I dated Andy when I was in my early 20's. He was the stunning door guy at the trendy local bar and if only I had known then the man Andy would become...well, I wouldn't have been so quick to kick him to the curb!
Fast forward about 15 years and Andy is still just as hot. And he's crazy successful. He works a sexy high powered job, traveling the world protecting important world leaders from would-be harm. HOT!
Andy came into town a month or so ago to visit old friends and I was one of the lucky gals to make his 'to do' list. His arrival managed to further infuriate the now-ex, as it turns out that seething jealousy doesn't mix so well with pure crazy. Andy was one of the reasons the relationship ultimately ended. Not because anything happened, but because I finally realized I was tired of being accused of touching my hair too often, pursing my lips too much, and making 'google' eyes at every man he perceived to be better looking than him. So, I dumped him. Right in the middle of Andy's visit. PERFECT timing (insert sexy lady cat roar here).
Andy felt oh so sorry for me following the break up that he invited me to his friend's house for a little pool party and a few cocktails. And well, in my delicate state I simply had no strength to say no! OK fine, the guy was hot and seeing him even half naked sounded like a fucking fantastic idea!!
As the party wound down Andy and I were 2 out of 4 of the last real men standing. Someone suggested we hop into the hot tub. Well, OK! So there I sat...a freshly single girl in a bubbling hot tub with 3 gorgeously intoxicated men and a sexy new push-up bikini that purposefully matches my baby blues. Oh. YES!
We proceeded to do what any group of great looking, tipsy, partially nude adults would do...we started discussing children.
Yup.
Kids.
Two of these men were married fathers and wanted to know why Andy hadn't taken the plunge just yet. Andy lamented a very sad tale of how his job had taken him all over the world and after two failed engagements, he was devastated that he hadn't settled down. His friends then spent the next 20 or so minutes admonishing Andy for not making time for such things. I mean, didn't he realize he was pushing 40? Didn't he know that the women he would be dating might be past the POINT of being able to HAVE kids? Wasn't he aware that a woman's uterus shriveled up at the age of 35 and that if, by miracle, she was to actually GET pregnant that the child would be screwed up for life?
OK, I'm exaggerating...they didn't actually say those last things, but that must have been what I heard in my head because the next thing I knew it was 3 gorgeous men in a hot tub, a bevy of cocktails, and me...
Doing the ugly cry.
Holy. Shit. I. Could. Not. Stop.
Have you ever wondered how fast 3 men can remove themselves from a hot tub? Really fucking fast.
So, that was it. The exact moment I knew I was (and am) seriously fucked up.
In case you're wondering, I have actually heard from Andy once since then. He called to recommend a book about how to deal with your grief when life doesn't turn out the way you want it to.
As of last night...I'm a third of the way through it.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
The Journey to a New ME
The journey to a new 'me' began a little over two years ago. I was living in Florida and found myself one February afternoon staring into my crystal blue pool in the back of my 5 bedroom mansion that sat on a lush conservation. In my head I was calculating the exact temperature the pool would need to be for me to 'fall' in, fully clothed, and die from hypothermia.
A month later I awoke in the fetal position on my living room floor. I hadn't moved for hours and had stained the carpet with mascara riddled tears.
It was time to find a therapist.
I remember the first time I said it out loud. "My husband won't touch me".
"I don't get it" said the therapist.
So I repeated myself.
"You mean, hypothetically right? Is it that you don't have the level of affection you desire?"
Me: "That. And the fact that my HUSBAND WON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!!"
No one got it. We were young. We were beautiful. We were successful. We were oh so in love. It took me over a year from that initial therapy session to finally utter the words..."I want a divorce." At that point we had been married 4 years...it had been 2 1/2 since he had so much as kissed me.
A year, and 7 months of couple's counseling later, I loaded my car and headed home to Texas.
OK. Let me stop here.
Clearly, this is a very abbreviated version of a very long story that includes immense hurt, disappointment, questions, and mental breakdowns. I figure those stories will come out in bits and pieces as this blog progresses...for now I'm keeping it simple.
The day I left I remember calling my best friend on the phone and telling her that I was going to do divorce 'right'. I wasn't going to do any of those cliche divorced chick things....like run into the arms of the first man that looks at me...or develop a fear of dying alone...or sit around and scream and cry about how unfair life was and how I never had the children I so longed to have. Nope. Not me. I was doing this right. Yup. Right!
It took a whole 4 months for me to run, head over heels, straight into Mr. Wrong. For a year I let him control me, verbally abuse me, harass me, unleash his demons on me...all because "at least he's nothing like my Ex!"
It took several girlfriends and a final, physically abusive moment to snap me into reality. What the fuck was I doing with my life? Who the hell had I become? I knew who I was deep down...but I had spent my entire life conforming to whichever man I was with. For my husband I was Pollyanna, the perfect housewife. For the boyfriend I was meek and apologetic. It was a pattern I had relived for 20 years with at least a dozen different men.
It was time...no, it IS time to stop the pattern. Someone very near and dear to my heart sat me down recently and asked why I continue to hide behind a shell of positivity and perfection? The last year of my life has been shit. Not just the divorce, not just the bone-crushing breakup...there was also the breast cancer scare...the death of my niece...the passing of my one true love- my little 9 lb dog. Seriously, this year has been crap! And the damnedest thing of all is that I bet your year has been crap too! So WHAT THE FUCK?! What do I do now?
I blog.
This is my therapy. My outlet. My way to work through the bullshit and find the real ME I've long since buried.
You know what? I'm funny. Really fucking funny...and almost no one knows that. I can be mean as hell and perfectly judgmental too. So, I'm going to be.
And maybe, just maybe, by joining me on this journey...you can learn something about you too. And if not? Fuck it! This is my therapy...not yours.
Now you may be wondering..."Why the ghost name? If this is the new you, why not put it all out there?" Well, I'm an actor. And my career depends on me being the 'nice girl'. I'm not famous, but I do have my own small following...and many of the people I'll be writing about have to protect their images as well. So, this blog will be all about the real ME...without the risk of losing my livelihood. I hope you will all understand.
OK. Enough of the shit. Let's blog!!
A month later I awoke in the fetal position on my living room floor. I hadn't moved for hours and had stained the carpet with mascara riddled tears.
It was time to find a therapist.
I remember the first time I said it out loud. "My husband won't touch me".
"I don't get it" said the therapist.
So I repeated myself.
"You mean, hypothetically right? Is it that you don't have the level of affection you desire?"
Me: "That. And the fact that my HUSBAND WON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!!"
No one got it. We were young. We were beautiful. We were successful. We were oh so in love. It took me over a year from that initial therapy session to finally utter the words..."I want a divorce." At that point we had been married 4 years...it had been 2 1/2 since he had so much as kissed me.
A year, and 7 months of couple's counseling later, I loaded my car and headed home to Texas.
OK. Let me stop here.
Clearly, this is a very abbreviated version of a very long story that includes immense hurt, disappointment, questions, and mental breakdowns. I figure those stories will come out in bits and pieces as this blog progresses...for now I'm keeping it simple.
The day I left I remember calling my best friend on the phone and telling her that I was going to do divorce 'right'. I wasn't going to do any of those cliche divorced chick things....like run into the arms of the first man that looks at me...or develop a fear of dying alone...or sit around and scream and cry about how unfair life was and how I never had the children I so longed to have. Nope. Not me. I was doing this right. Yup. Right!
It took a whole 4 months for me to run, head over heels, straight into Mr. Wrong. For a year I let him control me, verbally abuse me, harass me, unleash his demons on me...all because "at least he's nothing like my Ex!"
It took several girlfriends and a final, physically abusive moment to snap me into reality. What the fuck was I doing with my life? Who the hell had I become? I knew who I was deep down...but I had spent my entire life conforming to whichever man I was with. For my husband I was Pollyanna, the perfect housewife. For the boyfriend I was meek and apologetic. It was a pattern I had relived for 20 years with at least a dozen different men.
It was time...no, it IS time to stop the pattern. Someone very near and dear to my heart sat me down recently and asked why I continue to hide behind a shell of positivity and perfection? The last year of my life has been shit. Not just the divorce, not just the bone-crushing breakup...there was also the breast cancer scare...the death of my niece...the passing of my one true love- my little 9 lb dog. Seriously, this year has been crap! And the damnedest thing of all is that I bet your year has been crap too! So WHAT THE FUCK?! What do I do now?
I blog.
This is my therapy. My outlet. My way to work through the bullshit and find the real ME I've long since buried.
You know what? I'm funny. Really fucking funny...and almost no one knows that. I can be mean as hell and perfectly judgmental too. So, I'm going to be.
And maybe, just maybe, by joining me on this journey...you can learn something about you too. And if not? Fuck it! This is my therapy...not yours.
Now you may be wondering..."Why the ghost name? If this is the new you, why not put it all out there?" Well, I'm an actor. And my career depends on me being the 'nice girl'. I'm not famous, but I do have my own small following...and many of the people I'll be writing about have to protect their images as well. So, this blog will be all about the real ME...without the risk of losing my livelihood. I hope you will all understand.
OK. Enough of the shit. Let's blog!!
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