Healing Pandora Pt 3: Crossroad


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At this exact moment
I am standing rooted in fertile soil
Yet suspended by gossamer wings
I am Gemini
The butterfly of the Cosmos
And I need to take flight

My spirit guides me
Innocent and pure
Alive in the childlike belief
Of a me
That is free
Of the darkness

I am love
I am truth
I am daylight
I am darkness
I am afraid
Yet I am not alone

I understand
My journey lingers
In the deliberation
Once again
And so I ask the Universe
For its undivided attention

And the power
To free my will

I am here

Healing Pandora Pt 2.1: Breathe


it was a technical glitch

she didn’t delete her blog

my heart has slowed to normal again

life as i know it, has resumed

i should be stunned by how severe my reaction was

but i am not

clearly i need this lifeline to exist

thank you P

for pulling me back from the edge

that moment

that horrible-can’t breathe-my-world-just-tilted-can’t breathe-heart-pounding-anxiety-panicked-can’t breathe-can’t-calm-down-can’t breathe-please-don’t-be-happening-can’t breathe-not-to-me-not-to-us-can’t breathe-what-the-fuck-is-happening-moment

was unbearably excruciating

and almost just a little too


for me to reign in

i am grateful to you for breaking your silence

even if just momentarily

to reassure me

to calm me

it worked

thank you

breathing again

fucking computers…

Healing Pandora Pt 2: Amputation


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Last night my mind was plagued with questions, ideas, fears, thoughts and then more questions. After I posted Pt 1 of this saga, I kept asking myself why I felt the need to put myself through this. Why I needed to rehash this heartache in its entirety. What I truly hoped to accomplish. A kind of panic set in when I thought of P reading what I wrote and rolling her eyes, whispering, “Here we go again. Jesus Trish. Just leave it alone!” I hate the thought of her doing that. I hate that I care whether or not she does do that. I hate that she still affects me the way she does. But she does. I hate that she can still hurt me so deeply. But she can. So hate it or not, it’s my reality right now.

When my mind wouldn’t slow down and visions of me trying to perpetually swim to the safety of a shoreline I can see but never reach, surrounded by skulls of rotting flesh and gaping black holes for eyes floating in an endless sea of thick, dark blood – which I can only interpret as this feeling I have of drowning in a sea of emotions I have no idea how to manage…ya its ugly inside this fucking box…I decided to torment myself just a little more and go back in time. And back inside P’s mind.

I reread her blog. Almost all of it. I lived again. In that time. I gained strength and understanding. I finally started to see her side and felt the beginnings of a healing. It was a bittersweet experience, but somehow. It helped me.

When we first started to see each other, we found this wonderful space online called Imeem. It was an amazing music website where you could download music, send messages to friends, connect with your lover in a sensual way through the lyrics of a love song. P and I connected there often. It was our special place of fantasy, dream and longing. Longing without sadness. Just allowing us a venue to express our deepest desire and connect as we weren’t able to in reality. I was still living with my husband when P and I met. But once I realized I was falling for this wonderful, bold cocky boi, I confessed my desires and made plans to leave him and come to her. It was much more complicated then that. And yet. It was that simple.

Around that same time, we both started to blog on Blogspot. I can’t remember who started first, but soon our blogs became a way to communicate what we couldn’t seem to effectively communicate to each other in person. Our need. Our sorrow. Our fear. Our hurt. Our anger. And sometimes. Our love. Our passion. And when our posts weren’t sad and haunting and full of pain they were sensual, intoxicating and alive with possibility. I loved her writing. Her fantastical mind. Her imagination captured in whimsical prose of fantasy and desire – the way a Pisces is want to do. And I loved her intelligence. She always says she is a young soul, and as such is destined to make childish mistakes driven by immaturity and insecurity, but I always saw her a wise woman who understood much better then I, the plight of the human condition.

I can’t go on…

I just pulled up my old blog. And then I attempted to pull up P’s blog. Last night in my readings I found this one post that was probably the most peaceful, poetic, loving and kind thing she had ever written to me and I wanted to keep it. For me. Cut and paste and cherish. But it was gone. All of it. Her entire blog.

Just gone.

She has never done this before.

Her final post of three days ago was simply beautiful. A true expression of her soul, I think. I wanted to comment on it and tell her exactly that…but I knew she wouldn’t welcome my intrusion. She wants no further contact with me. So I kept it to myself.

And now she had taken her blog away. The one place that connected me to her no matter what storm we were weathering. The one place I could still find her thoughts, her dreams, her heart. Her love for me.

I still needed that…need that.

It’s like losing her all over again. But a thousand times worse.

I can’t type through my tears right now.

I have to go.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

Jesus, Trish. Just let it go.

I hear you.

This is your way of severing all ties.

The final amputation.

Should I be grateful to you?

Perhaps, one day I will be.

But not today.

Was it not enough to forbid communication? To push me as far away as possible from the center of your universe? Did you really feel the need to beat me down further than I already am? I was already on the floor. Crippled.

I can’t believe you would ever hurt me the way you have.

I can’t believe this pain.

Why? Why? Why?

Such cruel punishment.

For simply loving you.

I feel sick.

Complete the destruction then P. I can not take another blow. Please. Just unsubscribe yourself from my blog emails. I can’t delete you as a follower. You have to do it yourself. Then it will all be real. The fantasy and the dream will be over.

You will be free.

And my love for you will die in silence.

Leaving nothing where you were once everything.

I hate you.

Healing Pandora Pt 1: Opening


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This past year has been agony.

In every sense of the purest meaning of the word. The longest, saddest, wrenching, most heart breaking, soul destroying year on record. Of my life. And that, my friends, is saying a lot.

What made this year hell?

Six years ago I fell in love with a woman who poked, prodded, begged and finally, insisted on opening up my Pandora’s Box: a seemingly small and innocent action that has turned out to have severely detrimental and far-reaching consequences. And then, a year ago, she left me. Emotionally bruised, beaten, alone and ill-equipped to deal with the demons she unearthed. Demons I had managed to manage my entire life without them destroying me.

I remember cautioning her when she would push me mentally, emotionally. Telling her not to push so hard. To be gentle. Careful. That it wasn’t a game. That this was at the core of what made me who I was. Not information easily given. Not something that the giving of should be greedily taken for granted. I prayed for delicacy and care. And kindness. That if she wasn’t prepared for or able to handle the possible pain and anguish of letting out whatever was locked inside, then she should just leave my demons alone. We all have them. And most are better left at rest. But she didn’t. She insisted. Challenging me to open up deeper, expose myself to her, assuring me over and over that it was safe for me to do so even though she knew how uncomfortable I was with almost every aspect of what she was asking of me. That no matter what, she wasn’t leaving.

And so I did.

Little by little I opened up  my heart, my soul and my past to her. I let her in. I trusted her. I began to understand, appreciate, then fully embrace and even welcome with an open and enthusiastic heart, the level of intimacy required in a lesbian relationship. A level of intimacy I had never experienced with a man before. A level of intimacy I was petrified of at first. Afraid of its vulnerability and exposing of my inner and protected self. A level of intimacy that drew me in with the touch of her hand, the feel of her lips, the curve of her smile and her complete obsession with my person. A level of intimacy that demanded immediate and constant attention. Like a starving cat.

So I fed my starving cat.

Sometimes begrudgingly. Almost always fearfully. Fear of judgement. And she did judge me from her moral high-ground often. And in that feeding of her need, I became weak, confused, scared, tormented, adrift, questioning and insecure. And with each peeling back of my layers, I sought her reassurance. It didn’t come easily. And for every time she pushed for more from me – more of my heart, more of my love, more of my soul – I gave in to her. Wanting her happiness. Her love. Her acceptance.

And mostly… I so desperately wanted her approval.

I reveled in her intimacy. Thrived in it. Needed it. Craved it. Lived for it. That sweet intimacy I had only ever found with her. I became the starving cat. It’s what she wanted ultimately. For me to need her.

And then, when I needed her most.

She left me.

In retrospect, the break up was ultimately inevitable. We were most likely doomed from the start. She is a woman who has lived her life as a lesbian pretty much since before she even knew what a lesbian was. Roy Rogers cowboy hats and sheriff badges were her thing as a small girl, while I was wishing for pretty dresses and Barbie dolls. She understood the nature of her sexuality and had embraced it fully by the time she was a teenager, while I was hiding under bed sheets disguised as forts playing doctor with my best friend on my front porch. My introduction to the lesbian lifestyle, at age 13, was unstable and violent, whereas hers was tantalizingly sexual – full of passionate kisses and falling in love/lust over and over again.

We definitely came from different bolts of cloth. We definitely have different coming out stories. Our worldviews are skewed by our personal experiences. I am a femme: not lipstick or ultra girlee, I just enjoy my femininity. She is…well let’s just say she refers to herself as fluid, but for simplification, I will say she is a soft butch. She looks like a butch, she dresses like a butch, she wears the uniform of a cropped hair butch now, but she’s an enigma who I am still not entirely convinced has figured out for herself, where she fits in the femme/butch paradigm.

Fucking labels. I never cared. I just loved the woman, confusing enigma and all. The list of our differences is endless, but I in my naivety, thought love could conquer all. And even when I recognized the red flags of emotional instability for what they were, I refused to give up. Or in. Or let go. Fully. I am not perfect. I don’t expect it in others. And yes. Love can be deliberately blind. The heart wants what the heart wants. And I wanted her more then I can even begin to express with mere digital ink on this white screen.

But I am only just now learning this. This inevitability of our ending. And so to me, the pain is still as fresh today as the day the wound was struck. As raw as the day she left. I still slip so easily into that moment, sobbing child-like in her arms, wishing with my life that she would stay. Stop packing and tell me that she wanted to try one more time. At times I feel so pathetic in the remembering of it all. But it was me. It was real. It was honest. And it was the closest I have ever been to begging someone not to leave me. Literally, begging. And let me tell you now. I am not that person.

So yes. I loved her that much.

But, she didn’t stop packing. Instead she held me. Just long enough for me to feel her compassion and perhaps, disbelief at such an emotional outpouring from me. No doubt pitying me for the drunken mess I was in that horrible, incredibly surreal moment and feeling guilty that she was causing me such obvious pain. But, she didn’t stop packing. In her mind, it was over. She had made a decision. Clear. Cut. Black. White. She has very little gray when she decides on something. And she had decided that she needed to move on. To distance herself from me. To heal herself.

Only now am I truly beginning to comprehend with a deeper insight, honesty and wisdom that this past year has given to me, what a train wreck my life has been since that day. November 1.2013. The day she moved out and our relationship came to a devastatingly painful ending that, for me, had absolutely no closure. And to be honest, I am not sure that there ever will be.

I wasn’t the one who did the leaving. And my broken heart never had a chance to catch up. Because I have been so slow to follow her lead, I have held on to her with every last visage of my love. Made a fool of myself over and over. Pine for her in ways that I would never have thought possible. Behave badly out of longing and desperation. Do things I am ashamed of. In regret of. Move in and out of depression daily with every thought of her. Hate her and love her all at once. And can not truly forgive her for leaving me. She made it look too effortless. Was I that easy to throw away? Did she ever love  me as I love her? I feel sick to think it might have all been a heartless game of need/lust/want and nothing more…


This year has done a lot of damage. To my psyche. To my heart. To my trust. To my sense of self worth. A lot of damage. I have been broken down to the shell of a person I barely recognize. Bleeding in places I know will never truly heal. I have risen and fallen and risen and fallen again. Countless times. Tasting the blood. Slapping that thread bare band-aid back on. Putting on a brave face. Smiling daily at a world I have hated for the cruel things it has done to me. For taking away my love. For leaving me without the one person I thought would be my forever. Again. And in those brave bright shining moments of calm, which were rare and few, I fought and won the ability to see the positive. But it is really, really hard to see the positive when my heart and soul are still filled with such pain. It’s even harder to accept that a true letting go has to take place or I will never, ever heal and recover from this. From her.

How is it possible that one person can alter your life in such a profound and irreparable, irrecoverable way?


My first lesbian love. My first love since the death of my daughters father over 20 years ago. My first true heart break. My first lesson in true humility. Rejection. Abandonment. Judgement. Character assassination. Worthlessness. And self sabotage.

I want to say I am over you. I want to say I don’t love you. I want to say you deserve my contempt. But I can’t. Not because I don’t want to. Simply because that is not how my journey of healing will begin.

I will not let this pain take anymore from me.

I will stay in a place of love. And move forward from here.

And if I digress at any point during the telling of this story, it is simply because I am hurting. Very much. I am now and always have been a loving, sensitive, emotional human being who tries very hard to remember that the one thing that did not escape from Pandora’s box was…


pandora-hope I will hold on for another day. And try to believe. Again.


I am only now in the process of beginning to learn how to cope with the pain, the truth, the knowledge and the scars this woman and this relationship have left inside of me. I have no desire to bash, to slander or hurt her with my words. I do this for me. And though it may take two or three posts, or a lifetime of self discovery and self forgiveness, I need to begin somewhere…

I write here to heal.

To cope.

To share.

To understand.

To gain the wisdom required.

To begin to live again.

I want my life back.

I want me back.

I want to feel whole again.

And I want to be happy.

Hence this post and the telling of my story that follows.


Note: If any choose to comment, please do so with love and compassion. It’s not always easy to expose your heart, your shame, your guilt and your truth and be prey to the easy sway of a careless response… Thank you and Namaste



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Feeling restless today.
Wish I was back home.
Missing being able to just go somewhere – anywhere – by myself.
Did nothing all day but mope.
K will be home soon and she has to work at 7 am so it will be a quiet night. Again.
Not sure I’m cut out for…whatever this is.
Thought I’d be okay with it, but I’m on edge a little.
Cabin fever?
Missing Toronto?
All of the above?
Too much time on my hands right now.
I’ll be busy soon.
Very busy.
Maybe that will help?
But today, I’m having a hard time with everything.

I miss…
Being in love
I miss
Feeling alive

Today is not a bad day
But it’s not a good day either.


So Pick Me, Choose Me, Love Me!


Sigh. It feels slightly better knowing I’m not alone in this. Only slightly…but thx for sharing.

Originally posted on The Lesbian In The Dress:

For anyone who has ever watched Grey’s Anatomy and fawned, like I have, over Meredith and Derek’s tumultuous relationship.

And for anyone who has ever felt like saying these words, whether to the person you love or the ghost you can’t help but still love.

Because if you’ve ever been a choice

you know the pain of not being chosen

or the even worse pain of knowing that you let yourself be something replaceable to begin with.

Because either way you lose

even when someone finally says

they pick you, they choose you, they love you

and you’re supposed to light up and fall madly into their arms.

Because the truth is

and we both know

I never wanted to be a choice

I wanted to be the one that made you feel

that in this whole entire crazy mad world

that this kind of love

the one I felt…

View original 47 more words

Best Laid Plans


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Actually no.
It’s all good.
I am doing what I need to do.
What I want to do.

The universe has a funny way of giving you what you ask for, even if it seems like that gift is completely out of wack and off topic. Since my last post on emancipation in the making, everything has changed in the “career” department. What I thought was, no longer is – what I believed should happen no longer applies. I was being practical and logical and making my decision based on what I thought I should do, what I thought was expected of me, what I thought would not seem like a sign of failure – not what my soul is truly expressing.

Then something happened.
And I looked deeper inside.
I heard and actually listened to that little voice I too often ignore.
The me that needs to step up and take control more.
The me that truly brings me joy.
And I felt the my world click into place.
The pieces just…fit.
The fact that it all came so naturally tells me that it’s right.
I am no longer stuck in that scary limbo of indecision and questioning.


The most recent best laid plans may not be the best for me. And I am perfectly okay with that :)

More to come…


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