Nothing.

People have this need…to tell themselves certain things in order to cope with Life (and Death too, I guess). I have noticed it many times over the years I’ve spent as a recovering “victim of domestic/traumatic violence”, the way that people are too quick to look past the ugly realities attached to circumstances they talk about or make reference to in regard to how Life works for those of us who have made it to the other side of such a precariously lethal situation. They seem to think Life just POOF! gets alright again. Um, huh?

Because, no…it isn’t just “all better” for the survivor of violence; and I don’t fail to mention a survivor of a non-violent sociopath and/or narcissist who has chewed them up and spit them out on an emotional level. For me, Life on the other side of that former living nightmare is much more infused with freedom, yes; but not without a plethora of other issues that have been born since I got to this side.

I am not a case in which I remain unable to heal and progress toward what is considered “normal” social behavior; and I strive to maintain at least a minor connection to the outside world at all times so as to not become a total recluse cat lady. However, in spite of the things I do in this arena, the fact is unchanging at the end of every single day:

my ex-husband tried to murder me in a fit of deluded rage after psychologically terrorizing and physically torturing me for the duration of our marriage.

Unfortunately, the absolute betrayal and violation that I associate with those experiences in my past have changed the way that my brain responds to the male persuasion. I am a train wreck in “relationships”; I cannot trust a man on any serious level no matter how badly I may want to; that said:

without trust, there can only ever be NOTHING.

 

The Empath and The Opportunist (Still Going).

Last night I had a “date”; not really like a date, because it wasn’t a new person and I didn’t go anywhere…okay, last night I spent time with the Opportunist because I was lonely and emotionally weakened by recent life events.
I shouldn’t have even looked at my phone yesterday at all based on my state of mind over my daughter, but hey – old habits die hard I guess.
He texted me some smart ass remark how nice my ass is out of the clear blue at like 7:30am though, so it was kinda hard to ignore; not to mention the fuckin’ guy’s timing…he must have a sensor of some kind that tells him when my guard is down or whatever, because he pops up without fail (as a good opportunist only should) when I am weak.
Anyway, so yeah…he ended up coming over and we watched Gunslingers and some lame show about gold mining in the arctic or some whack shit. I gave him whatever opportunities he needed last night…and that was that. He says I need to “work on my people skills”…that being asked to get dressed and go home after sex would be highly offensive most guys and I’m “lucky he knows where I’m coming from”…I guess it was always like that between us – even when we lived together, I slept separately at night because I wanted to.
In summary, having a “date” with the opportunist last night only re-affirmed how well-suited someone so shallow is for me at present…because I am still an emotional and social train-wreck, apparently.

Denominator.

I guess I just have it in my blood to trust the wrong people throughout my time on Earth amongst other human beings –or whatever you’d call those carbon-based, sets of bones with a thin layer of skin stretched tightly (or loosely) around each one, with seemingly emptied out, bobbling heads attached – I sure as Hell hate to call those things “people”.
I have mastered the unrewarding, often self-masochistic, pseudo-“art” of choosing the most shallow and self-absorbed individuals on whom to place importance and on whom to martyr my dwindling ability to trust. At some point in my life, I got to where I can no longer blame the vernacular beasts that I choose to surround myself with for such miserable incompatibility; sooner or later, I had to swallow the realities that I find consistently staring back at me through the eyes of my own reflection.
I eventually began to accept the fact that if I am incompatible with so “very, very many” of my own species, the likelihood of that incompatibility being born of the “shortcomings” of that group of “very many people” is low, if even in existence. I have truly realized and began to accept that I am the faulty common denominator in the countless equations of social arithmetic that I pathetically fail to wrap my thick head around – the continual negative sum in the mathematics of human behaviors and relationships – worthy or otherwise, I am the common denominator. PERIOD.

1421876244430-1Naturally, the majority of “relationships” that I can stake any claim to throughout my scarce and, undoubtedly warped experiences within the realm of human intimacy have each been notably unhealthy in at least one major aspect. I do not know what it looks or feels like to be in a healthy relationship with anyone in a romantic context. In spite of the insatiable hunger and longstanding desire I remember always harboring to have this elusive, healthy thing. At the end of the day when all’s said and done – I wouldn’t recognize a healthy relationship if it came up and bit me in the face…how could I recognize something I’ve never seen before? I have only misidentified the chances that I might have had in the past at healthiness in a committed relationship with someone; I have only mistreated the good standings I’ve had with men who may have been exceptional if I had given them a fighting chance. I just can’t trust the words that people choose to waste on me anymore, at all – not women, not men – not anyone – ever, in any circumstance. My issues behind the inability to foster commitment run so deeply entrenched at this stage of “the game” that I have truly started to question whether or not any amount of therapy, strenuous physical exercise, or exhausting mental stimulation by the opposite sex could ever actually change my perceptions back to what I think that they once must have been.
I do not know if I find this revelation a good one or a horribly life-altering one, either. I have been behaving so ambiguously the past few years in general, in all honesty. It’s been very strange to feel so indifferently over everything – another HUGE shift from the person that I used always like to think I was; Life’s formerly Technicolor scenery has been replaced by a drabber, grey-scale version of it. The white noise of my existence resembles the constant, bellowing rolls of thunder that accompany the bolts of constant lightning that crack like live wires of energy gone awry: a chaotic soundtrack that perfectly mirrors my psyche and syncs naturally with my soul. During nighttime the soundtrack only shifts into the noise of a low-volume baseball game’s announcers and noise.
I have not lived a perfect life by any means; I don’t claim to have, and I am also much too self-aware to dare try. I know that I have let many people down along the way to where I stand now in life, and death. I know that my combative spirit is NOT the ONLY reason why I have survived as long as I have; I realize that I hold no special title to the world’s shallow, robotic inhabitants, nor would I like to if given the chance to hold one:
…a bunch of fuck-heads…
People disgust me with their’ all-consuming need to rise in rank – to “ever-aim-higher” – to continuously yearn for what ISN’T in a given existence…bigger, stronger, faster – better and worth more money…
Me: I don’t have this parasitic social handicap I suppose; because I could honestly care less about having bullshit possessions that I can carry around and flaunt – to show off to my heartless “friends”. I do not count the monetary value of my possessions against my own cha-cha in the Universe; I don’t ever let my head fill entirely up with the environmentally poisonous, bullshit hot air.

MMMM MMMMM MMMMM.

MMMM MMMMM MMMMM.

I’d trade anything I own in a nano-second in exchange for some sort of true comfort that Boo could eternally call hers – that nobody and nothing could ever steal from her. The rest of the world and the bullshit happening in it just seem so insignificant and muted to me – while my daughter spirals downward into what should have been her future. Her eighteenth birthday quickly approaches now – in May…and I carry so much fear and dread as well as excitement and relief over her coming of age and being set free. I’ve only recently opened my fucking eyes and seen the striking similarities between Boo and I in regard to commitment issues, somehow…not sure what the fuck I have been paying attention to, but it’s like a metric fuck-ton of bricks from the top of the Empire Reality Building have crumbled and landed on my head, in terms of Boo’s shiftiness.
Basically, somehow I have managed to totally overlook the FACT that despite my painstaking efforts when she was a baby and her father and I were together still – to protect her from seeing things that he’d done to me, in a wide and creative array of ways, trust me – she still KNEW. She always knew. Even before she knew that she knew, or what it was that she knew – she knew. I’ve always known this deep down in my heart, for obvious reasons…but as with my former drug addiction during the same era of her life, there’s nothing I can do un-do any of it, so other than to simply try and persevere onward and upward from those past mistakes of mine – there’s little I’ve ever been able to process surrounding any of it. Of course, she and I have always had issues over her father’s sudden and permanent absence from her toddler-hood; she remembers him being there always and then one day just not ever being there again. In her perceptions however, she does not recollect the FACT that I also disappeared from her life at the same exact time as he did – only temporarily. All these years later as a full grown woman, I see the unacknowledged trauma that must have created for Boo, in itself. She doesn’t deal with it properly because she has somehow warped her perceptions into something other than what they actually were. She would tell you that her father “just up and left me and my mom one day…”, which anyone who knows anything about our story knows wasn’t even close to how shit went down. She hardly ever even talks about my absence/injury/hospitalization period at all – never has.
These thoughts of mine have me wondering things about why it seems to be so much more difficult to really get through to her about ANYTHING. I’m realizing that her entire perception of all things shared between our life experiences, together or separately, is contrasting to my own.

math_friends…which brings me back to my original point with this:

Who then, in these instances between Boo and me, is the common denominator?

Nope.

Nope, still too shy.

Nope, still too shy.

An “I” Message to Nobody In Particular

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  • It’s useless, I know – to try and make sense out of any of my feelings about this, about you;
  • I know there shouldn’t even be any feelings there over this to begin with, my bad.
  • I told myself every single day for over a year that it was meaningless, like dust in the wind;
  • I have always known that I meant no more than a good piece of ass in your vacuum world,
  • I have never allowed myself to consciously expect anything beyond the “closeness” shared during our short-lived and breathless times together, sweating all over the other one in nakedness…not consciously.
  • I certainly have more experience with these types of meaninglessness’s than you do, and I should have seen what was happening to me months ago, but I didn’t notice – if I’m telling the truth, I DID notice somewhat – I just let it go because letting it go is easier than dealing with it head on, the right way; the timely and mature way…
  • I will admit, because I am forcing myself to be honest here, that letting the things I had noticed myself feeling for you slip by enabled me to feel “close” to you for a longer duration of time than I would have been able to otherwise steal away from you, selfishly and pathetically fooling myself into thinking that eventually, you’d feel something back for me in return.
  • I do not know how to communicate the things that I feel for, and/or do or do not desire from a man in a romantic sense – I am broken that way, despite how hard I try not to be.
  • I am fully aware that there was NEVER anything between us; that we were NEVER anything substantial or even noteworthy in any way – I know that we agreed in the beginning on that. I am not playing stupid like I feel inclined to do about that element of things.
  • I feel so stupid and angry at myself for putting myself out here once again, in the headlights of a man that’s busy reading a map as well as getting a blowjob, while behind the wheel of the huge piece of machinery bearing down on me.
  • I really can’t and don’t blame you for how I am feeling, how I have dreadfully and unintentionally come to feel for you over time and the many meaningless intimacies; but the response to sting you is strong now, and my nerves shred a little bit more with each time I have to interact with you – knowing your plan to abandon this piece of your life in only a few short days from today.
  • I have a hard time actually processing such hollow behavior when it is expelled at me by others in this way, I admittedly struggle to wrap my mind around such lack of personal substance in my fellow human beings.
  • I know there’s nothing I can do to change anything about any of this, and I honestly don’t know if I would, given the chance or opportunity.
  • I am quite used to this sense of being left, holding the bag in my lap and feeling full to the brim with the notions of confusion and abandonment, sadness, loss, relief and shame – all while being completely unable to express such things to anyone who might need to hear them from my mouth.
  • I do not harbor any false sense of anything between us – rest assured with that knowledge; I do not plan on readjusting a single thing in your future opportunities waiting for you.
  • I only wish I were stronger; I wish I didn’t have this retarded need for the reassurances that can come only from the male persuasion in order to be useful and have meaning to me.
  • I’d rewind and undo all of this if I were able; I should’ve NEVER gone so far out of my way to rent that stupid movie The Chronicle that night, should have kicked you out of my room, at least.
  • I feel apologetic and sad for the long list I have created over someone who doesn’t care anyway.