okay, so feel free to not read, but I have to get this out.

I met Adrian when I was a teenager. 15 years ago, almost. Adrian never loved me. He tolerated me. He thought he could mold me into the right girl. I thought I could be molded. I wanted to believe that we were moving to Georgia together because we were in love. The reality is that he didn't want to move alone, so he allowed me to come along, so he'd have someone to talk to in Georgia. I was 21 years old, and we'd been seeing each other on and off since I was for four years, but living together for the past year. I knew before we loaded up all of our posessions that it wasn't a good plan. But, I thought it was right and I wanted to get out of my mom's house. Plus, how much more grown-up could you get than picking up, and taking your dog, and moving cross-country? Except I wasn't a grown-up. I thought I was. I don't know if I am a grown-up yet, but I certainly wasn't back then. And we fought. And I cried. And I missed Texas. I thought if I was a good Catholic woman, Ad might love me more. Or love me the way I wanted to be loved. But it was always false. He never chose me. He settled for me. So, knowing things were over, but not actually ending them, I loaded up a pick-up truck, and moved back to Texas. Things officially ended fairly quickly after that. Not entirely unmessy, since I was living with his brother and his brother's wife, who was also ending their relationship. And we all worked together.

And then I met Joe. Joe did love me, but again, I wasn't what he was looking for. He didn't realize it. Neither did I. We just went on pretending that this was how things were supposed to be. We were just comfortable. Or complacent. Let's not rock the boat, and all that. When we'd fight, we'd have passion, but it was absent from the rest of our life. We were together for a year before he was able to tell me he loved me. We were never alone. Always, we were with his friends. Some of whom bitterly protested our relationship. And in front of me. These same people were invited to participate in our wedding some three and 1/2 years later. We floated through those first years quietly. Then, in the second year of our marriage, I found yoga. And I changed. Profoundly. Joe never changed. He still did everything exactly the same, because it had always worked before, and why change things? I became exhausted from working all the time, and studying to become a yoga teacher. I wanted a partner, he wanted a mommy. I would do the cooking, and he would eat my food, and then give me his critique. "It was good, but you should have put more onions in." And then he wanted a baby. I took care of the house, the cooking, most of the cleaning, the dogs (we had three), myself, and Joe. He earned the money. I was always the poor one. He always had money. The thought of one more thing to take care of did not seem appealing. But I thought we could maybe, possibly make that work. Then, we had a fight. And I don't remember what the fight was about. I remember that we were going to Fort Worth to have dinner with his family. And we were just going at it fur and fangs. And then he said "I am so fucking pissed right now, I want to crash this car and kill us both." And then, finally, things changed. And I no longer wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. I didn't know what I was going to do, but this wasn't going to be it. I kept hoping that I would feel differently. I didn't. I could not stand his apathy. He's a screamer. He likes to tell people that he would kick some ass, if he had to. But, I never saw him do a goddamned thing. He was apafuckingthetic about everything. Because as long as he has his PS2, then what does he care? But I didn't do anything for months. So maybe I was apathetic, too. And, then, one Saturday afternoon, it just came out of my mouth. "I think we should separate." He claimed that we could work it out. Then he called me at work to tell me that he'd talked to his friends in Austin, the ones who'd protested our relatationship, and also participated in our wedding, and they all agreed we should just file for divorce already. So we did. And it was wasn't entirely unmessy. But it was right.

And then I met Tim. Tim was passionate from the get-go. Which should have sent up warning flares, but was intoxicating in my post-divorce life. He loved me intsensely. He loved me until it hurt. We'd separate. And we just kept drawing back to each other. Everyone knew we were wrong. We knew. But then, we had things that kept us tightly wound. Like good sex, and drugs. And I thought it was enough. Until, I thought that I might not live through it. And then, it wouldn't end. I would get away, and he'd track me down, and I'd look into his intense brown eyes, and I knew passion. And I thought passion would overtake fear. It never did. I didn't want to be scared. I want to be loved. Accepted. Tim was never proud of me. I accomplished a lifelong dream while we were together. He never once was proud of me. He screamed at me for being involved in something that took attention away from him. He alternated between being a malevolent bastard and a petulant little boy. Then, he punched my car. I would not tolerate that. I don't know how that was the catalyst, but it was over for me. It was messy. All kinds of messy. But it's over now, and I happy to be alone.

I don't want to be somebody's mom. I don't want to be somebody's punching bag. I don't want to be somebody's drug buddy. I don't want to be somebody's back-up plan. I just want to be me. Sometimes I am cool. Sometimes I am a wanker. And someday, somebody will appreciate it all.

**please note that this is my version of these events. The people mentioned herein may have different opinions, recollections and ideas. They are entitled to them. They'd be wrong, but they entitled to them. ;)