Only Howie Cares For Me as a Person

Carole writes Howie:

You just never cease to amaze me. Even though I didn't sleep well, I didn't think well either. I told Bob Solomon that I was coming to see you last night, and afterwards I called to tell him that I was undecided on what to do. He couldn't believe that I could be on the fence about this and said he wanted to withdraw from our relationship. This seems like a very strong reaction for a relationship that is only a week old, and feels for all the world as if I am being "played". (Just tell someone they can't have something and they will knock themselves out to get it, whether they wanted it or not, sort of thing).

He went on and on about how I have deceived and hurt him and perhaps I am being arrogant, or am in self denial, but I don't think either is true. Much of his appeal is in his passion and that could be all this is. Regardless of what his next move is, I still feel confused and without direction. This whole exercise has led me to know some of the things I don't want and has given me deeper insight into some of the qualities that are important to me in myself and others. It has been humbling and I needed that. Gotta be careful what you pray for.

This is just such a foreign state for me, I don't know how to deal with it. I wish to let the dust settle around me, so that I can see clearly. I cannot thank you enough for the way you have been. You are so self-less and kind. Your ability to step outside your own needs for me is truly remarkable.

Later that day to Howie:

Dear Howie, Don't worry about my tears, or agonizing, for that matter. I cry easily, because I am easily touched. When I don't cry in a situation that would usually warrant it (in my book) then I step back and wonder why. I cried with you Tuesday night. I broke up with everyone else I was seeing Wednesday, without a single tear. Thursday I woke up crying over you and cried for 2 and 1/2 hours while writing to you. I cried in your arms last night. When Bob told me I had hurt him and mislead him, I was sad that he felt that way, but I didn't cry. I thought maybe I was just cried out. That happens.

This morning I needed to get some of my stuff out of his car. (No, not earrings, paperwork) He was much more calm and reasoned that God sent him to me with a message, the message was delivered, and that I shouldn't worry about having hurt him because it has only been a week and a good one at that. He said that he had just gotten carried away with his emotions when he thought he had found what he has been looking for, but that he didn't need me enough to share me. While I still feel a little of that reverse psychology in the air, it still should have touched me enough to make me cry, but didn't. Incidentally, I did not feel that you were doing that when you asked me to go the other night. Your rejection felt sincere. That doesn't sound like a compliment, as I read it, but it is.

Later, I read your email and cried again, but now when I go deep inside I don't feel pain. I feel a stillness, a peacefulness. I believe that every thing happens for a reason and that everything is unfolding as it should. Bob said he didn't know what that message was that he was involved in delivering, but I do. My "plan" for protecting my heart didn't work. The temporary sensation of not feeling was not fulfilling. I cannot distract myself enough to stop feeling. I can be swept off my feet, but not have any real depth of emotion, which causes me to wonder what the swept-off-my-feet thing is all about. It's that thing that causes me to jump into their lives, rescue them and bring them home. What IS that all about? I will be on the road alone most of the day and perhaps the significance of these revelations will become clear.

I never think that what-might-have-been would have been better than what is. I sometimes wonder how it might have been different, but don't recall ever thinking it would have been better. The perfect case in point was that first turning point in my life. I was in love with a boy at Florida College who was studying to be a preacher. I was only 14 and a virgin and he was willing to wait until I was old enough to marry to take me back to Bowling Green, KY to be a farmer/preacher's wife. When I was raped, I felt unworthy of him and broke up with him, without ever explaining why. I was too ashamed. Sometimes I wonder, if I hadn't been raped, and IF you could predict a life long involvement with a person, what would my life be like. I'd probably be some fat old lady now, sitting in a rocking chair, knitting doilies and thinking that I had never LIVED. That's about as romantic as I get over what might have been.

I am still uncertain of what to do next, but feel relieved in the belief that whatever it is, it was meant to be. I think you should contact the newspapers with the idea of a Dear Howie column. Women adore men like you. We need someone who is sensitive to the way we are and yet who has a man's perspective to draw from. It is far more valuable advice than any woman can get from another of her own gender. I will certainly give you a glowing recommendation.

Later that day to Howie:

Dear Howie, Today was a good day. I managed to deliver summons to Pasco, Pinellas and Hillsborough counties today. That may be a record for me. I sang in the car. Old tunes in an ancient language about buffalo, elk and rain, but songs all the same. I came home to Fall. The sky was grey and darkening and the remaining leaves on the hickory trees were blazing in yellows and oranges. The lawn is blanketed in colours from red to russet brown. I am fortunate to have the changing of the seasons here without the hills and snow. (My daughter just called from N.C. and is suffering from cabin fever from all the snow. She is making a sled from her dog's carriers to get the luggage to the car at the foot of the mountain)

I am even more blessed to have good friends like you. I pondered your insight and your advice today. It seems you never know a person until there is a difficulty. Anyone can be pleasant when things are going smoothly, but when their world is rocked, even slightly, you start to see what is in their heart. I like what I see in yours.

I thought about your advice of making a secret promise to myself and wondered why I have trouble doing that. I make promises to others, but rarely to myself. This year was the first year I ever made a New Year's Resolution i.e. Promise to myself. I don't know if I don't feel worthy of the promise, or if I feel incapable of keeping one that is only made to me, but that needs to change. I can't change what I don't see, so I appreciate you pointing that out to me.

Next comes, What to promise? I don't want to hurt anyone and I don't want to disappoint anyone, so how do I do that? It seems logical that if I don't promise anything to anyone, then I can't disappoint them by breaking a promise. The more I think about it, the more sound I find your concept of "good minutes". If I can stay in-the-moment and not get ahead of it, perhaps I and the person I am with can find enough happiness in that to not worry about the future.

It seems that sex is the difference between friendship and fiasco. I haven't had many people that I considered friends, but of the ones I have had, there doesn't seem to be the jealousy of other friends, nor the expectation of exclusivity to prove friendship. I wonder why sex changes things?

My immediate reaction to all of this is to want to crawl back in my cave, pull the rocks in around the entrance and hide here while I lick my wounds and try to figure out how to interact with the world in a less harmful manner. Rather than hurt anyone, that may be the kindest thing to do, but I am not built for idling long. When you offered to continue seeing me sexually while I worked this out, I felt it was because of your attitude toward just making the most of time we do have, and not because you needed me. I perceive that as strength and wonder if you would feel safe with me?

I wonder if you would BE safe with me? Or am I stupid enough to hurt you twice? All day long I have resisted the urge to call and ask you for 5 minutes of your time. I wanted a kiss, a hug and the reassurance that you didn't hate me for being such a fool, but I resisted because that is selfish and pointless. You would be kind, no matter what you really thought. The real issue here is not about my

happiness. I can find happiness in the simplest of things, like making the rounds in three counties in a day or watching the sunset as I drive home, or seeing my volunteers working well together.

I wonder what drives us to be part of a pair?

How can I be a part of your life without hurting you? What do you need or want, that I am capable of giving without causing harm? What can I do to repair the damage I have done to your trust?

I am going to go colour my hair. My hairdresser is sick and my hair looks awful. To leave you smiling, I will leave you with a pretty funny image, if not a funny story. Mary, my "wife" used to colour my hair. I don't have clothes that you can just toss after the messy dyes, so her teenage daughter gave me a t-shirt, about 6 sizes too small that barely covered my tits. It said Femme Fatale on the front.

Mary had way too much fun with the sticky, smelly hair colourant and had created a sculpture of my hair to rival the headdress on the statue of liberty. It has to set 20 minutes, but my mother called in a panic saying that she wanted me to go to her house in Avista (a walled and security patrolled neighborhood) and check to be sure she had turned off the stove.

Mary and I get there and realize the only way in is if someone buzzes you through the gate, or through the garage, to which I had no opener. She backed the car up to the wall and I scaled it. When I came back over the wall, Mary was very flustered and trying to explain to the security guard why her car was backed up to the fence. In my typical, I-can-handle-any-man attitude, I start trying to charm our way out of it because it was before the days of cell phones and there was no way to contact my parents. The guy is looking at me in this Femme Fatale rag top shirt, stinky hair all sculpted out in points and mounds and is looking more horrified than enamored. I'm wondering if I have lost my touch.

Mary takes in the scene and starts laughing so hard, I thought she would pass out. It wasn't until then that I remembered how I looked. Every time I colour my hair I think of that night.

I've been writing my story since I was able to write, but when the media goes to share it, they only choose the parts that fit their idea of what will generate views. If I'm going to share my story, it should be the whole story. The titles are the dates things happened. If you have any interest in who I really am please start at the beginning of this playlist: http://savethecats.org/

I know there will be people who take things out of context and try to use them to validate their own misconception, but you have access to the whole story. My hope is that others will recognize themselves in my words and have the strength to do what is right for themselves and our shared planet.

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Music (if any) from Epidemic Sound (http://www.epidemicsound.com) This video is for entertainment purposes only and is my opinion.