it’s all fun & games until someone ends up married

the thing is
you like me
better
when i’m gone
you like
the fantasy me
the unavailable
me
better…
every time i left
you fell in love with me
all over again
every time
i returned
you quickly remembered
what a pain i was in your
ass
maybe you drive me
away
so you can revel
in the pain of losing
me
without having to live
with the pain
of having
me.

this one goes out to ex-husband number one.
he was not one of the narcissistic assholes, he was category #2 of men i find myself with: emotionally unavailable men.
i mean, i guess the narcissists are emotionally unavailable too…but some are just emotionally unavailable, otherwise, not bad guys.

ex-husband number one is totally emotionally unavailable.
you should read my journals. we met when i was just about to leave lexington, ky. to keep me from leaving, he proposed marriage.
on retrospect
that’s a bit extreme. couldn’t he have just said, “i think we have something good here, would you consider staying so we could find out?”
but
of course
he never actually talked to me about his feelings, so….
and–being me–i married him. he barely functioned in our relationship, & we quickly broke up.
i moved out.
then he started half-assedly showing interest in me again.
i moved back in.
then he quickly lost interest again.
so i moved out. moved to texas. moved to georgia. moved to colorado.
coming back to him, over & over & over again.

durp.

then, get this, i texted him recently, being friendly–just friendly–& he wants me back…again. i was like, yeah, i show up with my four kids & you run for the hills.
he texted back, “try me.”
motherfucking fucker fuck.
what is his issue?
at least i’m smart enough now (& no longer interested in being his yo-yo) to keep my distance.
but it still pisses me off.
he was talking marriage…again. is he a sadist? a masochist? delusional?

i know the drill.
i show up, he freaks out, i leave again.
but this time with four kids in tow?

ack.
i can never ever get married again. never. no “third time’s the charm.” fuck that. i can never get married. not only can i not trust that people are who they pretend to be, but also am i just not cut out for domesticity.
i can blame the guys all i like
but truth is
it’s always a relief when those divorce papers go through.

maybe i should get it tattooed on the back of my hand for next time i am getting love-bombed & think that marriage might be fun in a happily ever after kind of way:
remember DON’T get married


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whispers

in a moment
of quiet
i try to conjure you
your face
your eyes
how it will feel
to be near you
but i am quickly
surrounded
by the ghosts
of boyfriends
past
& i find myself
taking inventory…
did i love
any of them
or did i just love
the idea
of being
loved?
the few i can remember
loving
were just whispers
in the wind
of the storm
of my life….
mostly i surrendered
to pretty faces
who
made me feel
i must be valuable
surely
i am valuable
if they
want
me.

more borrowing from gustav klimt for the illustration.

seriously. when i think back to the 30+ men who have worked as chapters of my life…i cannot remember if i actually loved them. was i actually attracted to them?
i can count on one hand the number of them that i did feel drawn to–and those were some of the shortest chapters.
did i scare them away with my intensity? did it just become safer & easier to let myself be adored than to seek out & ultimately be rejected by the men i adored?
the ones i adored were mostly broken men. men with a sadness about them. a beautiful sadness…. those were my muses. and they all slipped away from me, leaving me in a pool of narcissists.
sigh.
i can’t say that the men i chased would have worked out any better than the ones i let catch me. they were probably right to steer clear of me. i would have just broken them more. (not on purpose–i’m just made that way.)

so i don’t know what to imagine for the one who will love me as i love him. the one who won’t leave; the one i will not leave…other than a punk rock, lumberjack poet. surely a punk rock, lumberjack poet.

i finished my journal that i started on november 2nd of last year…which means i will be updating my “invisible exhibitionist” page.

needless to say

to avoid having needs
met
i seek out
impossible men
seek out
self-fulfilling prophesies
teaching me to forget
my needs
bury them deep
it is not safe
to
need
close down
after all
you don’t need
anyone
do you?
need leads to want
need leads to betrayal
need leads to pain
how can i open
myself
to need
when i have taught myself
so thoroughly
that need
hurts?

so.
when i was a kid, my parents didn’t meet my needs. they wouldn’t or couldn’t. instead of becoming more needy, i shut down. i decided that if they wouldn’t meet my needs, i wouldn’t have any.
seriously.
if you read in one of my fallen posts about how i was the “good” one–they thought i was good because i never asked for anything.
nothing.
i refused to give them the chance to not meet my needs. i knew they would reject me–so i didn’t give them a chance to.
so so so fucked up.
what kid doesn’t need?
this one.
then of course, i grew into a woman who dated men incapable of meeting my needs.
so.
i didn’t have any. or if i did, i buried them deep until they became a molten core of anger & hate. resenting people for not being who i needed them to be as i refused to admit i had needs.
basically, i suspect everyone is eventually going to reject me, so i never let myself need anyone.

long story short, i am extremely self-reliant and independent…but i am now unable to need anyone–thereby i don’t connect with people on one basic human level.

yay.

working the healing wheel by maeanna welti has been pretty awesome. at each season on the wheel, there is focus on an area to heal. samhain was fear. solstice was needs. i am still working solstice…but looking forward to what i will learn about myself come imbolic.

good riddance

sometimes
he shows me
something
other than his wounded self
other than the
sad & scared
little boy
inside
the one he expects
me
to take care of
instead
sometimes
his true colors
emerge
brighter than the
blue of his eyes
fangs & claws
cruel words come easily
as jekyl
turns to hyde
& i am almost
almost
relieved
to see the one
he keeps
hidden
away
as much as it hurts
the pain is a
relief
compared to the
confusion.

after i wrote this (based on a text fight with dusty)…i began to wonder if this side of him is actually yet another of his chameleon colors. i mean, maybe he is channeling me when he becomes snarky like this? his interpretation of my behavior? is he showing his true colors or is he just copying my personality? like when he is like this, he calls me “dude.” that is totally me. i call him dude when i am frustrated with him.
and he is all bitchy at me.
recently, someone called me “charming,” and i let him know that he was the very first person to ever call me that.
he was.
no one calls me charming. i am too honest & too blunt. i don’t bother with filters. i am a “bitch” or “scary” by many assessments. however, i am a kind person. i do care deeply for others & will help anyone i can help & feel badly if i can’t. but i am not good at social niceties. i never have been and really don’t care to learn. though i am polite. i say “please” & “thank you….”
additionally, some of what he says feels like he is being fed lines from someone else. telling me not to use him as a punching bag when i call him on his bullshit. who told him to say that, i wonder.
does dusty in fact have a real personality or are they all borrowed?
i wonder.
but seeing this side of him does make me feel better about my decision to kick his ass out of my life. anyone who is capable of being a shit to me after all i have done for him…all those things that he pretends i never did, choosing to remember the times i stood up for myself & didn’t give him what he wanted…choosing to remember those times as my being unfair to him.

bleah.
whatever the fuck.
good riddance.

i did the illustration after i wrote this post. i really did NOT want to do another self-portrait of myself as a victim–suffering someone else’s bad behavior. instead i decided to celebrate my own bad behavior.

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.

 

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.

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