MIA. Drug Dealers. White Skirts. Lovers.

Day 30. Freewriting.

I remember the first time. The first time that I didn’t know what to do. I emailed my parents and assured them that I was OK. It was a lie because I really didn’t know what I wanted. I knew that I needed space. I couldn’t breathe. I walked through my 2-bedroom apartment, thinking that I’m so fucking tired of restarting. I had personal belongings in 3 countries. I was in the process of interviewing for a job. I couldn’t wear my work slacks because they kept slipping off my hips. I could no longer fill out my dresses. My eyes were hallowed out. I tried to sit by the pool to get sun…as most people do when they live on a tropical island. Rather than embrace the lady of leisure lifestyle, I allowed the whispers of the tai-tais to get under my skin. I knew they were insecure by why focus on me? It’s not my problem that their husband has wandering eyes. I didn’t assume they married for love anyways. The price you pay for that lifestyle… If given a chance to redo, I’m confident they’d make the same decision to trap the guy. That was their ticket out of whatever life they lived before. I don’t judge them, so why are they whispering about me. The sun starts fading and the husbands head to the squash courts. Of course, they took notice of me moving in a few weeks earlier. They smelled the fresh meat. The husbands nearly broke their necks checking me out. That’s why their baby’s momma throw shade. I get it.

I make brownies and embrace the tai tai’s. Knowing that I could grab their husband’s attention was not a challenge. Why on Earth would I want someone’s sloppy seconds? Why on Earth would I ever settle to be a side chick? No thank you. Rest assured high strung tai tai, I’m not going to shag your husband. I have my own things to sort out. I’m in love with a guy that I refuse to address by name. He will forever be known as the Terrorist. If I shared the story, you’d understand, fully. I wish the company would stop playing hard to get and just make the offer already… I hate waiting.

The following weeks, I feel myself spiraling. I beg the Terrorist to leave me alone. I’m a creature of habit and he knows all my comfort spots. He knows my buttons. He knows that I’m not rational because my heart is in the driver’s seat.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday and he promised that we’d make a huge spread. Of course, that was a lie to get into my good graces. I cannot even remember what he did to hurt me, this time… Was it during the diving trip when he lost his temper in the car and told me to kill myself? Or maybe it was when he wanted to nap and I wanted to walk along the beach? A lot of the memories are foggy, thankfully, they are foggy.

Moving into my own place was my clean slate. 14 moves in a year. I was exhausted. All I asked was for him to leave me alone. I needed him to give me space to heal. It’s funny how I knew to leave countries after break-ups because I cannot deal with being treated like a yo-yo. My breaks are clean. It’s not because I’m a cold-hearted person. It’s because I hold onto the words, the empty promises give me hope. The sweet empty promises always give me hope.

The Terrorist knew that I was getting stronger. I was taking more time to respond. I threw myself on Tinder to make new friends. I shouldn’t fuck the crazy out this time around. Gosh, I needed my Lover. Yesterday. I needed him. I make the call, he’s in country in a week’s time. It is what it is, I know better than to catch feelings. Being with him is wrong on so many levels but I cannot resist the way he looks at me…

Growing up, I knew when a guy fancied me by the name that he called me. Being a slight tom-boy, I was always called Corvo or Corvo’s sister. (My brother was a very talented soccer player so his friends/teammates would call me Corvo’s sister). I never flinched because his teammates were off limits (protective dad and respect to brother) and my circle of friends didn’t view me as a girl. I was their teammate. At least that’s what I thought. Besides, I was pretty comfortable dating my high school sweetheart for half of high school. The other half was dabbling with a guy in NA, future volleyball pro, and soccer superstar. No judgments. They each added color into my life in some way… such beautiful souls. The few times that people called me Jess, it stuck out. That’s when I knew the guy thought of me more than someone’s sister or a teammate. I was a girl. A girl who they were trying to date. A girl worth the hoops that my dad set up. Cool.

Not many people called me Jess… not many at all. It didn’t matter because I only gave my heart (fully) to one person during those years anyways. I took my heart back when my sweetheart decided to go missing for 3 days. He called his dealer rather than me. Shortly after, our birthday’s were coming up, I drove across the state to talk it out and celebrate. He thought that it was a great idea to smoke resin. Not even pot, but resin. Ridiculous. I didn’t care what drugs he did as long as he was clean around me. My only request was to never bring that garbage around me. After going missing for 3 days, calling his dealer to bail him out and then stinking like resin on my birthday, I put up the white flag and said the hell with it. I deserve better. I’m out. Not too long after that, I connected with my college sweetheart. Most sought after guy on campus. I was his greatest challenge. My only request to him was do whatever he needed to do with whatever girls, but they all go away if he’s messing with me. I don’t share my men. Took him a few months to come around but eventually, he did. He agreed to my request and off we went. Things were magical for a few years. At least I thought. Three years in, I realized that he was fucking half the girls on campus, or at least anything in a white skirt. I found out when I was traveling abroad. I was confronted by one of his regulars. Classy. I don’t remember much else other than a LOT of tears. My mom still teases me about a specific weekend. I needed to get away from campus and disappeared home. I needed some TLC from my momma. I cried all weekend only saying, “I spent so much time training him. Someone else is going to benefit from my work! This is not fair.” Clearly, I’m not rational when my heart is in the driver seat. A year of couple’s therapy to rebuild trust. Graduation. Nationals. Offer for Management role at Walmart. Naw. I jumped ship. I packed a bag and went to Asia.

I don’t fair well with proximity. When relationships end, I change location. Simple. Clean slate. No strings.

My Lover knew my history. He knew my soft spots. He knew to call me Corvo, rather than Jess. He knew broad shoulders put me at ease. He knew that mentally challenging me made me weak in the knees. He knew that treating me like a person turned me into an animal. He knew my infatuation with scruffy faces… My ‘type’ definitely included a 5’oclock shadow. Most of all, he knew when to offer help and how to solve a problem. He knew all my weaknesses. He witnessed a vulnerable moment. Rare. Vulnerable moments only happen when I feel safe. I told him that we could do what we were doing as long as he continued to call me Corvo. It worked for a while and then it didn’t. Two rules bent: he called me Jess and I spent the night… I was so twisted about the Terrorist that I justified the whole thing as part of my rebound process or an early Christmas present.

I foolishly thought that I could control my emotions.

I could control my mind. I could control my body.. Why couldn’t I control my feelings?

Feelings are not meant to be controlled. I’m grateful to my Lover for reminding me how to love…

#WhyIWrite #MentalWellness #MentalHealth #SelfImprovement #Love #JourneyToPeace

Published by Jessica Corvo

Health Coach. Mental Wellness Advocate. Ironman. Global Nomad. Warrior of Love.

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