Ring My Bell!

your sunday sillies ...

So, Papi and I went to Kahuna's Sports Bar last night.

My love wanted to feel like he was living a life here like a typical expat.

Sit at the bar, watch some sports, and be a normal guy, instead of hiding in the house alone.

I just wanted to stay at home and finish my editing, but that would mean Papi would be alone, then driving home after drinking.

So, I said I would go if I could finish editing my YouTube video at the bar.

Thinking he'd be embarrassed by the thought of me sitting at a bar working, I thought he'd say no, but he was thrilled!

I felt like I'd look a tad silly, but at least I could get the work done and be out of this house that tends to feel like a jail cell because we're so far into the country.

Not to mention the fact that I need a change of scenery after staring at 4 walls for a month.

Anyway, our plan was just a calm Saturday night hang out in a Cabarete bar, but dammit if they didn't have a pay per view boxing fight going on, which meant a lot of people.

No matter, we were there early enough for me to set up shop at the only plug in the place and start on my work.

I thought Papi would thoroughly enjoy himself taking to the other men, but he kept interrupting me.

I kept trying to ignore him, but he just had too much excitement to leave me be.

Then the disaster happened.

Remember the creep?

Well, dammit if the only fucking seats left for him and his wife were next to us.

Yup.  Right fucking BESIDE us.

At this point, I was MORE than grateful I had my computer to keep my nose in.  It meant there was no need to look their way, even though I could feel them looking at me.

That poor woman looked very uncomfortable, and him?  He had the perfect douchebag look with his sunglasses on at night, so we couldn't tell if he was looking our way.

We moved our table a little closer in when a little bit of rain came, but it was still not good enough to keep me from feeling anxious and triggered with fear and flashbacks.

... it's all your fault ...

He was still too close.

Then!  Miracle of all miracles!  2 seats opened at the bar right beside the DJ.

The DJ and I were both on computers, so I felt a little more normal.

This is when we finally started to have fun!

The DJ has to ring this siren type bell every time something cool happens in whatever game happens to be on, which meant he had to keep leaning across me and apologized every time he did so.

However, he then put Papi to work.

Papi was rip-snort-drunk, so it gave him a job to do, a way to bond with some new friends, and the glee of being the teacher's pet who gets to ring the bell, and kept him out of trouble with the escalating serum of strength kicking in stronger.

A few times he said, "I feel like I need to say something to them!"

Oh, Papi, you just stick to your bell.  That guy would kick the shit out of you!

And he did stick to the bell.  He was having a blast.

Every time he would ring it, he would get a look on his face like a child.

It was so much fun to watch him enjoy himself.

By the end of the night, the DJ said, "You guys should come here more often."  The DJ and all his friends decided to take us in as part of their clan.

We have new friends, including a physiotherapist who wants to help me with my ankle.

He also informed me I have a long road ahead of me; a good 6-8 months for it to heal properly, IF I do the work.

Fuck.  Anyway.

I didn't have any more energy to obsess about the creep, because I was enjoying myself so much.

My angels were with me last night.

I'm no longer in my fog blocking their healing energy.

i have abundant courage

missed my a.m. gratitude yesterday ... oops!  Gratitude 6/10
1. I am grateful to have made more new friends last night.
2. I am grateful I had the strength to stay at the bar, despite being triggered.
3. I am grateful for a little less pain today.
4. I am grateful for my creativity.
5. I am grateful I unplugged the doorbell and slept in today.
6. I am grateful for internet to keep in touch with friends.
7. I am grateful I know I'm loved.
8. I am grateful to be feeling positive again.
9. I am grateful I found someone to work with my ankle.
10. I am grateful The Thug is becoming less aggressive.

check mate, papi!

"Why would you do this to me?!?!"

"Because you wave your penis at me all the time."

Papi just doesn't understand the depth of my P.T.S.D.

It may look like I am laughing when he leaves that plastic one eyed monster lurking beneath items, but it's a laugh of fear.

I am one of 'those' who laughs nervously.

If I'm laughing too much, chances are I'm on edge.

When I first meet people they just think I'm always happy.

Nope.

I'm scared shitless of strangers.

People are capable of a lot of damage to one another.

They scare me.

As people get to know me, they see that I'm really quite mellow and shy.  I just overcompensate amongst newbies.

So, yeah, when those Plastic Penes are coming at me, mi esposo just doesn't understand that I'm actually quivering from flashbacks of past predators.

My way of making light and protecting myself is to make it seem like it's funny.

I deal with a lot of life's challenges through humour.

If I don't laugh, I'll cry.

If I cry, I have snot running down my face and my eyes swell, making it look like I've been in the ring with Mike Tyson for a moment.

That's just not sexy.

So, the torment I endure from my love's penis antics is less than pleasing, even if I do trust him.

I'm constantly saying, "Why do you do this to me?!?!"

Yesterday was Papi's turn to shudder in terror.

We all have our fears.  Anyone who says they don't is lying.

Papi has severe social anxiety, whereas I'm perfectly comfortable in the limelight.

One of my journey's of late has been to explore my Jewish heritage and Judaism.  I feel that my family keeping it a secret for so long is not honouring my ancestors struggles when they escaped the holocaust and fled to Canada.

I have had a great instinctual pull toward Judaism my whole life, but I didn't know why.

When I learned the reason for this connection, I searched for my people and I've been welcomed by an extremely positive Reformed Judaism community.

In fact, they're so inclusive, that even though I've only been attending the Sabbath every Saturday since this past spring, they've decided to give me a Farewell Blessing Ceremony.

It blows my mind that I could be included into this kind of love.

Anyway, my point is, they created this opportunity to send us off, and asked if I wanted to invite friends to be there to add to the awesome positive energy that will be bestowed upon us.

I didn't really tell Papi about it, because I know him too well.

If I had've told him, he would have put on his big boy whitey tighties and said, "Oh, HELL NO!!!!!"

Hence, I went ahead and did it anyway.

Now he's going to have attention.

Hehehehehe.

Sometimes, our marriage seems a bit like a back and forth game of 'got'cha!'

Your move, Papi.

And now, I'm off to go snorkeling to go find The Hotel Shark.

i enjoy my affluence and share it appropriately

hairy business

It's gets messy to share the same experience with my love, yet we come from polar opposites on the topic.

"Look!  My arm hair is getting thicker!" Papi said with excitement.

"Do you say these things just to torment me?" I asked my love.

"No!  Can't I just talk about things with you?  I just want to be able to say things that I think."

I suppose mi esposo has a point.

What's the harm of letting Papi yack about all the things I don't like?  I can have an internal eye roll I guess.

Then I think, if Papi's allowed to express joy in man hair, then I should be able to express my dislike, no?

My love started to talk about chest hair and I almost crapped myself right there.

fucking chest hair?!?!?!??!?!

I guess I've managed to deal with all the other issues.  I assume I'll take each step of this as it comes.

That doesn't make it any easier.  In my mind, I'm just getting over The Great Breast Disappearance and it will be replaced with great gobs of man hair on that smooth silky chest.

One of my blogger friends Rafa, said I was honoring my vows more than anyone.  That this is the sanctity of marriage.

I just blew it off as my stubbornness.  Give me a challenge and I'll see it through.

I'm worse than a fucking mule.

Hell, I challenged myself for 2 years with brain injury.  In the most pigheaded way.

no. i don't accept ANY of this. heal goddamit. ah crap ... thank you brain injury, here I go again getting off topic.

Ok.

So, the point is, if Papi gets chest hair, I'll have another fucking meltdown and have to get through that as well.

There's so fucking much to deal with after each part of healing that it's like being in the ring with Mike Tyson.

The hits keep coming and coming, and I keep blocking them.  I never get in a jab or an upper cut.  I'm too busy in blocking hell.

When the bell rings, I get a short reprieve.  I can wipe the sweat from my forehead to keep it from stinging the fresh wounds on my skin.  I take a gasp of air along side a chug of water, then I'm up again and preparing for the next hit.

How the hell is a lesbian ...

that's me btw ... don't you DARE consider me straight just because my spouse looks like a man.

... going to enjoy a fucking hairy man chest?

The caterpillar moustache is slowly growing on me.  Obviously, because everyone notices it and I can't even see the difference.

It was funny when the 95 year old G'ma came home and said, "What's that on your lip?!  It looks like a moustache!"

Then it was even more entertaining watching Papi wriggle through the conversation of why my love can't lift anything.  "I had chest surgery."

The G'ma panicked, "What?!?!  Do you have cancer?!"

"No grandma, nothing major to worry about, but I can't lift anything for a month."

No use explaining though.

G'ma has no memory.  We have to go through the same conversation a few times a day.

But at least Papi shaved that shit off the lip so there's no more harassment from the old bird.

Ahhhhhh ... thanx G'ma.

Shadow Boxing

Need I say I had an emotional day yesterday?

Isn't it just a given now that the emotions become overwhelming and that 'you', my imaginary friend must listen?

It was emotional yesterday.

I feel that every day is inching toward the end.  One day runs into the next and The Countdown is shrinking.

I had plans to be with 2 (and I believe I will be adding one more from last night) of my most recent Trust List friends.  I needed this.  I needed to be in an environment where the power femmes understood me.  Those who had traveled this road prior and can merely look into my eyes without saying a word, and their insides cry for me.

They understand.

I almost didn't make it.  Papi had a horrible happening at the safe house.  One of the clients there passed away while my love was working, but mi esposo just thought this client was sleeping.  Hell!  I would too!  It's the middle of the night for chrissakes.

However, Papi got the phone call that there was a deceased person, and they didn't know if it was suicide or an accidental overdose.  This poor soul has been suicidal from pain for a long time.

The hardest part of this?  Papi's bff is the niece.  This bff is also coming to stay with us for a couple of months while she works on getting her life together and gets her permanent home.  She will also be looking after our critters while we're away.

Papi dashed out the door to go rescue the bff and left me in the dust.

Left me in my pajamas saying, "I'm not sure what time I'll be home or anything.  I don't know if she needs me to take her to her family or not."

My plans were canceled.  I live quite far from all my friends.  Vancouver is a pretty spread out city and I'm at the furthest end.

I was almost in tears and felt a bit like a child ready to have a temper tantrum.  My opportunity to be with my femmes crushed.  My early dinner with allies would not be happening, as an emergency has arisen.

I felt so selfish that I was feeling left out and left behind.

it's not always about you, miss thing

I was looking forward to this dinner ever since those two became a part of the Trust List.

Papi stopped in with the fragile bff, mourning the loss of her aunt, and decided to drive me to the dinner and pick me up later.

I was grateful for this, but I was in such a negative mood, I wasn't sure I should go.

that black cloud is not sexy

I went.

I cried.

I ate mushy food with my tongue.

I laughed.

I was loved.

I choked on food that was too big to go down my esophagus whole.

fucking braces ... when do i get to chew?!?!?!

Papi's caretaking of the bff was finished, I was picked up from the dinner and then my love had a new surprise to deal with.

oh no papi, you don't get just one person having a meltdown today ... your caretaking hasn't ended

I broke down and reverted back to the fears, tears and pain.

"You're taking away my wife, my beautiful butch I married.  Every part of this that you do changes who you are piece by piece."

The tears came from my toes.  My heart ached, but Papi just kept saying, "I'm so sorry.  I love you so much."

My love's biggest fear is that I'm going to leave.

No.  I'm a fighter.  I'll stay.

Even if I'm in the boxing ring fighting myself.

I make a mean opponent.

Stage 2 of grief?

It's interesting that when we're in a state of loss/grief that we think it's never going to end.  Everyone keeps telling me it will end, but damn I feel like this is going to be my state for the rest of my life.  This is when I feel like I want out.  I just want the pain to end and honestly there's only one way to stop it.  But I'm not going to be selfish and make others go through grief and loss over me.  I'm just going to remain the sacrificial lamb.

I know that when others are suffering, it's so bloody easy for me to promise them that there will come a day when the tears will stop.  They will look at me with those doe eyes of denial and take a step back from me and delve further into their distressed thoughts, alone and defiant.

I've been through grief once before.  I had an ex that became a heroin addict and I gave her the ultimatum that it was me or the drugs.  I knew what I was indicating.  It meant I was leaving, because heroin will win every time.

Off I went and the grieving began.  It was 2 years before I got over it.  It felt as though she was dead yet still walking this earth.  I cried every day for months on end, until I noticed the changes begin.

I started crying with a few days breaks here and there, and then the tear-free days started to outnumber the wailing days.

Eventually, I would only cry when those nasty hormones would come and invade my body once a month.  PMS would kick me while I was down and I'd spend that time waking up with those swollen, translucent eyelids for the world to see.  The evidence that I wasn't quite over my loss yet.

One fancy day came when I was PMSing about 2 years later that I cried about something different.  Those were the happiest tears I have ever cried.  I probably looked like a lunatic smiling and crying at the same time.  It was a glorious day.  I knew that I was getting over the pain and heading into the 5th stage of grief.  Acceptance.

So, here I am again grieving and suffering a loss, even though my love is still alive.  I'm losing the wife I married to an F-M that I haven't met yet.  Papi can't figure out why I'm grieving, because my love is still here and says they will be the same person.

My love doesn't get that all I'll be left with is a different version of the same shell, just like our home when it's done it's restorations.  In our home, we get to choose what it will look like.  With my love, it's a crapshoot.  I don't get to see this new person until it's too late and permanent.  I have the worst image in my head as to what my love will look like.

I know one thing for certain; Papi won't look like the person in our wedding photos.  Will I be able to look at them in time to come?  This is the person that's leaving me.  All that is guaranteed to me is I get to keep the mind and heart of my wife.

I'm starting to feel the anger of my love's male transformation decision.  It welled up on X-mas when I finally got upset with my love and expressed that my feelings of loss and grief aren't being respected.  I told Papi that the person I wind up with is not the person I married and will never again be that beautiful butch in the photos from the best day of my life.  I'm losing out and all Papi can say is, "But I'm still going to be the same person.  You're not losing 'me'."

Wrong.  My love is leaving and I'm being forced into an arranged marriage.

We've only been married since July and I'm already being abandoned.  I want my happily ever after damn it!

So, yes, I suppose I'm getting to the second stage of grief.  I'm angry.  I read a blog that I'm surely going to be showing to my love.  This M-F has gone through the transition and their blog expressed that yes! all your relationships are going to change.  It's what I've been trying to tell my love.  It's not only my love's beautiful body and skin that will be changing, it's also myself and our marriage.

I was able to express my feelings for about 5 minutes without crying and the only reason was because I was hopping mad that my love just doesn't get it.  I don't want to be angry with Papi.  I love my soul mate so much that I don't want any pain inflicted upon that wonderful person.  But I am starting to get angry now.

My recent back injury is calming down and it couldn't come at a better time.  It's time to go to the gym and show that rowing machine who's boss.  Maybe beat myself up a bit to get out the venom that's beginning to roam through my veins replacing the poison that has held me down for a month and a half.

I don't recommend anybody get on my bad side for a little while.  I think I'll still be keeping off Facebook lest I show my insanity to the world.  I just can't pretend to be the person that people have experienced as their virtual 'friend'.  I don't know who I can trust with this sick grieving person.

Besides, out of my 636 'friends' there, only a few have realized I've disappeared.  Thanx for the love.  You 'friends' really know how to make someone feel supported.

Yup.  I'm angry.  I'm just glad I have 'you', my imaginary friend to hear me out.  I promise to keep it to a simmer with 'you'.

I feel like a leprechaun ready to start fighting Irish.  Where's my boxing gloves?!?!

Happy Boxing Day, where's my gloves?

Yesterday started as a rough one, but in the end it was a great one.  Being that I'm not a fan of X-mas, we don't celebrate and that suits me just fine.  But that doesn't mean I ignore the joy of the rest of my family who do find delight in it.  So, being that it's ingrained in me to make contact with family, I had to use that phone.  That little device I've been hiding from for over a month now.

That's where the obligation burden comes in.  I've never liked being told what to do.  That bratty teenager will try to do anything other than what's good for her or what other people say she 'should' do, but the adult picked up the phone and called family.

Troublesome in so many ways.

Got the hardest one out of the way first.  My father.  My lot in life was to have a deadbeat, druggie dad.  I got over it a long time ago, and now I feel like I'm the parent keeping in touch with a wounded teen of a dad who never seemed to escape his underdeveloped state of mind.  He's emotionally immature.  He looks for that magic wand and expects everyone to take care of him.  He got his wish in in a lovely woman, his common-law wife.

I adore her so much that sometimes I call because it's her I want to speak to, not my father.  She's delightful, but now she's ill with dementia.  The conversation with her was really confusing.  I couldn't understand anything she was talking about.  It saddened me that such a wonderful person has withered away.

My father is now forced to grow up and take care of someone.  He's doing his best.  But I feel so sorry for them both.  They're having some bad luck thrown their way and unfortunately, I just don't have it in me to feel for him while I'm going through my own madness.

Then I called my father's sister.  She has always been a good person to talk to, but I haven't been able to pick up the phone with her because I know with her I'll break down in my honesty.  Sure enough, there I was blubbering about losing my wife to an unknown 'male' being.  I explained to her why I haven't been calling: I don't want to cry.  Every time I speak about 'it' I cry and my mission in this journey is to see how many bone-dry days I can muster for these sad eyes.

Poor thing had to listen to my very near hyperventilating and hinting at finding my peace by not being on this planet.  I explained that I just don't know who can actually handle my insanity and who I can trust with it.  That's why I don't pick up the phone.  Who can listen to someone with such tortured words?  It's like they're watching a hawk circle it's prey and all they want to do is save that sweet innocent bunny, but in reality they know that ruin is inevitable.

I stiffened up and changed the subject to stop the torrential downpour and grant my aunt to carry on with her lovely day.  I really hope that she let go of my words and had a light heart full of smiles on her X-mas day.  God I hope she enjoyed herself.  If she didn't, I'll feel so terrible.

Time to call my mother.  All I do is cross my fingers while that phone is ringing.  I will her to pick up the phone before her creepy homophobic husband does.  And hooray!  I got my wish.  That's enough of a X-mas present.  It was the obligatory call where I don't have much to say, especially after a sobbing episode that left me drained of all personality.

It was a nice easy call.  Simple.  I gave thanks to her for those goddamn tarts and cookies I gorged on that were part of the reason my pants are tight this week.  She's such an amazing cook, damn her.

I left the best for last.  My awesome sister.  I love her so much and I enjoy calling her because she's the only person I don't have a chance to talk about 'it' with.  When you call her house, you really only get 2 minutes of a conversation in before she starts yelling at someone: kids, dog, cats, husband, all of the above.  Then you try to carry on with your hello after this initial scream session and in the background you'll hear siblings fighting, pressuring my sister to yell at them so that she can hear what I just said and then it circles back to the start again.

There's so much chaos in that house!  I don't know how they do it!  But it's an interesting dynamic.  They're all used to communication by way of yelling.  It's a comedy routine.  They all love each other and show it by screaming, almost like they're a stereotypical Italian family yelling and using their bodies to express themselves.

I love calling her because all I do is giggle at the unruliness.  I don't have to talk about 'it' because there's no chance.  So I call her as much as I can to be distracted and hear her voice.  God I love her and her family.  I just love them so much.

My X-mas frolic started at 4:30 pm when Papi woke up from the graveyard shift pass out.   We went out for our day of celebrating by gambling and taking in a movie, 'The Fighter'.

Fitting, isn't it?

(**Well, here's the good**)

I won $80 and was proud of myself.  Did a little chair dance every time the machine sang that 'hello gorgeous, you've won' tune.  I stopped when the going was good.  Played it safe as I always do at the casino.

Then came the movie, which is perfect for this journey.  It made me remember those few years I was training to be an amateur boxer until my knees finally gave up on me.  I love boxing movies.  My love told me I'd have been a great scrapper if I was ever able to make it into the ring, but I should stop picking fights in elevators, because I don't have gloves anymore.

(**Here's the bad**)

The drive to get to the festivities was a little emotional however, as Papi wanted to talk about 'it'.  So there I was sobbing in the parking lot at the casino, speaking my honesty and having my love hint towards the possibility that if I can't get out of this hole, maybe I should go to that place where the crazies go.

(**And now the ugly**)

Great.  Now I'm so fucked up that my soul mate is threatening to send me to the loony bin.  Merry fucking X-mas, here's your straight jacket.

Then things got easier because Papi gave me a little happy pill.  We went in and enjoyed our time together.  I won money, my love lost everything.  We smiled and laughed, ate really bad fattening food and came home to lie together and just look into the eyes of one another.

No words needed.

Just love.  A perfect ending to the one day of the year that I despise.  And now it's over and I can get on with my life for another 364 days.

Oh god, do I really have to?

(**Sigh**)

Here I go.  I hope 'you', my imaginary friend, had a great day yesterday.