The good news is that my parents agreed to loan me the money and are mailing me a check for the $300 I begged and pleaded for. I really am lucky to have such wonderful parents that care about my welfare. I just feel dirty for even having to ask them for such a favor when I’m 33 years old. I mean, seriously, shouldn’t I be able to handle this on my own? Shouldn’t I have money saved up for times just like this? Yea, I should, but of course, I’m horrible at actually sticking to a budget. I need to remedy that. I need to make a strict budget with money to be set aside for savings. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to do that until I’ve paid off the mechanic and/or the payday loan. I will get there, though.
It just pains me that all this trouble I’m having is just delaying my move to
. The good things that will come out of this are that I will have a vehicle in better condition and that I will probably still be at my job when I hit my 10 year anniversary. So then I’ll have another certificate to place on my “Wall of Me.” Yes, I have a “Wall of Me.” What is that, you ask? Well, it’s a wall that I have dedicated to my accomplishments, much like when you go to a doctor’s office…his actual office, not just an exam room…where he has his diplomas and awards framed behind his desk. These certificates I have include a handgun qualification, my honorable discharge from the military and valedictorian of my corrections officer training course, among others. Oregon
I once dated a guy who thought the idea of me having a “Wall of Me” was an incredibly self-centered thing. The ironic thing was that he was incredibly self-centered and egomaniacal. He was obsessed with himself. Frankly, I don’t see why it’s such a bad thing to be proud of your own accomplishments.
Currently, my “Wall of Me” resides in the entry way to my apartment on the wall behind the door. Not everybody that sees it when they come over. So, while it’s in plain view, it’s still sort of a private thing. I like that. I put it up for me, after all.
My parents loaning me this money means a lot to me even though it’s a bitter sweet thing. Like I said, I felt dirty after I got off the phone with my mom last night. I felt dirty that I had to go crawling to mommy and daddy and beg them to get me out of a jam that I had gotten myself into and couldn’t get myself out of on my own.
I hope that this is the last time ever that I have to beg and plead to my parents for help. It’s just ridiculous that I had to do it now. Things were going so well for me and then bam! all of a sudden things are completely screwed up and I was left standing there with my thumb up my bum wondering what hit me, a semi truck or a train?
Something else that will help is that I have already sold one of my Wii games and I have someone that is interested in buying my Wii console. So that’s good news. Every little bit helps, really. I haven’t yet put my bicycle up for sale. I’m really not sure if I want to part with it. At least, not until I’ve bought a new (or new-to-me) road bike to replace it. I really want to be able to ride a bicycle when I’m recovered from my surgery.
I need to be able to do as many low to no cost activities so that I can so I can save up money. I also want to do as much active activities as I can so I can continue to lose weight and be fit again. That means a lot to me. I lost sight of who I was and what I was about when I met Jon-Pierre. I really let myself go for him. I thought I was happy, but I really wasn’t. I guess I’m pretty good at lying to myself.
That always happens to me. I lose sight of myself and my goals whenever I meet a guy. It didn’t always happen, though. There was a time when I was able to maintain my individuality when in a relationship. That was before Vance. Vance really broke me down emotionally. I dated him when I was 22 to 23. We were only together for about 13 months, but in that time he did a lot of damage. He had gotten me pregnant and then kept going back and forth with whether he thought we should keep the baby or terminate the pregnancy. Eventually, and at the last moment, he decided that we couldn’t afford to keep the baby, so I went to the clinic and had it terminated. It was not a fun experience for me. It was horrible and I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. He then proceeded to call me a murderer for getting an abortion.
He had been cheating on me almost the whole time we were together. In the end, he got another girl pregnant and left me for her, saying that “at least she won’t murder my baby.” He put me through hell and I came out of it very worse for wear. I had lost all confidence in myself and proceeded to embark upon a long journey of self-destructive, controlling, and emotionally abusive relationships. I want to be done with that pattern.
I want to have a healthy relationship and the only way for me to do that is to abstain from any and all relationships beyond friendship and get to know myself again and find my inner power and freedom again.
I don’t want to become just a female version of the guy I’m dating. I want to retain my identity and be my own person. I want to have my own will. I find only frustration when I adopt his mannerisms, his habits, his thoughts. It’s never a good thing to actually lose yourself in someone else. When you do that, you lose a piece of yourself that you may never be able to get back again.
Sometimes, I wonder if I’m not meant to be single. Or at least not meant to be married or in a long-term, committed relationship. If that is how it is, then I suppose I could be fine with that. Of course, it would be nice if there was a way to know that that was the plan for me. There isn’t. So I just have to wing it and hope that I don’t get hurt too badly in the end.
Sometimes, I feel young. Other times I am painfully aware that I am 33 and aging. Each day, I look more and more like my mother. It doesn’t help being overweight either. My mother was overweight the whole time I was growing up and well into my adult life. She’s recently lost some weight and I saw a picture of her and she looks fantastic. Which is more than I can say for myself. I look frumpy and like I’ve let myself go. A year ago, I was fit, vibrant and felt young. Not so much anymore. I just feel as though a great weight has been laid on my chest. It’s hard for me to breathe or move without feeling it. I’ve done so much to mess up my life in the last year. I’m afraid I’ll never get my life back. I was happy. I didn’t need anything. I didn’t want anything. And yet, I threw it all away for a guy. Just a guy. No one special. Just someone who knew the right things to say at the right moments and filled me up with romantic promises and expectations only to let me down with the truth, that he was lazy and commitment-phobic. He teased me with thoughts of the beautiful and perfect engagement ring he had already picked out for me and told me how much he wanted to marry me and grow old with me, only to drop me like a bad habit and quicker than a hot potato.
Sometimes I feel optimistic and I think everything will turn out alright. Sometimes, the pessimism over no one wanting me or loving me is just too overwhelming for me to fight through it and come out unscathed. I’m okay with being unattached in love. I’m okay with that. Really, I am. There’s no convincing myself of this, I know it to be fact. I’ve been there before so I know it’s not bad. I know it can even be fun.
We all want our knight in shining armor to come riding up gallantly on horseback and pull us up onto his horse and ride off into the sunset with his strong, secure arms wrapped around us, making us feel safe and warm. Well, wake up, because that’s just not going to happen…ever. You might get lucky enough to find a man that doesn’t mind scrubbing dishes or putting down the toilet seat, but you’ll never find that 100% chivalrous man. You’re going to have to “settle.” That’s right, settle. I know, evil word, but it’s the truth. I know when I have looked for the “perfect” guy for me, my criteria has changed a little bit over the years. It used to be that I was looking for someone witty, kind, generous, stable, attractive, fun. Now, if you were to ask me for my man criteria, you would hear “not an asshole.”
I am definitely getting older. The way I dress is more about practicality than ever before. It used to be that I didn’t want to wear a dress or a skirt or pretty heels because what if I got in a fight. Now, it’s all about looking “classy,” not sexy. What the hell? When did I become a fuddy-duddy? A stick in the mud? When did staying up past 9pm become such an ordeal?