"He was sweet, he was creative, he listened to the Grateful Dead. He broke up with me on our six month anniversary, without an explanation. Instead, I came home to find that all the things that had once been at his place, were now scattered throughout my living room."
I failed to mention what happened next. Less than 24 hours after he ended our relationship, I thought I should probably "unfollow" him on Spotify. I discovered that he beat me to the punch. I tossed and turned, awake at 2 am, curled up into the fetal position, wondering how could he move on so quickly? What else had he done in the last two days to solidify the end of our relationship? I logged onto the dating website we had originally met on, and there he was. Updated picture. Updated profile. "Active" at 2 am. Fuck! Fuck? Fuck! How could I have been so stupid? All those times he told me he loved me, was it just a crock of shit? Was six months, just a really big notch in his bedpost? The anger I should have felt towards him, was manifested in in self doubt. I called a therapist the next morning. Her office had the most breathtaking view of the skyline and the mountains behind it. I stared at that skyline and cried for the first hour I met with her. I stared at that skyline and listened to myself detail all the really misogynistic things he had said to me, that I just let slide. All the warning signs, the red flags that I eagerly dismissed, all because I wanted to believe that my search for love was finally over. In the following weeks, I began to see him for who he really was, and to forgive myself for not being willing to see it earlier. As soon as that happened, as soon as I was able to let it go, to move on, he started texting me. I ignored it. He came over one afternoon while I was not there. I ignored it. Finally, after many texts and emails I realized that he would not get it. "Stop contacting me." He stopped. That was almost two months ago. Yesterday was my last day in Denver. I woke up at 7 am, worked in my garden, took the pup to daycare, got my hair did, and said goodbye to some friends. Then I headed home to finish packing and cleaning. And that's when it happened: "Hi Lauri. Please talk to me and let me know how you're doing." It was him. My hands started to shake. I cussed at my phone. I tried to move on. Half an hour later: "I'm very sorry for everything that happened. I'd like to take you to dinner so we can talk." Why? Why today? Did he see me getting my hair done in LoDo? Did he see me walking out of Sol Shine in LoHi? Did he see me as I got on I-25, just a block from his place? Or did he read my blog? How would he have found it? Was he sitting around and googling me? And then he called. I let it go to voicemail. I was done ignoring him. I texted him back to the tune of, "I don't want you in my life, I asked you to stop contacting me. Keep it up and I'm calling the police." "I just feel so bad that I broke your heart." Oh, hell no. Oh, hell no. It would take a lot more than a six month relationship to break my ticker. He did not get to have that satisfaction, of feeling like he devastated me. Ruined me. Oh, hell no. "You didn't. I just think your a real asshole." Apparently, this is not the best way to deal with a total nut job. Cause things just got much, much uglier, and somehow, I ended up in the fetal position at 2 am, once again wondering how I did not see this guy for who he really was, and full of self doubt. After a restful hour of sleep, I packed my Subaru, loaded up the dog and hit the road. Nothing helps clear the mind like ten hours of driving. In between audiobooks, and revisiting every playlist I've ever made, I had a lot of time to think about what unfolded yesterday. And then, Katy Perry told the truth: "Days like this I want to drive away Pack my bags and watch your shadow fade You chewed me up and spit me out Like I was poison in your mouth You took my light, you drained me down Throw your sticks and your stones, throw your bombs and your blows But you’re not gonna break my soul" So I'm driving through Texas, 35 years old, singing Katy Perry at the top of my lungs, tears streaming down my face, feeling oddly comforted by the fact that Katy Perry knows exactly how I feel. In that moment of teen pop music, I was able to let this all go.... I am strong and I am brave. I do not need his insecurities, his hostility. I do not need any of his shit to follow me to the Yucatan Penninsula and back. I visualized myself unwrapping myself from his weird twisted web of shit, and moved forward, though the muggy Texas mesa. It's hot as hell in Texas. They sell wine at Walmart in Texas. Nilo is excited, yet freaked out, yet scared, yet excited. He's currently passed out. I'll follow him soon.
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Last September I thought I had found The One. He was sweet, he was creative, he listened to the Grateful Dead. He broke up with me on our six month anniversary, without an explanation. Instead, I came home to find that all the things that had once been at his place, were now scattered throughout my living room. My dog, Nilo, took it pretty hard. And yeah, I guess I did too. Traveling heals all wounds. Or at least most of them. So I listed my condo on AirBnB and left the rest up to fate. Soon enough I had an interested renter, and accepted her request to live in my place for 6 weeks this summer. Long story short, I am currently in the process of packing all my personal items into either storage or a suitcase, and preparing myself, my Subaru and Nilo, for a six week road trip through Mexico. I'm a bit nervous. I think most people would be pretty concerned about driving across the border, being alone, the cartel, not speaking Spanish etc. I have chosen to occupy myself with other things- like what if Nilo gets eaten by a Mexican street dog? What if I have to reverse my Subaru down a windy, steep, one lane road? What if I get the Zika virus, have a hot fling, get pregnant, and my baby ends up with an abnormally large head? I think they call this displacement, and I'm really good at it. But honestly, I love Mexico. I had been to Cabo a handful of times, and detested it. However, three years ago I ended up travelling to Oaxaca and Mexico City and fell in love with it. I returned to Mexico City last fall for Day of the Dead, and loved it even more. I think Mexico is a bit of an addiction. It's close enough to the US that flying down south for a long week is just as easy as a trip to Florida. Yet, I've had less problems in mainland Mexico than of anywhere else I've traveled, including Florida. And I've wandered a cemetery at two a.m. in Mexico City.... Anywhere outside of a resort is deemed as "unsafe" by most Americans. I have found this to be total bullshit. I was drugged while sitting by a pool in Cabo San Lucas when I was 25. TWICE. I had a few drinks, then could suddenly not take a step without falling over. My family thought I had a severe drinking problem, until the same thing happened to my dad, at the same resort a few years later. I wanted to stick my tongue out at all of them and scream, "I TOLD YOU SO! I ONLY HAD TWO MARGARITAS! I'M NOT AN ALCOHOLIC!" Because stuff happens like this in resorts towns more often than one might think, it's easy to assume that life outside the adobe walls of Sandals must be really terrifying. But lets be honest- over 64 people were shot in Chicago last weekend. And it wasn't some sort of shooting rampage- it was just an average weekend in Chicago. You are likely to be a victim of violence in Mexico if you have drugs, want drugs, or know anyone involved with drugs. You are likely to be a victim of violence in Mexico if you are hanging out in Juarez or TJ. You're likely to be a victim of violence in the US if you just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like school. Or work. Or a movie theater in the suburbs. Enough about violence. Nilo is passed out on the couch. It's 97 degrees in Denver. I need to continue sorting things into boxes, and more importantly get a bottle of wine. My next post will likely be from a place we should truly be afraid of- Texas. |
AuthorI'm Lauri. Teacher for nine months of the year, vagabond for the other three. I've traveled to France, Russia, West Africa, SE Asia and all over the US. This summer I'll be driving to Mexico with my little dog, Nilo. ArchivesCategories |