Out With the Old, In With the New

I’ve always been a relationship girl. It’s kind of a huge issue. For the past decade, I’ve been in back-to-back long-term relationships. Most of them were good but boring, while a few were straight up toxic love kind of romances. I had about one or two well-balanced relationships where we could have gotten married, but I dipped when things started to stagnate. Since my freshman year college, the longest I’ve been single was for 3 months.

It’s almost like it’s impossible for me to be truly alone. Anyone who knows we well enough knows this all too well. With that being said, no one was really surprised that by the time I moved back to SF after being “single” for a month and a half, I was already talking to two dudes.

One dude was Officer Cheddar, and the other dude was Ronny. For the past couple weeks, I had already been chatting with Ronny almost everyday. He kept saying things like how we should meet up now that I’m finally back in town. Honestly, I wanted to because I liked him.. but for more obvious reasons, I mostly didn’t want to. I mentioned this several times already, but dude has a girlfriend. I don’t ever take these kind of guys seriously because a) grow a pair of balls and either fix your relationship or break up, and b) if he can do it to her, he can do it to another girl.

During this point in my “healing process” (Related Post: Moving on the Unhealthy Way), I was a big fan of “dispersing my love.” This is a technique that emotionally unavailable people do while they’re dating to guard their heart. If you put all your love into one person, you’re bound to get your heart broken. However, if you put a little bit of love into multiple people, the pain of heartbreak and rejection isn’t so bad.

So here I was.. dispersing my love between two guys. After texting Officer Cheddar back, we ended up chatting throughout the day. Our conversation started off innocently enough, but I think we were both in a place where we weren’t looking for anything serious at all. Not only was Officer Cheddar in the middle of a divorce, he also had two kids. Ahem. I’ve never dated a cop, a divorcee, or a father. I was in unfamiliar territory here.

The fascination of possibly going on a date with a cop kept me occupied for most of the night. I was so obsessed that I spent an embarrassing amount of hours Googling shit like, “What is it like to date a cop?” or “Dating a divorced father of two” or “Personality of a police officer” or “Are police officers jerks to date?” or “Sex with a cop.” If you were to look that shit up on Google right now, trust me when I say that I’ve read through all the top search articles. The thirst was real.

Officer Cheddar was a bold and direct guy though. He asked if I had a problem with tattoos, and I said nope. Shortly after this exchange, I found out he was almost completely tatted. Yummy. Tattoos on both arms, his chest, back, leg. Woof! This was gonna be fun. Perhaps I was caught up in the haze or missing attention, but it consumed me for a few days. I didn’t want to do anything! All I wanted to do was flirt with cop guy all the time. We planned a date for two nights later. Cheddar said he was going to handle everything and get reservations — all I had to do was to look beautiful, relax, and bring myself. I liked that. A man who could step up and not have me worry.

I was honest with Ronny and told him that Cop guy asked me out. Ronny’s jealous monster personality reared its ugly head after that, which was annoying. It was alright that he got jealous.. I mean, it’s a normal reaction if you like someone, and they start showing interest in someone else. What was NOT normal was when Ronny started saying things like, “Promise me you won’t sleep with him before you see me” or “Are you seriously already going to bang this dude this fast?”

First of all. Cut the crap. You have a girlfriend, and you have no claim over me, what I choose to do with my body, or how I handle my life. I’ve been in a fucking controlling and unhealthy relationship and shitty three-month marriage with the ultimate fuck boy already. There’s no way I was going anywhere near that territory ever again. I was having fun, so let me have fun if you really “care”. What was his story? Am I to assume that Ronny wasn’t having sex with his girlfriend? Geez. He was beginning to irritate me.

Even though he was “there” for me during my struggle times the past couple weeks by giving me some valuable life advice, he still had NO RIGHT to tell me what to do just because he felt like he needed to see me first. Hypocrite. He sure as hell better not judge me or ANY OTHER WOMEN for who they choose to have sex with. I can’t deal with these misogynistic men.

Meanwhile, I was actually starting to get pretty attached to Cop guy when in fact, I barely even knew him. There were a few reasons.. a) I liked the novelty of flirting with a cop, b) I liked that he was an alpha male while still being a gentleman, c) he was helping me handle my police escort case with my ex (Related Post: The Story of My Toxic Husband), and d) believe it or not, I was attracted to him because he was divorced.

One thing about being in a state of limbo with my ex was that I didn’t really know what term to identify myself with. I was technically not single. Technically not married either. I guess separated, but not legally. I was ashamed of my relationship with him, and Officer Cheddar was the only guy who knew about my divorce process and understood the struggle.

I think I’m going to try to cut Ronny loose though. I ain’t got time to deal with petty arguments and drama from grown ass men anymore. It was time for me to listen to Officer Cheddar’s advice.. “look beautiful, relax, loosen up a little.”

Blah, blah, blah. That’s all for now.

Getting Asked Out By a Cop

I woke up the next day on my friend’s couch, but I had some things to do. I needed to replace my battery ASAP (Related Post: Moving Back to SF and Jump-starting My Car). I also needed to visit the local police station to file a report, and figure out how a police escort would work. A lot of thought went into my decision to contact the police. I didn’t feel safe around my ex, and there was no way I could go in there alone while avoiding his harassment. I also did not want to drag any of my friends into this mess.. I just wanted to safely retrieve my things from my apartment.

After getting my car battery fixed (I also got an oil change), I went to the police station. I waited a little bit in the seating area before going up to speak with Officer Cheddar (in case you didn’t notice, the name is changed). Officer Cheddar was a big guy, and by “big” I mean.. holy bajeeebus he was the jacked bodyguard type. Not my usual lean type, but if I ever needed protection…HELLO Officer Cheddar.

I guess I was dressed pretty nicely that day. Hair was slicked back in a ponytail, I had on a sheer top, colored contacts, skinny jeans and sensible heels. Shrug.

Officer Cheddar was really friendly. I told him that I needed to file a report because someone got into my car and stole some things. He wrote down my information, and he followed me back to my car for an initial inspection. For some reason, as I was walking back towards the door.. I felt like he was staring at my ass.

Like forreal, that’s what I felt!! I hope I wasn’t walking like a turd.

After Officer Cheddar examined my car, he said there was no forced entry, so it’s likely I left my own door open. His keen eye also caught the stains on my dashboard, “Wow, whoever broke into your car poured soda all over it,” he said. “That sucks.”

My response was an uncomfortable, “Oh.. that was my ex” Which led me to continue, “…so, I came here with another issue as well…” He immediately looked up, and gave me a safe space to be open.

I told him that I recently left my husband a month ago, and you know what this weirdo Officer Cheddar did? He said, “I’m just ending my divorce too, high-five!” It was comical, but a bit insensitive.. but since I needed a bit of laughter in my life, I awkwardly high-fived him and averted eye contact. So fucking weird.

I was asking him for more information about a police standby, while he started initiating idle chit-chat about my personal life. Not gonna lie, I loved the attention. I’ve been to a police station before, and the officers there did not give me this treatment. He told me he needed to re-write my paperwork, and we went back inside the police station.

Officer Cheddar was extremely good at multitasking. He was thorough and took his sweet ass time going over my case, while interweaving questions about my personal life. Getting to know me. “Where are you from? Are you a sports fan? Your ex was a model? You guys would have had good looking children. Are you Chinese?” Dude was flirting for sure. A girl knows this stuff!

After he finished all my paperwork, he told me that I actually went to the wrong station. Since I was in a different district, he couldn’t personally handle my case, but he was going to fax my paperwork over to the correct place. He went back outside to examine my car again (he didn’t need to do this), and he stood nearby to chat for a little bit before going back inside the station.

While I was sitting in my car, I was texted Josie to see if we could meet for an early dinner and do some errands. She replied, “Haiilll ya.”

While GPSing directions to Union Square, I spotted Officer Cheddar coming back from the corner of my eye. Did he forget to tell me something? I opened my door a bit, and he said in a very businesslike manner, “If you have anymore questions, you can actually reach me on my cell phone.. do you have a pen?” Surprised and a bit flustered, I rummaged through my mess of a car for a pen, but to no avail. I shrugged and just grabbed my cell phone and plugged his number in. I asked what his first name was. It was Jerry. He was officially on my contacts list as “Jerry Popo” because well.. he’s a cop.

He went back, and I sat in my car for another couple minutes debating whether or not I should text him. This had never happened to me before, and I was kind of in love with the novelty. I still had a shitload of personal stuff to do like moving out of my ex’s place, preparing for my interview, and figuring out what to do about my hot mess of a life. But I welcomed the distraction, so I caved and texted him, “Hey Officer Cheddar! It was nice to meet you, thanks for your help.” This shit was too intriguing not to follow-up on.

I started driving to meet Josie for dinner. By the time I parked and arrived at the restaurant, I checked my phone. One new text message.

Officer Cheddar: No problem. You’re very pretty.

Just like that we started chatting from there. Bom chicka wowowowowoww. Homegirl just scored herself a cop. A low-key unprofessional cop, but he was hot, and my fascination was piqued.

 

Moving Back to SF and Jump-starting My Car

After a couple months of living with my family back in *hometown, I felt like I was finally ready to move back to San Francisco. After all, I needed to move out of my old apartment with my ex, and I also needed to be in the city to look for a full-time job. I was finally in a place where I felt emotionally strong enough to face my ex (Related Post: Moving on the Unhealthy Way), and I was ready to build myself up again.

When I moved back to SF, I immediately met up with one of my best friends Josie, and caught her up on all my boy drama. I was excited to share my interest in Ronny (Related Post: Falling for an Unavailable Guy While Still being Married), and she shared her guy troubles as well. We went on a mission to retrieve my car, which was parked in my apartment’s garage. We were supposed to *quickly* retrieve my car, so I would be able to drive myself around.

However, when we got there.. I noticed the driver’s door was slightly ajar, and my coin bag along with some petty cash — stolen. As added icing to this terrible cake, my car’s battery was also dead. Completely dead.

Me and Josie freaked out. The whole point of this whole drop off was so I could grab my car and skedaddle the fudge out of my garage before my ex showed up. To this day, I have no idea what the full story was behind my car. My ex has a history of picking locks and breaking into places. Did he break in and purposely kill the battery so that I had no where to go? Was I in such a state of emotional turmoil before I moved back home that I left the doors unlocked? Anyways, there was no time to wonder. We needed to fix this problem and get out of there.

I texted Ronny  to see what I could do. No use. He was trying to help, but how can a guy with a girlfriend have time to help me anyways? Was he supposed to come meet me? Nope. Not possible. Word of advice? Don’t get involved with dudes with girlfriends.

Me and Josie were racking our heads trying to figure out how to do this. The person who really saved the day was my sister. She sent me a YouTube video on “How to open the manual release of my car” and it was such a lifesaver! I learned that even though my car battery was completely dead, I could still manually put the car into neutral, and pop the release out with something knife-like. Once that happened, I could push the car out so that Josie could jump my battery. Oh yeah, did I mention that Josie keeps jump cables in her car? Pretty damn awesome.

Since we didn’t have anything that resembled a knife, we decided to improvise and use the back of an earring (props to being girls!!!!) I jiggled open the release, and we did it! Take THAT dead battery. After successfully jumping my car (after a few hours), I went back to another friend’s place to get some rest.

 

 

Even though the day didn’t turn out as planned, I felt one step closer to fixing my life.

This was my checklist:

  • Get car, replace battery
  • File a police report at the station
  • Request a police escort to get things from apartment
  • Move everything out of old apartment into new place
  • Figure out a plan for rescuing my dog from ex
  • Figure out a plan for getting a marriage annulment
  • End contract with immigration lawyer for ex’s greencard
  • Get a full-time job
  • Change health insurance

OK, so I didn’t really do ANYTHING on this list except for “Get car” but I still felt better. I felt a sense of accomplishment for being able to jump-start and push my car without the help of a man. I was tired of being the damsel in distress–that shit was not for me.

There are clearly so many things in my life that I could stress over, but I wanted to focus on the positives. I was so lucky to have Josie and my sister helping me. I was thankful to my other girlfriend for letting me stay on her couch for a couple weeks. I was grateful that another friend of mine let me take over her bedroom since she was moving out. I can pretend that I’m so independent and I don’t need anyone, but that’s not true. At the end of the day, all I needed were my friends and family. Although my car needed some hardcore maintenance done to it, I could still make it work. It was still operable.

In other news, I checked my email, and I had an interview for a pretty big online company. Fingers crossed on that one!

Moving on the Unhealthy Way

I tried to be healthy, I really did. I spent all my time with friends and family, in relative seclusion. I didn’t really go out or party too much, and I focused on my own shit, while helping out at home. Unfortunately, that approach was too slow for me. I like to get things done quickly with a bit of excitement. I did not want to waste any more time pining over an asshole. I hated being in that position.

Fast forward a month into my stay back home in Connecticut, I was doing my darndest to get over my ex. Blocking his number and email? Check. Deleting all of our pictures together? Check. Trying to forget about him? CHECK FOR SURE.

After my last therapy session, I decided that I was going to give our marriage another chance.. that I was going to see what . That night, I called him, and instead of being grateful that I was even giving him the time of day, he accused me of cheating on him. When I wasn’t. Here I was.. actually in a place to try again with him after he had been an utter shithead to me. Ugh.

I flipped my shit after our call. Being accused of things that you have not done SUCKS, especially when you’re trying your best. I was drug and alcohol free, and I was still being faithful even though our marriage was basically over. When you are going out of your way to give someone the benefit of the doubt, being honest, and trying your best.. it’s pretty damn demoralizing when they’re still trying to tear you down.

I hung up on him and decided that if he’s accusing me of being a cheater, being insecure and irrationally possessive/jealous.. it was time to move on.

Anyways, that was my final, last straw past no point of return. Forget giving us another change. You want to know how I moved on from my ex’s dicksand? Pretty crude, but I basically flirted my way out with a bunch of fuckboys.

For the first weekend, I completely ignored my ex’s emails. I had never even went a day without checking his emails before, but I did it that weekend. Here are some shady/thirsty rebound shit I did:

Downloaded Tinder, Home of the Fuckboys

Tinder was basically my first step to moving on.. I just wanted to find a hot guy to chat with online. I had no intentions to meet up because I was fucked up like that. I just wanted that ego boost to know I still got it. But DAYUM yo. After HOURS of swiping, swiping, swiping. NADA. No guys I was interested in. Hartford is small dude. I didn’t realize exactly how small it was until I started swiping through Tinder. I swiped past like… eight different guy friends in the area too. MY FRIENDS. *shivers*

After living in San Francisco, where the people are plentiful and beautiful, I forgot that the singles selection in Connecticut was whack AF. Not to be super shallow or anything (but yes, this is literally super shallow), these East Coast guys that I’d normally label as 6’s or 7’s were considered 8’s and 9’s here. The profile bios for these dudes would be like, “Graduated from Columbia/Harvard/MIT/attorney/doctor/researcher [insert important sounding occupation/prominent university here]”

Whereas in SF, there were so many 9s and 10s who would be like “Oh, I’m a model/actor/director/producer/musician/athlete/host blah [insert entertainment occupation here]” There’s really a huge difference in Tinder game between the coasts. From my experience, East Coast guys were nicer, more educated, not as pretty to look at, while the West Coast boys were hotter, dumber, and inundated with a bunch of basic bitches.

Opened Lines of Communication with a Guaranteed Fuckboy

This was my second step to moving on. I put a lot of my pent-up feelings and energy into chatting with Ronny (Related Post: Falling for an Unavailable Guy While Still being Married). I knew nothing long-term or serious was going to happen with him. Afterall, he was 3000 miles away with a girlfriend.

Sure, he was saying shit like “Oh, it takes time to break up with someone.” UH. Homey, you think I’m stupid? I’ve been around a number of fuckboys throughout the years, and come on, let’s be real here.. I’m in the middle of a marriage separation with annulment plans for the unforeseeable future. You think I want to jump into anything? Secondly, you think I actually believe that you’re going to leave your girl for me? I’m not about dat life, and I would not want a man like that anyways.

The way I saw things, I was using regular fuckboys to move on from King Fuckboy. That way, I didn’t feel much guilt when I would ultimately ghost on them. To be fair though, I did kind of develop a crush on Ronny. He was sweet, complimented me a lot, and it was clear he kind of cared about me and my situation. He could never actually “be there” for me since he was taken already, but I didn’t want him to do that anyways. I didn’t want a good guy right now. Not only that, but it would be best if good guys stayed away from me during this period. I had nothing positive to offer them.

Went on a Date with an Old Casual Hook-Up

For my my third moving-on step in this fucked up process, I decided to meet up with Keith (Related Post: Just Got Two Dates). I already knew from past experiences that I wasn’t going to get all emotionally attached to him, and I also knew that he was a low-key fuckboy slash friend. Not to mention, he lived in Connecticut too, and it would have never worked — especially since I fully planned on moving back to SF. Haillllzzz  nah to long distance. Eff that jazz.

Keith was a safe option for me because I had known him for years already — since our college days. Back then, I thought he was really cute and smart, but alas, he had a girlfriend at the time, so things got confusing between us. By the time they ended things, I had already moved out to SF, and got a couple boyfriends of my own. A couple years ago, we tried rekindling things, but then I decided he was too boring. Although he was definitely my type in school, it had already been five years, and tastes change.

Anyways, apologies for the boring ass backstory, but my point is — I trusted Keith enough to know that he wasn’t batshit crazy, and he wasn’t going to make me feel uncomfortable or pursue anything serious with me. However, he was good for cheering me up at the moment without pressuring me for anything.

There’s that ever-popular saying, “the only way to get over someone is to get under somebody else.” I wasn’t really in a rush to get under a bunch of dudes, so I stuck to flirting for a bit.

After following these three steps for a few weeks, BOOM. It worked. And just like that, I no longer obsessed over my ex. Sure, he was still a pain in my kaboose, but at least I could see more clearly now. I could see the way he tried manipulating me, and I could also see him from a more objective point of view — but to be honest, would it ever be completely objective?

(Check out my first post here: Moving Back Home)

 

The Story of My Toxic Husband

I first met Pierre while I was out with some friends at a local San Francisco dance bar. I had been single for a month after getting out of a four-year-long relationship. I was very drunk when we met, but I was having a great time hanging out with my friends and meeting new people. I was a social butterfly that night, and I looked great in my high-waist jeans and flowery crop top. I was also wearing my signature dark red lipstick.

Anyways, in my intoxicated glory, I was (loudly) complaining about how I was the only single one out of all my married friends. Pierre heard me mention “single” and he came right up. To be honest, I didn’t even remember what he looked like the following day. I gave him my number though. I think I thought he was good looking. Afterall, homeboy told me he was a model. The French accent also seduced the crap out of me.

I remember he called nonstop the next day. I found it endearing. At the same time, after chatting with him for a bit, I found it really weird he wouldn’t share his last name with me. He also didn’t have a car. He really wanted me to go over to his apartment to have some “barbecue”. Model or not, he was a stranger. I didn’t care that he was tall, dark, and handsome. I’ve read Ted Bundy’s Wikipedia man, and I did not want to end up being murdered.

After hours of talking on the phone, Pierre finally agreed to take me out to a damn restaurant. I would pick his ass up and drive us there. We had an OK time, but I was distracted by how good looking he was. Those eyes could pierce into your soul for years, but there was a darkness in them. Pierre was hot, but he definitely gave off that serial killer vibe.

I noticed many red flags during that first date.

  1. He ordered two shots.
  2. He talked about himself the entire time.
  3. He flirted with our waitress.
  4. He paid in crumpled bills.
  5. He kept pressuring me to go back to his place.

Got damn why did I ignore the fucking red flags!!!!!

It was my first date in over three years, so I was rusty at filtering out guys. I should have just left and never talked to him again. At the same time though, I was fascinated with him. He was different and foreign to me, which was what I was looking for. I wanted adventure. I wanted to live life with excitement. I thought he could offer that to me.

I don’t know if you’ve ever heard about Frenchmen and their reputation for being great at romance. That shit is all true. It was a whirlwind in the beginning. After one week, I became his girlfriend. After two weeks, he told me he loved me. After one month, I moved into his apartment. After half a year, we got our own apartment together. After 9 months, we got a dog. After a year, we got married. That shit all would have been great if we had a good relationship.

Unfortunately, it was full of fighting from the very beginning. The first week we dated was probably the most peaceful time for me. I fell for his spontaneity and charm. I thought his craziness was refreshing. Our first fight wasn’t until the two week mark.

My friend Stella had invited me to a house party with some friends. I told Pierre that I didn’t want to go because there were a couple guys there who had shown interest in me before. After hearing that, he insisted on going to the point where I just went so that he would stop. At the party, he was cordial and engaging enough.. until he told me he loved me. Uhh.. I didn’t answer him, which  made him mad, so he left the party. What made him angrier was when he realized he left his phone in the Uber.

I SHOULD HAVE LEFT RIGHT THEN. This dude started going on about how he KNEW there was something shady with our Uber driver (our Uber driver was a very nice guy by the way), and how the driver was probably going through all his pictures. Pierre was being a huge drama queen, and I hated that I was the person who needed to take care of him. I tried to make things easier for him, but he was acting like such a spoiled brat.. screaming at people on the street, asking me why I brought him to this party.. I called another Uber to pick us up, but once the driver pulled up and saw how Pierre was acting, he CANCELLED THE RIDE and drove away! That has NEVER happened to me before. This guy was going to kill my Uber rating too?!!?

I ended up forgiving him for that, and I told him I loved him back a few days later. Crazy bitch up in the house.

At the time, I was subletting my friend’s apartment and in the process of moving out of my old apartment with my ex boyfriend. I was going to hire movers and put my things in storage, but once Pierre heard about this, he insisted on helping me move. He also volunteered his apartment for me to store his things. We had only been dating for a month, so I wasn’t completely comfortable with this. At the same time, I thought about how much money I would save by accepting his offer.

“You can leave your things here and move them back out when you find your own apartment,” Pierre said to me when I told him I wasn’t comfortable. I thought it was disrespectful for him to come move my stuff out of an apartment that I shared with an ex. I don’t even know what happened, Pierre kind of steamrolled past my wishes, moved my things out of my old place into his bedroom, and basically claimed it as his own. When I finally found a place I could move into, he guilt tripped me, “You’re going to move into an apartment without me? We’re going backwards if you do that.” Ugh, the manipulation. I see it so clearly now, why didn’t I see it before? It was my fault for letting him do that though.

After living with Pierre, I found out a few more unsavory things about him.

  1. He was living in the U.S. illegally because he had overstayed his visa.
  2. He was wanted back in France for almost killing a dude.
  3. He was an alcoholic.
  4. He was self-centered, insecure, jealous, and spiteful.
  5. He had a record for harassing women in another state.
  6. He had no real friends.

WHY DID I STAY WITH HIM!!!!! Ugh. I was so in love and so whipped, that’s why. By the time we moved in together, all my friends hated him. He was starting to severely insult me.. with choice words that rhymed with “You ducking hitch,” you are a huge blut, and you’re probably out ducking some guy’s tick.” Yeah, the whole verbal abuse thing. We already had countless fights, and I tried to leave him several times. I always came back.. he was always so sincere and sweet when he apologized. The makeup sex was really good. Sorry, I forgot to mention that he also had a huge schlong, and he knew how to use it. I made excuses saying that the alcohol made him act that way, and he would change if he stopped drinking.

Blah, blah. Fast forward.

We started living together. Pierre was telling me about how things would be different once we were out of his apartment with his roommate. I believed him. We were fighting all week before we even moved in, and just a few days before, he had poured soda all over my car dashboard because we were arguing. That was some cray cray shit. I felt like I was dating a psycho hot cheerleader.. the kind of person who would slash your tires. I STILL TOOK HIM BACK AND THEN I MOVED IN WITH HIM WHYYYYY!!!!

It felt like I was with him for a lifetime. While Pierre could be really giving.. he would cook, clean, do my laundry, and help me any way he could.. he could also be the exact opposite. When we were fighting, he would make a mess, leave me upset and crying, call me the dreaded b-word, make me feel trapped. I admired him for his persistence and dreams for himself. He really wanted to make it as an American actor (Don’t even get me started on that.. the whole time we were together, he bragged about how he was going to make great movies one day, and how shitty other actors were). He had stopped drinking for a few months already too, so he was just acting like a normal asshole instead of a verbally abusive asshole.

Anyways.. around the one year mark, I decided to marry him.

We got married at City Hall, and the whole process was pretty easy. I actually remember being really happy that day because we didn’t fight at all. I loved him. We hired an immigration lawyer to help him become a U.S. Citizen too.. and then I got laid off. I didn’t have the extra money to support him anymore. Things got pretty hard.

During this entire period, I had stopped hanging out with my closest friends. Especially my male friends. Conversation was kept at a minimum. I never said anything bad about Pierre. I never ate out at restaurants because it was a waste of my money. I was no longer a social butterfly, I actually became more reserved and timid as a person. I had stopped working out everyday. I stopped going to basketball practices (FYI, I played in a co-ed basketball league). I was in dedicated wife mode.

Yes, I lost myself, but things were pretty smooth up until his family paid us a visit three months after we got married. The night they arrived, Pierre drank again and came back home in a violent mood. This wasn’t the first time he secretly drank, but it was the first time his verbal abuse escalated to physical abuse.

His sister told me that Pierre had a really troubled childhood. Their father was his hero, and he was very abusive to their mom. He grew up with the belief that women and men were not equal. Men were better. He also grew up spoiled, never hearing the word no. His sister also told me that Pierre knew he was an alcoholic for a long time already. He didn’t care.

This was his own sister.

Anyways, shortly after this, I didn’t feel safe around Pierre anymore. Sure, I grew up with hardcore daddy issues, but my dad never laid a hand on my mom. It was not the kind of household I wanted to be in. I ended up calling my mom to bring me back home to Connecticut, so I could figure things out and move on.

(Read my first post from when I moved back to Connecticut: Moving Back Home)

Falling for an Unavailable Guy While Still being Married

I’m not sure what shitstorm just happened over the past few days, but I am now captivated by Ronny, an old co-worker.. who also has a girlfriend (Related Post: Feeling Thirsty and Uncomfortable).

OUT OF ALL THE FUCKING GUYS I DECIDED TO CHOOSE FROM, I SHOWED INTEREST IN THE UNAVAILABLE ONE?

This is seriously a very bad cycle, but right now.. it feels so good. Especially in all the drama that is my husband.. Ronny has been such a comfort. Yes, I know I should be looking at comfort within myself. I know I should ignore him, and push all these guys away as well. I am also well aware that I’m being a terrible person — especially towards his girlfriend. Yada, yada, ya.

I KNOW I’M TERRIBLE, BUT I HAVEN’T HAD ANY ACTION IN A COUPLE MONTHS, SO THE THIRST WAS SO REAL.

My sister thinks I’m too boy crazy, perhaps I am. But ever since I started getting to know Ronny, I stopped obsessing over being separated from my toxic husband. For the first time in over a year, I felt freed from his tight grasp. Hmm.

It’s quite possible that I’m transferring my feelings onto another person so that I could move on with my life. It’s the way I cope. However, would I be able to handle what happens with Ronny? And his girlfriend? I definitely wasn’t looking for a relationship or anything serious with Ronny, but I also wasn’t very happy about being a side bitch. Ronny was trying to have his cake and eat it too.. and right now, I was willingly giving it to him through Instagram DM. So shady!!!

Anyways, let me rewind a little bit and recap the past few days.

I was doing so well. I sent Ronny a message saying this was not for me, and I think any normal man would have respected that. I did, however, continue responding to his ongoing messages. I took pleasure in his affections, compliments, and attention.

 

I remembered I had met Ronny earlier a couple years ago at a work event, before I met my crazy husband. He approached me with his friendly charisma. I had already noticed him when I walked into the room — dude was seriously cute. Anyways, we chatted for a bit at the event, but I left in a hurry because I parked at a street meter. He tried several times while we worked together to engage in conversation with me, but I never reciprocated. Mostly because I was either tongue-tied or preoccupied with other thoughts.

What. Is. Wrong with me? Prepare yourself because I’m about to go full-on boy crazy right now. I liked that Ronny was more experienced. I enjoyed the attention he gave me. It was nice that he craved my conversation and my body even though we’ve never been intimate. Shit, I think we’ve only ever shook hands, not even.

Ugh. I repeat, the thirst is so real. We started sexting.. the best sexting of my life. I was eating up his words, and what he wanted to do to me. Gawd, it was like dirty poetry up in that DM chat. I loved being able to be open to him without judgment. What I didn’t love was that he had a girlfriend. What I didn’t love was that I was still married.

Unfortunately, I would never trust Ronny completely in any serious relationship, and with my big secret (only a few people knew I was even married), he would never completely trust me. I only told him that I had a crazy ex, and we broke up because things got physical. This was all true, except I didn’t mention that it was an ex-husband type of deal.

We both agreed that I should not be in a relationship for a long time.. yet he still wanted to “make love” to me. He wanted to be friends with benefits with me. Was I emotionally capable of that? This was a vicious cycle of bad relationships and bad decisions that could only lead to disaster and shitty outcomes!! I could SEE it, but I’m enjoying Ronny way too much at this point. I could see myself getting hurt. I could see myself pushing my ex towards a breaking point.

I cancelled my date with Adam for tonight. I also cancelled my date with Keith for tomorrow night (Refer to: Just Got Two Dates). Just wasn’t feeling it.

I had yet to respond to my ex’s emails. It’s been three days. That’s the longest I had ever gone without giving him news. I blamed him for pushing me to this point. By accusing me of cheating on him, when I wasn’t. I wanted to make myself feel better, I gave into my comforts, and I engaged in the seduction of several men.. so now, his insults are justified. Yup. This marriage could never work out. I wonder, if I ignored him long enough, if he would move on. Or would he continue to wait? I felt guilty because he was faithfully going to his AA meetings (or was he?), though some of his text messages sounded completely drunk sometimes.

It was difficult to believe anything he said. I didn’t want to believe him anymore. After all his insults and aggression, our marriage was past the point of returning for me.

My ex never asked me about my day. He never asked me about what my plans were. When he DID happen to ask what my plans are, he didn’t actually respect my decisions. That was no life to live. At least with Ronny, we were on an equal playing field. He had been honest and straightforward with me about his relationship (hey, at least he wasn’t currently married) — meanwhile, I was hiding my marriage.

Honestly, I think Ronny would understand though. Regardless, even if we got together after I moved back to San Francisco.. I really don’t think we would work out. Either way, I know what I’m doing is “morally wrong” and as Ronny would say, “Yes, on paper it looks bad” Whatever the fuck that meant — but he made me feel good for the moment. The first good that I’ve felt inside for a long time. I’ve been talking to him for almost a week already, and we haven’t argued at all. Sure, I’ve gotten annoyed, but Ronny was apologetic and he knew exactly how to sweet talk me. That shit was amazing to me.

I could barely get my ex to be polite, patient, and understand things from my perspective for even one full day. Three days tops.

I should give Ronny a timeline for when he should leave his girlfriend, but it’s hypocritical of me to demand that. I was still married.

For now, I will stop talking about exes to Ronny. I cannot push anything with him and his girlfriend, and I should probably set some clear boundaries between us. I should. Should..

So many things I should do.

(Read from the beginning: Moving Back Home)

Feeling Thirsty and Uncomfortable

I’ve been having trouble sleeping at home. The place was a small and cluttered two bedroom that comfortably fit my mom and sister. The couch was comfortable leather, but I was too tall for it.. my sister snored like a monster, and my mom’s bed was solid as a board (she prefers it that way). So I waited until my sister left for work at 6AM before I could sleep in her bed.

After two hours of sleep, I woke up to a painful and irritating itch on my belly button. Damn straight. Belly button. By the time I get that figured out, I couldn’t sleep anymore!

I originally planned on getting up, getting some work done, getting my lashes re-done (yes, lash extensions are da bomb), do laundry, and work out. I wanted to get all that energy out of me. But I was so tired. I messaged my girlfriends and asked for a good salon to get my girl maintenance out of the way.

While waiting, I checked my dating app and gave my number to Adam (Refer to previous post: Just Got Two Dates) before shutting it down, and I checked my spam mailbox for incoming mail from Pierre. For some reason, I felt a bit uncomfortable and ended up dozing off again.

Hours later, I woke up and saw that I got a new text message from Adam. I also received a friendly hello from Keith, my old college friend/hook up.

Just when I thought I had my hands full, I received a direct message from a cute guy I used to work with at my old job. Ronny. It started out innocent enough at first, but then he started complimenting me.. then sharing his personal life. Apparently he was having trouble with his girlfriend, so yeah. He was bad news! I tried to stay cordial though, but what do you do in that situation? When you used to have a crush on a guy, but he doesn’t show interest in you until he’s having girlfriend troubles?

Meanwhile, Pierre was in a friendly and apologetic place today. I was relieved I didn’t spent all my time stressing out about him like I did before. It was always the same pattern with him. Apologetic and nice one day, then manipulative and insulting the next day. Shit is stressful and was slowly driving me insane.

I had been so distracted from talking to Adam, Keith, and Ronny. What is going on? Do these guys just wake up and think, “Hey let me hit this girl up and see if she wants to hang?” With the exception of Adam, I was quite confused. It felt a bit like I was a walking time bomb that attracted nothing but trouble from different directions. Should I just shut all communication with dudes down and ignore all of these dead ends, just focus on me?

The obvious answer was a resounding YES. I needed to. I needed to be strong. Concentrate on other things like reading, writing, working, spending time with friends and family, cooking, sports, politics.. anything. But why was that so hard?! Scratch that – the hard part would be late at night, when everyone’s sleeping, and I’m up feeling lonely.. looking for attention. Craving it. Gawd I’m crazy.

Well.. maybe a little crazy, but I think the overwhelming mood I was in was THIRSTY. I was feeling thirsty. Even though I was trying to stay “friends” with guys, it came off as flirting. Maybe it was flirting. I don’t know man.

What I really needed to do was channel all this excess energy into my work. I was determined to do that. I started feeling like maybe I was putting all my attention into the wrong things these past few days (guys), and it was really starting to mess with me. Dictating my life. Where do I find a balance!

I was trying so hard to just write. Write. Write. “I do not need a man,” I told myself. I needed to drill that into my brain. But I really.. missed having someone hold me. I think my belly button hurt earlier because my tummy was slowly expanding from being a useless lump of laziness the past month!

After forcing myself to be productive and mulling my life over for a few hours, my sister finally came home from work. Thank goodness! Spending time with her helped take my mind off of other bullshit. I helped her with her homework (ahem, she forced me to do it), and we watched that VH1 show, Catching Kelce or something like that. The show about a bunch of girls from every state competing over this hot football player. Entertaining stuff.

(You can read my first post here: Back at Home)

Just Got Two Dates

After trying out Match.com for two days, I decided to stop all the dating apps. This was way too serious for me. I know I wanted an escape from my nightmare of a marriage, but this was not it. Before shutting down the last one though, I got a response from the one guy I thought was attractive and interesting. (Refer to previous post: Browsing Through Match.com)

We chatted for a bit through text, and he asked me out for Thursday evening later during the week. I said yes. Though I was about 90% sure I was going to cancel. This was totally counter-productive. I was afraid to tell my therapist because she’ll realize the extent of my nutcase-ness. Did I just dig myself into another hole or was I moving on?

Later that night, I got a message at 2AM from an old friend/hook up, Keith, asking to hang out. I was very hesitant, but I agreed to see him the upcoming Friday. He was a good looking guy, successful and Chinese.. unfortunately, he had the personality of a wall. I felt no chemistry with him. Just pure physical attraction. But he was also the type of guy my family would approve of with flying colors.

What was going on?!! In one day, I managed to snag myself two dates already. I would have felt guilty, but then I checked my spam inbox again and read another threatening email from my soon-to-be ex-husband Pierre. Apparently I was his top priority now, and he would make me “pay” for the rest of my life.

(You can read my first post here: Back at Home)

Browsing Through Match.com

So I tried Match.com’s free trial period because there was no way I was gonna pay for that. When I started filling out my profile, there was a section that asked if I was “single”, “divorced”, or “separated”. I know I should have checked off “separated”, but shame made me check off “single”. I hated that this was going to stick with me now. I felt marked. Damaged goods.

I know I said I was only window shopping (Refer to my previous post: The Last Call We Had), but I couldn’t help but look over some profiles. I didn’t realize that whenever you visit someone’s profile, they see that you looked at their page.

When I woke up the next morning, I saw that I got an overwhelming response. What? Hello, ego boost!

I scanned through my spam inbox. Insults from the soon-to-be-ex-husband ensued. I’m over the insults. I’m so tired of fighting. I’m so exhausted from babying this guy. I felt less angry at him now though. After a year of being accused of cheating when I was being loyal, at least the accusations were kind of founded now. Pierre always considered himself a psychic. Now that I know him, I realize that whatever he said ended up becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Anything that was in his control.. like predicting that “something big and life-changing was going to happen” when his family visited, he made sure that “something” would happen. It was his own actions that propelled me out of his life. I didn’t want to think about it.

Instead, I set my mind to checking the Match dating application. Meh. Lots of guys interested, but I wasn’t interested in anyone at all.

Well, there was one guy, Adam, but he didn’t poke me or whatever the hell you were supposed to do on this website. Oh well. If I thought he was the only hot dude on the website, there were probably loads of other ladies who thought so too. I have good taste in men *wink*.

I really don’t know how people get over their significant other the healthy way. The only way I’ve ever known for moving on from someone was by locking onto another love interest. I’ll save that one for my therapist.

(You can read my first post here: Back at Home)

The Last Call We Had

Pierre called today.

I was hanging out with my mom and sister when I saw his name pop up on my phone. Buzz Buzz Buzz. Do I pick up? Of course I do.

The conversation was definitely strained. It started out friendly enough, but it was evident that there was boiling below a shaky surface. He asks me when I’m coming home.

How do I answer that? Do wives just come back to their abusive husbands on just his word that he has changed? I tell him what I’ve been telling him for the past couple weeks. I don’t know. I’m undecided. I’ve been seeing a therapist to talk about this bullshit. I’ve been spending time with my childhood friends to catch up and to talk out some feelings. My sister and all of my friends hate Pierre. My mom is whatever about him.. mostly because he reminds her of my dad. P.S. My dad is also an anus-hole.

“When are you coming home?” Pierre repeats on the other end of the line. I had walked out of the apartment and was smoking a cigarette outside.

“I don’t know,” I said. I was so undecided. I was so hopelessly in love with this guy. I missed being in his arms, gazing into his eyes. I missed kissing him.

told him that it’s not black and white. The decision to stay with him was not a clear one. I wanted to try for the sake of being married, but at what cost? I let it slip that I preferred that he cheated on me so that I could make a clear decision.

He gets mad that I mention that.

“You’re being a beech, you know?” Pierre sneers in a thick French accent. He proceeds to accuse me of cheating and the insults ensue. Per usual, I lose my cool, and I threaten to get a divorce right there, but who was I kidding? I needed to be in San Francisco for that. I couldn’t afford a family law lawyer right now either. What I really needed to do was move on.

He was still disrespecting me. All I wanted him to do was keep composure and respect me for a couple weeks straight. I wanted to see if he could practice restraint. I wanted to see that he was making a noticeable effort. Instead, he continued cutting me off by throwing a tantrum, convinced that I cheated on him. I hung up.

I tried to distract myself. I watched some mindless reality show on VH1. I tried reading a book. I showered. I wash dishes. It was almost 3am. I tried sleeping, but I couldn’t. I tried surfing the Internet looking for advice on what to do. I finally settled on joining a dating website against my better judgement — despite my efforts to be alone. I told myself I’m just window shopping, when really I had no idea what I was doing. I mostly wanted to keep myself distracted from checking Pierre’s insulting emails.

It sucks to be accused of cheating on your spouse when you’re being faithful. It’s the worst feeling. Even under these fucking circumstances.. dude put his hands on me. We were separated for a month already. This whole month, he would constantly let his insecurities get the best of him and accuse, accuse, accuse. My goodness dude. I just couldn’t anymore.

Anyways, I joined a dating website that night. Window shopping.

(You can read my first post here: Back at Home)

Lost Opportunities

I was sitting at home alone.. happily eating take-out from my family’s restaurant and watching a Halloween special on ABC Family when I received an alert on my phone. I got a new message on LinkedIn from my recruiter friend, Michael, for a job in San Francisco. It was a coordinator position for the development department. 

Before moving back home, I had been living in San Francisco for the past 6 years. I spent my last semester at University interning and taking night classes in SF. It was always my dream to move there — and I did. I built a life and community for myself before my life went cray cray and went to shit after meeting Pierre.

A part of me wanted to ignore the job opportunity so that I could watch this damn movie, but reality sunk in a bit. It was relaxing and stable at home with my family, but I needed to get a job. Finding a job in SF while living in Hartford was not easy, so of course I was going to jump on this chance.

Unfortunately, after hours of touching up my resume, the hiring manager decided my background was too creative. Darn. I was bummed, but it was probably for the best.

Pierre calls, and the conversation is friendly enough, but he didn’t ask me a single question about my day. It was all about him. Actually, no, some of the conversation was about our dog. To be fair though, I didn’t volunteer any information. I wanted to see if Pierre could change. I wanted to see if he would ask.

He complained about his sister and blamed his previous behavior on how his sister was so inconsiderate to visit during that time. I was annoyed (still am) because I could clearly see his pattern of blame shifting towards different targets. It was frustrating that he wasn’t taking full responsibility for his actions. His sister did not force him to drink alcohol when he knew he shouldn’t have even had that first glass. She didn’t tell him to come home and insult me. She didn’t tell him to yank me back by my hair when I tried to leave to sleep in the car. His sister was not the one who held me down, threatened my life, and destroyed my things.

I should have probably kept those thoughts to myself, but I blurted it out. I was angry. I wanted him to see that he was a huge anus-hole for doing what he did.

Just disappointment. He would never see it.

Worst of all? I missed the whole damn Halloween movie!!

(You can read my first post here: Back at Home)

 

Tamera and Jay Get Married

Today, I accompanied my sister to her friend’s wedding in New Haven. It was small, humble, boisterous and beautiful.

Apparently the mother of the groom-to-be passed away last week, and her memorial was held just yesterday. Tamera, the bride-to-be, spent the entire year planning their wedding, and wanted to postpone the date because of the unfortunate circumstances. Due to the funeral costs, the groom, Jay, was worried about whether or not he could afford the wedding. At the same time, he did not want all of Tamera’s hard work to be for naught, and strongly refused to postpone it.

Tamera and my sister work together as infant-care specialists at a local daycare center. Earlier during the week, one of the parents asked Tamera about her wedding. She responded, “We might have to postpone it…” The parents nodded their heads and took their baby home.

Later that night, Tamera received a text message from the baby’s mother, “Just thinking about you. Was wondering if you could tell me the reason why you are postponing wedding…” Tamera didn’t want to delve too far into the actual story, so she simply told them, “Financial issues, we’re going through a rough time right now.” The baby’s mother texts back, “You’re like family to us, and you are so great with our kids, we are lucky to have you. Please accept $1000 from us so that you can keep your wedding. Don’t postpone it.” After much thought, Tamera texted back, “Thank you…but no thank you. We cannot accept that.” It was in a grey area of the daycare rules. Professional life should not be slipping into personal life. However, after one last push from the baby’s mother, “Please accept it as a wedding gift from me and my husband. We are lucky enough to have well-paying jobs, and we can afford to give you this money. Like I said, you are like family to us, and we want you to use it for your wedding. We insist.”

After my sister told me this story, I thought it was beautiful that there were still such generous people in the world.

And that’s how they kept their wedding date.

Anyways, I went to this wedding — the second wedding I’ve ever attended in my life (family don’t count). It was simultaneously happy and sad, loud and tranquil, disastrous and masterful, rude and respectful, and needless to say.. lots of shit happened.

I don’t even want to get started on what occurred on the dance floor. Those children were like baby professional dancers. I shit you not, there were four-year-old kids doing jump splits on the dance floor. FUCKING JUMP SPLITS! Everyone went up and did the electric slide, the walking dance, and it was also the first time I’ve ever witnessed a real-life soul train. Loved it. Everyone was free, uninhibited, and absolutely gorgeous.

You could feel the love the bride and groom had for each other. Tamera spoke about how she first met the man of her dreams. Her rock. She spoke about their family, and how she was so happy to spend the rest of her life with him. Jay pretty much said the same thing, and he hilariously compared her love to a three-layer chocolate cake — which has scarred me for life, since I LOVE chocolate — but his heart was in the right place.

What really hit home for me were the speeches from the Best Man and Maid of Honor. That shit really got to me. Even though the Best Man clearly prepared a lengthier and more quality speech compared to the Maid of Honor, both parties spoke positively about the bride and the groom. They spoke about how they respected them both so much because they each brought the other stability and happiness. They were perfect for each other, pushed the other up, supported one another, and completed one another. I listened to their speeches in both awe and sadness.

This was a solid foundation for a marriage.. with loving friends and family surrounding the bride and groom. Unlike the way I did it. No one was at my wedding, there were no vows. Tamera had a beautiful dress. Belle of the ball! I had a cocktail dress that I bought from Forever 21. We just walked into City Hall, said “I do” to a judge and BAM. We were married just like that. With none of our loved ones to see. I never want to do that again.

Watching Tamera and Jay’s wedding made me think. It made me realize that you should be proud of the love you have for someone. It also made me realize that marriage was more than love. It was hard work. It required trust and patience. It required a strong foundation. Something me and Pierre did not have from the very beginning.

(You can read my first post here: Back at Home)

Testing My Patience

Do you know what true stability is?

For me, true stability is not having to worry about what will happen to my dog for a month straight. Just the assurance that he will be in good hands. True stability is the ability to have a peaceful dinner with my grandmother and aunt without being bombarded by text messages and calls from my estranged husband, Pierre, who is lost in Los Angeles and needs my assistance to get to where he needs to be because he doesn’t have GPS on his phone. True stability is my knowing that if I wanted to stay at home for a little while longer, that my husband wouldn’t threaten to abandon our apartment for the month and complain about how lonely he is. True stability.

Most times I have no clue if I love him or hate him.

This is what happens when I give him another chance to prove if he is worthy. I had the option of short-term pain in exchange for a lifetime of peace — or at least my own definition of peace — versus short-term happiness in exchange for a lifetime of headaches. Dependence. Mood swings. Fear. Anger. What the fudge?

I realize that Pierre is making an effort. He has been attending his Alcoholic’s Anonymous meetings, and he has spoken to a therapist on the phone (supposedly). However, two and a half weeks of clarity and self-improvement is not enough time to heal decades of psychological damage and addiction.

Hope. I want to believe that our love is strong enough to defy all odds, and I want to prove all my friends wrong about us. Sadly, homeboy doesn’t even respect me enough to grant me some time to myself after I text, “Please don’t contact me for tonight. I will talk to you tomorrow. I need to calm down.” Scratch that. He gave me 45 minutes before he broke. On the bright side, after I chewed him a new one through a series of frustrated follow-up texts, he chose to heed my advice. That’s a start.

Everything was going well, but after two days of respectful texts, emails, and phone exchanges, my husband decided that it would be great to plan a month-long trip to Miami to visit his friend.

Positives: He needs to be around friends, and it would be good for him to be around people who love him. His friend is clean — meaning no alcohol, no drugs, but mostly no alcohol to tempt him. My husband was practically begging me to understand his point of view.

Negatives: It disrupts his daily pattern. Does he really expect to go to meetings in Miami when his friend is there? That shit ain’t weird? Another thing — suddenly, I’m the one who needs to figure out what to do with our dog, and I’m 3000 miles away. Pierre tells me his family will be paying for his flight out of town. He’s a 30-year-old man, and he’s still depending on them to do that when he would be perfectly fine staying put? He doesn’t see that this just stirs everything up? The one part that pushed me over the edge was when he told me that he would be staying in Miami for up to one month.

What the hell does he want to do there for one month? Because he can’t be alone? Suck that shit up, fool. If the situation were switched, I would happily embrace loneliness and time to improve myself. I’ve done it before for three months, and I grew into a much more independent and stronger woman because of it.

He tells me that I don’t understand. I really do understand, but what I’m looking for is seriousness and stability without worrying for my dog’s well-being every single day. Who’s going to watch Bear when he’s gone? Pierre made a deal before I left with my mom that he was responsible enough to watch him. He was still a puppy of 8 months. My mom was silly and believed him, when I wanted to take Bear with us.

I understand Pierre’s point of view as well. Truly. It’s not fair that he is alone in our apartment with no knowledge of when I’m coming home. He thought I would come home sometime this week — but I made it clear to him that would not be the case. In reality, I was thinking of staying here for another three weeks. I get it, but right now, his time alone is the true test of his endurance, dedication, and loyalty.

My therapist saved me from going Hulk on Pierre by sharing some coping techniques for anger. If it weren’t for her “take a step back and pull yourself out of the anger mode” chat, I would have unleashed a scary beast on him via crazy text message rants. Instead, I pulled back, watched half an episode of Grimm, smoked a cigarette, showered, and washed the dishes. Hooray for self-improvement.

However, this erratic behavior is forcing me to second guess my decision to give him another chance. The smart decision would be cutting things off permanently and experiencing that short-term pain. However, looming around the back of my mind is this. Will the pain really be short-term? Or will I be suffering from lost and disappointed love for the rest of my life? Has he really changed this time around?

I am pretty sure I know the answer, but I don’t feel like admitting it to myself right now. I’m drained. Je suis fatigue. Bonne nuit.

(To start over and read from my first post, click here)

Visiting My Dad in Prison

My mother and I both stayed up all night and left the apartment at 5:30 in the morning to catch the first train. Out of all the double-seaters to choose from, she decided to make a bee-line towards the lonely seats in the back of the train, surrounded by empty soda cans and trash. I don’t understand her. We managed to catch the 8AM bus to New York and slept the entire way through.

When I woke up, we were on Canal Street, New York City. My mom asked me to input the addresses for our Uber, and to be honest, I felt a slight discomfort entering in “Federal Bureau of Prisons” as our destination. Our driver, the owner of a modest Honda Civic, was a nice young man named Shondelle. He asked if we wanted to listen to any particular radio station, to which I numbly replied, “No, we’re cool with whatever,” and closed my eyes as the latest Drake song started playing. I fell back asleep and opened my eyes as we pulled up to the building. “You just beat the rain!” Shondelle smiled and waved as he dropped us off.

I was grumpy. Perhaps it was from the lack of sleep, or perhaps it was because I held some resentment towards my mother for dragging me out here to visit my dad. I hadn’t seen him in five years since my college graduation.

For as long as I can remember, conversation had always been superficial between us, barely lasting over five minutes per meeting. Now, I had to spend two hours speaking to a man I hardly knew. Though I’ve watched popular prison comedies on Netflix and understood that many people make mistakes, I felt deeply ashamed that I was here.

A bearded inmate tickled his laughing son while smothering him with kisses. An older prisoner rapt in an intense conversation with his brother. A jolly fellow finished off his buffalo chicken wings while asking his kid whether his Jordan’s were authentic or not. A dolled-up woman bragged to her man that she stayed home, while her friends went out to the club.

In all the bustle, my mother and I sat with an empty seat between us in silence as we waited for my dad to arrive. After a few moments, I saw him. He gained some weight and rocked a salt-and-pepper buzzcut. He looked almost natural in his brown jumpsuit and Nike sneakers. I couldn’t bring myself to stand up and hug him, so I just took his hand and gently squeezed. I didn’t know this man.

My father sat next to me, “Meimei, why you so skinny?” With all the strength that I had, I muttered, “I don’t know…” and the tears began flowing down my cheeks. Great. Just great. I felt like every cliche loved one going to visit their family member for the first time. Embarrassing.

I watched my mother buy snacks from the vending machine as I wiped my face dry. I could feel my dad staring at me, but in this uncomfortable moment, he just took my hand. Between my own shit and his shit, I’m overwhelmed, but was relieved the attention was taken off me when the inmate eating the buffalo wings looked up and greeted my father, “Doctor Chong!”

What the fudge? My dad was definitely not a doctor. I had absolutely no memories of him tending to any scraped knees or broken bones. I wasn’t even going to ask about that.

I decided to share more about my own life and be direct with him for the first time.

“So I got married,” I volunteered nonchalantly, “and I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Mommy told me.” He didn’t sound angry, “Why so fast?”

“I fell in love and didn’t realize he was crazy.” I gazed down at the floor, dejected, “I’m getting the marriage annulled.” The entire room was bursting with laughter and gregarious voices, but the silence between us was impalpable.

“You know, if this was in China,” he searched for the right words, “if you got marry in China, this would be bad.” Still not a reprimand, but I guess it was the truth.

My mom returned with a bag of Doritos and two cups of Yoplait. My dad eyed these snacks, picked up one of the yogurts and said, “Eat. You too skinny.” I shook my head because I wasn’t hungry. My mom opened the chips and slowly began munching away.

“In Chinese, we say, ‘Good looking guy cannot eat.” My dad gently tore off the yogurt lid and began eating, “For a husband, he must have good heart, good to you, good to people, good to himself and stable job.” I gazed blankly ahead, taking in what he just said, mute.

Growing up, my dad did his business elsewhere, and my issue was that he was never present as a father. Sure, my friends had fathers they weren’t particularly close to, but they always came home everyday. Mine didn’t. On the rare occasions he showed up, he was either passed out after a drunken haze, smoking cigarettes in the living room–regardless of the “no smoking” signs my sister and I plastered around the house, or making bets on the latest sports teams.

The man I was listening to now was old and weary. It was a departure from the man I grew up with. I remembered one particularly snow-flurried morning when I was thirteen-years-old, after missing the bus, I begged my sleeping father to drive me to school. The words he said to me were, “I don’t ask you for anything, so don’t ask me for anything.” My mother ended up calling a cab for me to get to class, and I never tried waking him up again.

Finishing up his second cup of Yoplait, he snapped me out of my reverie. “Daddy was not a good person. It’s why daddy is in prison.”

I really wanted to ask him if he changed now. I wanted to ask if he learned his lesson and if he would get his shit together and be a good person for the family. I wanted to scream at him for all the monstrous crimes he did over the past couple decades. I wanted to tell him that if he couldn’t do that for his daughter, he wouldn’t have me anymore. Instead, I asked, “What are you going to do when you’re out?”

“I’m going to work at 4th uncle’s restaurant, then I’m going to start my own restaurant. Or maybe do real estate with my friend.”

“I hope you do it legally.” I muttered, still avoiding eye contact.

“I learned my lesson. Of course” He turned to chat with my mom, who’s been quiet the entire time.

It was pouring rain when my mother and I left the facility. We grabbed another Uber back to Chinatown and bought tickets to go back home.

I checked my spam email and blocked messages on my phone and saw that my estranged husband, Pierre, had left a few messages. They were all encouraging, loving, telling me that he missed me and to come back home. He sent me pictures of our dog and emailed that he was very proud that I went to see my dad.

One email went, “You only have one dad in your life, and you are very lucky that yours is still in your life. I know your dad is very smart, and in the future, I can give him power, and we can make a lot of money together. I know, I’m psychic.”

Ladies and gentlemen, meet my husband.

Per my mother’s request, we snagged two seats on the third row of the bus. For the first time since we’ve been separated, I sent my husband an email that I would consider coming back home, and I slept the whole way back to Connecticut.

(To start over and read from my first post, click here)

Moving Back Home

Three university students walk by, snickering about how they just took a huge hit from a bong. A group of 10-year-olds happily climb the poles of a nearby railing. A young teen hipster stares dreamily at his doe-eyed girlfriend as they board the train.

Sitting on my apartment stoop, I stare at everyone as I take another puff of a cigarette, mumbling to myself, “They’re all so fucking carefree.” I don’t know any of these people, but I’m jealous. I envy their innocence. I envy their pure joy. I almost hate them, but I don’t hate them. They are the lucky ones, and life just didn’t happen to them yet. I toss my cigarette butt into an open crack in the sidewalk and steadily watch as it sizzles out.

I’m on the path of regaining my independence. My therapist tells me, “It seems like you come from a long line of female caretakers,” which may seem like a positive thing to say, but she might as well be saying, “Beyotch, you come from a long line of weak women who do anything for men.” It’s truly a curse.

Every time it feels like I’m starting to get my shit together, I end up meeting the “man of my dreams” and throw all that potential away. It’s as if I find it much easier to cater to a man than actually facing my own problems and growing myself. It’s horrible–and to know that this quality is programmed in almost every fiber of my being, it is even more of a struggle.

Falling in love with a man should be a wonderful thing, but it is so draining when you fall for a psychopath. One moment can be like a picturesque movie scene. Handsome man sweeps woman off her feet with her favorite chocolates, a candlelit dinner and a beautiful sunrise. A couple days later, it can be like you’re living in a dark and crazy nightmare. Pouring a can of soda all over the dashboard of your car, shouting insults and smashing glass jars onto the floor. Other moments can seem so ridiculous upon reflection, even comical and unreal. Becoming so infuriated that he beats up the Christmas tree *powpow*, jumping out of the car in the middle of the freeway, or breaking your flip flops with his teeth like some manic animal.

I need to break the cycle. I want to be strong. I want to be truly happy. I want my innocence back.