Boots & Curls

I keep thinking about all the things I’ve done for you, all the things I’ve swallowed down without thanks or acknowledgment, and I can’t figure out why the hell I’m still fighting for someone who’s kept me tucked away in shadows and pockets for so long.

When Hemi died…your dog…I listened to you scream and cry on the phone. I left my brand-new job after only three days. I was miscarrying on top of it all. And then came the posts. You wrote for her like you were auditioning for The Notebook: Canine Edition, on every platform, and not a single mention of me. Maybe that’s selfish of me to notice. But if Remi had died and you were the one holding me together with duct tape and bad coffee, I’d have mentioned you. I wrapped Hemi in a towel, got her into the truck myself, paid for her cremation…velvet embroidered pouch, nose and paw prints, the works. Bought a floating frame to hold her prints, a Polaroid, and a little name label just for you. I didn’t even feel like I could grieve her.

A) I hadn’t been with her as long as you had, so it felt selfish to vent and cry about her.

And B) you were so distraught and gutted that I didn’t want to add to your pain. So, I shoved my grief down deep, right alongside a hundred other things I never said.

I’ve never been mentioned on social media except once, and even then, it was set to a restricted audience. You hid me like I was an embarrassing tattoo you got in college. I tried to meet your family…your mom was a two-time occurrence. I reached out to your sister, knowing it would make me look desperate, but the truth was you’d been hiding me from her since Christmas 2024. When the truth finally came out after your arrest, it was forced contact. And I think I could have had a good relationship with her. Matt? Logical, sensible, steady. The kind of man who talks in full sentences and actually means them.

You’ve never asked to take a photo with me. Maybe it’s because I’m not what you’re used to, not what you chased before me. But even Shrek got a couple’s portrait with Fiona….and he was a literal swamp monster.

My miscarriage? Left to fade into the background. You made it clear it wasn’t something you wanted. So, I dealt with it alone. Even though we weren’t in the best place, a small part of me was quietly excited. I had a child with a man who was horrible to me before, and she’s talented, smart, kind. I poured everything into C. She is smart because I taught her, read to her every night and unfortunately she grew up with me as I was doing my own growing up. And I lived through hell with her dad that I will never ever tell her. She thinks that living with cops being called to A’s and then having to find a place to sleep at night is crazy…and it is…but thank god she doesn’t know how many times I had to take her somewhere else because her dad was so high and angry that we weren’t safe. Nobody knows all those stories.

So…Even if you didn’t stick around, it would have been one more chance to be a mother. That baby would have had the best big sister. And I would have had a purpose, the reason I’m out on this earth. Because I think I’ve put a damn good human being here already and would it be so horrible to ask for one more baby to pour myself into and feel whole again and distract from the outside world. Being a mom was the only place and way I felt good and that was my sole focus. I cry writing this right now because at this point…I’ll never get it. I won’t. And I need to work on that bullshit now with my therapist and guess I’ll just become a crazy dog lady.

but when the miscarriage happened….

….I got blame. And maybe it’s for the better that the baby fucked off. Two now. Two are gone. I’m fuckigg no going to hell ain’t I? Shit. One by my choice, the other not mine

. A lot of me resents you for that, but I can’t speak on it. What’s the point? You didn’t make my body fuck it off. You weren’t even in the same damn state. So of course it’s mine. And alcohol is easy to blame. Fine.

The sex was passionate. Your words felt real. But were they? Maybe I’m just a good lay. I can suck dick well, and though I hate it, I squirt. Not something I’m proud of, but you’ve said it gets you off. Then again, that could have been a lie too.

My DWI stopped me from working out with you. I could have pushed, blown up your relationship with Patrick, but I didn’t. I stayed in the shadows, believing you were defending me at first…later realizing you were just lying. And that “friend” of yours? Wouldn’t even let you crash on his couch when you had nowhere to go. What a friend.

Ultimately, why am I fighting for someone who’s kept me tucked away in pockets and shadows for so long?

So, here are my promises to myself:

1. Move my body.

I walked into this new apartment at 237.9 pounds. I’m now 224.4. Maybe part of that is because my fridge looks like the “before” shot in a Food Network makeover, but I’m not starving anytime soon…I’ve got enough tits and belly in storage to survive winter. I’ve been walking a mile+ with Remi in the evening before we loop around to our little dog group at the dog park at night. And the yoga studio has been really nice for stretching and working on getting back to doing a full split and my handstand. Long way to go but it’s been a distraction. The progress videos will be hopefully great or bare-minimum hilarious on my new IG profile.

2. Therapy—for me.

Not for us. Not for the “we” I’ve been white-knuckling to keep alive. You couldn’t even commit to the homework from the couples therapist I suggested two days ago…that’s my answer. I’m finding someone who works just for me. That old crotchety woman is gone.

3. Routine and roots.

Mopping floors, organizing shelves, sitting on the balcony with Remi in the evening and doing more stretches and breathing because FUCK this shoulder and neck pain from stress. And dammit…meeting new people and not pushing away the ones who’ve already shown me kindness. I need to be open and even if I have to fake and force a little bit of openness and say “YES” to outings and just put myself out there….I’m going to …no…I NEED TO embrace that kindness. Be honest. Because that’s how you build something that lasts.

You were not the man…before the assault, before the lies, before the yelling and making me feel small from the very beginning…where I remember your anger and pushy bullying behavior would make me feel scared and unsure…but I was secure enough to hang up the phone because I lived at my mom’s. You couldn’t reach me. Force me Before my DWi…I used to think you weren’t worthy of me.
But now…despite my conviction and probation and all the goddamn stains on my record and arm and brain and heart…

…you know what?

You’re not worthy of me.

And hey…two sides to every story right? I never made my ex husband or Michael a monster to public eye and you’re no different. Join their club. So here: I’m not worthy of you.

If you’re wondering why you’re in this predicament—why you don’t have meaningful references, why doors keep closing—it’s because you’ve coasted, cut corners, and taken advantage. You act like you’re owed a title, owed respect, with no degree, no real credentials, and not a single reputable person above you who would actually vouch for you.

It was a glitch in the matrix when you landed that BBB job, and instead of building on it, you slid right off like it was nothing.

You have so much fucking potential. But the problem is, you lack the patience, the understanding, the wherewithal to wait it out, kiss a couple asses, and actually make real, meaningful connections with people. I remember first meeting you, thinking, wow, ummm, there is no way this dude can just fuck off to Hollywood Feed or the gym and not actually work. But you did. And it caught up to you.

The first red flag…my heart and head both said “whoa…not good”….was when your supervisor was on your ass. Then you suddenly needed to jot down every task, every conversation, record the recruits, the outcomes, and every little thing you did. That wasn’t “being organized.” That was them keeping tabs because they knew you were fucking off. You took advantage. And then you told me you were fired. Not to make a point or anything…but I stayed.

You can’t just take a seat of power right off the bat, slap on the “fake it ’til you make it” smile on, and given this, your tone is good at face value….but ultimately it always seems like you looked for places to lounge and relax and find comfort, and expect no one to notice when the results aren’t fucking there. 

If you’re curious why you are in this predicament and haven’t made meaningful references because you’ve slacked and slid your way off and taken advantage…felt you’re owed a fucking title or respect with no piece of paper and no reputable human being above you to vouch for you…then you’re fucking blind. The follow words and comments are exactly how you’d speak to me:

Stop pretending, cutting corners, expecting people to just SEE or TAKE AT FACE VALUE ON A RESUME your value and fucking work and prove it.

I was hidden and told your life and world was not out in social media or told to family for all the bullshit a, b, c, d, e, f , g reasons you gave weeks into the relationship. I should have known better.

Maybe I should’ve never gotten in your truck. Maybe I should’ve kept it what it was supposed to be…just a fuck buddy situation. No expectations. No “good mornings.” No pretending we’d build a life together.

And yet, here I am, years later, gutted and exhausted from where a meeting at a park…a meeting you didn’t even seem that interested in to begin with..somehow brought you to ask me in your damn truck. How the fuck….how the hell did it lead to this?

How dumb. How naïve. How me. I keep thinking I’ll learn, that I’ll stop mistaking scraps for a feast… but apparently, I’m the girl who builds castles out of sand and then stands there crying when the tide comes in. Weird thing is, and this makes me tear up a little more now realizing what I just wrote and what I was aiming to write…

…I don’t cry.

I build castles. Or buckets or dribbletowers or whatever on the beach. But if the tide takes it…the tide fucking takes it. Just like you, O. Universe takes you. Universe takes you.

So, I’ll find myself again, come hell or high water. And that starts with disappearing. I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again. This time, I won’t come back.