Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

State College, 1998

I wanted to save a little money, so I found an apartment in my dad's hometown. It was in the factory district and was pretty run down but cheap. I ended up nicknaming it the Crack House. Across the hallway from me lived a guy who was bipolar and who often went off his medication. He used to show up at my door, offering me tea or cinnamon sticks. Once, he tried to give my brother the keys to his truck.

The Druid and I had been taking yoga from an instructor who taught above a local coffee shop. I kept going, and my instructor sympathized with me about the impending divorce. He told me about the principle of attachment and how we bring ourselves misery if we become too attached to anything in this physical world, including people.

It took me years and years to understand where he was coming from, but I think I finally see the wisdom in that statement.

I wasn't ready for a lot of wisdom back then, and even though I went through a checklist with my mom and determined that I'd been in not just one, but already two emotionally abusive relationships (Leechboy and The Druid), I only went to counseling until I started to feel better. That was, I would later find, too soon.

The newspaper job was challenging but sometimes overwhelming. It was a very small newspaper, and the reporters had to do everything themselves, including take their own pictures and answer phones in the morning for things like obituaries. I enjoyed many aspects of it, such as writing a weekly column and performing my editing duties. But typically, the stress led to one migraine a week.

Ironically, my divorce papers came through just before Independence Day, 1998. A couple months later, I went to a disco party at my sister's place and met a guy who reminded me a lot of a guy I'd had a crush on in college. Of course, I should have seen this as a bad sign, because that particular period in college had been one of my darkest, as I struggled to come to terms with the deaths of an idol (Graham Chapman), a family friend and my maternal grandmother.

If I had to describe him, I'd say think of Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but without all the positive qualities. And with bad teeth. He even had a black leather jacket, and his hair was bleached blond when I met him. For the purpose of Musings, I've nicknamed him The Luser (loser/user).

Semi-Goth girl, 1999

We entered into a sordid little relationship, marked along the way with various betrayals not worth detailing. The one good thing that came out of it was when my brother's dog, Pulsar, had puppies, The Luser insisted that I take one. He had always wanted a dog, and at the time he was semi-permanently crashing at my place.

So I brought home a dog, whom we named Una, and she became a fast friend. When I eventually kicked The Luser out to wreak havoc in others' lives, I kept the dog. I painted shut the windows (he'd d once entered by crawling in from the roof when he misplaced his key), so he couldn't get in and steal her from me.

Kissing Una, May 2000

At this point, I swore off dating for a year. I thought it was for the best, and I knew I needed to get myself together before I left someone else into my life. Nine months later, though, at a 2001 New Year's party held by my friends The Cheshire Cat and The Paper, I met The Invisible Man, whom I've named after the character in the Ralph Ellison novel.

We had a great time chatting, made out in a stairwell and exchanged e-mail addresses. Once more, I ignored some obvious signs we weren't meant to be. He seemed to have different interests, different life goals. But he was also smart and funny and charming, so before I knew it we were in a long distance relationship.

New Year's 2001

At about the same time, coincidentally, I had grown tired of small town life and was moving to Philadelphia, after finding a job in the marketing department of a museum. The Invisible Man single-handedly helped me unload the rented trailer and pickup truck I had packed full of my stuff.

But while Philadelphia was marginally closer to his home base, he still lived in another state several hours away. The distance was harder on me than on him, because after all, I was still in the habit of codependency. Since my last relationship had been such a twisted one, rife with betrayal, I had difficulty trusting The Invisible Man. It didn't help, either, that he had trouble saying those three magic words, "I love you."

Nonetheless, there were positive aspects to the relationship. By this point, my weight had hit 220, though it might have once been even higher. I didn't step on the scale terribly often. With the support of The Invisible Man, I started taking care of myself again, watching what I ate and exercising. In fact, he bought me several of the exercise tapes I still use today. Even at my top weight, though, he kept telling me I was beautiful.

By the time my picture was taken at my brother's wedding, which I use as my "before" picture, I'd actually lost at least 10 pounds.

My brother's wedding, May 2001

The museum job was its own sort of hell. Dilbert fans will understand what I mean when I say I had the most pointy-haired boss you'll ever meet. He was capricious, unfair, self-serving and pompous. My first gut reaction when they let me go was relief.

At about the same time, I fell back into some of my old bad habits, namely overdrinking and overeating.

One night, in the midst of a drunken dialing session, where I had consumed far too much vodka and was calling everybody who would answer the phone, The Invisible Man said something that would change my life.

He told me, quietly, that he was going to hang up and that he wasn't going to talk to me until I found a way to resolve the problems that were pushing me to act this way.

So the next day, I did some introspection and determined he was right. I'd never fixed what was wrong, what was causing me pain. I had been trying to hide behind quick fixes: parties and people, food and alcohol binges.

I sought help with a local women's shelter, which was willing to give me some counseling, since I'd been through several emotionally abusive relationships (Leechboy, The Druid and The Luser).

I set a new rule for myself: no hard alcohol in the house and no drinking alone. When I had bad feelings, instead of running from them, I used the techniques my counselor gave me to work through them. The process was difficult at times, because I had to face some truths about myself that weren't always pretty. But in the process, I discovered I was a much better, much stronger person than I'd been willing to believe.

When The Invisible Man inevitably broke up with me, near the end of 2002, citing our differences, I was much more capable of handling it. This time, it didn't tear me apart. We remain friends to this day, and I credit him with helping me to discover I had the power to heal myself.

Showing off muscle, October 2004

I also have to credit my sister, who was never afraid to tell me the truth about my self-destructive behavior, but whose wisdom I couldn't hear until I was ready to hear it. My entire family have always been, and remain, strong supporters.

Meanwhile, a friend from grad school had helped me find the job I have now, which allows me to work as a telecommuter out of my home. The hours are fairly flexible, and I like the work, even though it's closer to clerical than to writing and editing. I do take freelance assignments when can I secure them, as well. I haven't been so happy in a job since I worked for Audio Visual Services at Penn State.

After the breakup with The Invisible Man, I emphasized the positive. I spent time with friends, started this online journal, and even went on a couple dates with some guys I met through an online dating service.

Then came Otakon 2003. I found myself spending a lot of time chatting and joking with a friend I'd met through college buddies a couple years earlier. We hung out in the hotel lobby after hours, getting into silly conversations.

Afterwards, in my write-up for Musings, tapping into the fantastic nature of world of Otakon as opposed to the ordinary world, I used nicknames from Alice in Wonderland. I nicknamed him The Gryphon.

Regular readers can guess where it goes for there. We flirted over e-mail until he got the nerve to ask me out. The first date went swimmingly, as did the second, and the third.

Within the first couple weeks that we were dating, we were talking about love. I said I didn't know if I really believed in it any more. He turned surprised eyes to me and said in a voice filled with earnestness, "But you've got to believe."

That's how the Lenny Kravitz song, "Believe," became our song ("If you want it, you've got to believe. Believe in yourself"). I told him recently that he has no choice about it; we will dance to it at our wedding some day.

After two years together, I've grown to believe in this earnest man. His sincerity, his thoughtfulness, his gentleness are his true nature. No ugly surprises this time around, no emotional games. We share similar life goals and expectations. We're good friends, as well, and have a great time talking together about multiple topics. Even my dog loves him, as do my family members and friends.

My sister's wedding, June 2005

This spring, we moved in together, in an adobe rowhouse in suburban Philadelphia. Just recently, we adopted a 5-month-old kitty, an adorable white and orange male named Luke. Thanks to a partner who meets his financial obligations, I'm digging my way out of the financial hole I've been in for years.

Having lost 80 pounds and being within sight of my ultimate goal (which is to finally, finally lose the Freshman 15!), I'm feeling healthier, both physically and mentally, than I have in ages. I feel like myself again, and it feels good.

Since October 2001, I've run an online quarterly literary magazine, Wild Violet, that was recently included in a Philadelphia Weekly article on Philly area lit mags.

I guess this is a long-winded way of saying that things are finally looking up. Although I wouldn't have chosen to go through more than a decade of relationship hell and job uncertainty, I'm now in a position to appreciate what I have. I don't know exactly what the future holds, but I'm looking forward to it with the kind of optimism I had as a high school graduate.

As I complete this page — I swear I'm not making this up — over the Internet radio, comes the Lenny Kravitz song, "Believe." I guess the universe believes in me, too.

My 35th birthday, September 2005

The rest of the story:

November 9, 2005 - My Life So Far, Part One

Copyright 2005 by Alyce Wilson

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