Yeah yeah yeah.

So when I used to have this horribly monsterous and abusive husband, one of the things most strongly engrained in my memory about that period of my life is how I was accused of things constantly; things that never even crossed my mind, much less actually represented reality.
I vividly recall waking up one night from a dead sleep in my bed to his hands around my throat being choked nearly to death because he truly believed that I had been flashing signals and signs out the window to a car that kept driving back-and-forth up-and-down our street in the middle of the night. The reality behind this was that I had no clue who that person in that car was; and, definitely had not been flashing signals and/or signs to them from my window; I had been out cold with a sinus infection.
My recollections of that period in my life are full of such instances; times when I had absolutely no control or involvement in the things that I was paying the most brutal consequences for. The helplessness that defined my life during those years was immense; so immense, that it’s still with me to some extent, even today.
My most recent attempt at a meaningful and worthwhile relationship has failed at last.

This has been partially due to certain lingering effects of my own residual trauma i.e. the inability I continue to harbor reagarding trust and commitment, its true.
But the main cause behind the most recent going down in flames I’ve actually come to recognize and acknowledge for what it has turned out to be:
My natural response to the helplessness put forth as a result of repeatedly being accused of things I haven’t done.
I have come too far to fall back down into such a miserable situation in which my own true identity has been marred by the paranoid and insecure notions of the other person in the relationship.

That is not a relationship. And that is not healthy. I’m striving for healthy and have realized that the thing I’ve come to comfortably call “my relationship” was (from the beginning) the opposite of what I’ve been seeking out.

Inward and upward, though.

It’s a new year.

Reckless Abandon(ment Issues)

There’s never been any exception to the rule.

Every single person in whom I have ever depended or relied on emotionally – has not only abandoned me, but in most cases, abandoned me to a predetermined “Pack of Wolves” when the time came.

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Those who haven’t been chalked up with the rest of the weasels and worms of my glowing (in a radio-active pond scum sort of way) past never got the opportunity to abandon me – because those were the people who came after I was jaded and ruined already…after I had grown detrimentally cynical and paranoid of other human beings and their hidden agendas.

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I am a woman who is strange and complex by her own doing; I have grown resigned and tired in the face of human connectedness, of trying to find it anymore. I have done most of this to myself though; I do not try to deny such an obvious fact. On the other hand, I cannot explain my own actions when it comes to romantic behaviors and the lack, thereof.

I can’t acknowledge as my own, the things about myself that I don’t understand or necessarily want to understand – it becomes too heavy to be honest the way I was raised to be, even with myself.

The truth is a heavy burden; so it goes that few choose to carry it.”

-A random, but very memorable quote I read somewhere, long ago

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Never, was I someone who others would have considered to be “promising” or “wholesome”, nor was I ever the “one” that any guy would purposely take home to meet his parents for whatever reasons – although once I bumped into his Mom or Dad, I was almost unfailingly an instant family “favorite”, and always, at worst: respected and trusted by his parents. That has always been explainable in my own mind by the fact that I am a respectable woman, a respectable human being.

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As the years of life began to increasingly pass me by quickly, however, this point became ever more painful for me to exist within – like a scarlet letter branded to my forehead for anyone I encounter to recognize as the scary monster that it is: the fact that I am not lovable to men in a lasting and meaningful way.

I blame this reality of my life on two main things that I can personally take ownership of:

  1. My own warped sense of what a man should mean and be to a woman – born of the fact that I was reared amongst ONLY male chauvinists ranging widely in age and severity.
  2. The fact that I am a highly sensual and sexual woman – which inconveniently translates into very exceptional sex in each former beau’s point of view, and lots of it – all the time –too much sometimes – rendering it seemingly impossible for a man to forge actual emotional attachments to me somehow in the early stages of any relationship.

These two things in combination with the fact that I have grown into this awful, suspicious and insecure adult woman with a little girl’s response to so many negative experiences and endeavors in the realm of romance and relationships with men, renders me eternally incapable of building, much less – maintaining any relationships with men that mean anything more than have a single one of my “guy friends” I’ve carved years out of my overall lifespan in having non-committal sexual flings with.

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Despite this piece of ugliness in my cookie jar, the guys still greedily accept a cookie when I open the jar up and offer. I always wind up alone and lonely – wondering if I will ever find someone who can handle me on a long term basis…or if I’m just destined and doomed to feel this way now forever, always knowing deep down what it was almost like to grasp such an elusive thing in my palm.

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When given something similar to an “ultimatum” between all of me or none of me, because eventually even my frigid heart gets broken by such uncaring and cold-halfheartedness, not a single one of the chalked up worms and weasels chose to take ALL OF ME. Not one. Not one even tried to take on the challenge with high hopes, nobody has ever bothered with me – nobody has ever wanted to take all of me. TRUTH.

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I cannot bring myself to trust one, despite the achingly constant desire I harbor to do so – my pride wins every time, and I settle for being alone before being taken for another ride. This has come to define every element of my current state of affairs – or unaffairs – or whatever they are or aren’t. I say that I am happy and better off alone, and I truly mean the “better off” part when I say it; but I am far from happy and I want “happy”…just once in my life, if even temporary.