Two If By Sea

I burned my last ocean-scented tea light candle in my Pier One candle holder. I watched the flame burn low and thought “I could always go buy more.” But I opted instead for giving away the fragile glass candle holder with a miniature beach of sand and seashells inside. I’m trading the fake ocean for the real one. I am going to go live on a sailboat.

I am simultaneously terrified and excited. It is difficult to reconcile the two emotions. I’ve been craving a simpler life with less to clean and care for, and my partner has been longing to set sail for the five years that I’ve known and loved him. Today, we bought the boat that will be our new home. It is currently at a marina in Kemah, TX on the Gulf of Mexico, but we hope to venture out of U.S. waters and set sail to the Bahamas, Caribbean and beyond.

My material world is about to undergo a drastic change. Imagine going from a 1,700 square foot house to living in a tiny, 36 foot long, 12 foot wide, sailboat. That is less than 432 square feet of living space though because a boat isn’t a rectangle.

All of our (me and the narcissistic asshole’s) necessary furniture is built into the boat, however, there is precious little storage space for our things. Paring down our lives to inhabit this pint-sized dwelling means limiting ourselves to the bare necessities of clothes, linens, cookware, toiletries, makeup, cleaning supplies, and tools. I did say that most of the makeup will be eliminated. I mean, how much room does a tube of waterproof mascara take up?

Technology has made some of our paring down easier since we can now have hundreds of books on tablets, thousands of songs on our cell phones, and all of the movies we’d want to watch, if stranded on a desert island, on our laptops. We will be adding solar panels to the boat to support the charging needs of our modern life. Some things are too important to trust to a possible technological failure, so we will have manuals for the boat systems in good old-fashioned book format.

Watching my last tea light burn out gave me a small twinge of regret at losing this pleasure. But if given the choice of that candle or the flickering of sunlight on the ocean and the briny, humid fragrance of the real thing, I know which one I’d choose in a heartbeat. And I’m already shopping for an antique, gimbaled, brass oil lamp that will far outshine any tea light candle for romantic ambiance.  

And after she lived on a sailboat for a year, which never went anywhere, not even to the fuel station, and after his behavior became radically changed, she wrote the final chapter to the ‘romantic sailing adventure’ story. 

Don’t Fuck With a Woman Who Has a Blog, You Narcissistic Asshole.

“Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.” Way to “Work the Program” as you say in Alcoholics Anonymous by calling me a liar, calling me a sneaky bitch, telling me I was trying to entrap you, and telling me to block your number because you aren’t strong enough to do the same. Telling me that my blog, named PiratesTale, was your property, when I am the writer, not you. 

And also, congratulations on doing all of this in writing so I have evidence of your hideous, mean, manipulative, and cruel behavior toward me.

You’re not just mean, you’re an idiot to throw away the deep love of an amazing, talented, brilliant, gorgeous woman who gave up literally everything to follow you to work on YOUR dream.

God will judge us both. My conscience is clear. You cannot say the same after this behavior following your 9^th step, pathetic ‘apology,’ you narcissistic, selfish, controlling, mentally and physically abusive alcoholic. I have photos of bruises given ‘in the heat of passion’ when I told you that you were hurting me. Not that I have video of me telling you to stop or pushing away your hand, but still.

By the way, in six years, I only ever had one orgasm with you. That’s right, I lied. You are not a caring lover. You never cared for me. That is abundantly clear to me now.

And yes, I am at fault for my part in that shitty relationship disaster. I should have been a stronger person and told you to go fuck yourself sooner. You said you were ‘a bit of an asshole’ on our first date, and boy is that as true now as it ever was.  

You’re seeing people? Oh? Am I supposed to come running back to you and beg you to take me back? Not. Gonna. Happen. Am I supposed to be jealous? I feel so sorry for that person. They have no clue what they are in for.

And I am lashing out, in honest anger, because I am re-learning to express myself after being told to shut up for six years while you prattle on about how important you think you are while never listening to me, providing for my needs, or caring about my dreams.

I was never bad to you. I never cheated. I never lied. I spent $10,000 on fixing up your stupid boat to live on. And I will never see that money ever again.

And you know what? I regret nothing, except my wasted time that I will never get back. But you have taught me a valuable lesson; never give away your power.

I know that I am exactly where I am supposed to be, with people who love and support me, with kind and caring people who embrace me for all that I am and love all that I will become. Who will lift me up, who help me to be a better person, and who will love me even when I fall or fail.

I am a person who can forgive, and I told you that I did, but now you come at me again with this cruelty, this baseless anger, this hatred that fuels your rage. Oh, by the way, those are emotions. I know you have no fucking clue what they are so let me help you to understand. Fear and Sadness, those are the things that you repress so you can be manly. Happy is the one that you don’t know how to express. And Anger is the one that you give in huge quantities. Like how you were angry at me when your son called me instead of you, and when I asked if he wanted to talk to you, he said no, and you heard him because it was on speaker, and it hurt you, but you couldn’t say it, you just yelled at me and ran as fast away from me as you could.

Your behavior is unforgiveable, for a friend or an enemy. I will leave forgiveness up to God now.

I am not crazy. I am telling the truth, in anger, to be sure, but nothing in this is untrue. Some of it is opinion, but the facts are absolutely true and verifiable. I have photos of the bruises. I have video of you sobbing and pounding the counter in an alcoholic stupor from which I had to drag your huge, heavy ass to bed and which you remember none of.

I saved these things because I knew I would be called crazy, told that I was lying, told that I was imagining things, blowing them out of proportion, and distorting the facts. And the reason I started collecting evidence was because I started waking up to the truth of the physical and emotional abuse that I was living in, and because I was desiring something full of love, hope, and laughter, not a life full of anger, distrust, violence, and my own fear.

Now I am free. I am free. I am blissfully free of that cage. Free of your anger. Free of your selfishness. Free to be fully the ‘me’ that I am meant to become. Keep your hate. Let it fester and destroy you. I release you. You can have none of me, and you’ll have to live with that.

All I wanted was the sea, adventure, tiny living, travel, and the love I am worthy of. I’m not worthy, apparently.