Soul Ties

The other day I spoke to a Christian minister about immorality and ungodly soul ties. 

It is possible that I have one. 
The conversation is starting to fade in my head now, so I'll try to share what I remember in case it helps someone else. 

I'm not sure what to think about it.  I mean, his pep talk echos what my Cherokee step-father would preach about pre-marital attachments with the opposite sex except that it contained snippets of Christian sexism in that the minister was justifying domestic violence. 

Let's see...

He said that good friends can develop soul ties.  We develop them by loving someone more than we love ourselves. 

I can see that. 

We can develop them with members of the opposite sex by sharing hopes and dreams, worshipping with them, and planning a future together.  Sexual activities, in and of themselves, are not necessary. 

Sex, though, does create a bond - especially with the first love. 

Oh...

Then there was something about God making women so that they put up with all sorts of abuse thrown at them by their first loves and men being made to protect them at all costs. 

I need to embrace Christianity and renounce the soul tie.  It would be more effective if my old friend would do the same thing. 

Okay....

I may get it...I may not. 

No one else has let me go to church with them or gave a damn about the future.  I can see, maybe, why my first love has a soul tie with me. 

The dreams are bugging me.  I'm still waking up around 3:30 every morning, no matter what time I get to bed or how much vodka I down. 

I need to understand...

Sex...a lady doesn't remember such things at that age. 

I don't remember putting up with crap from him.  I remember telling him that he was responsible for his own...uh...turbidity and gave him tissues and lotion.  I remember handing him a shovel to work off his....uh....emotional state.  He was a devout Christian: I wasn't going to let him go to hell over a lack of self-control. 

He did shake me once....only once.  He couldn't stand how frightened I looked.  He was angry because I was alone in my home for over a week and wouldn't let anyone in the door without my family present.  After he pounded on the door for several minutes and threatened to call the police, I relented and he came in the house and shook me.  It was a cold winter day, he was probably angry and shivering. 

He never pulled that stunt again. 

Teenage girls ought not let young men in their homes when they are alone.  What was he thinking? 

When I go into hypnosis and ask my subconscious mind when I vowed to love him, I get an image of him playing a broken guitar. 

My dad would buy me any instrument he found.  Some of them worked, others did not.  He gave me a crappy acoustic with a crack in the back.  I didn't have the heart to throw it away, so I used it for a decoration.  At Christmas, I didn't have a tree.  Nope, I decorated the crappy guitar. 

I had an image of Tom playing that beat up guitar hanging on my wall, showing me that it wasn't quite as damaged as I thought it was.  Now, Tom doesn't know this but he has a 'tell'.   He always does certain things when he's thinking of things that would make me blush. 

His face goes white.  His eyes get watery.  His eyes start to narrow and glow.  He tilts his head to his right and moves in closer.  This is the sign that he wants more than he should. 

I always ask 'what'?

He always says 'nothing'.

This is true as of the last time I saw him.  Thankfully, I'm not sure if I was the person behind the thoughts. 

On that fall day in '86, the air got thick and he exhibited his classic 'tell'  but this time, I didn't ask any question.  Nope...in my memory I tell him that I think I'm falling in love with him. 

At this moment, he chastised me.  One ought not to fall in love because one would always fall out. 

He told me he loved me. 

I promised to love him that day and every day.  I've kept the promise. 

This is the origin of my soul tie, at least according to my subconscious mind. 

Darn it....   

I hate Valentine's Day.  I hate a little piece of land in a place called Sheridan. 

I was offerred a free office overlooking that spot a couple weeks ago in exchange for bringing in business to a spa.  I turned it down Friday because I couldn't handle the memory.

In '87, that spot housed a motel which has since been demolished. 

Our relationship took a dive on Valentine's Day in '87.  He broke my heart. 

I was planning to spend the evening with my Grandfather.  After school, Tom followed me on the bus to a mall.  Grandpa wasn't home.  Taking advantage of the opportunity, I took him to a vintage era photographer.  We picked out saloon era costumes and had our photo snapped.  He dressed up as a drunk and I in a very skimpy saloon girl costume.  I bought two copies of the photos for $40 (two days salary at the time): one for him and one for me. 

All he could do is complain that I didn't smile the right way.  He had a filthy and funny expression on his face.  I just smiled my genuine smile because my best friend was by my side.

Still, we fought about my wrong smile. 
 

I was hurt. 

We fought so much that we missed the last bus home.  Grandfather wasn't home, so I ended up renting a room at a motel and urged Tom to call his father for a ride home.

He wouldn't.  He didn't want to leave me alone in a scary part of town. 

I was so pissed at him.  He wasn't going to get lucky. 

I won't tell you what happened next but it wasn't good. 

It had to do with alleged drug use and me being a snarky, cold @#$#@.

I think that's the day our relationship went downhill. 

I remember being sad a lot after that. 

I hate Valentine's Day. 

Expectations...too many expectations. 

I've spent the past few years trying to find that picture so I can burn it.  It's missing along with Tom's break up note.  I know if anyone sees it, I'll never hear the end of it. 

The break up note....

I'm confused. 

When people piss me off and hand me notes.  I won't read them. 

On May 1, 1987 Tom handed me a note and said he was leaving me.   I stuffed it in a yearbook where it sat for twenty years.  The night before I told him about a scholarship to a music program. 

I cried about the scholarship because I didn't want to take it.  I wanted to be here for my grandfather and my friend.  I wanted to go to school in town. 

A week before my 20th high school reunion, I was in Mike's bedroom crying.  I graduated with my master's degree two years before and felt that life was passing me by.  I wanted a reason to wake up in the morning.  I wanted to make a difference.  I wanted a job and regretted turning down the position in the Ph.D program studying media as a means to ease anxiety. 

We fought.  He wasn't listening.  He just took a job working for the city.  I needed to be here so that he could work crazy hours without worrying about the family. 

Why do I have to give up who I am to be loved by him?  Why can't my life goals mean anything? 

My yearbooks were shoved on a shelf in his closet.  Mike stood up and got something out of the closet at which point my yearbooks fell down.

Tom's note fell into Mike's hand. 

He read it aloud before stopping. 

I'll get in the way of the things you want to do in life, so I'm leaving you.

Then, Mike said that someone didn't want to leave me.  Tom didn't sign the letter but it was obvious who it was from.  In the letter, he promised to always be there if I wanted him and basically vowed eternal love. 

It was a surreal moment.  Mike fell silent.  We stopped fighting about what I could do with my life.  Those talks make me think of Tom, so it's easier to stay quiet now.   

Mike lost his job a year later.  I've heard an earful about things since then.  The thing that comes to mind is his interpretation of a horoscope my mother cast for me before she died. 

I have Venus in Leo or something....maybe it is Mercury in Libra...I don't know. 

But mom wrote that my first marriage would stun everyone.  Yep, it  stunned me.  I walked into my boyfriend's mother's house to run into a minister and a dress hanging on the door.  They had to pry me out of the bathroom with a promise of an annulment to get the deed done to appease his mother. 

My second marriage would be prolific.  Yep...if he sneezes, I'm pregnant.   The man doesn't even sleep with me.  Could you imagine the shoe I'd have to live in if he was attracted to me and held me at night?  Wow....three is enough. 

Mom wrote that my third marriage would be happy.  There won't be a third unless someone beats me in the head with a hammer again or I go senile. 

Astrology is crap.  I don't know why Scorpios only ask me out.  I don't know why Geminis like to touch places that get them slapped.  Or why Pisces look at me like they want to barricade themselves into a bedroom with tofu and leather after they try to solve all my problems. 

I guess everyone else buys into astrology, so it helps to understand it and see their false personas. 

It is still crap. 

But Mike took that horiblescope as a reason not to fix things with me. 

He's recanting now.  He needs my help. 

I'm stuck. 

This is painful.  I wonder, though, about the soul tie thing.  Could my ungodly soul tie to Tom make it hard for me to commit to Mike? 

Would it help if Mike would talk to me about the future?  or go to church with me?  or give a crap about my hopes and dreams? 

In '08, Tom met me in our home town and I told him about the Cherokee ritual of breaking sticks to end constant thoughts of a former flame by returning pieces of his soul to him. 

He asked me if it worked.  By the sheer number of piles of broken twigs I placed around the trees in the weeks before meeting him, it was obvious that it had not worked. 

A month before, he wrote and said I was the freshest memory in his mind, so I tried to get Tom to perform a ritual to break it that day.  All I needed to do was buy red ribbon from the lady at the flower shop and have him cut it.  He told me he'd do it later. 

This isn't right.  If he's hurting like I am.  It's not fair to either one of us. 

I hesitate to do it by myself for fear of hurting him yet I may do it anyway next Saturday.   

If the ritual doesn't work, I'm going to hypnotize myself to believe he's gay. 


That ought to work...maybe....last time I was convinced that he wanted more than I could be and that helped ease the pain. 

If the ritual works and the soul tie is broken... my blog will get a heck of a lot more interesting. 

If not... I don't know. 

Maybe I'll call my ex-hubby and let him take another whack at my skull. 

Love ya,

S.