Le Bonhuer

Okay, so here is an explanation of my alias.

I use an alias because I don't want my ex to read this thing, or at least not yet. Therefore, I don't post my real name or his or anyone elses. As a result of which, I created an alias that is a combination of the following:

1. le bonhuer means "the happiness" in French -- a concept I am currently invested in fully.
2. bonhuer sounds an awful lot like my last name.
3. My last name sounds like an awful lot like "boner."
4. I find the word "boner" very amusing and use it as an expletive, a descriptive word, etc. very often in my daily life.

If you know me, you get it and you think its funny.

If you don't know me, at least you kinda get it now and maybe find it amusing.

P.S. There is french movie named "Le Bonheur" -- no relation but you can watch the trailer here, its kinda creepy. Enjoy.

6 Months. Half a Year?

It’s been 6 months now. 6 months, that’s half a year. Half a year is nearly One Whole Year. So it’s kinda like a whole year has passed, right?

But I tend to skip ahead.

I do this often; skipping ahead. When I’m reading a magazine, I never start at the beginning. I flip to the end and scan backwards. At the last page of a chapter, I scan my eyes to last few sentences -- I can’t help it. When I was 29, I often told people I was 30. When it’s just the first few days of Fall, I skip ahead to February in my mind, anticipating snow to roll around in maybe a month, maybe less. I don’t know why I do this, it’s not that I dread the passing of time, maybe it’s the opposite.

So when 6 months started approaching, I began skipping ahead, thinking that a year passed. But it hasn’t been a year; just half of one.

Six months and no communication, well, at least by phone. We’ve emailed only occasionally, no calls, no visits. I think this has been the best thing for me. Not communicating has sometimes been heart-wrenchingly painful, other times it’s like living in peaceful oblivion. But it’s consistently done one thing; given me no choice but to focus only on how I’m feeling.

I will admit that there are moments when I obsess over what he’s thinking and feeling, but eventually I have to stop because I have no evidence of either thing. All I’m doing is making things up in my mind. And who can live that way? And I’ve got to thank my bestie here, without her saying to me, “You can’t live like that!”, I wouldn’t have realized that I better stop making up fantasies about him sitting on top of a pile of cash, wearing dollar sign glasses (a la Riche Riche style) record deal in one hand, skinny bitch in the other, all the while thinking, “Thank god I'm not with her anymore!”

Yeah, you can’t live that way.

So instead, I focus on myself. I moved into an adorable apartment in a cute neighborhood which more and more feels like home. I’ve got some really wonderful new neighbors, made new friends, reconnected with old friends, pushed myself to do things I would never have otherwise done, and generally relearned how to live my life with only one person in mind, me. I’m making plans for my future and I’m finding that what I need out of a friendship, a boyfriend, a job, and a life – is slowly coming into focus.

And now I'm skipping ahead again and anticipating the person I'll be when a year has past. I can picture myself even more settled, more secure. So much so that it makes me want to wait an entire year before seeing him in person. Maybe then, when I’ve become this more settled and secure self, there won’t be any chance that my resolve will break down.

Because I fear that it might.

Because no matter how confident I may feel, how much I may skip ahead, it’s really only been 6 months, not a year, not 2 years, just a matter of months; a drop in the bucket of our 9 years together.

So it's no wonder I anticipate the One Year Mark, no wonder I want to jump ahead. I want to skip to being totally confident, with no doubts, and breeze past all my "bad days," all the bad dreams, and all the times I wonder where he is. Because the feelings are still there -- all the years, all the good, all the bad -- lying under the surface, shakily waiting in the background for something to crack.

But maybe a year from now, when I’ve lived through all this, I won't crack.

What happens when you purge your long-term boyfriend. -- by Mia Timpano.

I posted a link to this article a while back, but I'm not sure if enough people clicked the link and read it. I think it's wonderful and therefore am now forcing you all to read it.

What happens when you purge your long-term boyfriend.
By Mia Timpano. (column: Frankie #16 Apr/May 2007)

T-Bone and I broke up. Now all I have is crap in a box.

Actually, no, scratch that. That’s not all I have. I now have a world of morons dribbling their greeting card wisdom all over me. “Don’t worry! The right guy is out there for you, somewhere!” Somewhere? Wow. What a prediction. No, seriously, barf me another cliché — barf me a river — because that is exactly what I want to hear.

The sweet world of love in which I once laughed and frolicked has been blown up and pissed on all at once, and now I have to listen to shit you’ve read on bumper stickers.

A long-term relationship is not Chernobyl, inasmuch as it goes boom. A long-term relationship is that fake gelatine hand people buy from that store, World of Crap or whatever, inasmuch as you can hurl it against a wall, it sticks for a period, but inevitably gathers crud. And though the hand is clearly rancid, it requires six months (minimum) for you to say, “Uh, why do I own a novelty gelatine hand? Why is this shit in my house?” and finally purge it.

Then, once effectively dislodged from the existing relationship, three distinct phases follow:

1. Crying over assorted bullshit.

2. Seducing a man you wouldn’t otherwise spew on.
Though some people manage to bypass this phase, most don’t. The emotional storm of shit is such that you crave the intimacy you suddenly lack and your perception of others is grossly distorted.

I, myself, bounded keenly into the arms of Benedict O’Fey (not his real name), my university lecturer. Clearly blinded by both my tears over T-Bone and the sun that Benedict had me believe was radiating out of his arse, I found myself unable to recognise certain obvious problems, e.g. the fact that Benedict annoyed me, the fact that he dressed like a Medieval retard, the fact that he was pretentious — even his dreams were pretentious (he claimed that he dreamed in black and white) — and the fact that he worshipped me spasmodically, as opposed to loving me sincerely (there is a difference). That, and the fact that he was borderline gross.

After months of to-ing and fro-ing and finally groping, I experienced a moment of total clarity; while locked in Benedict’s sweaty embrace, I ran my hand under his shirt in an effort to reach and hold the back of his neck, but found myself unable drive my fist through the valley of fat that surrounded it. My hand came to rest on a freak bulge of fat that was nestled between Benedict’s armpit and gut. And as I held it, and he held me, I realised, “Uh, why I am holding this man’s lump of fat?” and finally purged him.

3. Realising who you are and that you never actually needed a boyfriend in the first place.
I came to understand that, in many ways, T-Bone was to me now what my doll Tubby was to me as a child. I loved Tubby sincerely, so much so that when I failed to pack Tubby when travelling interstate, my bitching did not end. Ultimately, my parents had the doll couriered. My loss was real, yes, but I do not cling to Tubby now. And so, with a similar passage of time, I will move on from T-Bone.

And, certainly, I like to believe that I have already. But then, when I think of T-Bone, dressed as a pretzel (T-Bone works at a Pretzel World franchise, where he dresses as a giant pretzel, handing samples to lard arses), I feel the goo of my heart, much as I did the day I met him, in the studio audience of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? , much as I did the day he told me, “You’re achingly beautiful,” and kissed me, much as I did every night we sat in bed watching Star Trek TNG . Because I miss him. Because the last time I saw him, “as friends” or whatever, he broke off mid-sentence, looked away and said, “I’m still madly in love with you.”

http://miatimpano.wordpress.com/2007/04/05/what-happens-when-you-purge-your-long-term-boyfriend/

How filling out a Customs Declaration Form can break your heart.

Last summer, about 6 months before we broke up, we took a vacation with a fellow couple to Costa Rica. This trip was about 2 years in the planning. One would never assume that a trip that took almost 2 years to plan would proceed to break your will to live.

Let’s just say, it had its ups and downs. Some of the “ups” were: hanging out with sweet little monkeys, eating a lot of pineapple, drinking a lot of rum, and seeing some of the most beautiful sites. And as for the “downs”, well…. that includes a series of nightmarish events and a lot of breathy whisperings of, “I’m scared…” while walking through the pitch-black Costa Rican rain forest in the pouring rain while listening to monkeys howling in the distance.

But we survived, and eventually boarded a plane for home while sleep deprived, tanned, burned, peeling, haggard, hungry and hung over. Despite all that, the trip had awakened in me an appreciation for him. He was strong, supportive, took control, and took care of me. Amongst the chaos of the trip, I felt reconnected to him. Finally seated on the plane back, we settled into our seats and happily anticipated returning to our apartment. Many of our problems seemed to fade away on this trip and I started to feel like maybe we had a chance after all. I saw the person I loved; I saw him as strong and helpful, care taking and kind.

Then came a small piece of paper hell bent on destroying my little fantasy -- the “U.S. Customs and Border Protection Declaration Form.” As the steward passed out the forms he stopped in front of a happy, young couple seated in front of us. He advised them to fill out one form per family. He smiled at the couple, asking them if they were married, the couple laughed back something along the lines of, “Not yet!” And the steward smiled back at them. Then he turned to us and asked if we needed one or two forms. One each, please.

This sinister little form asked me to fill in my Family Name and the number of family members traveling with me. As I began filling out my form, I started to picture an alternate reality, one where we were nonchalantly filling in just one form for our happy little family of 2. And at that moment, I pictured us as a family and felt a small beam of happiness and hope that someday we would be. And I turned to him, touching his arm with a loving smile and said, “I wish we were a family.” And he glanced over to me, sideways, and said “Um hmm.”

Yeah. He said, “Um hmm.”

I sunk into my chair and we silently filled out our separate forms.

At that time, just 6 months before we broke up, I still had thoughts about getting married. And had he asked me, I guess I would have said yes. But I wonder if we would have ever gotten to the actual marriage part. I can see myself, with a ring on my hand, and how it would have played out. Elated at first, maybe for a few months, but eventually we would settle back into normal, all our problems would flood back in, and the logistics of our future married life would become clearer. I would see that a ring wouldn’t fix what was broken between us.

The more time passes and the more I change, the more I see that no matter how much we may have loved each other, we just weren't right for each other. Apparently, there's a difference. Who knew?

My life is very different now. I felt like I had no control over my life before, I was consumed by the relationship and what we were going to do with our lives, how he felt about us, and what he was thinking. But what about me? My happiness was an afterthought. What I needed from him never entered into my mind -- things such as a true sense of partnership, a deeper friendship, attentiveness, empathy, more encouragement, and an interest in what truly made me happy. What I really needed from my life was cloudy and in the distance. I couldn't figure it out. I knew there was something more that I needed -- a change had to happen, but I just couldn't picture it. To quote my fellow blogger, I perseverated.

And so, there were many little tests like this one on the plane. Many times where I would have my heart broken somehow and then just push it aside, vowing to perseverate -- just do the same thing over and over -- just push my own self further and further away so I wouldn't have to take a good look at what was going on. I just didn't want to face it, we would suck at marriage and if we would suck at marriage then I better leave, but it was too difficult -- until one day, when I guess I was ready, I did.

Thinking about that day on the plane, it makes me wonder how many shaky relationships that tiny form has tested.

So what about you? How was your relationship tested? And where did this test lead you?

Sun Spot Cycle

One of the blogs I check-in on almost every day is called "Sun Spot Cycle." The author started this blog when her 11 year relationship ended.

I feel a connection to her. We both started blogs when our long-term relationships ended, I think we are about the same age, we both haven't dated in nearly a decade and have no idea how to do so, and we are both starting our lives over. Her blog focuses on her recovery and I love that. The reason I started my blog was because I wanted to read about someone, like me, recovering from a break-up. So not only did I start one, but I've got one to read too. In fact, she found my blog first somehow and linked to me.

So today I checked in on her blog and found a great post entitled, Summer Thunder. When I read it, I could see myself in my past relationship standing on the edge of a storm too. She had a line, "The signs were there and instead of moving, instead of self-preservation I went for perseveration." This struck me, instead of saving yourself you decide to perseverate, to do the same thing over and over again. I did this too. I did the same things over and over in an effort to stay in my relationship. Once I figured out that I was only harming myself, by repeatedly doing things that only made me feel awful, the spell was broken and I was able to leave.

So read this post, Summer Thunder, and follow her, and celebrate her awesomeness too.