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On Being Nothing But Myself, For Once.

February 26, 2012

It is easy for me to write posts in which I attempt to be witty, charming and inspire discussion.

It is easy to write about anger, frustration, pain.

It is easy to write about my seemingly perpetual heartache.

It is really, really hard to write about my genuine, vulnerable self.

Now I’m sure many of you have considered the things I’ve written here and elsewhere to be pretty open and honest, and they have been, to a point. I have to admit that for as honest and opinionated as I can get, I still filter almost everything. It isn’t anything personal, I just don’t know how to let anyone in and I don’t know if I want to.

There was no truer moment in my recent past then when I sat at dinner with my girlfriend and The Professor and started crying because it was the first time I admitted that I have spent the last several years sleeping around because it was the only way I felt I mattered to anyone.

I lost my virginity when I was fifteen, to the guy who would later become my second husband and the father of my son. There was nothing particularly amazing or romantic about it. It was just the first in a string of many relationships where my sexuality would end up being the driving force. Over the years, I’ve grown very used to being objectified and wanted for my body. I get it, I’m a good time, I’m fun, whatever. Call me sexy, call me beautiful, we’ll have a tumble and in the end it will be just another stolen moment of false worth.

What they don’t tell you in sex ed is how the aftermath of those fun, hot, sticky, sweaty moments can leave you more emotionally damaged than anything else. I honestly don’t understand how anyone can claim to be clinical and detached about sex. Physical intimacy is one of the most powerful things in the world, the lack of it can end a relationship faster than anything else. But, if it the driving force in a relationship, it can become very hollow, empty, meaningless, even painful.

I have always been the little girl who wanted a Prince Charming. I have dreamed about fairy tale romance all of my life. I’ve always wanted my happily ever after. I’ve also always avoided talking about it like the plague because I’ve never felt like I deserved it. I made the decision to become a tomboy at a very young age because my dad always displayed that he cared about my brothers more than me. Yeah, I just dropped the daddy issues bomb. It gets better though, when my mom remarried after she and my biological father divorced, I gave my stepfather hero status for choosing to be the dad for seven kids not his own. Ten years and his eventual departure later, I have to admit that I’ve never had a good male parental unit figure.

My mother being bitter and jaded about marriage and relationships is hard to listen to. I get why, but it doesn’t help me when I look at the fact I’m on an accelerated version of her path when it comes to that. I feel bipolar when I talk about relationships. I tell the truth, what I want, how I feel but as soon as I feel shut down or dismissed I kick into defensive mode. Let me tell you how little I ever want to be in a relationship again. Let me shove you away as hard and fast as I can. Let me be exceptionally clear that anything I said that might have come across as me being vulnerable and opening up was a fairy tale and long since dead. I don’t believe in happily ever after anymore. You can tell me I’m too young to feel this way, but that’s not your decision to make.

Every time I’ve done that, it has been because I’m either crying my eyes out or fighting not to.

I’ll be damned if I let you see me cry.

Honesty dictates that I admit I’m crying while I write this. The whole purpose right now is to get some sort of coherent thought out about the fact I feel like I’m drowning. Many a pair of hands has been laid on my body over the years and those fingerprints feel etched upon my soul. It feels more and more recently like anyone touching me is going to cause me to shatter. Today, it nearly did. Laying in the arms of a wonderful man I’ve been in love with for a long time, the tears started to fall.

I cannot do this anymore.

I’m tired of people telling me what I’m worth and that good things are coming. I don’t want to hear it, please stop.

I feel less and less like I’m worth more than the ride. It’s my own fault really, but I don’t know how to make it stop.

I pour out my heart, I give, I offer a glimpse, then I run like hell. I’ve bullied my way into and out of relationships. I’ve blazed my path of destruction. I’ve added far too many notches to my bedpost to remind me that someone wants me. Thank god someone wants me. If someone always wants me then it doesn’t matter that they always leave me.

Except it does.

It is far, far easier to blame some of the really good people I’ve had in my life for walking away from me than it is to admit that I drove them away. Even in the most intimate relationship I have ever had, I still censored myself, still tried to push the outcome I wanted, still got angry when things didn’t end up how I wanted them. I want my fucking cookie and I want it RIGHT NOW.

I’m scared that no one wants me for anything other than the role I play on TV, that once they see the terrified, heartbroken girl underneath the invincible Super Woman, they won’t want me anymore. I fight to be there and strong for everyone because it is the only thing keeping me together anymore. If I can take care of everyone and everything else, I’ll be too goddamn busy to realize how alone and miserable I am.

I want to go hide in the emotional void found within a bottle of Celexa and never come back. I want to stop being so angry every time I see my friends happy coupled and can’t help but wonder why I wasn’t worth fighting for. I want to feel like a fully functional person. I want to be able to admit that I’m not okay and have someone be there for me in a way that actually makes me feel better, instead of worse. I want to be able to look him in the eyes and tell him that I’ve spent two years putting him through hell because if I let go of my ability to cut and run, I lose my last safety net. I don’t know how to ask someone to trust a girl who’s never not had a backup plan. I don’t know how to be honest without being rejected and it makes me feel so worthless.

I feel used up, broken, defeated. How can I expect anyone to want the shambles of what’s left of me? “Hi, I’m broken. But let me tell you I’m amazing in the sack!”

Oh wait, wasn’t that the problem to begin with?

At least they want me for something…

Until Next Time,


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