Can I Read MY Book, Please?


(Hahaha, Philosophy Sunday on a Thursday! Thought I’d shake it up a bit!)

I love reading. I always have. My mom taught me how to read before I went to kindergarten; before I was five years old. She encouraged this passion, and I indulged in it to an almost ridiculous degree. In fact, if and when I did get in trouble, my mother threatened to take away my books, hahaha. That was the trigger, the threat, that I would need to get myself in line.

I have tread the literary waters a bit, but the genre my attention gravitates toward the most is the fantasy/horror/paranormal romance bit (are you surprised?). Dragons, unicorns, fairies, ghosts, vampires, and werewolves–these are the creatures I desire in “my world”–the world in which my imagination thrives. Magic and mayhem, death and eternal life, frightening situations and battles to the death. A world where true love–for forever love–exists, flourishes, and never dies–even if they have to battle through hell itself to save it.

Hmmmm….I wonder why I have such high expectations for my love life….

I love reading. I love books. I love traversing the various paths of the fictional wonderland illustrated in the pages. I escape into my books. I fall in love with the characters, and crave to know the ending of their story. I love how books highlight the necessary information–how the good authors will only tell you something if it is important. Irrelevant information is not included, unless it is simply a tool to take you in the wrong direction to give you a surprise ending. I love that. I love the foreshadowing. I love getting little snippets of one’s past, bestowed like gifts so you may understand the character a little more; fall in love (or hate, for that matter) just a little bit more.

I love relating to the characters. I am currently reading the final book in the White Rabbit Chronicles by Gena Showalter. In the first three books, Alice in ZombielandThrough the Zombie Glass, and Queen of Zombie Hearts, Ali Bell was the star. Written in first person, you literally saw the world through Ali’s point of view. I thought she and I were two peas in a pod….until I started reading the fourth book, A Mad Zombie Party. In this book, the viewpoint changes, and multiplies. Now we are seeing the world through Frosty and Milla’s eyes. Thought to be secondary characters–I mean, Frosty is Ali’s boyfriend’s best friend and her best friend’s boyfriend, and Milla is the rival “gang” leader’s little sister–a gang I wasn’t even aware of really, until the third book–they suddenly take center stage, and I’ll be damned if I don’t relate to those two even more than I did with Ali Bell.

See, with Ali, she had lost her entire family in an accident that she felt was all her fault. Blaming yourself for a loved one’s demise–whether it be literal death, or something just as life-altering–is a gig I have been playing for a long time. I blame myself for my mother’s death, my grandmother’s death, my brother’s addictions, my father’s health… Whether or not any of it is valid is beside the point. That is the way that I feel and it is a heavy burden to carry. So I connected with Ali in that sense. Also, at the time I began this series (about two months ago), I was embarking on a new love affair, and the connection between Ali and violet-eyed Cole seemed to be on par with mine. (I’m sure that this didn’t help during the inevitable end of my love affair. Cole and Ali were “meant to be” in their world. Even when they broke up and eventually got back together (ok, Cole never let her go, and again, awesome books let you know why he did what he did)…part of me is still waiting for the reconciliation in my life, and I find that expectation painful.)

Cut! Bring in the next feature, and you have Milla and Frosty. Milla seriously messed up in the third book. In fact, Queen of the Zombie Hearts, ends with a strong feeling of hatred towards little Miss Milla! And Frosty, a volatile character to begin with, has gone off the deep end by succumbing to his shattered heart. I connect with both of them. Frosty doesn’t want to cheer up, because to him that would be doing the memory of his loss a disservice. To actually live without that person is a gross injustice. It has taken me a long time to realize that that is what I still do with my mother. I will forever be the sad little girl who watched her mother die, if I cannot find the desire to live without her. Truly live. As far as Milla goes, she committed to the horrific plan that was literally the cause of Frosty’s pain, for an excellent reason–in an effort to protect her brother. Of course this resonates with me, since my brother is my “air”–I need him in my life! I’d do anything for him.

Another reason I identify with Milla–guys tend to hit it and quit it. No one ever stays. And although Milla has a decently strong concept of her self-worth–she knows she’s pretty dang awesome, especially with zombie slaying–her self-image is tarnished by these boys’ rejection. Yup…I get that. Can you really be that awesome if people are willing to leave you? It makes you focus on your faults and hold yourself accountable for every wrong deed you have ever committed. (So bad if you’re the type of person who takes the blame for everything!) See, even the universe thinks you deserve nothing but loneliness; punishment for your crimes against humanity!

Which, in my usual roundabout way, brings me to my point. Can I read my story, please? Funky’s Story, The Story of Rachel Campbell? Can I know the important clues, the relevant incidents, that will lead me to my destiny? Which signs am I supposed to follow? What can I do to get what I want, and is what I want actually what I need? What I deserve? Do I not deserve it? What is my life path?

I have been avoiding blogging. First, because I was wrapped up in my new love affair; then because of the violent end of that love affair. I knew I would write about it, and I am, of course, but hopefully I do it in such a way that it doesn’t leave me more broken.

See, with this one, the signs were there. Ok, ok, I can find the signs anywhere, let’s be honest. I can fall in love with someone’s potential loooong before they deserve it, and long before I will even admit to myself that I am in love. If you have read any of my blogs before, then you have a basic idea about “the ex”, “the one who hurt me the most”, “the one who hurt me first”, and the one who is just plain mean. Now there is the recent one, the legend, that I am just having the hardest time getting over.

So earlier this year, as some of you know, I was fed up with the reconciliation with both the mean one and the one who hurt me first. I was also fed up with my self-imposed celibacy, so when I received my invitation for a wedding in another state, I decided then and there that I would be getting some tail. Little did I know it would be the best man, and that I would actually find out he’s amazing.

We meshed right away. Our conversations were good, and we seemed to genuinely enjoy each other’s company. We had similar beliefs, similar experiences, and similar “life goals.” Granted, those goals weren’t the healthiest of ambitions, but we were on the same page nonetheless. I’m not sure what he thought about me, but I just thought he was one of the sexiest men I had ever seen in real life. (I should have realized then that I was already trying to fall.) I had gone into the situation thinking it was a one-time affair (both times that vacation, I thought it was a one-time thing…hahaha), but lo and behold, we actually lived in the same state. In fact, we lived 16 miles away from each other.

Looking at this from an avid reader’s perspective, (and an incurable hopeless romance enthusiast) this was the first really big sign. How do I travel to another state, to find a guy that actually lives near me? And even there, guests at the wedding asked us if we were together, because we “vibed” so well. (I think it was the fact that my hair matched his hat, hahaha!) Maybe if we stayed out there, we could have lasted…because all we did was come back home to the demons we so forcibly left behind…

I didn’t expect him to call when he got back, but you can bet I was waiting with bated breath, hoping that he did. Well, he did. The connections continued. In the stories I read, introducing someone to your friends is a pretty major thing. Well that was the first thing he did, and it was an afternoon of “your girlfriend” jokes, and me being awkward and shy around his people. Then the next call came, and the next. Turns out we also have similar political views, and we have some of the same darkness running through our veins. We could hang.

Then came the BIG signs–the ones that I consciously look for/ recognize: His hometown state is the same one that my uncle was from–the only man my aunt ever loved. Also the state that my BFF is currently residing and where she met her hubby. (You can bet that I imagined us traveling up there together to visit both of our families.) His initials are the same as the actress who plays my all time favorite television star. He is into motorcycles. We both have a degree in video production from the Art Institute, and we both are doing nothing with it. We both also have the same pipe-dream for what we would like to do with that degree. Music, movies…we clicked. He also had the sense to hypothetically worry about his parents possibly dying–something I encourage since I know first hand that it can and will happen, and it sucks. Best to mind those relationships while you can.

And we talked about the big stuff too. Like marriage and children. I’m not sure how long it has been since I have touched on that subject with you all, but I recently have come to the conclusion that I desire neither. My world lost four children this year–two did not have the chance to really grow even inside the womb, but it still hurts. And the other two…one was a three-year-old who drowned, and the other was a month old and passed from SIDS. I had only met one of these kids once, the three-year-old; but their parents are important enough to me that every single one of these deaths hit me like a pile of bricks. If I can’t handle my friend losing their child, then how can I possibly attempt to bring my own into the world? Point being, I won’t. Mr. Legend had the same viewpoint, essentially. No marriage, no kids. I mean, that right there was the real kicker for me, because how are you supposed to tell a man that you desire neither his name nor his seed?

But something went wrong. Somewhere we lost it. But here I was thinking, subconsciously mostly–it really hit me when he broke it off–that I had found the one. Not even two months together, and I have to admit that I honestly had that thought. And the end was violent (not physically, but emotionally. It was meant to wound, to sever) and mean. Not as mean as it could have been, but I was so confused by the ending to begin with, it crushed me. I was seriously angry too.

But it has been a whole month without him. If he missed me, he would contact me, right? Granted, I miss him and I have behaved myself admirably! (Ok, I did send the last three messages, all unanswered. Two at the end of our fight, and one on the day of the only date he ever planned for us, and took away. I couldn’t help it then. I can now, because even my pathetic-ness has limits.) But I can’t stop missing him…

And this is where the desire to read my own book comes in. I want to know what I did wrong. I want to know if I misread the signs. Because this one felt different. Oh, I know, “they always feel different!” I’m not the only woman/man/human to have ever felt like this one is different, that this breakup is wrong…but it just feels sooooo wrong! I know I am also obsessed with wondering why. I have been asking the universe for years why this world works the way that it does. Why people suck so much. Why do I have the life that I do? But I also know that, because I don’t get the answers I crave, I blame the universe–fate–for hating on me! I feel like Perseus in The Clash of the Titans, sometimes. The whole, “God doesn’t give you what you can’t handle,” makes me want to scream, “I am not Superman!!” However, I am beginning to realize that this is a problem as well…how can fate reward me if I don’t have faith in its plan? If I don’t trust it not to screw me over?

So, is it me? Was it my own self-fulfilling prophesy that started the end? Was it him? Did I miss the red flags? Am I ignoring them? Focusing on the good? Yes and no. My scale of bad differs from most, and do really try to focus on the good. Was it the fact that I can’t not find myself attracted to an addict of some flavor? (Again with the signs–and this one Lollipop disagrees with wholeheartedly–I feel like my one is an addict, because that would explain why I have soooo much experience with addicts. Lollipop feels that I don’t have lasting relationships because I only date addicts. But I get addicts, despite my lack of qualifying addictions.) Am I still too hurt from my mom’s passing? How can I expect someone to feel like they can’t live without me, if I want to live without me?

Can I just read the test, so I know what lessons I should be learning? Skip to the ending and just scan it so I know what to look out for? Or can I scan his book so I know how he really felt?

Was it fated to end as such?

Ugh…needless to say, this past month has been rather hard on this old heart. (I turn 32 real soon!!) However, I will say that the entire month and a half long relationship was a good thing. A necessary thing to happen. It has stirred up some stuff in this noggin, and maybe ripped a band-aid off of my heart–I had promised myself that I wouldn’t feel that kind of loss again, after my mom died. It seriously surprised me that I grieved for Legend. It is actually nice to know that I can feel that way for someone who is not my mother, lbvs. It is nice to know that I am capable of falling in love with someone who didn’t know my mother at all. Or even know me when I had my mother.

Just give me a clue to get to the end of this chapter, please…


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