I feel. So fucking much. All the time. And I so wish I didn’t. Because it really fucking hurts sometimes. And I gotta say, I am really fucking sick and tired of my heart hurting. I wish sometimes I was not that which I am. But try as I might, I cannot be anything else.

Dear reader, you may have read the “Plus One” blog from a bit ago. I mentioned that as vocal as I am about a whole lot of things in my life, dating was one I kept the lid shut. But it is something that is a real and scary experience for someone who has lost their “someone.” Depending on the person, you can be wracked with a sense of guilt, longing, sadness, what ifs, comparison, more what ifs, anxiety…are you getting the point?  It is a very complicated process no matter how much work you have done on yourself, and believe me, no matter the type of death, you need to do some before you attempt to be intimate again.

Most of you know what happened, but for those new readers, my husband Jesse broke on May 8, 2014.  He shot and killed our four-year-old daughter Maribella, then himself, and I found them a couple of hours later.  The work I have done, and continue to do, is extensive to say the least. The aftershocks will affect me for the rest of my life thanks to the PTSD that has embedded itself into my wiring. The anxiety that wracks my brain on a daily basis can be crippling.  The sadness that can overcome me like a sneaker wave can take me down faster that you can breathe in and out. This has lead me to be quite picky in many aspects of my life. Especially with the people I let in. I have this beautiful, supportive, and amazing core group of people whom I would not be here without. I can “be” me.

That me has changed, as many of us do over time, especially when there is a self-awareness and desire to improve upon ones programming. I joke, and forgive my humor, as it has become dark at times, ha ha in a sarcastic kind of way. We all have baggage, every single one of us.  Before I met Jesse, I had my own, probably a suitcase and a carry on.  And once we got married, it flew open with a vengeance, which lucky for me, I had an amazing and patient husband who helped with a lot of it. But the joke now is that I have moving vans worth of baggage. It is just the reality. The new normal as I fondly say. And I deal with it. Because of the PTSD, depression, and anxiety, I am forced to. Things that never affected me, do. Things that I don’t expect to have an affect, do. And as you have read over and over, I am stubborn as hell, so when I feel like I can’t do something, it pisses me off and I force myself to.

However, within that is a risk assessment. I asked “the Google,” what is risk assessment (I know, but it is always a curious thing to find out more). Here you go:

-per Google – “a systematic process of evaluating the potential risks that may be involved in a projected activity or undertaking.”

-per businessdirectory.com – “The identification, evaluation, and estimation of the levels of risks involved in a situation, their comparison against benchmarks or standards, and determination of an acceptable level of risk.”

– per ready.gov – “A risk assessment is a process to identify potential hazards and analyze what could happen if a hazard occurs….There are numerous hazards to consider. For each hazard there are many possible scenarios that could unfold depending on timing, magnitude and location of the hazard…As you conduct the risk assessment, look for vulnerabilities—weaknesses—that would make an asset more susceptible to damage from a hazard. Vulnerabilities include deficiencies in building construction, process systems, security, protection systems and loss prevention programs. They contribute to the severity of damage when an incident occurs.”

Okay.  You now know more than you perhaps wanted to on this subject and wondering why on earth I am going on about it. The reason, dating is risky. For anyone. For someone like me, who has been through the trauma that I have been through, that risk is a thousand fold. Because, the hurt I carry around, always, can get compounded. The anxiety that I fight on a continuous basis day in and day out, magnifies. I am left in this juxtaposition of not wanting to be alone anymore, ready to try and create a life with someone again, and this fear of being hurt. I did a risk assessment not to long ago and have “thrown myself in” to dating in this day and age. Which is weird to say the least. That is another conversation for another day.  When I finally choose to “talk”, ie. “text” with someone, I question every single thing that I write, over and over. I constantly trip over my words. I am blunt, honest, playful, and intense. What I have quickly realized is that most people cannot handle that. Like I said previously, I am super picky on who I actually choose to meet and spend time with. I don’t just go and meet people for the sake of it, there needs to be something there before that happens. I have to protect my heart the best I can, knowing full well the potentials. Said meeting happens, and I can tell pretty fast whether this is someone I want to invest in. I do not have a lot of time in my life. I mean, I do in some aspects, but as far as socializing, I don’t. So to undertake the process of getting to know someone is paramount for me as far as time and all of the above stated. For me though, I have this “thing” that happened. This thing that is not all of me, but part of. When do I share it? How? Do they know? Have they looked me up based on some basic information and “the Google.” If they don’t, will they get up and leave, literally.  And until I tell the person, which let me tell you is not first date material, my anxiety around it is at super duper heightened levels.

I could go further into this, but I will save it for another blog. This last one though. This last one. Again, I am really picky. I “talked” with him a bit, and quickly realized we had a lot of in common. Four dates. Four fucking amazing dates. Each one added on the next, adding to this list that still baffles me on stuff we had in common. I did my risk assessment, and walked forward patiently into it, knowing full well a few things that he said that perhaps should have made me turn the other way. That is how strongly felt about this. I told him on our third date what had happened, and he didn’t know?! But he stayed. And then I got to effuse about my advocacy work, which he “got” because he is in and does a job that makes a big fucking difference on this planet, which was such a turn on for me. I said to myself, wow, he gets this. Did my anxiety lessen you may wonder? Yes and no. I still questioned every single thing I wrote or said. Self-evaluated ad nausea. My friend said to me though as I was talking about him last night at dinner, you are calm with this one.  My response, I know, weird, right? Two hours later I was a heaping sob of tears. I explained to my daughter today, because all she has seen me do today is cry, that sometimes in dating, you screw up, the other person screws up, or even worse, you are in different places and it just doesn’t work. You both are awesome, and probably would be awesome together, but you have to be on the same page in certain important things. That is this case. And the funny thing, with this particular one, if he came back and said, shit, I was wrong, I want this, I would probably go for it, because he was just that awesome.

I have realized some things.  I have realized these in the past few days, weeks, as well as years. But mostly, the past few weeks. I am who I am. I explained to this person last night that I hum and live on this different level than the average human being based on the tragedy that occurred in my life. It has made me appreciate things and people on this much deeper level. I don’t “do” superficial things or have superficial relationships. Life is too short for that and I do not have the time nor desire for it in mine. I do not have one superficial person in my circle. I have learned to tone my intensity down a bit. I have learned to have a bit (not much) more patience, much more than I have had in the past. I live intensely and quite passionately though. I am an all in or out person, I don’t do things half way, I am honest, and wear my heart on my sleeve (anyone who knows me, knows this to be true).  I have so much to offer. And I so want to.

But this stung. I reasoned with myself in between changing boxes of tissues, hell Steph, I mean really, this is not as bad as what Jesse did, right?  Right. And totally different. I kept it amazingly together during this phone conversation. Promptly called my best friend and downloaded. It took me awhile to cry. During that time, there was this eerie numbness that scared the shit out of me. It was this raw acceptance that I have come to know and expect, that nothing works out. I know. I know what you are thinking, but hold on. When you walk in on the scene that I did, and have that loop play over and over in your head on a daily basis, when the person you trust most in life does that, broken or not, there is a hard wiring that occurs in your brain that expects the worst. You try to combat it, and you do most of the time. But it is as hard wired as your handedness in life. So there exists that numbness, that protective quality, that disassociation, that sigh of, well, what did you expect. Then I shook. Like the shaking that occurs when you are wearing a bikini in the arctic. The last time that occurred was when I was talking with the police in my house, sitting in my living room while the paramedics were coming down heads held low, tears in their eyes. I shook like that the entire night, and I would have to verify how may days after. This obviously did not last that long, but it was the same feeling. And I know it was not just being broke up with, it obviously was so much more. It was that out of left field breaking of my heart. Because after Jesse and Bells, I realize I now try to control as much as I can to prevent that unknown hurt. But here I was again. Not the same, but to my body, it was. I cried myself to sleep, and have been on and off through the day today.

And, for now, my risk assessment analysis says no way, no how, are you doing this again. It just ain’t worth it. I realize that is a knee jerk response. I realize that I may change my mind. I still want that someone. I still want that intimacy. But this hurt. I just cannot do anymore. I explained to a friend today, I carry around so much all the time. Jesse, which is mostly manageable, Bella, who I can’t even touch that, the world, everything affects me. It is just who I am being empathic. For now, some people may build walls to keep immigrants out, I need to build walls to protect my heart. Yes, it goes against my grain of who I am. It contradicts what I told this person last night as he said, I normally do this one thing, but right now I am trying to do this other thing, and I laughed and said, good luck with that, I have tried and tried to do things against the core of my being and failed over and over. But I must try. Because I cannot hurt like this anymore.  I have had enough hurt for a lifetime. The quote that comes to mind: “To live to is feel pain.” I don’t know where I read or heard it, but it has stuck. But fuck if I try to prevent that pain where I can.

This was from this past Saturday eve, date number 4. This is not the guy, but the Johnny Cash singer/cover band we saw. Anyone who knows me, knows this breadth of smile is very rare, some may call it my Bon Jovi smile…it was not for the person next to me, but because of the person taking the picture.