TLDR...My Online Therapy, Chapter 1

This is going to fall well within the TLDR category. Feel free to scroll along to the next thread.

I don’t want to burden my friends and family with a bunch of words they can’t escape from, and apparently talking it through to myself (and my baffled dog) isn’t getting the job done. I don’t feel too bad about unloading on you, dear invisible friends, because you have an easy out. This hopefully therapeutic (for me) endeavor might devolve into a depressing narrative in upcoming installments.
There, you’re forewarned, so I take no further responsibility for you.

Chapter 1, In Which Inappropriate Meets a Man

I haven’t posted here literally in years, and even if you were around when I was it’s a really good bet you wouldn’t remember.

I divorced in…let’s say 2006ish. Hadn’t had sex with my husband, or anyone else, since 2001. We were roomies those last years. We were married for 19 years, officially. I had 2 children, primary custody and no love life. I didn’t date at all until a year ago last May.

Memorial Day weekend 2012 I went out bar hopping with an old high school friend or three and we picked up a large carload of people for the adventure. I didn’t have a lot a bar acclimation before that weekend’s adventure. A couple of times I and one friend or another had gone out and had a couple of drinks and participated in the “girl dances”, e.g. Cupid Shuffle and the like, where various guys would hit on us. I’m not saying I’m all that, but I do sport a vagina.

On this occasion there was a guy one of my friends had dated in high school who seemed interested, but I blew him off because of the friend history thing. Let’s call him…Ignavus, which is latin for lazy. Iggy, for short. Tall, attractive and reasonably fit, for our age. He ended up in the car that night, squashed in the backseat next to me. He had a tall glass of Jose Cuervo that he offered to me (after I’d had an ill-advised shot assortment) and I guzzled quite a bit of it. This part comes up later. (This is forshadowing.)

In any case, I was hammered. like I hadn’t been hammered since probably 1985. I’m going to edit a bunch of bar scenes here. I am aided in this by the fact that I don’t remember but a couple of blurry clips anyway. There was some advanced snogging between Iggy and me. In public. :smack:

Disclaimer: I got a lot of the following second-hand but the evidence backs it up.

We closed down a couple (4) bars and eventually had one of my friend’s daughter’s come and collect our sloppy asses. When we got to my house Iggy simply got out of the car with me and came on in. I reportedly stripped naked in the bathroom to wash my face, then fell into the shower, pulling the shower curtain down on top of me. When Iggy came to see what the commotion was about I was sitting wrapped in the shower curtain with my legs hanging over the side of the tub, giggling. Then it was off to bed, where based on empirical evidence, I pushed all my pillows off onto the floor and vomited on them. Including the girly decorative pillows.

Iggy further reported that just when I seemed to be sorted out (and he thought that at last he was getting laid) I started making alarming gurgling noises then spouted vomit straight up in the air, like a volcano. I hear it covered his left arm and he had to make a manly dash to the bathroom to wash most of his body in my wrecked shower. The next thing I remember I woke up naked wrapped around a warm man. WTF!

At first it was very nice, but soon I began to notice things were not as they should be:

  1. Naked man in my bed.
  2. Heavy smell of alcohol and vomit.
  3. Massive hangover.
  4. Where the fuck are my pillows?
  5. Vomit in my hair.

I list these in the order that they occurred to me, not necessarily of importance.

I will say this for Iggy, he persevered in conditions that would have made another man gather his shit and run screaming down the street. Or maybe he was just an opportunist with decidedly low standards for arousal. In any case the deed was done in the light of murky day. The rest of the morning was spent by me in the shower. After that I got to the task of vomit eradication, starting with the pillows and floor and ending with Iggy’s socks. No, I don’t know how I vomited on his socks.

During the clean up process Iggy was passed out on the bed. When he woke we talked for a while (mostly incoherently as we were both still quite impaired). He invited me to his family’s fish-fry that day, making my stomach flip over and necessitating another trip to the porcelain altar.

Once we’d collected ourselves I drove him to Perkins since he wanted to buy me breakfast (I tried to eat toast. Unsuccessfully.), then dropped him off at his car. He gave me his phone # and a kiss.

When I got home I caught up with what the rest of my family’s night had been like. Thankfully my youngest daughter, who was then 12, was staying with her dad that night. My oldest daughter, who was 19 at the time, was home with her girlfriend. A man’s voice was certainly novel in our house and I gather the girls were quite startled by it. So much so that at first they thought we were being burgled and locked themselves in the bedroom. Soon that thought was replaced with the thought that heterosexual sex was very noisy, based on my fall in the shower. At least they didn’t call the cops. That would have been awkward.

I got to explain what happened, omitting a few details, and that the man wasn’t a complete stranger. Yay me.

I didn’t eat for several days, as I was a bit delicate, nor did I call Iggy, as I felt a bit slutty. Eventually I got word that he was bummed that I hadn’t called him, because he liked me so much. My first thought was along the lines of “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, that was a disaster!” followed by me calling him, I would guess because I was afraid of having a one night stand. Especially one with the embarrassment potential of that one.

We dated for almost a year. The first six months he was gainfully employed and only wished occasionally that he could smoke a little pot. The pot thing didn’t bother me, since I smoked a whole lot of pot in high school. Then he quit his job and smoked pot all day every day, at least when he wasn’t with me. That’s when I found out that I have quite a different attitude toward the occasional joint and being high all damn day.

That’s also when I found out I have PTSD (don’t worry, any nitpickers who have read this far, I’m not entirely serious about it being as severe as PTSD) brought on by unemployed men based on my ex-husband. It is not cool to not have a job if you able to do so. In Iggy’s case, his mother has quite a lot of money and a willingness to pay for her son’s lifestyle.

I’m going to cut to the chase here (yeah I know, too late) and say during the next six months I thought every day about breaking it off, but to be quite frank the sex was spectacular. I didn’t live with him and I didn’t support him. He was quite a pleasant man and would help me shovel my walk, just as I would help him. I thought we loved each other but now I can see and admit that was probably an exaggeration of fondness.

In any case, he broke it off with me just before the one year mark. I didn’t cry or have a fit because I was really getting what I wanted. I wasn’t looking forward to spending time with him anymore and would sometimes avoid it. I found that the rejection stings none the less. He had found out that one of his friends has a hot sister who also is opposed to employment and smokes pot. Iggy told me that since he had been thinking about her he would do the honorable thing and tell me, even though he didn’t think she’d ever notice him, blah blah blah. The next week he added his new relationship to his timeline on Facebook, showing a 5-day overlap between his old relationship and his new one. Facebook sent me an e-mail. Iggy was confused when I unfriended him, since we’d parted on good terms. Bite me, Iggy.

Here ends Chapter 1.

Chapter 2, In Which Inappropriate Loses a Love

Backstory is necessary here, sorry.

My ex-husband and I used to hang out with his friends when we were first married. He had a band and several of them played in it. The friends who weren’t in the band would hang out with me in the bars that the band would book to play, so I wouldn’t be lonely, and the friends who were in the band would hang out with me at practice, since it was at our house, so I got to know all of them. Most of them were good people, sweet, kind and very funny.

The guitar player was a guy we’ll call Brian. The first time I met him he dropped his pants to his ankles, turned around and bent over at the waist, giving me a moon I’ll always remember. I still remember being a little uh…disconcerted by the beanbags. I think that was the first time I’d seen a man at that angle. Not good. Brian thought it was hysterical, so from then on he usually greeted me ballsack first. We hung out with his brothers, he was one of 4 boys, and parents, all of whom were wonderful people. Very accepting and each one a jokester. I worked with his younger brother, Tom, for a few years and he was the bright spot in that job.

Brian was prone to seizures and when he was 23 he died in his sleep. I think the official word was that he had asphyxiated.

Fast forward to six months after Iggy, October of this year.

Brian’s older brother, whom we’ll call Tim, and I ran into each other at the grocery store and talked for a bit. I’d seen him off and on over the years. He was married young and had three children. He and his wife were married for 15 years, then his wife cheated on him and they divorced. He had married again in the interim and adopted three more children from the foster system. They were each teenagers whom the foster family was going to allow to time out in foster care, meaning once they reach the age of 18. He was divorced again for the same reason as the first a few years later.

A couple of weeks after the grocery encounter I got an invitation from Tim to see a play and go to dinner. I don’t mind telling you I internally spazzed out. Tim was my ex-husband’s friend, I was still on hugging terms with his ex (I’m not much of a hugger but I guess she was. We weren’t really that close.), I hadn’t been on a real date since 1987, not counting Iggy because we didn’t really have a “date”.

Skipping the angst, the date went extremely well. We were almost immediately comfortable with each other, talking and laughing. We were both nerdy, so we talked about Dr. Who (I’m just into the second season, so don’t quiz me on it yet) and made jokes such as: The past and the present walked into a bar. It was tense. We quoted old movies, like The Jerk, Young Frankenstein, etc.

Over those few weeks I let Tim closer to me emotionally than I did Iggy in a year. He was such a great person. We talked about religion (he had it and I don’t really. I explained that I don’t even have the conviction to be agnostic, a line I stole from someone, maybe Samuel Clemens?), we talked about politics, we talked about his masturbation and my battery purchases :D, and we cuddled. And snogged. It was wonderful to find a kindred soul and hope for a future together. Someone to share the little joys and problems with.

I took him to bed on a Tuesday and he died the following Friday. He played bass and was on stage when his heart quit. We had planned to spend our first uninterrupted weekend together. I had food for us to cook on Saturday and he had a nice bottle of wine to go with it. We had been texting before the band started and on breaks. We were looking forward to it. I wasn’t with him because my daughter and her wife (the girlfriend from chapter 1) came to dinner. His brother Tom later told me that while the paramedics were working on Tim he received a text from me. They couldn’t get into his phone to tell me what happened, so they had to go through one of the old band members from my married days to contact me. I got the call at 3:47 Saturday morning.

Tim’s family was incredibly supportive, especially given that this was the second son they had buried. His sons, his brothers, especially Tom, and parents each thanked me for making Tim so happy during his last few weeks. I’m not a cryer under normal circumstances, but I sure have been since then. This happened the week before Thanksgiving. I keep thinking that it’ll get better. I still find myself at work looking over boring insurance crap and suddenly my face is wet with tears. I sobbed outright at the funeral and for reasons I don’t understand I feel guilty about that. Tim’s mother invited me to sit with them. We’ve always liked one another. She confided that she had hoped I’d become a member of her family.

I received a thank you note from Tim’s mom today. She says the basket I sent (it contained live plants; vines and whatnot) is beautiful and she hopes to keep the plants alive for years to come. She’s invited me and my daughters to come out and stay with them sometime. She and her husband live out of state.

I guess that’s what triggered my need for online therapy. I was filled with such hope. I really thought we were going to be good together. Tim’s brother Tom was excited about it because we could all hang out together and play Munchkins and make movie references.

And sometimes I worry that I killed him, stressing his heart on that Tuesday. My doctor friend assures me that wasn’t the case (Yes, I asked.)

Here ends Chapter 2

Chapter 3, In Which Lefty Gets a Lump

On Wednesday last week I went for my annual maintenance on my lady parts. I had my mammogram and pap, in other words. It went as usual; unsettlingly invasive as well as boringly clinical. Kinda like the one scene I remember from A Clockwork Orange.

Last month I felt a lump on Lefty (That’s the boob that’s on stage left, not actual left. The boob on the left is called Mrs. Pinkerton. Don’t ask why, it’s complicated.) I felt the lump right before Aunt Flo came, so I waited and sure enough, I couldn’t feel it by the time Flo left town. I didn’t worry because I had my well woman shit scheduled and sometimes you’ll get lumps at period time.

But I digress. So, boob squish on Wednesday. I had a phone call from the radiology office on Thursday. They want to take a sonogram of Lefty because there’s a lump. Sure enough, when I felt myself up again there’s a lump. I quietly wigged out at my desk. Eventually I talked myself down out of the trees. I’m 47, I may just have calcifications or cysts or whatever. It’s likely not cancer. It doesn’t automatically mean I’m going to have fake boobs and numb nipples after the mastectomy!

I gave my older daughter a very low-key account of the upcoming sonogram: Yeah, I’m having a sonogram done on Lefty on Tuesday, can you pick your little sister up from school? It was very chill. She’s pre-med and has already had some biology classes covering this so she’s okay with it.

I have some low-level tension about it, but now I keep thinking by boob feels wrong. My subconscious is all, “Eject, eject! Faulty equipment!” I guess.

I guess that’s all the word vomit I had to get out at the current writing. I do feel a little lighter having unloaded to complete strangers, strangely enough.

Thank you for providing a forum to do so.

Merged three threads into one.

Sorry about the loss of your boyfriend. Hope the lump turns out to be a benign thing. Iggy will continue to drift through life without an anchor. Good riddance.

Just so you know, I read everything and I wanted to say how sorry I am at the loss of your marriage and with the recent death you experienced. I am wishing you the best with Lefty and hope it’s something benign and easy to deal with. Stay strong.

I’m going to see if I can summarize this:

After many years of not-so-good relationships or no relationships, OP finally met a great guy, who died very shortly into the relationship, tragically and unexpectedly. While still dealing with the loss, OP found a lump and is a bit freaked out because, you know, mortality is looming especially large right now.

From reading the post, it seems like you’re still a little weird about sex and relationships: you seem to have a lot of rules that you can’t date people you already know, you can’t have sex until several months after you want it, and having sex confers some sort of obligation on you. I don’t think adult life is supposed to be quite so restrictive. Excuse me if I’m misreading, but I think you need to get rid of all those rules and go with basic courtesy. Don’t put yourself in danger, do be clear about the situation with your partner, and don’t worry about your friends’ opinions. If you’re over 13, you’re too old for that. Respect yourself and they will too, or they’re not worth bothering about.

Edit: and I should add that I’m very sorry for your loss and I hope the health scare is minor.

From reading Dr. Drake’s post, it seems he is a little weird about thinking he knows enough to tell you how to live your life. From reading your posts, I’m sorry for your loss and hope your great sense of humor will help you get your bearings again in these tough times.

I really hope the OP doesn’t take my message like you did. I’m not trying to tell her how to live her life, and I don’t pretend to know more about her than she has chosen to tell us here. She posted a lot of information, and seemed to be looking for a response. I gave one. She might decide it’s helpful, and she might decide it’s off base. Up to her. I did say that I might be misreading. Geez.

InappropriateHumor, if you just wanted sympathy, I apologize for offering advice.

It’s a little weird that the OP would post all those details about her life on a message board and not expect someone to tell her how to live her life. The title alone suggests the OP wants that kind of feedback.

Thanks for the merge, Twickster :wink:

Wow, I’m actually a little surprised anyone read the whole thing.

I’m not sure what I wanted out of posting it. I really just wanted to write it all out and send it off to the sea in a bottle. Since I’m sans sea and a decent message bottle I went with the web. Could be I was looking for sympathy and/or advice. I hate to psychoanalyze myself, I’m quite boring.

I actually do have some sexual baggage, but frankly if the damage just amounts to me needing some kind of relationship to enjoy it I’ll just deal with it. As for dating people I already know, it’s more about caring too much that I just might possibly piss someone off. I’m trying to develop a more “fuck 'em” attitude. It’s got mixed results.

I was still feeling quite a bit sorry for myself when the lump thing came out of left field. I’m trying not to take it personally. The universe doesn’t recognize me personally at all, let alone conspire to persecute me.

Anyway, thanks to all for reading and responding.

I read all of your posts and you certainly have my sympathy. You are a super writer, by the way.

Tim sounds like a great guy and it must really be hard to deal with the feelings if what might have been. If I were you, I would try to wait until after the results of the further tests to worry too much about Lefty, although I know that is easier said than done.

Do you have an employee assistance program where you work? A few sessions can really help when one is dealing with a sudden loss plus the threat of cancer. I really hope you don’t feel in any way responsible for Tim’s death. I also hope you can take comfort in the fact that you made what turned out to be his last days happier for him. It sounds like you both felt a lot of hope for your future together, and losing that hope can be devastating.

Please keep us updated on Lefty. You will be in my thoughts.

I had some free time, so I read it, too. :slight_smile: I hope the lump turns out to be nothing, but know that even if it doesn’t, it likely means just one more thing to get through.
You seem like a fun person, though, just based on your writing style. I hope your return stays, and you pop up in more threads. I laughed several times at your word choice.

Thanks for the feedback and emotional support. I’ll swing by here and tell you the verdict on Lefty. If it’s good I’ll be jazzed and want to share; if not I’ll be swilling tea and having a major pity party. I’m trying not to think about it.

No employee assistance, but Tim’s pastor is an LCSW and offered more than once to talk with me free of charge.

I’m so tired of me. In the words of the great Buckaroo Bonsai, “No matter where you go, there you are.”. I think I know why some people drink or drug themselves into insensibility on a regular basis. It’s just to get out of their own head.

I did manage to slam my thumb in the car door, very effectively diverting my attention for quite a while. And it’s quite colorful! I’ve gotta find something a little less painful.

I agree that you write well and I hope to read more of your writing, even if it’s TLDR. (I read it all so it wasn’t.) I hope the Lump news is good. Don’t stop grieving your loss; it’s ok to be very sad for what might have been. And do come back and tell us how you are doing.

Obvious options:
a) Slam the pinky - it’s smaller.
2) Slam someone else’s thumb in the door.

I really enjoyed reading all that. NOT because I enjoy reading about other people suffering but because you do write very well.

I am so sorry about all the shit life’s been throwing at you lately. I hope Lefty is ok.

InappropriateHumor, I don’t think you should be so hard on unemployed people. It can be damn hard to get a job. Unless you’re talking about people who never even bother trying to get jobs.

You’re right. There’s a huge difference between someone who can’t find a job for love or money and someone who flat doesn’t want the inconvenience of working. Iggy is the latter. He actually told me that he doesn’t want to work.

This is the part where you should be asking why I stayed. I’m afraid it may have been the sex.:o

Well, if you hadn’t had sex in a long time, like you said, and then you suddenly had lots of great sex, then it’s understandable.