oregon: the lessons: part 2 lessons of love, pain, and learning to say no

i’ve always lived by a sort-of love all philosophy. we’re all universally connected by this thing called love that flows through the cores of our very beings, and it is an energy that we must exchange with every being we encounter. i still believe in this, however these past couple of weeks have had me questioning how i love others. i always assumed others truly needed whatever it was that they were asking for. i mean, why else would they be asking for it? so, i would selflessly give others whatever it was that they demanded, no matter the effects on my own self. this happened a lot in oregon, as I allowed friend/acquaintance/weird tinder man to use, manipulate, and take advantage of me in pretty much any way imaginable. maybe he is acting from a different part of himself, one that confuses what he really needs with what he thinks he needs. maybe he really is trying to love, when really he is hurting others. maybe, just maybe, it isn’t my job to give him what he thinks he needs, what he demands of me, but rather to give him what he really needs, space for healing. i mean, how is he supposed to realize that the love he thinks he’s sharing is really pain? since i arrived home a few days ago, he has called and texted me several times, with messages indicating that he’s been trying to teach me something, and that I should be grateful for him and what he put me through, that those were his intentions, and that they were yet still far from malicious or hurtful. he’s clearly disillusioned, delusional even, regardless of what he sees it as. so i must show him tough love, by saying no, and staying far, and all i can do is hope for the best for him, from many miles away.

the biggest lesson i’ve learned about love and hate, is how easily confused the two are. when i’d tell him no, f/a/wtm would accuse me of hating him. but maybe its best for him to not get what he thinks he wants, and maybe we’re both better off with some distance between us. he would tell me he did every awful thing that he did out of love, because he loves me, because he loves everyone. he very well might love me; he very well might love everyone. maybe hate doesn’t exist. but the energy he was exchanging to me and trying to share with me was definitely not love in the pure, simple sense. it was dirty, contaminated love. more simply put, it was pain. he had some wounds that needed healing. he had some pain he was afraid to feel. so he did what was easy and comfortable for him, and he gave some of that pain to me. that ultimately doesn’t take from his pain, which must keep growing in its own ways until properly addressed. but he comforted himself by saying that the pain is love. and while its been said otherwise about 1238973458y3874592834723432 times, pain is definitely not love.

another saying i’ve heard far too many times: “treat others how you want to be treated.” this might very well be true for most people. but i often forget that i am a valid human being, and deserve to be treated as such. for me personally, i feel like a better saying would be “I deserve to treat myself the way i treat others.” sometimes i forget that i’m a person like everyone else, equally worthy and full of love as they are. i’m a person, not a doormat, and maybe the people that i used to let walk all over me would benefit from learning to walk on their own ground instead, while i love them, either from near or from afar. i established years ago that i love everyone. now, i’m ready to reevaluate and learn better how to love everyone.

oregon: the lessons: part 1 nothing ever goes as planned

if you read my last blog post you’ll know that this trip out to oregon was a very spontaneous, impulsive, last-minute, spur-of-the-moment type thing. most things that i do are. i’m a life path 5 in numerology, its basically the nature of the beast. that being said, i’m also such a planner. in the brief span of time between me having an idea of something i want to do and the execution, i get an idea in my head of exactly how its going to go. in the few days leading up to my departure from baltimore, i had vivid pictures in my mind of things like the house i thought i’d be staying in and the outfit i’d wear to the airport. i typed out a long, thought-out instagram caption in the notes app on my phone, favorited a few photos that i planned on posting with it, and even decided on a good time to post while i was bored at the airport, in between the snacks and drinks from the places i’d already found on the airport map “over the past few years,” i’d typed, “i’ve had the amazing opportunity to live in upstate ny, vermont, colorado, virginia, and now oregon, as well as being able to travel to several other parts of this country and canada, as well as africa. i’m currently struggling to find a word strong enough to express the amount and depth of gratitude that i have for all the places i’ve been able to go, things i’ve been able to do, and all of the beautiful souls i’ve come into contact with along the way. swipe to last pic to see how excited i am for this move !!”.

well that obviously didn’t work out. take two. i booked what appeared to be a decent, but still quite inexpensive, hotel not too far from the airport for a few days, and i was going to adventure around southern oregon by myself, as i knew i needed to work on spending time alone, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to do so. i made an itinerary for myself that night, with where i was going to eat every meal and what i was going to do and where i was going to be for every hour of my trip, noting exactly how i would get to each destination. i tried again with an instagram caption. “i had a whole caption planned about how excited and grateful i was for the opportunity to move to oregon” i began, “with some guy i barely knew, and how grateful i was for all the people places and things in my life up until that point. sometimes shit happens, and things don’t go as planned, for some reason we can’t explain. my oregon plans began to crumble barely an hour after i bought my plane ticket, less than two days before i was scheduled to fly out. i was devasted, frantic, panicked, afraid. i couldn’t bring myself to cancel my flight. i’d told everyone i knew how excited i was for this move. i was so afraid to admit to any of my family or close friends that i was stupid enough to let someone do me like that and to be unable to make it on my own out there. after sitting and thinking for a couple hours i realized i still had an amazing opportunity. anyone who knows me well knows i suck at being alone. i’m always with people. i’m always talking to someone. being stuck with the loudness of my own thoughts is terrifying for me. and i had a plane ticket to an area i’d never been to, where i could explore, alone, and learn to spend time by myself. if i find a way to stay in oregon, cool. but if not, i have a new experience under my belt. thank you 😌. “

well, oregon didn’t end up being this great solo-journey full of self-discovery that i was starting to envision, either. not too long after i arrived, the man i’d planned on staying with (friend/acquaintance/weird tinder man from my last post) suddenly appeared back in the picture, at the room that was nothing like i’d been anticipating, and i had to recreate my story for a third time. i soon realized that not everything could be so easily calculated. friend/acquaintance/weird tinder man didn’t tell me anything. it was up to me to realize there was no house. it was up to me to figure out where i was staying each night and where my next move was. the only thing up to him was when and where he was going to show up and what he was going to say. and with my unknowing it was impossible for me to plan for him or plan around him. i was forced to learn to ride the uncomfortable wave of uncertainty and face things as they came.

when f/a/wtm stopped responding to my texts upon me telling him about the purchase of my plane ticket, part of the plan b that i began formulating involved what i was going to do after oregon. i figured i’d already packed so much stuff and detached myself from pretty much any commitments back on the east coast, i might as well travel around and live out of my suitcase for a bit longer. i’ve lived in a few different cities in different areas of the country, so i still have friends and connections in these locations, as well as some that i’ve met there who have since relocated to other cities that i haven’t yet had the opportunity to visit. i was pretty certain that some of these friends would be willing to pay for at least a portion of my airfare, and they’d for sure let me stay with them in their home if i was just in town for a visit for a week or so. i ran this idea by some people i was looking to stay with, they all agreed and were excited to see me. that is, until it became time to actually start planning and paying. “would sometime as soon as the end of this week be fine? i know its short notice,” i’d ask. it always was, until i sent a text on thursday to the friend who’d agreed to host me “as soon as friday”, and suddenly “tomorrow” sounded too soon. i’d leave a friends house and tell them, or leave a hotel room and tell f/a/wtm that “i might be going to (vermont/ denver/ syracuse/ kentucky/ wherever else) tomorrow” and that i might never see them again. of course, that never happened. i was trying so hard to avoid going immediately home to virginia that i really didn’t plan on it happening. and i ended up both staying in oregon longer than planned at the last point, and returning to virginia far sooner than planned. maybe this whole trip was gods plan for teaching me that his plan is the only plan, and that i can’t control everything.

oregon: the backstory

this past week and a half or so, i have found myself on perhaps the strangest journey of my life. just a few weeks back, a friend (?), acquaintance (?), random tinder match from about two years ago back in ny (ok this is the most accurate description) texted me saying that himself and a couple of his friends were living in a house in southern oregon and that i should move in with them. i’d never been west of utah, and the idea of experiencing a new location, and getting back out of my mom’s house in a dreadful small town (no offense, just not my vibe) on the eastern shore of virginia excited me a lot. that being said, i immediately agreed before i had given it any thought. i told my boss i was leaving (it was totally getting to be time for me to find a new job anyway, but still… whatever, i digress), i made a quick trip back up north to upstate new york to visit my childhood friends and family one last time before i left, packed as much as i possibly could into a big suitcase, a carry-on, and the largest handbag i own, and bought a one-way plane ticket for the next day. i texted friend/acquaintance/weird tinder man as soon as i bought my ticket, as he’d previously agreed to pick me up from the airport. the response was not at all what i was expecting. “Don’t do it. Sorry”, he responded. i tried to respond but my messages weren’t delivering. realizing that he had totally just blocked my number, i decided to check and see if he’d blocked me anywhere else, not that i was going to try and reach out to him elsewhere, as he’d made it pretty clear he didn’t want to talk to me, but i was curious, and confused. i logged into my second instagram account that i don’t really use to see if i could still find him on there, as i couldn’t find him on my main. my suspicion was correct, i’d been blocked. i cried a bit, talked to a few friends, but didn’t tell any of my closest friends or family members, as i didn’t want to see them mirror the deep shame and disappointment that i was already feeling for myself. i debated cancelling my plane ticket and unpacking, but i was just unable to bring myself to do it. i booked a cheap hotel near the airport for three nights, went to bed, got up got dressed, and my mom and i were off to baltimore to take me to the airport.

i landed in medford, oregon around 11:30 pm, got a lyft to the hotel, and checked in around midnight. upon arriving, i immediately began to realize this hotel was very different from the one i’d seen online. i found myself at an america’s best motel that went by a different name online and looked nothing like the photos. there was a lady in the office wearing what looked like jail flip-flops and people outside yelling on their balconies at 12:something at night. the room smelled like cigarettes and gravy, the bathroom was tiny and dirty, the bed was visibly broken and sunken in in the middle, and there was a random granola bar on top of the dresser that must have been there for quite a while. this place was far from what i’m used to, and my privileged ass was terrified. but what had shocked me most was the text message i received mere minutes after i set my bags down in the corner of the room, where i stood, trembling, afraid to touch anything, fearing that everything in the room was contaminated with some disease or infested with something. friend/acquaintance/weird tinder man had texted me. “heyy! i didnt know you were buying your ticket so soon” (total lie, he said i should come out asap and that “monday would be perfect”). he continued “and my phone bill was getting shut off. i just got it turned back on. this job started back up yesterday and i got my phone turned back on today”. whatever. i went along with it. the conversation continued and i explained where i was and within minutes he was on his way. i thought he was coming to rescue me and take me elsewhere to sleep, so i waited in my little corner by the door, shoes, jacket, and hat still on, bags in hand, ready to leave.

friend/acquaintance/weird tinder man arrived in his small, busted-ass car with a missing window, that was visibly full with more stuff than i had even brought with me out to oregon. throughout the night, it became more and more apparent to me that there was no house and this busted ass car was where friend/acquaintance/weird tinder man had been staying most nights, and staying with friends when he could, which is where he’d left his massive (and beautiful) dog that he shared the car with, that night. during those three nights at the motel (under streetlights, in the city of palms… sorry had to), friend/acquaintance/weird tinder man would come back, one night even bringing a friend, and it became so obvious pretty much instantly, and even more so over time, that i was being taken advantage of, used for a place to sleep, shower, and do whatever else. for whatever reason, i let it happen. as you’ll see quite soon, i actually let it happen a few times, i suppose because i’ve been kind of lost, confused as to what i’m doing on the west coast, 2500 miles from home, and he was quite literally all that i had out here. well, aside from my giant designer suitcase full of clothes, which just constantly reminded me even more that i was not equipped at all for this hemp-farming, living-out-of-a-car life that i’d unknowingly gotten myself into, under the false belief that there would be a house.

anyway, after three nights (cue the song again), i checked out of the motel and dragged my 50 lb suitcase, duffel bag, and purse full of bathing suits and shoes and other non-purse items about a quarter mile down the road. i ordered my usual iced green tea latte with double matcha (8 scoops in a venti because i’m a straight up matcha fiend) and coconut milk, and sat down at a table outside, and made light conversation with the two men at the table next to me who saw my suitcases and asked if i was some sort of model traveling for work. they were in town from miami for just one more night, and were a little too eager to take me back to their hotel room and even invited me to go back to florida with them. i was a bit flattered and a bit creeped out, so i politely declined, agreed to take his number (“just in case something happens and you’re in need,” he insisted), but didn’t text or call him so he wouldn’t have mine. maybe his intentions were good, who knows, I just knew i’d been taking enough risks lately. they left, and the girl the next table over on the other side told me she’d overheard the whole conversation and asked to make sure i was safe and ok, which i gratefully assured her that i was. i pulled out my phone and snapchat messaged a guy i’d found on tinder, which at this point felt like my only hope for meeting people in such a big, new place, and asked him if he could just let me put my bags in his car for the day, until i figured out where i was going and what i was doing. somehow, i was blessed and fortunate enough to find someone to do that for me, without having to look too awfully long or far. we ended up hanging out for a bit, going for a nice light hike up table rock before he had to leave for work, and then meeting back up that night and he even let me sleep in his car, as he’d been staying with some relatives and didn’t have a proper place for me, which he kept apologizing for, although i was quite content with and grateful with his car for the night.

the next day i woke up, brushed my teeth, switched clothes, and left everything in tinder-joe’s car for another day. he went to work and i went to explore lithia park and downtown ashland for the day. i ate lots of food, shared warm conversation over another cold drink in another starbucks with another stranger for what one might consider too long, browsed all sorts of shops, picked up a puppy in the middle of the road that almost got hit by a car (and returned her to her owner on the other side), met a woman who grew up mere minutes from where i did, and listened to beautiful live music as i strolled through the park. all in all, it was a good day. i ended the evening with dinner and drinks in a nearby bar with a couple of guys who had come from costa rica, and ended up going to their beautiful house up in the mountains for the night. the drive back into town the following morning was beautiful and foggy, with all sorts of trees and mountains everywhere.

i met back up with tinder-joe, retrieved my belongings, and tried to get a bus back towards the airport, planning on getting another hotel room just for a night and then getting a plane ticket out of here, thinking of traveling a bit and visiting some friends in some other cities that i’d lived in, before ultimately heading back to virginia. after waiting 20 minutes for a bus, i began to step on, realized it was cash only (or bus card, which i didn’t have, as i had taken a bus once in my life, and it was back in denver), and all that i’d had on me were credit/debit cards. i quickly apologized to the bus driver and said i might be back later after i found an atm and got some cash. i walked back towards the shops and whatnot in town, only about a block away, but it felt much further with all of my suitcases in tow. i instead, stopped behind a farmers market to switch hands with my bags and try and regroup. in that moment, friend/acquaintance/weird tinder man texted me again, just asking whats up and if i’d left the area yet, and i explained to him where i was and what my current situation was at the time. he insisted on picking me up and driving me to a hotel, which admittedly sounded much better than dragging everything i owned to an atm, then back to the bus stop, and finding a hotel on my own after deboarding the bus a couple stops later. i got in the car and a couple hotels later, we found a super-8 that had a room available that night. he helped me take my things to my room, which still wasn’t like the hotels i was used to staying in on my little upper-middle-class family vacations, but i was nowhere near being afraid, as i was at that first motel. i really just wanted to take a nice long shower and brush my teeth, so after several minutes of him sitting on the bed with me, grabbing me and whatnot, i finally just asked him to leave and that maybe i’d see him later. begrudgingly, he did, and i hopped in the shower and chilled for a bit at the hotel room before meeting up with another internet stranger to go bowling.

we got to the bowling alley, a type of place i hadn’t been to in years, and definitely didn’t plan on going to during this weird little trip to oregon that i originally thought was going to be semi-permanent, but ended up lasting longer than i’d began to expect. we hung out at his place with his roommate for a bit, before i headed back to the hotel, as i had to have all of my things out the next morning. he texted me that night, asking if i wanted to have brunch with him the next morning, and i agreed, asking if he could be kind enough to let me keep my stuff with him for a bit until i decided where i was off to next. he was surprisingly more than eager, and actually said that he and his roommate had talked and thought i seemed cool, and were willing to let me crash at their place for a few days. i spent the next couple of days hanging out with the slightly awkward guy who talked about chemistry in the shoe rental line at the bowling alley, his chubby roommate with the self-admitted antisocial tendencies and drinking problem, and their gay friend who was in town from california. we were a strange bunch, but we had fun and they were some really cool people.

i could only camp out in their living room for so long, though, so i packed up my things and whipped my phone back out in search of my next destination. again, friend/acquaintance/weird tinder man happened to text me just as i was planning my next move. this time, he instructed me to uber to the closest hotel, where he came and met up with me for a bit, promising money that i never actually received, nor did i fully expect to. i’m still sitting in said room, in an actual decent hotel, writing this, sipping on a latte from dutch bros (honestly can’t believe i wasted 21 years of my life drinking dunkin and thinking it was good), and probably buying a flight out of here tomorrow, since i only have one more night in this room. stay tuned, loves.

a year ago tomorrow

366 days ago, the php program I was in here in my home state had decided they couldn’t do enough for me, and so I begrudgingly embarked onward to the inpatient facility they’d referred me to, halfway across the country. I remember the drive to the airport. It was 4 am, I hadn’t slept a wink, and I was talking a mile a minute, promising my dad I’d eat breakfast before boarding my first flight of the day. I remember him getting my suitcase, which probably weighed more than I did at the time, out of the back of the car for me, and following me all the way to the TSA checkpoint, where we hugged and he stood and watched, to make sure I went through and didn’t back out at the last minute, and to make sure I made my promised stop at the Dunkin’ Donuts that stood feet from the end of the security line. While the man in front of me screamed at the barista, insisting on ordering “a BLACK coffee, WITH CREAM!!!”, I turned around, relieved to see that my father had finally left, leaving me feeling a tiny bit less guilty about the fact that my “breakfast” consisted of only a black coffee (actually black, no cream) and nothing more. I’ve done my fair share of traveling, and have no problem sleeping on planes, usually ceasing to be awake before we even leave the ground. But this was my first time traveling completely alone, and the destination was daunting. Without a single minute of sleep, the hour-long flight to Philadelphia and then the additional four hours before finally arriving in Denver on their own felt a million times longer than any crazy-long transcontinental flight I had ever been on. The highlight of my day was my 45 minutes in Philadelphia, where I somehow found time to use the restroom, take a quick snap of a funny sticker on the bathroom wall, and sprint my malnourished self and my over-stuffed backpack literally all the way across the airport, all while keeping my slightly-too-big Birkenstocks intact and on my feet. Out of the whole day. THAT. Was my highlight. Taking a piss in a crowded, dirty public bathroom and dizzily stepping onto the plane with mere seconds to spare. Yet somehow, this super not-fun day, is without a doubt the most clearly remembered out of these past 366. I arrived at ERC Denver and did everything I’ve done in any treatment facility: make friends, cry at the supplement table a few more times than I’d like to admit, cry in my therapist’s office probably as many times, create some emotional Spotify playlists and give them strange titles, and make some (very mediocre, at best) art and poetry that exists on papers still in a box in my closet. I also, a couple months in, ran away barefoot to go move in with a stranger in Denver, where I was surprised to find myself staying for almost 8 months, still writing shitty poems, working a couple odd jobs, and developing a fond love for this perfect stranger, until one day, he finally tired of me, and so I returned back home, where I sit today, writing more angsty poems and compiling more songs than I’ll ever have time to listen to, to remind me of how I’ve felt, what I’ve done, and who I’ve been in these past 366 days.