Author: Alyssa

I blog on brilliantdistraction.com about relationships, friendships, and the art of genuine integrity and character! Come visit me!

Townie

I have these memories of different experiences that get brought up to the surface when I watch movies and listen to music. So there’s this one movie that actually makes me think of many, many different experiences and relationships in the span of less than 2 hours. Yep: Good Will Hunting. The most predominant  memory is from college. The geography isn’t identical, but I can definitely relate. There are a few people I am still friends with that may have some relationship to this story; like all of my experiences, I keep everything anonymous. I loved this movie, but when the parts that make me cry come on the screen, I realize it’s a combination of different parts of my life are simply culminating simultaneously. It is mostly the memory of the townie (as we called the Will Hunting types)?

I went to a small liberal arts college in eastern PA. In a slightly economically depressed area (at least then).  Somehow, my friends and I met up with a guy about town. He did not go to our college. I am pretty confident he didn’t go to any college or school near by. In our little college area, he was what we called a  townie. It’s not the nicest term. Or judgement free. I am well aware of that. This is my 18ish year old mind and not quite open to the people who had chosen another path. There was a lot to say about this guy C.  And nothing at all. We spent some time with him. I think I hooked up with him a few times, at least once in my vague memory. I don’t think he EVER came to my dorm, but I remember sneaking in his house. He was not allowed to be there. We snuck in late at night and had to leave by the window, I think. This seems insane, I know. And the fact I may have done this more than once. It was a most foreign idea that you wouldn’t have access to your own bedroom, being kicked out of your home. It kind of seemed foreign that you didn’t want to go to college. It didn’t occur to me that some people maybe weren’t provided the choice or it wasn’t an option. I honestly was so closed  up in a bubble and going to an independent college with ivy growing on the walls that it didn’t occur to me. That didn’t mean  I wasn’t open to learning about people and having interesting experiences.  I engaged in so many new experiences. I was too young for regrets.  This townie taught me magic tricks. This townie introduced me to an alternate universe. A universe in which parents were not generally present in their children’s lives or supportive. Possibly, looking back, this was the universe of tough love. Perhaps C. was a fuck-up. After spring break that year, he forever disappeared forever. But by then my life was forever changed by this guy C., the mysterious townie.

 

Music pairing: as inspired by the movie, listen to Baker Street. I believe it is on the Good Will Hunting soundtrack.

Fiction is not in my wheelhouse

 

I decided that I could not attempt that fiction short story. I can’t seem to write what I don’t know. I can’t seem to stray far from my truth and my experience. So, this brings me to my quandary. I have been working on blogging before moving to writing a memoir.

I have learned invaluable nuggets from blogging and reading about writing. And reading others’ writings. I have learned that some memoirs may be too sensitive to write and particularly to publish. I don’t know much about this as I just started blogging in September. I don’t want to be discouraged by those who say I should fictionalize my memoir, telling me   it would sell better and easier. Plus, I wouldn’t have as much to worry about. Is this true? Or am I just following a group of lemmings? I feel that I want to write more than a fictionalized account of my story. If I soften the edges,  I feel that I am softening the hard truth which is stranger than fiction anyway.  Blunting the damage. I get there could be legal ramifications.  I certainly understand I will  have people to answer to. While I can wrap my head around  all that, I feel unstoppable. Am I being realistic? Unrealistic? Ridiculous? To be told in a book I just bought that if I am a blogger, I am not a writer was discouraging. Is it even true? I don’t even know if I want to finish reading it.  I think that right now, I am a novice searching for answers.

SO people: If you are a blogger, but you consider yourself a writer, please let me know being a writer and a blogger is possible. If you are a writer of memoir(s) or fiction novels, please  let me know what you think of all my doubt and questioning.  I am such a  neophyte, humble and ready for comments and feedback. I once got incredible advice from an author of multiple fiction novels. He told me  in person not to write for anybody else. Write for me and write the truth. All the time. Thank you for that. I’m a sponge and I’ll soak it all in. Show me what you’ve got. I beg of you!

 

Music pairing: Hold On  & Good Enough  by Sarah McLachlan

What my marriage taught me: about myself and relationships

I know I made some people wait quite a bit for this last installment of my three-part series of “What my marriage taught me”. I apologize for the delay. This took a bit of time for obvious reasons. It was the hardest to compose. It is the hardest because being teachable alludes a bit of humility, does it not? Yes, money and fear are big topics and there is a lot to learn. Always. But when we are talking about ourselves in our 40’s, aren’t we supposed to be experts on ourselves? On our relationships?

In my  mid 20’s and I became single after a long six-year first-love kind of thing, I thought it would be “so exciting” and how I am going to find someone better than who I had left out of impatience and drifting apart. For the record, I never did find someone better right after leaving. That’s far and away a different story. Anyway, back then it was 1995 and I was hopelessly devoted to Alanis Morissette. Jagged Little Pill was my anthem back then. Damn! I had a lot to learn.This was when I thought I knew something about something. I had a 20-something sized ego and my bumper sticker on my Honda CRX said “Whatever”. That should say someting.

Since then I had traipsed through flings, AOL chat room encounters, short relationships, being cheated on, and mostly just being single. So much, yet really not  SO much. I learned to trust less, have  too much fun and I  believed sincerely that I would sleep when I die. I was a bit of a party girl. With out the drugs. A little alcohol, but really just guys….and more of the same nightclub/bar type existence.

Advance to 2006: I had just broken up with my boyfriend (as you know, the one that would be my husband in 2009). I thought I had learned that his bit of expressed anger and rage was too much for me. I guess not. I guess his charm and his ….everything….got to me AGAIN. I just didn’t learn. Not then. Not yet.

Advance to 2010: I returned to Denver with my tail between my legs. This relationship was done. I failed. Again. This time with lessons. Oh, there were lessons. I realized what dignity was. I realized what it meant to feel I had none. I knew what rock bottom really meant. I had no idea; I was completely naive to how rock bottom would feel exactly. For me: my life reduced to boxes packed in three hours, a rented car filled with some clothes, my dog and me. I was a grown adult who only had a ring on my finger that I would need to pawn at some point, my precious puggle Max and my mom’s  American Express. I had what little cash I took out (originally $200 a week before leaving Florida) before our accounts were frozen by him.

I got home. I cried it out. Every fucking day. There were tears. Yes, tears for him. Tears when he swore me out with horrible names the night I told him I got my old job back back in Denver. Tears of loss. Tears of failure. You get the idea. I went into therapy and saw a wonderful lady who really got me through the pawning of the wedding ring (I had to eat and pay a little rent), the paperwork after being served  divorce papers at my door step by a process-server, the trauma of being such a failure. But she helped me realize that what I went through was unique, but not unique.  Not everyone gets divorced after rage, post throwing  dangerous objects, post verbal abuse and “silent treatment” episodes (to teach me lessons about talking too much). Not everyone suffers unpredictable rage that has absolutely nothing to do with what the non abuser may have actually done or not done.  But those who have been through that know what that looks like. And feels like.  Even if they didn’t know back then. The first time I had a clue that there is something beside physical abuse that counts as some type of abuse was when I called the police the second time at the encouragement of my  father. My ex hadn’t actually hurt me, but for the first and last time, he did put his hands on me in a forceful way (to extract car keys). My father said I need to report that in light of what had happened the previous nights (ex trying to kick me out of my own place). This is the first time I learned first hand of something other than physical/sexual abuse. The police officer who took my report that day gave me a list of numbers on a card that described all types of abuse. This card was given to me by a male police officer. I dont know why that’s relevant, but it was to me at that time. It was a comfort that another male would recongnize the treatment was not right. I was extremely grateful, but more grateful long after I had left Florida. I was still shell-shocked having to even make a report at the time.

So, the aftermath: 2010-2016: I survived an awful divorce and monetary losses, loss of dignity, trust, and developed a necessity for  hyper-analysis of every infraction against me that I had perceived . I think I resented what he had done  to me in the divorce and aftermath more than the crimes of the actual marital discord.  I had a few relationships in 2016 and some online adventures up to then which I posted about previously.

What I learned about everything, including 2016, the birth of my blog!

  1. Humility is being teachable and allows me to progress to better and more healthy relationships.
  2. Admitting regrets: I can regret something and recognize I made a mistake, I had a lapse of judgement. I would love to say I live with out regrets. I don’t think I can say that right now. I think that sounds a bit righteous and a little ignorant. Can’t we all admit we didn’t do something perfectly, something we would like to do a little differently?
  3. Honesty:  What do I want? What can I handle and what can’t I handle in my future relationships? What are my red flags? Can I hold up to my own side of the bargain-for the sake of my dignity, can I walk away from those red flags?
  4. Don’t write about people in current relationships with out their consent. I learned this in my last relationship after trying to get him to read my blog after every entry that mentioned him. After getting into a heated discussion, he read one and felt blindsided.  I recognize that I will preserve people’s privacy until they are comfortable with being mentioned in a most anonymous sense.
  5. I learned  that what I really have after all this is anxiety: Still. After all these years from the series of unpredictability and rage in my uber-brief marriage. I may have had it before I was even married; however, it spiraled  out of control in the years since, includng the first few  years of my recovery from the divorce. Now I can admit it is something I have to, and want to work on, something that I seek help for to make these relationships work.  So I don’t sabotage the really awesome opportunities and people who come into my life.

 

SO… some of you may be asking about #3: What are my red flags in the aftermath? What can I handle? What did I learn that I really need and got honest about it? Why don’t I write that as a part two of this third installment.

Please leave me a comment if you would like to hear more of this detail in #3 and I’d be happy to include a part two!

 

Music pairing: If I need to say it: Okay! I was inspired by Alanis, because when I am not in the old space, I need to be reminded of how it felt. Jagged Little Pill does that wonderfully.

Careless Whisper: Summer of 1986

Yes, I know, Wham! came out with Make It Big in 1984. But when I was in England in 1986, Wham! was still enjoying its success with Careless Whisper. I was coming of age. I was 16 going on 17 and other than a horrible spin the bottle incident at summer camp, I had never really been kissed.  Thank you George Michael. This is for you!

It was the summer and I was staying with a homestay family while I learned about small town living in south England, in Chandler’s Ford, Hampshire, England specifically.  I came for three weeks and immediately befriended a British teen (maybe older, can’t remember at all, but she had a car and drove us everywhere). J. took me to places I had only dreamt about, places that I never went, night clubs. Night clubs with thumping 80’s music from the speakers and tall Englishmen with gorgeous accents. We were in the south of England and it was magnificent. My homestay mum told me gin and tonics were the way to go for selecting a beverage of choice when I went out to the clubs. She tended bar; I naturally figured she was an expert in these matters.  How would she ever guess that would be my drink for the next 20 years?! But I digress….

So one night in Winchester, J. drove to a club and confidently just walked in with me. As I am new to this whole “having friends, drinking alcohol, and talking to cute blokes” thing, I hid in the corner till I had successfully downed two gin and tonics, as advised.  J. told me I was going to have to learn how to do this club thing if she was going to keep taking me out (this was pretty new in the summer weeks I was in Chandler’s Ford).  I took a deep breath, a final swig that burned going down, and took a look around.  I am pretty sure I was the only American there that night. One particular bloke walked up and asked me to dance. I was so frightened and absolutely paralyzed. But then, I heard something  familiar: Careless Whisper by Wham!. Yes! I can do this! I’ve got this. I can merge paralysis and nerves and familiarity and survive this dance.  Somehow, I made it through the song and honestly? I only have George Michael to thank. His gentle voice, his melody for the song (I don’t know music terms, I could have this all wrong), and the seductive way it spoke to me got me through a first dance with a British bloke who was completely adorable. He could have been royalty and it wouldn’t have mattered.  My experience with dancing with guys and the attention given me was virgin territory for this barely been kissed girl who nothing really mattered and I only cared that Wham! was blaring from the speakers ONLY FOR ME. “Tonight the music seems so loud,  I wish we could lose this crowd” was all I was hearing.  Much later after I had time to digest a bit more of the 80’s, I would realize this was such a sad song. For now, I was seeking undue comfort in this and I had only this to get me through the most nerve-wracking first real dance. Needless to say, this was a practice dance; I didn’t talk much to him after, but he definitely  gave me the opportunity  to become slightly unstuck.

I don’t remember what that bloke’s name was or even really what he looked like, but I will NEVER forgot that dance and I certainly can’t forget Wham! Never. Ever. And I can’t even remember if he kissed me.

If any song, much less a Wham! song did this to you, gave you courage and familiarity in an unfamiliar situation, please leave a comment. I’m not the only one?!

Song pairing: Need I say more?

What my marriage taught me: about fear

Fuck Everything And Run. Sure. That’s what comes to mind for many about fear. Unless in the whole flight or fight drama of it all, you can’t do either. You are stuck. You are paralyzed. The fear of the event makes you indefinitely immobile. Incapacitated. Despite your strength, you just can’t move. The idea of doing anything about it scares you to death because you have never been in this exact situation. Well, hardly ever anyway.  This one is different and you just can’t move. No.Matter.What. Until you do. Finally.  That’s what this post is about. Part of the nitty-gritty details will make its way into a longer story, but I am going to start small. Because I’m still a tiny bit in fear. How safe is it  to write about this? I am breaking through fear to just say: What the hell, I am going to take a risk.

When I was finally off on a fun impulsive  3-4 day vacation to the Bahamas, I had absolutely NO clue  the guy I was seeing at the time would propose marriage.  I am not sure he know. Was he even my “boyfriend”? Because I had told him I did want to get married (some day). Because he needed a woman to take care of him. Because he was bored? I will never know. I never got that closure. But that’s okay. That’s not what this is about. This is the second chapter of my relationship with this guy. I should have closed the book and put it on a high shelf after finishing the first chapter. Better yet, I should have donated the book to Goodwill or something for some other desperate 30-something woman to open up, ripe for seduction.  However, maybe I was that desperate woman. Waiting for marriage and someone to want me. I am pretty intelligent. I had a good job. I practically majored in psychology, so HOW DID I GET HERE?

I was pretty sure  a snowballing effect of fear started when I accepted his marriage proposal. In fact, I will go as far as to say the fear started  long before when I never thought I would get married at the late age of 39…. the fear of being unloveable. I guess as I write this, I realize my own fears set the ball rolling and his actions in the Bahamas and forward just compounded  the idea that fear would take on a different species: the fear of being alone again. So no matter what happened, the physical fear seemed real and relatable. But it was no match for the real fear that simply left me in my tracks.

It was easy enough to tell (some of my) friends the physical fear I felt because I knew would get sympathy about being stuck in a bad situation. There was plenty of fear based on my physical environment (never an assault upon me, ever) so that’s what I told my friends. The OTHER fear, that I couldn’t verbalize or put into words yet, I still felt in my core, but I was NOT ready to be honest about. Maybe  there is  that undeniable shame for me,  in the fear of being alone and unloveable. I was  surely not going to admit such things, even if I could verbalize those  feelings or identify those moments of   palpable loneliness. Better to say  he threatened me  in the Bahamas. Better to say he got into rages that ended up with broken items and refrigerators turned inside out. All true, all scary. Unfortunately, when I finally had to leave 1.5 years later, I realized my fear of physical safety was only part of the total fear I carried with me.

My lesson: I had no idea I had this internal fear that followed me everywhere, before AND after my marriage. I was justified in my fear for physical  safety and until I left him (he forced me out despite my weak attempts to seek counseling with him), I had absolutely no clue about the real fear.  My marriage was not in vain. Its been teaching me things all along. I had to hit rock bottom in an emotional abyss in 2010, crying daily, to even realize the fear had nothing to do with him at all. That really sucked. I will be completely honest. That sucked. It would have been so much easier to say his rage and unpredictable moods were enough to be fearful about. They were pretty bad and he would argue that I was never in actual danger, but I was pretty scared. Those stories will come later and the   detailed process of my story will become more evident. I had to move forward. I had to get UNstuck, UNparalyzed, UNhelpless. I moved back to Colorado in 2010 and started up a job. And I got right into therapy, which was really translation for a biweekly cry/drama/trauma session. Whatever.It.Takes. I am still working on becoming unstuck and out of the fear cycle. It’s a long process.

For now, suffice it to say, my fear is my own to deal with. That’s really what my marriage taught me: I think now it can be a matter of Face Everything And Recover. Recover from the lowest point that I have ever sunk, defended as the years of 2009-2010.

Depending on how honest you are with yourself, you may find yourself in the middle of your own long journey!
Readers: What did you learn from your marriage? Whether you are currently married, divorced or widowed, what did the actual process of living with the person you tied the knot with teach YOU?  Please leave your comments and I would love to read and respond!

 

Have a great rest of your weekend!

Music Pairing: Personally, I listened to the Fumbling Towards Ecstasy (Sarah McLachlan) and most songs spoke to me, particularly, Fear (surprise), Possession, and Hold On.

I could have probably listened to Depeche Mode or Nine Inch Nails for that matter (okay maybe NOT Nine Inch Nails this time!)… However, Yaz’s Upstairs at Eric’s could have really worked.