narcissus part II: echo & narcissus

he doesn’t know how
to be a person
so he pretends
to be
me
& i feel
sad
at his desperation
& emptiness
& i feel
turned on
because he does me
so well.

drawing dusty into this one, i realized how over the years, he even started wearing his hair like mine.
so weird.
he’s my single white male (movie reference.)
you know how the children of a couple tend to look like one parent or the other? well, our kids look like clones of each other. i realized, after they started popping out of me, that dusty and i basically could be brother & sister as far as our physical appearances go. therefore, our children all match.
so weird.
that’s when i realized how self-absorbed we both were. so self-absorbed that we basically married & mated with a replica of ourselves.

when i started researching narcissism, after suspecting it was a driving force in dusty’s personality and in his treatment of me, i realized that i also had some of the tell-tale signs of narcissism. well, not just me, everyone does. i even read one thing that stated just that. with society today, narcissism is just part of who we are.

and then
this morning i was having a dream about longing for dusty. in the dream i was texting him to lure him to me. i was offering to get high with him. to eat ice cream & watch a movie. i may have even thrown in the offer of a blow job.
trying to appeal to all of dusty’s base needs.
there was a time in my life, when i did throw myself at dusty like this. i don’t even smoke pot. i hate it. but i did it for dusty. to make dusty love me. to make dusty choose me. the mother of his (at the time) three children.
it was a sad & stupid thing to do, & i am embarrassed now when i look back.
but in my dream this morning, i was desperate for him…again.
i wonder what this is. my subconscious does it to me a lot, creates a desperate me in my dreams, longing for the dusty who is leaving me behind….

and then iggy woke me up to tell me he had fleas.

this is my day so far.

 

Advertisements

if only…

i don’t know why
some days
it hurts so much more than
other days
except
wait
it hurts
every day
it’s just that i don’t let myself
look
at it
every day
the potential
how good it
could
have been
what could
have
if only
if only

if only

the other morning, i was laying in bed with poppy. he started talking about looking for blackberries with his dad…and i started thinking about all the good things about his dad…all the things that made him perfect for me.
all the things that could have been.
you know
if he wasn’t also a narcissistic & emotionally abusive assfuck.
that stuff.
i always do it with my folks too.
who would i be today if i had had supportive parents? parents who loved me & supported me…instead of being, you know, narcissistic & emotionally abusive assfucks.
sigh.
those fucking “could have beens….”

so sad

i’m so sad
you guys, listen
i’m so sad
i feel like part of me
is missing
i know it’s a fucking
cliche
i know i am supposed
to be
stronger than this
but
i’m not
i’m just
so
sad.

tomorrow i turn 48. i am not sure how to feel. like i wrote some posts back, i cry…but i don’t know why. birthdays make me sad…but i’m not sure why.

i used to love my birthdays. i would count down from six months away. everyone would get annoyed with my constant talk of my birthday.

then i lost the love of my life due to my own damage. then i dated a psychotic narcissist for a couple years. then i got married because i thought someone loved me for real only to have him tell me, one month into the marriage, “i don’t think i love you.” then i was divorced. then i married a different psychotic narcissist and became the invisible mom. then my brother died. then i was subjected to a seven year long vicious cycle of abuse while trying to leave the psychotic narcissist.

now i am a single…profoundly alone…mom.
living in rural illinois.
having an everyday struggle with motherhood
while obsessing over that long lost love from the early ’90s.
and i don’t even feel like weeding my garden anymore.

tomorrow i turn 48.
and now i’m crying again.

i’m writing this because no one ever responds when i ask for feedback

when i was nineteen, i started going to therapy because i was dating a guy who i knew was bad for me, but i could not break up with him.
i knew he was bad for me before i even started dating him. me & another friend would make fun of him all the time calling him “geek lord” and telling each other horrible true stories about him. lets call him “lester.”
lester was all industrial & goth (it was the early 90’s.) he owned a “mystic bookstore” and was a total pervert. he would brag about how many times a day he masturbated–while attending to his store. he was so lazy he would pee in a pitcher instead of walking to the bathroom.
so i knew he was gross.
but i also knew he had the hots for me.
and somehow i started dating him. i’m not sure how it happened. i only know that i have extraordinarily low self-esteem and just want people to love me but cannot believe that anyone can actually love me.
so i started dating the “geek lord,” and he would do things like lock me in his basement to keep me from storming off. he once called my answering machine (the 90’s remember) and ¬†left between 20 & 50 messages starting with “fuck you, bitch,” and ending with him softly moaning along to a ministry song.
everyone i knew told me to break up with him.
“i know i should,” i would answer, but i would stay.

so i started going to therapy.

among many other things, my therapist told me i had the social skills of a five year old. i was nineteen at the time.

the social skills of a five year old.

crap.

i eventually broke up with him for good. i was trying to shop & he wouldn’t let me shop. that is a weird line in the sand especially considering i really don’t like shopping. however, i had decided i needed to change my wardrobe. if i just changed my wardrobe, everything would magically be better, right?
so i needed to change my wardrobe.
years later i realize that this is part of having anxiety & ocd…but back then i just recognized it as a need that i need need needed.
lester went shopping with me. but every store it was all about him & what would he look good in? then he got tired of shopping and insisted i was done.
i refused to stop, and he tried to force me into his car.

so i ran. literally.
and then i changed my phone number.
i changed my locks.
i stopped going anywhere in that small college town that i might see lester.

it was the first time i had to go to extremes like that…but not the last.

so i am sitting here. feeling defeated about no one responding to my blog. no one responding to my facebook. and jenny lawson not validating my existence. so i am alone; alone and arguing with children and dogs. all while i have just gone to extreme measures to break up with yet another abusive narcissist whom i desperately looked for love from…

and i wonder…where are my social skills now? have i made it any further?

and wondering if maybe my therapist was being generous in her assessment.

why am i so needy? why am i always searching for that love i believe i will never find? why does it feel like a knife in my heart when i look at someone else’s blog and their “about” page has more likes than my blog has in its entirety? what does it matter…or why does it matter?

but it does, somehow.

fuck. i just feel so alone.

and i read jenny lawson’s book, and i sob because she might be fucked up…but she has people who love her. i don’t have that.

and worse…i can’t even imagine having it.

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑