Fred Folks.  Never have I hated myself so.  Trauma bonds.  Breakups.  Overdoses.  The fears and uncertainty as an entrepreneur.  These things bonded me to a man.  Who time and time again would abandon me, just when my dependence had fully formed.  My own dependence on a rescuer luring me in, time and time again.  How good it feels to be on the other side of that year.  It was as if I was in my very first relationship as an emotionally insecure teenager all over again.  At moments, I could see how unhealthy my choices were, but the compulsion to go back proved stronger than the pain of the still open wounds of the most recent round.  Like sirens, the newest iteration of the relationship calling out as the way to safe harbor, all I’ve ever longed for my entire life.  Only to crash upon the rocks and give another painful chunk of myself, being left with less and less each time.

It was that July that I had learned the final lesson in my senior year of this course and the Universe ushered me into graduation.  In February I thought it couldn’t get any worse.  A freshly minted pack of Marlboro 27s in hand, 8:30 on a ripe Saturday morning, and the strongest urges for both homicide and suicide as I’ve felt in my five years of sobriety, God stepped in and revealed the devastating depths this behavior, these old, old choices, would bring me to.  And has always been the case for me, as God reveals a painful truth, she also sends in angels to help carry those at their weakest and most lost.  I woke up to twelve missed calls from my roommate, as I simply escaped out of the house the night before to do my shameful dirty work.  The phone rang again as I sat there in my moment of utter rage and despair.  And I answered.  I survived because I answered.  And I spoke.  Truth.  I waved my hands wildly in the depths of the ocean thrashing me between its waves.  I made the universal choking sign.  Help.  Help.  Help.  It turned out even though that was my bottom, I needed to go back to the knife one or two more times before making the final surrender to evacuate and evict.

I needed a couple more women to feel less than and better than at the same time, to tear down physically and spiritually in the name of good old fashioned female competition for men’s attention, affection, and security.  What woman can say she hasn’t engaged in this ancient hunger game?  I needed a couple more hits of that dopamine high that only make-up sex with someone incredibly emotionally dangerous can provide.  I needed to believe the same lies one, more, time.

“I love you, more than anyone.”

“I’m ready to be the man you deserve.”

“I was scared.”  And the best one,

“This time will be different.”

I’m here to report from the self-imposed finish line, the final time was the same exact as the first time.  Sorry to ruin the ending.

So while February was the beginning of the end, July was the beginning of the beginning.  A fresh commitment to six months of singledom, bringing home wild flowers from the farmers market every week, and a humble, exhausted, desperate plea to the Universe to guide the way, led me home.  I practiced, through tears and boredom, how to be my own company.  How to reach upwards to the Gods and Goddess, and within, to the Gods and Goddess, to find that eternal unconditional love and acceptance, care and nurturance, affection and security, I had been so desperately seeking from without my whole life.  I cried.  A lot.  I practiced yoga.  I meditated.  As the ocean continued to bring me closer and closer to shore, I continued to seek out other boats out on the water with me and those safe in harbor to guide the way home.  I spoke truth, but to a more selective team of advisors and trusted confidants.  You see, the thing about an authentic life is that not everyone gets it.  Even people who love you dearly.

We all subscribe to our own rule book, none of which are real or shared, but some more commonly accepted as fact than others.  Be a hard worker.  Be self-sufficient.  Be in a monogamous relationship.  Strive for a marriage and kids one day.  To buy a house.  Be on the PTA.  If you’re a woman, be an incredibly active stay-at-home Mom, or keep your career AND be an incredibly active stay-at-home Mom, because women CAN have it all.  Do.  Do.  Do.  Shop.  Keep up.  Keep up.  Keep up.  Don’t.  Have.  A.  Feeling.  Don’t get sick.  If you do, pretend you’re not.  Everyone else and all you’re doing is reality and your body is secondary and to be ignored when it gets in the way.  None of this is for me.