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Why Can't I Just Feel Like Me Again?

Sun, 19 May 2013 13:01:00 -0500

Rape is a trauma that lasts with you a lifetime.

This is her story (trigger warning):

About a year ago, my best friend was really into this older guy, and I didn’t want to be around him; he gave me the creeps. But she always said, “Come on! I don’t want to go alone,” so I’d give in and hang out with them.

She’d always been a horrible friend, but I suppose I didn’t care (don’t worry, because thanks to my current wonderfully supportive, long- term boyfriend, I’ve since gotten her out of my life.)

She’d accused me of wanting him, which, for some reason, made me want to prove her right. He suggested, through text, that we have sex. I thought, “Hell, she deserves it,” and went with it, even though I knew it was wrong.

He asked to hang out with me alone, and I said “sure,” but to make it abundantly clear that I didn’t want to have sex, I followed that up with, “I DON’T want to have sex with you.”

He replied, “Okay, I don’t have sex on Sundays anyway; it’s a sin.”

I’m so stupid - why would I believe such a bullshit excuse? I don’t know, I’m young and naive.

We were watching the movie Saw, just as friends, so I wasn’t expecting, or hoping for anything sexual. He was.

He started kissing me. I was semi-unsure of what was going on, so I went with it for a moment. Then, he rolled on top of me and started to unbutton my pants.

I was confused.

I pushed up on his chest and asked as quietly and calmly as I could, “What are you doing?” He ignored me. I must have asked at least five more times getting more and more anxious when he didn’t reply.

Things got a little blurry - after he put on a condom, I accepted what was about to happen.

I knew no one else was home and I was afraid to run home and telling my parents because I didn’t want to get in trouble. So I just laid there with my arms at my sides; I didn’t really know what else I could do.

I thought I was okay. I really did.

I felt guilty and for a while I convinced myself that we’d just had sex. Soon, though, I began to feel ashamed and disgusted. The tears came and I realized, I had been raped, violated, assaulted.

After I realized I’d been raped, I went into a very deep depression.

I managed to keep both the depression and the rape to myself, though I came clean to my friend. I was happy that she believed me, because she’s the type who thinks people get what they deserve. Soon, though, she began to use the rape against me in arguments. That hurt. A lot.

I told my dad about the rape.

We talked about the rape and decided together not to report it to the police as my rapist had just been arrested for raping and statutory raping a number of girls, so he was in jail for over twenty years.

I became suicidal and I didn’t believe it had anything to do with the rape

I went to the psychiatric hospital for a five day stay. Now that I understand the stages of grief after a rape: depression, regret, anger, and guilt you go through it makes sense.

I’m currently working through the guilt stage following the rape. I know logically that the rape wasn’t my fault; that he should have taken no for an answer the first time. But still, I feel I need to go back and change the past; like it was all my fault.

I’m scarred.

I was raped.

But I have a voice and I intend to use it to help myself and anyone else who has been through a rape.

Have you survived a rape? How did you cope? Leave a comment for our author: Comment at BB2G

How to heal from rape or sexual assault

Sun, 19 May 2013 11:30:20 -0500

(This is an excerpt from a resource page at Band Back Together. Find more here: resource pages at BB2G)

How To Recover From A Rape/Sexual Assault:

If you have been the victim of a rape or sexual assault, you may not know how to feel normal again. You may feel that the emotional pain of a rape or sexual assault will never go away. You may feel shame, depression, anxiety and fear after the attack. No matter how you feel, know that things will become better, you will learn to heal, and life will go on in your new normal.

Here are some tips for recovering from a rape or sexual assault:

Physically:

Seek medical attention - even if you do not want to take the assault to the police, you must be seen by a doctor to receive care for any injuries and to be tested (and receive treatment) for any sexually transmitted infections.

Read more about sexually transmitted infections.

Even though you may have the intense desire to shower, before showering go see a doctor so he or she can collect evidence to try and convict your rapist. Even if you do not want to press charges right away, you may change your mind later. Chances are, your rapist has or will attack someone else. This evidence could be the difference between a conviction and another rape on another person.

Do not throw away or wash the clothes you were wearing at the time of attack. Place them in a sealed plastic bag to take to the police.

Emotionally:

You are not alone - one out of every six women and one out of every 33 men have been the victim of a rape.

Remind yourself that every person responds differently to a rape or sexual assault - and that all feelings, ranging from depression, to humiliation, to fear, to confusion, to anger, to numbness, to guilt, to shame. All of these feelings, however unpleasant, are normal.

The rape was NOT your fault. Self-blame is common among rape victims. Rape victims tend to feel as though they are somehow responsible for the rape. It’s not true - the only person responsible for the sexual assault is the person who committed the rape.

It may take quite some time to rebuild trust in other people. Being the victim of a rape shatters your sense of trust and it’s not something easily rebuilt - like anything else, it takes time.

If you’re finding that you’re having a particularly difficult time coping in the aftermath of the rape, don’t be afraid to find a local counselor who specializes in rape and sexual assault.

Confide in a trusted loved one about your feelings. Don’t keep them bottled inside because you feel you should be “strong” for other people. Let them know how you’re hurting and what they can do to help.

Mentally:

Recovering from a rape or sexual assault is a long, complicated experience. Do not feel guilty if you cannot simply “get over it.”

Part of healing from a rape or sexual assault involves regaining feelings of control over your environment. In addition to all of the other complicated feelings after a rape, feeling out of control is not uncommon. The rape took away your control - you must fight to bring it back.

Rebuilding feelings of safety, trust, control and self-worth can take quite a long time - that is okay.

Don’t hesitate to ask for help. If you need help from a counselor or therapist, if you need help finding a support group, if you need help going to the grocery store and getting chores done, ask someone for help. There is no shame in admitting you cannot do it all alone.

Write out your feelings. Don’t hesitate to keep a private journal of your thoughts or contribute a post or three to The Band.

Support:

Find - and join - a support group for victims of rape and sexual assault. It can be very healing to be among people who understand the feelings you are dealing with.

Ditch anyone who doesn’t take you seriously or tries to play down what happened to you. Listening to that kind of garbage will only make you feel worse - like you need THAT in your life.

Being raped can make you feel unsafe. It may make you feel like you’re not brave any more - like you want to hide out from everyone to stay safe. Don’t be afraid to ask a friend or loved one to go with you when you begin to go out again.

There is no right or wrong way to heal. Everyone has their own way of healing.

In time, you will move on from being a victim to a survivor, to someone who grabs life by the balls and makes it their bitch. You may not feel it now - but it’s true.

What Is It About Rape?

Sun, 19 May 2013 11:13:23 -0500

This post contains information of a graphic nature.

Please do not continue reading unless you understand that sensitive content about rape is contained below. That said, please support this brave woman as she shares her story.

Rape is more that just physical violation, it also has devastating mental and emotional effects.

This is her story.

What is it about rape that is so hurtful?

Is it when someone actually reaches for and enters the inside of your body you feel like your whole self - inside and out - is being exposed and violated? Is it the fact that your dignity is taken away as you are forced to stand or lie there naked, as you are stared at and calculated in a public area while being spied upon?

Is it that you’re forced into feeling things you have never felt before without being asked just so they can watch your reaction? Is it that they knew you were extremely vulnerable yet still forced you into things you weren’t ready for?

You didn’t know enough to realize the impact of these actions.

Is it that your friend left you alone with seven guys, two of whom abused you? They had very little consideration for your needs. Is it the physical pain as one of them jams his finger inside of you causing some bleeding? Then he penetrates, not caring if you’re sore, not even speaking to you except when telling you what to do or trying to make you react so you can be heard.

Is it being forced into positions you were uncomfortable with and being treated like a rag doll? Is it the fear or the shame because you’re too afraid to resist? Is it the what ifs, like what if you gave the message to them that you wanted this even though you didn’t know what was going on?

You thought it was a normal thing to do at 14 because your friend was doing it. Is it that the same friend was inconsiderately shouting about what you did that day? You denied it all and have been ever since until now. Even now you have to try and make yourself stop denying it so you can heal and move on.

Is it the fact that after you did walk away from the first rape he molested you and attempted to stimulate you in front of the rest of the gang? Your privacy and trust mocked? Is it the fact that only sheer luck meant you weren’t forced into a situation of being a parent at 14? Is it the fact that what happened that day tainted what should have been a good life experience? Your trust in people is gone, especially of men.

Yes, it is all of those things and probably more.

But most of all it is the fact that I have lived with this as my life slowly ground to a halt. True, I did have a lot more going on that contributed but what happened that day made things an awful lot worse. They made me feel worthless - a feeling that grew with time as I kept that day locked away for nine years. The guilt because I didn’t do anything to resist. The shame at the memories of having to strip in a public park. The guilt because I didn’t run. The shame of the things I did and how it was broadcast to peers.

When you hear of someone being raped you never think of all these feelings that are attached. But they are, and it hurts.

Another Layer

Wed, 15 May 2013 09:21:24 -0500

Sometimes, we at the Band know that part of owning who you are is admitting it to the world. It’s one reason why we at The Band work tirelessly to break down stigmas and find the ties that connect us all, the ties that remind us that we are none of us alone.

Please join us in standing tall and proud as we tell the world who we are.

What are you, The Band, The Face Of?

I am fairly open, I am aware that the only way people are going to understand various things is to have people speak out about them to be the face of them.

I am fine being the face of things; I proudly wear my labels as an ACOA, rape/incest survivor, special needs parent, non-traditional student, and self-injurer. But, I have spent years hiding, pretty well denying, a label that I should be wearing. It’s a label that gives me butterflies as I sit here getting ready to type it.

Addict.

I am, in no uncertain terms, an addict. Yet, when asked what I am the face of or talking about me and my past I never use that term. In fact, I often comment on how my family has history (a strong history of) addiction, I just fail to mention I am part of that history.

But, I can’t hide it any longer. And I am not even sure why I hide it; I mean I know why, I am scared of what people will think and say. But, why? I am not ashamed or worried about anything else in my past, though a lot of the dumb things I chose to do occurred or were a result of not being sober.

I spent much of my youth from about 14-15 using pain medication and alcohol. I mean pain medication was easy to get because I was an active kid who was prone to injury. I often went to the doc for an injury and they would write me a script. While I took them “as prescribed” I would take them too long when I actually no longer needed them.

I would find a way to get different medication so I could “alternate” and maintain the high longer. I would toss in alcohol when I could because my parents were open about alcohol, that it wasn’t taboo. My parents didn’t know about a lot of the drinking that occurred nor the extent to which it happened.

It made me numb, I made dumb decisions on it. I hurt myself and others, but I still doubt that many people of my youth realize what I was doing. After all most addicts are good at manipulating the situation.

Yet, still this label has been one I denied and disowned which in the long run did as much harm to me and my psyche as if I had denied my own left arm. Because this label, being an addict, is as much a part of me as my left arm.

What baffles me is when a friend slips or enters recovery I am the first to be there. Never saying a word about my issues, I offer to go to meetings and have a “safe space” at my home. All the while biting my tongue and not finding the camaraderie I could have, should have.

So, what brought me to the point of revealing this layer? Well, I slipped and fell HARD this week. We have been having lots of struggles, mostly financial, and this isn’t an excuse just a telling of the events. I ran out of coping skills, ultimately that is what happened, I ran out of fucking coping skills.

I started popping again, finding a way to take the pain medication every hour. Never letting my feet touch the ground, so to speak, for about a week. I would pull into work and start calculating when I could leave and get home to take another pill. I would take a pill and immediately look at the clock and figure out when I could take another. This whole time rationalizing that I was “taking it as prescribed.” Technically I wasn’t taking any more pills than what the bottle said, never mind I wasn’t in pain.

I finally told hubby two nights ago that I snuck a pill in yesterday morning, then he made them disappear (honestly, I wasn’t here so I have no idea about the disappearance—other than I asked him to get them someplace I don’t know of) and bought me pomegranate juice, which I love. I still have been holding close to my secret.

Ultimately I chose to peel open this layer because I can no longer be silent, because the silence is killing me. It’s allowing my illness to fester and then allows it to be fed. And I know that’s not okay. I need a support network more now then ever, one that I know “in person” doesn’t exist but one that I know I have here “online” and far away.

I know many of my friends will recoil, wondering how it could be. I don’t know how or why, I just know it is. I just know I can’t go on denying such a huge part of me. I need to find the fellowship, I need to be able to reach out when I am falling down that black hole. I need help figuring out what this means for me, my life, and how this slip is going to color my world from now on.

I Was Raped

Tue, 14 May 2013 09:03:00 -0500

Up to twenty percent of all men will be raped in their lifetime.

This is his story:

Three days ago, I went out with some friends. We ended up at a local bar where I used to work. Working there meant that I got to know the locals - one in particular, a older man named John.

I always thought he was a cool, chill guy who liked talking to me.

I was wrong.

I went over to say hi to him and he bought me a glass of wine. That’s where my memory ends: I can’t remember anything until I woke up vomiting in his bed. Then… nothing. Then I woke up in a panic, yelling at him to “take me back to the pub.”

It’s all snippets and blurs from there.

I’m not entirely sure what happened, but I know I was sore the next day.

My friend told me that when she spoke to me that night, I looked as though I was looking through her. I left my car keys, cellphone and wallet at the bar - which is not like me at all.

While my memory is still in pieces, I’ve managed to put together that he somehow got me to his car, took me to his house, and raped me.

Being a guy, I feel so ashamed, disgusted, not only about him but about myself, too.

I shouldn’t have taken that drink from him. Never have I felt so violated by anything. I’ve gone to the doctor and I’ve told my parents; soon I’ll be seeing a psychologist.

At the end of the day, I feel like no one is safe - no matter what - that we must be careful.

I will get through this trauma, it will not become my life.

Thanks for reading, The Band.

A Dose Of Happy: Summertime

Mon, 13 May 2013 11:02:45 -0500

<a href="http://bandbacktogether.com/post/3839//"><img src="http://static.bandbacktogether.com/media/images/2013/02/Dose_Of_Happy_Monday.jpg"></a>

Last week was officially the start of my summer break between semesters. I have kicked ass in school for the first two semesters of my library science master’s program, and I deserve a little break.

Why is this my happy today?

Because last week I didn’t know what to do with myself other than work, I was getting restless. But I have found lots of things to do. It will be a great, fulfilling summer.

I’m stoked about being busy and having fun, while leaving the stress behind.

**************************

What’s your Happy?

Don’t think you have one? Look harder. Something will make you smile today.

We want to know!

Share it with the world on your blog and then link up below, tweet it out (hashtag #DOHMonday #WithTheBand) or share it on Facebook. Whatever you want to do, do it. Just find a bit of happy in this Monday!

by tilamila; Published on May 13, 2013
Filed under: A Dose of Happy

gaywrites: For those who need a reminder today.

Sun, 12 May 2013 14:01:05 -0500

gaywrites:

For those who need a reminder today.

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Sun, 12 May 2013 12:00:55 -0500

Sun, 12 May 2013 10:00:53 -0500

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Sat, 11 May 2013 19:01:04 -0500

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Sat, 11 May 2013 17:01:15 -0500

Sounds of Freedom

Sat, 11 May 2013 15:16:24 -0500

The Band asked me what freedom means to me.

I’m an Air Force brat. My first step-father was in the service when he married my mother, and our family lived overseas with him for most of my elementary school years.

Though he retired shortly after we returned to the States, we still lived near an Air Force base. I grew up hearing the sounds of jets Monday through Friday and the occasional weekend. We went to the Air Shows, and I stood in reverence as we were given tours of the jets.

Most of my hometown is accustomed to the sounds of the jets. And though they’re LOUD, most people don’t complain, even in the summer when the base has their periods of “night flying” where the jets practice night-time maneuvering.

When my first husband and I moved back to my hometown, our son was just barely three years old and hated loud noises. Unfortunately, we lived near the base, and the jets bothered him.

My second step-father is also an Air Force service member. In fact, he works on those magnificent jets each day. So when my young son complained to Grandpa that the planes were too loud, Grandpa sat him down and shared words that still strike me to the core.

He told him that yes, those jets were loud. But those jets carried brave men and women (like himself and my sister, my son’s favorite aunt) to fight for our freedom. As my son’s eyes grew as wide as saucers, Grandpa explained that these brave soldiers would go far away from home to fight to keep our world safe.

He told my son that those loud jets were the sound of our freedom.

Since that day, I’ve heard the jets with a new love. And though I live in a new town, and it’s an Army base with helicopters instead of jets, when I hear the sounds of freedom, I pause and give thanks.

I’m not brave and I’m not strong. I could not give the ultimate sacrifice that is asked of our soldiers. Though I grew up in a military family, it is not the life for me.

But I will always be thankful that there are people willing to give their lives so that I may live free. So that I may write these words in a safe place.

Freedom to me is the sounds of jets and a thankful heart.

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Fri, 10 May 2013 21:00:45 -0500

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Fri, 10 May 2013 19:00:58 -0500

Ask The Band: What To Say At A Wedding?

Fri, 10 May 2013 16:00:58 -0500

Here at The Band, we believe in kicking stigmas to the curb, flinging glitter, and shining a light into the dark. And now?

Your bandmate needs a sounding board.

It’s time to Ask The Band!

Two of my former students asked me to officiate their wedding.

I’ve been working on the speech for a bit. They asked me to talk about growth and change and how to do this whole marriage stuff. I figure this crowd might have some interesting advice.

What do you wish someone had said at your wedding? What did someone say that was perfect? I have eight minutes of solid talking. I would kind of like more like eleven or twelve minutes but I’m not entirely sure what else is important without being rambly or off topic.

Any advice would be awesome sauce.

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Thu, 09 May 2013 21:00:37 -0500

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Thu, 09 May 2013 19:01:07 -0500

TAKEN: My First Childhood Memory

Thu, 09 May 2013 16:01:03 -0500

This post contains information of a graphic nature.

Please do not continue reading unless you understand that sensitive content about child sexual abuse is contained below. That said, please support this brave woman as she shares her story.

Over 90% of child sex abuse victims know their abusers.

This is her story.

A dark shadow lurks over a little girl, watching her in her silent slumber, devious thoughts rise in his mind, she opens her eyes at first to be frightened, she focuses in on the face upon the shadow and relaxes for it is a familiar one, he slides in closer now to be laying with her. Her body now becoming tense, she tries to move but is not able due to the excessive force brought upon her body, she is pulled back quickly to be tightly embraced and a sweaty palm takes over her mouth giving her no room to shout her objections. Eyes filled with tears and body trembling with fear he rips down the wall between his manliness and her innocence. He presses his body on top of hers and tears into the pride lands, severe jolts of pain go throughout her body and her eyes give way to the streaming tears. Her body lay lifeless and numb as he releases his manliness inside of her, he looks at her with the devils eyes then moves to freshen up. He returns to find her helpless in a puddle of blood he picks her up washes and clothes her, then cleans the bedding leaving not a trace, headed for the door he turns back and curses, “this will be our little secret” *R.Goldstein*

***

This is my first memory as a child. I was seven when a family friend did this. I never told anyone anything.

I used to write a lot to help me cope with my childhood. I wrote this poem when I was eleven so it’s not put together very well, but these are my words and my life as I was experiencing them. What I had felt was so very real and so painful, and I wasn’t able to tell anyone. My mom was a heroin addict and that is the beginning of my story.

Thank you for your attention.

Sucker Punch

Thu, 09 May 2013 08:40:18 -0500

It would have been simpler if you had just hit me with your fist.

It would have hurt less had curled your fingers up and slammed your fist into my gut.

No. Oh no, you would never hit me. You claimed you would never give in to the urge to physically hurt me. You denied that the urge was there, but I could see it. Please. After nine years I can read you like a book.

On the good days we inspired each other, brought out the best in each other. On the bad days we would stand, six inches apart, applying the verbal lash over and over. Flaying one another to the bone, stripping defenses down until nerves were raw and exposed.

Even after all those years, all those fights, all the pain, I never threw that kind of insult at you. I never said anything that literally took your breath away, never dealt you a verbal sucker punch. Don’t get me wrong, I’m certain that I hurt you. Intentionally or not, I know that it’s true. I know we both bear scars on our hearts. But I never spoke to you the way you spoke to me. I never poured salt on the wounds.

You took every single self-doubt that I had, every aspect of myself that I hated, and threw them all at me. I sat there, wounded, in shock, seeing the rage and pain blaze in your eyes like wildfire.

If you had just made a fist, punched me in the gut, maybe we’d still be together.

No. You had to wound me and then grab the salt and just rub it in there, didn’t you?

Fat. Lazy. Selfish. Mean. Bitch.

Those words hurt. Can’t deny that. But I’ve heard them before.

Do you want to know what the last straw was? The word that hit me like a fist to the gut?

Barren.

BARREN.

How dare you?

How DARE you throw that in my face?

You. You of all people. You who knew how I struggled with that diagnosis, who saw me weep every month, watched me grieve for another lost chance every time I bled.

Four years of a thousand tiny deaths. Every birth announcement, every baby shower, every happy family in a grocery store: they all left a scar.

Countless appointments, driving back and forth to clinics to undergo tests and invasive medical procedures. Always alone because your work schedule wouldn’t allow you to join me. Trying to reign in my crazy mood swings from the drugs so that I didn’t take everything out on you. Slogging through life on a second-string antidepressant because it would be safer during pregnancy. Drawing fluid into a needle and shooting myself up with hormones in the bathroom, alone, because you’re afraid of needles.

If those scars were physical instead of emotional I don’t think I’d have an inch of pristine skin left at this point.

You condensed all of that pain and anguish into one little word.

Barren.

It took my breath away. I felt a chill ripple from the tip of my skull down to my toes.

And it was over. Over. In that moment, we were over. No going back. No patching it up this time.

It would have been simpler if you had just hit me with your fist.

Date Me, Date My Baggage

Wed, 08 May 2013 16:01:35 -0500

I’ve been single for about eight years now. You’re probably thinking, “What the heck’s her problem?”

Where to begin?

For starters, I work overnights and my nights off alternate, which makes it hard to have a relationship. Second, outside of work I’m pretty busy most of the year: I spend a lot of time involved with Relay For Life, and when I’m not doing that, I sing in the choir at my church. Then, there are other church-related activities. Any other free time is spent hanging out with my friends (and that’s proving hard too), working out, or in my art studio cranking out various projects. Are you exhausted yet?

I’ve “casually” dated if you count going out with my gay best friend, whom I like to call my Gay Husband. No? Well shit, you got me.

My biggest issue with dating someone is deciding when I should let the cat out of the bag about my family. Is it like a third date thing? Instead of sleeping with him, I tell him the truth to send him packing?

I used the term from an episode of Grey’s Anatomy where Meridith labels herself “Dark and twisty” to Derek. I can totally relate.

My past two boyfriends knew about my family situation. The first was actually living as a foster kid next door to us, so he knew right off that bat. I’m sure from my neighbor no doubt. But the issue was never discussed. The second was my friend before we became a couple, and he actually asked me about mom when he saw her in a wheelchair when he was over at my house. That lead to an explanation. He stuck around anyway; I admired him for it. He could have easily walked away from me. Even when things got bad and they did. Our relationship ended for entirely different reasons though.

The thing is, I don’t want sympathy about what has happened to my family. It is how it is and nothing can change it. I learned to accept it from an early age. I was limited to who knew about it as well. Only close friends knew because I trusted them, and back then, bullying was just as bad then as it is now. I was teased enough for being different already. I didn’t need more fuel to the fire. I was already in special education classes for math, science, and history. There was also a fear of judgment (again I didn’t want people to label me with harsh words) because my brother was autistic, my sister was mentally and physically handicapped, or that I must have been retarded too (I apologize to a friend of mine who doesn’t like that word but I had to use it).

For the longest time at my old job, I was, I guess you could say, “closeted” about my family situation. Only because I kept to myself a lot and, frankly, it was none of their business. I did finally come “out of the closet” as it were and got great support from them. I was surprised.

When I lost that job and began my new one, I was back to being “in the closet” with my family situation. I know that sounds terrible of me but it was easier. I was the new kid on the block and believe me that was enough. Again I didn’t want the “Aww I’m sorry” that I get a lot from people. Mom and my sister, Jenny, had to be in the hospital a lot during my time at work, then dad for hernia surgery. And well, it just spilled out. They actually pulled through for me when Jenny died.

Okay, I know I’m pretty (well for the longest time I didn’t), I’ve lost over 50 pounds lately (a story for another day), funny, energetic, creative, and very, very loving. I have a big heart if it isn’t obvious.

However, I can be a huge worry-wart over the stupidest things (thanks for that mom). I’m super sensitive, very bull-headed, clumsy, and I have my share of ditzy moments (the joys of being a blonde). Plus my family issues and Jenny’s recent passing that has turned me into a complete basket case. Oh, just to throw into my self-pity party here, piles of student loan debit that has seriously fucked up my credit.

Heck, just me writing that makes me even go, “Who’d want to date that?”

I know I’m being harsh on myself and like they say, “I am my own worst enemy.” Relationships are super hard. Sometimes they end for the dumbest reasons. That’s part of the reason I’ve stayed single for so long too. The fear that I’m going to be the one who fucks it up.

The other reason is my number 1 rule. Family comes first. They need me. I could walk away from them but it’s just something I would never do because I wasn’t raised like that. Like the Titanic, I will go down with the ship. I wonder if any guy could understand that, if I get that phone call in the early hours of the morning (and I have) that I’m gone at the drop of a hat, will he be understanding of that and would he go with me? A worthwhile guy would do that.

I’m also afraid he’s going to take advantage of that - stupid I know - or think that I’m “emotionally unstable.”

I look at my parents who have been married for 44 years and it hasn’t been easy at all. Dad could have easily walked away but he didn’t (God bless him) because he is such an amazing man and I admire him so much.

Why can’t I find a man like that?

I often wonder if the saying is true that all the good men are either taken, gay, or married.

It would be nice to have someone just to hold me and let me cry (there’s been a lot of that lately) or someone to be there at the end of my night shift with breakfast ready. A girl can dream can’t she?

Here comes the but…

Even with all my ramblings above, part of me isn’t sure I want a relationship. My single life for the most part (despite all the tough stuff) has been really good. I’ve enjoyed it. I do have a small group of single friends that I can go have drinks with and bullshit with about whatever - it’s great. We don’t complain how our relationships suck; we mainly discuss who’s hotter out there in the celebrity world and more. Good times.

I’m pretty damn independant too, have been for a long time. I just can’t picture anyone else stepping in to “take care of me” when it’s always been “look out for #1.”

I am fond of the quote from Samantha Jones of Sex and the City: “I love me more.”

But it sure is lonely out there.