Tits Out Truth Bombs Tuesday: Can A Relationship Be Repaired When Trust is Broken?

overcoming a betrayal in a relationship

Lies, Manipulation, and Love Built to Die

Or

There’s Good Reason Why So Many Of Us Have Built a Wall Around Ourselves

Recently I had my heart ripped out of my chest again. My best friend has told me on countless occasions that I trust people too easily. I know she is right, but I also have never been able to overcome this trait I have. Regardless of whether I’m making a new friend or developing a new romantic relationship, I always give people the benefit of the doubt. I trust them until they prove to otherwise be untrustworthy. This is not uncommon behavior, most of us do this. Why wouldn’t we do this? There has to be some faith in both the self and the other that the bonds that are being built are being built on solid honest ground.

And yet, it’s so interesting how quickly a good relationship can turn bad when that trust we hand over so easily shatters.

The question is, can it be repaired?

Of course, it can, we even can see examples in mainstream media every day, see Beyonce and Jay-Z, Hillary and Bill, etc.

The deeper question comes down to whether or not both parties involved really want to repair it.

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When someone does something hurtful to someone else the person being hurt has to understand that this is not a reflection of who they are, but a question of who the other person doing the hurting is.

How good was the relationship prior to this pain? Are both of you willing to do the work to overcome it?

Of course, I can’t help but feel duped, humiliated, made to look stupid. The thought of going through those feelings again is enough to make me run far far away and never look back. It’s not that I can’t forgive him for his terrible behavior–I can. I’m questioning whether I can trust myself to give him another chance and risk going through all of those emotions again. I’m not a big fan of those emotions, who is? I think of what my friends would do, would say to me. I think of what I’d say to my friends if something similar happened to them and I know I’d tell them to tell the guy to “fuck off,” (which I actually did do, quite loudly at 5 am in the morning but that’s a digression).

I think of the future. I think, what if I forgive this guy and he does it again? Not only would I be mad at myself but I’d be embarrassed, ashamed for being so easily manipulated.

I don’t understand liars. I’ve always been way too honest, to a fault even. My lack of a filter has gotten me in trouble many many times, yet I prefer it to living any other way. Sometimes I forget how other people don’t do this. How other people so often lie to get what they want.

That’s the other thing that confuses me. Why lie to get what you want? And what benefit does it serve to lie to the person you like romantically? If you’re so comfortable with that that you’re no longer interested in being with them, why not just break it off? If you’re so bored that you want to be with someone else after a month why not just say “girl, bye?” If you want to do whatever you want and get away with it, why be in a relationship at all?

The thing is you can’t do whatever you want when you’re in relationships with other people. Not if you care about them anyway. Sometimes you have to suck it up and do the thing you don’t really want to do, whether it’s going to their company’s BBQ even though you hate all their coworkers, making breakfast even though you’re both dying of a hangover, or you know, not hitting on their roommate even if the roommate is so damn cool and fine. It’s called basic human decency. Relationships require that as a bare minimum.

So yeah, here I am, in kind of a conundrum.

There were so many good things happening and I miss that, I miss him, I miss us. Yet, I can’t be with a liar. I can’t be with someone who does whatever he wants with no regard for the other person. If he can prove that that is not who he is at his core (or his surface even). If he could actually do the work, show real remorse and take positive action to repair all this then maybe.

Yet, then again, maybe I’m too easy and need to learn how to be a bit “more hard”.

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Tits Out Truth Bombs Tuesday: Falling Out of Love with Denver + Giving Up the Booze

alcohol abuse and living in denver

Is Denver Becoming Too High Maintenance?

or

When You Change One Thing You May Need to Change Them All

My favorite running path in Denver takes me through City Park, where I always stop at Duck Lake to look at the black birds (double-crested cormorants) that perch in huge nests which sit atop these twisted goth trees. These are migrating birds. They leave in the fall and return in the spring. When they returned this year I told everyone that I too was going to take off when they took off in the fall. I only half-meant it when I said it back then.

Now it’s almost fall and the birds are half gone already.

Before I even got to Duck Lake today I could feel the shift. It was way too quiet. The leave of absence hit me harder than I expected it to. I couldn’t believe it was already happening.

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I recently decided I needed to take a break from drinking. Luckily I haven’t hit rock bottom yet and I hope I can keep it together enough that I never do. I do know that I abuse alcohol. Or it abuses me. Perhaps we have this weird BDSM switch-like relationship going on, I don’t know. I’m not typically even an over-indulger. I can say no to cake. I can say no thanks to cookies. But when it comes to beer I’m like “Give Me! Give Me! Give Me ALL of the BEER!!”

Damn, I love beer.

It’s only been three days. I know three days is nothing to almost all human beings who are not alcoholics, but it’s a lot for people who are alcoholics and plenty for those (like me) who are alcohol abusers. Yet, during these this three-day break from alcohol I’ve been thinking about how I might actually have to leave Denver.

I’m not sure this city is a healthy place for me to be. I think it would be really easy for me to fall back into old habits.; to go out and repeat the same sort of stories over and over. I’m tired of those stories. I’m tired of going to bars, having one-night stands, waking up feeling like shit, eating fried foods just to make it through the day, popping pills that will help me focus, gain energy, and get work done, repeating the same stupid shit all over again.

Also, I may be falling out of love with Denver.

Just like people change and grow so to do cities. Perhaps I’ve learned enough from this place; perhaps it’s time for the basic bitches to take my place as they are making their way here in droves (and honestly I’m over interacting with them).

I don’t know where I’d go. I don’t even know who I am or what I want to be anymore.

I don’t feel lost. I feel misplaced. I know exactly where I am I just don’t know why I’m here.

I’m also a bit burnt out on always writing about sex. I know it’s what you all want, but it’s not what I want. I want more. I want to explore the depths of humanity–body and soul, not just how far you can fit something up a vagina.

So I will be doing that. Of course, I’ll still write about sex stuff. But summer is over. The birds are headed south. It’s time to get shit together. Perhaps even fly somewhere new.

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Tits Out Truth Bombs Tuesday: My Embarrassing First Kiss Story

first kiss embarrassing story

 

The First Time Isn’t Always the Best Time

Or

Real Life True Story of a First Kiss

As many of you know, I’m back home in the lovely oppressively humid state of Kansas. I’ve been getting out and about and my adventures have brought so many memories to the surface. I thought it would only be fair to share some stories that proved I was not always an expert in (and out) of the bedroom.

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Since today is all about telling some truth, I want to tell you about my first kiss.

I wish I had my journals here with me because I’m pretty sure I made it sound SUPER romantic, slightly cheesy, very cute.

Here’s what I remember.

I was 15 (I know, I was old for a first kiss, but I was also quite picky about boys as a teenager). It was late fall, I had been “going out” with a guy for a couple of weeks, let’s call him M. There was some evening teen activity at the high school that we were all at. Somehow M and I snuck away. We walked down to the nature trail behind all the buildings. This was the trail the science teachers used to teach us about the birds and the bees and stuff.

Well, we had our own way of learning about . . . stuff.

We held hands.

Sweaty hands.

We hiked through it until we were right in the middle where no one could see us.

The stars could see us.

The moon could see us.

The Gods could see us.

And we could see them.

I was nervous. I knew what was going to transpire. My best friend had gotten an earlier start, which pissed me off because she was supposed to be the goody-goody and I was supposed to be the rebel. There was no time to waste. It had to be right then.

We turned to face each other. We both stood there like assholes. He leaned in. I leaned in. The world leaned in.

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Our lips were touching!

Wow.

He pulled me closer.

Our tongues were touching.

Oh, my!

There was at least one or two twirls of our tangoing tongues.

He pulled back.

I pulled back.

The world pulled back.

“That’s what all the hype is about?” I thought.

He took my hand and we walked back to the school.

Everyone knew.

They could see it on our faces.

Wait. Wait. Wait.

You’re waiting for the embarrassing part, aren’t you?

Fffinnneee. Here it goes. We were Freshman when this first kiss thing happened. We broke up maybe a week or two after the incident but remained sex-tension friends for the remainder of high school. I’ll always remember M as the only man who ever sent me flowers. Seriously. In my entire life, he was the only one and I think he jinxed me. I broke up with him one evening, then the next day at school I got flowers delivered to me. Turns out he had already ordered them and couldn’t cancel the delivery. The card read, “I love you.”

I was horrified.

Anyhoo. I digress.

Years later, senior year to be exact. We’re fight-flirting as per usual. We’re all reminiscing about all our years spent together in that shit hole school. I’m not exactly sure how it even comes up, but in front of our entire group of friends, M, tells everyone that the night we first kissed, MY FIRST KISS, I kissed him, “like a fish.”

LIKE A FISH.

I KISSED LIKE A FISH.

I had NO IDEA! I thought it was a decent first kiss. I thought I had it ALL figured out. I thought I was queen of the lip smack patty whack. Princess of the pucker. I could not have been further from that truth.

And maybe he was already a little pick-up-artist. Perhaps he was feeding on my weaknesses. Could have been he knew I hated to lose or to be bad anything, but I turned to him and said, “Well, I don’t kiss like that anymore.”

Did I prove him wrong?!? Only the birds and the bees know the answer to that.

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