O.M. Grey's Blog, page 2

For Just A Few Moments

For just a few moments

I captured your heart

A sweet, brief reunion

After decades apart

For just a few moments

We talked through the night

Sharing stories and thoughts

Of both darkness and light

For just a few moments

Our souls intertwined

Our hearts dared to hope

And joy filled our minds

For just a few moments

I let down my shield

You let yours down, too

For just a few moments

I thought it was real

My sweetheart, my darling

My muskrat, my dove

Your sweet gentle kindness

Grew quickly to love

You coaxed me to fall

Right alongside you

For just a few moments

It surely felt true

My battered heart so scared

To go too far in haste

But, after thirty years

Time we shouldn’t waste

For just a few moments

You made me believe

In love and hope and joy

For just a few moments

You made me believe

In you. In me. In us.

Then I watched you leave

An instant, a breath

The blink of an eye

Silence. Discarded.

You left me to cry.

I tried to reach out.

I tried to amend.

You shut down completely.

No lover, no friend.

I don’t understand.

I racked my brain ‘why?’

No reason. No cause.

I can’t say goodbye.

After searching so long

After finding you now

I can’t let you go

Please, tell me how.

For just a few moments

I laid myself bare

A future of hope

Adventures to share

For just a few moments

I had this nice dream

Where I sure loved you

And you sure loved me

For just a few moments

I believed in it all.

A foolish young schoolgirl.

Nothing more, after all.

Filed under: Romance & Relationships, Short Fiction & Poetry Tagged: heartbreak, heartbroken, loss, love, love poetry, olivia grey, omgrey, poem, poet, poetry

Short Story: A New Year Reunion (Explicit)

<explicit, adult short story of a fantasy reunion between two long, lost lovers>

As the snow fell gently outside, her mind wandered from her knitting to somewhere decades ago. A boy. A girl. Standing on a street in a small Texas town. The boy professes his love to her and offers to stay even though his mother is moving away, if she could only love him too.

The foolish young girl, googly-eyed at some narcissistic drummer, turned this courageous young man down. The next day, the boy moved away. Much to the young girl’s surprise, her heart broke. She did love him after all, but he was gone and she had no way to reach him. No cell phone or Facebook or SnapChat back in the early 80s, just the deafening silence of a lost love, intermittently interrupted by the faint crackle of a breaking heart.

Over the years she looked for him to no avail. She knew his name. She knew he moved back to Oregon, but she knew nothing else.

“Can’t you just do a statewide search?” the girl said to Oregon Directory Assistance. “Alex Donovan, please?”

“We can try, ma’am.” Clickety-clicks filled the dead air over the phone as the operator typed in this name. “There is no Alex or Alexander Donovan listed. Can I help you with something else?”

“No. That’s all,” the girl said while a tear formed in her eye.

Each summer she performed the same search for ten more years, but it never produced results. Then the internet came in the mid-nineties and the girl took her search online. First through AOL, contacting anyone with that name. Then it was AskJeeves, MySpace, and finally Facebook. Another ten years of fruitless searching passed.

By this time she was happily married, and she began to forget that sweet boy on the street in that small Texas town. She stopped looking for him and lived her life, pushing the regret of lost love deep down into her heart.

Life happened, as it does. Another 10 years passed. Hopes. Failures. Injuries. Insurmountable traumas and debilitating pain. Her career fell apart. Her marriage fell apart. She was alone, traveling from place to place searching for herself, searching for peace, searching for a glimmer of hope that would lead her back to love. After 18 months of exploring the UK, Europe, and especially herself, she was content alone. Although she was open to the possibility of romance, she wasn’t seeking it. She enjoyed her own company, and she found joy and beauty in life between the tears and loneliness. It was a good life. It was a peaceful life.

Then one cold December evening while she sat knitting a Christmas Gift for her mother while watching Netflix in a little town called Frostburg, Maryland, the boy came to mind.

“Alex,” Charlotte whispered into the night, and that long-buried spark of love twinkled deep within her heart. After a few hours of internet research, she found his Facebook page: Alexander J. Donovan. Moments later they were texting, for hours.

Memories poured in. Hope blossomed, as well as a tiny kernel of romance. Over the next two weeks, they got closer and closer. Sharing stories, hopes, dreams, fears, sadness, traumas, and joys. They were falling in love. They both had had a rough few years-well seven, really-so they could empathize with the other and be genuine. No need for games or pretense. Just Alex. Just Charlotte. Finally reunited.

As with any new relationship, there were a few hiccups along the way, but they got past them because their deep affection for each other was far more important than a few misunderstandings. After all, it’s part of learning about each other.

After three weeks of exchanging videos, text messages, and emails from afar, Charlotte was headed to Eugene for a face-to-face reunion. She was excited and nervous all at the same time, but the moment she looked into Alex’s eyes, his gentle kindness put her at ease. Marveling at each other at first, not even daring to touch, they drank the other in.

Alex reached out and took her hand, just as he had wanted to do 32 years ago. It felt warm in hers. He pulled her close and embraced her, hugging her tightly, and she him. Charlotte’s heart felt full, complete. It was where she belonged, in his arms, and she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else ever again.

When he finally pulled away, she touched his cheek and said, “I can’t believe I found you.”

Although they ordered their coffee and started chatting, from that moment on, as long as they were in close proximity, they were touching. Hands, arms, legs. . . while walking, driving, talking. They couldn’t keep their hands off the other.

[image error]They ended their lovely reunion day at his place to watch a movie. Charlotte couldn’t follow the plot because all she felt was his arm around her and his body oh so close. Finally, somewhere after an hour into the film, she tilted her head up to his, reached up, and kissed his full lips. Tenderly at first, barely brushing them with hers, but the next kiss locked their lips tightly together. Without pulling away from the taste of Alex’s delicious mouth, Charlotte shifted her position to straddle him.

The movie played on in the background.

From his lips, she moved to softly kiss his cheek, then onto his earlobe, which she gently sucked into her mouth, teasing it with her tongue. One hand ran down his chest while the other grasped his hand tightly. She would explore every inch of him before the night was through. Her lips worked down the side of his neck and onto his collar bone, leaving a moist trail of tiny kisses in their wake, before finding the fullness of his eager lips waiting for a kiss of their own.

Alex helped Charlotte remove her shirt and then his own. Flesh pressed to flesh, they embraced, as she ran her fingers through his hair, and he trailed his down her back. By shifting the angle of her hips slightly, she could tell he was ready for her, as ready as she was for him.

She arched her back so Alex could twirl his tongue around each of her erect nipples as he cupped her breasts. The urgency was already building inside of her, and she felt as if she might climax at any moment, just from the excitement of his touch, his lips.

So as not to drench them both, she pulled away and lowered herself down between Alex’s legs, trailing her hand down his chest until she reached his jeans. Never breaking eye contact, she opened the button and unzipped his zipper. He helped her pull them over his hips, freeing his gorgeous cock. Then, she could look at nothing else. She took his erection in her hands and licked slowly up along the underside, swirling her tongue around the tip before plunging her warm mouth over it, taking all of him inside her. Her hands followed her lips as she moved up and down his engorged shaft, feeling his excitement mounting with each new pass, but it was not time yet.

She stood and slid her own jeans over her hips revealing her most sensitive part to him. As she straddled him once again, he slid a finger inside of her wetness and he kissed her tenderly.

“Do you want this?” He asked.

“I most certainly do,” she whispered in his ear. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

No more words were necessary.

He guided himself into her, and at last they were one. 32 years in the making, and they finally found their union. She moved rhythmically, grinding her hips in tiny circles while she looked into his eyes until her vision blurred with her own orgasm. She cried out, clutching Alex’s head to her breasts as she continued to ride him, drenching him with her nectar in wave after wave of pleasure. Alex’s hands guided her hips to move in the rhythm he needed, and before long he joined her cries of ecstasy.

Spent, they collapsed in each other’s arms, bodies still entwined, looking into the other’s eyes until their breaths slowed.

“I love you,” Alex said.

“And I love you, Alex Donovan. I always have.”

Filed under: Short Fiction & Poetry Tagged: adult, erotic, erotica, hope, longing, love, sex, short story

A New Year Reunion (Explicit)

<explicit, adult short story of a fantasy reunion between two long, lost lovers>

As the snow fell gently outside, her mind wandered from her knitting to somewhere decades ago. A boy. A girl. Standing on a street in a small Texas town. The boy professes his love to her and offers to stay even though his mother is moving away, if she could only love him too.

The foolish young girl, googly-eyed at some narcissistic drummer, turned this courageous young man down. The next day, the boy moved away. Much to the young girl’s surprise, her heart broke. She did love him after all, but he was gone and she had no way to reach him. No cell phone or Facebook or SnapChat back in the early 80s, just the deafening silence of a lost love, intermittently interrupted by the faint crackle of a breaking heart.

Over the years she looked for him to no avail. She knew his name. She knew he moved back to Oregon, but she knew nothing else.

“Can’t you just do a statewide search?” the girl said to Oregon Directory Assistance. “Alex Donovan, please?”

“We can try, ma’am.” Clickety-clicks filled the dead air over the phone as the operator typed in this name. “There is no Alex or Alexander Donovan listed. Can I help you with something else?”

“No. That’s all,” the girl said while a tear formed in her eye.

Each summer she performed the same search for ten more years, but it never produced results. Then the internet came in the mid-nineties and the girl took her search online. First through AOL, contacting anyone with that name. Then it was AskJeeves, MySpace, and finally Facebook. Another ten years of fruitless searching passed.

By this time she was happily married, and she began to forget that sweet boy on the street in that small Texas town. She stopped looking for him and lived her life, pushing the regret of lost love deep down into her heart.

Life happened, as it does. Another 10 years passed. Hopes. Failures. Injuries. Insurmountable traumas and debilitating pain. Her career fell apart. Her marriage fell apart. She was alone, traveling from place to place searching for herself, searching for peace, searching for a glimmer of hope that would lead her back to love. After 18 months of exploring the UK, Europe, and especially herself, she was content alone. Although she was open to the possibility of romance, she wasn’t seeking it. She enjoyed her own company, and she found joy and beauty in life between the tears and loneliness. It was a good life. It was a peaceful life.

Then one cold December evening while she sat knitting a Christmas Gift for her mother while watching Netflix in a little town called Frostburg, Maryland, the boy came to mind.

“Alex,” Charlotte whispered into the night, and that long-buried spark of love twinkled deep within her heart. After a few hours of internet research, she found his Facebook page: Alexander J. Donovan. Moments later they were texting, for hours.

Memories poured in. Hope blossomed, as well as a tiny kernel of romance. Over the next two weeks, they got closer and closer. Sharing stories, hopes, dreams, fears, sadness, traumas, and joys. They were falling in love. They both had had a rough few years-well seven, really-so they could empathize with the other and be genuine. No need for games or pretense. Just Alex. Just Charlotte. Finally reunited.

As with any new relationship, there were a few hiccups along the way, but they got past them because their deep affection for each other was far more important than a few misunderstandings. After all, it’s part of learning about each other.

After three weeks of exchanging videos, text messages, and emails from afar, Charlotte was headed to Eugene for a face-to-face reunion. She was excited and nervous all at the same time, but the moment she looked into Alex’s eyes, his gentle kindness put her at ease. Marveling at each other at first, not even daring to touch, they drank the other in.

Alex reached out and took her hand, just as he had wanted to do 32 years ago. It felt warm in hers. He pulled her close and embraced her, hugging her tightly, and she him. Charlotte’s heart felt full, complete. It was where she belonged, in his arms, and she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else ever again.

When he finally pulled away, she touched his cheek and said, “I can’t believe I found you.”

Although they ordered their coffee and started chatting, from that moment on, as long as they were in close proximity, they were touching. Hands, arms, legs. . . while walking, driving, talking. They couldn’t keep their hands off the other.

[image error]They ended their lovely reunion day at his place to watch a movie. Charlotte couldn’t follow the plot because all she felt was his arm around her and his body oh so close. Finally, somewhere after an hour into the film, she tilted her head up to his, reached up, and kissed his full lips. Tenderly at first, barely brushing them with hers, but the next kiss locked their lips tightly together. Without pulling away from the taste of Alex’s delicious mouth, Charlotte shifted her position to straddle him.

The movie played on in the background.

From his lips, she moved to softly kiss his cheek, then onto his earlobe, which she gently sucked into her mouth, teasing it with her tongue. One hand ran down his chest while the other grasped his hand tightly. She would explore every inch of him before the night was through. Her lips worked down the side of his neck and onto his collar bone, leaving a moist trail of tiny kisses in their wake, before finding the fullness of his eager lips waiting for a kiss of their own.

Alex helped Charlotte remove her shirt and then his own. Flesh pressed to flesh, they embraced, as she ran her fingers through his hair, and he trailed his down her back. By shifting the angle of her hips slightly, she could tell he was ready for her, as ready as she was for him.

She arched her back so Alex could twirl his tongue around each of her erect nipples as he cupped her breasts. The urgency was already building inside of her, and she felt as if she might climax at any moment, just from the excitement of his touch, his lips.

So as not to drench them both, she pulled away and lowered herself down between Alex’s legs, trailing her hand down his chest until she reached his jeans. Never breaking eye contact, she opened the button and unzipped his zipper. He helped her pull them over his hips, freeing his gorgeous cock. Then, she could look at nothing else. She took his erection in her hands and licked slowly up along the underside, swirling her tongue around the tip before plunging her warm mouth over it, taking all of him inside her. Her hands followed her lips as she moved up and down his engorged shaft, feeling his excitement mounting with each new pass, but it was not time yet.

She stood and slid her own jeans over her hips revealing her most sensitive part to him. As she straddled him once again, he slid a finger inside of her wetness and he kissed her tenderly.

“Do you want this?” He asked.

“I most certainly do,” she whispered in his ear. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

No more words were necessary.

He guided himself into her, and at last they were one. 32 years in the making, and they finally found their union. She moved rhythmically, grinding her hips in tiny circles while she looked into his eyes until her vision blurred with her own orgasm. She cried out, clutching Alex’s head to her breasts as she continued to ride him, drenching him with her nectar in wave after wave of pleasure. Alex’s hands guided her hips to move in the rhythm he needed, and before long he joined her cries of ecstasy.

Spent, they collapsed in each other’s arms, bodies still entwined, looking into the other’s eyes until their breaths slowed.

“I love you,” Alex said.

“And I love you, Alex Donovan. I always have.”

Filed under: Short Fiction & Poetry Tagged: adult, erotic, erotica, hope, longing, love, sex, short story

F*CK FEELINGS

Helm Crag in Grasmere

F*CK FEELINGS, by Michael Bennet & Sarah Bennet, might’ve been the best purchase I’ve made all year. The book’s premise falls somewhere between Nihilism and Buddhism, which is exactly where I fall, so it speaks to me. It’s about “managing expectations, accepting limitations, and wrangling Assholes,” and it’s done in a very frank and often hilarious way (314).

It does use fuck a lot, but that word doesn’t bother me at all. Sometimes FUCK is the best, most expressive, appropriate word one can use. In this book, it is used well. It’s a book about “letting go” without using that tired, old, annoying, oh-so-spiritual phrase. Better than “letting go” is learning not to give a flying fuck. It’s freedom. As someone who frequently utters the word fuck, I reject the notion that only unintelligent or inarticulate people use profanity. I adhere to the concept that people who use profanity are more honest.

From the authors’ website:

As you can tell, I think fuck and shit are useful words for responding to life’s problems.  They’re part of a male work language that can help fight superficial empathy, false hope, sentimentality, and the over-valuation of feelings compared to actions.  On the other hand, I think the words “feel” and “fair” are dangerous 4-letter f-words, and urge you to avoid them, together with “should” and “why.”

After the events of the past few years, I have zero fucks left to give, really. The few fucks I had left were given about a month ago, now I’m back to zero fucks. Zero fucks is a good place to be. Life is much more enjoyable when one has zero fucks to give. Then it’s about enjoying the beauty, basking in the joy, and surviving the pain, sorrow, loss, and inevitable betrayals with as little permanent damage as possible.

While this entire book is excellent and cathartic on many levels, I especially like the chapter called “Fuck Assholes.”

Excerpt:

It’s hard to believe that you can’t spot a greedy, lying, unprincipled Asshole…But sometimes you don’t get to see a person’s dark side until stress reveals it…

We tend to like people who make us feel good and we take pride in our ability to make quick decisions and trust out guts…

So it’s not hard for smart, experienced people to be fooled by a good listener who makes an emotional connection. (289)

^^^^THIS!!!^^^^

Wow. Like the author is observing the last three months of my life!

Bennett and Bennet say that although you could call Assholes psychopaths or narcissists, but “those words imply more, take longer to spit out, and say less” (285).

Interesting.

They go on to say “an Asshole is someone who behaves like a jerk and doesn’t see it” whose “selfishness is stealthy and covered by deceiving warmth” (285, 287).

Especially given my past, I am extremely sensitive to injustice, so I speak loudly about it, for my voice is the something that I still have. However, the chapter called “Fuck Fairness” has given me some peace around that:

Instead of mourning unfairness, improve your ability to do good in an unfair world. You may have lost a relationship that should’ve lasted, but you did a good job with your part of it (other than, perhaps, choosing the wrong person). You may have lost a great job, but you did well with it when you had the opportunity, and learned something about the kind of boss you should never work for…

Whether it was a good job, a good relationship, or just a very happy time, focus on the good things you did to appreciate it while you had it, like making the most of a summer’s day, knowing you probably had little to do with the way it ended other than, perhaps, not bringing and umbrella. If someone dumped on you when things seemed to be going well, it probably had much more to do with their character than anything you did wrong or had any influence over…

You haven’t lost your ability to do good things with life, even if it never loses its ability to do bad things to you. (105-106)

There is so much more to quote from this book, but I’ll stop there.

Speaking as someone who has intense, deep fucking feelings, this book has been invaluable. For my own benefit, indeed, but also in dealing with Fucktards who are cowards, Assholes, or just plain mean bullies.

Fuck that and fuck them.

May you all find fucking peace.

—-{—-{@

Buy it on fucking Amazon:

[image error] [image error]

Filed under: News & Reviews Tagged: book, book review, emotion, emotional abuse, emotional support, fuck off misogynists, fundraising, olivia grey, omgrey

Well, Hello Me!

Freedom! Joy! Beauty! Laughter! There I am! I’m living again!

After a ridiculously stressful time, I’ve once again found peace and joy in my own company. When my anxiety reaches dangerous heights, when I’m crying every morning, when I’m self-medicating just to make it through the day, I should know something is off; however, when I’m engulfed in the darkness or in crisis, I don’t see my situation clearly because I’m in survival mode and everything is distorted by those dark glasses.

It had been so long since I had been emotionally close to another human being that I had forgotten my own built-in early warning system. Anxiety. Panic attacks. Racing thoughts. Unable to sleep. Paralyzed with the fear or loss. These are all clear signals I’m engaged with someone who lacks (or has an extremely limited capacity for) empathy** and/or with some other kind of toxic person/situation. Toxic to me, that is. Since I’m an HSP*** with C-PTSD, my tolerance for stress, assholery, abuse, bullying, and cruelty is much lower than most people’s. Yipee.

Merchants 1688’s Cellar Pub in Lancaster

I thought I had finally fit in somewhere, but I was once again sadly mistaken. I trusted too quickly in my joy at finding new friends, new purpose, and the renewed ability to feel love, so I now have to pay the price for my foolishness, my utter stupidity for thinking it would be different this time. I braced myself for the seemingly-endless waves of grief I knew would follow after losing so much, but all that came was a solitary (albeit intense) panic attack. Although it was a considerable loss, including a support structure and a cherished, close friend, there hasn’t been much emotional pain in the aftermath. That surprised me. There’s been confusion, regret, sadness, and a sense of emptiness, but not the pain of loss I had dreaded.

Still, I learned the lesson again just the same: trust no one.

(If only I had listened to Mulder 25 years ago, I’d be in much better shape today!)

But that’s not quite right either. There is someone I can trust, at least someone I can trust more now than before, and that someone is me. Had I listened to myself sooner in this situation, rather than advice from several different people, things likely wouldn’t have gotten as bad as they did. Although I made some (familiar) mistakes on my own, I recognized them faster and protected myself better than before, which is the main reason I’m not shattered right now. I’m truly okay. In fact, I’m better than okay.

I’m pretty fucking great.

Freedom tastes pretty sweet, kinda like a frothy mocha. Mmmmmmm.

Daffodils in York.

My days are once again mostly silent. I don’t get many emails or text messages anymore, and although I do miss sharing my life and travel pictures with my former friend, I fill the hours with living my dreams, sharing my life and travel pictures with the world through social media. I revel in the joy that beauty and laughter brings. I quiet my mind with reading, exercise, and learning to ride English style. I’m perfecting my “rising trot” and starting to canter this week.

Music has become a bigger part of my life again, but now I’m making it by learning to play the cello. While the elegant instrument rests between my legs and against my shoulder, I relish how the bow glides across the strings, vibrating next to my cheek, kissing it with their song.

The other day, I had one of those moments that causes overwhelming joy, desperate for release, to leak from my eyes. It was when I played the first few bars of Bach’s “Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major,” the very piece that inspired me to learn the cello in the first place. When I heard that perfect brilliance coming out of my strings, clumsily played by my fingers, it was one of the most joyous moments in my life. I’ll keep practicing until I can play through the entire Prelude by heart.

Hogsmeade Station from Harry Potter (Goathland Station, Yorkshire Moors)

The laughter has mostly come from listening to Book of Mormon when I drive. I had the great pleasure of seeing it on stage in London last month, along with three other shows: The Painkillers with Kenneth Branagh, The Master Builder with Ralph Fiennes, and The End of Longing with  Matthew Perry. Although sometimes the Book of Mormon soundtrack brings me tears when it hits too close to home, like when Elder Cunningham talks about his best friend (who doesn’t feel the same way about him and abandons him) or when Nabulungi sings about hoping to fit in, it mostly brings laughter.

As I drive through the spectacularly beautiful English countryside, I sing “Hasa Diga Eebowai” at the top of my lungs, happy I’m alone because then no one can tell me I’m too loud. Hatimbi is right! It really does help make things seem not so bad.

I change the words just as he suggests in the song:

My boss is a bully and my crush is cruel

Hasa diga eebowai!

When it comes to trust I’m still a fool

Hasa diga eebowai!

The reserved English drivers who pass me laugh and shake their heads at the silly American woman singing and dancing in the car on her own, and thus I spread joy to all those around me.

—-{—-{@

Glencoyne Bay, Ullswater, Cumbria (English Lake District)

**earlier in this  blog I wrote a lot about the no-empathy spectrums, especially sociopathy and narcissism. Some types of autism also have limited-empathy, but this manifestation differs from the sociopathy/psychopathy/narcissism spectrum because those with autism don’t pretend to have empathy. They don’t manipulate or gaslight or lie or feign emotions.
***HSP = Highly Sensitive Person, someone who has a more-developed-than-average nervous system. Couple that with trauma-induced C-PTSD, which includes emotional regulation struggles, anxiety, depression, and a reduced ability to cope with stress, and you have me. Yay. That’s not even throwing my triple-Scorpio status into the mix. Yep.
It’s a blessing…and a curse. Full article on HSP coming soon.
Filed under: Lost in the Aether Tagged: anxiety, depression, england, friends, grief, joy, life, liverpool, living, london, loss, love, mental illness, musicals, pain, panic, patterns, ptsd, sorrow, thriving, travel, west end

My Stories. My Choice.

My stories. My emotions. My blog. My life. My choice.

Try to silence me and watch how very loudly and clearly I will speak.

I will never, ever be silent again.

Filed under: Lost in the Aether Tagged: choice, emotions, life, olivia grey, omgrey, processing, speak, stories, voice

Poem: My Dangerous Heart

Beware! Oh, beware!

My dangerous heart

Its treachery knows no boundary

Forever alone

Forever apart

It killed the love that had found me.

True interest remains

As long as you stay

Far, far and away from it

For when you get close

It swallows you whole

Trapped in its cavernous pit.

Impressive and smart

Romantic and real

It’s bright and light and true

But beware! Beware!

My dangerous heart

If my eye doth fall on you.

For then you shall see

My dangerous heart

Will clutch you within its vice

I’m telling you now

To please stay away

You interest’s not worth the price.

Like the siren’s song

It pulls you along

Promising beauty and trust

But beware! Beware!

My dangerous heart

Will squeeze you until you’re dust.

So please heed my words

And run for the hills

Please save yourself while you can

My dangerous heart

Will tear you apart

Though love is its only plan.

So sad and alone

It yearns to be known

And really does try its best

But soon will be clear

My dangerous heart

Will destroy you like the rest.

It’s something so dark

So damaged and bruised

An emotional black hole

Thus beware! Beware!

My dangerous heart

Or it will consume your soul.

—-{—-{@

Filed under: Short Fiction & Poetry Tagged: heartbreak, heartbroken, olivia grey, omgrey, poem, poet, poetry

My Dangerous Heart

Beware! Oh, beware!

My dangerous heart

Its treachery knows no boundary

Forever alone

Forever apart

It killed the love that had found me.

True interest remains

As long as you stay

Far, far and away from it

For when you get close

It swallows you whole

Trapped in its cavernous pit.

Impressive and smart

Romantic and real

It’s bright and light and true

But beware! Beware!

My dangerous heart

If my eye doth fall on you.

For then you shall see

My dangerous heart

Will clutch you within its vice

I’m telling you now

To please stay away

You interest’s not worth the price.

Like the siren’s song

It pulls you along

Promising beauty and trust

But beware! Beware!

My dangerous heart

Will squeeze you until you’re dust.

So please heed my words

And run for the hills

Please save yourself while you can

My dangerous heart

Will tear you apart

Though love is its only plan.

So sad and alone

It yearns to be known

And really does try its best

But soon will be clear

My dangerous heart

Will destroy you like the rest.

It’s something so dark

So damaged and bruised

An emotional black hole

Thus beware! Beware!

My dangerous heart

Or it will consume your soul.

—-{—-{@

Filed under: Short Fiction & Poetry Tagged: heartbreak, heartbroken, olivia grey, omgrey, poem, poet, poetry

You Say You Want to Talk to Me

Over the past few of months I met someone for whom I felt a considerable amount of emotion. Love, actually. My readers know him as Mr. Impossible. As you read in the poem I wrote about him “The Moment You Smiled,” I hadn’t planned to stay in touch as friends, but he reached out to me wanting to know more, curious about me, my past, my work.

We started to become friends, and you can imagine I was overjoyed because I felt so much for him already. He was brilliant and kind, funny and real. He had the ability to own his shit and mistakes and apologize. He was honest and trying to be more open, something difficult for him. Above all, he was genuine. Genuine in his words, his actions, and his affection for me.

At first.

Then the promises started.

Then the excuses started.

Then the withdrawal started.

Yes. I know the drill all too well.

A few weeks ago I wrote a post called “The Dream of Connection” when I first started feeling things change between us. In that post, I talk about how I went back to my “Major Changes in the Autumn of Life” article to check in with myself and the boundaries I had set for relationships moving forward.

Here is the first of three excerpts from that post:

If you want to be on the right side of my semi-colon you have to earn the right by actively taking part in my life and our relationship. Everyone else stays on the left side.

The sexual assaults are on the left side, as are the predators who perpetrated them.

Children masquerading as men are on the left side.

Narcissists and sociopaths, you are on the left side.

Liars, abusers, misogynists, and cowards, you are on the left side, regardless of whether you call yourself friend, family, or if we have a history. You are now history.

My marriage and husband are also on the left side.

They can all stay there. They are nothing but smoke now.

They no longer exist.

Mr. Impossible would open up and then shut down. He’d be fully engaged and then leave. He’d be in the middle of a conversation with me via WhatsApp and just disappear without warning, without a word. He would say the sweetest, most affectionate thing, then make an excuse to sign off.

I knew he was very busy. I knew he was traveling. I knew he had a full life outside of our chats and budding friendship, so I believed his excuses, mostly because he offered them. I didn’t ask for them. He felt bad. He apologized. He seemed so genuine.

Several times he apologized for being so strapped for time, and promised we would talk more soon. He’d say he really wanted to finish this (and all) of our conversations, and we would (he promised) as soon as he had more time. He said he felt bad he couldn’t share as much as I did (yet), but that soon would be different once he was back home. He hadn’t answered my emails (yet) “on purpose” because he wanted to give them the proper attention and time to respond appropriately. He initiated contact 95% of the time (almost consistently) daily. He told me I was precious. He told me he really cared that much. He promised there would be much more to come “all in due time, my dear.”

I believed him, mostly because I loved him. Mostly because I wanted to believe him.

However, after a month of excuses, empty kindness, unkept promises, and hot/cold behavior, I started to lose faith in his word and began to see what I’ve seen so so so many times in so many people before.

Lie to me once, you’re gone.

Deceive me once, you’re gone.

Betray my trust once, you’re gone.

Tell me I’m too intense or too needy or too emotional, you’re gone.

If you play Jekyll & Hyde games or are afraid of commitment or intimacy, you’re gone.

If you’re aloof, inconsistent, uninvested, unengaged, unavailable in any way, keep moving.

I have neither the time nor the patience for you. No second chances. Not anymore.

I’m not playing this bullshit game any more.

I’ve gotten really good at cutting people out of my life over the past few years, even people who meant the world to me. When they consistently bring me more tears than smiles, they’re gone. When they even breathe like a misogynist, they’re gone. When they aren’t true to their word, they’re gone. If they objectify me, they’re gone.

(excerpt from “Major Changes in the Autumn of Life”)

I’m rather angry with myself for believing for so too long, but once someone is in my heart, it’s difficult for me to see past that. After all, I spoke with him more than anyone else. He was my closest friend. He had become the most important person in my life. Surely this would all pass soon. As soon as he was home and had more time, just like he said. He had no reason to lie to me. I hadn’t asked for any of this; he offered it. Why would he offer things he had no intention or desire to do?

The first time I could no longer lie to myself was about 10 days ago. I turned to him, my closest friend, in a moment of need [omitted situation], but he didn’t feel up to a chat with the jet lag and sleeplessness. I tried to understand, as hurt as I was, and my compassion and love prevailed. After all, it was a(nother) good excuse, right?

Then the messages from him fell off even more as things [at that situation] escalated. Even though he was “home,” we didn’t talk more, as he had promised. I told myself that it was the stress [situation omitted], that horrible week where he turned his back on me and backed up [omitted]. He didn’t even offer a solitary supportive word privately on the side. Not even one.

I would rather no one call at all than to wait around for

an uninvested man to recognize my worth. 

Respect me, or keep walking.

Cherish me, or keep walking.

Engage fully with me, or keep walking.

Embrace everything I am, or keep walking.

(excerpt from “Major Changes in the Autumn of Life”)

When my closest friend wasn’t there for me, I turned to someone else and he was there. He understood and didn’t minimize or dismiss my experience, my emotions. So were two other friends who not only listened and stayed present with me during our conversations, but they also empathized and validated my experience as well.

You know, things that friends do.

Mr. Impossible pulled away even more, and I tried to leave him alone, feeling the growing distance between us. I once asked him if we were okay, and he said we were. I knew we weren’t, but doing anything would just make him leave faster. He wouldn’t talk to me, so there was no option for conversation to clear the air, to understand.

Not one promise kept, and people wonder why I have “trust issues.”

I tried to console myself through my tears, knowing it was happening again. This lovely man who but a week ago was telling me I was precious and wanted to read my work and was sending me flirtatious daffodils “poetry has no boundaries” pictures after I had shared Wordsworth with him was now shutting me completely out, and I was helpless to do anything but watch. It was excruciating.

When I voiced a few days later that he had felt so distant for the past week, wanting to know what was wrong…wondering if I was too close to the [situation] to be a friend, he condescendingly told me “friendships take time to build. They don’t happen overnight.”

Seriously?

Do friendships also ignore vulnerable emails after repeatedly promising to respond?

Do friendships also make excuses not to talk with you?

Do friendships also habitually make promises they don’t/can’t keep?

Do friendships turn their back on you when you’re in crisis?

Do friendships support the abuser rather than their so-called friend?

Please, do enlighten me further on what friendships are.

Between his hurtful behavior and [the person’s] abusive, unhinged behavior towards me last week (but, of course ‘it’s not personal,’ he dismissively reminded me), I ended up in the hospital for a few hours due to a bad reaction between the vodka I had drunk to relax amidst the enormous stress and the Xanax I took to try to (finally) sleep. After vomiting, seeing double, and barely being able to wobbly stand, I was scared enough to call emergency services. The combination, turns out, could’ve been deadly. And for what? A [omitted]? Someone who keeps you in the wings tossing daffodil-shaped breadcrumbs? Someone who doesn’t have your back? Someone who says, “I am a tease and proud of it,” and then denies flirting? Someone who shares intimate stories and then denies we had a close friendship?

He didn’t once ask why I was in the hospital. My closest friend, indeed.

Boy, I sure misunderstood our relationship.

And still, my heart beat for him. The failing friendship and stress[ful situation] became so dangerous to my health that I had two options: block him from my life and [end the other situation] (which I still might do) to ease the mounting anxiety, or tell him exactly how I feel, lay my tattered heart at his feet, and hope for some inkling of that kindness that first drew me to him, some understanding, the remote possibility to open communication again.

Although I may be (very) foolish in matters of the heart, I’m not an idiot. Revealing my heart would likely have the same effect as blocking him, and I was right. I decided to declare my love for my own well-being. For my own peace. It was what I needed to do: end with love and gratitude.

To be very, very clear, I never expected any sort of romantic reciprocation. It was impossible, as I’ve said several times. I didn’t even expect a friendship at first, let alone a close one. He initiated and pursued that, and I was thrilled at the prospect to know him better. I only expected friendship and conversations and time because he promised them, over and over. I expected kindness. I expected honesty. I expected integrity. Declaring my love wasn’t in hopes for any romantic outcome, not in the least. It was an explanation, unburdening my soul, expressing gratitude and admiration, relieving my anxiety because I was tired of crying every day, tired of waiting, tired of guessing.

So I sent a beautifully written love letter for the tiny chance it would clear the air between us with new understanding and we’d be able to talk again, to continue building what started to be such a promising friendship (or finally release it from its death throes). I hoped to reach his kind heart, his compassion with my genuine words. As much as I hoped he’d at least have the decency to respond–to respect the difficulty and courage and vulnerability it took to send a letter like that–this friend didn’t even acknowledge it, let alone respond.**

Regardless, now he knows my heart. He knows how much he means to me. How important he is to me. How much gratitude I feel for him because he showed me I can still feel love and desire…and he withdraws further.

No surprise there, really. He’s not the first.

Fortunately for me, although I’ve lost who became the most important person in my life, I have several new friends with whom I talk regularly. We share our lives via text, our sorrows, our fears, everything I had hoped to do with this very special person, but he didn’t have time for me.

You say you want to talk to me? Then fucking talk to me. I’m right here.

These new friends want to talk to me. You know how I know that?…Because…

They actually talk to me. (!!!!)

They’re present with me when we talk.

They don’t leave in the middle of a conversation without telling me they have to go.

They do what they say they’re going to do.   They (take the 10 fucking minutes it takes to) respond to an important email.

They behave, you know, like friends.

Imagine that.

—-{—-{@

**Update 4/1/15: He did respond after I posted this article, and it was unnecessarily cruel. I had only asked for kindness in the face of such vulnerability, the kindness that first drew me to him. I didn’t ask for romantic reciprocation, and I only hoped it would clear the air so we could continue our budding friendship with a new understanding.
He chose to be cruel, which I suppose further shows who he really is, but I didn’t deserve cruelty.
I deserved kindness.

Filed under: Romance & Relationships Tagged: breakup, broken heart, heartbroken, romance, romantic

Old Patterns, New Perspectives

After an emotionally draining week, the details of which I won’t go into here, things are looking up! A few days off gave me some great perspective, and I’m seeing clearly now. I’m riding my own white horse.

Despite the amount of work we do on ourselves to break free of old patterns and socialization, we still fall into those deeply carved grooves, and it takes some doing to crawl back out of them.

Well, I’ve crawled out and feel the sweet rain on my face. 

Although it wasn’t fun to go through it, looking back I see how I resorted to my patterns and socialization during the unbelievable stress of last week. I started to fawn, big time. I totally minimized myself in the hopes that it would just stop. I took responsibility for shit that wasn’t my fault. Yes, really interesting looking back over last week.

I was in crisis and I didn’t even know it, which in turn led to the aforementioned survival mode/regressing into old patterns, those deep gouges in our psyche.  Thankfully, that’s now in the past. Looking ahead, taking the next step forward.

A friend recently told me that I don’t see all the incredible things I do, and last week I was too quick to believe that I (and my work) wasn’t worth what I know I am (again). Today I see just how much I have done both professionally and elsewhere in my life.

I’m a remarkable person. I have survived horrors, and I’m thriving in spite of them. I support myself, and even if I lose my beloved job, I will be just fine. I have marketable skills and a strong work ethic. I’ve created art in the form of film, literature, poetry, and paintings, all of which I’ve been brave enough to share with the world. I’m living my lifelong dream, which takes a considerable amount of courage, turns out. . . and I’m doing it all on my own.  Although I get lonely, I’m doing quite well on my own, and I’m usually quite content to be on my own, too. This past weekend I went hiking in the Lake District in the glorious rain. I was totally blissed out! I had been working so hard and was so close to burn-out that I had forgotten to live, but I’m living again now. There’s no place I’d rather be than here in England right now. What a magical place this is.

I’m practicing my cello every day, which brings me a special kind of joy. My teacher says I have natural talent, and I think she’s right. I’m also doing quite well in my riding lessons and in my personal training sessions. Plus, I’ve got the entire northern part of England to explore over the next three months.

(But wait! There’s more!) I’ve gained not only new insight into myself but also into a very important relationship. I’ve deepened two other relationships and have formed a new one, too. Look at me rebuilding my life! It’s getting dangerously close to being full and fulfilling all at once! Imagine that!  I’m learning to express love in a different way, one that can be very beneficial to me in many areas of my life, especially because I have so very much love to offer.

May you all find peace and feel safe.

—-{—-{@

(Images from my hike in the Lake District.)