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.
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.