Holy fucking shit, this month has been WEIRD.
Seriously. Terrible, weird, awesome, godawful and strange. All at once.
So, Ryan came home on the 5th. That was terrible. He was an asshole and I'll spare you the details but I basically dropped him off at his house after I picked him up from the airport because he was being such a doucher. So then the next day we did the obligatory "I'm sorry"'s and then I went over to his house. We had sex, and then he was weird so I left again.
The next day, we broke up over the phone. It was hard.
It was friendly though, and we vowed to continue to be friends and agreed that he would still help me with my health stuff (taking me to biopsies, etc...).
So we talked every day for a couple weeks, and he took me to a biopsy. We talked and hashed shit out (we agreed not to have sex, and tied up some other loose ends) and I actually felt pretty good about everything. It was hard, don't get me wrong...I just wasn't devastated. I was okay.
The day of the biopsy it was weird. He was staring at me and playing with my hair and walking with his hand on my butt. I could tell something was up.
Then I was at pool last week and Ryan texted me saying he was sad. When I asked him why, he said "I'm an idiot, I let a good thing go, but oh well" and when I responded by saying we both tried as hard as we could have, he said "I could have tried harder", it was confusing and odd. I asked him if we could talk about it in person and he said "some other time maybe".
The next day I asked him to go on a walk with me since it was really nice outside. We went hiking on a trail out at rockbridge park. He was talking about how attractive I looked and we were kind of flirting, and at one point my ass crack was hanging out when I was sitting on a cliff, and I said "sorry my ass is hanging out, don't look" and he said "I like looking at it". It was strange. I eventually got up enough courage to confront him about the confusing texts. I told him it seemed like mixed messages. He said he's just confused, that he didn't know what he wanted and wouldn't elaborate any more than that.
Yesterday I went to his house and we had sex...yeah...the sex we agreed not to have? I guess we were both just feeling weak and horny...so, we did. It was amazing sex, funny enough. I gave him a back massage and we had sex again. It was even more amazing the second time. Then we watched the Oscars and I went home. It was confusing.
Today I was thinking about it a lot, and he called me and I kind of blurted it out all at once. He was frustratingly clueless about everything. He said "you want me to tell you how I feel, so I told you that I'm wondering if I made the right decision, and now you're saying it's confusing you, so I just won't tell you how I feel I guess" and when I asked him what we're doing he played stupid "what do you mean, what are we doing?" I was like....um, you're sending me mixed messages. "What mixed messages?!" he was seriously flabbergasted. Eventually the conversation went sour. We were screaming at each other, I had a panic attack, and he got pissed and said he just wanted to be friends and never talk to each other. It was painful and frustrating. He said he regretted having sex "if this is what's going to happen"...like it was my fucking fault that we were arguing! He is completely deluded about his role in his own actions...he always has been. He also kept saying..."I don't know what to say...I have a lot going on right now, soooo" like because he has a lot going on right now I'm not allowed to ask questions or have expectations.
I don't know why I'm putting up with this. I'm pathetic!!!! Am I so self conscious that I'm willing to accept any affection from Ryan, no matter how fucking terrible, rather than none? Am I at that low of a point now? Really?! I am not this woman. I deserve more than this. I deserve love and affection and I fucking deserve more than the scraps of affection and confusion Ryan is able/willing to give me right now. I need to make it clear that he is not allowed to touch me.
Not allowed to touch me or tell me he likes seeing my butt crack. Seriously.
What the fucking fuck?

Um...I feel more alone than I ever have in my entire life. People say that all the time, I know. But I fucking mean it. i am so very alone right now.
I have no clue where to go from here.
I don't know what to do. I don't know who I am, I don't know what I want.
I am alone, and I don't know anything.
What now?

A complaint of epic proportions. You don't actually have to read it, it's more of a GODIHAVETOGETTHISOUTOFMEORIWILLEXPLODE type of post.

I feel like screaming, like pulling my hair out and screaming until I can't fucking breath anymore. I feel like I'm suffocating, choking on introspection. Suffocating on all the thoughts in my mind, all my self analysis like a million blankets thrown in my face obscuring me from the right path, the simple path.
I'm so tired. I'm so exhausted. This is a toxic relationship.
I'm done letting him use my "health problems" as a weapon.
"I think about your health" is his go-to excuse/reason/tool/get out of jail free card for everything!
1.) I need you to communicate with me more..."I think about your health, don't want to add more to what you have to deal with"
2.) Can we have sex? "I think about your health, you didn't feel well last week I don't think you're ready to have sex yet."
3.) Can we discuss ______?/_____ is really bothering me lately./Can you please_____ more often/etc.. "My doctor told me I need to avoid stress because it makes my back problems worse, and since I'm already thinking about and dealing with your health stuff all the time, when you ask me for _______ it just adds unnecessary stress."

He also says things to discount and make light of my issues. Like "you just need to stop unnecessarily stressing me out by letting every little thing bother you". In that sentence he has not only made it seem like my problem wasn't a problem but an "overreaction", he is insinuating that even if I do have an issue it must not actually be that important, is "unnecessary" and that I better think twice or else I'll stress him out. Which he knows I worry about not only because he has said that stress hurts his back, but because I am obsessed with not realizing that I'm being manipulative and so I always second guess my motivations and the legitimacy of the issues I'm having in a relationship. He knows this and plays on this weakness.

He says I need to stop "harassing" him when I come to him with a problem. His reactions make me feel like a simple nagging wife archetype who just doesn't know when to shut up. A woman who should base all of her interaction with her significant other on whether or not he wants to have them. To put what she wants/needs/desires on the back burner to his happiness. He shouldn't have to deal with my issues when he'd much rather watch TV. "Goddammit, why can't I ever just relax in peace!" he's screamed at me before.

After the transplant everyone kept saying "he's a keeper" to me. "he's a keeper" hes a keeper, hesakeeper hesakeeper. I agreed, the man he magically became during that terrible/amazing time in my life was a keeper. But it was momentary and temporary. Three weeks later I was living in his house and while he assured me that everything was going to go smoothly, he got frustrated and lost his temper quickly. We argued and I had so many panic attacks I had to go on anti anxiety medicine for the first time in my life. I will agree that it by far wasn't all his fault, I had some pretty crazy fucking mood swings, depression, and drag-you-down-in-the-darkness breakdowns but his reactions ranged from mediocre to fucking pathetic.

Intimacy is nearly non-existent with Ryan. The most intimate we have EVER been was while I was in the hospital during the transplant. Ryan kept eye contact with me several times, held my hand, comforted me, and vocalized compliments and his love and adoration numerous times. Other than that, we hardly have any bodily contact at all. Sometimes if he's getting coffee or sitting in a chair, I'll come up to him and offer a hug/kiss/or back rub. Occasionally while we're at pool he might come up to where I'm sitting and offer his back to me almost like "here, I'm standing close enough for you to touch me, revel in this allowance". Or he might even touch my shoulder on his way past me. When we are at his house, watching television, I have to ask him to touch me. "will you put your hand on my knee?" while I take every opportunity to rub his feet as we watch a movie, or to rest my head on his lap if he's not laying down and I am. If I say something about this he gets angry and says "what do you want!? I'm 8 inches from you!" Not recognizing that general vicinity is a much different thing than physical contact. Sex. Sex is mediocre at best. Sometimes penetration is wonderful. But other than that, it actually sucks really really bad. I never get off unless I masturbate while we're fucking. We only have sex in one position. He doesn't ever make any noise or say anything sexy, he leaves his clothes on every single time! In three years, we have had completely naked sex enough times to count on one hand! He keeps his eyes closed the entire time, sometimes he even leaves his sunglasses on. That's because usually we were watching tv right before getting busy. Usually the TV is still on, and I have to listen to some stupid fucking infomercial while I'm trying to have sex. He never goes down on me, he has done this maybe twice, EVER. I tell him what I want: roleplay, being tied up, spanking, my fantasies, whatever it might be. He says he's not interested in having sex like that. I ask him what he wants, he says "nothing". I buy cards to try to spice it up, cards with sex positions on them, and he barely looks at them, tossing each one aside saying "done that. done that. not interested. done that." A couple of different times he's even cum inside me and then gotten up to do whatever, and when I say "I didn't come" he said "feel free to use your lube, then". He doesn't stay to watch or touch my breasts or legs, he leaves. We don't kiss during sex, we don't kiss ever. Sometimes he kisses me on the forehead, and sometimes the lips, but not very often, and never with tongue. After sex, we don't cuddle, snuggle, have pillow talk or really do anything except watch tv and fall asleep. It isn't spontaneous and often times he turns me down when I try to be sexy, and makes me feel stupid. When we have sex it's usually at his advances which usually consist of us laying in bed watching tv, his face is still glued to the television but his hand is under the covers blindly searching for my clit. Sometimes he finds it, and vigorously rubs it dry until its numb, but more often than not he finds a spot that feels vaguely similar and rubs it the same way. Then I go down on him and we have sex. In that order, always. He never looks at me naked, never watches my pussy as he touches it, and never pays attention to what we are doing in general.
I don't feel sexy, desirable, like I turn him on, or even pretty around him. This is because I barely ever receive any kind of compliments from him. Nary a "you smell nice" or "wow your hair looks beautiful tonight". Nothing. Nada. I bring it up to him and he says "I only give compliments when I mean them, what do you want me to do, lie to you?"

Dates are almost non-existent. When I try to go out to eat he says "I'm not gonna waste money on food I can cook at home!"
movie: I'm not gonna waste money when I can rent it later!
comedy club: Not interested.
haunted house: " "
mini golf: " "
Play: " "
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Boring, boring boring. Dull. Unfair.


I ask him, while he's in India for almost two months, "do you miss me?" and he says "yeah, why?" and then changes the subject.
There is some pretty serious and bummerific stuff going on with his health, and I'm trying to be there for him, but he's keeping me completely in the dark. Again because "...your health issues, I don't want to talk about my stuff when yours is so much worse". He talks more to our mutual friend, Melvin, than he does to me.
Ryan gets home on the 6th of Feb. Melvin leaves for 3 weeks on the 8th. Melvin told me tonight that Ryan has already made plans with him to "get together" before Melvin leaves. This will have to happen on the 7th, obviously. This makes me angry and hurt, because after not having seen me for 2 months, my boyfriend of 3 years wants to hang out with his buddy Melvin instead of spending time with me. This makes me feel like shit. I am one of his lowest priorities. I barely even matter at all to him. He doesn't talk to me, he doesn't need my opinion to weigh in on making major decisions. Sometimes I think the only reason he's with me is because I'm better than being with no one and he thinks I could die suddenly and doesn't want to feel guilty for breaking up with me. That is a shitty shitty way to feel.

Tonight on the phone I sexily implied that we have phone sex tonight. Even though he's been really sick the last few days he tells me "Maybe I'll call you, but I'll probably go out with my friends tonight". When I mention that he should be careful because his body probably isn't completely healed from the flu, he gets annoyed. Then I get mad because he didn't even act like phone sex was interesting in any way. I said "well, does that even interest you, at all!? He said "No, not really" and then said "of course it does, what do you think!?" I said "I think you make me feel like the most unattractive woman in the world. Then I had a mini panic attack and he said he had to get off the phone. Wonderful.

I need this to be over. I need our relationship to end.
But I feel guilty after Ryan "put up with" all my health issues and helped me through that time in my life. I can't break it off now, while he actually needs me for once. But does he need me? Or do I just need him to need me?
He sure doesn't act like he needs me for anything. On the contrary, he acts like he doesn't need me for anything. Like I don't even matter.

I don't need this shit, that's for sure. I'm so tired of feeling bad. Bad for things I cannot even control, like my health and my wants and needs. I'm tired of second guessing myself. "Do I really need that?" "Is that really worth arguing about?" "Am I being unreasonable?" etc etc etc etc etc etc blah blah blah blah blah.

I need and want and deserve a partner who cares about my feelings, and wants to hear them. A partner who finds me attractive and tells me so. Who appreciates my help and support. Who needs and wants me as much as I need and want them. Who communicates issues if they have them. Who tells me about their life and goals and desires and fantasies. Who wants me to know about them. Who loves me and has fun with me and laughs and cries with me. A friend, a lover, a true partner.
I need, want, and deserve a healthy relationship. Please.

Can I borrow your machete?

I had my second one-month biopsy yesterday. It was painful. I don't want them anymore.
Well, I never wanted them, but I'm very tired of getting them and I wish I didn't have to get them anymore. Right.
Anyway, I casually asked my doctors yesterday if I could travel/what shots I was allowed to get in terms of vaccinations. They were a bit taken aback and said they've never had that question from a heart transplant patient. They said most heart transplant patients don't want to travel anywhere.
I'm not sure what to make of that.
I went on an epic hike, climbed down a slippery steep cliff, and skated on some frozen over bodies of water in the wilds of the Missouri forests on Sunday. I don't really understand why anyone, especially a group of people so stuck on the "I have a second chance at life" sentiment, would not take advantage of every fucking opportunity that comes their way. And not just stop there, make their own opportunities, throw themselves into experiences and journeys.
I know, I'm one to talk. I've been in a relationship for 3 years and have been figuring out how to get out of it for 2 1/4 years. I'm a hypocrite.
But that's not the point.
I'm still doing things that, apparently no other transplant patients do.
I don't understand people.

I don't understand myself. I wonder if I will ever feel satisfied in my life and experiences. My relationships. I am scared it will never be enough.
But is that a bad thing? Especially for me? Not to rationalize (okay maybe to rationalize) my flaws, but because of my extremely fucked up crazy relationship with my own mortality and the realization that I can, and will most likely, die relatively soon, why should I ever feel satisfied? Why should I ever settle?
I don't know.
I just feel selfish and guilty. As per usual.

Just because this path hasn't been made yet, and even though I might have to hack through dense vines and face scary panthers and shit, I would rather do that and get hurt and get dirty, than rot away wishing and regretting. So, can I borrow your machete?

Things falling all around me. Into or out of place.

Things are so strange.
So surreal.
I'm having a really fucking hard time connecting to myself and my experiences.
Did I really just have my second heart transplant? Really? Why do I feel so...the same?
I mean, of course I feel better. I can walk forever, seriously, without getting out of breath. But what I mean is, for the most part nothing has changed.
I don't understand how it can. I can't envision how it will. I feel so helpless.
I feel so...unlike myself in every way possible. The me I knew a couple of years ago. The me who was strong and tough and knew what she wanted and how to get it but wasn't totally devastated if she didn't get it, and could adapt to anything with vigor and enthusiasm, almost to a fault.
Now I just kind of...adapt. And then become silent.
Earlier this morning I got really upset at something and had a mini-breakdown where I just threw all my pillows one by one as hard as possible against a wall. I've got to say it was rather unsatisfying.
Fuck. Everything is just so underwhelming. I think. I'm so...not anything.
I'm just here, you know? I'm just here and getting older. That's all I'm doing.
I feel like a pile of wasted potential.
Not because I feel sorry for myself, but just because I feel like there are so many things that I'd like to do and see and experience, but I don't know where or how to start so I'm afraid, so so afraid that I just. Won't.
And that frightens me unbelievably so.
How do I figure out where to start?

When I think back on the past few years I realize that I am just a child in terms of my ability to exist in the world. I have never lived on my own, I've never been anywhere alone, I've never really stepped outside my comfort zone save that one crazy year of absolute debauchery and hostile bodily conflagration. I have no fucking clue how to exist.

My transplant hasn't helped any of this. The disconnect I feel in relation to my experiences is bordering on scary. I can't wrap my mind around it. I can't understand why I'm still alive. Isn't that the strangest feeling in the world?
I feel guilty because I think I might need someone to validate that for me before I can come to terms with that. Am I alive because I'm supposed to DO something, or is it just completely random chance that I'm here lazily typing on my goddamn computer at 1am? It's so fucked up how random and unpredictable human life is.

I guess. I don't know. I'm totally out of Vicodin and am feeling lots of pain in several general areas right now. Maybe I'm talking out of a sensory stupor.
What do you do.
Take it as it comes.
Honor myself and my feelings each day.
Or something like that.

Feelings are like assholes...

I know how I WANT to feel about everything.
About you.
About Him...

About HER.

But I can't move forward. I can get my heart cut out of my fucking chest and die a thousand deaths and bravely take on 7 surgeries, kidney failure, hip dysplasia, spinal arthritis, and 8 life-threatening blood infections all in a year. But I can't be true to myself. I can't take risks and I can't live the life I want to.

I'm a fucking coward.
I'm scared I won't ever not be a coward.
I'm afraid I'll wait until its too late and end up a lonely washed up shadow of myself sitting around feeling sorry because I didn't take advantage of the abundance of life I've been afforded.
I don't want to look back and wonder where the fuck my life has gone.
I don't want that.

I don't want to be a coward anymore.


Fuck.

News, but more importantly.

I got my second heart transplant! I did! August 18th.
Yeah. It has been almost three months, I know. I was(am) so overwhelmed by the immensity of it all that I haven't really had time to process it, let alone relay any reliable information back to anyone.
That can all come later.
For now, I want to write a little soap box. Because I am upset.

An old friend died today. Charli.
Just a few minutes ago, actually. Charli and I had a bond only two dying kids can have. We knew. We got it. She confided in me and I in her about the daily stress and emotional baggage of living/growing up with a terminal illness. Her day-to-day was a bit more involved than mine at the time we were friends, what with her stomach hole and port-a-cath (it leaked sometimes when she overdid it at our work, Sonic), but we gave each other strength, understanding, encouragement, and sometimes justification for questionable behaviors. Like her smoking when she had a lung illness, and me drinking with a heart problem.
While part of me understands it might be a good thing for her to finally not have to fight anymore, another stronger part of me resents that fact immensely.
My mom said when she delivered the news "She's been fighting so long, now she doesn't have to fight anymore". She never HAD to do anything!
She never agreed to "fight" for a pre-determined length of time, that was her choice, and it wasn't much of a "fight". The use of that word just pisses me off! Fighting? Fighting what? The very word implies there is opportunity to win, there is something to win in the first place, that the victor will regain some normalcy. It isn't a fight if you will never win, it's a struggle. Charli knew no other existence than one beset with the realities of having Cystic Fibrosis. It was as much an irrevocable part of her as her awesome ears or her very personality. Just was.
Normalcy.
There is nothing good about Charli being dead, simply because she didn't choose it. It chose her. She didn't give up, it took it from her. And there is nothing, nothing but tragedy and sadness from that.

At rehab the other day my trainer said "It's so inspiring, that you've lived through this twice and you deal with all these health issues and you remain so upbeat about it. I don't know if I could do it." Don't fucking patronize me. I'm alive, same as you, it's just the way it is that I have to struggle to stay that way. I guess that's why Charli and I and those who are like us are the way we are. Because we deal with it- and unless you've experienced a life constantly on the verge of ending, beset on all sides with the promise of extinction- You'll always think you aren't sure if you could deal with it. You can, believe us. Or you die.
We aren't your fucking heros, we are neither pathetic, nor noble, nor stronger than you, we don't walk through life "fighting". We live, in the best way we know how, struggling until we don't struggle anymore. Not that much different from you. Yet vastly different, alien even.

To you, Charli. I'm sorry this happened, at this time, before you were ready. But if you were done living, I'm happy for you that you've moved on, and I wish you peace and comfort wherever you go.
I'll always keep you in my thoughts.