themuseherself

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Why is he still on Match.com?

Why is he still on Match.com?.

Why is he still on Match.com?

Someone asked me out recently.
This is all fine and good, except I’ve been seeing a man for a month (and talking to him for about a month longer than that) and it seems like he is quite serious. I mean…serious. I have not pushed for anything. He is the one asking all the questions regarding us and where we stand.

You ever just click with someone? Yes? No? Well, I clicked with this person (let’s just call him C.) unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. He’s normal, yet eclectic and one of the most secure and positive people I’ve ever known. We spend a ridiculous amount of time talking and texting when we’re not together. Two things I never seem to get tired of with him: chatting or kissing. We are very much in sync on both.

In all truth, I like C. a lot. I care about him. He is amazing. Smart, funny, sexy, sweet, warm, handsome, kind and caring. He is my age, well traveled, thinks “outside the box” and accepting of who I am. He’s not perfect, but it’s quite possible that he’s damn near perfect for me. He’s a few pounds heavier than I prefer, but is working at it and sexy in so many ways. I wouldn’t mind if he dropped weight – halfway because he’s good looking and the weight doesn’t live up to the rest of him – but the other half is that he’s had some health problems and staying leaner would be healthier. However, oddly enough, I like the way the extra weight feels when he holds me. I could definitely see myself keeping him around. For a long time. As far as I can tell, he *seems* to feel the same way. Unless I’m delusional. I don’t think I am.

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This is the guy who holds doors, texts in the morning just to say hi, asks if you need anything on the way over, stays up late to talk when you need to vent or someone to edit your writing, holds your hand in public, reaches for you when you cough at night, rubs your back without being asked and tells you that you look beautiful for no apparent reason. (He’s also the guy who will fuck you in the common area pool -with people around-, squeals the tires of his sports car outside his friends house at night just to be a dick, isn’t even slightly ruffled by your crazy ex’s behaviour, is a solid guitar player and uses the “f” word more liberally than I do cream in my coffee.)

But I’ve been having major issues with second-guessing myself lately and not being able to read signs correctly.

Here’s where I am confused. We met on Match.com. I quietly took my profile offline and didn’t say anything about it until he volunteered that he wasn’t seeing anyone else. I thought he was, but I didn’t personally have any interest in continuing empty conversations with strangers after being spoiled by much more interesting conversations with him, so I stopped talking to would-be suitors as soon as I met him.

His online dating profiles are still active. Today. Now. You may know how these things work. People are sent out daily matches and alerts all the time.

I’ve met C’s friends. His family is aware of me. He treats me very well. When it’s time for me to leave, he asks me to stay. He tells me intensely personal things. Yet…he is still out there. My gut says we are together, but actions speak louder than words and lately I can’t trust my own judgement anymore.

I was on a dating site to begin with because I’m in the entertainment industry and would like to date outside it. Plus, most of the people in the industry are younger. While I look younger, I am not.

I will be honest in saying that I am solidly above average in looks, fitness level, intelligence and personality. This isn’t me bragging; it’s just a truthful statement and I’ve worked hard at all of it. I’m also pretty nice, kind of witty on a good day and down-to-earth. I have been pursued by actors, pro athletes, rock stars, millionaires, and normal, regular guys. Men are men. If someone doesn’t interest me, no job title or dollar signs are going to change that. I can make my own money.

I’d like to meet people my own age who know me as just plain me. Not as my stage persona or as trophy wife material, which is how I’m often looked upon – as a prize of some sort.

So, back to the original issue. Someone interesting asked me out. A former fairly known race car driver who is a restaurateur now. I met him briefly, then I disappeared. He didn’t even know my name, but somehow managed to track me down and has been pursing me quite hard. I have no interest but wonder if I should.

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Let’s just say that I am highly unusual and it takes a certain rare type to interest me and keep up. The guy I am dating is fully capable of doing this. This person who asked me out is interesting as well…and quite convinced that I am the “rare breed” out there that he has been looking for.

Oh, if I only had a $5 bill for every time I heard this. I wonder if all women are told that? Like, it’s some slick line every guy uses? Or if I’m just some kind of unicorn?
I told Porsche Champ I’m seeing someone and cannot see him as anything more than a friend. I am not all that interested in him, but would go out of curiosity and to hear a few new stories.

Perhaps it would be wise keep options open since apparently I am not doing that and my… (insert whatever you want to call it here) clearly is.

Since there was no true talk yet and my (insert whatever you want to call it here) is still active on dating sites, should I go have a coffee with the other guy? I’ve been very blunt about seeing someone to the other guy, so he’s been warned. Further still, should I tell my (insert whatever you want to call it here) I am going, if I do?

Here’s one more thing: When I met C., he was seeing someone else, so his profile was “hidden” because he clearly cared what she thought. But that still didn’t stop him from contacting me.

It’s all fucking with my head right now and I wonder if I should just pull back a bit. Slow it all down and think. We have this weird thing where it feels like we’ve known each other much longer than we actually have. When I see the true amount of time in black and white, it’s strange to me.

I’ve been nothing but honest with C. from day-one about everything. Brutally so, at times. He’s been shockingly cool about taking all in stride. Perhaps that’s the difference between dating older vs. dating younger. Experience and wisdom. I am not sure how to approach this or if I should even bother. I’m not the jealous type (well, I am, but I don’t play into it) nor am I clingy or smothering. I tend to just leave – or go off and do my own thing, rather than engage in feelings that I don’t want to deal with for my own self preservation and sanity.

I don’t know what to do. I’m emotional about it. C. is my last thought at night and the first in the morning. Either I am thinking there’s more to this thing between us than there is and I’m being a complete idiot or…
Or…?
Maybe it’s an ego thing for him? Likes to flirt? Keeping stuff on the side or lined up? Maybe he’s the way he is with me to all women…and it’s just “another day in the life of” for him? Perhaps he thinks I’m going to jet off or it’s bothering him that I’m not officially divorced yet? Or maybe he’s simply doing a large-scale personal study of online dating with publish the results in Psychology Today magazine this month.

Right.

And there’s no right way to bring it up. Say something and you come off crazy, jealous or stalkerish. (Even though I *did* actually kind of stalk him.) Say nothing and it eats you up inside to the point where it’s hard to have a conversation and the relationship suffers.

Christ. WTF.

—–
2 Days Later…

In typical “me” fashion, rather than saying anything, I just sent him the blog link. My therapist gave me hell about that, too. “Why can’t you just ask a simple question? Are you sleeping with him? Then you should ask. You deserve to know.”
“Yeah, but I don’t ask much from others when I’m in a relationship–“
“YES, I know. And you should! I would want to know. Any woman would want to know. It’s a simple question.”
“Well, I write to vent. It’s cathartic. I can air everything out at once.”
Silence.
“OK. But you should still ask.”

So…I didn’t ask. I sent.

And the response I got back?
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He sent me his confirmation email of his Match.com cancellation.

Then this:

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Maybe *not* asking and writing about it instead was just fine after all.

The shame of it all.

themuseherself:

Another spot on blog by BipolarBlogging that’s very, very accurate.

Originally posted on bipolarblogging:

I had a little, um, incident this week.  Actually, the incident took place about a month ago, when I was caught outside in a rainstorm. I know, it’s been proven that running through the rain doesn’t get you any less wet than walking, but reflexes took over and I took off.  About 20 paces in, I heard a ‘pop’, and something in my knee gave way.  Ouch.

But I don’t have health insurance.  I knew there was something wrong, but since I am paying for healthcare out of pocket I decided I just needed to suck it up and wait for whatever it was to heal on its own.

That worked fine… for about three days.

I was sore, but not too terribly so: until I twisted just right getting my lunch out of the microwave at work.  The knee went ‘pop’ again, and down I went.  A coworker helped…

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With or Without You…

(Written spring of 2013)

It’s such a cliché. When did we become a cliché?

We never did conform to anyone else’s rules.

We always colored outside of the line…but now we’re THAT.

I told you…I never wanted to be that couple sitting across from each other at the restaurant,

Not talking. Not looking at each other.

We became THAT.

Loyal. Kind. Negative. Criticizing. Witty. Smart. Nitpick. Divide…and Conquer.

My mind races and I can’t sleep.

I never could. Thoughts come faster than I can get them down.

Being this way…It’s a curse. It’s a blessing.

I know.

I know people don’t get me. They can’t. You do.

I know I may and probably will die young.

I know I’m smarter than 90% of the world.

I know my father was too.

I got this from him.

He said, “I will never be happy.”

Well…I have trained, read and learned.

It’s simple. You decide how you will see things.

I know I can be happy.

I don’t think you can.

When you are already past the age of where you could be dead, every day is a gift.

What should I do?

I don’t want to live like this. But I can’t imagine life without you in it.

We are two good people who bring out the worst in each other.

You look at me, but you don’t see me. You see an illness. That’s all I am to you now.

 

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Why Suicide?

themuseherself:

Absolutely spot on.

Originally posted on bipolarblogging:

According to some statistics, people with Bipolar disease are 60% more likely to attempt suicide than the general population.   And they are much more likely to have multiple attempts.   And of those who do try, approximately 30% of them will eventually be successful.

Bipolar Disorder has the highest mortality rate of all the other mental illnesses combined.

So why is that?

In my opinion, there are a number of reasons as to why this is. Nothing scientific or heavily researched, just my own views formed from a lifetime of observation and experience. I think one of these reasons is the severity of the illness. Bipolar disorder can be a life consuming condition. The depressive episodes can render one completely incapacitated; unable to work, keep up with daily responsibilities, or even care for themselves. Manic episodes can create extreme financial hardship, loss of jobs, and serious legal trouble. And that is…

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Chapter 17: The Restless Muse

Chapter 13: Ever Wonder…?

Chapter 13: Ever Wonder…?.

Chapter 11: Missed Moments…

Chapter 11: Missed Moments….

About

About.

And, It Is Done.

My mom died in the middle of the night. She just stopped breathing around two-thirty.

My brother and I completely reclined the overstuffed chair she’d been tucked upright into in order to breathe and covered her up with an extra blanket until morning. There was nothing else we could do. As she laid there, head on a pillow, eyes closed, hair smoothed to the side…she looked very peaceful.

When I awoke a few hours later, her face was cold, but her body was still warm. I knelt down beside her and gave her the hug I hadn’t been able to while she was alive. She’d been so frail, so weak; I’d always handled her very gingerly. I’d touch shoulders with her and lightly circle my arms around her with a slight, lame squeeze. With her lung pain, I’d been afraid to do anything more.

That morning, while everyone was outside on the patio speaking in hushed tones about the business aspect of dying, I knelt beside her chair and I squeezed her as hard as I could. I rocked back and forth, holding on to her warm body, her ribs, her chest. I buried my face in her shoulder and I hugged the way I’d wanted for all the times I hadn’t been able to. And that’s how I said goodbye to her.

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