the crazy fight (aka: he's too nice)

welcome to my crazy.

today, on as the word of general (psychiatric) hospital turns through the days of our lives:

the boyfriend and i had a fight last night. it ended with him storming out and staying at his house for the evening. and i haven’t talked to him yet today.

what was the fight about you ask?

he’s too damn supportive.

oh yeah, you read that right. in my crazy world, there’s such a thing as too damn supportive.

see. last night was a bad night for me. as in complete and total breakdown. CRACKERS.

i went to look at a car and test drive it and all that junk. i didn’t want to make a deal right away because i knew that a) you shouldn’t take the first offer, and b) i’m having a fucking hard time spending money that came from my dad dying. YES, i need a new car. mine is starting to make too many strange noises. YES, the money i spend will be for a good, reliable, long lasting vehicle. YES, it’s something my dad wanted to help me do before he died anyway. but DAMN, it’s hard people! and it’s my dad…and it’s this huge- there’s not even a word for it. its this gigantic mess of emotions on so many different levels.

so i tell the sales guy i need to go home and think it over for the night. so i get the kids in bed and the boyfriend goes to see his friends and it’s just me. and i sit down at the little table where i have my dad’s hat and badge and basically all that’s left of him and my brother- the little memorial table in my living room. and i sit down to talk to my dad about it. and i look at his picture. and i just lost it. it hit me SO HARD that he’s not coming back. i know i did the service, and spread the ashes, and i’ve talked about it. but sitting there, looking at his picture, knowing that’s the only way i could see him any more. it hit like a fucking mac truck running down a san francisco hill with no brakes. it just leveled me. and i’m bawling and falling apart really for the first time. i LET myself just feel it. i didn’t have to keep it together for the kids or the boyfriend or family or general people. i just let myself grieve. and be sad. and be angry. oddly enough, that’s the first time through all of this that i’ve just let myself completely go. and it all came out in one giant mess. and i’m crying so hard i’m sick and i’m snotting everywhere and it felt good. to get it all out. to let myself really be sad.

and i finally make it through a good mess of all that, pull myself together, drag my backside to bed, and the boyfriend comes home.

so. he sees me in bed, looking like a rabid raccoon. and he gets upset. he wants to know what’s wrong. he wants me to talk to him, he’s in my face and hugging me and staring at me and asking me every 30 seconds to talk to him. now. this might not sound too bad. nice guy, right? how can i be mad at him for being worried about/concerned about me?

well. i’m a freak. so. you know. there’s that. i don’t like big hugs. i’m an in and out type person. i don’t like being stared at. forever. i don’t like someone bugging me every 30 seconds to talk. TRUST: when i’m ready to talk you won’t be able to shut me up. bugging me like that is only going to piss me off. and i try to tell him- i can’t talk right now. i don’t have words. i’m just sad and i just want to be sad for a while. but that’s not good enough. and i’ve told him before that i don’t like people all up on me and all over me. it makes me feel claustrophobic like i’m suffocating. i don’t like the touching, it’s too much for me. i go on sensory overload. if i want touch, i’ll come to you. and when my little charge port is full, i’ll back off. is it selfish? is it all about me? right now, fuck yes it is. sorry. that’s just what’s going down right now.

but he gets all offended that i won’t talk to him and keep pushing him away. so i leave the bedroom, i go to the living room to be alone. i’m trying like hell to not explode and freak out on him. trying to keep it all to myself and contain the crazy a little. but he follows me. and keeps poking the bear.

-sigh-

i KNOW, i KNOW. he’s just worried and trying to help. and i know some women would kill for a man so attentive and worried. but jaysus fuck. BACK OFF. and it just keeps getting worse. and he keeps getting more offended. and IT’S NOT ABOUT HIM RIGHT NOW. it’s about me. and i’m worried about trying to keep my sanity together. i’m sorry he’s offended, but i’m not going to focus on that right now. and he decides to go pack his shit and leave for the night and storm out. and part of me wants to stop him and make him feel better, but fuck it, _I_ need to feel better first. I AM ALLOWED TO BE UPSET. and he kept telling me to calm down. WHY? i’ve been calming down since august 16th. i’ve been being nice. i’ve been keeping it together. I AM ALLOWED TO BE UPSET AND FALL APART. I AM ALLOWED TO FEEL MY PAIN AND EXPERIENCE IT. i’m allowed to be hurt and be angry. I DON’T HAVE TO CALM DOWN.

so. he packed up and stormed out without saying anything. and i felt like an ass not trying to stop him. but i also felt like it didn’t need to stop him. if he was offended, that’s not on me. those are HIS feelings, and i’m not responsible for them. i tried to tell him. i asked for my space. i asked to be left alone. i asked for him to stop sitting and staring at me like a fucking crazy animal in a zoo.

so. he left. and i watched an episode of dexter to calm down and fall asleep. cause nothing says sleep like watching a serial killer hunt serial killers. and i haven’t talked to him yet today. and i’m not sure i want to. and i know it would be silly to end something over him being too worried about me (there’s other issues too). but part of me is already out the door. and part of me knows there probably wasn’t a right thing for him to do when i was feeling like that, but of the not right things to do, he really did pick the worst option and run with it. or…you know…sit and stare at me with it.

so. you know. welcome to my crazy.

this is why

forgive my sentiment. i've had a moment of definition this morning. a defense my writing: the good, the bad, the odd.

i write because i refuse to believe that i am unique.

i choose to believe that somewhere out there is someone else going through the same things. the same feelings. the same emotions. somewhere there is a person having the same thought. the same concern. the same stress. the same joy.

i write to give a voice where perhaps they cannot. i write so they will know they are not alone. i am here to share the good and the bad. i hope that people can find this and read it and maybe once or twice nod their head in agreement with or make a connection to my corner of the word.

i write because i have become strong enough to write. i have faced some of my fears and learned to stand up to them. i have learned to stand up for myself. i have learned to speak out loud. i am still learning to face loneliness. sorrow. tragedy. pain. feeling. and i am willing to share that. i am willing to stand in the gap and provide a connection. to be the bridge from an island of solitude to a community of strength. i may not understand in full, but i understand in part. we can never fully understand those around us, but we can be willing to share what we do know and hope that a small part is enough to continue on.

i want to share. the good days and the bad days. i want people to know they're not alone. i fear that i have already missed opportunities to do this. i fear that if i could have reached out earlier...things...may be different now. and i want to face that fear and move forward and take the missed opportunity and help something good grow out of it.

so here i will continue to lay bare my life. from my point of view. and hope that is enough.

the good, the bad, the ugly truth

the good: i am capable of feeling romantical type of emotions. it’s a shock to me too. didn’t think i could after all these years. thought that part has been properly cordoned off and sealed up. guess there was a breach in security. catherine zeda jones made it past the laser maze and stole the damn mask.
the bad: i found this out by becoming all schmoopy and attached to someone who not only didn’t return said feelings at the same level, he didn’t return ANY feeling. suck.
the ugly truth: several of my own worst self perceptions were confirmed during this learning experience. i was too chubby, not pretty enough, embarrassing to be seen out with, in general just all around not good enough. it was, very much, like re-enacting pretty woman including the no kissing clause, minus the bank and the happy ending. well, and minus the killer shopping spree. and minus the being beat by the lawyer friend. okay. fuck. it wasn’t like pretty woman at all except the fact that i was a last resort and he wouldn’t kiss me. there you go.

so. the result of this is more thinking that i am, in fact, very much right on one thing: some people aren’t made to be part of a couple. some people really are meant to be a party of one for whatever reason. i’m the party of one. i’ve tried to be a party of two, never really works out so well. ever. only twice was i really a part of something that could be called anything…once was 6 years ago when i was married (gag) and once was 5 years before that when i was “dating” my oldest sons dad (for a whole 4 months (three of which i was knocked up)). i’ve gone out on dates…even as recent as 3/2007 (not even kidding). i’ve had people i hang out with. but i’m just not meant to be a part of something. this last excursion around the bay was the first and ONLY time besides my marriage that someone stayed overnight two nights in a row. it’s the ONLY time that a boy has had his own toothbrush at my house. it’s the ONLY time EVER that i’ve woken up next to someone and been comfortable. but it didn’t work. there wasn’t anything to work really. i wasn’t wanted, just handy. whatever. i should know better by now. i suppose it’s like a rat in a cage: you have to keep checking the edges even though you never get out and the electrical shock never goes away. it is always a shock when i rediscover what i already knew. actually, i think the rats have a faster learning curve…