself in order to provide whatever support I can. When they are in agony I feel pain. When they experience heartache I experience sorrow. This is exactly what happened today, after being awake for 24 hours. She was definitely in crisis and I needed to be there. No matter what the emotional cost to the self was.
"It's more than that," she responded while sobbing. She continued to tell me that she could barely breathe and would call me later. After graciously thanking me, the phone call ended, and I felt extreme concern. I knew from previous conversations that her fiance and her were having relationship problems. Several nights I would stay over my shift to support her after she came into work in tears over his cruel remarks and often tempered demeanor. After all, I've had some personal experiences with emotionally abusive men.
My once strictly co-worker relationship with Danielle, a single mother in her early thirties, had evolved into a genuine friendship over the past several months. We had gradually developed a trusting bond enabling the disclosure of innermost feelings, which is extremely difficult for me to express. I have always been apprehensive in forming new friendships, since I have had a few heartbreaking escapades. The reason for friendship, I believe, is to establish a trusting environment essential for the communication of personal experiences, emotions, and beliefs. It is when two people connect in a way that when one person shares their emotions, either positive or negative, the other is there to listen and provide support regardless of personal differences.
When a friend, of whom this type of relationship is established, is in crisis I tend to overextend myself in order to provide whatever support I can. When they are in agony I feel pain. When they experience heartache I experience sorrow. This is exactly what happened today, after being awake for 24 hours. She was definitely in crisis and I needed to be there. No matter what the emotional cost to the self was.
Evolving Friendships and Emotional Breakdowns: Part II
After work, when I called Danielle to ask her if she wanted to get out and have breakfast, she eagerly replied with a yes. Alright, this is good. Listen to your body. You are hungry. You haven't eaten in hours. Eat something small, boost the metabolism. I met her at her apartment around 8:30 and shortly after we went to an inexpensive restaurant called "Jackies."
In a more run-down part of Lansing, the quality of the four dollar meal was irrelavant compared to the discussions. The conversation was rather light. We chatted about work, families, and other non-emotional topics as I leisurely picked at my meal. My stomach, confused my the unsteady eating patterns, felt completely full (to the point of sick) after only two bites of food. I finally push my plate off to the side and light up a cigarette in an attempt to settle my stomach. "Your done?" Danielle asks me as though I had ate a feast prior to our get-together. I told her that during long periods of staying awake and little sleep (also the constant doses of Adderall mixed with sugar-free Redbull) caused suppressed appetite. Excuses, excuses...
On the way home she asked me if I wanted to come up for awhile, and I agreed while taking the last puff of my cigarette. As we made our way into the dusky apartment we both sat on the soft silver-gray couch, with one leg noticeably scratched by her son's cat. The apartment was small, however, decorated with dainty and tasteful furniture along with numerous family pictures characteristic of many family homes. The shades were comprised of a blood-red pigment and had been pulled closed, yet still able to allow the gloominess daylight to seep through. The coffee table, situated in front of the sofa, had several lit candles producing a sweet yet relaxing fragrance along with a black bowl that was used as a receptacle for the copious amount of cigarette remnants.
As we started to get comfortable, Danielle stated that she was starting to feel anxious and I observe through the expression on her face that she was about to crash. Since both of us had been awake the entire night, there was little to hold back the raw emotion that was about to explode. The conflicts once propelled deep down into the soul were about to regurgitate; you are unable to control them anymore, like an inevitable eruption of scorching lava from the volcano's brittle crust.
In a more run-down part of Lansing, the quality of the four dollar meal was irrelavant compared to the discussions. The conversation was rather light. We chatted about work, families, and other non-emotional topics as I leisurely picked at my meal. My stomach, confused my the unsteady eating patterns, felt completely full (to the point of sick) after only two bites of food. I finally push my plate off to the side and light up a cigarette in an attempt to settle my stomach. "Your done?" Danielle asks me as though I had ate a feast prior to our get-together. I told her that during long periods of staying awake and little sleep (also the constant doses of Adderall mixed with sugar-free Redbull) caused suppressed appetite. Excuses, excuses...
On the way home she asked me if I wanted to come up for awhile, and I agreed while taking the last puff of my cigarette. As we made our way into the dusky apartment we both sat on the soft silver-gray couch, with one leg noticeably scratched by her son's cat. The apartment was small, however, decorated with dainty and tasteful furniture along with numerous family pictures characteristic of many family homes. The shades were comprised of a blood-red pigment and had been pulled closed, yet still able to allow the gloominess daylight to seep through. The coffee table, situated in front of the sofa, had several lit candles producing a sweet yet relaxing fragrance along with a black bowl that was used as a receptacle for the copious amount of cigarette remnants.
As we started to get comfortable, Danielle stated that she was starting to feel anxious and I observe through the expression on her face that she was about to crash. Since both of us had been awake the entire night, there was little to hold back the raw emotion that was about to explode. The conflicts once propelled deep down into the soul were about to regurgitate; you are unable to control them anymore, like an inevitable eruption of scorching lava from the volcano's brittle crust.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Evolving Friendships and Emotional Breakdowns: Part III
As I walked out the door to my car, the rain was rapidly descending downward, and began to accompany the quick beating of my heart as though it could jolt straight through my chest. I no longer had to maintain composure for Danielle. I was alone, able to freely process the triggering flashbacks that I had flashed in my mind before. Breathe Melissa....You are so lucky....You have a man that loves you and isn't emotionally damaging... Upon maintaining a sense of self-control I decided that I needed to tell James what I was feeling. As I dialed his number, all of the words began to jumble in my brain. He answers the phone and we say are traditional hellos. I finally gather enough strength to speak in a full tone of voice, "I called to tell you something...Can I be honest with you?"
He replied, "yeah..." in a puzzled tone.
I instantly felt my breath halt, I was getting short of breath. Stop Melissa...just say it...
"I just wanted to tell you that I really wish there were more men like you in this world," I finally disclosed.
There was, for what felt like a ten minute pause, when he finally retorted with, "Why?"
"Because of the way you treat me...the way you support me..." I start to cry. "I love you so much and I feel so lucky to have to you in my life."
Another "ten-minute" pause. Finally, I asked if he was still there, thinking that maybe the line was cut off instead of a lack of gratitude.
He proceeds to tell me that he is watching the TV show, Family Guy, and started to explain what was happening. I didn't feel angry. I didn't feel grief. I simply felt disappointed. Disappointed that he still doesn't have a sense of self-worth even though he is one of the most wonderful people in this world.
He replied, "yeah..." in a puzzled tone.
I instantly felt my breath halt, I was getting short of breath. Stop Melissa...just say it...
"I just wanted to tell you that I really wish there were more men like you in this world," I finally disclosed.
There was, for what felt like a ten minute pause, when he finally retorted with, "Why?"
"Because of the way you treat me...the way you support me..." I start to cry. "I love you so much and I feel so lucky to have to you in my life."
Another "ten-minute" pause. Finally, I asked if he was still there, thinking that maybe the line was cut off instead of a lack of gratitude.
He proceeds to tell me that he is watching the TV show, Family Guy, and started to explain what was happening. I didn't feel angry. I didn't feel grief. I simply felt disappointed. Disappointed that he still doesn't have a sense of self-worth even though he is one of the most wonderful people in this world.
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