Mr. Grey came over to my house yesterday, a beautiful Sunday, disheveled from the previous night’s activities. Is he too old to be getting that wasted? Of course…in his defense it was the Mayweather fight and he was at his friends house…he also has horrible coping skills. Specializing in addiction and having 3 degrees in the behavioral sciences field, I can categorically state on record that he is not an addict. However, what his issue is? He has no. coping. skills.
How this becomes my problem one would ask? Well, if I were the one to be causing him stress or triggering him…I would obviously stop. But…I am not the reason for his self-destruction. I am not the reason he sabotages himself quite frequently. His ex is. And not even his wife. His ex-mistress. The woman he left his wife for.
Hi, baggage, it’s me…bigger baggage! So nice of you to join this BAGGAGE party! Said nobody stable, ever. Unfortunately, I have opened a large part of my heart to Mr. Grey. Is this piece so gigantic due to the amount of shit that comes with him? Perhaps. Am I doing anything preventive to establish a safety net for when I come stumbling down? Yes and no. I am breaking one of the cardinal FWB rules I instilled in our pseudo relationship…and that is innocently speaking to people from a dating website. Just to keep my options open. These people are easily delete-able in my phone and over the last few weeks when I began speaking to them, it has strictly been conversations based off of the simple and innocent “hi, how are you, how was your weekend” type nonsense that occurs immediately prior to “when can we hang out/meet?” Am I walking a fine line? Of course….but this, boys and girls, is the only way I know how to create a safety net.
Most of my friends and confidents who know about my pseudo relationship with Mr. Grey have encouraged me, some strongly, to recognize how much he means to me, admit this to him, and then take the consequences as they happen. If, Mr. Grey does not really want to commit to me, then this is something I will know sooner rather than later. Sooner, to hopefully shield more than just my ego. I am leaning towards later. I would rather know this information later.
Think about it: summer, bbq, pool, vacation. Who wants to spend these activities single? Not. me. Especially not me at my age. Not to mention, the whole here is a copy of my key to my apartment shit that I pulled has generously lead to the discussion and potential move-in date of June 1, 2015 where Mr. Grey will subsequently not only be my pseudo-boyfriend, but my new roommate as well. How I am scamming this with the landlord is still up-in-the-air …but, when there is a will, there is a way!
But getting back to the I would rather know later thing…it isn’t like I am even pretending to have a solid group of friends that I can go out with Sex & The City style. I have a few close friends, who are married (whether they want to be or not) with children. It isn’t like how it was when we were 20 something and all dying to be single. Being single at 33 years old…well, sucks.
Thanks social media for consistently reminding me that I inevitably have nothing anyone else my age has. A stable home, family, and career. Let’s move away from the career aspect of my life as my direct boss, the VP of the company I now work for, was arrested this morning for some political corruption scheme…blasted all over the media…and not like social media…like New York Times status. Like Press Conferences from the Attorney General. Okay…enough about the actual drama in my life and more about the anti-climactic, I think we all know how it is going to end, demise I am slowly creating for myself.
I had the family and the home…well the 2-3 bedroom apartment for rent up and my abusive estranged husband. I know, I will spare you all of the pathetic details. After recognizing that he was the root cause of not only my mental anguish, but my panic disorder….and of course seeing how badly he was fucking up his young and impressionable daughter…I kicked his ass to the curb. Or, temporarily to the not-for-rent basement apartment my landlord converted back in to two usable rooms prior to renting it to my ex and I. Did my ex place a nasty mattress top on the playroom floor where he lay his pretty little fucked up head each night after downing a six pack for a few months before actually moving out? Of course. Either way….even in a pretend land of butterflies and magical rainbows and unicorns… I never. had. the. family. or. home. that everyone else seems to don effortlessly all over the internet. And, honestly, being totally frank, it is infuriating that someone as kind hearted as myself is left alone some nights. You know, after my daughter is peacefully sleeping, and I am left surfing the internet. I feel on some level that I deserve to feel bad…which is again, for another blog, maybe entitled “I hate myself,” or some other self-loathing good for nothing title.
Back at the ranch, where insanity breeds….and as sick as it sounds…I would rather maybe someone’s girl, maybe not depending on their mood…than be by myself. Granted, I love my alone time…I also love being held in the arms of someone I care for….even if it is Mr. Grey…whose name should categorically be changed to Mr. I-have-no-idea-why-I-won’t-commit-to-you-since-you-are-perfect-for-me. Ha. Mr. Grey it is.
I hear what my friends are saying…and by friends I mean my one friend….in that I should want more for myself. I should recognize that I deserve better. But it is difficult. I know that Mr. Grey would commit if he was emotionally able to. And until he says or makes me think otherwise…it’s pseudo-status all. the. way.
[5/5/2015]