If the shoe don’t fit, it’s time to split…..

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So many relationships I have tried to force a square peg into a round hole.   I try to “fix” these men’s character flaws.   This one over here is a serial philanderer.  Rather than being accepting that is what he likes and letting him go to find someone who is accepting of that……I try to force monogamy on him.

Oh shit yeah, that really worked out well.   My life became the fucking Nancy Drew mystery complete with collecting fiber evidence and trace DNA.

Another one is a compulsive liar.   Instead of me realising that the man has covered his tracks since he was 5 years old gettin’ caught by his momma with his hand in the cookie jar, hell no!  I go on a crusade to save him and re-teach him the Ten Commandments.   Being Christian and all, thinking that a refresher in morality will “remind” him that lying is wrong.

and did it work?   My friends, no it does not.   It is exhaustive.

The lesson learned is that when you come across a romantic person of interest, and you see red flags-a-waving.   The person’s morality differs from yours at a core level.  You fucking run.  You do not pass go, you do not collect your two hundred.   You fucking run.

I have learned the problem is not with any man  out there in the world or their fucked up character flaws,    the problem is with me.   I need to keep the focus on me. Continue to work on MY character flaws. Healing my issues/demons/wounds et cetera.    Getting this train wreck, back on track.   If someone else wants to stay de-railed…..that is their own choice.   I cannot afford any more drama or tears.   I will look 90 by the time I am in my forties.

So if the shoe doesn’t fit, don’t use a shoe horn…… just walk on by.

But sadly I only seem to grasp this at an intellectual level so I am fated to repeat this shit again…..

Fun times ahead….

Into thin air….

At one time, my heart broke over this sex-addict.  He was sleeping with prostitutes, going to gang bangs, whoring around with swingers, doing NSA chicks off Craigslist, and caning, whipping, flogging, spanking my ass.

Tell me there is nowhere to go but up from THAT shit …

Oh but indeed I managed to sink lower…..

My heart is presently ripping in two, because my latest relationship just went belly up; into thin air.

While he was passed out from drinking two pints of Vodka (his usual daily intake) I looked at his cell phone while he was passed out,  I know I know wrong on so many levels.   And found he’d texted his buddy in San Fransisco asking if there are any conservative hot chicks there.

To which his buddy replied, “do you mind Asian girls?”  He’s already procuring the next piece of ass while he’s sleeping off his hangover in my bed.

But he said he loved me and wanted to marry me, and I freakin trusted him! I freakin’drank the Kool-aid.   He appears for his pre-trial divorce hearing in a few weeks, signed his parental rights away to his 3 kids, got thrown out of his parents house for acting like such a verbally abusive asshat, has no job because he resigned in a drunken stupor but by the time he reneged, they accepted, just got out of two detox’s in a row.

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My mind and heart are on parallel courses.

I thought if I just showed him what love could be, what kindness could be, if I cleaned up his puke, held his hand through his Librium haze, tolerated his calling me denigrating names when he is shit faced…..

gave him the best head he ever had, kissed him from head to toe, read from the Big Book, prayed with him, booked his doctors appointments for him, reminded him to keep them, maybe he would see he had something good?   WTF??

Even sadder, I still love him.   And wish that at the end up the episode it could all work out and that he would get sober and stop lying.  That we could live happily ever after in the Barbie Dream house with the convertible by the pool.   But not…..with that fucking Skipper bitch.

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Oh, please…like you’ve never had any train-wreck breakups….pfffftt.

I could fall in love at a red light

That’s what my friend Al told us in an AA meeting the other day, and I chuckled as I heard him say it because it aptly described me.

Well at least that’s how it feels when I do fall in love.   It happens so fast, so forcefully.   The way “normal” people describe it, they tell their story of how they fell in love….as if they met at some random place and over many many times get to know each other.  Seems normal yanno.

Me, I end up finding my suitor at said random place but then end up telling them my life story in under 5 minutes and then falling completely madly in love in the next 5.

Yeah, I’m so relationship material.

I have such excellent fucking boundaries don’t cha know.

Then two weeks later when the guy cold calls me at 3 am to pick him up and rescue him from some dramatic crazy situation?

You guessed it, I am right there with my fucked up cape on, driving to east overshoe in some contorted Mother Teresa-esque fashion hoping to “save” him from himself.

And this would describe the “good part” of the relationship, if it even gets off the ground.

It usually only gets worse from there….consisting of me taking verbal abuse or worse.

nuff said.

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think I need drivers-ed, or maybe a total license suspension to drive on the highway of love.

SIDE BAR:  Mother Teresa is one of the greatest people who ever lived…….an awesome inspiration to me.  A real life modern day heroine.

Back to the salt mines

Then there is Calvin.

Calvin and I first crossed paths a year ago in the halls of AA while I was still with Charles Manson.

They say God puts people in our lives when we least expect it.

Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting to meet Calvin again where or when I did.

Nothing happens by chance.

“Nothing happens by chance, my friend… No such thing as luck. A meaning behind every little thing, and such a meaning behind this. Part for you, part for me, may not see it all real clear right now, but we will, before long.”-

Richard Bach-Nothing by Chance: A Gypsy Pilot’s Adventures in Modern America,

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Calvin is everything I’ve ever wanted in a man.

God couldn’t have cooked him up in a pot with me in mind type of deal.

He has it all:    A gifted intellect, articulate, creative, artistic, wicked sarcasm, deeply compassionate.

And yeah the icing on the proverbial cake, he looks like a Calvin Klein model, but is humble enough to not even know this.

We have so much in common, if there ever was such a thing…. he is the male version of me.

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Calvin is in detox right now.

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You know what’s fucked?  There’s this strange dichotomous thinking in my brain.  Half of me is ecstatic he is getting the help he so desperately needs.

But yet some stunted adolescent part of me is fucking jealous.   He keeps mentioning the gourmet chef that cooks his meals, and the tai chi classes, and

all the round the clock supportive services he’s getting.   And I feel so left behind.   See, we share the same addiction.

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In fact we have the same exact sobriety date.

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So while Calvin is in this country club atmosphere safely locked behind external protective contraints.  I continue to go to meetings and then return to my apt. and stare at the walls, make phone calls, and struggle not to run to the corner store and just guzzle mass liquids til cognition ceases.   I wish there were external constraints.

I feel like I am walking on a tightrope a thousand feet up with no fucking safety net.

Half my brain tells me to just drink.  The other half tells me to stop isolating and call other friends of Bill W.  But I am exhausted of the whole process.  Just beat down.

I feel like I need a fucking priest to perform an exorcism on me….. not AA.

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And so I, wake up tomorrow just like every other day and go back to the salt mines of my life.

and Calvin?  I guess Calvin does whatever Calvin is doing in there.

I’m supposed to keep the focus on me.   Hard to do when I miss Calvin.

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I feel lost.  But that is how I have consistently felt, it precedes Calvin.  haunts me back to childhood.

I never felt comfortable in my own skin.  Ever anxious, ever feeling unsafe, untrusting of the world at large.

ever feeling alone, and un-lovable.

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When you spend most of your life perfecting your near seamless veneer so that no one can see your authentic self which is dying on the inside, but you “pass” on the outside as if everything looks okay…..eventually you end up where I am.   Truly hopeless, transiently suicidal.

Blogging about how fucked up you really are,  having basically no friends because you have isolated far far too long in your adult years.   And ya missed that key developmental sensitive window to learn any real social skills because  you were too busy in your younger years trying to people please and be accepted by the “in” crowd, and your life was so riddled with trauma then  you wouldn’t have been able to learn it anyway.

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Fucking pathetic is what it is.   Pathetic but true.

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Two days ago I had Joan Crawford bearing down on me telling me what a fuck up I am, what an incompetent failure I am that I haven’t accomplished enough.  That I am wasting the college education that I, I” put myself through.  As if there’s not enough self deprecation already on a continuous loop for Pete’s sake.  So I brace myself for the “pull yourself by the bootstraps” speech, that I’ve heard so many times before.  That and the “surely you are exaggerating, that “stuff” happened so long ago, aren’t you over it by now?”  Referring to the years of  abuse and trauma both in my childhood and as and adult.

Pardon me, I hadn’t realised there was a time frame I supposed to heal.

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Yep, back to the salt mines.

House of cards

They’re all the same though aren’t they.

Their names change.  Their faces.

But the pattern, it inevitably repeats.  Because I don’t change.

I keep building my house of cards.

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I like my adrenaline rush with a side of cortisol please.

I don’t know any other way.

And yet there is a tiny seedling within me that wants something different.

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The Hallmark industry has brain-washed me into thinking that some white knight was supposed to come with his steed and

sweep me off  my mother fucking feet and I was suppose to traverse into some fairy-tale and live happily ever after.

They lied and

I bought it.

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Fact is there is no fucking fairy tale.  No white night.  And happy ever after?  Pfffft …..the closest I’ve ever come to it

was numbing out my pain in fantasy, booze, weed, or other escapist activities.

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My two greatest defense mechanisms have always been humor and intellectualization.  I hide behind them like great steel gates.

The authentic me?  who the fuck even know what that is anymore.   who the fuck knows if I’d even be recognizable to myself, or even be likable?

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What do I see in the fucking ink blot?

Oh yeah……..fucking rainbows and sunshine you assholes.

Even though I see black, death, blood.

Oh but I know the ” right” answers.

That’s the problem.

I know what you want me to say.

but at the end of the day….. I still can’t find my way out a fucking emotional paper bag.

Holiday Stress-o-rama

It’s the day before Easter and here I am.

Feverishly OCD kicking into high gear.

vacuuming, washing, sterilizing….going cuckoo  bong-go.

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When you grow up in a dysfunctional home like mine, holidays were the worst.

I can’t remember a fucking holiday where there wasn’t screaming, things getting tossed,

people getting smacked, people getting tossed, people yelling “fuck this, fuck that, fuck you!”

someone getting drunk or high.  someone getting mad that someone was getting drunk or high

my mother feverishly cleaning through it all and then the ensuing chaos.

and then after said chaos, we had to enter the community at large, attend

Catholic Mass as act as if everything was fine and dandy.

not too fucked up…… not too much stress, nope.

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even with all the knowledge in the world that I am not a child.

that it is NOT 1978.

and that my family of origin has long since disbanded

for the life of me I can not seem to un-wed

holidays being riddled with fear,  stress, and great trepidation…..

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I walk around just as my mother did cleaning like a banshee

snapping like turtle at all in my path

swearing like a sailor

and wishing there weren’t any holidays

wishing I could artfully hide under a rock

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my family will be here in less than 4 hours by the way

for the Easter egg hunt and then we are going out for dinner……

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what I need is a portable shrink….or a massive amount of something to numb me

The return of “S”

Yes.

Can you believe he returned out of the abyss of how many months having passed…..November?

Sending me an email asking how I am doing.

I don’t know why I am shocked, but I am.

Attached with said email was a beautiful song:it was quite beautiful actually.

I think I should dub him the “disappearing man.”

He spoke of existential angst over spending most of his life alone and fear of his mortality.

I wrote back and let him know that his disappearing act and inability to deal with fallout

from discord from his disappearances is a good bet why his has spent most of his life alone.

surprise surprise, he didn’t write back.

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On another note “B” left.

After promising not to leave.

After promising not to yell.

After promising he would “never do anything to hurt me.”

Too many promises broken in such a short amount of time should have been a giant red flag right there.

Too many promises broken period.

He told me when he met me, “my word is my bond.”

Then when he has repeatedly broke his word he said, “yes I did, but you had antagonized me and pissed me off.”

apparently for some,  it only turns out that people only keep their word under certain emotional conditions.

wish I was aware of that little caveat

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I don’t know who is worse, me for telling my life story in the first five minutes to a man who doesn’t deserve the trust.

or this man who tells me he loves me and won’t hurt me in the first five minutes after hearing it.

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But let’s not thump on poor B shall we.  I am no prize package.  I am insecure, clingy, hide my low self-self esteem behind a well practiced false bravado.   My moods swing like a monkey on a chandelier when I don’t get enough sleep.     I should probably just join a monastic sect somewhere, and live Lord of the Flies style, free of the trappings of society with my dildo.

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the problem is, the trees don’t hug you back on the island……