The Long and Short

I've been handed some empathy recently for what it's like to be with me. I can be standoffish, unclear about what I'm feeling, depressive, non-communicative, and inflexible with my priorities. I require someone else to break the ice and offer me a safe space before I'll open up about myself.

When someone else acts this way with me it drives me nuts, and I find myself saying things like, "I don't understand why this person is acting that way!" In fact, I think I understand quite well, and it's so close to my face I can't focus on it. The ugliest revelation to accept is self-reflection. I'm looking in a mirror and not liking what I see. I was proud of myself for having opened up so thoroughly in my relationship with Aiden and expressed everything I was thinking and feeling, but now I'm realizing that the whole process required for that to happen was unique to that relationship and doesn't translate to any other locale.

In the interest of bettering myself and not being a hypocrite, here's some clarity, because I wish I had some more access to clarity myself:

Aiden, when you decided not to come with me, I was completely crushed. Had you changed your mind the next day, I would've taken you back and been on top of the world; I was too blinded by pain to understand the problems with that situation. Once I had some time to realize I was going to survive, I also realized that the way you made that decision illustrated exactly why we shouldn't be partners. Since we got together, I spent a lot of effort trying to help you bust out; my role in life is to be the X factor, to fly into others' lives and shake them up and add a wild card. You always talked big and said that you were interested in the adventures I craved, but when it came right down to it, eight times out of ten I was left disappointed when you chose safety over freedom and the known quantity over the unknown one. In offering you a new start, I gave you one last chance to jump off the cliff and fly; and you turned it down.

I can't say there isn't a second chance, because in fact there have been many. However, I can say with absolute certainty that there isn't another one. Jerking me around because you're too much of a coward to take an opportunity when it's offered is not fair to me, and you won't get another chance to do it. I'm sick of waiting for you. I'll find someone else who's not afraid of their own shadow, or I'll go on my own damn adventure. Either option is better than waiting indefinitely for change where there isn't any.

You asked why I act like I hate you, and my answer to that is: give me one reason I should like you right now. 

I answer your messages because there isn't any particular reason to be rude to you. You've never been rude to me, and out of respect for that fact I will return the courtesy. I also want to keep a civil relationship with you for practical reasons, as we belong to the same league and need to be able to work together for everyone's sake. However, I don't have much interest in spending time with you or chatting for the sake of chatting. The energy you want from me is energy that I need to put toward other activities and other relationships. You had your chance with me, and you chose to end our relationship. If you regret that choice, it's not my problem. I deserve the space to find what I want and need in life.

There's a subset of things I know about myself that I'm willing to share, and another subset that I'm not; and that second set is really what's required to be able to say that I'm open and honest with someone. I still default to just flashing the shiny side and hiding all my emotions until they're invited. That's really not a helpful habit. It's fear that keeps me from changing. I'm afraid to bust out with "this is how I feel" and have it belittled, not accepted, or unreciprocated.

Maybe a little of it is PTSD; I ripped my heart out trying to save my last relationship and got it stepped on. If that were to happen again so soon I'm not sure I could take it.

On the other hand, I didn't think I could take the end of that relationship either, and I was wrong. If there's one thing I've learned from all this it's that I'll be okay no matter what happens.

Returning to the first hand, though, if I destroy enough of my support mechanisms even I will have to crumble eventually, when there's nothing left to hold me up. Maybe waiting for the table to grow a few more legs before doing surgery on one of them is the better plan.

There's that fear thing again. "Can't let the table collapse, I might fucking die." I won't fucking die. I walked out on the bridge, and then I walked back again. I have a lot of new scars but I'm still here.

It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.

My heroes: Tyler Durden, Harley Quinn, and Deadpool.

Strength

June 2017

My new apartment was under renovation. It belonged to my friend Zoe, who had made me a deal - I could live in it in exchange for working on it. It sounded good to me.

It was a mess, though. No one was supposed to be living there. There was no furniture and no fridge, and everything was covered in a thick layer of golden dust that had been sanded off the wood floors. Zoe's boyfriend and cousin wrestled an old fridge up to the second floor for me, and then she and her daughter and another cousin came up and cleaned it out and made sure it was working.

Ninja had joined the moving crew on its way from A to B, and she stayed late and went out shopping with me. I was setting up a new home from scratch; I bought a bed, some sheets, and some curtains. The walls in my room were lime green with patches of white spackle, and the ceiling was a lumpy mess that needed sanding.

The next morning I set about making the kitchen functional. I cleaned everything, from the tops of the cupboards to the cracks in the baseboards. At least once I collapsed in the middle of the floor and just cried. I wasn't supposed to be there. Everything had gone so wrong. I kept hoping that Aiden would call and say he had made a terrible mistake and wanted me back, but my phone stayed silent. I wondered what he was doing. Probably crying on Shelby's shoulder about how bad his life was.

By the afternoon the kitchen was sparkling. Zoe invited me to go ride motorcycles with some friends, and I jumped on the distraction.

I spent a lot of time with her, and it became obvious that I was very lucky to have her as a friend. She was supportive and helpful and adult, but also badass and crude enough that I felt like we might be related. She was understanding when I shared pieces of what had happened with Aiden and Shelby. She made it clear that I was to go to her if I needed help, without being an intrusive asshole about it. She fed me protein shakes when anxiety wouldn't let me eat.

She came to me for help too, when things weren't going well with her boyfriend or her daughter. She knocked on my door one night and said she just couldn't take it and needed to escape. I brought her into my room and we shared a bottle of wine and commiserated about life. Some mornings I brought her lattes, and some evenings she made me margaritas. We watched movies and I braided her hair.

A few days into my new arrangement, my friend Hawk messaged me to check in. He realized immediately that I was a disaster and invited me to go along on his upcoming motorcycle trip across the country. What the hell, I thought. I'm free. Might as well act like it. Ninja encouraged me to go, even after I came clean to her about the details of my involvement with Hawk years earlier.

"I knew," she scolded me, like a mother hen. "Do you think I'm an idiot? Please. I know you, and I know Hawk." We had a good laugh.

Hawk and I spent ten days on the road, and it was a blast. He egged me into doing 1,000 miles on the bike in a day, and I did it because I have a chip on my shoulder. I hit it off with his friends. I introduced him to my cousins. I dumped his bike twice, and to his credit he was completely chill about it. We drove through hours of rain, soaked and freezing, and we baked ourselves senseless under the blazing Midwestern sun. I realized I was better off without someone who held me down and refused to adventure with me.

The day after I returned, Aiden showed up on my doorstep. He had made a terrible mistake. He wanted me back.

I told him to go to hell.

The End

June 2017

I never did explain what happened after June of 2016. I was hurting too much to go over it again.

I did what I said I was going to do; I found a place to go by myself. The night before I moved, Aiden told me he had made his decision, and that he'd be staying with Shelby. This after he had already told me he was coming with me.

I lost my fucking mind. That's not how it was supposed to go. I did exactly what I'd been trying so hard not to do and I begged. I never beg, for anything, but I did. I was more desperate than I think I've ever been.

He told me no.

I walked out of the house, crossed the road, and headed for the bridge. I had no shoes, no wallet, no phone; I wouldn't need them where I was going. On my way up the north side I spotted something shiny on the ground - the tip of a fishing knife, broken off to the size of an arrowhead. I picked it up and started digging it into my palm as I walked.

At the center of the bridge I stopped and stood at the railing, just me and the drop and the rushing water in the middle of the night. I squeezed the knife tip until blood welled up around it, then squeezed it again, and again. I drew it across my palm, chasing the life lines around my hand until they were crimson.

After some time I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and realized Aiden was walking toward me. Baffled, I didn't run. I wanted to know what he could possibly say, what right he thought he had to be out there with me.

He told me stop doing what I was doing with the knife. I snatched it away from him, refused, continued trying to let the pain out through my skin. He told me come home. Home? Where the fuck was that, exactly? At least back to the house. No, I never want to be there ever again. I don't want to be anywhere. That place is poison, what the fuck have I been telling you.

Eventually he walked away. I jumped over the railing as soon as he turned his back. There was a ledge on the open side, and I sat with my back against the metal bars and my feet dangling into the blackness over the river. A patch of cracked concrete rose from the water below me.

It's not high enough.

Oh come on, people die from falls off smaller things.

By chance. People have also survived multi-story falls by that same chance.

I'll just go head-first.

You can't even dive into a pool, you idiot. You'll land on your back and end up paralyzed and stuck.

Hours later I walked back into the house. There was nowhere else I could go without a wallet, a phone, and some car keys. I snuck into the spare room and lay down on the futon.

It had been years since I made myself bleed like that. Seven years, almost to the day. I couldn't stop cutting, and I couldn't stop crying.

At some point he came in and laid down next to me. He talked for a long time; I can't remember a word of it now. None of it mattered. All I remember is asking him to stay one last night with me, and him telling me no. I told him it was the last night that would ever happen, and he could spend all the rest of the nights of his life with Shelby, but he walked away and spent it with her instead.

The next morning he came back, apparently to give me a third blow: I tried to take his pants off and he told me no and backed away. I rewound the tape. It's the last time. Then you can be rid of me forever. No, I won't. Don't touch me.

I found my sub collar in a drawer and gave it back. The look on his face told me I'd hit the pay dirt I was looking for. Three good headshots deserve at least one in return.

Then my friends arrived and there was a whirlwind of boxes. When everything was packed into vehicles and I'd gotten behind the wheel of the moving van, I dropped my head into the steering wheel and sobbed. Bruce, riding shotgun, held my hand until I could drive again. I'd been wearing socks on my arms, but as we idled through traffic I pulled them down and showed Bruce my new marks.

"I had a feeling," he said. I knew that he knew, and that he wouldn't judge me. "Please call me if you're going to do that again."

I promised I would, but I knew it wasn't going to happen again. It wouldn't help.

What I Need

I had dinner with Eben last night, and as I was talking through some of the things that are bothering me, I noticed him taking notes on a napkin. He was writing down personal needs that he heard me expressing, and the list he came up with and his explanations really helped me sort out some of my thoughts.

In no particular order...

Asking me where I want to be in five years is unfair. I have no idea and I don't need to. I think Aiden's asking me to provide a false sense of stability with that question. Even if I could give an answer, by a year from now it would probably be wrong.

Do I expect him to pretend, if he comes with me, that Shelby doesn't exist? No, that's warping reality in a really weird way. No one just pretends that their exes don't exist. What I would expect is for him to be loyal to me.

I need to be treated as an expert on myself. I've put several years of my life into learning and accepting this lesson that I am not into poly relationships, and asking me to try it again with a slightly different spin is just insulting. It makes me feel like I'm being dressed up in someone else's clothes when I've expressly stated that I will only wear my own clothes. I don't want someone in my life who tries to force me into the shape they want, particularly when I've made it clear that that shape is very painful for me.

I've reached my breaking point. I am out of patience, out of willpower, and I was really proud of myself when I finally found the courage to stand up and say that. Now that the end is in sight, I'm impatient that it isn't here already. I've spent the last two and a half years trying to be someone I wasn't, and hoping for a way out; Aiden has spent those years in relative contentment, and thus can't really see my viewpoint. That's half the reason I'm so itchy for him to make a decision.

The other half is that I realized I was associating reluctance to make a decision with reluctance to be in a relationship with me; I've been unconsciously assuming that if he has a hard time with this decision, it means he'll never be fully engaged with me. Under the light of logic, I think that's untrue. Before a decision and after it are very different head spaces.

I need to feel connected to the people I love. As backward as it may sound at first, that's why I don't want someone who just wants to do what I want to do all the time. Firstly, it puts pressure on me to always have a thing to do and always come up with the activities and the entertainment, and that's exhausting. Secondly, Aiden having things that he does gives me a way to connect to him. I found him interesting in the first place because he was different from myself. I already know me; why would I want to date me? If neither of us ever brought new experiences back home, we'd run out of things to talk about, and reasons to be interested in each other. This difference is where having a crush is centered.

Now that I've sorted some of that out, I'm regretting taking away the deadline. I regretted making it, and then I regretted unmaking it; what's happening here? I'm looking for an end to the uncertainty. I need to know when I'll know. I found a place to go physically, which allowed me to relax the deadline a little bit, but I'd like Aiden to suggest one. Not knowing how to go forward is driving me nuts, partly because leaving my life up in the air indefinitely is unfair and impractical and partly because The Vacation is still looming.

Option C

What Aiden is looking for is not actually option C...it's option "D-all-of-the-above," which I should have picked up on earlier, because that's been one of his favorite phrases as long as I've known him. I told him yesterday that option C is that I leave and tell him to fuck off.

I was wrong. That's not my option C. I've been feeling so guilty about dragging him along, and he's been asking for more time, but I can't doodle around waiting for a decision he won't make...so here's how those things work together. I apply the deadline only to myself, and leave Aiden to do what he wants.

He cannot have option D; that requires me to want it too, and it's near the bottom of the list of things I want. I don't feel bad about that. I've spent enough time and energy trying to force myself to be part of someone else's paradigm that I really cannot muster an apology for having figured out what I don't want.

So I'm leaving. I need my out and I will have it, and I will have it soon. But Aiden doesn't have to come with me. As long as I don't get locked into a minimum-length lease agreement, there's no reason for me not to go off on my own and see what happens. If he decides in a month that I'm where he wants to be, he can come join me.

This feels right. I can't speak for him, but it feels to me like a reasonable compromise. The only concern it leaves me with is the upcoming vacation. The small Aiden is going to be away at camp for four weeks, and that's our only chance during the entire year to take a vacation. If he comes back to me after taking the vacation with Shelby, I'm going to be pissed at missing out. The possibility of time with him and no one else gets me unreasonably excited, and when I miss out on something that gets me that excited, in turn I get unreasonably disappointed. To be honest, that's probably part of the reason for my giving him a deadline in the first place. Firstly, it was for my general sanity; I can't indefinitely put my life on hold to wait for something that may not even happen. But secondly, it was to get things sorted before The Vacation, so I know what to plan for and just how much to worry.

A Blurry Future

Aiden asked me yesterday where I see myself in five years. I couldn't figure out how to answer because I have no idea. I'm more of a pantser than a planner when it comes down to it. I'm capable of planning but I only do it when and to the extent that I absolutely have to.

That question also enters the foggy territory I've been trying to avoid of making promises about the future. I don't want to try to sell myself as the better option; I am who I am, and he should pretty much know by now who that is, and what kind of accessories come with the package. I'm already fighting the feeling that I'm dragging him into something, and I don't want it on my conscience later that I tried to convince him to come with me. It's his decision, not mine, and honestly I'm considering just walking so that I don't have to deal with the guilt in the future. I'm starting to fear that the structural damage caused by taking him with me might be worse than the pain of leaving him behind. Neither will be any fun. I don't know if there are any good options left. And of course there's the indignant voice in my head saying, "You don't even have a two-week plan...how can you expect me to have a five-year one?"

On the other hand (to return from a tangent; there are a lot of things on the first hand, apparently), I can't blame him for wanting to know what the bike looks like before driving it home. I'll try to answer the question, but I admit that I'm finding more reasons that I can't answer it than potential answers.

Let's say for the sake of argument that we move to the place we looked at last week, over the bicycle shop. I change my work schedule to Wednesday-Thursday-Friday temporarily to make some more cash, likely spending one of those nights at home and one at work. I keep attending practice Sunday and coaching on Tuesday. I finish my personal trainer certification and get a job at one of the local gyms, not necessarily in that order (there are two immediately in town and plenty more in the surrounding area), then cut my previous work back as I get more work closer to home. Eventually I probably get tired of working for someone else and start my own personal training business; maybe that involves teaching people to skate. I take two to four weeks every summer to bomb around the world on a motorcycle. I write a book. Someday I will make time to put music back into my life, either by composing on my computer or joining a band or both. Ideally I get my financial shit together enough to retire early, or at least take regular work sabbaticals.

That's all me, of course, but I can't really construct an "us" without some input from the other half. To make some assumptions: he gets some work close by or starts some kind of internet business, keeps skating and reffing, goes with me on summer and weekend adventures, and plays epic kinky games with me. We brew mead and cook food and fix bikes. We go on a lot of night walks and do a lot of camping.

Doubts

I'm starting to doubt myself. Putting my life in limbo to wait for Aiden to make a choice, combined with his worries that our relationship won't work out, have illuminated some concerns for me.

He's a terrible decision maker. It doesn't matter where on the scale of seriousness the decision lies, whether it's whom to date or which brand of toothbrush to purchase. Watching him struggle to decide has always driven me a little nuts; it usually ends with me making the decision after he's taken too damn long. And I went and put my own future on his options shelf...what the hell was I thinking?

Anyone on the outside would tell me I'm an idiot for even offering him the chance. He's a jobless dad with a troubled teenager, whose only income is state aid, who demonstrates no drive to accomplish anything outside the house. I brought up that concern to him and he said getting a job wouldn't be a problem...but didn't specify beyond that, choosing instead to avoid discussing the topic any further. People have told me I can do better, and I've studiously ignored them, but maybe I should be listening. The kicker is, he could erase these doubts so easily by just taking some initiative. I'm no leader, but I've learned to take charge when it needs to be done, and honestly it's not that hard. I've told him what needs to be done (many times, in many ways, on many subjects) and he just...doesn't. It's a mystery to me, and a huge frustration.

So I'm keeping him why then - for the sex? He lets any obstacle that comes up get in the way of us getting that time together, then claims that the outside circumstances aren't something he can control. Of course they're not; but he can choose not to let them control him. He just doesn't. He complains that he wants Option C (finding a way out of the false dichotomy) but doesn't actually come up with it. A few weeks ago when I wanted to talk to him alone and Sheila was home, I told him I was at the library. He insisted I come home even though I made it clear that wasn't an option for me. I waited for him to suggest meeting me at the library...but he didn't. I finally had to tell him to come find me. Was that really all that hard? Why is it down to me to come up with every damn solution to everything?

I wonder if, in trying to set myself free, I'm just taking on another burden.

This Is Me

The conversation about responsibility and resentment that I started yesterday led back into me trying to explain why I'm so unhappy here. Aiden's afraid that if he goes with me, at some point down the road I'll decide the problem is actually him and leave him. He's said it in multiple ways, concerned both that his kid will drive me away and that somehow he himself won't be up to my standards.

All I can say about the kid is, I know what I'm getting into. I've lived with him for over a year; nothing he does is giant news to me. I know things aren't roses all the time, but as long as Aiden doesn't try to shirk his responsibilities onto me, I don't see it being a huge problem.

That leads to the concern that Aiden himself is...I'm not sure quite how to phrase it, since the concern is his rather than mine, so whatever I say will be putting words in his mouth. He'll be insufficient? He won't satisfy me? He won't be good enough?

I can't specifically answer a question that isn't specific, so I'll explain my perspective and hope it sheds some light on the subject.

I stated my concerns about Aiden getting a job. I cannot and will not support the three of us myself. I don't make enough money, and even if I did, having to do it would make me bitter. I see that clearly enough to not sacrifice our relationship to it. That could certainly destroy us, but the boundaries on that are at least clear enough to serve in further discussion.

That aside, I see nowhere to go from here but up. I've made a million tiny decisions that have become habits, mostly in the category of toning myself down and shying away from fun things. Turning down sex, not suggesting fun ideas that cross my mind, stopping the flirting I used to do...it's all based in being uncomfortable around Shelby, and leads to what I describe as feeling "sat on." This is what I meant when I said, "There are things I can't do because I just can't." I realize that statement probably made little sense at the time.

I'm a funny combination of an open person and a private one. I'll talk about anything, so I say that I'm an open book; but there's a line for me between talking and doing, and I'm more inclined to feel shy when it comes to my actions. I forced myself to figure out how to perform sexually in front of Shelby because that's the only choice I felt I had, but it has never been right. I'm always inhibited when she's around, and that's why I jumped all over the couple of nights that Aiden and I got to ourselves when she was staying with her grandparents. I feel like I almost never get to express myself fully in a sexual sense, and I'm itching to change that.

I've stifled other things, too. When we first got together, I felt a strange dichotomy in which I tried to act two different ways with each of them, and it meant that when we were all together, I felt very torn. I wanted to be bouncy and excitable with Aiden, because he brings that out in me; but for some reason I felt a duty to be a little more subdued and adult with Shelby, even though deep down that's not who I really want to be.

My eventual compromise leaned mostly toward the duty side, unfortunately. Maybe it was my own shyness and introversion. Maybe it was some flavor of demonstrating resentment. Maybe it was getting bad reactions from Shelby when I tried to do those things, because she was jealous. It was probably everything.

Now, I want to be who I wanted to be before, and I won't reach for it. Not while she's around. I shouldn't have to force myself to do things that I feel are wrong to please someone else. It's put a huge amount of strain on me, and resulted in some bitterness and anger that I wish weren't part of me.

Aiden asked how I knew I was making the right choice. This is the right choice for me, because I've spent the last several years trying to make every other choice in the book to make other people happy, and it's resulted in me being miserable, and angry at myself and my partners. That cannot possibly be how I'm supposed to live my life.

Accepting yourself can be hard when the world is telling you that something is the "right" way to do things, and the way you do them is different. I'm surrounded by people who think that poly and open relationships are the right thing, that evolved humans choose to share because it's a more advanced way of doing things. I've tried long, hard, and repeatedly to force myself into that paradigm.

It's not me. Fuck it. It's been an incredibly painful lesson to learn; I feel like I'm ripping my heart out. But this is me, and I'm accepting myself for who I am: I don't want to share. This is a scary cliff to jump off of, because I may lose Aiden again and I HATE the thought of that happening. He is an amazing, loving, beautiful, sexy person that I connect deeply with and desperately want in my life. But to be true to myself, I have to take the risk. If I lose him, I lose him...and it will hurt like hell. I'll always have a scar. And I'll always be able to say that I did right by myself.

The Waiting Game

This mess is making a mess of all of us.

Shelby says she feels awful about her behavior and is thinking that it stems from resentment, for rescuing Aiden from a previous bad relationship, providing for him, and then having to live with his disregulated son's chaos. She completely nailed something that had been bugging me and allowed me to bring it up to Aiden, which is basically that I'm worried about heading down a similar path. He doesn't want our family to split, of course, and I understand that; he was happy with things the way they were and just wants them to go back to status quo. There's no reason he would vote for breaking us up and I'm not asking him to. But I'm taking that path and no one is going to talk me out of it.

He has a choice: stay or go. He's on the fence because he doesn't want either option, and while I understand why that is, his hesitation is causing me the previously mentioned worry...that he'll feel like he was dragged along with me, that he'll resent me for disassembling what we had, and that he's going to just sail along and try to be dependent on me like he has been on Shelby. It's not that I think he's inherently useless or wants to take advantage of other people, but that's most of what I've seen him do, and I know that it will destroy us if he does it to me, even accidentally.

Aiden is torn, pulled into a decision he doesn't want to make. Every time I talk to him about it we both end up crying; he because he's looking at loss, me because I feel so awful about putting him in this position. He told me he doesn't see it as my fault, and I hope to hell that's true, but frankly I'm struggling to hold onto that perspective myself. I made some awful choices and there's no way to get out of the resulting situation without doing damage to someone, and I just feel like I should have known better. Perhaps I couldn't have. Hindsight is 20/20, or so they say.

As for me...I'm cracking along all of my seams, just spending every day trying to hold myself together enough to not cry all the time or beat someone into a hospital. I handed the reins to Aiden, explaining that I need to know if he's in or out of my life; I can't look for an apartment if I don't know how many bedrooms it needs or how much income I can claim. Now it's just a waiting game. I'm sitting in my corner, wondering what he's going to do, stuck on pause until I find out whether we're going on with life together or I'm picking up the pieces on my own.

I have a lot of power here, and I'm really trying not to use it for evil. I possess the capability to be manipulative, but living under my emotionally manipulative ex for several years taught me both sides of that pattern: how to use it, and why I shouldn't. I'm pretty sure I could convince Aiden to come with me if I tried. The selfish side of me is begging me to say things with a certain flavor, to tell him all the tasty things I imagine in the future, to spin my perspective into the "right" one. It would be so easy.

But I'd hate myself. Even if I "won," I think in the end I'd actually lose, because I'd never really trust the foundations of our relationship.

He asked me yesterday, "How am I supposed to make this decision? What would you do?"

"I can't advise you on that," I said, face-punching the small voice in the back of my head that was yelling about all the things I could be saying to take control of the situation. "I'm a really biased party, and I've never been in your position."

It it so. Fucking. Hard. To step back and just hold my hands up and wait. Part of me wants to just tell him he can't come with me and let that be that, because then at least the next step is a known quantity and I can assuage the guilt over the fate of his relationship with Shelby (and I have a lot of it).

On the other hand, I said I wouldn't walk out and leave him in the current situation alone. And if he chooses to come with me of his own free will, I shouldn't take that choice away from him.

Or is that just me being a selfish excuse-maker? Maybe taking the choice away would actually be the better decision; to not put him on the spot, to rip off the band-aid and get it over with, to take the pain on myself as penance for my mistakes and let him rebuild if he can.

Are these my mistakes or Shelby's? They're both. They're Aiden's too, honestly. Shelby volunteered for something she wasn't prepared to handle, blamed him for it, and then melted into a screaming monster when it didn't go well. Aiden brought me into this relationship without ever checking whether it was really okay with me, allowing himself to be blinded to any sign of problems so that he could have what he wanted. I allowed myself to be led in without stopping to wave a flag and announce my boundaries, and passed up any opportunity I might have had to fix it because I didn't have the gonads to stand up for myself.

And now here we are. She wants to fix her mistakes and rebuild. Aiden wants it back the way it was before. And I want to burn it down.

Among Other Reasons

A friend asked me recently what I like so much about Aiden, why it is that I say he's pretty perfect for me. The most important things that came to mind are...

He's eternally optimistic. Yes, I complain about this sometimes, but the downside of this double-edged sword is a small price to pay for the upside. I wish more people saw the silver linings in life.

He's cheerful. That sounds like optimistic, but they're not quite the same thing. I love someone who smiles all the time and is always ready with a joke and a laugh.

He's fearless. Not the redneck brand of "fearless" that aggressively tries to prove itself by doing immensely stupid things, but a simple kind that just doesn't waste time or effort on being afraid.

He doesn't complain. It doesn't matter whether he enjoys the task or not; he jumps in, gets it done, and doesn't whine.

He takes constructive criticism well. When told that something he did could have been done better, he doesn't let his ego start a fight about it. He takes the feedback and considers its merits.

He's always up for adventure. Whether it's a new food, a new sport, a new friend, or a new sexual game, he's always in with prejudice. And by prejudice, I mean excitement.

He has boundless energy. He's perfectly capable of sitting still if the situation requires it, but he will also jump up at a moment's notice to go on a run or do a task that needs doing. Even when he's tired, somehow his energy still feels bouncy.

He loves physical touch. This one shortens effectively to, "We speak the same love language."

We are wonderfully sexually compatible, both in our kink preferences and our physical bodies.

Limbo

I hate limbo. I hate everything it stands for and everything that comes with it. The awkwardness, the uncertainty. I'm trying to find my way out but I'm stuck in this house until I have someplace else to go, and the process of finding that place feels like wading through a swampland.

This past weekend was Memorial Day. Shelby had Friday and Monday off. I tried to escape by visiting a friend at her lake house, but got caught in such an awful rainstorm on the way there that I had to turn around. If my back tire hadn't been bald I probably would have pushed through, but it didn't seem prudent to try, so I went back. The weekend was like all our days now...overtly friendly and subtlely awkward.

Aiden seems to think now that just because everyone is acting friendly means that everything is fine. We talked about that briefly and I explained that just because I'm smiling doesn't mean everything is roses. I'm perfectly capable of being nice and sociable even when I don't feel that way. There's nothing to be gained from acting like a miserable, whiny, angry jackass all the time. Aiden seemed puzzled, saying that he's so inclined to forgive bad behavior the second it stops that he basically forgets it ever happened, and also forgets that not everyone else does that. He actually seemed fairly blindsided by the fact that I still have a problem with this situation and am still actively pursuing a way out of it. I was mystified that he was confused.

This is how communication problems happen.

I tried to explain what's going on in my head, because it's clear that Aiden really has no idea. Between my desire to please others, my ability to smile through anything, and his wilful determination to see nothing but the best in everything, I'm sure there's a bigger chasm between my experiences and his perception of them than either of us realizes.

There's an accepted tenet of relationships that every five positive actions a person takes can be cancelled out by just one negative action. Athol Kay phrases it this way: five date nights equal one fight night. Aiden told me he's hoping that I'll eventually have enough positive interactions with Shelby to make up for all the negative ones. I frowned at him until he added, "Or maybe I'm just hoping for the impossible."

The part he misses is that none of my interactions with Shelby feel positive to me. It doesn't matter what she's doing, whether she's screaming obscenities or making dinner, picking a fight or cleaning the house. Yes, we can carry on a civil and even somewhat interesting conversation, and we can laugh at jokes. But her presence makes me itch. When she touches me I want to run screaming. Fortunately she touches me a lot less now that I've officially ended our relationship; otherwise I'd have a much harder time controlling myself.

She brought up the subject of vacation the other night at bedtime, asking if we were still going to plan a trip. Neither Aiden nor I answered. The silence went on until she asked, "Were you guys plotting to go away without me?"

"No," I said truthfully. "There was no plot."

"Maybe that was a bad question," she said.

"I think Skylar wants to go motorcycle camping soon," Aiden said, and I agreed. No more was said on the subject until the next day, when Aiden asked what was bothering me.

"I've been full of anxiety since the subject of traveling came up," I said. We got to talking about our different perceptions of what was happening. He said he hears that I'm feeling anxious and assumes that it's because I'm waiting for Shelby to drop her angelic act and burst out in anger again; then he said that he's starting to realize that's not what I'm anxious about. He didn't ask what the real root of my anxiety was and I didn't volunteer.

I don't mean to be withholding, but it seems like emptying the contents of my heart would just put more pressure on him. He's already stuck in the middle of a super awkward situation and feeling a lot of pain, and dumping on him just doesn't seem right.

He says he wants me to flourish and to not be angry. I want those things too, and I will get them one way or another. Keeping me in this situation is not the way to get me there.

I am angry; I'm angry all the time, in a way I've seldom experienced. I'm angry at myself for getting into this situation. I'm angry at Shelby for all the awful shit she's done. I'm even a little angry with Aiden, for just constantly pretending it's all okay and trying to zip us into a big pouch of HAPPY. But really, what I feel negatively toward him is a drop in the bucket of everything else. It's a passing annoyance, the downside of a trait that I really love and wouldn't trade for anything.

I want to go traveling, and I want to go with Aiden. There are two weeks coming up this summer during which the small Aiden will be at camp, and my fantasy is that the two of us take a pair of motorcycles and some camping gear and just leave. Destination optional. Sense of adventure mandatory. Lots of sex in various places highly desired.

Visions

In the car on the way to the game this weekend, I explained again to Aiden how even when things are pretty peaceful in the house, it isn't a place that I really desire to be.

"I'm sorry I'm so oblivious," he said quietly.

I shrugged. "I think I'm pretty good at putting on a smile, too," I said. "Don't blame yourself too much."

He asked what made me so unhappy. "I feel like I've spent this entire relationship being sat on," I said, struggling for the right words. "I'm a different person when Shelby isn't around. There are things I won't do around her, because I just...can't."

"Why can't you?" he asked. I couldn't explain to my own satisfaction. Some of it has been deliberate attempts by her to sit on me, when she was jealous of the closeness I have with Aiden. Some of it is me being shy and feeling like I'm in the wrong situation, like the reaction someone might have if asked to show their labia tattoo to their mother.

During our garage time on Tuesday, he asked what my image of life with him was like, how it was different. I muttered something about fun and adventures, and he asked like what. I was reluctant to answer, partly over concerns that it might become a discussion of how we could make those things happen in our current situation, and partly because I wasn't sure what specifically to say.

I think the right thing to say is this...Aiden, look back over some of the fiction that both you and I have written for each other. Now think about the small handful of nights we've had to ourselves (the ones that didn't start at eleven o'clock when I was already tired). We have only dipped our toes in the ocean of the things I want to do with you. Now, fill in the blanks.

An Answer to a Question

It's been a long few days. I went to my mom's house on Thursday night, because Aiden and Shelby had house guests, and I couldn't just go home and pretend everything was fine. Alejandra came over and hung out with us too.

On Friday morning, I left early to get back in time for my physical therapy appointment. I was sick with anxiety from the moment I woke up, but I made it through the appointment. As I was leaving, Aiden told me the guests were still there, having a leisurely breakfast. I said I would wait, and drove to the library. My phone needed a charge, though, so I had to stay in the car with it so I wouldn't miss him telling me when they left. I used the time to study, difficult though it was to focus on the book.

Eventually he told me they were leaving...and that Shelby was staying home from work. I told him that, in that case, I was not going to come home at all. I'd made it clear that I needed to talk to him and him alone before I spoke with her or anyone else. She messaged me and told me the guests had gone and I could come home, saying she had had to stay home from work because her anxiety was so bad she couldn't drive and needed me to talk to her right then. I said I had already told her that I would speak to her when she returned from work, and that was not going to change. She said she would appreciate a little more respect for her feelings and accused me of changing the plan on her, and I politely told her to stuff it, that the change of plans was hers and not mine, and I was not responsible for her feelings.

I hoped Aiden would get the idea to leave the house and find me, but he didn't, so I asked if he would. He walked up to the library and found me under the pergola in the garden. After a long hug, I handed him my phone and had him read the article about emotional abuse, followed by my last blog entry.

Long story short, he understood what I was telling him and agreed that things really were that bad. I told him I was leaving and that the choice to stay or go was his, but admitted that the selfish side of me was really hoping he'd come with me. He moved the conversation on to, "So where are we going to find a bed?" and then to, "What next?"

I told him my plan was to go home and announce to Shelby that I was leaving and why, and that how he played into that conversation was up to him. I shared my two biggest concerns, that (one) Shelby would hoover him effectively, because he believes the best of everyone to a fault, and that (two) I would follow him right back into something I didn't want, because I have a history of doing pretty stupid things to be with him.

We went back to the house and found Shelby in bed.

My end of the conversation happened exactly as I hoped it would. I said everything I needed to say and managed not to chicken out and sugar-coat anything. I told her that our relationship was over because I couldn't respect her as a person, having watched her shit all over the man I love and his kid. She took responsibility, breaking down and saying that she knows she's a terrible person and needs help and doesn't know why she does those things. She also said that maybe we should have confronted her about it.

"I have," I said, staring her in the eyes until she looked away. "Multiple times. You promised to change, and all you've done is get worse."

"Oh," she said, staring at the quilt. She offered to get help, then asked if I was leaving anyway. I told her I was, but that shouldn't stop her from getting the help she needs.

"If you guys aren't here," she said, "I won't get help. I'm not trying to be manipulative. I just know I won't. You guys are my whole world, and if you're gone, there's nothing left for me here. I won't have any reason to do anything."

"If she took a mental health vacation, would you give her another chance?" Aiden asked me.

"What is that?" I asked.

"If she moved in with her grandparents for a month and went to therapy three times a week, and really did the work she needs to do. Would you give her another chance?"

"No."

He made me repeat the "no" so many times that I ran out of willpower and couldn't say it anymore. I lay down on the bed and just didn't answer his questions. I had driven the nail home and was tired of swinging the hammer, and he just kept pulling it out and asking me to drive it in again.

"Can I take you guys to dinner and a movie, to apologize?" Shelby asked. "You don't have to accept the apology. You can just enjoy the dinner." We got Vietnamese food downtown and then went to see Captain America: Civil War (the irony was lost on none of us).

In the few days since Friday, Shelby has been putting on a flawlessly angelic performance. She stayed home while Aiden and I went to ref a game on Saturday night, and spent the evening cleaning the house. She made breakfast, lunch, and dinner for us on Sunday, something I have never seen her do before. She joined us in the garage one evening, even though we were cleaning a carburetor and stank atrociously of gasoline.

On Sunday night, she said she wanted to have sex, and I grabbed my iPod and went to bed in the spare room. After a few minutes, Aiden came and found me and asked what I was doing, and was shortly joined by Shelby.

"I don't belong in your bed," I explained to her. "It's not up to me what you two do, but you and I no longer have that relationship, and I want nothing to do with it."

"I know," she said with a sigh.

"I've never felt like I belong here," I said.

"I don't understand that," Aiden protested. "What makes you feel like you don't belong?"

"I already told you I can't answer that succinctly," I said. "We had this conversation earlier."

"I've heard you say that before," Shelby said. "That you don't fit in. I can tell that you want to be free."

Aiden asked if it was really that bad.

"When things are good," I said, "It's okay here, sure. But I don't want my life to just be okay. I want my life to be awesome."

"I know you can put on a smile and be nice to me," Shelby said, "But honestly, I'm pretty scared of how angry you are at me."

"Honestly, you should be," I said.

After a few minutes she went off to bed, telling me that I could come and join if I liked. Aiden stayed kneeling on the floor beside me.

"Please come to bed," he said.

"No," I answered. "Why do you keep asking me over and over, like I'm going to change my mind?"

"It's not that I think you'll change your mind," he said. "It's that...I think she's really trying, and if I could just..."

"...have a little more time?" I finished, and he nodded. "Because even when it's good," I answered, "I'm not happy here."

If I wait a month to see what happens, not only am I giving Shelby false hope, I'm taking a terrible gamble: 50% chance she slips and makes Aiden's decision easy, or 50% chance she makes the progress he wants to see, I'm still unhappy, and the whole thing is even harder on everyone.

He asked me on Monday if I thought he was being too optimistic.

"I have told you that about yourself, haven't I?" I said. He nodded. I let that stand as my answer, explaining to a friend in a text message later that, "If I say he's being overly optimistic, I'm just being manipulative and trying to get him to come with me."

"I find it hard to believe," came the reply, "That she's transformed from someone angelic six years ago to the person you described to me. Manipulative people tend to be that way intrinsically. As for telling Aiden you think he's being too optimistic? It's only being manipulative yourself if you're trying to persuade him. It's fair to say, That's how I feel, but you have to decide for yourself."

Shelby has been talking about things like going on vacation, getting a kitten, and letting Aiden insure his motorcycle on her policy. All I can think is, I smell a hoover. I can't judge who she was when they met, having not met her myself until several years later. What I will say is that in my experience, her number one defining quality is inconsistency. Name almost any topic, and I've heard her play both sides. She insists on one thing and a day later insists on its opposite. She makes clear statements and then denies that she said them, or questions the sanity or motives of the person questioning her. One day she loves a thing or a person, and the next day she hates them. She takes excellent and patient care of people who pay her to do so, and is a royal bitch to those she claims to care about personally. I've seen the good person, and I've seen more than enough of the bad one.

Perhaps she was different when they met. What I suspect is actually the case, and of course I am only speculating, is that Shelby put on a good performance, and Aiden overlooked any and all signs of imperfection because hers were better than Lily's. Everything I have read on the subject and everyone I have talked to have told me that abusiveness is a personality trait, and that people who have it are very good at hiding it when they feel a need. That skill is so universal that common advice tells couples who have abuse problems not to go to couples counseling, because abusers are that likely to manipulate even therapists.

I think it's an act, quite possibly one with which Shelby is fooling even herself. Maybe I'm wrong. Either way, it's time for me to go.

It's All Broken

We are nearing the end. Really. I know I've said that before - repeatedly, even - but this time I swear it's for real. Eben interpreted some of my rantings last night this way: "It sounds to me like you're saying there's this mark on the conveyor belt that's getting closer, and that mark is the end. And you want to tell them, Hey, this is happening." Yes. That mark is approaching, and approaching fast. When I hit a tipping point, I don't waste time. I jump right off the cliff.

Last week, Shelby told me that she was done with Aiden and was going to kick him out. Her tone of voice was different than usual; she was calmer, sounding resigned instead of angry. My first thought was, Thank god. Finally. It took me a day or so to fully accept my own reaction. Then I started preparing for the new future, visualizing different scenarios and how it might all play out.

Some hours into that, it occurred to me that even though she had sounded different this time, she might still go back on her word, like all the other times she's issued threats and not seen them through. Suddenly I no longer knew what I was even preparing for, but the realization that I might have just fallen for one more empty threat upset me. Not knowing what I might come home to or how to prepare for it threw me off balance.

In desperate need of a friend, I went to dinner with Eben and told him what was going on. When I shared with him some of the things that Shelby has said, he was horrified. One that particularly stuck out was when she said to Aiden, "I need my feelings validated," and five minutes later, when he tried to express his side of the story, cut him off and told him, "Your feelings don't count. I don't care what you think."

Those behaviors are unfortunately nothing new to me, and it started to dawn on me how bad that was when I responded to Eben with a shrug and the comment, "That's standard-issue Shelby."

On Friday morning, I finally found the words to tell Aiden that Shelby is emotionally abusive toward him. I pointed out some of the things that she says and does, and how those are unsupportive and nasty, and are things that no human being should have to put up with. He said he has a hard time seeing them, because in comparison to his ex-wife Lily, Shelby is better. I think that's the only comparison he ever makes. But when I compare Shelby to anyone else I've ever known, the comparison isn't favorable. She tears him down, she insults him, she orders him around, she treats him like a child, she tells him he's incapable and unworthy and a mess. She's done these things as long as I've been around. After Friday's conversation, he resolved to stand up to her more. He said he was looking forward to learning some tools to use on her.

When I showed up in the relationship, her behavior made me uncomfortable, but I didn't feel it was my place to say or do anything. I was afraid to be seen as trying to steal him away from her. Eventually they gave me explicit permission to opine on their disagreements, and I started throwing in my two cents here and there. I stood up to Shelby on my own behalf, but seldom on Aiden's, thinking that was his job and it wasn't really my business. I did try to coach him in standing up for himself, but he didn't seem to take most of it to heart, whether because he didn't see a need for it or for some other reason, I'm not sure.

I've taken a couple of opportunities to tell her that I don't like the way she treats him. She's agreed to be kinder, but it hasn't happened. Over the last two and a half years, things have gone from bad to worse. She's unstable, inconsistent, and determined to blame her perceived problems on everyone but herself. One of my own struggles has been to accept that since it's my home too, I get to have an opinion about what it's like there. The truth is, it's a war zone. I don't feel safe or relaxed there. It's not a place I can return to recharge my mental batteries or regain my equilibrium. It's a place for which I have to be fully prepared before I can enter, or I might be caught off-guard by whatever today's fresh new hell is. I tried to tell Shelby that's how it was, and she was confused.

I read an article last night that listed 30 signs of emotional abusers. Shelby demonstrates 29 of them, mostly toward Aiden and his kid. Then I read an article on emotional manipulation, and was startled to realize that those behaviors she actually uses against me: she says things and denies them later, and makes me feel guilty when I try to hold her to her word.

I have a good skill for remembering conversations with accuracy. I can quote many things that are said to me verbatim several hours, days, or even weeks later. I've used that ability to try to hold her to her word on many occasions, and her responses have varied from "I didn't say that" to "Why do you care so much what I said?" to "Do you want to be held accountable for something you said a long time ago?" I wouldn't say that it's worked exactly, because I see the difference between what she said and what she did, and she doesn't change my mind; but it has confused me greatly and made me feel unstable, because I never know what's going on or whether I can trust anything she says.

Shelby tries to force her reality on us. Aiden generally accepts it, and I generally don't. For example, when she's upset about something and he tries to state his own side, she either talks over him or accuses him of yelling. The conversation usually goes something like this:

Shelby: I can't believe you would do that.

Aiden: I didn't mean to make you feel ignored. I did what I did because -

Shelby: I don't care why. You're an idiot.

Aiden: Maybe I am. The reason I did what I did is that I didn't think about what your response might be.

Shelby: That's right, you never think! You don't care about me.

Aiden: (In a level tone of voice.) That's not true. I care about you very much. But I want you to see -

Shelby: (Yelling.) Stop yelling at me! If you're just going to yell, I'm not going to bother talking to you.

I've watched this scene play out what feels like a million times since I became part of that relationship. I've tried pointing out that Aiden isn't yelling, and Shelby usually responds by rolling her eyes and walking away.

The article on manipulation listed 8 behaviors commonly exhibited by manipulators:

1. They turn your words to benefit them. ("A manipulator has trouble accepting responsibility for their behavior, and often if you call them on it, they’ll find a way to turn it around to make you feel bad or guilty.")
2. They say something and later deny it.
3. They use guilt trips to control you.
4. They diminish your problems or difficulties.
5. They use the emotional back door.
6. They suck the energy in a room. ("They want the attention and focus to be on them, and they want to make sure everyone in the room notices if they are angry, unhappy, or discontented in some way.")
7. They use aggression or anger. ("Manipulators often try to intimidate others with aggressive language, subtle threats, or outright anger. Especially if they see you’re uncomfortable with confrontation, they will use it to quickly control you and get their way.")
8. They seek out the sensitive, insecure, or overly trusting.

I don't see #5 in Shelby - she's very forthright - and I only see subtle occurrences of #3 and #6, of a level that I would be inclined to call normal if it weren't for the very strong occurrences of the other items.

She very rarely accepts responsibility for her own behavior, and when she does, it's often with a caveat. ("Well maybe I acted a little crazy, but that's what happens when you do something like that to me.") She constantly tells Aiden that he has no problems and doesn't have a right to complain, be angry, or have feelings. He actually expressed that to me a few months ago; he felt like he was never allowed to express his feelings because he wasn't supposed to have any.

She defaults to using anger in almost every circumstance, and disrespects anyone who can't "take it." We've had a long-running argument about how we argue (oh the irony), in which I've said that I prefer to take space and think my words through and then re-approach, and she prefers to just scream about everything that's on her mind at the moment and apologize for any hurtfulness later. I've made some steps in her direction, managing not to run away when we're fighting and to say what's on my mind. But I've never been able to agree that screaming and name-calling and taking no responsibility for your words just because you're mad is an okay thing to do. It's toddler behavior, something that emotionally mature adults should have outgrown.

On Monday, the small Aiden got suspended from school for fighting. Tuesday he spent the day at home, shoveling rocks in the back yard as punishment. Aiden was home overseeing him and I was home working. Shelby was at work. When she arrived home around 5:15, it was with a nasty vengeance and a cloud of anger that she immediately spewed all over Aiden, telling him that he had punished his child wrong and that all his interactions with the school and the kid were wrong and that he was a terrible parent and a hopeless person, and it was his responsibility to control his child's behavior. She referred to small Aiden as "that THING" and demanded that he be removed from her house.

I stepped in and asked if she really thought he was capable of controlling every aspect of his 14-year-old son's behavior. I asked what she expected him to do, what he should be telling the school, how he should be interacting differently with the kid. She had very little to say beyond, "I don't know," coming closest to a useful answer with the statement, "You're inconsistent in how you treat him." Other statements included, "If he's going to act like an asshole, he should be hospitalized."

I don't deny that Aiden is a bit inconsistent sometimes. He has moods just like everyone else, and sometimes he can be forgetful. But when it comes to the reactions that an adult has to the child's behavior, I haven't seen anyone act more unpredictably than Shelby herself. Some days she's in a good mood and everything is fine, and she'll chat with the kid and play games with him and just roll her eyes when he talks too much. And then there are the other days, when she's in a bad mood for whatever reason, and she will lose her mind and scream at the kid for having the temerity to even enter a room. She has demanded several times that Aiden lock the kid into his room, and when I point out that that's abusive behavior, she says thing like, "What else am I supposed to do? If he won't control his kid, he can't live here."

Don't get me wrong, the kid is not easy to get along with. I'm not exactly his best friend myself, or a particularly good parental figure. My approach is mostly avoidant, and I have a long way to go if I'm going to be anything like a useful role model to him. But my strengths are patience and my ability to control my emotions, and I try very hard to be consistent. I'm mystified enough by Shelby's treatment of him and how it varies from day to day. I can't even imagine what it's like to be him, to have the lack of understanding that he already has about social situations because of his mental disability and then to have her alternating friendliness or stream of bile directed at him, with no way to ever know which one is coming. Kids with regulation disorders need consistency, and she gives him exactly the opposite, and then demands to know why he isn't fixed yet.

She eventually walked away from the conversation and went to do some gardening. Aiden curled up on me and looked sad, and I asked what he was thinking.

"I felt like I did okay today," he said. "Until she came home. And now I feel like I did everything wrong."

"If you feel like you did it right," I asked, "Why should she be able to come in here and tear you down?"

"Because I know there's room for improvement," he said. "And now all I can focus on is the twenty percent I need to improve."

He asked for feedback on how he had stood up for himself in the conversation. I said that I could see progress. He said that he was looking forward to fixing Shelby by standing up for himself. I had no response to that, but having since read the articles I mentioned above and discussed the issue with Bruce, who's a mental health worker, I have some more insight.

Abusiveness is a personality trait. There is no excuse - not stress, not provocation, not childhood, not anything - to treat another human being like Shelby treats Aiden. Abusers can improve their behavior, but it takes not only a lot of time, but a genuine recognition and acknowledgment of their wrongdoing, a deep desire to change, and individual therapy. Aiden just deciding that he's going to argue with her is not going to change how she sees him or how she behaves towards him and his child.

So this is how we've reached my breaking point. I have a right to a house in which I feel safe. I have a right to a relationship that's supportive and loving, not destructive and stressful. I can't abide the status quo anymore and I will exercise those rights.

If you're asking why I don't just walk already, here's the catch. I want to help the boys. I'm better equipped in both offensive and defensive weaponry. Their shields are not nearly as strong as mine, and if I just disappear and leave them in this situation, I will feel like I failed in my duty to take care of the people close to me. I'm past the point where I could support Shelby in an attempt to change; as far as I'm concerned, she's been given a huge number of chances to change and has passed them all up. I'm out of energy to live under her emotional cloud or even to care much about her at all, except for the well of anger that I'm harboring about how she has treated one of the men I care most about in the world. That anger, however, can fuel quite a lot of protective energy to put between her and the boys. I'm perfectly willing to walk into the fire and take the burns for them.

Playing Dress-Up, part 1 [fiction]

The hand-written note, in purple ink on heavy woven paper, sat on my bureau and silently taunted me. Seeing the piece of paper, folded in half and held shut with a silver sticker, tucked beneath the handle of the shower when I returned home that afternoon had sent a thrill shimmering through my chest. I never knew what those pretty papers were going to contain. They were rare, and I treasured them. The few I had received were socked carefully away in a drawer, a collection of triggers for some of my most interesting memories.

Today's note was an order, and immediately upon reading it, my brain had erased my plans for the night without waiting for my explicit permission.

I never would have brought a postal scale into my bedroom unless I developed some plan to mail my mattress, but his instructions had been clear: I was to wear no more than four ounces of clothing, and a pair of heels at least five inches high.

The shoes were easy. Most of my favorite fancy shoes were above that height. I grabbed my black suede ankle boots with the stilettos and went back to the bed, where the hard decisions remained strewn across the covers in disarray.

I couldn't find a bra under an ounce and a half, so that was out. Dressing myself had suddenly become a game of surface area versus heft, and density was the enemy. I had to be decent enough to go out in public for at least a little while, possibly for the whole night. I had no idea how much time would be spent where, so there were no safe assumptions.

There could be no socks or tights. I wondered if jewelry was considered "clothing" for this purpose, and decided that it wasn't. I had enough piercings that were made of steel and difficult to remove that it wouldn't have been fair to count them; it likely would have left me naked.

Of course, that probably meant he was going to do exactly that: work out the weight of my jewelry somehow and tell me I had disobeyed his order. But punishment was preferable to re-piercing several parts of my body.

Pawing through my underwear drawer, I chose the smallest G-string I could find. It was black lycra with five tiny rhinestones glittering on the top edge. Sitting innocently on the scale, it left me three and a half ounces of clothing to dress the rest of me. I bit my lip and looked around the room, hoping some object would pop into my sight and bring with it a brilliant idea, the solution so obvious and so clever I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it immediately.

Curtains, towels, and a bedspread, however, just made the task seem more hopeless. Fabric, I was quickly learning, was heavy. At least when seen as a step to my strange goal.

Giving up for the moment, I stepped to the mirror and started applying makeup. A base coat to even out my skin was followed by some dark purple eye shadow and then some bright silver. I topped it with kohl-black eyeliner, then accented the corners with a touch of glitter.

Pulling back for a moment and shaking my hair down like a model readying for a photo shoot, I looked at my reflection sideways, then picked up the brush and dragged the purple color farther out from the corners of my eyes. Then I grabbed white eyeliner and painted a tiny star under my left eyebrow.

Pouting at myself like a small girl denied a cookie, I painted black liner around my lips, taking care to keep the lines clean, then added purple lipstick inside it. Some light touches with a brush blended the black into the purple, turning the uneven blotches of color into a twilight fade that accented my eyes. It occurred to me then that my white star-shaped contact lenses would have been ideal with this makeup, but it was too late to put them in; the tears created would streak my perfect paint job and force me to do it again. It wouldn't be as good the second time.

And I'd be late. Which I almost was already.

Hurrying now, I yanked open all the drawers in my dresser and the door to my closet, scanning frantically for something made of nothing. I thought of tulle, of chiffon, and my mind went to my box of costumes. There in the mystery chest I could find a ballet tutu, a pair of wings, a pair of shiny strapless dresses, many things with garters, and lots of lace.

The strapless dresses were too heavy, by such a tiny margin that I wondered if it could be coincidence. Might he have gone through my clothes already, knowing what I would do when given this assignment, and deliberately eliminated these as a possibility? They would have been too easy a solution, possibly one that he would find boring.

I shook my head. It wasn't worth worrying about.

Upended in mid-air and shaken with frantic vigor, the box produced a shiny cascade of materials and shapes, some objects that clattered on the floor and some that floated away as they fell or slid sinuously from the top of the pile into the dusty foothills below my bureau. Remaining at the peak of the small mountain was a lavender nightie made of something like stretchy tulle. Spaghetti straps held it up and the bottom had a ruffle that hung just even with my cheeks, if I didn't walk. The top edge was ribboned with little cuts that came dangerously low when I put it on. If I moved the wrong way, sometimes the fabric would grab my nipples and forcibly show them off. Even when it covered everything that I thought it should, nothing was hidden; the fabric was so transparent that it barely even blurred my outlines.

It weighed three ounces. I saw no choice but to put it on.

I couldn't leave the house like this. It wouldn't be legal, and I wasn't going to risk getting arrested, at least not for my clothing or lack thereof. If I was going to tempt the law, it would be a little later in the evening's proceedings.

Half an ounce remained in my allowance. Even my lightest bra didn't fit that bill. I nudged the pile of costumes with my toe, hoping for inspiration, and there it was - a tassel peeked out from under the edge of a fairy wing, and I had my answer.

Five minutes with scissors, glue, and an old black t-shirt made me the proud creator of a pair of five-pointed stars, about three inches on a side. I found some double-stick tape in my desk drawer and applied it to the stars, and the stars to my nipples. They barely covered my areolas, and I thought that a cop might have something to say to me about the intentions I demonstrated by going outside in this, but technically I couldn't be arrested for nudity.

It was time. I ran a brush through my hair, grateful for its length and wishing it were even longer - perhaps down to my knees - so I could appear reasonably clothed from at least one direction.

My heels clacked loudly on the stairs as I went down them. I slung my purse over my shoulder, rifled habitually through all the pockets to make sure I hadn't removed the essentials in a moment of absent-minded inspiration, and opened the front door. I locked it behind me, tucked the key away, took a deep breath, and stepped off the porch onto the sidewalk. There I waited.