I Got Stood Up in Bali
There. I said it. Still reading? Deep down, I probably knew it was going to happen when my “internet boyfriend” lied to me for the millionth time. I was a little crazy to think I would be the exception to the rule.
Here’s how it all started….
We chatted off and on for a year and three months. Why couldn’t he have been “the one?” I have friends who met their husbands online. I was sure he was “the one” for me. I felt it in my bones. Yeah. That’s the last time I listen to my stupid bones.
It wasn’t easy, the whole long-distance thing. But it had worked out for friends, why not me?
I’d been nuts in my previous relationships. But that was past. I was different. I’d been to therapy. I’d drastically changed my perspective on life. I’d learned to be happy on my own—or at least I had a black belt in convincing myself that I was fine. I was no longer trying so hard to fit in. I’d picked up new, positive friends over the years. I’d been needy and dependent on my past boyfriends, but I finally had a great support network that balanced my self-destructive tendencies with love and encouragement. Add yoga to the mix, and my life seemed like the perfect set-up for a romantic comedy. I was ready!
I was definitely reaching. And God bless my friends who put up with my crap for so long around that time. When Mr. Right didn’t show up, I told myself it was a test.
You see, I’ve never been good at romantic relationships.
A few years ago, I barely knew how to be a proper friend. So, I thought, this long-distance thing might be a way to find out if I really had changed. And, if it went wrong, I wouldn’t have a meltdown. I’d just move on.
We found each other on Tinder in Thailand. Without actually meeting, this guy and I kept falling into an online romance every time we reconnected. From brief, flirty messages on WhatsApp, things evolved to daily texts, then weekly marathon Skype dates. After a while, he’d call me almost daily on his way to work or during lunch. Even though I suspected he had someone else in is life, he didn’t make me feel like I was second. Well, not entirely, anyway. It was all good. As time went on, we fell deeper into the rabbit hole.
I remember our first Skype call. The conversation moved like oil. He tried hard to impress me and I struggled to find common ground to talk about. But seeing him on my laptop screen for the first time was worth it. He was something special. He had the most amazing blue eyes. I often joked with him that he could do all the talking and I could just stare. His voice had just the right amount of throaty resonance. His Australian boarding-school accent gave him that extra allure. He was just the right mix of posh and rugged. Over the year, I grew accustomed to his soothing voice. Just hearing him on the phone calmed me. He was a big guy. Six-feet-two inches tall. A massive but well-defined physique. I loved his thick, brown hair. There were so many times I dreamed that one day, I would run my fingers through it. He was the manifestation of everything I had hoped for—I couldn’t have dreamed up a better man if I’d tried.
I don’t know why he pretended to be single.
There was no point. I would have been happy to just stay friends. I don’t know what happened. Despite his obvious lies, I did my best to be patient—and sane. I told myself that if I truly cared about him, I shouldn’t be selfish. I didn’t scream at him. I was that perfect girl. Cool. Caring. Considerate. Not needy. Well, that was sixty percent correct. I had myself together on the calls. Each time, I told myself: I can handle this.
But I couldn’t.
Suddenly things started to crumble. My life was like this incredibly tall, unstable jenga tower. In each wobbly moment, it was as if a piece was being removed. It was only a matter of time before everything fell apart and I collapsed.
When my online “significant other” admitted he’d been in a relationship the entire time we had been “together,” he said he had only lied to keep me. He hadn’t planned on falling in love with me. But he did, and now he was incapable of letting me go. I cracked. I was drowning, gasping for strength, desperate for clarity, begging to regain the composure I’d worked hard to master. Everything was swept away. I came undone.
I went to Bali. He said he’d come too, we’d work it out. We’d be together.
Based on the conversation I’d had with him at the airport when I was catching the flight to Bali, it was obvious he wouldn’t show up. If he’d ever had any intention of meeting me, it was gone. I lied to myself. I wished upon every single star in the sky that this was just the rising action of a love story that would blow Hollywood blockbusters out of the water. Bali would be our moment. I left instructions and his name at the hotel’s front desk, allowing him access to my room. After all, I picked this place for us. He never showed.
I had a meltdown, complete with Instagram pictures to show “I AM OKAY! Perfectly fine over here!”
Even if my online true love had ditched me and moved to Canberra with his girlfriend. “I’m super cool, having the time of my life!”
But I wasn’t. I started each day in Bali with five San Miguel beers to calm my nerves. What was funny was I was staying at this gorgeous holistic center. You know, unlimited yoga, delicious vegetarian fare, wellness, wellness, wellness! And there I was, a disaster crying by the pool, chain-smoking in the zebra-print bathrobe I’d designed myself. I was a hot, holistic mess.
I waited a whole month for him.
Everyday was Groundhog Day. I was being jilted on repeat. But it was the perfect place to have what Brené Brown calls “a freaking spiritual awakening.” Bali has this enchanting aura. There is a sensuality in the air that intoxicates you. The longer you stay, the deeper you float under its spell.
The old gods are very much alive there. You can feel them. You feel their presence in the wind blowing across the green rice fields and through your hair as you zoom around on the back of a scooter. You see it in the smiles of the locals. Bali has an undeniable gravity that pulls people from far and wide into its bewitching embrace. I’d heard that if there was any place on earth that magic still worked, Bali was it. And if there was a smidgen of truth to that, I fully intended to capitalise on it. It had been the most emotionally exhausting year of my life. I was ready for some magic.
One day as I lounged by the pool, decked out in my zebra-print robe, San Miguel beer in hand, I thought: “If this is MY version of Eat, Pray, Love, I want my money back. And I want one of those Men in Black flashy thingies, that makes you forget everything.
I felt lost.
I was trying hard to see “the bigger picture.” The thought of this entire debacle as me dodging a hurricane didn’t cross my mind. I was right smack in the eye of an angry storm. Breaking my bones, one colourful, soul-crushing minute at a time.
So, what did I do? I embarked upon my own kind of pilgrimage and joined the hordes of women channeling their F-ing inner Elizabeth Gilbert. I brave-ishly jumped out of “Pirate Ship Bali,” armed with only a rough sketch of where I was headed. I went home. All I knew was that I was looking for something and I had to keep going until I found it.
Fast forward. A year later, in September 2016, I found myself back in Bali for a third time, in shock and heartbroken. Again.
Same island, different guy. Questions. Anxiety. I jumped online and found myself running around a psychic cam site like a madwoman, looking for answers. Couldn’t someone tell me what I needed to know? Nothing anyone said did the trick. Psychic networks are notoriously expensive and I lost money like a high-roller at a casino. Life outside the four corners of my hotel room didn’t exist.
I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t stop crying. I was in anguish. I didn’t understand how such a thing could happen to me. Again.
I don’t remember exactly how I found Graham.
He looked like a regular guy. No bandana with sequins, Buddha beads, or tie-dyed wall tapestry with dusty ostrich feathers. He was wearing a white and blue striped polo shirt, and talking to the members in his online room. I guess that’s why he stood out. His price wasn’t steep, so I jumped into a private reading with him.
Graham connected with my situation instantly. He picked up on things I’d never even mentioned. Between sobs, I asked him if he could do something, you know, get us back together. I cried and mumbled incoherently for a couple of minutes—he stared straight at me from the screen. He looked like a caged bird. Somehow, in between my “Why can’t you make him come back?” and “He should be sorry! Why isn’t he sorry?” Graham finally got a word in. “I can help you, but not like this. Your anxiety is over the roof. You need rest.”
I jumped at the chance. “Yes! Please, I can’t go on feeling this way.” If this guy wasn’t going to come back, I wanted something, anything to make me stop feeling this way. I’d been on a booze hiatus since August 2015. I didn’t want to drink to numb my pain. I was running out of antihistamines to put me to sleep. If you’d given me a frog leg encrusted in valium and chocolate, I would have devoured it and asked for more.
“Alright then,” Graham said. “All you need to do is lie down, close your eyes and say ‘I am open to receive.’” I lay down on my bed, earphones on, eye mask in place. Suddenly, this weird frequency came on. It scratched, squealed, and pinged like a fax machine arguing with a 90’s internet dialup screech. I remember saying to myself, “No way is this going to work.” And then it happened.
I felt a cool feeling, like I was being dipped in water. Then, in the blink of an eye, Graham said, “You’re going to be really chilled out for the next few days.”
What? Wait. What? Didn’t it just start? Nope. I’d zonked out one minute into the session. Graham said I might feel buzzed and that I’d sleep better. No kidding. I was in and out of sleep for three days. It was the best, most wonderful sleep I’ve had in—forever.
That day changed my life.
I saw Graham online weekly and he gave me different frequencies I was to listen to between our sessions when I needed to sort myself out. We did this for a few weeks. For a while, it felt like I would never get through it. But I did.
At first Graham was my healer. Now, three years later, we are friends and business partners. My life has changed dramatically since meeting him. Learning about his method and accessing those frequencies has helped me to no longer be enslaved by my emotions. For the first time in my life, I am completely present. I’m not pining over some guy or running after one. Nope. Nada. Nothing. It’s just me. I couldn’t be happier. I’ve realized that the first step in getting over your ex is finding the inner calm and space you need to begin to move forward. I’m finally focused and free of those old relationships that were holding me back. Now, it’s all about working on my career and building the life I want.