SWF seeks a pair of balls. Figuratively speaking.

I had a revelation today. Time after time I find myself in unhealthy situations. Relationships that are one-sided. I put in effort, and the effort isn't returned. I allow it to continue. I cling to a false hope. And those are the three words that get me every time: "allow" and "false hope." It's a pattern. People around me see it, they tell me, "Krista, this is ridiculous. You need to end it." And I don't. I won't. I can't. But I don't know why. I never believed myself to be a person who's afraid to be alone, but why else do I cling to relationships that aren't real? That aren't complete, or honest? Why do I have such a hard time letting go of them and moving on?  Why do I allow it?

I've been knee-deep in a situation for a few months. I don't talk about it because I can't. How do you talk about something that you can't define? How to you discuss something with no tangible evidence of existence? We see each other rarely. The relationship, and I use that term loosely, is a series of text messages that have been ongoing since fall. The situation is a tangle of heart and mind and confusion and words.

No, it's not Tiger Woods. Or a married man. Or any of the above. But doesn't it sound that way? Imagine how it feels.

I feel as though I've been strung along, and maybe I have. False promises. False hope. And every time I'm about to throw in the towel, quit putting forth the effort and the heart and the words, tell  him to go back wherever he came from, he comes back. Nothing is off, he says. Why are you worried, he asks. I'm sorry, he tells me. And, as usual, I accept.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

I allow myself to settle for less than I deserve. Always. I believe a person deserves as much as the effort they put into something. But I don't apply that rule to myself. And I'm afraid it's because I'm afraid. Afraid to cut my losses. Afraid to go it alone. Afraid there won't be someone else. And what a ridiculous way to live.

Last night I crafted an email to him. An ultimatum. It was scathing and wordy and full of amazing insight into my feelings and thoughts. And it was completely ridiculous. An email. I didn't send it. Writing is my cop-out, it always has been. In real life, I'm not confrontational. I'm quiet. Reserved. I hide behind this blog and behind my ability to use proper grammar and sentence structure. It's the only way I allow myself to communicate. It's easy.

He doesn't deserve the easy way out. He deserves to hear those words. To see my frustration. To feel my anger. I don't know if or when this confrontation will happen, but I'm glad I didn't send the email. I wrote it for me. Very much like this blog. To get the words and the feelings and the emotion out. And then I feel better. But some things are better left unwritten, and rather need to be spoken.

I'm going to work on that. I'm going to work on myself. I'm not going to accept less than the best for myself. I'm not going to settle for less than I deserve in any relationship, love or otherwise. And I'm going to speak my mind when it desperately needs to be spoken, and not always hide behind the written word.

I'll save the hiding for this blog.