Tag Archives: confusion

Holding Back

If I could have the conversation I want to have…

Before I begin, you know the gory details of what I have been through in my life and, while I know that you cannot REALLY relate (and I am glad for that), I wish you would try.  Please try to understand that when I say my heart breaks, I mean that it crumbles and bleeds and falls to the floor in agony; after all, it is pieced together with tape and Elmer’s glue as it is.  Please try to understand that when I say that I have fear, it registers in my brain and my body in just the same way as the gut wrenching fear registered when my mother snapped her gun belt before a beating; sharp and quick.  Please try to understand that when I say I love, I love selectively and deeply, into the marrow of my bones.

I have not meant to withhold my feelings and I am sorry that everything came out in a messy texted torrent yesterday, but I have been anguishing over our friendship for months.  Your news uncorked a shaken bottle of champagne.

I have seen a pattern in the way that you have been treating people, the very important and permanent people, in your life lately and it has made me examine my own role there too.  In the last year, and over the past few months especially, whenever one of them doesn’t serve some need within you, disagrees with you or your life choices, or has a difficult time coping with their lives and inarticulately comes to you needing support, you you spout about the incredible difficulties of your own life and the zero fucks you give and you turn them away.  It has seemed so easy for you to let them, to let your love for them, go.  Where do I, a mere friend, a temporary fixture of life, fit into that?  I haven’t been sure.

My heart has been breaking for you over your recent choices.  My heart has been breaking because you are knowingly setting yourself up for future heartbreak.  My heart has been breaking because your children will suffer their own heartbreak when you do.  My heart is breaking because they will take on your burdens and they will carry them for life, because that is what children do.  My heart has been breaking because my heart (and so many others) will break right along with yours when this house of cards crumbles around you.

I have feared that by expressing my concerns, you would reject me as you did them (and I was kinda right).  I have feared that our friendship is as disposable as those relationships appear to be to you.  I have these fears because of my own past, because of our past, and because you and your friendship mean so much to me.

I have felt a real void where the much needed presence of your friendship used to be.  I have needed you for some real nitty, gritty and unpretty lately, but you been aware of little but yourself.  I have needed your help surviving the surge in emotion, flashbacks, and hormones since surgery.  I have needed you when I regretted the decision.  I have needed you in my walk through the hurt of ending my relationship with my mother.  I have needed you, and you are a cheerleader when things are going well, but our textversations all seem to end when the topic turns toward anything of remotely difficult substance about me.  I have felt increasingly rejected and ignored by it, but I have presumed that it was only because you, too, were going through your own heartbreak and could not bear mine as well.

I have struggled with all of these feelings, but I was confident that they would pass as your fog lifted and you got back to your happy.

Then you tell me that you have been happy.  So, while I could understand and process your absence from my life because you are hurting, I could not (and cannot) fathom your absence because you are happy.  Is this our friendship?  Is this what it means to be your “best friend” now that you give zero fucks?  To be there to support you through your darkness, but only have you around when my life is comfortable for you?  Is my ability to be involved in your life contingent on my faking a smile?

I am happy that you feel happy, but I fear that it is a right now kind of happy.  I fear that you have been overtaken by the intensity and intoxication that right now happiness is made up of.  Right now happiness will deceive you (please don’t forget how it blinded you to a narcissistic monster just a year ago).  You let people in so freely and, while I admire that so much about you, I am afraid for the way that you appear to be chasing that right now happiness like a drug.  I fear it because an addiction to that right now happiness will destroy you like any other, my friend.  Like any drug, right now happiness can only fill the holes in your heart for so long before it leaves a wake of devastation in your life.

Don’t be mistaken, that right now happy can last for years.  You, however, deserve forever happiness.  My fear is that you are risking your forever happiness for temporary glee; and it breaks my heart.

Try and Try, Again?

They say the definition of insanity is trying the same thing again and again,  but expecting the same results. Well, I guess I’m insane then.

I’ve been seeing this guy on and off for years. When things got too intense early on, I freaked out and ran away. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him (by any means), but I wasn’t ready for love. I was beyond broken, trying to hold the pieces of my heart together with tape and elementary school paste at the time. So I bolted like a terrified little fawn. I really do wish I hadn’t, but sometimes these things happen.

After some time apart and a major breakdown and break up in my life, we ultimately reconnected. I remembered all the reasons I really liked him in the first place and fell hard, fast. He didn’t. Ever since, for more than a year, we’ve gone back and forth, walking both sides of the friends/lovers fence at various points.

A few months ago, I decided I either need to get my shit together and make it work with him or let it go. I have been trying to open up, to let him know how I feel without overwhelming him or myself. He responds exactly how I wish he would by phone, but getting together in person is an effort in futility.

We connect on a very deep level emotionally and the chemistry when we do see each other is ridiculous. But seeing each other every 6 weeks or 2 months is not enough. I have tried everything I can think of to increase the frequency of our meetings without being desperate. Yet nothing has changed.

He’s another person I really don’t want to lose from my life. He gets me in a way that no man has before. But I deserve more. I deserve to have an emotional and physical connection. I crave physical closeness. It’s not just about sex, but the cuddling, hand holding, hugs, talking, and just being physically present with each other. I know it’s not too much to ask, but despite my efforts over more than a year, it’s still not happening.

While I see a beautiful future with him, I can’t do it alone. Do i give it one more shot or let it go? I don’t know if I’m ready to make that decision, but I do know that I don’t like feeling rejected over and over again. I don’t like feeling unimportant. I’ve felt those things too many times throughout my life as it is already. I should not feel those things in any of my relationships now. But the heart wants what the heart wants.

Good grief.

The Real Story, Part I

Where to begin?  I’m 31, have a Mathematics degree and a JD, a crazy dog named Freckles and two silly cats, am closer with my brother and his family than I have been in years, have amazing friends, am loved by many, am learning to love myself, just opened my own business, am overweight and have been since I was 10, have anxiety and depression, had a psychotic break almost two years ago, and am a survivor of mental, physical, emotional and sexual abuse.

I don’t speak with my parents much anymore, though they live about 15 minutes from me.   My parents were my primary abusers, my mom in particular.  She beat my brother up with a 2 x 4 (yes, a piece of lumber), put a gun in my first boyfriend’s face, made me shower with her until I was 17, described her sex life with my father in gory detail when I was far too young, confided in me about an affair she was having when I was a teen (again, in gory detail), and made me stand in the corner like a toddler just before my 18th birthday.  My dad is just as culpable as my mom.  While he promised at one point never to hit me again and kept that promise, he still hit my brother and perpetuated my mother’s punishments.  He didn’t do anything to stop her and participated in one of the worst traumas of my childhood.

My mother is a master manipulator.  She and my father have gambling problems and my mom has done a lot of things I believe are designed to keep her habit going.  She borrowed money from me the minute I had a job.  We didn’t have milk in the fridge because my parents were broke, but they went out that same night and gambled.  My mom stole from her grandmother when her grandmother was sick, took money her mother intended for a funeral in case she died while having major surgery, and now as executor of my grandmother’s estate, my mother is self dealing, hiding things from her brother and sister, and holding on to trinkets that my grandmother wanted my brother and I to have just because we’re not acting like the children she wants us to be.  Money came up missing, I’m convinced it was my mother.  Jewelry also disappeared.  Again, I’m convinced it was my mother.   I stay out of the estate drama as much as I can, because it only makes me sad, angry, and want to get involved.  I know I can’t get too involved for my own sanity, so I don’t.

Back to my childhood.  My parents were in law enforcement and that power was used quite often to keep us quiet as kids.  Who would believe a child over a cop?  No one.  We knew that from a young age.  My mom had no qualms about using her gun, gun belt, hand cuffs, or knives to intimidate and scare us kids.  It was terrifying.  I have memories that are incomplete, and I have a hard time trusting my own mind when it comes to certain things that happened in my childhood.  I try not to dwell on them, because I know instinctively that the missing parts are probably not good, but sometimes I really want to know.

My brother was diagnosed with ADHD as a kid and was reportedly (by my mom) a borderline sociopath, that beat me up more than the average brother does his sister.  I was smart and knew what sociopath meant and knew it meant he was potentially dangerous.  My brother also molested me on one occasion that I remember.  I’ve sort of moved past the hurts my brother caused, because I know he was a kid.  He lived through what I did and got even worse abuse (he took the brunt of the physical abuse for both of us).  My mom kept us apart for a long time even as adults (we both thought the other hated us because of how my mom would twist things around).  I’m grateful to have him in my life and so grateful that our relationship is growing again, because he’s the only one that truly understands what I’ve been through and was the only one there for me when I went bat shit crazy a couple of years ago.  In any event, my parents routinely left me with him at night while they went and gambled, telling me I had to take care of him.  My parents knew how he was while they were gone, but they still left us alone together.  I very rarely felt protected and safe.

One of the worst memories I have from my childhood is the drowning incident.  I was young, probably 7.  My brother is 4 ½ years older than I am, so he couldn’t have been more than 12.  My brother apparently stole some money that was intended for Christmas.  It couldn’t have been more than $200 and I went with him to spend it.  I don’t even remember what we bought, but I do remember going to the 7-Eleven down the street and maybe Kmart.  We probably got candy and stupid things.  As punishment, my mom and dad threatened to drown my brother and forced me to watch.

We were all scrunched into the hallway bathroom at my parents’ house and my dad was standing by a full bath tub holding my brother’s head inches from the water.  My mom was encouraging him, yelling at my brother.  My brother was scared, but I don’t remember him crying.  I couldn’t watch my dad kill my brother and I feared I was next, so I ran out of the bathroom and sat on the living room couch.  I didn’t know what to do.  My mom wasn’t having any of that; I was just as guilty.  She forced me back into the bathroom and hand cuffed me to the towel bar.  I was powerless, scared, and couldn’t believe my eyes.  I don’t remember how it ended (we both survived), but something changed in me after that.

There are plenty of other bad moments I could go into, but my memory is so fuzzy and untrustworthy, and I’ve given you more than enough to say that my childhood was messed up in a lot of ways, I’m sure.  At least for the moment. To be clear, there were good moments too.  My parents encouraged us to do well in school, they showed us love when they could, we had family dinners, listened to music and played games.  My dad put bad people away in jail and my mom kept them there.  They were my heroes in a lot of ways.  What a mind fuck.  We also went to therapy for a while when I was young, but it stopped abruptly at some point.  Not sure why other than to assume my parents feared we would tell what was really going on at home.

I have spent my life ignoring the obvious, denying my feelings, and pushing everything negative down into that dark chasm of my soul that no one could ever reach, including myself.  It has affected every aspect of my life and I am a broken soul.  I hope to sort through the pieces now that I have the freedom to do so, but I’m terrified that the real story of my life will finally tear me to shreds.