This is a story that should be told from the beginning

I had a whole different blog post planned for this weekend. But then Life, that scamp, threw another wrench in my plans. Well played, Life. Well played.

Wait. I should back up.

I had planned on blogging about 2 things.

One, I've been having a really rough time in my living situation, which I've kept mum about for the last month or so because I was afraid of crazy bitch backlash, but I was feeling like I didn't let it out I might just explode. But for now, that post will have to happen another day.

Two, I've been feeling really good about completing my breakup recovery, but also feeling like I need some time to myself before really dating again. Truth is, even though I do want a positive, serious relationship which will lead to things like marriage, family, blah blah blah, I'm pretty terrified of getting sucked into another toxic relationship. And that's a good fear, methinks. I don't want to just jump into something blindly without doing a little work on why I let the last tool suck the life out of me.

Therefore I was fully prepared to take myself off the relationship market (though not the sex market. I'm not that much of a masochist anymore) for an indeterminate amount of time.

Cut to last night. Because of the aforementioned shit storm of a cold war at my house, I really wanted to get out of the house and have a little fun. But everyone I know was busy or not returning any of my advances (hehehe). And I may not have mentioned this, but I don't go to my old fave karaoke bar anymore. I'm fine with that. So many people have told me that's dumb because if I like the place, I shouldn't give it up because of one toolbag fucktard. But I really don't want to see the ex in anyway and I wouldn't have any fun there now, so why would I do that to myself in the name of taking a stand or something? I wouldn't have fun so why go?

I thought I'd go out on my own, which is something I never do because while I like doing things on my own, I'm always afraid of becoming that girl in the Date Rape song by Sublime. I am the product of my generation after all.

Anyway, there used to be this awesome lesbian slash karaoke bar by my old house, but last I heard it had changed ownership and names. Still, I thought maybe I'd venture over and see if the place was still cool and lesbian and maybe even sing a little karaoke, which, as you might have gathered, I totally missed. I do love my karaoke and have yet to find a new karaoke home.

But alas! I get to the bar and it's closed. Like gone. Like I'm pretty sure homeless people squat there now. Bum to the mer.

So I drive around for a bit, trying to figure out where to go. I decide to drive back toward my house in an area where I know quite a few bars are and I decide to stop at one I'd been to maybe once forever ago. But it's slightly familiar and I know they serve cider so it's the winner.

I take the only free bar stool and order a Strongbow (which are STRONG and therefore live up to the name and so are alright in my book) and proceed to just chill. Next to me is this very drunk, very loud dude who is reminding me so very much of my ex. Which doesn't bode well for him because I'm pretty sure he's interested in me.

But it turns out that he's there with a whole group of friends and, the next thing I know, I'm bonding with the lone girl in the group and she so gets me and then we're migrating to a karaoke bar down the street and I'm having a blast and I really like this new bar and I sing a couple songs and I'm talking all night to this really cute, sweet, smart, polite guy in their group (who is so unlike my ex in all the best ways) who I start to really like and we exchange phone numbers and he walks me to my car and gives me the best kiss I've had in a long, long, long time.

And I drove home on a cloud. Not literally because it wasn't that foggy last night. I had butterflies for the first time in a couple years. And who knows? Maybe this guy won't call. But I made new friends and found a new bar. And maybe he will call and maybe something great will come out of it. I just know I'm excited and I missed that feeling.

Well played, Life. 

calling me crazy

Hello, my lovelies. How are you this January day? I'm sitting cozily, wishing it would snow and finally finding a time to write.

I've had this post brewing in my head for almost a week now. Several posts actually, but I've been a busy chiquita. In good ways mostly and new things are also brewing and frothing but which I can't talk about yet. I hate keeping secrets from the Internet, but what else is a girl to do?

Insert brilliant segue here. 

Before I get into the meat of this post, a little prologue:

I know I keep writing about my last relationship. First, this does not mean I spend all of my daily life obsessing about it. But it is something I'm analyzing and so the receptacle of that analysis is going to be my writing and therefor you have the luck of digesting that endless bile that is my love life. Sorry about that, but I promised myself that I'd be as honest as possible in my writing and so here we are.

Also, I'm feeling pretty good. I'm in the home stretch of this relationship recovery and I feel pretty damn happy most days. Any residual anger I have is no longer about the breakup itself (mostly. it still chaps my hide that I put up with all his shit and he had the nerve to dump me. but whatevs.), but now I have to work through some anger at losing six months of my life to that fucktard. I know you shouldn't regret any experience because it makes you who you are blah blah blah. But that doesn't erase this resentment I have toward him for the train wreck we were (which I'll get more into in a sec). It won't last forever, but for now I'm resentful. Just how it is. And I'm a big believer in allowing yourself to feel whatever you're feeling. So there.

How to the every loving ever, I feel at this point like I can begin to look at the relationship less emotionally and learn from it, which I think is important if I want to date seriously again.

Which brings me to this article I found on Stumble the other night. I was just stumbling around the Internet, which I'm wont to do, putting off slumber, and this hit me square in the face, slapped me with its truth my life. Go read it. I'll wait.

Now a little backstory:

When I was 25, I was in a relationship with a boy we'll call J. It was the most toxic relationship and he was the most manipulative male I'd ever and have ever known. Long story short, he found me at one of the lowest points in my life (loss of a career, loss of a best friend, then the death of a boyfriend), he moved into my life, and he took it over. And before I knew what had hit me, we were living together and engaged and felt like a trapped animal. He manipulated me, convinced me I was crazy and cruel and controlling (all things I now know he was) and it worked. I believed him for a long time.

I eventually found my wits and broke up with J. And I've always said since I wouldn't let that happen again. After lots of therapy and working through a whole carousel of baggage, I really thought I wouldn't.

Ahhhh if life were so easy. Cut to 6 years later.

HP was not the same as J. He was actually nicer (J once told me he hated me, for example) and not really controlling (though we did always do what he wanted to do). He never rushed me into an engagement or anything, though looking back, we were in a serious relationship awfully fast. And the first 2 months were pretty blissful. You could call it honeymoon period, blah blah blah, but it ended awfully abruptly (instead of a slow cooling off that usually happens in relationships) and I think I know a big reason why but I'm still too decent a person to expose why on here.

He was manipulative, especially when it came to arguing. Plus I think he was sensitive too. He couldn't hear any kind of discussion and not turn it into an argument. He had to win and I often wondered if he even cared about what he was arguing or if he just wanted to win. He could deflect any comment back on me and convince me he was right. He would call me crazy, illogical, overemotional. His way was always the right way and he'd talk to me like I was a stupid child. This last part hurt more than the crazy, I think, because I value my intelligence so highly. It's one area I always fought back on even if I never really won.

It got so frustrating to argue in circles, especially because I'm not a fighter. I prefer to walk away when I'm angry or upset, cool off, think about what I'm feeling, and then discuss it later. In the moment? I freeze up. I don't have quick responses or witty retorts. So if I felt backed into a corner, often my only response was just to cry, which was just visceral emotion. You know that feeling where your throat gets tight and you just can't say a word without crying it out? That. It's not like I wanted to. But the dude made me feel like a child and so I acted like a child.

It finally got to the point where I got so tired of this act that I'd just stop talking at all. Wouldn't share how I was feeling, wouldn't fight back, wouldn't discuss anything that might be taken wrong and thrown back at me. So I'd keep my mouth shut, shut down completely. But then he'd just accuse me of being passive aggressive. I honestly couldn't ever win. I was screwed just for existing.

Why did I let it happen? Fuck if I know. Maybe it's because that's how my mom always talked to me. Maybe it's because I have a need to be liked and will be a goddamn doormat. Maybe it's because I'm susceptible to manipulation. Maybe because it's fucking confusing to be told you're loved and you're beautiful, etc, while being told you're crazy and passive aggressive and talked down to constantly.

Sigh.

It's no wonder I got so depressed. It's no wonder I lost so much of who I am. No wonder I stopped writing, stopped making art, stopped finding time to love myself.

How the fuck does that happen? More importantly, how do I not let it happen again?

I'm confident I can do this. I am a quality person and I won't let someone take that from me again. I just need to find the right tools.

somebody that I used to know

I swear I’m writing posts of substance right now. I figured out a couple things and I also want to share some stories. Truth.

But until I finish those, here’s what’s really popping my cork these days. Gotye is bar none my favorite music discovery this year. I love him (it? them?) and I pretty much listened to Making Mirrors on a loop my entire Seattle trip.
And this song? This song is honey on my wounds. This song reached into my soul and pulled out the truth. It punched me in the guts and pulled out the pain and tears. It’s exactly what I had and have been going through the last couple months. Seriously. Every damn word.

And you know what? It makes me feel better. I feel validated, I think. But it’s also somehow very Foucault. Like, someone else took my thoughts and feelings and put them out in the universe and so they’re not in me anymore. Something akin to catharsis but not quite.

So I'm happy this week. Light at the end of the motherfucking tunnel yo.

Also? This video rocks my whole world wide open. Enjoy!

Game Changer

I barely know where to begin.

This week was big. Do you ever have one day that changes your whole perspective? Yeah, that. That.

I had a scare last week. I doubt I have to come right out and say it. You know the scare. The holy-mother-fucking shit-what-the-hell kind of scare. There's this moment, when you're moaning and complaining about how you feel and all of a sudden it dawn on you that OH SHIT! and then your friends encourage it and pretty soon you believe it. And then you hate your damn body for being a damn petri dish that's absolutely beyond your control.

Are you following? I thought I was knocked up. The timing was right. And yet so so wrong. And for about a day I was scared shitless. My first thought was, If it's true, what the fuck would I tell him? Yeah. Never mind that singlemomhood would suck balls and where the hell would I put a baby and I can barely afford myself and it's not like I have any family here to help or whatever so it would be ALL ME. Never mind all that because it would be all wrong.

So so wrong.

This is coming from a woman who wants a baby so badly she'd consider stealing one and stuffing it in her uterus. Yeah. I want a baby. But not like this. Not like this.

And then the haunting prevailing thought was that if it were true, if I was preggers, I'd be tied to that man for life...and I felt deep down in my core that, no, I don't want to be tied to him for life. No way.

Which I needed to feel. I knew that of course, consciously, I knew he was wrong for me. I knew that. But I hadn't truly FELT it. I needed to really feel that, to be punched in the gut by it. I needed to feel that certainty in my whole body. Sometimes a scary ass situation can be the best thing for you.

Needless to say, I'm not pregnant. I took a test, for peace of mind mostly, and I wish I could frame the damn thing it made me so happy.

And it's not like I don't still care for him or have love for him. Of course I do. With the exception of a couple uber douches, I still have love for several exes. I care about them. Of course I do. Maybe I shouldn't, but that's just not in my nature.  It's not like I want to be with them again; it's more that once I give someone love, I don't take it all back. I spread the love around, people. Maybe one of my issues is that I have too much heart, but that's just too damn bad. Because I yam what I yam.

In fact, I probably have better relationships with these guys as friends than when we were in relationships. But that's a whole 'nother issue entire.

Anywayyy, back to my point. Ever since that insane day, I've felt free, happy. I also realized a few things.

We all know how unhappy I'd been the last few months. I think I'd been losing myself (well, I know I had), but also, I think I was unhappy in the relationship and unwilling to see that. I'm nothing if not tenacious but blind tenacity isn't always healthy.

So yeah, I'd been unhappy and not my usual self and once I started to find myself again, the fun, funny me started coming back. I missed her as I know everyone else did too. We all get caught down from time to time and I'm giving myself patience to get back again. While I don't regret this breakup anymore (and regret isn't the right word since it implies culpability of some kind, but I lack a better word.), I do wish he could have been more patient, at least realized that's what I was going through. I could have used the support. Of course, that's one more reason this was for the best.

More than that, despite the misery of going through a breakup, feeling unloved and rejected and wounded while I grieve this relationship I'd put all of myself into (and lost so much of myself into), I've been happier than I'd been in months.

Go figure.

I'll stop there before this becomes a dissertation. I have much to share still, like changing my hair (!) and all the great stuff I'm doing for myself. I'll hopefully find a minute to write again soon.

Also, The Blogger Body Calendar is up for sale now (wee!). Go and buy yo. PS? I'm July. Eeek!

Alone

So how many weeks has it been since my ass was dumped and my heart ripped out? Two? Three? The days are all blurring into one and I can't really keep track. Plus this long vacation threw me off of thinking in terms of a calendar. Nonetheless, here I am.

Here I am.

I'm kind of miserable. Maybe I shouldn't share that. He probably still reads this thing and that would seem pathetic or something I'm sure. Wouldn't want to show our true feelings, would we? That would be playing it all wrong, right? Blech. I've never been one for playing by the rules. Rules schmules. They don't suit my brand of crazy.

So here I am. Breaking the rules. Sharing my misery.

Doesn't help that right now I have the hangover from hell and so am feeling especially shitty.

And that's just it. Most of the time, I'm okay. I feel good. I find things that make me happy. Keeping busy helps a ton. But in the quiet moments or when I feel down for some reason or another, the sadness creeps in and I lose it.

I think the hardest right now is thinking that he's so happy without me and I'm here all alone again, left behind. I think I'd feel better if I knew he was sad too.

And at the end of the day, I know it's for the better. I do know that. It's just been hard.

So naturally I've been doing a lot of thinking about myself and all my relationships and how I keep finding myself here. I feel like I want to hope for the future, but if something doesn't change, what little hope I have left is not going to cut it.

So.

So.

This is really hard to write. To accept culpability for being left over and over again. To find what I've been doing to make that happen. And I think it's this: I am alone.

Think about that for a second.

I am alone. Alone is my default. It's my true self as I know it. 

I learned a little psychology lesson recently in a random setting, but hit me as really poignant. I'm gonna get this wrong, but I think I have the idea right at any rate. There is a part of your subconscious that believes you are a certain way and so we repeat patterns to make that true. The brain is just that powerful. Even if circumstances change, we sabotage them to keep those "truths." Make sense?

How does this apply to me? Well, I've always been an independent girl. Apparently my foster mom said she'd never met such an independent baby and I was very cautious with affection as a child. As an adult, in relationships, I've done one of two things. In my early twenties, if things got scary, I'd just leave (peace the fuck out, yo). The latter part of my dating life, if I suspected my boyfriend was puling away, I would too. Instead of fighting for a relationship (and it's not like I'd leave, but I'll get to that later), I'd just pull back, convinced (rationalizing) that if he really loved me then he'd make the effort. Fighting is just too scary. Too risky.

Yet I don't fight and I get left anyhow.

So back to my orginal point, I think this is in part because I'm adopted. It's not necessarily the fear of abandonment (though that's a part of it for sure), it's that I came into this world alone and I've always taken care of myself and I think I truly believe deep down that that's how I'll always be. Alone.

And so I make it so. Not consciously of course. And I'm not happy about it. But I do it nonetheless.

Of course I don't want to keep it that way. I want to be all-in in a relationship.

Not that my heart isn't all in. It is. It was. And that's partly why I'm sad, because my heart is pretty broken still.

But I clearly hold myself back and don't fight for what I want and need.

I also think maybe I'm choosing people who reaffirm this belief.  People who will ultimately keep me in that state of alone.

So I need to make some changes. Change my thinking. Change my self-perception. Change what truths I know about myself. I'm not entirely sure how to do that yet, but I think figuring this shit out is the first step.

I'm supposed to have coffee next week with another ex, one I'm so glad I stayed close(ish) with and whose perspective I can't wait to pull out of him, whether he likes it or not.

Then, since I haven't started therapy again yet (partly because wading through the HMO red tape is its own psychological hell), I think I'm going to recruit all my friends to have mini sessions with me. At least I can get talking and analyzing again.

And of course there's you, dear readers, dear friends, dear kiddos, you who are always here reading no matter how little I write or how crazy I get. I plan on using you people a lot. I'm not going to hold back here. I know you probably don't think I do, but I do hold back. I do censor the blog a bit. So I'm really going to be brutal on myself and let you help me through this process.

As my cousin told me just now, I'm not really alone. Not really.

On Relationship Energy

This post might be fraught with landmines of inadvertant offense. I'd like to state that by describing myself, I in no way mean to demean others who are different.

Except if you're not like me, you suck. Just kidding. I love you.

My relationship style can sometimes lean to the masculine. By that I mean a traditionally societally masculine way of conducting myself in relationships. Blame it on how close I am with my dad or blame it on some inner energy neither I nor society has any control over.

Whatever the reason, it's how I am.

Like a lot of stereotypical guys, I tend to like my space and alone time and while I certainly desire plenty of things that many, many women do (love, marriage, babies), I waver between jumping into a commitment I don't really want and running away for fear of getting hurt. And I have found myself acting out of character in certain situations, but I think this is the norm for me on the whole.

But that's not my biggest problem à la moment. My biggest problem is that I think my masculine-esque energy might be attracting its opposite: needy little bitches.

I kid (not really).

The women I've been involved with are clingy and controlling and high maintenance (of course many women are not as such) even though most of the women I've desired are very androgynous and low key (they just have no interest in moi.) And the men? With several exceptions, many of the boyos in my life have been worse than the women. Needy little bitches.

Why the hell are you asking my permission to do something? Why should I give a fuck that you want to hang out with your friends or watch 12 hours of whatever sport is in season? I don't give a fuck and I'm not your mama; you shouldn't need or want my permission. Maybe just a head's up that you won't be free for a certain period of time would be sufficient. I'll go take advantage of all the delicious alone time. Lots of writing to be done, books to be read, photos to be snapped, tea to be drunk.

Generally, my only rule is if you say you're going to do something, do it. If you can't do it, just let me know ahead of time. I don't like flakes.

But these are the guys I attract.

I've told you about several of these dudes, most recently about Guy Who Tries Too Hard. It's like, take a breath, dude, and just be yourself. It makes me exhausted just thinking about him. 

Did I mention I finally gave my number to Hot Bartender? I realize he's a bartender. I had no illusions of starting anything of substance with this guy.  But he was HOT. I thought we could hook up a few times. Fun had by all. But then he gave a long ass speech about how it's complicated with him and he has a kid and he's not looking to be tied down, blah blah blah. I couldn't help thinking that in his assertions of his need for freedom, he was showing that he was actually kind of needy and high maintenance. We hadn't even had sex and he was already scared that I would trap him in a marriage. Yikes! Who needs it?

Like I said, there have been exceptions. I know several of my exes read this blog and I just know they're on the edges of their seats waiting for me to un-emasculate them. Well I'm not telling who. HAH! Figure it out for yourselves.

But those exceptions, while they obviously didn't work out for whatever reason, I enjoyed the balance of energy, the energy which felt most like my own. I don't necessarily do well with the extremes. I appreciate someone who's more like me in this specific way.

I really said I wouldn't blog about this next nugget of information, because I always do this and the universe thinks I'm mocking her and it never works out. But I may or may not have met someone new. We may or may not have spent the evening talking and laughing and I may or may not have felt that he was a lot like me in energy and sense of humor. I'm not counting on this. I could be wrong. Lard knows my radar sucks. He may or may not call. 

But I'm hopeful. Hopeful that he's not a needy little bitch. Okay, I'm hopeful about other things too. You got me.

AHA! she cried, deep into the night.

I'm dropping in from the busy moving front to share with you something big that happened to me this weekend. 

It's no secret that I'm the daughter of a crazy woman. It's a huge part of my life, whether I like it or not. I have to explain why I don't celebrate mother's day or my aversion to Hoarders or a million other things. People want to know and it gets old explaining.

But more than that, my mother's (and my father's) behavior has had a huge influence on who I am and what I do. I grew up in the ideals of not blaming your parents for your mistakes. You take responsibility for your own actions. And I believe that to an extent. Yes, I am an adult with free will and no one is twisting my arm to do anything. And yes, I have worked very hard to fix myself and my own issues and make myself a whole person. I'm continually learnin and it's something I work hard at every single day.

But it would be naive to think that my parents didn't have a huge influence on my life. Everything I learned from watching them is apart of me.

And I had a HUGE AHA! moment the other night. The kind of epiphany that changes everything. Hopefully, anyway.  I'm sorry that I can't share the details of said epiphany, mostly because it would expose very intimate feelings I have as well as details about others. And my goal with this blog has always been to not let me blog hurt those I love.

But this epiphany is huge indeed. It involves a family pattern that's been carried out for generations, passed down from my grandmother to my father to me. Who knows how further back it goes.

Hopefully this recognition helps me break it.

It's about something that I've been naively yet uncontrollably hanging onto. Something I didn't actually want and consciously knew was fruitless, but something I didn't possess the ability to let go of. No matter how hard I tried, it floated there just below my conscious, taunting me in my sleep, reminding me at every turn. It tinged all my interactions.

I think that now I know why it was hanging on despite my best efforts, I think I can finally let it go.

This isn't the first pattern I've broken, but it is the first that's an heirloom.

For instance, as far as relationships go, I was always on the lookout for daddy issues, being that I'm a girl and that's usually what girls have to look out for. I never realized that for years, I was dating people like my mother. I realized this in therapy several years ago. It's still easy for me to do, but at least now I'm more aware and can see it coming.

So parentage does, in fact, influence.

Though I think in the grand scheme of things, I've gotten off easy. I could be a lot worse off and I think what helps is my stubborn determination to figure it out and be happy.

I joke about being crazy, but I am not insane. I don't have a personality disorder. My issues tend to be of the neurotic variety. I'm quirky and odd, but I function. I feel like love repellent a good portion of my love life, but I love myself and most of the time that's enough.

My mom is a hoarder and I have a great fear of hoarding, but I do have my emotional attachments to certain things. I've kept any anthology or textbook that I've found important over my 6 or so years I spent in college. I have all my old notebooks and essays and portfolios. I have an attachment to anything I've learned or created. 

My mom has narcissistic personality disorder. If anything, I struggle with the opposite. This is directly because of her. My whole life was an effort in pleasing a woman that couldn't be pleased. Therefore my adulthood has been an effort in learning how to be more selfish. How to please myself. I would add "within reason," but anyone who is a doormat knows that that's never an issue. Reason has nothing to do with it. Once I learn to stop pleasing others first, then I can worry about keeping it in check.  

My dad is a doormat and, I think, part of why I was choosing partners like my mom is that I was repeating my father's behaviors. When really I should have been looking for partners more like him. Not doormats (I don't want that), but giving people who are super smart and witty and loyal.

Something I used to lament in therapy was being like my mother when I am a mother, or swinging too far opposite. I obviously don't want to be a narcissistic parent, but I also don't want to be too permissive. My therapist was always reassuring, naturally. She knew as I knew deep down that my concern alone for this behavior is what will make me a great mom.  I'll always be alert to it.

My mom is a drug addict. I really can't say that I've inherited this and I'm grateful for that. I'm not genetically related to her. I know people joke about being addicted to chocolate or a TV show or whatever and I laugh, but truthfully, it's bullshit. That's just enjoyment.

People are appallingly lax about prescription drug addiction. It's the somehow acceptable addiction. At least she's not shooting heroine right? Except it's really just as bad.

Until you've had a parent passed out for several days on end strung out on who-knows-what combination of pills. Until you've had to ride with your mom in the middle of the night, while her whole body shakes because she's coming off some pill, to the pharmacist's home, the pharmacist who is illegally filling her prescription because she's convinced him she'll die if she doesn't have it. Until you have to walk away from someone because they will pull you down with them, you just don't understand.

I hadn't intended this post to once again be about my mom's addiction and her insanity, but it took me there. Because it always leads there. 

So back to my epiphany. I think it will also help me take even more steps away from my mother as well.

Every piece of the puzzle helps me become a more whole person.

I can't wait to email my therapist and tell her about this. She'll be so proud!