Author: shewasmadetowander

To the tune of Ella Henderson’s “Goodbye”

You will be missed,

But let me tell you this,

My love for you does not compare

With all the fear, all the fear I felt within.

So all I can ask is why why why

You made “us” feel like war?

Did you ever consider you might be wrong?

Oh yeah, you chose your words, now you’ve got to go.

Oh no, I won’t let you put me down.

You lashed out and hurt my feelings

You wouldn’t trust Him

You believed Another’s lies.

I wish you luck in life and goodbye.

 

What I will miss the most

Are the times we felt like home.

There seemed no safer place than in your arms.

Feeling your chest, feeling it rise and fall

So all I can ask is why why why

You made “us” feel like war?

Honesty was supposed to keep us from harm.

Oh yeah, you chose your words, now you’ve got to go.

Oh no, I won’t let you put me down.

You should’ve seen me crying.

I couldn’t breathe in

And there I drew the line.

I wish you luck in life and goodbye.

You told me I was safe.

But when I reached for you, you cut me.

You were to be my peace.

But you started a war I never intended to wage.

We both had demons.

But even though I prayed against yours, you succumbed to their lies.

You told me daily that I need not be perfect.

But the you mocked even my minor mistakes.

I was yours. Completely. Faithfully.

“It’s easier this time.”

It was a happy mistake meeting her.  I had joined a friend at a local day spa for a relaxing pedicure.  I had never been to this spa before, so I didn’t know with whom I had made the appointment.  A woman with sandy blonde hair and glasses approached me.  She told me to go and pick out a color of nail polish and follow her to the pedicure chair.  As I fumbled with the remote to the chair massage, she filled the tub for my feet to soak.  After asking me how was the temperature in partial English, she asked if I spoke German.

Embarrassed, I told her I did not.  She smiled and silently returned to her work, seemingly uninterested now in holding a conversation.  However, I then looked down at her uniform, and above a pocket her name was monogramed in blue thread – “Antonella.”  I hesitated, suddenly nervous to ask but also curious, “Sei Italiana?”  I asked in Italian.  Her eyes shot up in surprise, “Si!” (Yes) she exclaimed, and the next hour transformed from detached silence into a rich encounter.

Sharing an experience with someone in a different language is by far one of the most rewarding things I have ever achieved in my life.  It opens the doors to peer into their world, to see life from another part of the planet, and to understand things from their perspective.

Antonella was originally from Sicilia (or Sicily).  She and her native Italian husband moved to Germany 35 years ago.  Work was hard to come by in Sicily.  Antonella, an aesthetician, and her husband, a delicatessen, sought to stabilize their home and moved north where it was easier to find well-paying work and prospective pension options.

Now, nearly sixty, Antonella has slowed her pace with work.  Her muscles don’t allow her to do the work of a massage therapist anymore.  She mainly does nails and facial treatments now.  Yet, her work is only one of the factors occupying her attention these days.

Antonella beamed when she spoke of her two fully-grown children.  Both her son and daughter chose to remain in Germany.  Her daughter, was about to turn 34 in a few days.  Antonella shared her plans to spend her day off running around, getting everything ready for her daughter’s birthday celebration.  You would have thought she was making preparations for child – cake, decorations, and a birthday meal.  But celebrations are just one of many things that Italians do best, and you could tell her daughter’s birthday was important to Antonella.

In fact, being a mother in general seemed important to her.  She spoke fondly of her kids and shared that she was not yet a grandmother but hoped to be one day.

With Christmas around the corner, I asked Antonella what she had planned for the holidays.  Nothing special, she responded.  Her plans were to stay at home.  In the past, she might have considered traveling back to Italy, but multiple factors played into the decision not to go.

You see, earlier this year, Antonella used up most of her vacation days to go back to Sicily to be with her mother.  Her tone shifted and her eyes glistened as she shared her mother had passed away in August.  Her health suddenly declined rapidly, and within days of Antonella arriving at her mother’s bedside, she was gone.  My hands grabbed my chest as she cleared her throat, became immersed with focusing on my feet, and busied her hands on my toenails.  To my surprise, tears rolled down my cheek.  I whispered to her I was sorry.  She thanked me, and after a few moments, we continued chatting.

We moved onto slightly lighter topics.  I shared with her about my family and my recent engagement.  I asked her if she had yet done her Christmas shopping, and the air in the room finally lifted.  She hadn’t yet.  It was always down to the last minute for her when it came to shopping.  Work consumed the majority of her energy, and when she finally had a day off, she didn’t have the energy to spend it running errands.  Nevertheless, she assured me she would get around to it one day and make it in time for Christmas.

She acknowledged her current job made life a little easier for herself.  Before, she had worked at a spa that was 45 kilometers away from home.  On bad weather days, she used to stay in the apartment located above the spa, rather than risk making the long drive on unpredictable roads.

She loved working at that spa though, but it had been helpful to find a job closer to home.  She paused in the chatter for a moment, and I could see the nostalgia in her eyes.  I got a funny feeling in my stomach, a curiosity, which ultimately prompted me to ask, “Was the distance the only reason you changed jobs?”  She looked up, a little surprised.  “Well, here they have much better benefits, and that helps with the home life as well…” she trailed off for a moment and then began again, “A few years ago, my husband was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease.  Lately, he has been requiring more and more care.”  I listened and waited, “I honestly don’t know how much longer he will be able to work, and we are not ready, financially, for retirement.  There isn’t time to find another job.  I have to stick with what I know, and I know the spa.  This job at least has benefits for healthcare though, and for that, I am grateful.”

I sat there, mesmerized by this woman.  She wasn’t complaining to me.  She wasn’t cursing up at the sky blaming anyone for the hardships.  She wasn’t comparing her life to anyone else’s.  She had accepted the reality.  She missed her mother, that was clear, but she was still celebrating her own motherhood.  She expressed feeling tired, but nevertheless, the love for her husband motivated her to still get up every morning and work her tired hands to make ends meet.  And when she looked up at me, she smiled.

To me, she was a quiet heroine.

 

 

One Sunday morning, in lieu of going to church, I decided to take a walk.  I’m learning there are several paths around my little country house in Germany.  On this day, I decided to explore a new path.  The path today took me along a pasture.  I wanted to go for a walk to enjoy fresh air, to pray, and to be in the Lord’s presence.  As I walked, I asked the Lord for a word.

With the climate here, the weather is often cloudy.  Because my house is located in a town that sits on a hill, often times in the morning, I will look out my window and the clouds will be low in the valleys.  As the sun rises, the clouds slowly lift out.

This morning as I walked, I actually walked through a few clouds.  My path started off easy, paved, and clean.  Eventually though, the path split into two different directions.  One direction went to left and headed downward.  It was foggier there because it was low and away from the sun, but it was paved.  To the right, the path led toward the sun.  But the path was not paved.  It was a little steeper, a little rockier, and a little muddier.  But because it was in the direction of the sun, I could see better.  So, I decided to walk toward the right onto the unpaved path.

On this path, it was still foggy.  I could see about 40 meters in front of me.  In order to walk clearly, I had to keep walking toward the mist, and as I would near the fog, it would clear up and I could see a little further ahead.  It was then, that I received the word from God for which I had been waiting…

You see, when we follow Christ, we have to choose to follow His light.  His light, might require us to venture out onto muddier, rockier, and steeper paths, but we can see a little bit clearer.  And even when our vision starts to become blurry, if we continue to walk in the direction of the light, the path clears.

We all have weaknesses that trouble us and sometimes cloud our judgment and vision.  Mine tell me to avoid getting close people.  I have no problem sitting and talking to others and hearing their stories, but I become overwhelmed and terrified if they ask to hear mine.  If people try to draw close to me, it will only allow them to see more clearly how imperfect I truly am.  I would much rather put up walls and keep people at a certain distance so that they never see the full me.  From a distance, I can paint whatever picture of myself I want and allow the mystery of my true story add to the appeal.

However, when we venture out on a path in the direction of the light, trusting in the Lord and walking in faith, His light clears our path.  But it causes us to trust Him and take steps forward.  It might mean that the path causes us to face our fears, but it is the better path.  Overcoming weaknesses requires taking daily steps.  Some days are going to be steeper, slipperier, and rockier.  But we should never be discouraged.  Regardless, we’re making progress.

So, I was about ready to move to Germany.  I did not want to get involved with someone when I knew I was going to be leaving.  But after I moved to Germany, I decided to start using Tinder again.

The first couple of dates were horrible.  I thought about quitting the app, but then I met Jake.  And Jake was different.  He picked me up for our first date and took me out to dinner, and then we went to check out a Christmas market in the area.  From the start, I was very attracted to him, and I was very comfortable with him.  I could talk to him easily, and he didn’t come off as judgmental.  He also seemed funny and sweet.  He shared about his work and his family.  We just seemed to hit it off, and we both seemed very attracted to each other.  We even made out on my couch at the end of that first date!

After that, we spent every day with each other.  He was also in a band.  He sang and played the drums, and that was an attractive feature as well.  For our second date, he invited me to come and listen to him play.  He just seemed so down to earth and amazing.

Shortly after we began dating, we decided to take a trip together.  We ended up going to Spain, and it was on that trip that things took a weird turn.  We started day drinking during the day and into the night.  And once while we were at a bar, Jake got up to use the restroom and left me at the bar.  While I was sitting there, two guys approached me and tried to start talking with me.  I told them that I had a boyfriend and that he would be back soon, but that did nothing to turn them away.  They didn’t take the hint, and they didn’t leave.  I didn’t know what to say.  Then the guys started to ask me to guess where they were from.  They both had different accents.  I just remember feeling nervous and unsure of what to do.  When I get nervous, I also get this nervous laugh.  I finally guessed that one of the guys was from Bulgaria, which was apparently completely wrong and also hilarious to the guys.  So, they started laughing, and out of sheer nervousness, I laughed too.  While the conversation couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes before Jake came back out, he came back right as I was laughing.  He looked extremely upset.

I introduced the guys to him, and his exact words were, “I don’t give a fuck.”  The guys immediately walked away.  And that’s when Jake turned to me and said, “Well, now I know I can’t trust you.”  I couldn’t believe it.  I asked him how he could say that.  I told Jake that the guys were hitting on me, not the other way around.  I told him that I had told the guys that I had a boyfriend and he was in the bathroom.  That is the sign.  That means you go away.  It was not my fault they didn’t care.  He would not accept that I had done enough.  He told me that I should’ve told them to “fuck off.”  But that is not me!  That is not who I am!  I am not going to tell complete strangers to “fuck off.”  This all led into a big fight.  He told me that from that point forward, he was not going to let the relationship go further now that he knew he could not trust me.

Instead of standing there arguing with him, I just got up and walked out of the bar.  I walked down the street to our hotel and just waited outside and cried.  I thought that he would follow me, but he didn’t.  So, I just sat there, but since I didn’t have the key to our room, I had to go back to the bar.  When I got back, he was even more mad.  He was angry that I just got up and walked out without saying where I was going.  I told him that he had said some things that were extremely hurtful to me, and I didn’t want to respond with something just as hurtful.  I needed a minute.  I just needed to calm down.

Finally, we left, but we ended up continuing the argument even in the street outside the bar.  He accused me of flirting with those dudes.  I insisted that I was not.  I told him to stop accusing me of something that I had not done.  He wouldn’t believe me that I wasn’t flirting, and he said he couldn’t be with someone that he could not trust.

As we made our way back to the hotel, he told me that he was leaving in the morning with or without me.  That night, he would not sleep in the same bed as me.  I kept begging him to come and sleep with me, but he insisted on sleeping on the couch.  The next day, we slept in.  We were both a little hungover.  I got up and made us breakfast.  I thought we were going to leave, but we ended up taking a walk after breakfast.  During the walk he suddenly stopped and grabbed my hands.  He told me that he really cared about me and that he did not want to break things off with me.  I told him that I didn’t want to break up either and that I hoped he believed me when I said that I was not flirting with those guys.  He hesitated before responding, and he eventually said, “no, let’s just say we were both in the wrong.”

I was confused.  How was I wrong again?  I felt like he didn’t understand what it was like to be a female at a bar.  Guys will approach you from out of nowhere, and they will be very persistent.  You can say something that is obvious, but not rude, to make sure they know you’re not available or interested, but they will still stick around.  They won’t leave you alone, even if you give them a fake number.  It’s just not that simple.  I knew the guys were going to leave as soon as Jake came out of the restroom.

We ended up staying together.  I dismissed that night as a fluke and just chose to move forward.

But his drunkenness and his jealousy just became more and more apparent.  Once, we went to Greece.  It was supposed to be fun and enjoyable.  We took this excursion on a boat, and we were supposed to go hiking and swimming as well.  Jake didn’t want to go hiking.  He didn’t want to go swimming.  He just wanted to stay on the boat and drink.  He got mad at me once while on the boat because I was in my bathing suit, which I had a dress over the bathing suit, and I had one leg up on my seat.  There was an older couple sitting across from us, and Jake was certain that the man was trying to see up my dress.  He kept telling me to put my leg down, which I didn’t understand.  Everyone was in bathing suits.  Plus, you couldn’t actually see anything.  I eventually put my leg down, but I was still annoyed.

It was a miserable trip.  He kept drinking and complaining.  After the trip, he apologized and felt like he had ruined the trip.  I wanted to tell him yes, he had ruined the trip, but I ended up taking some of the blame.  I had booked the resort, and it was located far away from a lot of things we wanted to do, so we had to rent a car.  Jake drove, and it was really stressful trying to find places.  So, I took some of the blame, but I should have told him that he had in fact ruined the trip for me.

Then, several weeks later, I was planning to go over to Jake’s place to spend the night.  I arrived at his house around 7:30pm.  That day, I had worn hot pink lipstick to work to match the skirt I had also worn.  I changed clothes after work, but I still had on the hot pink lipstick.  When I showed up, he asked me why I was wearing that lipstick when it was late at night and dark out.  I was completely confused.  Between the time I had gotten home from work and the time I went over to Jake’s, Jake was sure that I had been with someone else because of the lipstick I was wearing.  I explained that I had worn that lipstick all day, but he wouldn’t believe me.  He said he needed to trust his gut and he couldn’t trust me.

I was dumbfounded.  It was the craziest thing I had ever heard.  I told him that after work, I went and got my nails done, then I went and got groceries, then I went straight home, packed a bag, and I went to his place.  But because I was wearing hot pink lipstick, I had to have been with another guy?!  I told him that was crazy.  That only made him more mad.  He told me not to call him crazy and we started arguing.  I told him I had not called him crazy, I was calling the idea that I was wearing hot pink lipstick to go see another guy before seeing him crazy!

He told me to leave…

He actually kicked me out of his house.  He said he needed to trust his own gut and that he just couldn’t trust me.  After telling him that the entire scenario was complete bullshit, I told him that I was tired of feeling guilty for no reason and like a skank.  I told him that I deserved his trust and that I had never betrayed him.  I told him that all his trust issues were in his head.

We didn’t talk for two days.

Finally, I called him.  I was crying.  I told him I loved him.  And I told him that I had never cheated on anyone before, and I would never cheat on him.  The thoughts that were going through his mind were not rational.  I was upset because I didn’t like being made to feel guilty about the things I chose to wear.  I was upset that he had asked me to leave.  And, I didn’t want to begin avoiding wearing things simply because he had an issue with them.  He said he understood, and things seem resolved.  Then, I asked him if I had not called him what would have happened.  He casually replied that we would have broken up.  So, he had no intention of calling me and apologizing for his behavior.

After that, we tried to act like everything was fine.  However, he still had major trust issues.  He didn’t want me buying furniture from a male furniture salesman.  Granted, the salesman had hit on me, but that should not preclude me from buying furniture from him if I’m just there to buy furniture and not to get any special treatment.  Then, I asked a male coworker to help me frame some pictures.  Mind you, this coworker was about 35 years older than me, and I paid him for his help.  It didn’t matter, Jake still was mad.

The last straw was when I had a house party one night.  Jake came over and of course he got drunk.  He got so drunk in fact, he passed out in one of my chairs.  While I was in another room talking with some friends, we heard a loud thud.  When we went into the living room, we saw that Jake had fallen on the floor.  After we made sure he was okay and not hurt, he got up and went into the bathroom.  He was in there for a long time.  Such a long time that I finally thought about going in and checking on him.  When he finally came out, he said he was going home.  When I asked him why, he said it was because he knew my friends and I were laughing about him falling earlier.  So, he left.  I followed him out, and I tried convincing him that we hadn’t been laughing at him, but instead, he called me a “bitch,” and he wouldn’t believe me.

He tried getting in his car, but I wouldn’t let him.  He finally decided to walk home.  At first I walked back inside, but I was worried about him getting home safely.  So, I talked to my friends, and we decided to get in the car and try to find him.  But we couldn’t find him.  So, the next day, I got up early and went to his house.  I banged on his door for 20 minutes.  Finally, he answered.  He couldn’t remember what had happened the night before.  He didn’t remember falling, anything he had said to me, or walking home.  After I told him what had happened, he was so angry and embarrassed with himself, he took his sunglasses and snapped them in half.

After that, he wanted to be by himself.  He told me he didn’t want to see or hangout with my friends ever again.

A few days later, he left for a trip.  I decided to text him and let him know how I was feeling about everything.  How his lack of trust was making me feel, how it bothered me that he couldn’t say that he loved me, and that he had a drinking problem.  He never responded to that text.  He texted me to tell me that he had landed, but he never said anything else.

Two days passed without us speaking, and he finally sent me a text saying that we were done.  He told me he didn’t want to see or hear from me again.  He blocked me on Facebook.  I tried calling him a bunch of times, but he never answered.

So, I boxed up the stuff he had left at my house plus all the gifts from him, and I wrote him a letter and let him know how he had made me feel throughout our relationship.  I told him that he made me feel constantly guilty, untrustworthy, and slutty when I had done nothing to deserve that treatment.   That I had loved him and that he could not even say it back to me.  I told him that his decision to break up with me via text was cowardly.  I left the letter and the box of his things outside his door.

He texted me several weeks later apologizing for wasting my time.  I never responded.

About four months later, I ran into him at a restaurant.  I rounded the corner, and there he was.  I was completely caught off guard.  I told him hello, but he didn’t say anything to me.  He just stared at me.  I immediately went to ladies’ room and tried to calm down.  My head and heart were both racing.  I stayed in there about ten minutes trying to figure out what to do.  I texted a friend who was part of the group I was meeting for lunch, and he told me to come out and sit next to him.  When I walked back out, Jake was gone.  I don’t think he even ate.  I think after he saw me, he left.

A few days later, he texted me, but he immediately deleted it.  I never saw what he said.

I hope one day I can forgive him and move on.  For now, I just hope that I never run into him again…

***Warning: Adult language Used in the Post***

I’ll be honest, in the final months of my relationship with Thomas, I started having feelings for a friend at work.  I remember feeling so guilty, but by that time, Thomas and I were more like roommates than partners.

When I met Rico, he was just emotionally and mentally more available to me than Thomas had been during the entire time he and I had lived together.  Soon after Thomas had moved out, I invited Rico over to my place.  I remember that night vividly.  Rico and I were sitting in my living room talking, and all of the sudden there was a knock on the door.  It was Thomas.  He said he had left some things in the house and wanted to get them.  My stomach dropped.  I didn’t want him to see Rico in my living room.  I told him to wait on the porch.  I went back inside, gathered up all his things, put them in a bag, and brought it out to him.  That was the last time I ever spoke to, or heard from Thomas.  I did hear that he met someone else after me, and the two of them had a kid together.  I know he went back to school and became an artist, but that’s all.  I have felt at times like I should reach out to him, but I don’t know what I would even say.  We both should have been sorry.

I was in therapy for a year after Thomas and I broke up.  Much needed.  I first met with my therapist a few times a week, then once a week, and then once a month until my therapist thought I was stable.  During that time, Rico and I started dating.  There was no in between time between him and Thomas.  There was no gap.

We had been friends for years.  However, a month into dating, something changed.  That morning, I didn’t hear from him, which wasn’t normal.  He was supposed to come over to my apartment the night before, but he never did.  I knew he had gone out with some friends, so I called one of them and asked if they had heard from him.  They told me they were with him at the bar but had left before Rico did.  I didn’t want to panic, but something felt very different.  I asked the friend to go back to where he last saw Rico park his car, and I decided to go by his apartment.  As I was walking up the steps to his apartment, I got a message from him on Facebook.  He told me he had been arrested the night prior for Driving While Intoxicated.  He told me he was sorry, and he understood if I wanted to stop dating him.

I had a whirlwind of emotions.  After making sure he was okay.  I asked him where he was.  He said he was at his parents’.  They had bailed him out around 2a.m., and he had been talking with a lawyer most of the day.  

The first time I met his parents was the day after his DWI…His dad was distant, his sister appeared angry, and his mom just kept crying.  When I saw Rico, I was in shock.  He was covered in scrapes and bruises.  Come to find out, he had hit a cement column and totaled his car.

After going to court, he managed to get out of the DWI but was still required to pass a breathalyzer test for six months, and he was put on probation.

I wish I could say I wasn’t warned about his drinking problem, but his sister told me over and over to be careful.  Still, during those six months of probation, he never got drunk, so I convinced myself he wasn’t dependent on alcohol.

Reality came crashing through, though, on New Years Eve.  Rico was excited.  He told me he was taking me out and encouraged me to get all dressed up.  He said he wanted to do something special for me.  In truth, he just wanted to get wasted.

He took me to a nice restaurant on the Riverwalk.  Then, we got into an Uber and went to the first bar.  Rico had picked it out, and the minute we walked in, it was clear he was one of their regulars.  The bartender knew him.  The waitresses knew him.  In retrospect, I’m also angry with them because they had to have known he was out of control.  That night, they brought him more than ten old fashioneds.  I actually lost count so it could have been more than that.  He became blackout drunk.

I tried to get him to go home, but he insisted on taking me to another bar.  So we got in a cab, and he took me to this bar I’d never heard of.  Turns out, it was a gay club.  That part wasn’t an issue.  I don’t mind that he took me there.  Keep in mind, we had met at work.  He was always polished and put together.  That night, he turned into a person I did not recognize.  He bought us each two drinks and started dancing around.  Here I thought we were going out for a nice dinner in order to celebrate our relationship.  No.  We were going out for the sole purpose that he could get fucked up.

The next thing I know, he comes up to me and tells me he’s going to get us some free drinks.  Initially, I thought, “why? we already have two drinks each!”  But he told me to watch him, and then he turned and walked up to a group of men and started flirting with them.  At one point, he went up to a transvestite and started flirting.  Then, I watched him reach for his phone and start putting in her phone number.  At first I was confused, then I was shocked…and then I was furious.  I couldn’t understand what was going on.  I stormed out of the club.  A few minutes later, he stumbled out and started yelling and cussing at me.

I wanted to leave so badly, but I was also concerned for him.  I didn’t know what to do.  My car and my bag were both at his apartment, he was on probation, he was wasted in public, he was cussing me out, and flirting with men.  I just wanted to get him home safe so he wouldn’t get arrested or lose his job.  By then, he was so drunk he could barely speak or stand.  His eyes were rolling in the back of his head.  I grabbed him by the shoulders, shook him, and slapped him lightly across the face to keep him from passing out.

I told him we were leaving and insisted on him leaving the club with me.  I got us a cab, but when I tried to get him in the car he pulled away.  I reached for him and begged him to get in the car, but he jerked away and with his other hand he grabbed my wrist and twisted my arm.  Pain, shot through me as he shouted, “Get your fucking hands off me, or I’ll break your goddam face!”

I was in shock.  No one had ever handled me that way.  I was hurt…and I was exhausted.  I finally got him walking back toward the cab lane, and this cop came up out of nowhere.  She walked up to us and asked us what was going on.  Rico blurted out, “This girl is trying to get me to go home with her, and I don’t want to go.”  Thankfully, the cop was wise enough to recognize that I wasn’t drunk and that I was trying to help him.  She insisted that it was time for him to go home and told him to let me help him.  She watched us as we walked away to make sure we were headed toward the cab lane.

I finally convinced him to get in the cab and got him home.  After getting him into the house, I grabbed my bag and left.  I did not feel safe staying there.  After finally getting back to my place, I turned my phone off, and locked my door.

I woke up to the sound of someone banging on my front door.  It was Rico.  When I answered, he asked me what had happened the night before.  He didn’t remember anything.  I couldn’t believe it.  I recounted everything to him.  I told him straight to his face he had a serious drinking problem and that he had hurt me, physically.  But also for my sake, I told him I needed to know if he had any bisexual or homosexual interests.  That if he had any love for me, he needed to be honest with me.  I wouldn’t think of him any differently, and I wouldn’t tell anyone if he did, but for my heart, I needed to know.  He denied having any interest in men, and he agreed he had a drinking problem.

I knew then that I should’ve left him.  But I had already bought a plane ticket to visit him at his new assignment, which he was leaving for in a few months.  So I stayed on.  But when I went to visit him in March, everything was different.  We talked about our future.  He seemed to be more in denial about his alcoholism than before, and I didn’t trust that he was going to get the help he needed.  I had put up with an alcoholic before, and I was not willing to be with someone who would put me and themselves at risk.  So, we ended things.

Deep down, I believe he’s a good man.  I had a hard time getting over him, and I was also close with his sister and mom.  So it was not just losing him that hurt. I didn’t date at all for about 5 months after him.  When I think about it, I’m not sure he ever really loved me.  Even though I was the first girl he ever brought home, he was never affectionate, he never complimented me, and he thought I was needy for wanting those things. From the beginning it felt like a wall was up.  I thought it would get better, but it only got worse.  Even though I’m sure he cared about me, I was not a priority to him.  After all is said and done, I do forgive him, but I’ll never forget what happened. Some things never leave you.

I have decided to begin a series.  So often, we forget that everyone has a story – so much of it is hidden.  If we only knew the battles people face each day, I wonder how much differently we would treat each other.  If we only knew the story of the person sitting next to us, would we look at them differently?  Would we respond to them the same way?  I have decided to meet with these “every day” people, hear and share their stories. 

****Part One****

If I could give a message to another woman, dealing with either similar or worse circumstances, I would tell them not to stay too long and put up with so much all for the sake of receiving pieces of love and pieces of companionship.

I just kept telling myself that I was wrong, that everyone has problems, every couple has problems, and it’s normal.  That’s because three out of four of them were alcoholics and two of them had PTSD.

I met Thomas on my 21st birthday.  I met him at a bar, and I gave him my real number.  He texted me the next day, and we decided to go on a date.  He showed up at my house in his army uniform.  He looked so good.  So attractive.  We dated for a year.  I definitely loved him.  I’ve never loved anyone like him.  We talked about marriage.  He told his family we were going to get married.  I started picking out rings…

…And then he got notice that he was tasked to deploy.  It didn’t matter to me; I was determined to stay with him.  I wanted to remain committed.  But he was so scared that he was going to die or that I would leave him while he was gone, that he broke things off.

I was devastated.  I felt betrayed.  After all he had promised me.  He just ended it over what could happen.  I was in a really dark place after that.

He was in Afghanistan for a year.  Ultimately, we decided to at least remain in contact while he was deployed.  I could tell he regretted his decision to end things.  He sent me gifts, money, and letters.  He called every chance he could.  Every time we spoke, he reassured me that we were destined for marriage and a family.

But the deployment to Afghanistan was rough.  He didn’t share everything with me, but he told me some of his experiences…some of the traumas.

When he returned home, it was both exciting and overwhelming to see him again.  But I was grateful to have him home.  I was ready to continue the time we had before his deployment.

But that ended just as soon as it began.  Six months later, he was tasked to deploy again.  This time, to Iraq.  And once again, he was gone for a year.

While we stayed in contact, I dated other people.  I never felt the same way about anyone else.  I wanted to be with Thomas.

When finally, he came back, I hoped that all the distance was over.  But the Army had other plans.  He soon received orders to Germany.

He asked me to go with him.  He still wanted to get married.  But I decided against it.  I was scared of the huge change, and I wasn’t willing to quit my job or drop out of school.

Two years went by.  I had waited for him.  But I soon realized that physical distance is only one kind of separation.  After he got back, he would often go out and get drunk and sleep in his truck.  He started drawing horrific things, like people on spikes.  He even got a tattoo of one of his drawings.  It scared me and his family.

Shortly after he returned to Texas, there was a shooting at Fort Hood.  One of our mutual friends was killed.  When Thomas called me and told me that his best friend died in the attack, we were both devastated…but him especially.

After that, he was never the same.  Thomas left the military, and we lived together for the next nine months.  It was horrible.  Every day was a cycle…he came home drunk, throw up, and pass out.  Then he often had night terrors. Countless times, I woke up to the sound of him screaming.  When I shook him awake, he would burst into tears.  One night, he told me that it felt like the Devil was chasing him.  He felt like he was going to die.  He felt like he should have died already.  It made me terrified to go to sleep next to him.

During those months, he pretty much ignored me.  Every time I asked him to get help, he refused.  He kept saying it was weak.  He thought others would figure out something was wrong with him or accuse him of taking advantage of the VA system.

Then he got mean.  He started blaming me for his depression.  I knew he needed help.  His family knew he needed help.  Trying to reintegrate into normal life was too much for him.  He was miserable.  When we had sex, there was nothing there.  It was like he was a shell of a human.  And there was no love there.

It lasted so long, I got used to it and started getting over him before I decided to end it with him.  I was sad our story had changed.  We weren’t going to get married like we had thought.  All those years of waiting.  He’s still the only person I wanted kids with, the only man I’ve ever truly loved.  But being deployed traumatized and changed him into a different person.  I knew I could never make him happy.  He was miserable with life.

I still think about him sometimes and hope he’s ok and wonder what could’ve been if I had stayed. But I didn’t even feel loved or safe in my own home and I’m glad I ended it.  Timing was just never on our side.  I try not to think of it as a waste of time but a lesson or something I had to go through.  Our experiences make us who we are, and I’m happy now with where I am in life…even if it means being single.

 

It was a busy day.  A stressful day.  Whoever likes to car shop, they must have a screw loose in their head.  On this cold, wet, and foggy day, I drove to the far west side of Germany to test drive a few vehicles.  My second stop was to a garage with at least three vehicles that I wanted to look at.  I was early.  I contacted the salesman and let him know that I was free to meet whenever he was.  He told me he was on his way and would be there shortly.  A few minutes later, a car pulled into the garage drive way.  A tall man with a smiling face emerged out of the vehicle and walked toward me.  “Hello, my name is Sam,” he said, “Lyndsey,” I said in response.  We shook hands, and he showed me to the vehicles I had picked out in advance.  After looking over the first one for a few minutes, we decided to take it for a test drive.  He rode with me in the passenger seat.  Much of our conversation was filled with polite pleasantries and information about the car.  When we returned back to the garage, we followed the same format: a brief walk around and examination of the interior and then a test drive.  The second test drive was a bit more awkward.  After talking briefly about the car’s features, the conversation fell silent.  When it came to the third car, nothing seemed different.  We repeated our pattern, and climbed in the car.  Off we went…in silence.  After a few minutes, I broke the silence and asked him where he was from.  I had at least detected that he had an accent, which wasn’t from around these parts, and it wasn’t one with which I was immediately familiar.

“I am from Iraq,” he answered, “from Baghdad.”  I shared with him that I was impressed with his English and asked him how many languages he spoke. Five.  English, French, German, Arabic, and a language I didn’t initially recognize based on his pronunciation.  Then he explained, “My family is a Christian tribe.  We speak the language of Christ.”  Then it clicked, “Oh!  So, you speak Aramaic!”  I exclaimed.  I was immediately intrigued.  As I turned the car around to return to the garage, he explained that he moved to this country during the Iran – Iraq War.  He and his entire extended family fled.  Some moved to California.  Others went to Detroit.  Whereas Sam and his parents chose instead to travel to Germany.  When I asked him why he chose Germany over the U.S. he said, “because the same year I was trying to leave Iraq, my uncle was shot and killed in Detroit.”  His uncle had owned a convenience store, which robbers raided one day, and after cleaning out his cash register, shot and killed him.  “I just wanted to go some place where there was peace.  I left Baghdad because I did not want to die.  I wanted to go some place where I could have a family and not worry about people wanting to kill me.”

We pulled into the driveway outside Sam’s automotive garage, but I wasn’t ready for him to finish his story.  So, I put the car in park and he continued, “When I left Baghdad, I was 30 years old.  I was a mechanical engineer.  I had graduated college.  But I left everything behind.  I didn’t bother selling my house.  I left my money.  I came here at zero.  I heard that doctors who left Iraq could still practice medicine when they arrived in the U.S., but the Germans would not accept my mechanical engineering degree.  They told me that if I wanted to be an engineer, I had to go to college again for four years and learn German for two years.”  Sam felt he had no choice.  With no money, no home, no means to start again, he abandoned his pursuit of engineering and found work in automotive sales.  25 years later, he now owns two automotive businesses.  He married a beautiful woman and they had four children.  While talking about his family, he pulled out his wallet and showed me a picture of the six of them.  He introduced all their names to me, three girls and one boy, each one beginning with the letter “S.”  “My whole family starts with the letter S!”  He exclaimed, “Even my parents and siblings!  It was just good fortune that my wife’s name also starts with an S.”  We laughed.

He was clearly proud of his family.  As he put his wallet back in his pocket, his face became stoic and his eyes lowered.  “When you leave behind all you have, you learn that money is not the true value,” he shared, “I go to church every Sunday, and I thank God I can live here and not worry about my life.  You see what is happening in Baghdad these days?”  I nodded and he continued, “That is not the life I want.  Family.  Peace.  That is what matters.”

Thank you for sharing, Sam.

It’s a storm and the waves are rising.

She’s out far from the shore. She looks. It’s too far away. She turns back toward the storm. She tries to calm her breath and stem the panic that is swelling. Deep breath and exhale. The waves swell and her body bobs like drift wood. There’s no way to ride it out. She’s going to have to fight. Fear rises to her throat. She swallows, but it remains. As if she did not see it coming a wave crashes into her. Over her. She’s blinded for a second, but shakes away the water and starts to swim. She can’t go with the storm, the waves will consume her before she reaches shore. A patch of sun is visible beyond the dark clouds, but she will have to fight the storm to reach it.

Another wave. She’s taken momentarily under the surface but quickly rises again. Start swimming. She manages to avoid the strike of two ferocious waves. She swims deep beneath them. But now she needs air. She rises and breaks the surface. She quickly pans the sky for the sun. She sees it. Did it grow farther away some how? She doesn’t seem any closer.

Another wave. She’s taken deep below the surface this time. Her body scrapes across the ocean floor and her skin connects with a patch of coral. She feels her skin torn away and burning as the salt finds its way into the gash. Reaching through the water, she pulls herself to the surface. If she doesn’t fight, she’s not going to make it. She emerges again and immediately fills her lungs with air. Where is the patch of light? Get there!

She strains toward it. Thrashing with all her might against the waves. She ignores her burning muscles and coughs out the water that threatens to choke her.

Fight! Just get there. You just need to get there. She sees another wave and dives below it. Fight!

She rises and sees she’s closer. Desperation thrusts her forward. The light is growing larger as she nears.

A wave smacks her from the side. Its strength and violence surprise her. She tumbles and is swept away. Like a rag doll, she flails with the rush of the water and it spins her like wayward windmill.

She’s lost control. With each second, she’s ripped further from the break in the clouds. The wave is too powerful to fight. She closes her eyes tightly and prays for it to end. Just make it stop. Just make it stop.

She allows her body to freely roll and tumble. For a moment it almost feels peaceful. The loss of control is a respite for her aching muscles.

For a minute she feels almost still, and she feels tempted. Tempted to take a breath under water. One breath without any air, and it would all be over. She dwells on the thought. She opens her eyes. A glimmer of light above her head seems to beckon her. How far away? How difficult will the fight be to the surface?

The minute lengthens, and her lungs are burning. Seconds are fleeting. Her feet graze the ocean bottom. She pauses. And then with all her might she pushes. With all the strength remaining she propels herself toward the surface.

What fight will she have left when she breaks the surface? She won’t know until she does.

All she knows is she still has hope.

Years before buying the plane ticket, I envisioned her hands.  When I closed my eyes, I saw they were small.  At first glance, they appeared fragile, but when I squeezed my eyes tighter, I saw they were deceptively strong.  Her hands alone told the story before I even met her.  These small, strong hands were clean and her nails carefully decorated, but I could tell the decoration was only a mask.  Over the course of the evening, her hands held a glass of beer and then switched to a pool stick.

When I met her, she seemed friendly enough. She smiled pleasantly, and as the minutes passed she starting to share her story with me. Her words never matched her environment.  She spoke of love.  She spoke of family.  She spoke of her past.  She spoke of her future.  She spoke of her child.  Only when I asked her a direct question did she speak of her present.  It was as if she did not want to even acknowledge her current life.

For the purposes of this story, her name is Star.

Her husband was long out of the picture.  He had drunk and gambled any money away, leaving her and her son destitute.  After their divorce, she moved to Phnom Pehn and started working at a salon, which offered little support for her and her growing child.  Star had family near the airport and could at least send her beautiful boy to her sister’s house.  There he could have a bed and maybe a few toys to play with.  She couldn’t offer him the same, not where she was planning to live.  She dreamed of working every day at the salon.  She loved styling hair and making people feel beautiful.  She’d occasionally sit in the styling chair herself and hope that maybe someone would think she was beautiful as well.  But days would pass without any clients, and Star knew that she had to find something that paid more consistent wages…

Consistent wages.  It’s an unfortunate reality but nevertheless true.  Here, there is no such thing as a middle class. Only the rich or the impoverished.

On this particular street, she could find work.  The female manager of the nightclub seemed nice enough.  She found a room with ten other women, the youngest was 16. She was 22 when she started. Now, she is 31. As a true mother, she took on the maternal role of these young girls.  Each night, as they change their clothes and put on their heels, she offers to fix their hair and help them with their makeup.  She helps make them feel beautiful.

How long will she have to work here?  Will she ever be able to live again with her son?  Could they maybe one day have enough to move away? Perhaps to Thailand or somewhere where she could start over and even own her own salon.  Would someone think she was beautiful and offer to marry her, lifting her and her son finally out of this life of poverty?  She couldn’t help but wonder.  She couldn’t help but still hope.

But the years pass.

Today, she still sleeps in the same room.  Some of the girls have left, but she’s seen them elsewhere on that street.  Different bar, but always the same job.  Recently, she thought she had entered into her fairytale.  An American man came up to her one day, and for a while, it was truly bliss.  He told her she was beautiful. He told her that he loved her.  To him, she was his bright little Star. With all his promises, she started to believe she loved him too.  She looked forward to seeing him.  She missed him when he left. He said he missed her too.

Then one day, he came back.  He walked right up to her as she was perched on the barstool with the pool stick in her hand. He hugged her and once again he whisked her off.  Sure he paid the manager for the night, but that was just part of the facade.  He truly loved her.

But the night after that she did not see him.  At one point she caught his profile, or she thought so, but that man did not come to her.  He went to another bar instead and took home a different female.  It could not have been him.  She waited.  She watched.  They still spoke on the phone.  He said that he missed her.  He did not come the next night though, or the night after that.  And then one night she was sure she saw him, but he walked right past her.  He went up and hugged a younger girl and bought her a drink.  It was as if she had been slapped. Her eyes stung and her chest tightened.  Maybe just the one night? But the next night was the same.

She felt herself falling back into deep waters.  That hope of a different life remained on the surface.  She grasped for it, like a rope to save her, but she kept sinking, and that new life slipped away.

On the night that I met her, she spoke a little of her American man.  She still loved him, but she knew it was over.  She showed me his picture.  His fat ugly gut peaked out from under his unkempt shirt.  I resisted the urge to spit on his photo.  She placed her small hand over the phone. That same small hand that I saw in my dreams. “I still love him,” she said as she pulled her hand covering the phone to her chest.

An then in a moment she set her phone back down.  She finished her beer and grabbed a pool stick.  “Come on,” she said in her broken English, “you and me a team and we beat those boys.”  She was talking of my two companions, Nathaniel and Dean.  With unashamed confidence, she took over the table.  I was a mere bystander.  I watched with admiration as she analyzed the table and carefully measured every shot.  The pool table was old, weathered, and uneven, but she had learned all its hidden features. With ease, she drove each ball into her intended pocket.  “We should’ve played for money,” I thought.

As the night came to an end, I saw her withdraw back to her barstool.  I rounded the pool table and walked toward her.  I wasn’t sure how to say goodbye.  I didn’t have to decide.  She wrapped her arms around me, and then with her small, strong hands, she grasped my waist.  She knew I was leaving.  I heard her switch on her maternal tone, “watch your passport. Your money.  Your rings.  Your watches.”  She patted my hips and repeated her warning.  I hugged her again and left with a broken heart.

What was the point of going to this godforsaken country?  I had planned to come here to help rescue women like her.  Instead, I was walking away from her, leaving her, on that street…on that barstool.  It wasn’t right.  I couldn’t even get a decent photo of her…or of her beautiful hands.  I’m a photographer, and I failed!  All I did was sit there and listen to her and play pool…

…all I did was listen to her…

…all I did was listen.

No.  I’m sorry.  That’s a nice thought to just listen and retell someone’s story.  But it’s not enough. These women can’t be saved with kind words and good wishes. They deserve a life free from imprisonment. They deserve to know true love or at least have a fighting chance to experience it.  They deserve to live in the same house as their child.

I can’t save every woman, but I’m going to try and save Star.  I have created a link to a GoFundMe site, and 100% of the donations will go to supporting women like Star.  If you’d like to help, please visit https://www.gofundme.com/f/fmnhsz-support-daughters-of-cambodia&rcid=r01-156125953162-712635dbdce64d8f&pc=ot_co_campmgmt_w.