Sick of My Sadness?.....Too Bad

Who is this woman that can spend half a day sobbing and rubbing her chest because of the white hot pain around her heart, and then spend the evening laughing her ass off playing Egyptian Rat Screw and Spit, yelling in her worst French accent about possums doing 69? Who is this creature that wakes up with an ego hangover from her cackling laugh and raunchy jokes, yet she is still aching for her man?

Is this what I have become?

Yesterday I emailed my man: The thought of allowing someone to get to know me again just seems exhausting. I wish I could just hand out a pamphlet.

Then later after I hadn't heard from him: So I think the silent treatment is the best way to go, even though I don't like it and I have been a sobbing mess again thinking of you with a new woman in your bed or just a heart that doesn't include me in it.

But I know that the silent treatment is the only way I'm going to let you go. Which is what I was trying to say with that ridiculous email I sent earlier. I can't entertain the thought of anyone else because all I want is you. I don't want to get to know anyone else, because really, what is the point? My heart is full of you.

So I just wanted to thank you for the silent treatment and ask you to keep it up. Because then maybe I'll finally be able to let this go.

(It's okay, Dear Reader. You don't have to be embarrassed for me. I get it, this is bad! I have flashbacks  of me at Dead President Junior High sending notes from my Trapper Keeper to Poor Boy Whom I Could Not Stop Obsessing Over).

My Sweet Escape Past Tense called me at midnight and said, "You're killing me baby. I can't stand it that you're so upset." 

"I know I'm being crazy."

He laughed, "I know, you're always crazy."

"But I only let you know how much." I sobbed. It was all very pitiful and ego crushing. We got off the phone soon after. This break-up is a good, and we're sticking to it. It just friggin' SUCKS.  I was slightly comforted by the fact that he thinks it sucks too.

After the wusband left I gave him 2 weeks to get his shit together. Once the two weeks were up I moved on. I was bitter, and angry, but I was done for good. There was no chance for reconciliation after that brief period. I'm am not used to what has happened to me with my man these days. This inability to let go of a person. This unwillingness to move on. 

The hypnotherapist I saw (she helped me quit smoking - 4 weeks ago. Yee-Haw) said numerologically or astrologically (I can't remember which) that I was in the mid-life crisis stage. I laughed and said, "No shit."

Instead of a sports car I got a phoenix tattoo. A phoenix which represents female to cover up the dragon I've had since I was 18. The dragon represents male. Hmmmmm, is there a cosmic message there?



Dictionary.com defines a mid-life crisis as:
noun
-a crisis that may be experienced in middle age involving frustration, panic, and feelings of pointlessness, sometimes resulting in radical and often ill-advised changes of lifestyle. 
This was my prayer last night, after the phone conversation with my Sweet Escape Past Tense:

Dear Committee, It has been one month, please don't let this breakup follow the rule that it takes 1/2 the time together to get over someone. That would be 10 months and I just can't take this this crazy woman who has possessed my soul.

But I really don't mean it, because though I am in so much pain, I can feel the changes coming and that is exciting. The other day I made a short list in my prayer journal.

Dear Committee, This is what I think your telling me 1.)*********, 2.)**********, 3.)************,  Let me know if I'm off track. 

So far so good. They haven't sent word back that I'm making all these insights up.

Don Corleone wasn't afraid to show sorrow and grief, but he did fear weakness. He feared that if he showed the slightest sign of weakness he would be immediately taken advantage of, immediately overthrown. Recently I have been worried that I haven't been funny enough on my blog the past few posts. That I might be dragging the reader down with all this talk of break ups and crying and crazy. BUT.....

I think that has been my fear for too long. My fear of being seen as weak has caused me to wind myself tighter and tighter, until I feel like my ability to experience the joys and magic of life has been dulled. I'm not saying that anyone who knows me sees a sane and put together person. I mean, I am still me, but I hate to be seen as weak and vulnerable. I have had this intense fear that if I show my weakness my beasts will be ruined, my friends will judge, my mother will worry, my readers will stop reading, and everyone will KNOW (KNOW what?..... I'm not exactly sure).

I'm sharing this with hundreds of people I don't know
and about 50 I do.  SURPRISE, I'm nuts!

If you don't recognize this Queenpin in the pages of this blog anymore it's because I'm following the example of the newest member of The Committee, Akhilandeshvari. I'm breaking this Queenpin up so I can form into something more beautiful. 

Duct tape butterfly - tee hee

Plus I'm having so much fisery (fun and misery) during this AFGO that I've just decided that I'm gonna bring ya'll along for the ride. If you get sick of the vulnerable spilling of my heart's contents all over this blog, if you can't take the cringe-y feeling you get when you read my sad emails to my man, then move on, Sistahs (and brother).  Because writing this out is part of the process. Every Gangsta's got her breaking point, Queenpin's getting ready to get finger paint messy.