His Name Is Off the Mailbox

 

Thanks, Mountain Goats!

The Guy Next Door is gone. I finally had the courage the other day to retrieve my flower pots that had wandered into his yard. On my side of the border between our places, he left his beleaguered monstera-y plant, with crinkled-up leaves and bent stems. I'm not a healer of plants or men, so I put the plant at the curb for someone the plant has less baggage with to rescue.

It's lonely without him. (The man, not the poor plant.) Even after we stopped talking, he was kind of an imaginary friend. I liked knowing when his car was home, the state slogan on his license plate felt like a comforting/vexing chime in my head. Whoever moves in next won't be like this, I hope, won't get all tangled up--I'll probably only notice them if they're having a particularly loud conversation or smoking on the patio, or if they have a cute pet.

This guy, I was insane about him and insane with him, but the connection still meant something to me. The door that opened between us, that let two messed up minds find comfort in each other, I still think it's a miracle.

In the cold cold depths of winter, when I was still learning not to go to his door, I lit candles for myself in the window, both to ward off the pain and to show myself love. (Also there was an Indivisible directive about window-candles. Mine can't be seen from the street, but they still count.) I hoped the light gave him comfort too, snowday after snowday, but that really wasn't my business.

I'm still figuring out how to thaw. I'm DEEP in my step work and leveling up my family estrangement, trying how to figure out how to treat myself if I am, as I'm beginning to see, worthy of kindness and care. I took a dating break until at least June, but I'm starting to wish and hanker.

When The Guy Next Door showed up last summer with his red cups of hibiscus tea, I was jagged and at sea from last summer's trauma work, from a lifetime of trauma work. He gave me such a pretty spark and distraction, a (kind of fucked up) way to care for myself until I was ready for the next phase of growth and healing.

I imagine him out and about in some beautiful sex-positive frenzy, having all the fun my codependent ass isn't ready for. I imagine him going home to Think About What He's Done. I imagine him joining the life of some more copacetic and traditionally-shaped girl and hitchhiking that life wherever that takes him.

I'll probably never know. I get to stay here and try to be emotionally sober and not get swooshed into any more distractions while I face myself, while I learn to love myself. I miss my friend, whether he was imaginary or not. He doesn't live in my heart forever, I don't think, but I wish him everything good. And I hope someone is taking good care of that plant.

Sweet Valentine, Part Five: Princess of Saying Stuff

 Last night I was in an online Codependents Anonymous meeting with a handful of strangers and we were talking about the feeling of floating, the moments when it feels like Higher Power has us and we can just cruise along and accept the gifts. I admitted that lately, when I'm in that good floaty place is when I tend to make my love mistakes. But then I realized! Maybe they weren't mistakes! Maybe my soul knows what it's doing and I don't understand it yet! 

For now, I'm not going to try and understand it. I'm just gonna celebrate Sweet Valentine and hope for the best.

The night before Valentine's Day, I went to the little shop down the block to get roses and vegan cupcakes for my new dear. I hoped he would bring presents, but I wanted to make sure presents were there. One thing I'm extremely certain about is that such a cute connection deserved to be celebrated.

On Saturday mornings, I'm usually playing games and listening to The Flop House, so that's what I did. I told him to text when he was on his way, that the door was unlocked. I felt both like a human and like a fantasy, made of something between bones and lace. When I was younger and more pretentious, I used to describe myself as diaphanous, and that kinda works here--grounded and floating. See-through and also (maybe a little too) real.

I was working away on my Animal Crossing island when he arrived, smelling of him. He came right into bed and we kissed and cuddled, folded into each other like he'd been there all along. "I missed you before I met you, " I said. Princess of saying stuff.

(I forgot to tell you about a moment from our Wednesday date, when I told him he had some of my purple face glitter on him, and he rubbed his face against mine to get more, like he wanted to cover himself in me. I felt exactly the way a sentient cupcake might feel when it's getting devoured with gusto. In the wise words of Lizzo, Lick the icing off, put the rest in your face.)

There's something about his presence that hooks me in at the middle, at the crux of my being. He makes me feel safe and seen, like he has me. I felt like I could relax and be myself and not second-guess every move I made. Really, there didn't need to be much thinking at all, just wise and beautiful bodies carrying us through the day. 

When he was wrapped around me, I felt home. When I was kneeling in my cozy bow-down-to-Love-Itself spot looking up at him sitting on my bed, I felt tiny and treasured. He called me Princess, and I felt him mean it. I asked him to be my boyfriend, and after clarifying what that would entail, he agreed. I felt absolutely confident asking, but from a couple weeks away, it feels insane. 

Friends, I miss him so, so much. I'm giving him time and space to figure things out, giving myself time and space to see what I really want. There's three more weeks left of that time and right now, here's how I feel:

I will be so, so sad if I don't get to keep getting to know him, but I want to give him the space I promised. For myself, I want to keep heartspace for partners with more time, more surety, more bandwidth, but right now, I just want him. I want a chance to start over and take our time, to step back into the flow of him, to someday be part of his life. I want to take walks and hold hands.

I know I'm usually more explicit with the sex part, but for right now I want to keep it to myself, and for him. 

How Do I Grieve a Fantasy?

 I passed The Guy Next Door in the driveway this morning and he said three words: "I'm moving out." My main feeling about this is relief, with a healthy dose of the Universe loves me! But I also feel guilty and sad and I have the continuing sensation of waking up and realizing it was all a (sometimes bad) (mostly bad?) dream. I don't miss him like I used to, but I miss how much room he took up in my heart.

The first night we hung out, when he talked about creating a garden "for us both to enjoy," I saw an entire adorable future for us: Together but living in our respective apartments, meeting on his patio for tea. Having just the cutest story about how we got together. And finally, finally, being able to give up the quest for love! Because I found it right outside my door!

I've always had a vivid romantic imagination, but this was different. I'm scared about how much it felt like I "knew" he was the right one for me. I guess if I'd been right I could call it intuition, but as things are, I'm tempted to call it delusion. But I don't think I got there on my own.

(The day of the last date, he said a parallel to the "for us both to enjoy" thing, he said he wanted to knock out a wall in his place so we could have breakfast on my terrace in the mornings. I like leaving the terrace nature-y for the birds, but what a nice idea!)

I remember laying in bed that first night feeling ELATED, feeling sure that he would stay here and be weird with me forever.

In the end, I felt like we were a cult of two, caught on a roller coaster of shared madness. (Codependent Crazy, my sponsor would call it.) After our break-off I looked up his (stated) diagnosis, Bipolar 2, and it described exactly what I'd been through with him--unpredictable moods, various degrees of lying, cycles of happiness and misery. It helped me to understand a little,  to give myself compassion about it, but it doesn't explain why I made the choices I did.

I could sit here and list his lies and red flags as evidence I got gaslit, tricked. But the important thing is--I chose him! And then re-chose him! So I'm asking myself, what made the fantasy so powerful?

Maybe it's as simple as a desire to fall in love and still keep my apartment? Maybe it's my porous nervous system and mirror neurons taking my brain to the mercurial place where his brain lives? Or maybe my dang soul just thought I could learn a lot from getting tangled up in him! I sure did!

Maybe I was lonely and needed a friend just as badly as he did!

I like my fantasy brain and plus, it's an autistic trait so I refuse to shame myself for it! But I'm afraid to sweep myself up into something so one-sided and shifting ever again. I know I can create beauty and romance out of pretty much anything, but I don't want to do it on my own, independently of reality. That's what art is for, not relationships.

It's snowing again and I'm using all of my self-care/hunkering down skills, lighting candles and feeling all the feelings, being where I really am.

I think part of my TGNS journey was about wanting to escape my own life, wanting to evade whatever growth and pain and love I'm finding on my own.

Or, I just loved him. He was my friend and I miss him, and I miss the idea of him I made up in my head. Both. I'm never gonna sort out the real from the imagined, the lies from the information, the throwing-away-art from the making of art in the first place. 

These days I'm supposed to be all twelve-steppy and put things in the care of my higher power, so that's what I'm doing. My HP and his will have to figure this out. In this case, I think, the Higher Power might just be time.

Calling Out to Myself: A Solo Adventure

One of my Codependents Anonymous friends suggested this and I love it so much. It's hard and takes discipline to love myself instead of focusing on what's lost, but every once in a while I can feel it pay off in progress and peace.

 Last week was a week of continued self care and good decisions, including an inbox abundant with dick pics (One million heart-eyes emojis) and fantasy flirting with all kinds of beautiful dears. None of them ended up suitable for in-person-I'm (mostly) actively trying to avoid any more fuckboys or overly complicated situations, but they were all dear, and they all made me feel glowy and flowy.

So Saturday afternoon, with nothing on the schedule til dancing o' clock, I took myself to bed. Pleasure felt a little out of reach at first, what with intrusive thoughts about how much more desirable Yoga Camp Hottie is than me. Plus, my Rabbit conked out a while back and I'm still getting used to (getting friendly with) my new one.

But I told YCH and her boyfriend to fuck off out of my brain for a while, and got myself to the pink sparkly glowy haze eventually.

And! When I was coming! I cried out:

"I love you! I love you! Oh! I love you!

That's happened with partners before, of course (Especially The Shy One, oh boy!) but I don't usually form ANY words while I'm getting myself off, let alone THOSE words.

It felt like such a release! Like those words had been waiting on my tongue to be hollered out, waiting maybe for a lifetime.

And yes, I was probably saying it to past and recent loves, to the gods and goddesses, to the sky and the trees and the flowers, but the important thing is! I was saying it, sighing it, to me! Oh my goodness!

Sometimes the feeling of having to love myself feels frustrating and lonely, but on good days, it makes me feel treasured, important, chosen. All those things I'm absolutely desperate to get from men, that keep me away from the men probably, I'm able to give myself. It was real. I heard myself breathe out the words in pleasure.

I love you.

Typing that gave me a warmth that started in my belly/soul and spread outwards. Maybe someday a partner will meet me in this place of self-love, but for now I'm happy and curious to practice on my own. Just like I practice my ropes! :)

Poly Feelings and Christmas Cute With The Guy Next Door, Part Three

 Before I leave the cute art night, I just want to remember the feeling of stapling up silk flowers with my sweet doomed crush while he sings "Do you realize?" in the sparkly Christmas Eve night. Two angels doing angel stuff, nothing can change that.

For Christmas, I'd originally invited TGNS to come over after dinner, for Scrabble with me and BFF-Formerly-Sweetie. But he kind of hinted that he wanted to come over earlier, so I invited him for dinner too.

(Things were different between BFF and I, this guy around. She was so cool about including him in Christmas, she was remarkably un-grumbly about him over all, which was new. She was so copacetic about it that it kind of freaked me out, like was she REALLY ready to let me go? That was beautiful but also so sad and scary too! What would our friendship be like if I had another Person around? Would it go away? Would we lose the bond we've built with each other post divorce, just because of some guy? I MAY have cried on the floor about this not too long ago, and I'm glad.)

The Guy Next Door was not on time for dinner, so I went over and got him. He came over like such a good boy all excited because he'd just downloaded a bunch of Bob's Burgers episodes for us to binge after family time was over.

He gave me a card with Monet's Water Lilies that said I was delightful, and that word made me inordinately happy because ever since he'd encouraged me to chat with the delightful Girl Next Door, I wanted to be delightful too. And here I was! I had it in writing.

Scrabble was so fun! BFF had admonished us to at least try to beat her, and we did respectably! 

The warmth and glow of that evening helps me understand what made TGNS want to cling to me, "conventionally attracted" or not. I remember when I was in my divorce process--connection and warmth felt so unattainable, I clung to it in any way I could. I feel so much compassion for where he's at, and I really, REALLY wanted to make his pain go away. Because I am codependent and taking care of people is my addiction! A fact I'm glad to have remembered yesterday.

After BFF went home, it was time for me and TGNS to try the couch again. I made my own little nest on one end, and he sat in my usual spot. I put a pillow wall between us so I wouldn't spook the poor timid boy, but after a while, I asked if I could put my head on his shoulder, and he said yes. Goodbye pillow wall!

"I won't try anything untoward," I said, and he made the saddest little sound. Maybe I should take up poetry again so I can give Saddest Little Sound its due, but I'm honestly so sick of this obsession.

What I see now looking back on that night is someone who really, REALLY wanted to want what I want, so we could have harmony. I wanted the same! I wanted to let him be timid and hesitant and reluctant and whatever else he was feeling.

But it felt bad, the pain he seemed to feel with every step forward. I can try to understand it, turn it over and over to try and figure out what he really wanted from me, but again, sick of the obsession.

It felt bad when he left at like 8:30 instead of commencing the promised binge. I resolved to set my sights on friendship and start letting the Other Stuff go.

(Meanwhile, while I'm typing this, I heard him screaming in anger next door, hopefully not at the cat! Can I go steal the cat?! Only sort of kidding.)

Autistic Euphoria and The Guy Next Door: Part Four

 

I was so busy bouncing, listening, interrupting, and picking out songs that I didn't realize he'd drawn Happy Eraserhead Baby! A moment of pure garmanbozialessness,

So after I found out about Girlfriend Next Door, I told The Guy Next Door there wouldn't be any Art Nights for a little while, but that I was happy to be friendly neighbs and wouldn't rule out hangouts in the future. I started Operation Mind My Business. I was genuinely friendly and welcoming to Girlfriend Next Door when she was housesitting, and there seemed a chance that all the crushiness might be over, that my ever-elusive dignity might stand a chance.

(Wait is the idea of dignity kind of a pain in the butt? I think maybe it is!)

But by the time he was on his way back from his trip, I just missed him. So I texted, "It's lonely here without anyone making me tea." and reinstated art night.

(Later on, a Codependents Anonymous friend would identify this choice as "abandoning myself." Maybe it was but I can't quite regret it all the way.)

Three Thursdays ago was our last Art Night. There were only two between us, not sure why my brain made it into such a ritual that it might as well be an institution! Except! Oh yeah, OCD, autism, and an acute case of twitterpatedness! I worked so hard getting the apartment ready! I agonized so hard about what to wear! Strangely, I don't remember what I did end up wearing! So weird! So rare!

Trauma Work Summer Has Actually Been Kinda Lovely, Part Two

In case you didn't know! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TNWZoZnRFhA

So I was in a Living-In-RFK's-America mood, trying not to think about the wellness camps, when one of my coworkers, obsessed with her own Noom journey, started doing a thing she does--listing off all the "obese" people she knows and cataloguing what she thinks what they are/shouldn't be eating. This included her own husband, from whom she hides food. She also begs her husband not to take GLP1s for his diabetes, because "Those are like giving drugs to a drug addict."

All  year long, I'd avoided any disagreement with The Work Ladies, leaving the room whenever I was tempted to argue. Being good about practicing my codependency recovery. But this time I didn't feel like leaving the room or even putting my headphones in--I just wanted to be in a workplace where my body-size wasn't seen as shameful, where, OMG, body size wasn't my coworkers' business. So I spoke up, tried to explain why "obese" feels like a slur to me, why this conversation felt bad to overhear. She continued her hiding-food-from-her-husband story, so I again asked her to stop, less nicely but still pretty civil.

There were three or four weeks of meetings about how "confrontational" I had been. My colleagues had been having a "normal conversation," said the HR director. The HR director was only a little bit smaller than me, and said she never experienced any anti-fat bias. Her boss reserved the right to enjoy talking about her South Beach Diet journey and ask anyone and everyone how they are eating.

I might write more about the scary meetings someday, but for now, that's enough to see why I landed in a profound burnout afterwards. I'd spent the year making myself as unobtrusive as possible, and I'd still ended up feeling like I was a threat to be contained and a problem to be solved. This is about the time my OCD therapist suggested a round of PTSD treatment.

The pattern of trying to stand up for myself and being treated as the problem is deep in my trauma bones, and I knew just the memory I wanted to work on. It was nothing directly about food or fatness, but about fighting for what's right and getting (literally, in the memory's case) kicked around and blamed for it. I was about to live in a nightmare over and over all summer in the name of healing. I'm almost done now, and I think it's working.
 

Trauma Work Summer Has Actually Been Kinda Lovely, Part One

(Except I'm not dead! Nor am I wrapped in plastic!)

I want to say livid with desire, though that isn't the right word at all. Radiant. Radiant with love and joy--there's a day like that, many paragraphs from now. Dizzy with love and sunshine for someone who's not a match, but a friend. No one wasever so crushworthy. She cracked open my heart with her openheartedness and generous spirit, and of course her pretty face. So many sentences before Summer Princess (The first princess to steal my heart!) but this story is grim so I wanted you to have something to look forward to. I'll try to make some pretty art along the way too, we'll see.

The Trauma Work Summer sprung from fatphobia (the world's) and codependency (mine). It starts one late spring morning when Rachel Maddow's podcast broke my faith and ruined my day--she said she felt "ooky" for talking about the president's obesity treatments, and I really wish she would have followed that "ook" and not DEVOTED LIKE TWENTY MINUTES OF THE ACTUAL NEWS TO A DIET BOOK.

I don't like admitting I depended on a newscaster to keep me sane  during the start of evil 47's evil second term, but I like the way she focuses on the protest movements and her sense of humor is a balm. It's mortifying to say I felt abandoned and betrayed, that someone I looked up to and who gave me so much strength over the years could be part of the "obesity epidemic" assumptions that bodies like mine need to be solved, done away with, disappeared. I don't want to be disappeared.

Ever since Lizzo slimmed down (Which is her right! Nobody's business, least of all some middle aged lady who doesn't have to get on stage for anything!) I've been grieving the body positivity era--hot, fat Lizzo! Regular Maintenance Phase episodes! Shrill the TV show! Fat Girls Dance Movement! She's All Fat! Danny Lavery as Dear Prudence, giving fatphobes the what-for at every opportunity! It seemed like Maddow's diet book moment was the final death knell of my hopes for Fat Liberation.

So that's the mood I went into work with that morning, and it was about to get worse.
 

OMG!! Briefly Unbored By Dating!!! Part One

 

I'm (saltily!) reporting a major victory! I felt totally gaga about someone! Someone who was neither my memory of The Shy One or my still-vexingly beautiful Blue Ribbon Work Crush!

Last Monday night, I was getting ready to go into my Codependents Anonymous meeting when I saw a cute misunderstanding in my dating inbox:

"Okay, when does your meeting get done, I'll come see you!" 

I was touched by that! He was slightly out of town so it would have been an effort! But I've been working a lot of hours these days and there was no way I was going to be in the mood for anything after the meeting besides having a couple of gummies and going to bed!

I righted the misunderstanding and gave him my number so we could chat after. There he was in my texts when I got home! Big smile emoji!

"How was the meeting?" He asked, and because he'd said something earlier about transparency, I told him what kind of meeting it was. 

"Tell me more," he said! And I did. I told him why I'm in Coda, and also let him know that I'm being treated for OCD and am likely on the autism spectrum. (Here's the test I took, it's supposed to be pretty reliable: https://embrace-autism.com/autism-spectrum-quotient/ )

All of that felt pretty nuts to tell him, definitely against the everybody-try-and-be-chill rules of dating, but it felt really good to disclose those aspects of myself!

Mr. Long Distance is a Dear, Part Two

 

Since The Shy One, I’ve been kind of frozen as to whether or not to have texting preferences. I’d rather a within-a-couple-hours reaction than a left-on-read. I’d rather know what time a date is than wing it. I think those wants are okay, but I still have TSO haunting me with his “How long am I allowed to go without texting? I’m not trying to be mean, I just want to know what’s going through your mind.”

(There was a lot that had been going through my mind, but most of all it was the fact that he’d recently endured “a little bit of malaria” and I hadn’t heard from him much for a few days.)

(It had been about eight hours that day in late January 2023, for the record, which isn’t long and also is. If I hadn’t been honest about being worried that day, would we have somehow made it? Still bargaining I guess.)

(Made what?)

(I’ve started going to Codependents’ Anonymous meetings, they’re helping with this particular spiral. And others!)

The day, Tuesday-before-last, when I was supposed to have my sexy video date with Mr. Long Distance, he got busy with work stuff and didn’t confirm the time, so I wasn’t sure if we were still on. In the meantime, I was working on a poster for our city’s Trans Visibility Day tribute to Nex Benedict. I’s also listened to one too many episodes of Talking Backwards, a Twin Peaks recap podcast. Now that I’m typing this, I realize I was just too vulnerable and sad to try such a new adventure that evening. It’s maybe just as simple as I wasn’t in the mood.

Which, whoa, I could have just said!

Instead, when the not-confirmed time arrived, I found myself sobbing into my thousand-piece puzzle, just stuck in a loop. Should I tell him I just like clearer communication, especially since we’re so far apart? Do I wait til we know each other better to mention it? Do I just say goodbye now so I don’t find myself later in love with someone who’d hiss “Why? Why are you crying?” at me in the middle of the night.

To be clear, aside from a similarly cute accent, Mr. Long Distance is not like The Shy One at all. He’s bolder and more transparent, more grounded in his life, in his creativity, and in his skin.  He definitely didn’t have anything to do with the grief that was bubbling up.

When the time came to chat, I guess I just was the mess that I am. I told him I was confused about whether we were on for our date or not. I let the feelings leak out in some pretty embarrassing texts, but bless him, oh BLESS YOU Mr. Long Distance, he hung in there.