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Tag Archives: self deprecation

Dial up the crazy

It almost feels funny to type this, as it’s been almost a year and a half since I’ve used this word, but, I have a ‘boyfriend’. He’s wonderful, I like him a lot, he does all the things I think a good boyfriend should, and I hope that I get to keep calling him my boyfriend for a very long time. With all that said, however, my crazy still manages to poke holes in what could otherwise be a completely normal relationship, and in times like these, I write.

I live in southern Pennsylvania, (southern enough that I rarely admit to the PA residency except when trying to prove that I drive the farthest to work when compared to anyone else), and for those who don’t know, Maryland and Virginia (along with many other states that i have no reason for mentioning here…) got hit with a helluva storm the last weekend in June, with 80 MPH winds, hail, monsoon volume rains and excessive lightening. There are people to this day that are still without power due to the storm damage, and my boyfriend works in Maryland, for one of the companies that’s out and about replacing some of the telephone poles that were broken, cutting up trees that were splintered and generally trying to fix some of the shit that got jacked up. Since he and I have about an hour and 15 minutes worth of distance between us, his long hours and 7 day a week shifts have taken a toll on my emotional stability the last 2 weekends, as I’ve seen him for a fraction of the amount of time that we PREFER to see each other. See, I intentionally typed “we prefer” to try to outsmart the crazy, but the crazy is uber smart, and it sees through my thinly veiled attempts with little to no effort. The small amount of time that we HAVE been able to see each other isn’t exactly the same sort of QT that I’m used to spending with him, either, as he’s exhausted, a mere fraction of his usual awesome personality, and I swear – dude falls asleep LESS THAN 5 minutes after his head hits the pillow – I don’t think a narcoleptic could top that. So this weekend, I ate dinner with him and his family, then we watched a movie, I got to sleep in his arms, and then got up at 5 am and drove home as he went to work. I’m not complaining, because I wasn’t exactly living la vida refreshed either, but as soon as I give my brain a moment to wander, it immediately jumps to him distancing himself from me for some yet to be discovered reason. Or for some reason that I may have thought of but dismissed, or for some reason that I may never even think of because there’s probably not even a reason in existence at this point. Logically, I know what sheer exhaustion can do to a person and that this is his true reason for being less than all over my grill as of late. Yet my crazy expects him to be bright eyed and bushy tailed, utilizing every second I am within his vision to adore and fawn over me, despite the fact that he’s worked no less than 10 hours per day, for the last 10+ days straight, and he’s already doing about all he can just to stay awake and spend a few hours of face to face time with me. I am interpreting his exhaustion for disinterest, and this is where I inevitably lose my sub-par grip and sob into a pillow for a few hours. Queue the red, puffy eyes I’ll have for the next 2 days.

I must feel safe with my boyfriend, though, because instead of bottling it up and becoming aloof, I’ve opened up and explained these feelings to him, and god love this man, he consoled me and assured me and managed to quell my concerns in just a few words. In past relationships, I would have been told “That’s stupid, why do you feel that way?” and it would end up being an entire discussion about my feelings and why they are dumb, his lack thereof, and I would still never feel that acceptance or understanding that I longed for. Despite the fact that I want to talk about my feelings, I don’t feel the need to make an entire presentation out of it – I want to say my piece, have him reply, and move on. Then I want to reiterate his reply in my head to make myself feel better whenever crazy girl sneaks in and tries to overwhelm the awesome that I have created. Seriously, I know that these crazy thoughts are crazy things that only crazy people make up, but I literally CANNOT help them from seeping into my brain and once they are there, the only way to make them go away is to say them out loud and gain affirmation for their complete idiocy, or their legitimacy.

One huge thing I’ve wanted in a boyfriend is someone who would actually listen to what I say, and HEAR me when I say it. I don’t need it fixed, that’s on me, I just need a man to understand that I have feelings (I know, you’re thinking ‘You’re a chick – DUH you have feelings’ but wait, explanation on this to follow) and be OK with hearing them out-loud. Too many men seem to completely suppress, or downright forget that chicks have feelings, and need to express them to get over them, and firsthand I can say this has created more than several issues with me and men in the past. This one guy I dated told me that I wasn’t ALLOWED to tell him when I was disappointed. His reasoning was that he didn’t like making plans anyway, so when plans fell through, I wasn’t allowed to be disappointed because it was something I used against him to make him feel badly. Not badly enough to NOT break plans or to even TRY to not break plans, just bad enough that he didn’t want to hear about it. I feel that you don’t get to know a person if you’re always just putting on a show, so I want to be honest and try to share who I am in my entirety. All the world is a stage, but even the stage hand gets to know the REAL person playing the part, and I want to be with someone who knows all of me, not just the stuff that’s lollipops and gummi bears. Long winded reason # 47 why my boyfriend is awesome.

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Feast or famine

It seems that I only feel like blogging when I’m hating on myself via some deep-seated emotional issue that has been triggered by a thought or some outside event. This post shall be no different from the norm.

Failure is a word that triggers a strong emotional and mental response from me. It could be failure to complete a task appropriately or the failure of a relationship – it doesn’t matter, either way, I end up feeling like a fuck up who can’t do anything right or correct in life. This is a feeling that has followed me around longer than I’ve probably even been aware of it, and it’s become a topic of interest over my last few therapy sessions.

Each time I recount the failure of a relationship, or that one time I applied for something and was denied, or when I just allow people to take advantage of me, I end up a bleary eyed mess and full of emotional turmoil. Mistakes are failures, the inability to mesh with a single person for the rest of my life is a failure and you bet your ass that I’ve failed at life because I’ve never accomplished the dreams I had as a stupid child. It’s enough to drive a person into a downward spiral of depressive sludge.

Today, as I was having a moment of incredible weakness to my BFF, I kind of realized that in some deep, dark, psychotherapy place in the recesses of my mind, my parents divorce has warped my perception of relationships and their levels of success or failure. I’m sure it’s much more involved than that and I’m sure it has a lot more to do with the whole inability to deal with or discuss emotions that my entire family possesses, but I’ve never really thought of my parents divorce in a negative way until today. It’s one of those situations where the more you learn about yourself, why you react the way that you do to certain things, and where those feelings of inner turmoil and blackness actually COME from, that you can’t help but start to look at events in your life differently.Some end up being more detrimental while others end up having that silver lining to them. My BFF pointed out that relationships take two people and that I cannot blame myself for the end of every relationship because I AM AWESOME. So, in a moment of clarity, I’ve realized that I AM awesome, and have apparently been setting my sights too low, hence the fizzle of each of my past relationships. Awesome shines brightly and some people just burn faster than others. To truly be happy in life, I need to aim high and find someone who’s awesome matches my own, instead of dialing down my aura to fit others.

 

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Lesson #4,624 or Why therapy is a good thing

I had yet another interesting session with my therapist this week. Perhaps it was due to my emotional state as of late, or the phase of the moon, or the status of my menstrual cycle, but she seemed…….short with me. As if she felt I was lacking forward momentum; hung up in some sort of way. And I am, but I just can’t get past it enough to literally GET past it. I try, then I figure I’ll fail, then I quit. Quitting is always easier than failing, I figure. But I feel like my struggle to change is starting to frustrate her, which  makes me feel kinda shitty. I mean, it;s gotta take a special talent to frustrate a therapist, ya know?

I have this one constant complaint and it’s a real roadblock in my emotional development. My therapist is fond of using a metaphor regarding how I view myself through a distorted filter. I see others differently than I see myself, and I often pound on myself like a bully. So she’s started this new thing with me that begins with “If one of your friends was dealing with {whatever issue of the moment}, what would YOU tell THEM?” And I gotta admit, it helps!

This weeks session focused heavily on my biggest issue and she pretty much told me that it was time to shit, or get the hell off the pot. Obviously, she put it much more eloquently, and in some sort of psychotherapy terminology, so it sounded less harsh, but the fact remains – she’s right. I USE this against myself, and stop myself from having to make the changes that I need to make to be HAPPY. Why would a person deny themselves happiness? Why would they purposefully put everyone else ahead of themselves? Why would I want to set myself up for failure? BECAUSE I’M CRAZY. I mean seriously, how long have you known me?

Truthfully though, I realize that she’s absolutely right. It’s hard to be 30 years old and feel like a child being scolded, and I’m sure she never meant for it to come across that way, but it shocked me enough to start making some choices and getting some shit done. I’m hopeful that the momentum lasts, and so far, each time I’ve started to have my doubts, some thing has been happening to bring them back up; but I’m not counting any chickens, yet. Just a few eggs.

 

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Valentine’s Day, in all of it’s Commercialized Glory

I, like most middle class Americans, was working on Valentine’s Day. Not that I really had anything better to do: No one was waiting to cook me dinner (or for ME to cook THEM dinner, more accurately), no one was waiting to spend the day in bed with me, and no one was waiting with flowers in danger of wilting. It’s just like every other day of the year as far as I am concerned, aside from the $50 bouquet of a dozen roses, and the $20-$50 boxes of chocolates, which will go back to their regular $4-$6 prices tomorrow, and the cards, the cards, the CARDS!!

Interestingly enough, if you try to look up the story of the Saint of which this day is so aptly named after, you will find NOTHING. By that, I don’t mean that it’s a buncha b.s., I mean, there is NO STORY. No background, no history, just a name which has been accredited the dubious honor of being attached to this mass marketed day of LOVE. I quote, “Of the Saint Valentine whose feast is on February 14, nothing is known except his name and that he was buried at the Via Flaminia north of Rome on February 14. It is even uncertain whether the feast of that day celebrates only one saint or two or more saints of the same name.” I appreciate that there are certain “love” like things that have been attributed to this cryptic Saint such as Happy Marriages, Love, Plagues, Epileptics and bee keepers, but I’m still finding it hard to be convinced that this day has really ended up as it was initially intended.

What that says to me is that someone, SOMEWHERE took this story, that has no real story, and developed into what it is today: A commercialized, over zealous, grossly misconstrued day to express your love of a person. Call me crazy, but shouldn’t all days be an opportunity to express your love? I mean, if you love someone, you should be thankful for them more often than just once a year. You should want to do things to show your appreciation at least weekly, not just on some day that the government/society tells you that you HAVE to. I never was one who dealt well with being told what to do anyway, so maybe that is part of my resistance to all of this, but a day by any other name would smell as sweet. Or as shitty, it’s all in the nose of the beholder.

Long story short is that I hate Valentine’s Day. I hate what it has become and I hate the fact that some ass-crack out there thought it would be a good idea to develop a day that so heavily mass markets fake love via the usage of flowers, chocolates and cards and then grossly overcharging for said things, that people forget that love is not just a one day event.  Maybe if the general populous didn’t hold such a heavy weight over the happenings of Valentine’s Day, and INSTEAD, actually did things all throughout the year to show their love and to fall back IN love with there significant other, 51% of American marriages wouldn’t end in divorce. Just a friendly thought from your single friend…

 

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Par for the course

There is no amount or availability of words in the English language to adequetly describe my day today; it would have had to have been lived in order for you to appreciate it for all that it was.

For example:

It took me until 11:30 a.m. to realize that my underwear was on inside out.

 

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What to do, oh, what to do?

It’s really quite amazing when you know someone so well that you can actually predict their actions or responses. It’s even more astounding when someone knows you so well that they do exactly what you had hoped they would do, without you even having to ask them to. I don’t mean like, your-man-dusted-the-house kinda hopes; I mean like, you’re-man-took-you-out-to-dinner-at-your-favorite-restaurant-on-your-anniversary-where-he-presented-you-with-a-set-of-2-carat-diamond-earrings-while-a-hired-string-quartet-played-your-song-in-the-background kinda hopes. Yeah, shit like that.

Unfortunately, although one of the highest hopes that I could have in my current life scenario has been reached, it has left me feeling very, very confused. My first impulse is of course to respond, to let him know all the things that I still want to say. Maybe I can still get through to him? I’d tell him how I want to see him stop feeling like he owes anyone anything, and start making himself happy, as he deserves to be. I’d let him know how much he has meant to me, and how the few years we’ve known each other feels like it’s been a lifetime, or two. I would tell him that I always felt that he was my “kindred spirit,” as well, just like Anne of Green Gables. I’d let him know that it was never, ever about the trivial shit, it was always about much more… Yet, I am petrified to rip off that fresh scab which is just beginning to form. But what if nothing ever changes? What if I ended up, once again, in my current roll? I’d never be happy with that, and that is not fair to me. What if I end up opening myself back up, only to be crushed once again? I really don’t want to feel like I’ve lost my best friend again, my hardened heart can only stay numb to so much. I’m so torn over what to do that I have decided to post this, in lieu of responding. Somehow telling any wandering eye that may scroll across my page about how distraught I am over all of this is easier than talking to you. Strangers reading my fucked up thoughts is more inviting than crying on your shoulder. Admitting defeat to the entire world is less destructive than waiting for you any longer.

And, if you happen to read this: damnit, I miss you too.

 

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