Sunday, March 27, 2011
My Man and His Tiny, Hard, Overly Caressed, Incessantly Stimulated, Easy-To-Carry, Hot-On-The-Skin and Fun-To-Play-With Gadget
He can't keep his hands off of it. Sometimes he plays with it using one hand, other times both, sometimes he uses his ear. It's grotesque; the obsession, the constant stimulation, the endless need for more. You should see the look in his eyes as he touches and rubs it's hard exterior. Sometimes he even shakes it and then starts all over again like some kind of aroused, technical edition of the Etch-A-Sketch. He uses it as a navigator; an obtrusive bulge in his pocket, pointing him in the right direction. Dear God he even thinks with it. I watch his lewd determination as he heads for the couch, longing to get his hands on it again. On the occasion I might get to touch it but it's so small and awkward, I'm not used to working with an object of this nature; the shape, the color, the strange and foreign tricks it's so oddly capable of. Just as it begins to excite my curiosity he yanks it back for his own pleasure and I am stuck witnessing the ardent desperation of an I-phone4 addict. Oh well, I'll get my own one day and will no longer need him or his silly little gadget because I'm holding out for the I-Phone5. Luckily, I have a vibrator to tide me over until then.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Mama Mia
During work yesterday at SOL, I heard an upsetting story about my boss, D. Up until now, I believed that the majority of her aggression went towards us, her employers. I knew she wasn't a good person but I also couldn't help but feel that underneath it all was a human being, capable of love and maybe even compassion. Sadly enough, I was giving this woman, yet again, way more credit than she deserved.
D has one daughter, Trite, and one son, Con. From what I understand, she raised them mostly on her own because the father went AWOL on them when Trite was a little girl. Trite is a 13 year old girl trapped in the body of a 34 year old woman. She works at SOL, on and off, depending on whether or not D decides to fire her for that week. She has pockmarks on her face, just like her mother. She's stocky and pale with short blond hair and a permanent scowl on her face. Her low, raspy voice is difficult to distinguish from D's and always leaves us nervous that D is just around the corner. Trite is not a bad person, she is just trite. She leaves work early every day with a miserable look on her face, claiming to have a hernia, a kidney infection, walking pneumonia, a stroke, pain in her arms, legs, vagina, I mean, the list goes on forever. The saddest part is watching the way she endlessly vies for her mother's attention, like a clingy little girl in need of a warm embrace after bumping her knee on the living room sofa. She has that loud, nervous laugh every time she says something she hopes D will find amusing. Trite watches D's every move and dawdles around her like a lost puppy, fearful that if she walks away she might miss out on some subtle term of endearment or a warm look that secretly says "I love and accept you". She waits for it although the rest of us know it will never come.
I guess Trite's stray dad now wants to come and see the family and his grandchildren, which Trite doesn't want, due to the fact that she resents him for what he did. So, two days ago Trite left SOL early, in tears, after receiving not one, but two text messages from D, which were meant to be sent to Trite's brother, Con. One of them blasted Trite for not forgiving her father. D went on and on about how sick of Trite she is and how Trite needs to control her anger and is being dramatic and annoying. The second one said that Trite has no right to judge her father's parenting since Trite, herself, is such an awful parent. D then continued to criticize Trite's only son and pointed out how bad he turned out. If that wasn't painful enough, Trite confronted D about the text messages and told her to be more careful about who the receiver is and D responded by telling Trite, "well good, maybe you'll learn".
No mother is perfect. I honestly believe that parenting is the most painful and difficult job in the world. I think that, as long as a woman is capable of loving her children, the rest falls into place. No matter how many mistakes are made, no matter how many problems the child grows up to have, a loving mother should never spend her life in morbid reflection of what she could have done differently. My mother loves me, with all her heart and soul, she loves me to the core and would go to the end of the earth for me in a heart beat. She's treated me with compassion and encouragement and has never missed an opportunity to tell me that she loves me, never. I am so very, very blessed to have her for a mom. In fact, she was all I could think about as I listened to that dreadful story. It's because of how my mom raised me that mother's like D are so, disgustingly, unimaginable in my eyes. D is, by far, the worst boss, woman and parent I have ever met. I look at Trite sometimes and can't help but wonder what kind of woman she might have been, had she been loved throughout her life. I wonder what she might have been capable of, had she been given a mother that knew how to properly care for her and offer her the kind of affection every child needs.
So, for the mother's out there that truly love their children and know, outside of the problems and difficulties they may have encountered in and throughout motherhood, that they have always done their very best to be good, loving parents, do not be hard on yourselves. Please do not beat yourselves up for the mistakes you've made, a loved child is worth more than any crisis, misunderstanding or defect that may have kicked them in the ass as they were growing up. Motherhood is an all day, never ending job. A series of threads that tie us together and leave knots in strange places; colorful, suffocating, unpredictable; easy to interlace but impossible to unravel. Thank you to all the mothers out there with love in their hearts, who try, no matter what, to always do what's right.
D has one daughter, Trite, and one son, Con. From what I understand, she raised them mostly on her own because the father went AWOL on them when Trite was a little girl. Trite is a 13 year old girl trapped in the body of a 34 year old woman. She works at SOL, on and off, depending on whether or not D decides to fire her for that week. She has pockmarks on her face, just like her mother. She's stocky and pale with short blond hair and a permanent scowl on her face. Her low, raspy voice is difficult to distinguish from D's and always leaves us nervous that D is just around the corner. Trite is not a bad person, she is just trite. She leaves work early every day with a miserable look on her face, claiming to have a hernia, a kidney infection, walking pneumonia, a stroke, pain in her arms, legs, vagina, I mean, the list goes on forever. The saddest part is watching the way she endlessly vies for her mother's attention, like a clingy little girl in need of a warm embrace after bumping her knee on the living room sofa. She has that loud, nervous laugh every time she says something she hopes D will find amusing. Trite watches D's every move and dawdles around her like a lost puppy, fearful that if she walks away she might miss out on some subtle term of endearment or a warm look that secretly says "I love and accept you". She waits for it although the rest of us know it will never come.
I guess Trite's stray dad now wants to come and see the family and his grandchildren, which Trite doesn't want, due to the fact that she resents him for what he did. So, two days ago Trite left SOL early, in tears, after receiving not one, but two text messages from D, which were meant to be sent to Trite's brother, Con. One of them blasted Trite for not forgiving her father. D went on and on about how sick of Trite she is and how Trite needs to control her anger and is being dramatic and annoying. The second one said that Trite has no right to judge her father's parenting since Trite, herself, is such an awful parent. D then continued to criticize Trite's only son and pointed out how bad he turned out. If that wasn't painful enough, Trite confronted D about the text messages and told her to be more careful about who the receiver is and D responded by telling Trite, "well good, maybe you'll learn".
No mother is perfect. I honestly believe that parenting is the most painful and difficult job in the world. I think that, as long as a woman is capable of loving her children, the rest falls into place. No matter how many mistakes are made, no matter how many problems the child grows up to have, a loving mother should never spend her life in morbid reflection of what she could have done differently. My mother loves me, with all her heart and soul, she loves me to the core and would go to the end of the earth for me in a heart beat. She's treated me with compassion and encouragement and has never missed an opportunity to tell me that she loves me, never. I am so very, very blessed to have her for a mom. In fact, she was all I could think about as I listened to that dreadful story. It's because of how my mom raised me that mother's like D are so, disgustingly, unimaginable in my eyes. D is, by far, the worst boss, woman and parent I have ever met. I look at Trite sometimes and can't help but wonder what kind of woman she might have been, had she been loved throughout her life. I wonder what she might have been capable of, had she been given a mother that knew how to properly care for her and offer her the kind of affection every child needs.
So, for the mother's out there that truly love their children and know, outside of the problems and difficulties they may have encountered in and throughout motherhood, that they have always done their very best to be good, loving parents, do not be hard on yourselves. Please do not beat yourselves up for the mistakes you've made, a loved child is worth more than any crisis, misunderstanding or defect that may have kicked them in the ass as they were growing up. Motherhood is an all day, never ending job. A series of threads that tie us together and leave knots in strange places; colorful, suffocating, unpredictable; easy to interlace but impossible to unravel. Thank you to all the mothers out there with love in their hearts, who try, no matter what, to always do what's right.
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
Fear
Fear is a powerful and potent emotion. It can give someone the strength to lift a car or the perspective to end a relationship. I can't even begin to pinpoint at what age fear became the dominating force in my actions and behaviors. When I look back at my childhood, I recall a slight suffering from fear of the unknown, but outside of that, I know I never recoiled from my mother's embrace or the opportunity to rough house with a friendly companion. These are the simple instincts I believe we are all born with, the basic instinct to want to have fun, to want to enjoy life. If we wanted to experience pleasure, we used to simply go after it. If the opportunity to make a new friend arose, we introduced ourselves and immediately set in to discovering what we and that other person had in common. When I was six I had a mad crush on Anthony Crissy. He had dark hair and wore glasses. To me there was no boy in my class that held a candle to my beloved Anthony. Now, although I didn't have the tools to properly deal with my crush, I knew that I wanted to engage in some form of behavior that would be both amusing and potentially gratifying, so every day at recess I chased him around the playground trying to kiss him. Although he constantly ran away from me, I have strong evidence to believe he enjoyed it too. I'm not saying that as adults we should run around like little idiots trying to physically catch and maul someone were attracted to, I believe they call that rape in the adult world, but it would be nice if we could pursue our desires without the fear reaction that comes with putting our heart on the line. Honestly, back then, I don't even think it ever dawned on me that Anthony Crissy didn't like me or that he might have intended on rejecting me, all I know was that I liked him and this was the only way I knew how to show it, nothing outside of that ever crossed my mind.
Unfortunately, with every disappointment, rejection or humiliation that has crossed our paths throughout our life time the seeds of fear are planted in our memories and we're suddenly faced with new instincts, the ones that lead us to hesitate, to procrastinate, to doubt. I'm learning about fear in a way I never thought I would have to. I'm learning about how debilitating it is. I would give anything to experience the joy of loving without that thick, uneasy layer of doubt, fears associate, wrapped around my heart, like the arms of a bear just before it suffocates you.
I broke up with Hunter, yet again, yesterday. This is the second time in the past month. It seems to become a more prominent reaction the closer we get to the moving day. I was asked if I want to sabotage the relationship out of a longing to get out of it. I had to give that one some thought because I have a difficult time differentiating what my gut tells me and what the ghosts of my past whisper in my ear. I find myself comparing my love for him with past loves, remembering how those ended; how foolish I felt; how ashamed I was for not seeing the truth sooner; how humiliated I was for repeatedly choosing the wrong partner; how afraid I was of what everyone else must think of me. It isn't any wonder I don't trust myself with Hunter. It isn't any wonder I question what's real and what isn't. How, after so many painful experiences, can I possibly have faith that I have made the right decision by choosing to be with him; that he won't hurt me the way the others have in the past, in spite of the fact that he has proven, repeatedly, that he's nothing like them. How can I have faith that I have the ability to learn from my experiences, to grow from them, and to not make the same mistakes, when my every thought is followed by dark after thoughts of fear, shame, humiliation, self-loathing and anxiety over the possible judgement of others. In truth I know I couldn't ask for a better man. When we plan our future together I'm filled with excitement. When I am free from my own exhausting thoughts, all I have for him is this peaceful sense of adoring love and gratitude. I have found in Hunter a best friend, a strong, loving relationship that is honest and real from the core. In truth, it's everything I've always wanted, and more, because with him I have the miraculous ability to be myself in a way I have never been able to before. So the answer, no. There is no longing to get out of my relationship with Hunter, just a longing to get out of myself. To live with so much fear and self-resentment is more than I can stand anymore. There is no room in my life to sit back and enjoy anything because my head is always in the way. Even when we're happy I'm afraid, I rest in his arms in a constant state of panic, waiting for something, anything to go awry, because it eventually has to, right? He will eventually let me down, something eventually will not go my way, or will occur that is completely out of my control, and then what? The fear begins all over again. I start to panic further, asking myself what it means, is this a red flag? He has to fuck me over some time, right? I mean, nothing is ever as good as it seems. Isn't it best to be prepared before it all blows up in your face and your friends and family sit there shaking their heads at you saying, "how, after all you've been through, could you have still been so blind and foolish? You should have known better, what a fool you are. Why does she have such awful taste in men, she really is weak minded. Well, keep in mind she's bipolar, I mean, she's just not all there. That's what you get, you pursue a newcomer that's 5 years younger than you are, what the hell did you expect?"
The funny thing is I broke up with Hunter because I caught him lying to me. He made up this whole story about how he went with a friend on Friday night to hit a meeting and play some pool. But when I got home late Friday night from work, his car had clearly not been moved from it's spot. I walked into the apartment in a state of panic, positive that I caught him this time, positive that this was the moment when he would break my heart. "Who drove tonight?" I asked him while he was still half asleep. His eyes wondered a little and he said, "I did". When I remarked on how his car had not been moved he simply said, "oh ya, I got the same spot, I got lucky." So we went to sleep but I tossed and turned all night. The next morning I confronted him about it and he denied everything to the death. I quickly became possessed by a state of suspicion, hysteria and determination, it wasn't even me anymore. The rational, loving version of myself had left the building some time in the night. Only until I threatened to call his friend myself (I swear to God, I am not usually that girl) that he came clean and told me that he had a friend, Mike, who used to be in the jeweler business who had another friend that sold jewelry from his home, and Mike had come to pick him up on Friday night and took him to this other guys house so Hunter could look at engagement rings for me. Unfortunately, this demon that had kidnapped me insisted that Hunter was still lying, broke up with him and kicked him out of the apartment. Somewhere in the night, prior to my confronting him, my little friend, Fear, and I must have decided to whip out the Ouija board and play a round, because I woke up head spinning and words flying without a fragment of logic and no exorcist to be found. It wasn't until I talked to three different people that I suddenly came to and realized what I had done. My boyfriend went out to buy me an engagement ring and, in response I accused him of lying to me and I broke up with him. Thank God he took me back, in fact, he didn't even think twice, he was all ready to apologize to me! I felt terrible. How on earth did I get so far gone? I couldn't even see how out of control I had gotten. And there he was, ready to love me with open arms after it was all over. Fear. Fucking Fear. All those dam voices, the judgement, the memories and self doubt just washed over me so quickly, burying any sense of reason or logic or even love that exists within me and leaving nothing but the phantoms of my past to haunt and torment me, while I roam around like a dam fool completely ignorant to what is happening inside my very head. I never pictured myself so stunted when it comes to loving another human being. But I guess I am. Aren't we all in some way or another? I don't have all the answers. I'm only beginning to explore the grooves of my existence that have formed from years of treading the same dam path, back and forth, then wondering why I proceed to get the same results. I suppose, if I were to face this problem with grace and dignity, it would have to start with gratitude. I have found someone who loves me enough to be patient and willing to grow with me. I've hit a wall, a bottom per say, and I can't go back, I won't. I know now more than ever where my thinking and my habits can lead me and it isn't pretty.
So for now all I can do is be thankful for the willingness and the pain that is allowing me to move forward. It may be a tiny step but it is still a step in a different direction, a step away from the habits of my past, a step closer to who I'm meant to be. I wish the catalyst for change didn't always have to be so painful and dramatic but I guess it makes pain more embraceable with the knowledge that, what comes with it, is an opportunity for growth, a reminder that we're alive; that for every frost there is a warmth that follows; for every empty branch that characterizes the destructiveness of winter there is room for the rebirth of springtime. It's the ebb and flow of life that allows us the realization that, with change and the emergence of every season, we all are given a second chance and that parts of us have to die in order to make room for the growth that follows. For Hunter's sake, I really hope spring comes soon.
Unfortunately, with every disappointment, rejection or humiliation that has crossed our paths throughout our life time the seeds of fear are planted in our memories and we're suddenly faced with new instincts, the ones that lead us to hesitate, to procrastinate, to doubt. I'm learning about fear in a way I never thought I would have to. I'm learning about how debilitating it is. I would give anything to experience the joy of loving without that thick, uneasy layer of doubt, fears associate, wrapped around my heart, like the arms of a bear just before it suffocates you.
I broke up with Hunter, yet again, yesterday. This is the second time in the past month. It seems to become a more prominent reaction the closer we get to the moving day. I was asked if I want to sabotage the relationship out of a longing to get out of it. I had to give that one some thought because I have a difficult time differentiating what my gut tells me and what the ghosts of my past whisper in my ear. I find myself comparing my love for him with past loves, remembering how those ended; how foolish I felt; how ashamed I was for not seeing the truth sooner; how humiliated I was for repeatedly choosing the wrong partner; how afraid I was of what everyone else must think of me. It isn't any wonder I don't trust myself with Hunter. It isn't any wonder I question what's real and what isn't. How, after so many painful experiences, can I possibly have faith that I have made the right decision by choosing to be with him; that he won't hurt me the way the others have in the past, in spite of the fact that he has proven, repeatedly, that he's nothing like them. How can I have faith that I have the ability to learn from my experiences, to grow from them, and to not make the same mistakes, when my every thought is followed by dark after thoughts of fear, shame, humiliation, self-loathing and anxiety over the possible judgement of others. In truth I know I couldn't ask for a better man. When we plan our future together I'm filled with excitement. When I am free from my own exhausting thoughts, all I have for him is this peaceful sense of adoring love and gratitude. I have found in Hunter a best friend, a strong, loving relationship that is honest and real from the core. In truth, it's everything I've always wanted, and more, because with him I have the miraculous ability to be myself in a way I have never been able to before. So the answer, no. There is no longing to get out of my relationship with Hunter, just a longing to get out of myself. To live with so much fear and self-resentment is more than I can stand anymore. There is no room in my life to sit back and enjoy anything because my head is always in the way. Even when we're happy I'm afraid, I rest in his arms in a constant state of panic, waiting for something, anything to go awry, because it eventually has to, right? He will eventually let me down, something eventually will not go my way, or will occur that is completely out of my control, and then what? The fear begins all over again. I start to panic further, asking myself what it means, is this a red flag? He has to fuck me over some time, right? I mean, nothing is ever as good as it seems. Isn't it best to be prepared before it all blows up in your face and your friends and family sit there shaking their heads at you saying, "how, after all you've been through, could you have still been so blind and foolish? You should have known better, what a fool you are. Why does she have such awful taste in men, she really is weak minded. Well, keep in mind she's bipolar, I mean, she's just not all there. That's what you get, you pursue a newcomer that's 5 years younger than you are, what the hell did you expect?"
The funny thing is I broke up with Hunter because I caught him lying to me. He made up this whole story about how he went with a friend on Friday night to hit a meeting and play some pool. But when I got home late Friday night from work, his car had clearly not been moved from it's spot. I walked into the apartment in a state of panic, positive that I caught him this time, positive that this was the moment when he would break my heart. "Who drove tonight?" I asked him while he was still half asleep. His eyes wondered a little and he said, "I did". When I remarked on how his car had not been moved he simply said, "oh ya, I got the same spot, I got lucky." So we went to sleep but I tossed and turned all night. The next morning I confronted him about it and he denied everything to the death. I quickly became possessed by a state of suspicion, hysteria and determination, it wasn't even me anymore. The rational, loving version of myself had left the building some time in the night. Only until I threatened to call his friend myself (I swear to God, I am not usually that girl) that he came clean and told me that he had a friend, Mike, who used to be in the jeweler business who had another friend that sold jewelry from his home, and Mike had come to pick him up on Friday night and took him to this other guys house so Hunter could look at engagement rings for me. Unfortunately, this demon that had kidnapped me insisted that Hunter was still lying, broke up with him and kicked him out of the apartment. Somewhere in the night, prior to my confronting him, my little friend, Fear, and I must have decided to whip out the Ouija board and play a round, because I woke up head spinning and words flying without a fragment of logic and no exorcist to be found. It wasn't until I talked to three different people that I suddenly came to and realized what I had done. My boyfriend went out to buy me an engagement ring and, in response I accused him of lying to me and I broke up with him. Thank God he took me back, in fact, he didn't even think twice, he was all ready to apologize to me! I felt terrible. How on earth did I get so far gone? I couldn't even see how out of control I had gotten. And there he was, ready to love me with open arms after it was all over. Fear. Fucking Fear. All those dam voices, the judgement, the memories and self doubt just washed over me so quickly, burying any sense of reason or logic or even love that exists within me and leaving nothing but the phantoms of my past to haunt and torment me, while I roam around like a dam fool completely ignorant to what is happening inside my very head. I never pictured myself so stunted when it comes to loving another human being. But I guess I am. Aren't we all in some way or another? I don't have all the answers. I'm only beginning to explore the grooves of my existence that have formed from years of treading the same dam path, back and forth, then wondering why I proceed to get the same results. I suppose, if I were to face this problem with grace and dignity, it would have to start with gratitude. I have found someone who loves me enough to be patient and willing to grow with me. I've hit a wall, a bottom per say, and I can't go back, I won't. I know now more than ever where my thinking and my habits can lead me and it isn't pretty.
So for now all I can do is be thankful for the willingness and the pain that is allowing me to move forward. It may be a tiny step but it is still a step in a different direction, a step away from the habits of my past, a step closer to who I'm meant to be. I wish the catalyst for change didn't always have to be so painful and dramatic but I guess it makes pain more embraceable with the knowledge that, what comes with it, is an opportunity for growth, a reminder that we're alive; that for every frost there is a warmth that follows; for every empty branch that characterizes the destructiveness of winter there is room for the rebirth of springtime. It's the ebb and flow of life that allows us the realization that, with change and the emergence of every season, we all are given a second chance and that parts of us have to die in order to make room for the growth that follows. For Hunter's sake, I really hope spring comes soon.
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