The "L" words.

I'm talking about "like" and "love."

I'm pretty sure I've said I love you and didn't mean it quite a few times. I'm pretty sure I said it because it was expected of me. I believe there were times I thought I loved people I was with because they stayed with me.

I went out with guys because they asked me out. I kept going out with them because I didn't want to be alone. I laugh at this now.

I find myself sitting with the one I'm with now and I hold his hand. In public. Without wondering if people are watching. Not caring if they are.

I look him square in the eye and say the most innocent and wonderful of phrases. "I like you." In public. Out loud. Proud of saying this perfect expression of simple affection. He says it back and it'e better than the last 1,000 times I heard a guy tell me, "I love you." I know it's not rushed and I know it's not forced and I know he means it. At this point, I don't care about hearing, "I love you" anytime soon.

We aren't ready to say it yet. We are terrified of saying it. We know the implications of it. We know the destruction that it can bring when spoken too soon and with too little emotion with it.

I finally feel like I'm with someone that understands the brevity and weight of words. I like it when we sit and talk and listen to each other and we forget where time goes. I like that we don't have to say much to convey everything at once.

He doesn't care that I'm overweight right now and likes me for who I am deep down. I can hardly remember what that feels like. I became used to being loved to liked with exceptions as a child. My parents only really paid attention to me when I did well or screwed up. Nothing unconditional. I got into relationships where I only felt like I was truly loved under set criteria. I had opportunistic friendships. He did all the same things and we're both tired of it.

We started hanging out and we just connected. Most of my relationships as an adult started as drunk hookups. So did his. This didn't start that way. The first time we spent any time really talking away from work, we actually talked. No awkward silence. No stilted laughter. A very nervous goodbye kiss. I went home with legs of Jello and a stupid grin on my face. I can't remember the last time that happened. Years ago.

Now I get that stupid grin every time I see him. He hugs me and I feel really hugged. Sometimes, I have to wait all week for that hug. It's worth waiting 5 days. In that instant that he hugs me, I know I am accepted. I am appreciated. I am finally ok.

The end is the beginning of every great thing.

I sat for some time thinking today. Today is the anniversary of the break up that has in so many ways defined me. Transformed me. Made me fall down for the last time. Made me stand up for the first time. I looked at myself in the mirror this morning and I'm physically no different than I was last year minus a few pounds.

There's nothing wrong with me. There was everything wrong with who I was with. I was with someone who didn't love me as I was because they don't love themselves. I am a wonderful person deep down. I have so much to offer and they took from me constantly without giving back. I'm done. He can and will never have any of me or all that I am ever again. He will never take from me again.

I have changed so much for the better so quickly. I'm not as broken as I was. I'm stronger than I was. I'm finding the more I live with myself as I am, I am everything that everyone who has loved me and supported me over the years have said I am and so much more.

In a conversation I had with my friend Curtis in regards to my blog,

I can't take those words back because they have been read by too many people. I won't apologize. I won't back down. If push comes to shove, I'll say it to his face, "You hurt me. You tried to break me. You degraded me behind closed doors because you hate yourself. I am not you. I am not that empty. I don't need you or anyone else to make me into something I am not."

I was looking through my PS2 games a couple of nights ago and I saw something deep in the back of the cabinet. Something I hadn't looked at in months, but I always knew it was there. It was the remote to Frank's Pioneer amp. My breath caught in my chest and my tears choked me for a second. This was the last thing I was stupidly holding onto of his. Everything else of his had been thrown away or given away.

That hunk of plastic symbolizes the last of the control he had on me. I have thought about that remote off and on over the past couple of days and as I was driving home from class today, I realized something. In order for the last of this to be over, for me to be rid of him, I have to get this out of my hands. I have to get rid of this.

I have forgiven myself for all the stupid things I did when I thought I loved him. I have forgiven myself for being stupid and blind to the pain. I have forgiven myself for believing it would get better. I have forgiven myself for letting myself be changed and hurt and degraded. I'm not that girl any more and I forgive her. That girl didn't know better because she had held her head down so long she forgot what it was like to see something other than the ends of her own shoes.

She is the last of my innocence and there's just enough of her left that keeps the tears in the corners of my eyes right now. She is the part of me that always wants to be angry and bitter and hold on. There's not enough of her left, though. She's tired and so am I.

Now that I can forgive myself for all that I was, I know that I am ready for all that I will be for the rest of my life. I don't ask for pardon and regret nothing said or done on this year-long journey to the place I stand now.

Just as I forgive old self, I now forgive Frank for hurting me. I expect no response from him on this ever. Part of me will always be hurt and a little angry, but as time goes on that part will fade like a scar or a memory.

It's done.

Stepping to the end.

I'm sitting here thinking about what is going down in four short days. Three really. It will be one of the hardest anniversaries I have dealt with. The day my heart was broken for the final time by my ex,Frank. The day I finally got to the edge of all that I thought I was.

Looking back, I wasn't that person I am now when I was with him. I was living a half life. Constantly trying to be someone for him and for me. It was like dancing on the edge of a razor; no matter what I did, I got hurt. I've finally healed enough to where I can walk on my own again, but some days, it still hurts.

There are days when I am reminded of him and how he hurt me in the end and I am still haunted by that. When someone says something hateful or does something hateful. When someone says someone hurt them. I still have too much empathy.

People have asked me if I still have feelings for him. The only part of me that still cares about him is the part of me that is still broken. That fractured part of me only loves the memory of what he was when I knew he loved me. When the words didn't fall dead from his lips to my ears. When I didn't feel judged. When I didn't work three jobs to try to escape him and stay at my apartment just to get away. I hardly remember those happy times.

Like it or not we know a lot of the same people. I'm friends with most of his friends. There is a sadness to that. There's a part of my life that will always have a part of him in it. I will always hear his name. The only way I would be rid of him would be to pull the plug on a few of the very few friendships I have. Even then, Florence is a small town.

In many ways, I'm thankful I'm not with him. If I were still with him, I probably wouldn't be in school right now. I probably wouldn't have found my solace in writing again. I wouldn't have my voice back. I'd still be silent. I have found a strength and happiness in myself that I didn't know existed.

I had never broken up with someone before Frank left me. Because of me being able to see things as they are, I was able to walk away from the one after him when I knew that he would always drink too much for my liking. I was able to look at what the one after that one was doing behind my back and knew when he lied to my face that he was no good for me. I will never be strung along again. I am many things, but a damned fool is not one of them.

Looking back, I wish people had been harder on me. Told me not to have hope and to walk away. Maybe I wouldn't still be the way I am. After this bout of stupid hope, I'm never going to deal with relationships this way again.

I wish Frank would one day come to grips with himself. I wish he would stop thinking he has to be tall or smart or any certain way. His constant oneupsmanship is tiring and arduous. I've just gotten to where I accept myself as I am. I am so much more than what I was and I will get better every day.

Now I have Tim. Sweet and bumbling and terribly affectionate. A geek after my own heart. I hung out with him for two months before we actually considered ourselves really dating. We'd sit and watch movies and hold hands. I liked his company. He never asked anything other than my time and attention. Then we started dating, but still kept everything from most of the world. We've only recently been seen together in public and identified as a couple. I feel like we've been running some crazy spy game. I sort of like it though. We keep to ourselves. We don't really hang out with anyone.

Reasons I know I'm a dork, nerd or geek.

I know what a Batliff is on sight and knew what it was before my Trek loving boyfriend.

I think Noubo Uematsu is more talented that John Williams.

I understand most of the humor on Big Bang Theory.

I got crazy excited when I heard about the Hello Kitty and Lego MMOs.

I think it's kind of hot that my boyfriend can play boss battle music from Final Fantasy on the guitar.

I collect Domo Kuns.

I have a slight obsession with Pocky and Ramume soda because it's tasty and Japanese.

I own a set of used Blue Man Group drumsticks and I'm extremely proud of it.

I get stupid excited every time I hear about a new comic book movie coming out no matter how lame the concept.

I believe that Zack Synder, Joss Whedon and Peter Jackson are the new holy trinity of sci-fi film making. They have usurped the thrones of Lucas, Roddenberry and Scott. Just saying.

I believe Han shot first only because Han can do no wrong in my heart.

I find Ron Perlman attractive, but only as Hellboy.

Masi Oka is the most adorable Asian alive.

I have dedicated the first 6 seasons of Family Guy to memory and can recall entire sections of dialog with only a few key words. This works best when I have my friends Becca and Jon to play off of.

I hate Matt Groening for taking this long to get Futurama back on the air while he has let the Simpsons run into the ground.

I have been told I would be "a good person so have around" in case of the Zombie apocalypse.

I'm 28 and I don't find it embarrassing to wear t-shirts with goofy sayings, logos or cartoon characters on them.

I can hear CRT monitors run, and I like it.

I celebrate May 4th every year as Star Wars day. (May the "fourth" be with you.)

I have an intense urge to build things out of Lego once in a while.

I realized that Mario 3 came out 20 years ago. I was overjoyed.

I own an 1976 original paperback of the Star Wars novelization, and no, you can't touch it.

I sleep with a Mario plush and often in Mario pjs.

There's a part of me that will always want to honeymoon at Disney world.

I have wanted to work for Nintendo since I could hold a controller.

I took this much time to write this list.

Back handed compliments and my screwed up nature.

I give lousy compliments because I don't know how to take them because of my self-loathing nature.

I was sitting on my couch with Tim on Saturday night. I looked at him and said, "I know this is going to sound stupid, but you are the best parts of everyone who ever broke my heart. You are so much more than just that though." He hugged me close and I tried hard not to cry. I let myself tear up. In a whispered voice, I spoke to him and told him how in so many small, but wonderful ways he makes me feel better about myself. I know my voice broke half a dozen times from choking back tears, but I didn't care. I was speaking to someone that could hear me. I can't remember the last time someone heard me, or I let them hear me.

I think that over the years, I lost the ability to speak. I mean I talk all the time. Ask anyone that really knows me. I talk a lot. I guess I normally don't really say anything. There's talking and there's talking. I know that in the past I tried to talk to guys I was with. I would say, "Let's talk." And then the dreaded, "What do you want to talk about?" would come up. I would die inside. Also whenever a guy would tell me, "Let's talk" that's douche bag code for, "You're getting dumped and I'm thinly veiling it with the premise of conversation." (I swear I could write a book on moron code.) I think that alone as scared me from conversation.

How is it that the people that hurt us most make us who we are? I mean my dad basically ignored me for the first 16 years of my life. Just about every guy that has ever dated me has left because of my parents, his parents, my friends, his friends, his inability to commit, his lack of self esteem, his unwillingness to stick with a long distance relationship, and his general stupidity. In some funny way, I almost thank them. ALMOST. Not really. Then again, it's those stupid assholes that break our hearts, cheat on us, break us down, and treat us like crap that make us better people. I mean if it weren't for the fact that I had gotten tossed out more times than my grandmother's fruitcake, that I wouldn't be who I am. I mean I think I got a little better every time I got passed over. God that's a fucked up way of putting it.

I guess I have to laugh about it now. I'm dating the nerdiest guy I've ever known. I'm dating someone who has to be so much of me equal and the whole time I've been dating my opposite. I mean he talks and I hear him. I believe that there is such a thing as speaking in a language that others can hear. Every once in a while we find that person that we hear. Maybe I finally have someone that I can hear and he can listen to me. Only time will tell.

Standing in the rain

Ever watched School Ties? You know the movie with Brendan Fraser and Matt Damon about the Jewish kid that goes to a private school and gets the crap beaten out of him for not belonging? (He was Jewish.) My favorite and most memorable scene from that movie is when Brendan's character is standing out on the lawn of the school to challenge the other guys to a fight. It starts to rain and the guys are all looking out the window at him and he's standing there staring up at the dorm window screaming, "Cowards!"

How many times have you ever wanted to do that? I know I have. Lately, more than ever. I want to stand up and point my finger in the face of all that I have been frightened of and say, "You will hurt me no more. You will not ignore me. I will finally be heard." It's a little late for that now.

I wish I had done this long ago. I wish I had stood out in the rain and called out in a voice that would be heard no matter what. I wish I had been stronger sooner.

Tim listened last night as I talked to a friend on the phone and recounted some of the events of the week in no specific detail. The truths I knew. The stories exchanged. The lies and back peddling. Tim seethed. He was amazed that I stood for so long through so much. Some would trivialize it. Some may never believe it. I knew in my heart it would happen again. It did. It will again.

I think I've finally moved into the final two stages of grief. I'm sitting in between anger and acceptance. I'm ok with where I am, but somehow I'm finally really angry about how I was treated. It's a very confusing state to be in. I'm happy without him but at the same time, I want to vent my anger as vocally as I can.

Looking back at some of my blogs, I hope he doesn't think for a fucking second any of my poetry was about him. Someone as emotionally hollow as him could never bring those words out of me. I never wrote anything outside of a handful of cards the entire time we were together. The poetry was the gateway to my emotional blossoming. The more I realized I was feeling again, the more I came to terms with my anger and pain and I was able to start writing this blog in the voice you now here. The voice that is ready to scream in the rain.

For the record.

I'm not in love with Frank. I have not been for months now. I dislike him. I do not like what he put me through, what he has put others through and how he behaves.

How does one politely say "fuck off?"

I know I won't ever get to see his dog in person again and you know, that's fine. I'll have a puppy of my own one day. I'm just partial to Fritz.

Perhaps recent events have let my true anger come to light.

I was good before him. I'm great without him. I miss his family and the time I spent with his friends. I don't know him anymore, nor do I think anyone else really does.

Frank Davis, if you can read this, get over yourself. You're not that hot. You're not that smart. You're not that awesome. You need people to feed your ego. You need to hurt others to make yourself feel better. Grow up, you twit.

I'm done. I will continue to write for the sake of my own heart and mind which is why I started writing to let people know me and see me for who I am. I need no one to validate me. I am a good person.