Category Archives: love

The only holiday song I like

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English: The Carol of Lights at Texas Tech Uni...

Dear Ted,

I hate Christmas music, with one exception, “O Holy Night.” Driving home my finger accidentally hit the station number that has holiday music on 24/7 from now until Christmas. When that happens my body usually tenses up anytime I hear the first notes of holiday schmaltz take over the interior of my car. But as soon as I heard “O Holy Night” come through the speakers I just smiled and sighed because you will always be that song for me, always, for the rest of my days on this earth.

It was nearly 20 years ago that we celebrated the Carol of Lights at Texas Tech University. The air was chilly and cold, without snow, in that typical Panhandle Texas way that winter would give us cold without snow. The whole campus is lit up at once in holiday lights galore with the tradition of a soloist singing “O Holy Night.” You’re holding me against you, and you can’t help but whisper the words to the song in my ear as the soloist sings. I can still hear your slightly twangy, yet distinguished, smarty sounding voice. I loved the strange combination of the Texas twang with a certain je ne sais quoi that gave you that nerdy cache that had me from the start.

“The thrill of hope …” was everywhere. Your whispered song was hope set free, and for that moment in time all was well. I am glad that neither of us knew that I would break your heart, and leave you for someone who would turn out to be a not very good choice for me, someone with whom I would ultimately stay with for 10 years out of the belief that I deserved no better. I had no idea that we would wind up dating when I was frequently phoning you as assistant stage manager because you failed to make rehearsal yet again. You were frequently tardy or absent, and your sheer talent is the only thing that kept you in the cast, that and your sweet demeanor.

“… the soul felt it’s worth …” You were the first person to ever really show me the worth of my soul. I was not ready to truly learn that worth, but I’ve never forgotten that you certainly tried. Do you remember the time I tried telling you I was bisexual, and that I had feelings for someone else? You only picked up on the bisexual part of what I was telling you. I still recall what you told me as we ate in my favorite Vietnamese restaurant, “It doesn’t matter to me that you’re bisexual. I still love you.”

“… a new and glorious morn …” dawned for us separately. Much, much later I learned that I have DID, and I am now beginning to understand the system within me that caused me to make chaotic decisions in my life, specifically, the decision I made to cheat on you and leave you. I am so glad that you found happiness elsewhere with someone else. I wish I could have/would have treated you differently. But things happened as they happened, and the only peace I have is that you are happy. I finally have some answers, and that has to be enough.

But, yes, for that moment in time it was a divine night.

All my best,

Beatriz

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I am not sorry

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To The Person That Confused Me:

I am not sorry I cried the other night when you told me it wasn’t a good idea for you to come over to my apartment for dinner this past weekend. I am sorry that you noticed I was crying on the phone, but I am not sorry that the depths of my feelings led me to cry.

I will never be sorry that you know exactly how I feel about you.

You’ve acknowledged that you have similar feelings for me, but you won’t act on them. I am sorry that you’ve chosen not to act on these feelings. It’s an even sorrier situation because it seems like you nibble at the edges here and there by flirting on the phone with me.

I must briefly digress by thanking you for spending the anniversary of one of the hardest days of my life recently. That will always mean a lot to me. The memory of you in the pizza place with the loud tie with red, white and blue stars and stripes is embedded in my memory forever. Then to learn that you wore the tie in commemoration of the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom made my heart swell with pride.

And, yes, I had such a good time with you that night that I wanted to spend more time with you last weekend. I would have been sufficiently happy just cooking and playing a board game with you. I feel how I feel about you, but I would not have tried anything because I know where you stand. I respect you enough not to go against your wishes. I would have simply enjoyed talking with you.

I cried because I realized that our friendship will not grow because you are not comfortable spending time alone with me. And my brain just gets all clackety clack with that thought because I have a bunch of other related thoughts rolling around in my head: Are you afraid I’ll be “crazy?” Are you afraid you’ll see one of my other selves?

But there’s more to me than this thing we call DID. You created a barrier between us because of this. I know that you intended not to hurt me, but you hurt me nonetheless with your confusing ways. You also contributed to my feeling of not being good enough in this world because of my DID.

Though I am good enough, you’ll just never know it, and never experience it. I may be flawed as hell and prone to dissociation, but I will get to a better place, and you will miss out in sharing that place with me.

I have to move on, and even typing this makes me teary because you already have my heart. But I have to take it back because you do not want it.

You have every right not to want to have involvement with such a condition.

Still though, I cannot ignore the fact that it breaks my heart. If I didn’t have this illness you could see me as me. I wish you could see the me underneath all of this. Part of me wants to say, “Wait! Let me just get integrated in a couple of days, and I’ll be all better.” But I know better. I know that my recovery is a process that I cannot expedite any further. I so wish I could for me and for you. I wish with all my might that I was without this illness, and that I could just carry on like other folks.

But that is not what life dealt me, and all one can do with such a hand is make the most of it.

I wish I was DID free for you. But I am not. Someday maybe, but not today. And for that, I am sorry.

To Michael

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English: Broken Heart symbol

Dear Michael,

I miss you, still miss you though it’s been over a year since we parted ways. Honestly, I wish you were out of my mind forever. It would make it easier to get through life. But the truth is that you’re in my mind a lot, more than I would like. I know that we went our separate ways because of my PTSD, and that fact makes me mad at myself. I keep thinking that if I had just been better, less apt to start shaking that we would still be together. You might be confused with all of this since I’m the one that walked away ,but I knew you were freaked out by the PTSD. I knew it was untenable.

You were special, a rarity of a person that does not come around everyday. When I’m really missing you badly I reach down into my soul, and find that part of me that felt your deep love for me. Just thinking of it right now makes me cry. I don’t just cry because I miss you, I cry because no one ever loved me that deeply, and it still amazes me. I wish I had been aware the that last time I kissed you or hugged you would be the last time forever. I would have lingered longer, treasured it more, paid more attention to the entire moment. I would have made sure to inhale your scent one last time so that I could try to bottle it up in my memory bank forever.

I vividly remember one night when we were together and you started telling me how special I was, and you asked me to promise that I would always remember that I’m special. You started saying, “Promise me, promise me …” I then noticed that you were teary as you were imploring me to remember that I’m special. When I look back I wonder if that was the last night we spent together, but my brain fails me, and I’m not sure if it was.

Cooking with you was fun, so fun that it did not feel like work when we did it together. We were so good at cooking together it was like choreography. We were magic when we cooked, no doubt about it. You were a great cook, and I was a fab baker, a perfect match. Every time I hear Michael Jackson on the radio I remember rocking out to those silly songs while we were making dinner one night.

I’ve never spoken to someone about myself like I did with you. It’s because of you that I write again. You helped me rediscover my love of writing, and I treasure that you helped me remember that I love writing. I was able to be myself with you, and I love you for that.

We were close to having a forever love together, so close that it might have been better for my heart if we had been nowhere near such a thing.

I suppose it’s still good that we met, even though I miss you terribly. I write again because of you, and I see myself in a different, better light because of you. Still though, I try not to let my mind embrace the fact that I will likely never see you again.My mind shuts down when I think of this, so I just let it float, float into the vast lake of the unknown with a droplet of hope that will likely never be.

Yours always,

Beatriz

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)