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Loved

31 Jan

snoopy

When I was a kid it meant everything to me that my sisters would feel loved. I played out every perfect-mother-cliché that I saw in a movie or read in a book, said every right word, did every right thing, well, the young adult interpretation of the right thing at least.

Overbearing father, busy mother, blah blah blah, and my perfect baby sisters, two little dolls to dress up, and brush their hair, and cook for, and help out with homework, and teach them how to tell time, and build up my ego knowing that I was necessary to them, to make up for my feeling unnecessary where I should have felt paramount.

This post is not supposed to be a parent-rant, although I can see that’s where it’s heading. I just suddenly remembered today, strongly, vividly, how much I loved my sisters when we were little. And I love them truly today, as an adult. But when we were younger it was different. It was like I was their mother. Parents usually say that until you have kids, you don’t know how much love you’re capable of feeling, how protective you’ll be of your little ones. But that wasn’t true in my case. I knew, because that’s how I felt about my sisters. I wanted to protect them. I wanted to teach them. I would have done anything in the world for them and they knew it. And it made all the difference to me knowing that they had someone in their lives that they knew would do anything in the world for them. Not just in a life and death situation, but even if they just had a cold and needed to be spoiled.

So I got a lot out of our childhood relationship, for sure. They helped me fill a void that slowly grew in me, to shut up that voice that always told me that I was unworthy. I proved myself worthy to them. And then they grew up, and I needed to take care of someone more helpless than they were, so I got all these male friends at school that had issues and I mothered them, secretly falling for most of them, embracing the pain of unrequited love as if it were a trophy.

When I met BD, one of the first things I loved about him was how he took care of me. He was the first person in my life to do that in the totality that I had fantasized about my whole life. I’m sure you’re imagining me as this neglected kid with overgrown fingernails, but I was really well taken care of. And I knew that I was loved, too. And if something really horrible had happened, my parents would be there without any doubt, I’m sure of that. It’s just that totality that I was craving. The worrying about whether I would be cold without a jacket, or what time I would get back home. Whose house I was sleeping over at, if I had a sandwich for school, or it I woke up on time in the morning. It’s not that they didn’t care, they had their hands full and I was very self-contained.

The first time I ever got sick and BD took care of me, I was elated. In pain, but elated. He was all over the place, making me tea and soup, and getting me those extra soft tissues with the aloe in them, and bringing me the remote and checking in with me every twenty minutes. And there were other things too, like he hated it if I wore shear clothes, because he didn’t want anyone else having a look at what belonged to him. And he’d threaten to beat up anyone who messed with me, and though he was the geeky type and didn’t mean it seriously, it was romantic and his intentions were what counted.

Now I understand, BD showed me what it was to be loved in totality, to be taken care of, the way I had only taken care of others in the past but had rarely been on the receiving end. It was OK to cry with him, crying didn’t make me a wuss, and he never expected me to ‘just get over it’. He’d just hug me and tell me it would be OK. Sometimes that’s all a girl needs.

Even this week, as I told him I didn’t want to live together anymore, through tears, he still found it in him to console me. And I thought to myself – am I making a huge mistake? What am I giving this up for? I have a man who loves me incredibly, who wants to spend his whole life making up for his mistakes.

But the thing is, that I don’t need BD in order to be on the receiving end anymore. I am already on the receiving end of so much love and care and warmth. My gorgeous son, who blows me a kiss in the morning when I say goodbye to him at daycare, and hugs my legs when I come back to pick him up. I mother him, and I’m supposed to mother him! Isn’t that awesome? I have my friends whom I can tell things about my life, pretty or not, and they’ll accept anything without a hint of judgment. I have two beautiful sisters whose future kids will one day be my Boy’s baby cousins, and whom I fantasize about us raising together, with the ideals of parenthood that we all share.

I tend to get emotional and needy when I’m sick. I start thinking about how I can’t really handle things on my own. Thank god, after I stop throwing up, and I did eventually yesterday, I sober up and remember what’s real. Sitting on a park bench with my friend R and telling him about my aspirations, and hearing that he loves me and receiving his embrace. He believes that I’ll get there, and so do I, and if my son could speak, he’d tell me that he believes in me too.

Wedding

26 Sep

dress

It was a beautiful wedding. BD took Baby and I had time for a bath, hair and make up, and I took a cab so I’d be able to drink. It wasn’t a close friend of mine who’d gotten married, but I knew I’d be crying like a little girl as she walked down the aisle. And I did.

I’ve always cried at weddings, for various reasons, that have changed over the years. The reasons that cause me to well up may have changed, but the tears are there, same as always. It used to be “how beautiful it is to be so in love” tears, and later on “I wish I were getting married”. Then it was, “I’m so happy for them” tears – after I myself had gotten married I went through a phase where I wanted everyone I knew to get married as well, so that they could be as happy as I was. Finally came the “fuck this” tears. The “true love doesn’t really exist but if you want to believe that it does, go ahead” tears. The “yeah, good luck with that” tears.

Tonight, it was the “will I ever love anyone that much again” tears, that stung my heart and shattered my soul.

At least I wore a pretty dress, drank five whiskey diet colas, ate a ginormous piece of wedding cake and got plenty of attention.

Time for bed now.

The Cockroach that Made Me Cry

7 Sep

Oh my God, I said into the phone. Shit. Shit. Shit. I can’t deal with this right now. Fuck. I gotta go. I gotta go. I gotta go.

It was a huge, ugly thing, standing on the windowsill in my kitchen (!) looking directly at me, with its horrible antennas twitching at me, like it was trying to pick a fight. And it would win. After having spent the morning consoling a feverish baby, then marking papers for hours, finishing a work meeting at nine P.M and sitting down to check yet more papers, this was going to be my 30 minute break, where I would have dinner and stare into nothing or talk about nothing on the phone with a friend who was also in desperate need of a break.

And there he was in all his horrid disgustingness, staring me down and I would have to deal with him.

I prayed. Please. Please! Go back outside. Then I cried. Nothing ever works out the way I want it to. It’s not fair.

It had been a rough week. First week of school, and in a new place, adjusting to a new system. Loads of work. Add to that BD going abroad and less help than I’m used to with our Boy. Add to that the fact that I’d been sick for a couple of days, and caring for a baby while taking endless painkillers. Add to that my best friend at the hospital, recovering from surgery, while I’m too sick to visit, and now my son spreading his germs everywhere, making it certain that I won’t be able to visit my friend even now that I’m finally well. Add to that a 37 page paper, boring as fuck, written by an aspiring English teacher who needs to be corrected on Present Simple that took me two hours to check.

And now this.

So I cried like a little girl. I said that the universe was against me, that it wasn’t fair.

And that’s when it happened. He took a step back. Then he crept back and now he was standing there, between the shutters and the windowpane, and I knew I had to act quickly.

I walked hesitantly toward the window, mumbling every curse word I could think of. Then twice reached over to the window but backed out. On the third try I managed to quickly shut the window, and I was saved.

It’s been a difficult year. And a difficult few months. And a difficult week. And a difficult day. And it would be a difficult night too.

But at least I didn’t have a cockroach in my kitchen anymore.

Up? Drunk.

19 Aug

drunk text

I wanted 2 text u – up? drunk.

But u never answered my last mail & that’s a bummer.

And u’r not emotionally available 4 a realtionship with a girl like me & that’s a turnoff.

And I think u don’t really have feelings for me like we did in the past & that’s a bummer and a turnoff.

So I’m turning off my phone, bummed.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Wlhw_HJLts

Time Heals

7 Aug

time heals

Exhausted after a very long day, a very long week, a very long few months. When was it that SG and I broke up? It feels like forever ago. Sometimes time does heal all wounds. Or maybe it wasn’t as big a wound as I thought.

Isn’t it weird that you can be so utterly obsessed with something, or someone, and then wake up one morning and just be over it? I will always cherish my time with SG. He came into my life like nothing less than a miracle, and gave me everything I needed at the time. But I’m in a different place now, and the things that I need, that I long for in a relationship – I cannot get from him. And there you have it.

I’ve been drowning myself in work, and pulling out Carlos (my new vibrant purple purchase) on occasion to release some stress. I’ve never owned a vibrator before, and I have to admit, it’s really a huge improvement in the quality of my life. No strings attatched, no long talks, no sleeping together, no where-is-this-going mornings. Just orgasms whenever I want them, however I want them.

And that’s what I’ve been doing. Drowning in the buzz of everyday life is my way of healing. And I am. Gradually.

My sweet boy has started calling me papa. Yes, I realize I’m his mom. But it’s the most darling thing ever, really. He also calls his grandma papa, as well as basically, every other adult that he’s fond of. He’s also started running, and he’s been climbing like crazy on the sofas and the coffee table, and chairs around the house. His evergy is soothing, I look at him in his crazed search of something to climb on, and I know that everything is going to be alright.

Nex week I’m taking some time off to spend with him. We’ll be travelling with my family and sleeping over at a friend’s house in the country. I look forward to shutting off my computer and my mind, with the hopes that I’ve healed enough to deal with the stillness and solitude of me and my boy, quality time.

The Many Many “Me”s in Me

15 May

Many "Me"s

My friend R has a theory that we are basically managed by many different “Me”s, who have different needs, different interests, and don’t always get along. There’s the Emotional Me – in my case, she just wants to be loved. She wants to be accepted for who she is, by a man, I’m sorry to say, because she needs that validation, she needs it to know that she’s good enough. She’s like a little girl, seeking warmth, wishing to be taken care of. She’s been pretty dominant in my life in the past couple of months. There’s the Independent Me – She says fuck it. I can do it on my own. I HAVE to do it on my own to prove to myself that I can. If I always depend on others, I’m always going to be let down and hurt. There’s no way I’m letting anyone let me down again, ever. I have to protect myself and all the other “Me”s. And the only way to protect us all from having our hearts broken is not to let anyone in. I guess Independent Me is also Protective Me. There’s Logical Me – She’s very level headed and target oriented. She has an excel file filled with lists and numbers for every single aspect of life, including love. She wants me to get a vibrator BTW because she thinks I’m too horny to make decisions these days.

There are other “Me”s too. I don’t even think I’m aware of them all: There’s Mother Me, there’s Sexy Me, there’s Career Woman Me, and Fun Me, and Over-analyzing Blogger Me. All of them want to be heard and given a place in my life, and ignoring any of them is not an option.

My friend R says that our psyche is like a tree. When given suitable conditions it grows wildly, in every direction. But build a wall on its side and it will become deformed, growing in all directions except one. All the needs of all the “Me”s have to be met eventually, even though they often contradict each other. It’s like being a mother of ten kids. You have to take care of them all, you can’t just groom the eldest and let the others die of deprivation.

Luckily, there’s one Me, who steps in at times of contradiction, at times of crisis – Super Me. Super Me isn’t always around, but she’s summoned when things get out of hand. She steps in and says, Jesus, what a mess you’ve made here. When are you ever going to learn to get along? Then she sighs, rolls her eyes, and starts delivering orders: You, Emotional Me, step aside. I know what you want, and you’re going to get it, but not now. Sit down and wait patiently. And you, Sexy Me! Give everyone a break and just buy a freaken vibrator, will you? Where the hell is Logical Me when I need her? Hey, where have you been for the last two months, what were you taking a nap? Get back to work, can’t you see we’re in the middle of a crisis here?

Well, just wanted to let you all know that Super Me is back. And while Emotional Me is pouting on the side, most of us are relieved and eager to see how she gets us out of this one.