Back to Reality

New York was exactly what I needed. I don’t have much time to write a proper post, so instead I’ll share a couple of pictures I took on my trip.

I got back to Miami last night, and as soon as I stepped off the plane, I started shaking. It’s probably a sign, that I should have stayed.

Going Underground

Early tomorrow, I leave for New York. I’m literally counting the hours until I leave. I hope to come back refreshed, revitalized, and with a fresh and healthy perspective. The city has always been good to me, and being there always gives me the feeling of coming home.

For my viewing pleasure, on the plane, I’ve loaded up the IPhone with one of my favorite New York movies, 9 1/2 Weeks. When I arrive, I have a few hours of Amy time, before I go back to JFK to meet my brother.

This week has been mostly good, but as of last night, I started to fall apart. Today is Ben’s birthday, and I’m taking him out to dinner tonight. It almost seems like the last supper. Since breaking up, we’re getting along really well, and there is so much kindness and love between us. I’m hoping for a miracle, but I know that when I get back, I have to let him go. It’s so fucking sad.

Culture Shock

Since I’m coming up on 15 years of living in Miami, I’ve been reflecting on a lot of experiences I had during my first year. It was a really frightening time for me, and I think I walked around looking shell shocked for at least the first 9 months. This was a true time of learning and experience for me, and my Sandy, Utah street smarts just didn’t seem to cut it.

Not everything was bad, though. In fact, as I slowly started to acclimatize, things became pretty good. Not only did living in South Florida feel like being on the vacation, where you have time to see and do everything, but I also landed a really good job. At this job, I was exposed to people from all over the world, and from all walks of life.

Here is a story of something that happened during my first year in Miami.

At the workplace, there was that a really nice Cuban lady, whom I would often see in the building. Whenever she saw me, she would always call me flaca. Flaca is the Spanish word for thin. Well, I didn’t know this, and I somehow convinced myself that she hated me, and was calling me a fucker. After a few weeks or torturing myself, I finally confided in a Spanish co-worker. I explained that I had never done anything to her, so I didn’t understand why she was calling me a fucker. Once he could breathe again, he, told me what she way saying, and explained that she was trying to be nice. Needless to say, I felt like an idiot.

A few years later, I told the Cuban woman that I didn’t know why flaca was, and I thought she was calling me a fucker. Once she was able to breathe again, she did call me a fucker, and continues to do so, to this day.

Why I’m Laying in Bed, Listening to The Carpenters

I love Ben so much. My love is so pure, and so unconditional. The last 28 months of my life have been magical, and so filled with absolute love and joy.

Only because I love him, was I able to make such an excruciating decision. This afternoon, I ended our relationship. Sitting him down and having the talk was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

I leave for New York in a few days, without him. When I get back, we will figure out who and what goes where.

We are both brokenhearted and confused.

I have to be honest in admitting, I hope he realizes, before it’s too late, that he lost the best thing that ever has, and ever will happen to him.

This is so fucking surreal.

Insanity & Gratitude

When I was first attempting to get sober, almost four years ago, I ended a very toxic relationship. I knew I couldn’t stay sober, if I allowed this person to stay in my life. Over the years, he calls from time to time. I rarely return his calls. In July he showed up at my apartment. I freaked out and told him to leave. Thursday night he called me wasted and crying. I didn’t call him back. Yesterday, he called again. I talked to him for about an hour. Mistake. He apologized for everything that went down in out pitiful relationship. He also yelled at me, then asked if he can see me because he misses me. OMFG. Why now? Actually, why ever? I am so skeeved out.

What this shows me is that I really have become a pretty, healthy girl. With everything that’s happening with Ben, I so want to act out and do something stupid. Something that will make him feel as bad as I do. But in sobriety, I’ve been taught how to act, or not react. Early on I was told to always carry myself with grace and dignity. At times like this, it is hard. But what I’ve realized is that my sobriety is the most important thing in my life. I don’t worry about using, but I do worry about practicing non sober behavior. I am constantly being tested, but I think I’ll come out of this okay.

Even though I’m overwhelmed with sadness, I realize how lucky I am. Today, I am filled with so much gratitude and hope. I realize that empty void in my heart, the one I was always trying to fill with alcohol, drugs, men and sick behavior, is no longer there. That said, I think I’m going to do something nice for myself today.

Another Friday Flashback

Since there’s a very good chance, that I may find myself very single, very soon, I was looking back on my last bout with singledom.

In the early spring of 2006, I was casually dating a really nice guy from L.A., while still dealing with this guy.

From afar, there was a third guy, who watched over me. He was a very good friend who always seemed to show up at just the right time. Little did I know, he was waiting for the perfect moment, or for me to figure out that he was the one. That guy was Ben. My heart is breaking as I type this.

This post is from Amy in Miami, March 11, 2006.

L.A. vs. N.Y.

Recently, I was being chased (almost literally, at one point) by both L.A. Guy and N.Y. Guy. Neither of them are new. I’ve mentioned them both, numerous times, but by other names. They want the same thing (me), but are pretty much polar extremes when it comes to the fine art of wooing.

Here are some excerpts of last weeks text messages, phone messages and e-mails.

L.A. Guy: You are so pretty.
N.Y. Guy: You looked so fucking hot last night.

L.A. Guy: Are you happy today? I hope so.
N.Y. Guy: How the fuck are you?

L.A. Guy: I’m thinking about kissing you right now.
N.Y. Guy: I should grab your ponytail, drag your ass down Lincoln Road, take you to the alley, and have my way with you.

L.A. Guy: I selfishly want to occupy your time.
N.Y. Guy: Where the fuck are you?

L.A. Guy: I’ll call you after my yoga class.
N.Y. Guy: My testosterone is out of control. I feel like fucking someone up.

L.A. Guy: I meditated this morning.
N.Y. Guy: I’m having Neanderthal hot flashes.

The only thing they have in common is that they’re definitely not impressed with each other.

L.A. Guy on N.Y. Guy: He really has some issues. I think therapy would really be beneficial.

N.Y. Guy on L.A. Guy: If he’s not already a fucking fagula, he will be, by the time you’re through with him.

A Size 6, in a Size 0 Town

I live in this strange, strange town that is a polar extreme from where I grew up. I recently read an article that claims Miami residents are the most attractive in the U.S. I beg to differ. The beauty here is not real. The reality is, most of it is superficial and fake. Tits, hair, tans, teeth, ext. It’s all an illusion.

Only in Miami, do I feel fat and dumpy. I’ve the spent the last couple of years struggling as a size 6, in a size 0 town. When I leave Miami, I feel normal again. I hate that my self image is based on what’s around me. During my cocaine phase, I was painfully thin, and once bought a pair of pants at Gap Kids. I thought I looked great, but I look at photos of myself from that time, and I look like Skeletor.

As you know, I’m going through some major relationship issues, and the stress and sadness have taken a huge toll on me. At last count, I’ve dropped 12 pounds since the end of August. I’m now down to a size 2, which I feel good about, but some of the comments from ‘well meaning’ acquaintances are a little bit painful.

The compliment I received yesterday from a meathead with pec implants is the best so far.

Meathead: You’ve lost a lot of weight. Are you dieting and exercising?

Amy: Yeah, but the weight loss is stress related.

Meathead: Well keep it up, because you look so much better.

I walked away, thinking in my head, “Uh yeah, fuck you very much.”

After 15 years, I can honestly say, I’m consistently horrified with this shitty little town.

How The Internet Made Me Happy

Sometimes I think I need to stay away from the internet, because it can and will make me batshit crazy. Between trying to self diagnose every little ache and pain, I also tend to run across things that break my heart.

Recently something amazing and unexpected happened, thanks to the internet. Actually thanks to the blogoshpere. To be exact, the Salt Lake blogosphere.

A long, long time ago, I had a really good friend. We were like sisters, and I have always considered her to be one of the best friends I’ve ever had. As were were exiting our teens, and entering out 20’s, I was appalled at some of the choices she was making in her life. The choices I was making, weren’t any better, but it was easier for me to focus on her decisions, and be extremely vocal about it. I hurt her, and I hurt me. Losing this friendship was worse than breaking up with a boyfriend.

I heard little bits and pieces about her over the years, but that stopped a long time ago. I still thought about her, and always wondered where she was and if she was okay. When I was in Utah, a few months ago, my mom mentioned her. After this, she was on my mind more than ever.

A little over a month ago, I was reading a friend’s blog, from there I clicked on one of her links, which led me to a name that jumped out at me. I clicked here, and I clicked there. Holy fucking shit, my long lost friend, was in front of my face. She was okay, not only was she okay, but she is a mom, and a wife, and is still so beautiful. My heart soared, but I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid that if I contacted her, she might reject me. I’m so fucking sensitive lately, that I don’t think my little heart could take it.

I talked to a couple of friends about this, and they advised me to go for it. I sat on it for a few weeks, then about two weeks ago, I knew I had to do it. I wrote an email, and sent it. After 12 hours with no answer, I was totally dejected. I went to a work meeting, came back, and discovered that she had responded back. I opened up up, read it, and sat and my desk and sobbed. She didn’t reject me, and was thrilled to hear from me.

Over the last few weeks, we’ve been catching up. As adults, it’s so strange that we have so much in common. Though our lives are totally different, we seemed to have taken many of the same paths. Having her back in my life, has been such a joy. Over the weekend, I heard her voice for the first time in 19 years, and she sounded just the same.

I asked her permission before writing this, and she said she would be honored.

Princess C, mi amiga, I’m so happy to have you back!

How to Lose 10 Pounds in 2 Weeks

I stepped on the scale at the gym today, and discovered I’ve lost 10 pounds in two weeks. No only can I see my clavicle, but everyone says I look smashing. I’ve been trying to lose 10 pounds for the last two years, but I now realize I’d rather be fat and happy, than sad and thin.

I fee like I’m in limbo, but some progress was made this morning. Of course, by late afternoon, I flipped out. I don’t want to sound like a bad Paula Abdul song, but the theme for today is two steps forward, four steps back.

On a lighter note, South Beach is a trip. Last night after picking up a yummy dinner from Epicure, we witnessed a true South Beach episode. A very salty, drunk woman with a mullet, called someone a bald headed bitch, then turned her head and puked in the bushes, loudly. I was not blessed with a strong stomach, so this caused me to start dry heaving on the sidewalk. As gross as it was, it made my boyfriend laugh, which is something I think he needed.

If I see salty, mullet lady again, I’ll have to thank her.

It’s Not Over Until The Fat Lady Sings

He loves me.

I love him.

He’s feeling restless and unsure.

I think I’ve been punched in the stomach.

He thinks he wants to try to make it work.

I think ‘us’ is worth fighting for.

He said we’ll just keep talking and see how the weekend goes.

I fell asleep in his arms, only to wake up 90 minutes later, choking on tears.

I don’t know what to do. I’m in a world of pain.

We’re spending the afternoon with his mother. Tonight we have dinner with friends. Tomorrow we’re going grocery shopping. In 12 days, we leave for New York. This should give me comfort, but it doesn’t.

I need to try to go back to sleep. It’s going to take a lot of energy to covince the outside world that everything is just fine.

What the fuck is happening?