I realize that lately I’ve alluded to my flaws with regard to romantic relationships, but merely alluded, not fleshed out. Some might feel I’ve been quick to pass my own judgment on this (these) guy(s), without practicing that notion of empathy I always go on and on about. I sound like a broken record when I say that I’m not perfect; I’ve got flaws just like everyone else. Well, it’s been a little while since I’ve expounded upon them. So, gentle readers, here’s why I’m fucked up:
1) I have had issues with depression for as long as I can remember. Even as a little girl I remember feeling sad without being able to explain why I felt that way. At its worst, depression can affect every aspect of your life. You come off as lazy, pessimistic, a stagnant plop of squishy carbon that inspires mutual pity and disgust. I can cope with it, mostly. But when it’s bad it can fuck up any and all relationships. And frankly, who wants to be with someone who’s stuck in that emotional rut? I know I don’t. Which inherently means that I wouldn’t wanna be with me when I’m like that. And if you don’t love yourself, how can you expect anyone else to? It can be the most vicious of cycles.
2) But even beyond that: I have major, MAJOR trust issues. Like, conspiracy theory bad. I suspect that this particular flaw has several origins. On the one hand, my self-esteem has always been rather shaky. The only bit that’s really changed is I’m better at hiding it beneath a facade of bubbly, charming crap. I fake it ’til I make it, and my own confidence can be as much a front as my waxing philosophical in class when I haven’t done the reading. Beyond that, I’ve always been a little distrustful of men. I’m not sure why, exactly. I mean, I did work with a bunch of dirty line boys in my cook days, and I heard some effed up shit, in terms of their views of particular women. Yet simultaneously, the longer I worked there the more respect I got. They weren’t all misogynist assholes; they were my drinking buddies, my protective older brothers, my teammates that felt I was just as important a cog in the well-oiled machine as they were. I’ve no ‘daddy issues’ to speak of. My dad is supportive and loving, I couldn’t ask for a better father. Then there’s my relationship history, which has (especially lately) dealt me some shitty hands. I’m not trying to remove any and all blame for my own actions within those dalliances, but they definitely fucked with the trust problems I already had.
I really don’t ever want to be the ‘jealous girlfriend.’ But my knee-jerk reactions have become so ingrained, like they’ve been specifically wired in a shoddy attempt at self preservation. I know it’s not an attractive thing, to be distrustful of someone who has done nothing to deserve it. But it’s really, really hard for me to let that guard down.
3) EW: My friend E once said, “You’re so cute, no one would ever suspect how gross you are.” It still makes me laugh because it is so unbelievably true. I’m all short, blonde, petite and covered in freckles, with lil’ baby blues…. and then you hear me unabashedly burp, or I crop dust you in Publix and it smells like something inside me died. I still pick my nose when I think (hope) no one’s watching. I sweat like a freakin’ hog the minute the weather could be described as ‘balmy,’ and I’m a really loud eater. Sometimes I pee in the shower because… who the fuck cares?
4) Complete Redundancy in every way/shape/form: When I hear a song I like… like, a LOT, I will listen to that bitch really loud, on repeat. Sometimes for days or months on end. I also repeat myself all the time and tell the same stories and jokes over, and over, and over again. Sometimes it drives my sister crazy.
That’s just me softly caressing the surface. I’ve been really hard on myself lately, because it feels like the universe is making me atone for the dumb shit I’ve done in the past, the mean things I’ve said or done to people. So I’m trying to re-evaluate these recent painful experiences and apply an unbiased perspective, as much as I can. In short, looking back and thinking: how did I fuck up?
On some other notes~
The longer I ponder my book project, the more convinced I become that even if I had the hours upon hours to devote, it ain’t quite time yet. Gotta hang back. This arc of change and growth feels as though it is finally coming to fruition, to a close of sorts. However, I want time to sit back and reflect on it, once it has died away. I need to keep looking back, to keep learning from my mistakes, and to keep growing.
….is it just me or is this post… disjointed? For some reason I’m having a really hard time fleshing this out… the writer’s block is palpable, but fuzzy in that it doesn’t have it’s usual vice grip on my brain. Instead of stemming the flow completely, it lets me sputter forth vague notions and half-hearted ‘-isms’, trying to shuffle through these convoluted impressions. I can’t seem to articulate my thoughts all that well…Maybe that’s another indication of the process and how it’s changing. I’ve been chewing over these past few years like a cow on cud, and I feel close to an epiphany; a real one this time. But even saying that feels like forced perspective. Maybe I’m just not as close as I want to be. Normally writing these things out helps me, it helps me sort out the truth, the real versus my (sometimes impressive) imagination. I think there are still yet lessons to be gleaned… otherwise I don’t think I would feel so… so… muddled…
And then there’s my second ex ever. We dated for just shy (literally) of 6 years. It was a hard break up for both of us, in different ways. With almost 3 years behind that transition, we talk occasionally. And I distinctly get the impression that he is one of the few men that still genuinely cares about me. It’s weird, and it’s sweet, but part of it makes me sad too. I haven’t yet met anyone of the opposite sex that knows me like he knows me… but we didn’t work out. So what does that mean for me as I continue that search? He’s the only ex who still wishes me a happy birthday on my actual birthday, who still reads my blog consistently, who still reaches out when he knows I’m sad and/or in emotional pain. I guess because, at the end of the day, he’s a good dude. That’s another lesson I took too long in (re)learning I guess. What I mean is, that I knew that, but I do finally feel it now. Now I do truly want to be his friend, a notion that I figured would always be a pipe dream because of our history.
Perf example: He sent this to me the other day, just because he knew it would make me laugh: If Paintings Could Text.
Current Jam: “Paper Wings” Rise Against!