Fred: You Can't Go Home Again

There's just something about this time of year. The sun, the warmth, the freedom. This time of year is typically when I start planning for a trip out to L.A. And with that, Fred will be there at LAX, waiting for me. Not this time around though. I ended things with him. I had to. As much as I love him, the more work I did to sort through my own shit, no longer could the good override the bad. The overwhelming problem is that when he's good, he's great. And when he's bad, he's an asshole. And I'm too grown and accomplished to be accepting crap for anyone, especially him!

He once admitted to me that his less than kind moments towards me are more based on his own insecurities and his own challenges with his religious upbringing. And I get it. I've always been able to give him grace. I know he loves me. But at some point, baby you gotta do that work to unpack your own shit and not take it out on me. All I've done is love you, in spite of it all. I shouldn't be the one being punished here.

I saw him last June. I'd rented a hotel so that we could be in separate beds, with no temptation for anything inappropriate. Although we avoided sex (I'm sure I could have done it if I'd wanted to), we did manage to do some cuddling. I told him that he felt like home. And I meant it. Two decades getting to know one another created a bond I have yet to match. Some things have come close, but nothing like what he and I have had. As much as I've been thinking about him lately, in my spirit, I absolutely know he's thinking about me too. And that's what hurts. That I know that I could always fall right back into who and what we were. We'd always return home to one another. I've theorized that our demons recognized one another. He'd absolutely shut down that statement, saying that he has no demons. However, I know that's horseshit.

I think that's part of what always kept me able to deal with him, because even in his weird moments, I still get him. In spite of having a well-documented fear of commitment, I loved that I could always return to him. He was home. I've struggled with men who wanted to be my everything, and wanted me up under them constantly. I loved that with him, no matter where I went, and no matter where he went, we'd always find our ways back to one another. I'm not delusional enough to believe that there's not some degree dysfunction in that. I know it was dysfunctional, but it was still comfortable. It was familiar. It was home.

So yes, this weather always makes me think about him and L.A. Word on the playground is that he may make an appearance in Atlanta for the Jazz Fest next month. I wasn't particularly planning to go myself, until I learned that Donnie would be performing. So I guess I'll see...

At some point a few years back, Fred and I had talked about embracing a serious relationship, once my son is out of the house. Maybe that's why I'm so nostalgic lately? Pumpkin graduates in 34 days and I'm definitely in the streets more. Perhaps I'd subconsciously started thinking about the what ifs? Every now and again, I envision that I'll run into him again. I'm not going to call him. I refuse to walk back into those old patterns. We'll never be who and what we once were, and we'll never be in a serious relationship. That's not who he is and that's not who we are.

And I gotta be okay with that.