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lilphxrising-thebigbootyboss · 6 years ago

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Forgiving Brad Pt. II

I don’t know where to begin with how stupid the whole thing was. I was talking to guy that I had never met. Speaking to him about “forever,” when I had not really given up on the chance of meeting someone else. I wasn’t altogether sure about Brad or his love for me and admittedly, I was seeing other people, right up to the moment I got to really hold him close. That’s hard for me to admit because it was a constant source of shame with me and Brad later. I didn’t want to be a cheater. I wanted to mean exactly what I meant when it came to us however, fidelity is a two way street and as I would later come to learn, I wasn’t the only one playing. We’ll get to that later.

I was still living at home and I remember my mom asking me why I was on the phone so much. I didn’t know how to tell her that I was talking to a man behind bars, a thousand miles away, almost ten years my senior, with 3 kids, a step kid and currently married. Oh, did I forget to mention the kids? Yeah, so did he for a while. When I finally did get the nerve to tell her, deep concern and disappointment came across her face. I still hear her voice, “Don’t you have any respect for yourself?” I was offended and hurt but in hindsight it was a valid question. Did I? What did I know about self-love and respect at that age? As rebellion goes, I went along my own way, setting aside the worry that I was bringing down on my mom. She had witnessed the emotional toll that being with Tony took on me and understandably, was worried that I would fall deeper still with Brad. She was right to worry.

I had become more and more dependent on contact with him. Despite having worthy, free men around that were interested in me, I gravitated towards that which was an unknown. It just seemed more fun and unexpected. Brad would call and I would listen. He didn’t really ask a whole lot about me and when he did, I didn’t really know what to say. I was prettified of being myself. Scared that I would say one wrong thing and the whole relationship would come apart. Because it had in the past, especially with him. At this point in my life, I hadn’t mastered using the word, “no.” So everything he asked for, everything that he wanted, I acquired and did. If it meant putting money on his books or ordering a package, writing to him every chance I got, I did it because I wanted to show, in the only way I could, that I did love him. How could I love someone and still go on dates with other guys, you ask? I was young, dumb and full of cum. That’s the best way to describe how. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t right. But it was what I knew.

Days before I was to embark on my journey to visit Brad, I was beginning to get second thoughts. I was scared to meet him. What if he didn’t like me? What if I was too fat or too ugly or not at all what he imagined? All these superficial thoughts that I wish I could go back and shake myself into believing were false. I was enough. I was beautiful and could do so much better. But even if time could bend itself and allow me to visit that week, I still don’t think my stubborn ass would take the goddamn hint. I lied to my mom about where I was really going. I had created this whole story that I was going to visit a friend from college but looking into my mother’s eyes, I knew she knew and she let me tell my story anyway. She had tears in her eyes and with a defeated smile, she handed me a rosary and said to keep it close so I was always protected. She held me so tight, I could feel her body pleading with mine not to go. I pulled away softly, kissed her on the cheeks and began the journey with the rosary in hand.

I was anxious the whole time. From the drive to the airport, the flight, to the drive to Rancho Cordova where I had found a reasonably priced room for the weekend. The whole thing drove me into a constant flurry of butterflies. It was chilly. I hadn’t really prepared for that. So when we landed I immediately regretted not packing a thicker sweater. It was still 85 degrees in Arizona, a balmy fall for us and had no idea what to expect from northern California. I suspect the weather should have been the foreshadowing I was looking for. In any case, I also lacked the preparedness of any responsible adult. I finally got to the room it was late but I was more awake than ever. Every possible scenario came to my mind. I didn’t want to be late. I didn’t want to delay our visit. I wanted as much time as I could have to be with him. So, I laid my clothes out for the following morning and practiced every potential conversation in the mirror like a hopeless school girl. I attempted to choreograph every coy smile and eye lash flutter before finally resting my head for the night.

It was still dark when I left the room in the morning and a thick layer of frost had collected on the windshield overnight. Using my driver’s license, I desperately scraped what I could from the glass, got into the car with cold red hands, and typed the directions to Folsom prison into the GPS. Fifteen minutes is what the GPS projected for my travel. In 15 minutes, I’d be at Folsom. My heart began to race faster and faster as the estimated time of arrival became closer in synch with reality. I couldn’t believe I had come this far. So many what ifs. So much of our relationship was marked with questions. I tried to get lost in the scenery. All the green made me feel so relaxed and grounded. Then, I saw the sign to Folsom Prison. The peace came to a screeching halt. I was almost there.

I made my left and followed a long winding road up to the visitor’s center where a handful of women were already waiting. When I parked the car, I felt a chill of exhilaration. Like a shock had jolted me into motion. I wasn’t afraid of anything. I only wanted to see him. I made my way up to join the other women. They all knew one another. It was the same comradery that I witnessed when visiting Tony. They had been here before to support their loved ones but me? I was out of place. I was new to them. One lady did ask me if it was my first time at Folsom, to which I replied, “Yes.” She let me know that some guards are funny about pretty girls. “They’ll hold you up if you look too good.” I didn’t know what that meant but I nodded and thanked her for the advice. Thankfully, that wasn’t a problem at this visit.

It was time to walk up to the gate and what was most heartbreaking, as a visitor going there, is how much the main gate looks like a castle. The beautiful gray stone only made more prominent under and overcast sky, is one image I won’t forget. They began to check us in and almost like unfortunate poetry, it began to rain. It was a good 50 yards or so from the security check in to the visiting area and I was wearing flats and a light cardigan when it began to really come down. The only thing that kept me from busting my ass on that cobblestone was faith and a will to get to a dry place. When I made it to the covered patio I took one deep breath and waited for the doors to open. Like a flood, men in blue looked eagerly passed me to their families. God my heart was beating so fast. I didn’t see him. I turned away for a second and when I came back to center, there he was. There was that smile. I was soaked and a mess but he scooped me up and held me so close I forgot where I was. I instantly felt his warmth and I didn’t want to let go. It was then, at our first “hello” that I knew our goodbye was gonna hurt like hell.

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lilphxrising-thebigbootyboss · 6 years ago

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Forgiving Brad Pt. I

Since it appears that I’m not ready to fully revisit Tony again I think maybe I am ready to talk about Brad. Oh Brad. Even the in the wee hours of the morning I still feel this overwhelming urge to work through that trauma because I really haven’t take time to acknowledge any of it. Who has time to work through issues? I met him months after Tony had gone in, I was working as a merchandiser at Costco, had lost a ton of weight and was beginning to look and feel refreshed, on the outside at least. Confidence must have overcome me because I wasn’t afraid to meet some stranger online, swap pics and make reckless decisions all in a night. It was fun and exciting and temporary. I never would have guessed it would have led to a seven year affair.

I went to this chat app. I remember I had this really old phone so the application itself was really slow but man was it fun! For the first time ever, I was being hit up from all sides. It felt great! And I didn’t mind because I wasn’t looking for anything serious. In fact, I loved all the attention and the freedom of walking away from the phone and knowing that at my fingertips, someone out there was ready to talk to me. In the end however, it was me weaning off of Tony. Rebounding.

There were many suitors that visited my inbox; Brad being one of them. At first, he got lost in the shuffle. Again, with the phone being slow and the application being what it was for 2010, his pictures made him look older, way too old for a 21 year old to consider being with but the conversation flowed so effortlessly. Like silk on the skin. It was superficial conversation, in the beginning. “How are you?” “What did you do today?” “What’s your favorite color?” That kind of shit. Then it escalated to revealing a lot of intimate details about one another. We developed a comfort and safety with our messages. He became part of my routine, a part of my everyday life. When I finally decided to give him my number he revealed that he was actually locked up. Leave it to me to pick the unavailable type! Brad was serving time at Folsom prison. My heart sank. I wasn’t afraid of it but I was admittedly out of my depth especially with all the shit to come.

With that revelation, came the pictures and yeah…that for me sealed it. He was ruggedly handsome, muscles and tattoos and a smile that just…GOD. Brad was 29 going on 30 when we connected and he didn’t look a day over 25, if that. It still surprises me that the pictures on the profile made him look like a 45 year old man. Hell, it still surprises me that I was okay with potentially talking to a 45 year old man, as young as I was. What can I say, I was fucked up. It wasn’t long after that, he said he loved me. I believed it for a while. After the “I love you’s,” came the…”I hate asking but could you…” monetary requests. He hooked me. I was willing to do anything and everything for him. Drop it all at once to see that his needs were met, at first. You know that little voice that we often ignore? Yeah, that little bitch screamed and screamed to get me to stop until it lost its voice and I was too deeply committed to come out of it. I didn’t want to be a person without honor. If I was going to be by his side, if I was going see this through then I had to do what I had to do. Its compromises, right? As much as I cared about him, I wasn’t ready for it, mostly because there was something in the background that didn’t sit right with me. And true to form, there was a reason why it didn’t. Brad was still married.

I don’t know what it was that made me uneasy before he even told me. Call it women’s intuition or a sense of knowing but I was always on borrowed time with him. His attention was never really ALL mine. But Lily, how could he really give you all the attention from a prison cell? I know, I know. It’s insane to want so much from someone who can literally give so little of what you need. There was no intimacy or real opportunities for him to be a regular boyfriend. Point blank, I was horny for a hot man. If Brad had looked any other way, we would not be having this conversation and I say that because I was young and stupid. I knew everything and lead with my heart and the man eater between my legs. Given, I didn’t know a whole lot about sex but I wanted him to be the one to teach me more.

When he told me that he was still married, my heart sunk again. Immediately, he explained that he had gotten married because he wanted to have conjugal visits and the only way to ensure that was to marry his girlfriend at the time. Enter, Jojo. First off, I fucking hate that name, will always fucking hate that name and if you ever want to see me drop my mood, say, “Jojo,” and I promise you, I will vacate the room. In any case, he claimed up and down that they were no longer romantically involved and their relationship was merely platonic, almost business like. I don’t think anyone reading this right now believes that was true but I did! Over and over and over again. “She’s my best friend,” “She just handles things,” “She doesn’t know how to be there for me.,” “She’s getting older.” Jojo was ten years older than Brad and 20 years older than me. What I didn’t want to admit at the time, was that no matter what I did I was never going to be as “together,” as that train wreck of a woman. I couldn’t gather 20 years of life experience, be a mother, have been married twice, be able to afford to live in San Francisco all overnight. I would always be a puppy to him. I was always just, “so so.” I never stood a chance but Brad was good at keeping me around for what I was good for: back up.

I had to meet this guy. He had to meet me. He had to know that when we touched, when he looked me in the eye that this wasn’t temporary for me. That I wanted him to believe in me, in us. So in the fall of 2010, I saved up took time off and booked a trip to Sacramento, 30 minutes from Folsom.

More to come…

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lilphxrising-thebigbootyboss · 6 years ago

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my twenties: specifics to come

I don’t think there was a doubt in my mind that Brad was no longer a fixture in my life. But there was a fear that I would let the weak voices become loud again and let him in. It was always so easy for me to accept the calls, read the messages, press the letters to my chest after reading them, hoping that some remanence of his scent would linger. But prison doesn’t smell of rich cologne and he wasn’t the same man that once wore it. I wasn’t the same girl either.

Oh god, do I wish that I was though. I see so many young women, so ripe with life and think back when I felt that freedom. That sense of being untouchable, naïve, and open to love. My current mask is one of pure jubilation and laughter but there’s no sport in it when they believe it. There’s no hope for refuge when the hidden messages, go unread. I wander about, feeling like a puzzle. A living, breathing Winchester mansion, only no one visits, no one calls, and no one stays for longer than a night. Probably on account of all the ghosts.

I hold firm that one day, the walls will come down, completely. That all my thoughts and fears and stories will come tumbling out, richer and richer with every layer. But the freedom seems further away, the more I reveal those memories. Each one, kind of feels like a paper cut; quick, painful and invisible to those that weren’t there to witness it. Despite the subtle pain, and distance in freedom, it does feel…lighter. I do feel the rays of hope. I do know that it will be okay. But for the story to have a real ending, it first must be told.

Most young love starts with a promise. “I’ll love you forever,” “I’ll never hurt you,” “You are my everything.” My first love, was a lot like that. Whole lot of promises. Not a whole lot of follow through. He was a friend of a friend. Numbers exchanged. I was in school, dreaming of being an actress in LA and Tony came into my life. It started innocently enough. He was just going to be someone that I would pass the time with. Up until that point, I had never shared a kiss. Or came close. Of course I didn’t want to tell anyone. Who wants to admit that at 19, they were kissing virgins? Tony wasn’t my first kiss but he was the second. More on that later. At first, I couldn’t believe that an attractive guy would be into me. Dorky, awkward, distant me but he was. And it felt like magic. I fell in love with his voice. That soft growl right before bed, “Sweet dreams sweet cheeks.” Cheesy as it was, it was better than any melatonin I would ever take to ease me into slumber. Every dream so vivid and he was real. As the semester came to a close and the reality of coming home hit, I could think of only one thing that made me race through the hellish heat of the desert; Tony.

Now, why would I bring Tony up when we were talking about Brad?

Tony and Brad were cut from a very similar mold. Both came from a broken home, addiction in the family, foster care, abuse and eventually found themselves behind bars, so far away from me and the promises that each of them made about our future. Tony, would eventually push me away, Brad would ultimately syphon from my heart and I was hopelessly addicted to their love.

None of it was perfect. I spent that summer, after LA with Tony, holding his hand through his addictions, pretending to be something that I wasn’t ready to be. I didn’t know how to handle the urges and the different personalities that came with meth. I didn’t know how to be an “easy” girl. To him, I was something pure and innocent. Someone that was so far outside the scene that he could maybe still feel normal. Summer turned to fall, then winter, then spring and before we knew it, it was a year later and Tony was more committed than ever to his drug. I visited jails and prisons because I didn’t want to leave someone I loved, feeling so alone in a place that was built to isolate and break wills. It was the summer of 2010 that he went in and 7 years later he was released. When he got out, we spent some time reconnecting on a friendly level but it didn’t feel the same. I wasn’t really sure where he was or how to contact him but I did think fondly and wonder. One day, I received a message from his sister. She was playful and sweet and spoke wonderfully about him. That he was doing great, working his programs even got himself a new car. We agreed to meet up and just like it began, we were texting again. I smiled at my phone more, felt a sense of closure long before we had the discussion about it. I was still angry at him though. Still mad that he chose those people and those drugs and that he failed to believe me when I told him I loved him so fucking much. He commented on how distant I had become. I was still me but a harder version. Hearing that reminded me that he really was away. He remembered the person I was before loss and abuse and real fear struck me. I was jealous. How could he remember that sweet girl and I couldn’t for the life of me summon her presence again? I had given those seven years to someone else and Tony knew that. I remember when he asked me, why I was able to forgive Brad over and over again but with him, there seemed to be no hope. It was a simple answer. “I was in love with you Tony and I really believed you loved me too. You don’t hurt those you love.” I stayed until he told me to leave and when I did, Brad entered.

It was serendipitous. Every journal entry I have about that time with Brad is filled with the romantic ideas of a school girl in love. I met Brad online. While he was still in prison. The first time. I’ll get into that later, should time allow. But mostly, it was me being played. It was a series of broken promises, half-truths, a meddling ex-wife, multiple women in the back ground and me; an inexperienced, pretty young woman with expendable income. What more can a guy ask for?

There was so much and I forgave him for all the varying levels of abuse because he was attractive and strong and so good at being bad. In my mind, I believed I deserved every nasty thing he did. That maybe, all of it was in my head. Maybe I was really creating this whole fantasy. Feeding the chance that I was the crazy one, made it easy to forget that I was in a bad place. He was the kind of drug that made you high enough to forget the consequences, even when you saw the fall before you. We talked about creating a family. Having a real home but he wasn’t ready for what he was asking for. He wasn’t ready for a life with me and to be honest, I wasn’t in a place to build that either. I was 22 years old, moved to a city I didn’t know to be with a man that didn’t know how to love me, who still kept relationships alive with other women, so he didn’t feel so alone when he drove one of us away.

I think the most telling part of our time together was how easy it was to allow someone to keep you on standby. No matter how strong you think you are, you really don’t know how weak you can become at the will of a pretty face. All of it made me more aware of what a good person is. A good person doesn’t lie. A good person doesn’t lay hands on you. A good person loves all of you. A good person respects you and what you stand for.

Being constantly tested, makes the journey itself worth it, like there is nothing you can’t face. No hill too high or ground too uneasy. Over time you adopt new fears, anxieties solely based on the trauma inflicted, the rejection involved with it all and you lose yourself. That piece of you that lived long before the most painful of goodbyes. That is the person that I’ve wanted to be. Imperfections and all.

Depression is a bitch. There’s no matter around that part of it. Some episodes are better than others if you can believe it. Imagine there being an upside to having depression. I’d take my happiest sad day over any day where driving into oncoming traffic, seemed like a rational idea. There is a stigma with talking about it because those that haven’t experienced its true weight, can’t possibly relate and those that do know it, are too ashamed and fearful to admit that vulnerability exists. The thought of hurting myself and ending my time here has been something that has played in my head since I can remember. As a child, I dreamt of it but cowered back because I didn’t want to hurt those I loved. I thought of my mom a lot and when she passed, the urges got stronger. So then I thought of my father but when he passed, for a while there, I wasn’t sure that I could win. Everything was just so fucked up and I saw no glimmer of hope. None. Then, there was the day I heard a little voice call me, “Tia.” That was it. I had been an aunt for many years before I heard that, but I was Lily to them, the older ones. But for these little guys, I was a Tia goddammit. It snapped me back to center. I don’t know if I’ll ever me a mama but me being here for them is my reason to take back those imaginings. I think of them, all of them, when I need to remind myself it will pass.

My mental health has been a great source of confusion and pain. Honestly, I didn’t know what I was feeling or that it had a name until college. Growing up, I was “dramatic, emotional, sensitive, and moody.” And in all that time, I can only remember a few moments where someone stopped to ask me, “why?” A question that I never really had an answer to because I was taught to let it out then let it go; quickly. For some that works and makes perfect sense, but for me? It could be hours, days, weeks before I get to feeling semi “normal.” Normal for me is hiding just enough of the sadness with a giggle and a smile, hoping that they won’t call my bluff when they want to know more. I’ve gotten really fucking good at that. It seems so fucked up to say. That I’ve in a sense been playing all the people in my life into, hopefully believing, that I am in a better place than I am. I have days where I get in my car, leave for the day and just drive. I have no plans. No place to go but anything is better than sitting in my living room waiting for a call, a text, or an email that will never come. I entertain myself of course. Get lost in the pages of a good book, attempt to write one myself, sing, eat or sleep. I’ve worked the gym into the rotation as well, not to mention some random flings here and there but nothing compares to a genuine connection. Doesn’t even have to be romantic. You could have a genuine connection with a piece of art and feel something that means more than silence. Anything to tone down the eagerness of the depression wanting all your attention again.

When Tony and Brad were serving their time away, they’d call and write to ask how I was doing, what I was doing and my answers lacked luster. In a most ironic way, I wasn’t living my life any differently than they were. They fucked up and got sent away. My brain’s fucked up and so I locked my whole being away. Call it a prison of the mind, if you will. I’d get up, go to work, school, home and repeat. They never understood it and I was always so jealous of that fearlessness they had. That ability to just live. I was so crippled with my own shit that I had no idea how to let go and never really trusted them to be there should I fall. Being seen at the “strong” one, the one “holding it down,” or whatever, that gave me a sense of purpose in our relationships. It was also a huge lesson in codependency. A term that I learned in therapy, which I went into after my mom passed away. It was a healthy step and one that I strongly recommend to anyone that feels this lost. When you work on your shit you do feel less crazy and more aware that the world wasn’t designed to fit any one construct. There is no fine print on the contract of life. Everything is right there. We complicate it with entitlements. So we set boundaries. That’s probably what the title of my twenties should be.

More to come....promise

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