When It’s Good, It’s Good…

Love. We all need it to survive. Or do we?


Is it weird that I don’t have a single memory from when I was little of playing Princesses. Not one. And most little girls do. I know, I have nieces. And they just love dressing up and playing make-believe and pretending they’re the pretty princess waiting for her Prince Charming to come riding in and whisk her off to that land of happily-ever-after that the fairy-tales all promise. My oldest niece, when she was like 3-years-old—or thereabouts—she had this little princess getup/dress/costume–whatever you want to call it—and she just had to wear it EVERY day. I swear she wore that thing for months. She took naps in it, would wear it over her normal clothes whenever she’d leave the house, and on the nights that she didn’t fall asleep in it, my mother and grams would sneak into her room and take it—then wash it and put it back in its place before morning came. She loved that dress and her little high heels that she’d prance around in. And she loved telling stories about her life as a princess and how, when she was bigger, she was going to find and marry Prince Charming and they would have the happiest life together. “Forever and ever,” she would say.


I never did that, at least not that I can recall. The same with Barbies. I do recall always playing “house” though, mostly with my cousin Katie. I remember that we used to argue over who’s turn it was to play the Mommy and the names of our “babies” aka dolls. For some reason we both had this crazy obsession with wanting to name our dolls Melanie–though I have absolutely no idea why. But that’s beside the point. I guess the point I want to make, for the purpose of this post anyhow, is that there was never a Prince Charming, or Ken doll in any of those “house” scenarios. Baby Melanie was enough. It’s a strange thing to reflect upon, to know that even then, I had the right idea—that happiness and capability didn’t have to be defined by the presence of the opposite gender. What do you know, even five-year-old me was too smart for her own good. Lucky for me, that hasn’t changed much. 🙂


I’ve always had this fear in the back of my mind, for as long as I can remember, that I’d somehow fuck up any kids that I might have. It’s no one’s fault really. It’s not like I had a horrible childhood or that my own mother was that awful. She just had different priorities, you know? She wasn’t mean or abusive and she always made sure we had what we needed. She loved/loves us…in her own kind of way. She just never really wanted to have kids…she didn’t have that overwhelming maternal instinct that some women do—like my grams who lives and breathes for raising children. And that’s nothing against her or anything, it’s just how she is. She’s always been pretty upfront about that. Do I hate her for putting whatever relationship and guy she was with at the time before us—my siblings and I? Not really. I think I realized fairly early on that she was flawed…and being aware of that at such a young age…it just was what it was, I guess you could say. I didn’t yearn for her love and attention. My grams poured that out in buckets when and if I needed either of those things. It wasn’t until I was in my teens when I started to really feel the effects of her behavior and increasing absences…and even then, it was more frustration than resentment. My brother, when he gets angry, he’ll throw the past in her face and give a whole litany of reasons for how she was/is a horrible excuse for a mother. But that’s the irony of all ironies, considering he’s got three kids himself and he’s not going to be winning any parent-of-the-year awards either any time soon. Personally, I prefer not to bother much with the past. The way I see it is that it happened, it’s over and if there are moments that she wasn’t around for and subsequently missed—well those are mistakes and choices and regrets—should she have any—for her to live with, and not me. That’s not to say that I haven’t been frustrated with her at times, particularly when that behavior began to impact my oldest niece. It was one thing with my siblings and I growing up–we had my grams to fill that void—but it’s different for my niece. My mother and grams both have custody of my niece, but my grams has my two younger nieces to care of and they—especially my niece Emma with her epilepsy and string of other medical and developmental issues—take up a lot of her attention. And my grams, who will be 76 next month, isn’t as active or patient or youthful as she was when we were growing up. That being the case, my mother has doted on my oldest niece since she came to live with us when she was just a month old. It was all about my niece for a long time and then my mother started, well…being my mother again. She’d stay overnight with her boyfriend, spend her weekends at his place. Little by little, my niece had to share that #1 spot with that guy…and he wasn’t a fan of kids being underfoot so more often than not, she’d get pushed aside and left behind, so to speak, by my mother. I never did stand for that, and I’ve been pretty vocal about it over the years—not that it’s made much of a difference. My mother is who she is. To think she’s going to change—whether it’s for us or my niece or anyone else–is just naïve. I’m not saying it’s right, but it is what it is.


To say that my mother’s behavior hasn’t influenced me in any way…that’d be a lie. It has. Of course it has. Even though I’ve never hated or deeply resented her for it, it’s not a behavior or manner that I ever wanted to replicate. In fact, I’ve sworn it my whole life that I wouldn’t be like her…that I wouldn’t be one of those women that needs to have a man in her life to be complete or that would prioritize a man over the ones that really matter and that should come first. I’ve promised myself that so many times that I’ve lost count.


I guess that’s where love comes into play. It mingled with that nagging fear I have to not be her and made everything so wonky. Love itself, it’s a pretty fucking scary thing (excuse my language). It’s heaven and hell…literally. It’s good when it’s good, but when it’s bad…watch the fuck out. Love takes no prisoners. The paths from love to heartbreak are so numerous, but each is littered with corpses. Corpses of those who either fell too hard or didn’t fall hard enough. Corpses of those who got too close and got burned and decided the pain wasn’t worth a replay; of those who traded their souls and self-worth for a chance to just experience the feeling, even just for a little while. I learned that first-hand. And the thought of doing that again…it scares the hell out of me. I was in love once—at least I think it was love—and I’ve got scars to prove it. I crashed and burned. The pain and the heartbreak—it was unimaginable. To be that vulnerable and to literally put your absolute faith in someone—to give a person the power to destroy you in one fell swoop should they decide to, to put your heart in their hands…it’s a rush, the greatest high—or the worst, depending on how you look at it. And sometimes it works out and it’s great…and sometimes it doesn’t. It’s like throwing a dice. You close your eyes and you hope and pray that it lands in a way that’s favorable to you. That’s big. That’s overwhelming.


Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever feel that high again—if it’s a rush and a taste that I’ll spend the rest of my life chasing. It’s not that I don’t want that happily-ever-after or fairytale ending. I do want it…if it’s out there. I don’t want to these fears of mine to define me, but in many ways, they already have. I’ve met some pretty great guys in the years since that one all-consuming heartbreak. Amazing, sweet, funny, and damn-near perfect guys. Through no fault of their own, I’ve bolted the moment things started to get anywhere close to being serious. I have one of those great guys in my life right now—for a while now actually. And it’s great. He’s great. The distance isn’t so great—what with my being up here in NY and all. I’m not sure if it’s “serious” …but he’s been more than obvious and even quite vocal about his desire for it to be so. I usually brush it aside or change the subject when it starts to lean a little too far in that “serious” direction. I like him a lot and I know the feeling is mutual. In fact, it didn’t take only a few months in when he said those three words. You know the ones. I, however, have yet to reply in kind. He’s, believe it or not, been really great about it. He hasn’t pressured me into saying it back. I think he can sense that I need more time. Which I do. I mean, the next time I say those words, I want to really mean them. I don’t want to say them just because he has and does. The last time I did it all wrong. I fell so hard, so fast and I let it consume me to the point where I no longer recognized myself or the person I had become. I don’t want to make the same mistakes again. I can’t go through that again. So when I say those words, I have to be ready. Ready to say them back, ready to take that step and make a serious commitment. I don’t mean marriage or anything—I’m not sure if I even want to get married ever—but something serious and real…and heartbreak-proof, if possible. I want to avoid the hurt, as much of it as I can. So I’m being careful…cautious. I’m taking it slow. And he’s actually okay with that, for now at least. Where the future lies for us is anyone’s guess. Maybe it’ll work, maybe it won’t. I’ve tried to picture it, a future with him in it, and it’s not terrible. That’s a sign, right? Progress. That means something. At least, I like to think that it does. We’ll see.


I don’t know what’s going to happen with him, with us…with me. But if I’ve learned nothing in the past 7 years, it’s that I’ll be okay. I’ve had a lot of time for reflection over the years, to figure out who I am and the person that I want to be. 7 years ago, I didn’t know any better. I was young and naïve and I put so much stock in an ideal kind of love that truly was the thing of fairytales. I put all my faith and heart in the hands of a man who was completely undeserving. I gave him all the power and he lorded it over me the entire time we were together—though I didn’t realize that until it was too late. He used my feelings to manipulate and get what he wanted from me, until he had no use for them anymore. It took me a long time to see that relationship for what it was: a teaching moment. I learned a lot from it. I learned to look deeper and not take everything at face value. I learned that monsters come in human form, of all shapes and sizes—even one with twinkling green eyes, smooth lines, whose kiss was like sin in pill-form that could melt you from the inside out. I learned to stand on my own two feet and how to be strong. I learned to expect the worst, so as not to be disappointed too much when people—ultimately—fail or let me down. I learned to be okay and to wipe my own tears. But most important, I learned that I don’t need a man to be happy or successful. Or whole. That having someone is all well and good, but not absolutely necessary. I learned that to really love someone else, I had to first love myself. It’s comforting to know that I’m still capable of loving someone else, if and when I choose it. I learned that love isn’t a given thing, it’s a privilege. You have to be worthy of it, deserving, and all-in for it to have the greatest chance of working out.


Love, it’s a beautiful drug. We don’t need it. We can survive without it. But if we do it right and we’re lucky, we don’t have to.

xoMESSIE

 

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Run, Girl, Run… a poem.

Run, Girl, Run… a poem


You asked me tonight

Got down on your knees

Romance in the air,

Flowers everywhere.

Music and moonlight, the perfect scene;

And the prettiest diamond ring I’d ever seen.

And in your eyes I saw a future; a vision of what could be.

Of white picket fences and backyard swings

A happy home and a couple of kids.

An endless love that would see us through everything.

And anything that life might bring.

~~

Babe, you looked so sweet,

kneeling down there at my feet.

Stealing my breath,

making my heart skip a beat.

And I wanted so badly to accept that ring.

To believe that we could have those things.

To believe that we could live happily-ever-after,

YOU and ME.

~~

But I’m not the girl that stays.

I never have been; I never will be.

I’m the girl that leaves, you see.

Time and time again.

Always.

I put up walls around my heart.

Too high to break down.

I barricade the pain inside, too afraid to let it out.

To let anyone fully in, to really be myself.

Unable to trust, I’m filled with so much doubt.

And you can try but you can’t save me,

It’s best if you just save yourself.

Trust me.

Because I’ve tried just as hard,

and I can’t fix it like I thought.

God knows if I could,

For you I would.

Babe, I’d move Heaven and Earth.

But there’s only so much you can take.

Only so long you can tread for when you’re swimming in heartbreak.

Only so long that you can pretend and fake.

When right feels wrong, and wrong feels right.

When darkness creeps in and steals your soul–a clever thief in the night.

Taking all that’s good.

Taking all your light.

Without a word, ‘til you lose your fight.

~~

You asked me tonight.

Got down on your knees

You waited for an answer.

Pleaded with me to say something.

Anything.

To the moon and back, that’s what you said.

That you love me and I love you.

And I do—it’s true.

If only that were enough for you.

For that it’s not, I don’t blame you.

You deserve a girl that can stay.

Not one that’s made a career out of running away.

~~

You asked me tonight.

Got down on your knees.

The perfect proposal.

Yes was on my lips, but I said no.

Such a cliché, I know.

The “it’s me not you” excuse.

But in this case, that old adage rings true.

And it’s just too much,

It’s everything, all at once.

And I can’t change who I am.

Or be the girl you need for me to be.

What you see is what you get,

this is me.

A free bird, through and through.

Afraid of being caged in;

of being told what to do, how to feel,

and how to live.

So this is it, here is where we must part.

Any further and we’ll just wreck one another.

Piece by piece, bit by bit,

‘til we’re just ghosts of two people that used to love each other.

Consumed by our regrets and sporting broken hearts,

Walking around with vital pieces missing of ourselves.

~~

A girl like me—Babe, you just can’t trust the leaving kind.

Yeah, I’ll leave you in the dust,

I’ll leave you behind.

Always ready to take flight and fly,

just a little bit broken inside.

I rise with the morning sun.

I’m the girl on the run.

I’m the One…the One saying goodbye.

Every time.

~~

xoMESSIE

JLR 5.26.2016

Hello (After All These Years)

“Hello” By Adele

**

LYRICS:

Hello, it’s me

I was wondering if after all these years you’d like to meet

To go over everything

They say that time’s supposed to heal you

But I ain’t done much healing

Hello, can you hear me

I’m in California, dreaming about who we used to be

When we were younger, and free

I’d forgotten how it felt before the world fell at our feet

There’s such a difference between us

And a million miles

**

Hello from the other side

I must have called a thousand times

To tell you I’m sorry for everything that I’ve done

But when I call you never seem to be home

Hello from the outside

At least I can say that I tried

To tell you I’m sorry for breaking your heart

But it don’t matter, it clearly doesn’t tear you apart anymore

**

Hello, how are you?

It’s so typical of me to talk about myself, I’m sorry

I hope that you’re well

Did you ever make it out of that town where nothing ever happened?

It’s no secret that the both of us are running out of time

Hello from the outside

At least I can say that I tried

To tell you I’m sorry for breaking your heart

But it don’t matter, it clearly doesn’t tear you apart anymore…

**


**

Well, thanks to Adele, I don’t think I’ll be getting this song out of my head any time soon. I mean, these lyrics…can we just talk about them for a minute, or five, or ten?!?! Ummm…Yes, please…

**

So (ladies)…we’ve all got our relationship hang-ups. You know…that one ex/should’ve-would’ve-could’ve-been-soulmate guy (or gal, if that’s your thing) that for the rest of your life will forever reside in the back of your mind as the one that either loved and/or hurt and/or wrecked and/or taught you the most. That sore subject…the bitter memory. The one that you-albeit unconsciously–compare any man you meet after him to. It’s the the mistakes you made with him that you now know not to make…and his character flaws that you know to look for and to avoid. Yes, that guy.


**

But there’s hope, if you just give it time. Years will pass. You’ll both move on. You’ll find someone new, someone who loves you for the real you…something he just never would, or let’s face it–never could. You’ll learn to love again…a man who’s twice the man he is. You’ll find yourself wondering how it’s even possible to love more than one person like that in one lifetime–hell, you didn’t even think it was possible–but you’ll find that it will be…that it is. Slowly, but surely, you’ll start to heal all your broken parts. You’ll learn to smile again. To laugh. You’ll feel joy again…without feeling guilty for it. You’ll get those butterflies when he walks in the room or his hand goes to the small of your back and with just a knowing look, a single touch, you’ll feel safe—like nothing in the world will ever hurt you again. You’ll slowly start to get back pieces of that girl you’d thought was gone forever when he left you there,  heart in pieces and your world turned inside out. You’ll start to feel whole again. Right now, I know it seems unlikely. Impossible, even. But trust me, it WILL happen.


**

That’s not to say that you won’t have your bad days. For sure, there will be moments now and then when it hits you…those painful, little flashbacks from seemingly a lifetime ago that’ll come out of nowhere, rob your breath for a half minute or two, and maybe take with them a few stolen tears on their way out. But if there’s one thing you can trust, it’s that with time, those days and those moments WILL get very few and farther in between. The only downside is that you’ll be cautious–because you’re conditioned now to build up walls and be on the alert when it comes to protecting yourself against love and heartbreak and smooth-talking guys with twinkling green eyes that tempt you with their delicious world of sin. You’ll hate that you’re so guarded now, but you have to be–as it’s better to be safe than sorry. Which is why you’ll go back and visit your family in your hometown, but you’ll skip the usual hotspots to avoid running into or seeing him out and about…because godknows you’ll take an uneventful week-long visit with family over the drama from him and/or anyone connected to your past, each and every time. And when the week is over, you’ll say your goodbyes and board the plane. You’ll fly to a home 900 miles away, contemplative and confident as you come to the realization that at some point in the past 6 years you managed to truly move on and grow up–and you’ll smile. It’ll be bittersweet. Admittedly, less bitter and far more sweet.


**

You’ll find happiness in the arms of another, take vows and make a commitment before God and all your loved ones. You’ll start a life together, take out a mortgage…and settle down. You’ll be happy, complete…whole. You’ll have the life you’ve always dreamed of…you’ll have everything…and so much more.


**

But moving on and letting go…doesn’t necessarily mean you forget that person. You never forget. Sure, you can try. Best of luck to you with that. You can shut yourself away; shut the world out for days, no contact with the outside world, nothing. You can try running and moving hundreds of miles away from everyone and everything. But distance doesn’t change the past or what’s been done. The hurt and the scars remain indefinitely. You never forget.

This song and these lyrics—for me anyhow—speak symbolic of closure, yet at the same time, they don’t. Closure—there’s that word again. So many want it—yet so many have no idea what it means. Or how to go about getting it, for that matter. There’s probably a good way and a bad way to go about it, I’m sure. Rebounding—while physically satisfying, I’ll concede, doesn’t help all that much. Okay—I take that back. It does for a little while, at first…while you’re still in the “hurt and angry as hell and I’ll do just about anything to lash out” phase…but once you move past that…yeah, all the rebound sex in the world isn’t going to help that broken heart of yours feel any less broken. It just doesn’t. Trust me, I’ve been there, I know. Some people find closure from an apology…and I understand the rationale behind it, I do. In fact, there was even a time when I would have given anything to hear one myself…a time when I actually believed that an explanation and an apology would somehow negate all the hurt that he caused…and that it’d give me closure. It was a ridiculous, naïve notion–for all the “sorrys” in the world couldn’t possibly make up for what was done. My life was irrevocably changed in ways that he will never understand or even know because of his actions and the choices that he made. He’s always going to be that bitter memory because of that. That hang-up that my mind always goes back to when songs like this come on the radio. He’s going to be the kind of man I warn my daughter to stay away from and the kind of man I can only hope my son never becomes. That’s not something an apology can fix. As for closure, I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s really no such thing. Granted, time goes on and you move on and ultimately it gets harder to recall the face and the name and the memories are fading from color to black and white, but you never really close the book…you just store it away. I guess if you want to call that closure, then call it that…even though it’s really not. I mean, it’s still there, available whenever to sift through should you ever have the urge, so it’s not really gone for good.


**

It’s easy to be bitter towards the person that hurt you the most—the one that lifted you up so high, just to break you down as cruelly and as destructively as possible—so easy. I’ve entertained the emotion on more than one occasional bout over the past several years myself…until I realized my energy was much more productive being used for something else. But that one hang-up—that exclusive ex that took our hearts for a bumpy ride—they’re always going to be there. We can choose to either let their background presence restrict our success and future happiness…or we can use him/her to find exactly who we’re meant to find and be happy with and to have everything we ever wanted with. The choice is ours. Personally, I choose the latter…


**

xoMESSIE

Singing Those Small Town Blues.

So, I seem to be on a bit of  a lyric kick this week…[ in case you haven’t noticed from recent posts 🙂 ]

 

 

Today’s lyric pick is one from the one-and-only, incredibly musically-inclined, (and so damn gorgeous, to boot) emerging artist otherwise known as SAM HUNT. I just love everything about his songs. The lyrics of which are absolute perfection. I can’t tell you how disappointed I was to have missed his performance at the CMAFest last month. But lesson learned : buy festival tickets early in advance next time. Anyhow, the particular song that happens to be my muse for today’s post is called “Breakup In A Small Town”. With everything that’s been going on with the Bestie and her significant other these past couple of weeks–and my own not-so-pleasant past experiences–it seems fitting to share this track.

 

 

My favorite part of the song–the chorus :

 

**

I guess that’s just how it goes
When you break up in a small town
I see our friends and they put on a show
Like they don’t want me to know
So they give me the go-around

But there’s only so many streets, so many lights
I swear it’s like I can’t even leave my house
I should’ve known all along
You gotta move or move on
When you break up in a small town

**

As with every small town, there are both advantages and disadvantages to living in one. In spite of all the time growing up that I spent resenting my boring,  Upstate New York little hometown, I’m grateful and glad that I grew up in a small town. There’s just something about the dynamic of a small town that will outshine and rival that of a city any day, in my book. The pace is slower, people are nicer and more aware of their fellow citizens/neighbors. And as hard as it is to believe, there’s actually a perk or two about everyone knowing everyone and everything. People look out for one another more…people care. And when push comes to shove–most of the time–they’ll have your back. It’s a comforting thing…knowing you’re not alone…having that figurative safety net.

But what goes up, must come down…and there’s two sides to everything. Small-town folks are fickle people. They’ll just as soon stab you in the back and turn on you as they will come to your defense.  It’s a double-sided sword…this whole “everyone knows everyone” deal. When it’s good, it’s great. But when it’s not–well…then you best run and take cover–that’s all I’m saying. Breaking up in a small town can be just as ugly as one might probably imagine…and that’s putting it nicely.  It sucks to indefinite proportions. And it’s not fair–but that’s just how it goes. That’s life in a small town.

Distance is what typically heals a breakup. And let’s face it–in a small town–there’s no such thing. A breakup is difficult enough on its own, without having to run into or see him/her all the time, every day. Of course, the small-town gossip mill doesn’t help the situation any. People–oh how they love to talk and make up stories and spread rumors–usually with complete disregard for how their words might effect the other person. Simply put, people don’t care. Not one bit. If it’s interesting and newsworthy, they’ll run with it–despite only having half the facts–if any–about it. Nobody thinks about or cares that their lies–big or small–can ruin a person’s life. Or destroy a person’s reputation, damaging it permanently. No one cares about the consequences of their actions, or the level of hurt and pain their words can bring. People are bullies…tearing down others in order to build themselves up, and to make themselves feel good about their miserable excuse for an existence. People don’t consider the person behind the lies and the rumors–or that he/she has the same feelings as anyone else.

I hate it, but I’ve seen it first-hand. I’ve seen how cruel people can be. How resentful and vindictive and destructive some can be. But I’ve seen it happen; I’ve felt it. I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to be afraid to leave your house or go out with friends for fear of who you might run into or see out. I know what’s it like to not want to feed into the rumors and the bullshit, even though it’s killing you to remain silent and you want so badly to stand up and defend yourself–but can’t because doing so will only make it worse. I know what it’s like to drive past a place that holds so many painful, lost memories to the extent that even the few good memories are overshadowed by the bad. All those places…the bar where it all began, the beautiful, grassy knoll where many a secret rendezvous took place, the alley where it all finally ended…all those places, permanently marred by all the pain.

I know what’s it like to be alone in a town full of people, to feel the betrayal of those you once considered a friend. I know what it’s like to carry the burden of guilt and shame everywhere you go. To hear the whispers, see the looks, and know there’s not a damn thing you can say to get them to listen to you, to hear your side of it–to hear the truth. I know how bad it feels and to be so desperate that you’d pretty much do anything to make it stop…to make them stop. I know what it’s like to be accused and found guilty of something you’re completely innocent of.

Most importantly, I know what it’s like to be driven and run out of the place and town you once called home. To feel like you have no other choice but to go because there’s nothing left for you, and because you know you’ll never be happy there…you’ll never belong. I know what it’s like to want to turn back the clock, to make things right. But you can’t because what’s done is done and you can’t fix damage that’s irreversible, no matter how hard you might try, and no matter how badly you might want to.

I know what it’s like to feel trapped. But on the upside, I also now know what it’s like to be free from it all–from everything and everyone that had a role–minor or otherwise–in all your misery. I’m not proud of the fact that I let certain people get the best of me, so much so that–at least in part–they ended up driving me 900 miles away. But I’m not sorry, either. It might have started out with me running away from certain people and situations…but somewhere along the way these past 7 months…I changed direction. I no longer see my moving here to Nashville as me running away from something…but rather, I see it as me running towards something. My dreams, my goals, my future…and my own life that’s good. It may not seem like much–this freedom–but it’s enough. For now.

xoMESSIE

#TrueLoveWins

Okay, so I’m not sure if any of ya’ll watch the show Nashville or not, but this week’s episode…OMG!! For those of you that don’t or haven’t seen it…well, you should. 🙂 I’ve been watching since it first aired back in 2012, and let’s just say, I’m an absolute Nashville junkie. Can’t help it, it’s soooo good. I know there’s a lot of critics out there that think the show doesn’t give an accurate portrayal of what the actual city of Nashville and the music industry that’s here, but I choose to pay no mind to what those critics say. I think it’s a great show. Unlike most TV shows that are filmed on sound stages in LA, Nashville’s filmed right here in Nashville. I think that’s one of the reasons why fans love it so much because the authenticity is actually tangible; subtle but still there. While they do film some scenes on sound stages and sets in Nashville, with a lot of the scenes they tend to actually film on location, all around the city…which is really neat, I think.

Believe it or not, there aren’t that many Nashville fans down here…at least none that I’ve been able to find yet. Which is so ironic considering the show is literally filmed here. I think a lot of it’s the born-and-raised Nashies that like the to question the validity of the show and the city. My photo professor is like that. She doesn’t think the show gives viewers an authentic depiction of the city of Nashville. I agree that there are probably a lot of people who watch the show that go to visit Nashville, expecting this glamorous, fast-moving city that they see on TV…and it’s not like that. I mean, yeah, Nashville is a wonderful, beautiful city–but if anything, it has more of a small-town vibe than it does a big, booming city vibe. And now with the show, tourists are flocking here just to see the attractions and locations where the show has filmed, which is only a teeny tiny sliver of what Nashville’s all about. There’s a reason for why actual residents of Nashville–myself included–tend to keep our distance from Broadway. All the tourists like to hang out there, literally in droves, and it gets pretty chaotic and crowded down there. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it’s just that there’s more to Nashville than the honkytonks and the Grand Ole Opry and the The Ryman. As for the music aspect of it, most people think Nashville is nothing but country music and cowboy hats and cowboy boots…and it’s not. If you ever do decide to brave the crowds on Broadway, you’ll see that there’s all kinds of music genres coming from inside those honkytonks, not just country music. In truth, Nashville’s kind of like a cultural and musical melting pot. Not everyone has a Southern accent, and not everyone is obsessed with country music. Those are all just common misconceptions people make. Those things aside, I think the show does tries its best to be authentic as possible and do the city justice. But–and I think people forget this–it’s still a TV show. It’s not supposed to be 100 percent accurate…if it were, it’d be a documentary…which it’s not.

One big aspect I love about the show would have to be the music. The show gives some of a glimpse of what the music industry is like. It takes real songs written by actual, local Nashville artists and incorporates the music into the story lines and characters that meshes so well together. Not to mention, the actors that do the character parts on the show ALL do their own singing. There’s no lip-syncing or dubbing voices with these songs. And some of them can really sing. It’s incredible. And the music side of the show has really taken off, so much that the actors are doing cross-country tours and taking the songs they sing on screen to the stage .

Anywho,..let’s talk characters…So the basic premise is you got Rayna Jaymes, this 40-something queen of country music who, to keep her fading music career, has to team up with this up-and-coming Taylor-Swift-ish artist, Juliette Barnes. The plot line is  based around the center of the music industry– a what-goes-on-behind-close-doors type thing–and the day-to-day going ons in the lives of music’s reigning artists. That sort of thing.

The part of Rayna Jaymes is played by actress Connie Britton, who is so incredibly talented–Tami Taylor in Friday Night Lights, anyone?? 🙂 Then there’s Deacon Claybourne, played by Chip Esten–remember the really funny guy on Who’s Line Is It Anyway? Yeah, him–who’s been Rayna’s band leader and lead guitar player for the past decade or so, who ALSO happens to be her ex-lover. Oh yeah. And it gets even better…Rayna’s teenage daughter Maddie (played by the amazing Lennon Stella!), happens to be Deacon’s biological daughter…a fun little fact that neither were aware of until a curious Maddie happened to go snooping through her Mom’s things one night and stumbled across a paternity test saying that her “Dad” wasn’t really her Dad. So, of course, she shows up at Deacon’s house telling him she thinks he might be her father. From there, Deacon confronts Rayna–she admits that it’s true and that basically she’d been lying to Deacon for 14 years–and as you can imagine, all hell breaks loose after that.

Deacon, an alcoholic that had been sober for 13 years, throws it all away by getting drunk. Fast-forward a little…there’s a serious car accident that leaves Rayna in a coma and unable to sing and Deacon with tendon damage in his guitar playing hand…a couple of new relationships for both, and ultimately, two marriage proposals for Rayna in one night and a pretty big decision for Rayna to make…and you’ve got yourself one hell of a story/cliffhanger. And that’s where the writers left off at the end of the last season. Season three picked up right where it left off, with Rayna having to choose between Deacon–the love of her life whose addictions and past mistakes cost them a life and a family together–and this other guy, Luke who doesn’t come with baggage and can give her the clean slate she so desperately wants. Anyways, she ends up choosing Luke over Deacon in that very first episode, basically leaving us–the viewers–hanging, wondering will-she-or-wont-she-go-through-with-the-wedding for 12 ridiculously loooong episodes and weeks-long hiatuses. In such a typical Hollywood move, Rayna realizes she’s making a mistake and calls off the wedding to Luke on the DAY OF the wedding. After which, she goes to Deacon and admits that while she still loves him and wants to be with him, she needs time. Unbeknownst to Rayna, Deacon’s been diagnosed with liver cancer, stemming from undetected cirhossis from all his years of drinking, and his only option is a transplant. Wanting to protect both Rayna and Maddie from the pain he knows his diagnosis will cause them, Deacon decides not to tell either of them.

Fast-forward some more until the next to last most recent episodes. Weeks have passed since Rayna called off the wedding, but Rayna and Deacon still haven’t reconnected. Then the 10th Anniversary of Rayna’s induction into the Grand Ole Opry rolls around. Rayna decides to make the first move and asks Deacon, who has literally been by her side from the very beginning, to be there. He’s reluctant at first, but shows up all the same, much to Rayna’s joy. He joins both Maddie and Rayna’s other daughter, Daphne, on the stage for their Opry debut on guitar. Afterwards, they hold hands backstage and Rayna surprises him by asking Deacon to sing with her. He does. They do. (Such a beautiful song, by the way.) Afterwards, Deacon hightails it out of there without so much as a goodbye, and goes to his cabin…which is where Rayna finds him the next day. She all but tells him she’s ready for them to be together again, and pleads with him to stop leaving her like that…and then he throws the cancer bombshell at her. She slaps him across the face, then sobs in his arms.

Now for this week’s episode…just amazing. Like totally, totally amazing. Picked up at the cabin with Deacon and Rayna. Deacon fills her in on the disease, but tells her that he doesn’t want her or Maddie involved. Rayna, of course, is not OKAY with that and refuses to let him shut her out. They argue, Rayna smashes a perfectly good guitar into pieces (total bad-ass scene by the way), and ultimately tells Deacon that she’d rather spend whatever time they left together, rather than apart.  She pleads with him to stop fighting her and to fight for them instead. Cue some teary looks and a sweet speech by Rayna…and long story short, Deacon gives in, they hook up, and then later go back to Rayna’s to tell the girls about Deacon’s cancer. Poor Maddie’s joy at finding out her parents were finally back together, really together, is short lived though when they sit her and Daphne down and tell them about Deacon’s cancer. Total tear-jerker, family moment right there.

I can’t say it enough how much I love this show. The whole Deacon/Rayna dynamic is just so perfect that you can’t help but root for the characters. I know it’s just a TV show and it’s not real, but still. What I wouldn’t give to have a love like that someday…one that’s withstood and survived decades, despite having been presented with nearly every kind of challenge there could possibly be. A love that not even a marriage of 14 years to someone else or reveal of a 13-year secret could take away.

To love someone like that, all those years, in spite of all the hell and pain you’ve caused one another–it almost seems too good to be true, I sometimes think. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I’d like to think that a love like that does exist…that it’s possible…which is kind of ironic considering I don’t put much stock into the idea of someone being “the one” or finding your perfect soul mate…whatever that even means. Call me cynical, but I find it really hard to believe that in a world with billions of people, there’s somehow only this one person that you’re “meant to be” with and to love for the rest of your life. That just seems a  bit too “Disney-ish” for me. Sure, it happens and some people are really lucky like that, but it’s rare. Some might disagree, but I think it’s totally plausible to love more than one person in your lifetime. It has to be, right? I mean, that’s like saying that no matter what, I’m always only ever going to love my jerk-o ex…and that’s not true. I loved him, yes. But that was a long time ago. Things change. I’ve changed. Trust me, I have plenty of feelings for that one, but love is definitely not one of them. That feeling went away a long time ago…right around the time he decided to be a vindictive jerk and stand there smiling while he had me publicly humiliated, I think. Yeah…that’s long gone. And now–now I feel absolutely nothing for him. Unless you count pity and disgust…total disappointment. Hell, I think I even hated him for a time there…but that was just exhausting and not even worth it, to be perfectly honest.

I may be a little jaded and a tad bit cynical when it comes to love, but I do believe in it…or want to believe in it, I should say. It’s just hard to put yourself out there again like that after you’ve been burned the way I was. It’s hard to trust, to know whom to trust, and to find someone that you feel might actually be worth the risk–it’s all just hard. They don’t call it falling for nothing. Love hurts. It’s beautiful and wonderful and sometimes even defies all logic…but it hurts. But even through all the pain and that hurt–even when you hate the person and wish you’d never met them and feel like the biggest fool to even think there was a decent bone in his body…but in the end, it’s still worth it. It’s always worth it. That’s the beauty of it all. Love.

There’s this last line from this week’s Grey’s Anatomy episode that really says it all, I think, when Derek’s sister tells him that she thinks she’s falling in love with Owen and that she’s scared it’s going to destroy her. And Derek replies perfectly by saying, “It wouldn’t be love if it didn’t.” So true. So perfect.

xoMESSIE

 

Heart & Soul…Love You Baby Girl…

Your baby blues.

So full of wonder.

Your curly cues.

Your contagious smile.

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And as I watch,

you start to grow up.

All I can do is hold you tight.

Knowing clouds will rise up.

Storms will race in.

Rains will pour down.

Waves will crash all around.

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But you will be safe in my arms…

Storybooks full of fairytales.

Of kings and queeens,

and the bluest skies.

My heart is torn, just in knowing

You’ll someday see the truth from lies.

Castles they might crumble.

Dreams may not come true.

But you are never all alone.

BECAUSE I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU!!

**[In My Arms by Plumb]**

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2 1/2 years ago, I fell in love all over again. I love you Avie J. To the moon and back… ❤

xoxo

MESSIE

Another Love, Another Wish…

So, I’ve written recently about one of my loveys, my niece Emmie…and so I thought I’d write a little about another…my niece Angelina. There’s so many words I could use to describe her, but I’d literally be here all night doing that, so I’ll say just say that she is simply…amazing. And she is. She’s 8 years old, going on 9–but most days, it’s more like 8 going on 30. No joke. She’s incredibly smart…sometimes more so than I think any 8-year-old has a right to be. And she lets you know so, too. 🙂

She was a sweet baby. Not that she isn’t sweet still…but it’s more like it’s selective sweet–she’s sweet when she wants to be. (Typical 8-year-old, of course.) The first time I laid eyes on her, she was just a few hours old. Brand-new baby smell and all. I remember holding her the first time and she didn’t cry or anything. She just looked up at me, eyes wide and curious. Like she was taking it all in–sizing me up. And while she was doing that, I fell in love. Hard. Fast. I could have stood there forever, just holding her, staring at her. She was beautiful and perfect. She was amazing.

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I was 16 when she was born. 16 and filled with all that teen angst and just starting to realize that life isn’t as black and white (or at all) as I thought it had been and would be. I was going through a lot of crazy, personal things and dealing with stuff that no 16-year-old (or anyone else, for that matter) should have to deal with. I was, for all purposes, in a living hell. But she changed that. She was my distraction–which at the time, was the best medicine I could have asked for or needed. She saved me, she really did. Suddenly, all that had happened and all that was happening–none of it mattered. Only her. She was the light of my life. Proof that there was still some good left in the world. She and her mother moved in with us when she was a couple of months old and it was like a big new adventure. It changed everything. And I loved it. I loved hurrying home from school just to see that beautiful little face of hers. In a way, she was ours. Mine. Her mother well…let’s just say that her mother was young. And a little selfish. She wasn’t really ready to grow up and take on the full responsibility of being a parent. Neither was my brother. So while they had their fun, we took care of her. Myself included. Believe it or not, I didn’t really mind the late-night feedings, diaper changes, and lullaby-sessions. Or taking turns for hours walking around with a screaming, fussy baby. Or having to watch Elmo in Grouchland EVERY SINGLE NIGHT for 2 years straight because it was something she HAD to watch before she went to bed. I loved it all. I loved knowing that she needed me. And knowing that there was nowhere else in the world that I would have rather been. But most of all, I just loved knowing that I was there, to see it all. I felt lucky. I still do. More than anything. Because I was there. Because I had her. I helped raise her, to make her into who she is today–and she did the same in return. That little brown-eyed little baby changed me. And I’m better for it. I know I am.

me and lenie old2

I don’t regret being there. Or feel that I missed out on being a teenager. I really don’t. I mean, when she was born, I’d already been forced to grow up fast, with no choice in the matter whatsoever. So even what might have mattered before–the parties, the hanging out, the fun–all that paled in comparison to her. To taking care of her. My friends, surprisingly enough, were very understanding about it. They were very supportive, especially when things got complicated–her mother and my brother got angry and tried to use her as a bargaining chip by threatening to move out and take my niece with them if they didn’t get what they wanted. They did that often enough that it started to become a tug of war really. Literally. There was one time when it got really bad with the threats and everything and I lost it. I’d had enough of standing back and watching them use my niece as an object or a tool to control everyone and everything around them. They didn’t care that they were taking her out of the only home that she’d ever known, away from the people that cared and loved her, and dragging her into their “here and there, always on the go” self-centered world. They didn’t care about HER. And I couldn’t take it. So once, (she was about 6 months or so) when they packed up their things (for like the hundredth time) I grabbed her. And I didn’t let go. I remember that my brother tried to fight me for her, to take her from me. I also remember that he broke my arm in the process. Not that I noticed. I didn’t even feel the pain until it was all over. Adrenaline, it’s a great thing, as we all know. But broken arm or not, it was worth it because I didn’t let him have her. He eventually gave up and left. It was shortly after that incident that my mother and grandmother decided to go to Family Court and petition for custody of her. It was a long, ruthless battle–but she stayed with us throughout the entire thing, which was good. And once it was finally all over and the fighting had stopped, the judge granted the petition and she was ours. And has been ever since. I’m not going to lie. It was hard. I went to school, helped take care of her–and that was pretty much it. There wasn’t really time for hanging out with my friends or doing whatever else teenagers do at that age. If I did, she usually went with me. I brought her with me to cheer for friends at soccer games, on walks with friends–she was even there for my grand march for my prom. She was my little side-kick. I don’t regret any of that. Not then, and definitely not now. I couldn’t imagine it being any other way. Of not having her always around. Of not being there. I didn’t miss anything. I was there for all her birthdays and holidays and first trips to the zoo and the beach and vacations. I was there for her first tooth, losing her first tooth, crawling, her first steps, first words, first day of school…everything. I didn’t and haven’t missed a thing. And I’m so thankful for that. I go crazy if I don’t see her all the time. It’s so mushy and corny, but I think one of the hardest things was being away when I went away to school. I was only an hour away, but it felt like an ocean sometimes. I missed her like crazy. It’s silly, but I felt like she was going to grow up and I wouldn’t be there to see it. Like I said…silliness. That didn’t happen, of course. But being away was hard. Which is why I love being so close now.

Anyhow, fast forward and here we are, eight–nearly nine–years later and she’s growing up. She’s changed so much since those baby days. And keeps changing. But in a lot of ways, she’s still my same little Angelbug. She loves to talk. A lot. She’ll talk your ear off if you let her. She’ll TELL you off, even. She’s still curious as ever and is constantly asking questions about everything and everything. Before we watch a movie together, I literally have to tell her that there are no questions allowed until the end of the movie–or else, 1.) I’ll never see the movie and 2.) I’ll lose my sanity before the movie is even 1/4 of the way through. 🙂

She’s a lot like me. Which scares the hell out of me sometimes, but it’s true. She’s stubborn and willful and opinionated—VERY opinionated. She can definitely hold her own in a debate, that’s for sure. She’s creative and quirky and gets frustrated when something just doesn’t look the way she wants it to. She loves reading books and watching movies that are sooo not age-appropriate. (Guess it’s my fault for thinking it was cute when she memorized the lyrics to Unfaithful at age 3 lol) She’s a brat, but I love her. Even though she’s in this phase where all she wants is what she wants and I swear that if she rolls her eyes at me once more I’m going to glue her eyes shut–that phase–I still love her. I love when she grabs my makeup bag and can apply eyeliner like a pro–even though I have to play the adult and tell her to go wash it off. I love when she calls me and asks “how’s things going with whats-his-name” (when she knows darn well what “his” name is) or simply “whats up”. For an 8-year-old, she’s a great go-to for relationship advice. She is. Just the other day I asked for her opinion on something and she goes “whatever it is, he’s wrong and you’re right ’cause you’re the girl–so you’re in the clear JoJo.” If that’s not the cutest thing, I don’t know what is. She’s the best. She’s a best friend and my niece all in one. She’s amazing. And growing up too fast. Scares me to pieces that in just a few years, she’ll be in high school and wanting to skip school or smoke cigarettes or dye her hair some crazy color. That she’ll be calling me up and venting about some stupid boy who broke her heart, expecting me to say something funny or to somehow fix it. Or that she’ll be telling me off and wanting nothing to do with her stupid “old” aunt who couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like to be 16 years old…just things like that. But for right now, she’s still my little Angelbug. Attitude and all. Love her….

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—***—

And maybe some lyrics…
ARTIST: Rascal Flatts

TRACK: “My Wish”

VERSE:
I hope the days come easy and the moments pass slow,
And each road leads you where you wanna go.
And if you’re faced with a choice, and you have to choose,
I hope you choose the one that means the most to you.
And if one door opens to another door closed,
I hope you keep on walkin’ till you find the window.
If it’s cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile.
But more than anything, more than anything…

CHORUS:
My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to.
Your dreams stay big, your worries stay small.
You never need to carry more than you can hold.
And while you’re out there getting where you’re getting to,
I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too.
Yeah, this, is my wish.

VERSE:
I hope you never look back, but you never forget.
All the ones who love you, in the place you left.
I hope you always forgive, and you never regret.
And you help somebody every chance you get.
Oh, you find God’s grace, in every mistake,
And always give more than you take.
But more than anything, yeah, more than anything…

This is my wish, for you…

xoxo
JoJo (MESSIE)

Tattoos & Love Gone Wrong…

MESSIE here again. I know this is two posts in one day, but I wrote this one last night and just decided to post it.

As mentioned in my first post, I will sometimes post lyrics and/or videos from my favorite songs and then share my thoughts on them. I love music. There’s not a specific genre I prefer or anything. I listen to pretty much all types, except for rap and heavy metal. My fave would have to be country, me being a small-town girl and all. Music for me is like writing. Songs are just one way of telling a story or expressing your thoughts. Have you ever just heard a song and said to yourself “wow, this could be the story of my life”? It happens to me all the time… So here’s the first song of the dozens I love. It’s not that old, a few years maybe. It’s called “Tattoo” and the artist is Jordin Sparks

VERSE: No matter what you say about love / I keep coming back for more / Keep my hand in the fire / sooner or later, I get what I’m asking for / No matter what you say about life / I learn every time I bleed / The truth is a stranger / my soul is in danger / I gotta let my spirit be free to admit that I’m wrong and then change my mind / Sorry, but I have to move on / and leave you behind…

CHORUS: I can’t waste time so give it a moment / I realize that nothing’s broken / No need to worry about everything I’ve done / Live every second like it was my last one / Don’t look back / got a new direction / I loved you once then needed protection / You’re still a part of everything I do / You’re on my heart just like a tattoo / Just like a tattoo / I’ll always have you…

VERSE: Sick of playing all of these games / It’s not about taking sides / When I looked in the mirror / didn’t deliver / It hurt enough to think that I could stop / admit that I’m wrong / and then change my mind / I’m sorry but I’ve gotta be strong / and leave you behind…

VERSE: If I live every moment / won’t change any moment / There’s still a part of you in me / I will never regret you / still the memory of you / marks everything I do…

BRIDGE: Just like a tattoo/I’ll always have you.

Now for MY thoughts:

I love this song. It’s definitely in my top favorites. The song reminds me of so much. To me, the song is about moving on and letting go. The beginning lyrics are great. It’s about love and risk, how even when you know you’re going to get hurt, you do it anyway. You ignore the risk and take the plunge head-first, again and again. It’s about letting go, but still holding on to the memories. It’s perfect. It’s so me…

When it comes to relationships I usually dive in without checking the depth first. I have trust issues. Either I don’t trust at all, or I trust too much. There really is no middle ground. It’s all or nothing. I wasn’t into the whole dating thing in high school like a lot of people were. I never really saw the point. I never felt like I was missing out, rather I felt like I was one of the smart ones for NOT dating. To be honest, dating in highschool was more like a source of amusement for me than anything else. I always thought it comical when one of my friends would start “dating”. The relationship would usually last a whole two seconds. It typically took less than a week before they announced their “undying” love for one another. I found that laughable. It was such a joke. I’d say it was lust maybe, but it definitely wasn’t love. You don’t fall in love in a week when you’re 15 years old. Sorry, but you just don’t. It was even more amusing when I’d hear them say that they were going to be together forever. That’s nice. Sure it happens, but realistically speaking, most people don’t marry their highschool sweetheart and live happily ever after. Seriously people! I always wanted to tell them to get real and ask them if they really want to be one of those people 20 years down the road, who look at their yearbook and feel like an idiot when reading me+(insert name) together 4ever in their senior will. At least I had the brains to not fall into THAT trap!

Statistically speaking, I’m probably weird for the fact that I didn’t date til college. Then again, I probably should have dated a little. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been so naive. My first relationship was with a boy I met at school. He was a couple of years older and your typical private school rich boy. Oh, he was nice at first. Looking back, I don’t know how I could have missed the warning signs. They were so obvious. It wasn’t long until I saw him for the abusive jerk that he was. It sucks. I mean you tell yourself over and over when you’re growing up that you won’t ever be one of those women who gets caught in a bad relationship, or that stays. But you never really know what you would do until you are in that situation. It was hell. It was like walking on eggshells all the time and having to be careful with what I said and did ALL THE TIME. I’m so ashamed of myself because I stayed for so long. I learned quickly and the hard way that fighting back only made it worse. I took his abuse for months. I wanted out but it was so hard. After every fight he’d tell me he was sorry and promise that it would never happen again. And then it would. I wanted so badly to believe him when he told me he would change. I never believed him, not really, but still I stayed. The worst part is that no one knew, not my friends or my family. I was too ashamed to tell anyone, mainly because for some reason I felt like maybe I’d done something to deserve. I hadn’t, but that’s what I thought at the time. It took more than a year and me leaving campus, but I finally got out. It wasn’t easy getting past something like that. I don’t think you ever completely forget. It changes you. Afterwards, I pretty much stayed clear away from relationships. I wasn’t a saint, but nothing was never serious. I’ve had relationships since, none coming close to being worth mentioning. My most recent one ended months ago. Honestly, I don’t think it can even be considered a relationship. It was more of a casual arrangement. To save time, I’ll give the short version. If I were to give the long version, I would be at this for days, literally. Besides, I’ll probably bring up the topic in future posts.

So here goes. He was a bartender part-time at a local bar my friends and I would usually frequent. He was a lot older than myself. It was a long time before I even noticed him, to be honest. Age was a factor somewhat, but it was mainly due to the fact that I was actually coming out of a relationship. Anyways, one night I got really drunk and one thing led to another. I honestly never expected it to go past that one night. Somehow it did. Looking back, I don’t know how it happened. It just did. From the very beginning he was secretive. That should have been a sign telling me to run away and not look back. But the stupid, naive girl that I was, I stayed. It turned out that my instincts were dead-on. He had a family. A girlfriend he’d been with for 16 years and a baby girl. By the time I learned the truth, it was too late. I had already fallen for him, fallen hard. I know it was wrong and I hate myself for what I did, but I allowed it to continue. In my defense, I loved him. I really did. It sounds absurd, but he was my first love. I wondered then and I ask myself still, why him? Why did I have to fall for a guy like him? He lied to me and he used me. He knew I cared and he used that to his advantage. The worst part is that I let him do it. I knew that every time he left me, he was going home to her. I never met her but I hated her. I hated her because she had his heart and years of history. She knew who he was and I couldn’t even get him to tell me his middle name. I threw away my morals for him and for what? For a quick hookup on some back road? It hurt so much to keep it going, but I couldn’t walk away no matter how bad I wanted to. All I ever was to him was his “dirty little secret”. I’ve never cried so much as I did with him. That’s not to say that it was all his fault. I accept my share of the blame. He might not have made direct promises, but he did mislead me. I have to give him credit, it’s only fair. He was good. He knew just what to say to keep me around, to keep me hanging on his thread…

It lasted 15 months. I did what should have been done a long time before. I let the truth to be known. My only satisfaction was that I surprised him. I don’t think he ever expected me to have the nerve to actually do it. He underestimated me. Eventually you just get to a point where you’ve been hurt so much, that you need to do something, anything, to get back some of the control you’ve lost. Needless to say, we definitely did not end on good terms. It was ugly. Words, insults, and accusations were thrown around. Things were said and done that can never be forgiven or taken back. The only good thing that came from it all was that I was finally able to see him for who he really was. Doing what I did was hard and it hurt like hell, but it was inevitable. It was better for everyone this way. He hates me and for that I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do about that. He broke my heart and I don’t think I can ever forgive him for that. They say that time will heal the pain, but it doesn’t.

He will never know how I cried myself to sleep for weeks after, or how long it took for me to even think about him without crying. It has been nearly 8 months now and I can honestly say that I am okay. The pain I feel is bittersweet but I would rather have that than feel nothing at all. I don’t even hate him, to the dismay of others. I am sure I could easily find a reason to if I wanted to, but I don’t. We were both wrong to do what we did. It was selfish. But I don’t regret it or him. In the end, he showed me how it feels to love. He was my first love and the first to break my heart, but he won’t be the last. I’ve let him go. I loved him. I still do. I probably always will. Now I know what people mean when they say the first love is the best and the worst.

So yes, I’m a little jaded you could say. I’ve changed a lot. I’m happy though, for the most part. I am no longer quite so naive. But that’s ok. So like the song says, he will always be a part of me. I’m okay with that. Truly. For now, anyhow…

xoxo,
MESSIE

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