HOW MY DEAD MOM HELPED ME GET OVER MY EX

Yeah my mom is dead. In fact, she died when I was one year old. So I do not know what it’s like to have a mother. But I’m certainly aware of what I’m missing out on from early cartoons to just about every book, tv show, movie and like… the everydayness of life. Needless to say it’s been a huge void in my heart. Oh, and she was murdered. But that’s for another blog.

Anyway, I’ve been feeling lost recently. Not sure why. No, I do know. My hopes and dreams from my 20s have vanished into beginnings of neck wrinkles. That’s right. 33, single with neck wrinkles. My friends are getting married and having babies, and I’m Facebook stalking my ex from 7 years ago. Unfortunately, my ex is the most boring person to stalk. He never posts anything. Yet it doesn’t stop me from refreshing his page. Ugh. I’m still hung up on him. He’s way moved on. Even married. It’s just shameful.

The past couple of weeks, I’ve been “hanging out” with this guy. Instead of kissing me good bye, he high fives me. Nothing like giving a high five to a woman you’re sleeping with to tell her there’s no chance of it going further. But…whatever. We were supposed to see a movie and of course he canceled last minute. I guess we could have gone to a later showing, but that would have entailed me driving and picking him up and basically trapping him like he was some sort of prisoner for my lust and loneliness. However, there was a voice in my head that said, ”Dixie, maybe just go to the movies by yourself. Plus, you won’t have to share your box of gummy bears with anyone.”

So fuck it. I went. I’m a fucking feminist. That means going to movies by yourself, right? So I get comfortable in my seat. I open up my gummy bears to scarf down before the movie starts, look over my shoulder, and who do I see in the last row at the very end? My ex.

A little back story on my ex. Yes, THE ex. The ex that I can’t seem to get over. The ex that I fell in love with when I was a lost and scared 21 year old, new to Los Angeles. Not only did I love him, but I idolized him too. He was living the life and had the career that I wanted. He got to sleep in and then when noon rolled around, he auditioned for commercials and afterwards would write in coffee shops. At night, he would perform with his improv team and do stand up in weird places. At the time, I thought that was the coolest life. Yes, he was suicidally depressed, but at least he got to be on a house Harold team. He basically taught me everything that he knew. And I listened. He taught me about auditions, joke writing and even parallel parking. But more than anything, he passed on a very dark and warped view on the world that I then adapted to. We became one in a sense. He felt like family. Of course, it was a dramatic relationship. That emptiness from my heart from being unmothered had turned me into an emotional hoarder. So when we broke up seven years ago, it resonated something deeper. I was blinded by pain and heartbreak. I didn’t know why my emotions were so uncontrollable. Anytime I would run into him, it would be anything but normal. It usually involved me spitting out various forms of death threats, or worse, longing to get back together because nobody would understand and love me like he had loved me. But strangely, the feelings were never mutual.

So, THAT ex.

FUUUUUUUUUUUCK. I hadn’t seen him in awhile too. I wished the high five guy was with me so my ex would think that I was joyously thriving in this new relationship or at least on a tinder date. But no. I was there alone seeing Weiner Dog of all things. Whatever. When the movie ends, I’ll just bolt as if I had somewhere really important to go to like a fancy movie premiere. But why would I then see a movie before a movie premiere? That doesn’t make sense. Ugh. Just don’t make eye contact, Dixie.

The movie ended, and I still wasn’t sure about what to do. I breathed, stood up, and walked down the aisle. Well, so did he at the exact time. I then thought that maybe there was a reason why he was here alone seeing Weiner Dog. I mean, another reason other than none of his friends wanted to see a depressing movie called Weiner Dog.

So I said “Hi.” Followed by, “Do you want to talk for a little bit?” I was surprised those words came out of my mouth. What was I doing? Was I trying to play with fire? But something in my gut was telling me to continue. To walk into whatever this was.

Now this is where it gets weird. It was just a 30 minute conversation. Meaningless to him, but it had the most profound impact on me. Like I’ve said, I’ve never had a normal conversation with him. There’s always been some ploy. Either I’m manipulating him, trying to make him jealous, or just hoping to hear how miserable he is. You know, the usual. But this time, there wasn’t any of that. I was simply just curious how he was doing. We talked about what we’ve been up to, the struggles of commercial acting, mixed in with some gossip. Nothing too exciting. But while we were talking, my eyes searched out his, seeing him like I’ve never seen him before. He was no longer this false prophet who had secret wisdom or guidance to give me. He was just my ex-boyfriend. Perhaps that sounds dumb. On the other hand, sometimes matters of the heart are just that. Fucked up, delusional thinking that make you feel trapped and deprived and well…dumb. But at last, I was seeing him clearly after all these years. We parted ways with a mere “good bye.” A tad different from the accustomed “fuck off and die” approach of leaving things. Huh.

I drove home with the biggest smile on my face. I was compelled to write. I felt like a humongous weight had been lifted. But it was all so strange. How exactly did this all happen? Why now? And why after Weiner Dog? I mean, this guy had a huge power over me for a whole decade. I was baffled. I wrote down the date in my diary, July 14 2016 as the day that I finally got over my ex-boyfriend. All of a sudden, I glanced up to a picture of my mother above my desk, I remembered that she died sometime in the summer. I looked it up, and there it was. The date that she was murdered, July 14 1984.

Holy Shit.

I started bawling. My mother was with me this whole occasion. I couldn’t believe it. I felt her presence, her wisdom, her…motherhood for the first time. Ever. It was eerie. But the most profound magical kind of eerie. I sensed the warmth of her touch as I was weeping on my couch. I felt like she was helping me move on. For once, she was relieving pain like mothers are supposed to do instead of inflicting pain with her absence.

Now, I’m not religious or superstitious or honestly a believer in anything. But that night, I had a spiritual experience with my mother. At least I’d like to think that. I’m aware that it could all be a coincidence, and this is some desperate attempt for me to connect to my mother. Again, I’m very critical when it comes to stuff like this.

But I’d like to think she was there. Is here. Under me. All around me. I believe that in exchange for her death, she has given me inner guidance. I’ll never know what it’s like to look in her eyes and see my history, but if I listen close enough, I will know what step to take for now.