Saturday, December 26, 2015

Not the Easiest Christmas Ever

But at least it's over, right?
2015 hasn't been the best year... my sweet father attempting suicide, losing Hugh, losing my best friend, the death of my brother. It's been a year of incredible loss for me.

I feel like I've had the absolute shit kicked out of me this year. And, yeah, I might be having a bit of a pity party right now. I think I'm due one.

Today was incredibly rough. I've never been a huge fan of Christmas as an adult... hell, even as a child, really. Being the youngest of eight, my childhood Christmases were full of hearing stories about these magical Christmases when all my siblings were younger... by the time I came around, they were all moving out on their own, starting their own families and their own traditions. It's also the time of year I associate with my oldest brother committing suicide. He didn't actually do it until February, but I remember the chain of events that started at Christmas... and it's my last memory of him. I was only 10, but it's etched on my soul forever. Oh, not to mention 3 out of 4 of my grandparents died in December.

As a non-Christian, or heathen if you grow up in Kentucky, I certainly don't celebrate the holiday as the birth of the son of God, since I don't believe that. And, let's be honest... Jesus, the man, wasn't born on December 25th anyway. Really, I'd just rather not have to be a part of the whole Christmas thing, but it's impossible. You simply cannot avoid it. From music on the radio, to every freaking ad, to all the events at work - and if you try to distance yourself from them, you get labeled as a stick-in-the-mud.

This year, even knowing it was going to be an especially hard one, I did try to summon up some Christmas cheer and participate. I did the Secret Santa at work. I went to my brother's house to celebrate the day (which is a whole nother bunch of angst I'm just going to leave alone for now). Hell, I even put up not just one, but TWO Christmas trees in SL. Hung stockings for me and Hugh... until I got dumped on my ass. Then his came down... and it was just sad.

I missed him today... a lot. Kept wanting to try to reach out to him... just to feel some connection, but there was none there. I hoped for a Merry Christmas email that never came, of course. It hurt. It still hurts.

And I feel badly for feeling so hurt and so blue... because I do have someone new in SL. And even that is causing me a bit of angst instead of the joy I should be feeling by having a new love. I want to be able to shake of my sadness over losing Hugh and just enjoy this amazing man who has dropped into my life. This incredibly wonderful man who understands that I'm still in love with Hugh, even though I'm also falling in love with him. And should I feel guilty for that? For falling in love with someone else when Hugh and I just ended?

Also, I can't share much about the new man because of previous drama in his last relationship. Even though they have broken up, and were broken up when we got together, just to stay out of the drama that is sure to follow we're keeping us secret. And that makes it feel like we're Doing Something Wrong when we absolutely aren't. Both of us should be free to move forward together, and there is a big part of me who's thinking to hell with the drama or repercussions and just let it all out, but... god, who wants to deal with the drama? Who has the energy for that? I don't, and I don't think he does, either.

I just want to put Hugh in a special place for very special, happy memories and be able to give myself, completely, to this new man as he deserves. I want that. I really, really do. Maybe I'm being too hard on myself... what Hugh and I had was beautiful and we were together for a very long time. We didn't end because of a fight, or because we fell out of love. We just couldn't be together anymore. I should cut myself some slack... I can't be expected to get over that, over him, in a week or two.

And I shouldn't feel bad about falling in love with someone else. It's fast, yes... but I fall in love fast. I always have... I always go all in. I've never been good at holding back my heart.

Yes, I'm ready for 2015 to be over. I'm proud of myself for still standing at the end of this really horrible year. I've wanted to crumple up into a little ball of sorrow and just cease to exist many times... but I'm still here. I want a fresh start, a fresh year, to make things better - for myself and for those around me that I love.

I'm tired of being tired... of being blue. I need some things to change. I want my joy back, damn it.

I'm ready for 2016.

Saturday, December 19, 2015

Picking Up the Pieces

Okay, well... I got that bit of anger out of my system.
I knew, deep down inside, we weren't going to be able to make things right again. I was just stubbornly refusing to admit it.

I love Hugh, and wish him nothing but happiness and love. We had an amazing ride... our time together was a beautiful gift.

I don't hate his wife. She's certainly not my favorite person, but I don't hate her. And how can I blame her? I'm not party to the intimate workings of their marriage. That is something Hugh protected, and kept from me, for the entirety of our relationship. We spoke very little about it out of an abundance of respect for her, and for their real lives together.

From the little I know, she's a good woman. She has to be... he loves her.

And so I wish them both well. I hope they work through this and find their bliss with each other.
As for me... well, I'm doing okay. I can't quite say I'm great yet, but I will be. It hurts to lose him... to lose the friendship we've built.

But I'm cautiously moving forward.

I've made a new friend. A new lover.

Yes, it was fast. But for all intents and purposes, I've been alone since September. That's when the missus found out about me, and Hugh and I have had very limited contact since then, and certainly no sex. He became a monk immediately. Any attempts at flirting and seduction were met with distraction and redirecting on his part. Though we tried to maintain something, it wasn't the passionate love affair we'd been having for the previous year and a half.
I know I want a relationship again. I love being part of a couple. I love giving my love to someone else and having it returned.

It's far, far too early to be using the big L word with this new person. We are both coming out of long term relationships and are treading very lightly. We're taking our time to get to know each other, to be friends and to be the person we can talk to about our mutual heart breaks.

But holy hell, he's a sexy motherfucker. Our first time together was last night. He knocked my socks off and it felt so good to drown in someone again. To feel sexy and desired again. To be touched and held and loved but good. The kissing, the feel of new hands touching me. The taste in my mouth of his cock, the intimate feel of abandon and release as he slid inside me, marking me, taking me.

Oh, how I've missed that.
It's not going to be easy. We both still very much love the people we're trying to leave behind. I'm not looking to replace Hugh. What we had was unique and beautiful and us. I won't taint the memories we made by trying to slide someone else into his place. And my new lover deserves to be taken on his own merits. He isn't Hugh... he's him.

We may crash and burn... I just don't know yet where it's going and I'm not going to try to force it into being anything. I intend to let it grow and flourish at its own pace.

I'm still shedding tears over my loss... our loss, because I know Hugh is feeling it as acutely as I am, even though we no longer speak or have any contact. There are certain songs that send the tears streaming down my cheeks... words and phrases he spoke. Reminders of what once was surrounding me.
But I've no choice but to pick up the pieces and move forward. My smile might be a bit shaky, but it's there. I had everything I wanted... and now I don't. There's nothing but to let myself grieve that loss, and rebuild in my own ways and time.

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

Bare Fingers

Well, the email finally came tonight.
The one I've been expecting for a couple months now.

The one I hoped would never actually come.

The last email from Hugh. The one where he said it was really and truly over and we wouldn't speak again.

Ever.

I can't say I was surprised... but I still wasn't prepared.

I'm not entirely sure what I'm supposed to be doing. I read the email twice, cried twice. There have already been so many tears these past couple of months. I don't want to cry anymore, even at this finality.

I immediately jumped on my computer and started erasing all traces of him... hid the emails, the photos. I know not to delete them. Someday the pain won't be so bad and I'll be able to look at them again.

Logged into SL. Took down all the photos, sent Opus (his horse) back to him. Took him off my profile. And the final two, utterly devastating things... I removed his rings from my fingers, and I defriended him.

Shit, I'm crying again.

I once thought I'd leave SL when Hugh and I ended, but I'm not going to. I need it.

I'm angry. He got to say his final words to me... I didn't get to say mine to him. I didn't get to say goodbye. I gave him nearly two years and I didn't even get to say goodbye.

I hate her. His wife. I'm told she harbors no ill will towards me. Oh, but god, I hate her right now. I know that it's anger and I don't really hate her... can't blame her... but god, I hate her right now. And I DO blame her. You fucking cold bitch. If you didn't want your husband to cheat, you should have been down on your knees sucking his dick. Fuck you. I know you read this blog. So fuck you. Fuck you for what you took from me, from him. Fuck you for being a shitty wife. And from how it sounds, you don't plan on doing a god damn thing to be a better wife now. You're just going to keep being a frigid bitch and make him miserable. Fuck you.

You win. You have everything. I have nothing. Congratulations... and fuck you.

What's next for Beth Macbain? I don't know. I will always love him, but I know I won't always be in love with him. Right now I want to punch him in the nuts. Fuck you, too, for being her doormat. You deserve better.

That's all I have tonight. I'm sure there'll be more as it sinks in... that I will never have another conversation with him.

But right now... it's just pain and anger. A lot of anger.

Sunday, December 6, 2015

Boxes

Once upon a time, like yesterday, there was a woman. 
A fine woman. Intelligent, strong, thoughtful. Busy.

She was a very, very busy woman and as such, she accumulated a lot of stuff. 

Big stuff, little stuff, important stuff, annoying stuff, happy stuff... lots and lots of stuff. Being a fine woman, an organized woman, she began sorting her stuff and putting it all in boxes.

And she sorted every box, and carefully labeled every box. Some were marked "urgent", some "not-so-urgent", some had a big sticker that said "to be dealt with"... but there was one box, one very special box, that she labeled "My Most Precious Thing". And inside that box was just that... the one thing she held most dear to her heart, one thing above all others.
It was a beautiful box that she put her Most Precious Thing inside. No ordinary brown box would do. It was a fancy box, covered in sparkles and ribbons and brightly colored bows. No one seeing that box could mistake it for anything other than what it was - her very most prized thing. Her Most Precious Thing.

She put the box in a place of honor. Someplace where she could always see it, where she would always know it was there. 
And then she set about dealing with her other boxes. So, so many boxes! She dealt with the urgent ones, going through their contents, sometimes sorting them into other smaller boxes, sometimes solving the puzzles the boxes held and discarding them before moving to the next box. Sometimes she'd have to deal with what she could, then put things back inside their boxes. Some stayed labeled "urgent", some got relabeled "to be dealt with" or "not-so-urgent". 

This took a lot of time, especially since there were always new boxes arriving. They, too, had to be labeled and sorted and dealt with. Days turned to weeks and weeks to months... months to years. Boxes, boxes everywhere. She was up to her ears in boxes. They filled her house. The porch. Her attic, her basement - all full of boxes.

And her special box - her most special box - sat there, unopened. The box containing her Most Precious Thing. She knew she needed to check on the contents of that box. What was inside needed special care, after all. It needed nurturing, needed to be nourished and reassured that it was indeed her Most Precious Thing. 
She knew this, but there were so many other boxes - so many urgent boxes. And she could see her special box, sitting there, unopened, and she knew it was fine. Oh, yes, she had her eye on the sparkly box, but she just couldn't stop taking care of all those other boxes, especially since she could see it right there and knew her special box with her Most Precious Thing was okay. 

Wasn't it? It was still sparkly and pretty, the ribbons and bows were still vibrant and beautiful and she knew the box was protecting and shielding her Most Precious Thing. 
So she carried on, opening and sorting and dealing and reboxing and relabeling all her stuff. She accepted delivery of new boxes and made room for them.

Years passed, and one day she found herself with a tiny window of time. A few quiet moments with no new deliveries and all her other boxes stacked properly, though teetering, for just the briefest moment of time and she decided to take her special box off the shelf, open it up and check on her Most Precious Thing. 
That's very odd, she thought as she lifted the box into her lap. It doesn't weigh as much as I remember.

She realized that though the box looked just fine from the front, the view that she saw every day, the view that all her visitors saw, it had begun to disintegrate. She, rather reluctantly if truth be told, pried the lid from her special box and gasped.

Some of her Most Precious Thing was gone. It had spoiled... gone rancid, for the most part. Not all of it, but a damn good chunk of it had festered with neglect and simple decayed. 
She blinked a few times. She felt certain her Most Precious Thing could be made whole again with some TLC. She'd had it for so long... she was so comfortable knowing it was there, safe, in its special box. She'd grown so confident in its presence, so completely assured that nothing could ever happen to her Most Precious Thing.

She had taken it for granted. 

She'd simply assumed her Most Precious Thing was safe inside its special box. It showed no outward signs that it was rotting away. She couldn't be expected to see through the sides of the special box, and her Most Precious Thing certainly hadn't made its difficulties known to her. It hadn't peeked its head outside the box and said "Hey, I need to be tended, too. I need to be dealt with and sorted!" 
How could she be expected to know her Most Precious Thing was falling apart? 

She got angry. She shoved the lid back on the special box and pushed it back in with the stacks and stacks of other boxes. After all, more boxes were being delivered now. And they were marked "urgent"!

Her Most Precious Thing should be able to take care of itself. It had years to get used to it. It had gotten too big for its special box, she decided. Thought it deserved something better than the wonderful special box she had made for it. How ungrateful! How very selfish of her Most Precious Thing to not appreciate its beautiful box!

Her Most Precious Thing had always been there for her. Stalwart and strong and faithful to her. How dare it go and get all needy on her?
There was something else she didn't realize, though. Her Most Precious Thing was actually pretty damn happy in its box. It was comfortable in its special box - no, more than comfortable. It was content and it was at home in its special box. Oh, and this Most Precious Thing loved this woman. This very busy, very intelligent, very wonderful woman who tended so many boxes - because her Most Precious Thing understood. If she didn't tend to those boxes, those urgent boxes, who would? And they did have to be tended. Her Most Precious Thing was proud of the woman. It was honored to be in her special box and honored to be her Most Precious Thing. If truth be told, there was nowhere her Most Precious Thing would rather be than in her special, sparkly box. 
It just needed a little something more than she was able to provide, what with all those other boxes that needed her attention. Those parts that had disintegrated... well, they weren't actually gone. They'd left the special box for a bit, yes. It didn't intended to, but the box was falling apart and it spilled out a little bit. This little bit of Most Precious Thing found itself floating in the air, in the ether, for the first time in many, many years. And in the blink of an eye, it found itself in another box, one without a lid. It could settle into this box and make itself comfy for a little while before floating back home to its own special box. And the owner of this borrowed box was a woman who also had some other boxes, but not quite so many, and she made this little open box her own very special box for the time this little wayward bit of Most Precious Thing was inside it. 

This other box-tender watered and pruned and dusted off this tiny part of this Most Precious Thing. She knew it wasn't hers... a Most Precious Thing can only truly belong to one person, as a whole. There were rules. There were truths. Incontrovertible truths, written not in stone, but in wurtzite boron nitride! But still, she loved this small piece of Most Precious Thing. She missed it terribly when it went back into its special box, with the sparkles and ribbons and bows. 
She understood that it had to, but it saddened her so. Not just that this little piece was gone from her boxes, but because she could see that it was still starving, because the woman had slammed the lid down on it again, enshrouding it in darkness once again. The woman was still angry, and her Most Precious Thing settled into its special box, frayed and broken and decaying, to wait once more. 

Nothing was happy now. Not the woman, not the other box-tender, and certainly not the Most Precious Thing. 
But there were boxes to be opened. The woman, through gritted teeth because she was still angry, tossed vague assurances at the sparkly box, with its ribbons and bows, that it would be dealt with and sorted, eventually. 

But there were boxes to be opened.

And life went on. 

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