Looking For Love in All the Wrong Places

 

I have been looking for true love for a long time.  I grew up in a home where everyone made fun of queers and fags and dykes.  I had also always believed in God and the Bible;  a belief I shared solely with my paternal grandmother. At age 18 I began attending church, I was christened Roman Catholic so I attended a Catholic Church and sometimes Anglican with a friend of mine, and later on, United Churches, just really seeking The Word and guidance.  I believed that if I admitted to anyone that I had crushes on girls (as well as, girly boys) not only would my family hate me but God would too.  It took me until age 34, several churches and much praying before I eventually came out as a lesbian; I dated men until the age of 34.  I was never truly happy with any of them, I did what was expected of me.  I looked for a husband.

Hockey Guy/Stripper Fan

The first serious boyfriend I had was at age 20.  He was obsessed with hockey, Wayne Gretzky and stats so we’ll call him Hockey Guy.  I was never really physically attracted to him but he had a good heart.  I had originally planned on waiting until marriage before committing The Act but it didn’t work out that way.  We were best friends for more than 8 years, we even got engaged much to his reluctance, after being together for 7.  I was a heavy set girl at that point in my life.  From ages 20-30 I peaked at 260 pounds.  I think he kept looking for something better to come along.  He found it on the Internet.  What broke the deal was when he confessed to me that he had met up with this stripper he had developed a relationship with online, while on business trips to Toronto.  I felt betrayed.  It wasn’t the only the only time I had felt betrayed by him so I did what any scorned woman does at age 27.  I went to Newfoundland and slept with another guy, ending my relationship.

 

The Peeping Tom

The second relationship I had was with a guy in Newfoundland.  We’ll call him, the Peeping Tom.  This is the guy I cheated on Hockey Guy with.  I moved to Newfoundland to live with one of my best friends, and to get away from Hockey Guy so the break up would take.  I didn’t want to cave like I had the last time. This guy, (Peeping Tom), was purely a rebound.  I never loved him.  I liked him and enjoyed his company but..  I wasn’t over my prior experience.  In addition to his ever increasing ass size; seriously, this guy had the biggest ass I have ever seen on a man; I discovered he was a peeping Tom.   I packed up my cats and 2 duffel bags full of stuff and moved out to Edmonton, Alberta with a friend of mine leaving behind all my belongings.  He sold everything of value on EBay and threw out the rest.

 

Drunk Ass Man Child

At this point I have turned 29, I’m back in Nova Scotia feeling like a failure, and I am very much overweight.  I have zero self esteem and I am incredibly lonely.  I end up meeting this next guy through a mutual friend of ours.  We’ll call this guy Drunk Ass Man Child.  I noticed he drank a lot before we moved in together.  My lease had ended with a roommate I had and didn’t want to live with her again because she just wasn’t very stable.  I was quickly looking at having no place to live so I moved in with him.  Within a month I learned that he was a hard core alcoholic.  He would spend his entire paycheck on booze, and things like comic books and action figures and DVDs and CDs.  When it came my payday, it was time to pay the rent, the bills, buy groceries.. Yeah, you see where this is going.  I also learned he was abusive.  After waking up to find this asshat urinating on the wall in the bedroom one night I banned him from the bedroom period.  I learned to loathe this guy.  He’d yell at me and call me names and throw things at me and try to choke me.  The last time he put hands on me I left him.  He went to work one morning and I quickly grabbed the boxes I had hidden around the house for two weeks while I secretly found another apartment, threw all my belongings in said boxes, moved to a different address and changed my cell phone number.  I never spoke to him again.

 

The Booty Call Guy

By age 30 I had begun to lose a lot of weight and started exercising and eating healthy to try to lose the rest.  I started to feel pretty again and even had the nerve to ask out a guy from work who I had a crush on.  We’ll call him.. The Booty Call Guy.  We would get together once or twice a week but he didn’t want a relationship nor would he go out with me in public..  It turned out, I was simply a long term booty call.  The back burner girl.  He preferred younger skinny girls.  After a while, I came to my senses and stopped that.  He would continue to try and get me over to his house for a couple of years after that.  I declined.

 

Angry Little Girly Man

I then dated someone that I had liked for a long time.  We liked each other initially but we were both in other relationships.  (Hockey Guy).  We’ll call this fellow, Angry Little Girly Man.  Needless to say I was pretty excited when he called me out of the blue saying he was single and blah blah blah, we ended up dating for seven months.  I called it off when I got tired of his tantrum fits.  I got sick of him saying things like “you should wear less makeup” or “Don’t wear that, men will stare at you”.  At this point, I had lost 130 pounds, the real way.  I worked really hard to get that weight off and get in shape to gain back some confidence and I wasn’t going to let this little man with his own confidence issues take it away.  I moved on.  Every so often this guy still tries to contact me and I’m like, “Yeah, still gay, not interested.”

 

Creepy Dinner Guy & Ladies’ Panties

After Angry Little Girly Man and so many experiences ranging from disappointing to downright terrifying, I went on a dating expedition.  Online dating was getting really big so I decided to give it a try.  At one point, there was Creepy Dinner Guy, who took me to fancy dinners and then said he could communicate with Wolves.  The Psychoanalyst, (not really) he just always liked to say things like, “You know what your problem is..?”  My problem was that men just seemed annoying and pointless.  I was never really into any of the men I dated.  There was always a million things wrong, that annoyed me, that drove me crazy, that turned me off, that grossed me out.  I wanted to date women but was still afraid of being shunned by my family.  (Little did I know that would happen later over money anyway).  So I kept looking.  There was Music Guy who was really into music and collecting vinyl.  He was pretty cool and I enjoyed his company.  He wasn’t all hands either.  He was respectful.  After meeting Sweaty Guy and The Guy Who Wore Ladies Panties, I decided to give Music guy another shot, although I was pretty sure he was an alcoholic too.  We broke up after 3 months and I started seeing someone new.

 

Phoenix the Poet Crackhead

Phoenix. That was the guy’s name, swear to God.  He had entrancing eyes and his words were simply beautiful.  He was a published poet and always said all the right things.   He was a mess.  He had horrible teeth (what was left).  He was a crackhead AND alcoholic.  Double whammy.  That didn’t last long and we never slept together so, thankfully no harm done.  

 

Music Guy

Music guy in the meantime, cleaned up his act a bit.  We had kept in touch.  We lived on the same street so…  I ended up going back out with him.  At the time I remember thinking, “Well, if I have to be with a man, it may as well be Music Guy.”  We dated for three years.  We lived together but didn’t sleep together.  He slept in another room on a futon with the cats.  I came out of the closet to him at age 33.  I ran back into the closet, out of fear, for another 8 months.  I prayed more than ever before.  

“God, would you hate me, if I loved a woman?” At this point, I had met a woman and I knew I felt way more than just friendship for her.  It was intense.  Nothing I had ever experienced with a man.  During my months of praying I encountered a bright orange display of books at a local Chapters called “Bulletproof Faith: A Spiritual Survival Guide for Gay & Lesbian Christians.  A light went off in my head. You can be gay AND Christian!?  I took that as one of several signs that kept urging me to just be myself, whoever that was.  Stop pretending to be something you’re not.  You will never find true happiness until you live your life as your true self.  I found groups of other gay and lesbian Christians online.  I came out at age 34.

LGBT Christians

The Ex Wife

I dated my ex wife for two years before we were married.  On my wedding day, my father pulled me aside and said, “Are you sure?  You really want to marry a woman?”  I glanced across the street where I saw a group of guys taking turns jumping into a sinkhole that had formed on the side of the road.  Noticing the idiocy of that act prompted me to respond, “Uhhh, yeah.  I’m sure.”  I did love my wife but our relationship always lacked the passion and affection I had hoped for.  She wouldn’t sleep in the same bed as me claiming my night terrors kept her awake.  We were very different people.  I wanted to work on our marriage and building our life together; she was consumed by gossip and money and talking to other women.  She cheated on me after about a year of marriage.  Then again and again.  We split in 2014.

 

The American

The American was introduced to me through a mutual friend.  We had some things in common (namely we were both nerds) and we were both going through divorces so, we bonded.  We dated for a few months before moving in together, which I didn’t really want to do.  I wasn’t in love with her, I was still grieving the loss of my marriage but I needed a place to live and neither of us could afford our own place.  After being together for 7 months, again with the separate bedrooms, her visa was going to be revoked as her ex wife was beginning their divorce proceedings.  I think she knew I wasn’t in love with her which probably played into her decision to go back to the USA early.

 

My Soulmate

At this point, I’m 40, disabled and a soon to be divorcee.  What a catch.  I really had given up on ever finding love.  I’d tell myself, It doesn’t happen for everyone.  My time has passed.  My looks are going, I see wrinkles.  I’ll just live with my dog and hopefully find roommates along the way.  Whatever.  Then I met this girl.  She was cute and confident and funny and sassy and sexy.  Well shit.  She probably won’t be into me though.  I was wrong.  Our first date lasted four days.  I didn’t want her to leave and she didn’t want to go.  It was weird.  I was absolutely hooked on this broad.  In turn, she seemed to be pretty sweet on me.  She got a job in a different province a few months later and the thought of losing this woman… Killed me.  The first time she experienced my night terrors she simply spooned me until I drifted back off to sleep.   We talked about everything.  We liked the same things, we laughed A LOT.  There was passion and affection.  She was loving and thoughtful.  She listened to me and rubbed my body when it hurt.  It got so I couldn’t fall asleep without her.  THIS was what I was looking for.  Nope.  Not losing her.

 

We moved to Saint John a little over two years ago and we’re still going strong.  She is my absolute best friend in the world.  I love being with her and am happier with her than I’ve ever been with anyone.  Ever.  We are such a great match; she is truly my soulmate.  We got engaged a while ago and hope to get married next year.  As you can see, I looked for her for a very long time.  I had to kiss A LOT of frogs to find my princess.  I have to laugh at that because she is the farthest thing from a princess.  She’s a tough little broad with a sarcastic wit and a sharp tongue who likes heavy metal and war games.  She’s definitely a keeper.

 

How many duds did you go through before you found your soulmate?

 

Live Humbly, Be Charitable, Live Graciously,

 

Sam

The Mysteries of the Lesbian Relationship Revealed

Cannoli
Mmmm Sweetie…
The quintessential lesbian breakfast traditionally begins with a hefty portion of bacon ideally served with a warm croissant. Money and time permitting, that is followed by a Second breakfast. The ultimate Second breakfast is made up of a delicious sweetie like say, a cannoli perfectly paired with a hot cup of Saint John’s finest coffee- Java Moose, Foghorn if you please.

We will enjoy our morning coffee on our Sesame Street style stoop while the sun is shining and discuss today’s plans (namely, what we will eat) and observances. There was an overweight Robin Hood and a Value Village Xena walking down the street today. Bizarre yes, but this is an artsy area. We live across from a Performing Arts center so we concluded it was for a play. I know people wonder what it is us lesbians do at home. I’m about to reveal an age old secret. It’s not all late night cable soft core porn as many people would choose to believe. We talk about food. There aren’t sexy pillow fights happening, there is Masterchef, Kitchen Nightmares and anything else Lord Gordon Ramsay (he really should be a Lord) has a hand in.

In addition to our many hours of Yahtzee and Star Wars Trouble with the Pop’O’Matic Bubble, we like to compete in the kitchen. Coming up with different techniques and seasonings to try to blow each others’ taste buds away and tease each other over who’s the better cook. I say it’s her.

At some point today we’ll play hide and seek with the dog. We have a miniature dachshund named Lucy. Well, I have a dog that she lays no claim to; more of a cat person she insists. We’ll do some housework and Netflix for the day. We’ll curse my laptop as it craps out a dozen times. Then we will cook dinner. The star of tonight’s dinner will be chicken, frankly it’s the only meat ‘C’ will eat unless I make pulled pork.

Sometimes we send each other dirty mind reading text messages like,

“I’m craving chocolate, are you?”

And wouldn’t you know it? I am!

I’ll literally be fantasizing about ice cream when I receive a message from ‘C’

“I was thinking about ice cream, should I get some?”

Hell yes.

Food is prevalent in most lesbian relationships I’ve learned. I’m just glad that I found someone who likes the same food as me (barring seafood). Our snack preferences are the same and our cooking talents measure up to one another. My partner- my life and food partner.

Our relationship is no different than anyone else’s. We do the same things other couples do, there’s no mystery or evil or “agenda”. We’re just two people who love each other, love food, love the same things, (barring my dog) who happen to be women. Period. Sure, we boob bump (chest bump) when something goes our way but I mean- who doesn’t??
Also.. Who couldn’t adore this face?

Wire haired Mini Dachshund
Lucy the Dog
Live Humbly, Be Charitable, Live Graciously,

Sam

Appointments.  Are There Anything Worse?

I am sitting here dumping a Lukewarm cup of tea down my neck hole fussing about my appointments today in my head.
I’m guessing normal people don’t do this. They probably just get up feeling rested in the mornings, go to their jobs and appointments and then home to their pet unicorns and eat mana as it rains down from the Heavens.. 

Stress. Why do I stress about everything? My anxiety levels rise, my heart beats a little faster, I start walking into door frames and bumping into things as I am otherwise distracted by my worries, then I start chewing on my fingers and cuticles as scenarios play out in my mind.

Today’s appointment is with Mental Health. I have been dealing with clinical depression for my entire adult life. I’ve been on medication since I was 18 years old. I have severe anxiety as well as PTSD. I moved to Saint John, New Brunswick with my partner two years ago and it has been DIFFICULT to find doctors here. It turns out I moved to the sickest province in Canada; meaning there are more chronically ill people here than anywhere else in Canada. That means doctors have limits on how many patients they can see, it means limited access to specialists, long wait times and full emergency rooms at the hospitals. I also don’t have a vehicle so that makes transportation difficult. I have to do quite a bit of walking to get around, and on days like today (rainy, damp and cold) I am going to need an appointment with a long hot bath and my heating pad when I get home. So this appointment with Mental Health; I don’t know what to expect really, but these are the possible outcomes:

“Ugh you people with your “chronic illness” and your “chronic pain” don’t you know how much of a drag you people are? You people are just whiny little pissers who just can’t toughen up and deal.” I picture a nasally lady with glasses much too large for her face with one of those long gold chains that attaches to your glasses so you don’t lose them. She has a knitted sweater around her shoulders  probably knitted by her friend Myrtle last Christmas, poor Myrtle has the rheumatoid arthritis so she can’t knit like she used to so Sheila (that’s what I named the Mental Health lady) wears it often because it reminds her of the everyday struggles and that people can overcome anything. Sheila is also slapping a nightstick in her palm. Not sure where she got that but, I feel scared.

“Wow. You are literally THE craziest broad I have ever met. You need some serious help. How do you get through life at all even? I’m not sure I can continue this session today.” The uptight tight faced lady then places a call and requests Igor and Hugo immediately. At that point I am carted away by 2 beasts of men in a straight jacket against my will. 

“Yeah you have some legitimate issues for sure, unfortunately so does everyone else so you will need to go on a waiting list for a year or so. It could be less if suicide rates continue to rise.” This time it’s a man who looks like kind of like David Suzuki only less Asian. He’s wearing brown pants with brown loafers and grey socks to match his grey shirt. I find him oddly comforting so I agree to go on his list.

“What problems? You’re completely and utterly lying. Pain? You are not in a wheelchair nor do you have cancer, why are you wasting my time today?” This guy kind of looks like Sigmund Freud only he speaks with a British accent and wears his shirt collar buttoned up with a bow tie. Normally I think, ‘Bowties are cool’ but not in this particular case. It just comes across as simply pompous. 

I don’t make it to my appointment at all, instead I just collapse from exhaustion and pain in the street while the rain beats on my face. The camera pans out from above and I am all alone drowning in rain, tears and failures while people hurriedly walk past and over me.

Wow, that’s a little dramatic Sam, and yes I am aware of that but this is how my brain works. Mostly I’m simply afraid of opening up to yet another doctor/medical professional with little to no help as an end result.  

After this appointment, I have yet another with a social worker from Community Living here in the city. They assist people with disabilities attain help from different resources. I don’t have some of the documents they want though and need more time so again I stress.

What would a life without anxiety feel like? Would it be as liberating as I assume it would or would you even notice how lucky you are?

Worry

Live Humbly, Be Charitable, Live Graciously,
Sam

Photo credit http://www.demotivation.us/worrying-works-1281560.html