I just shot cupid (with JLH)!

Reading JLH’s book, The Day I Shot Cupid, which is an interesting and fairly entertaining book, I came upon this passage:

…because at the end of the day it must be sad to love yourself so little that you’d be willing to become the joke, the cocktail hour topic, or worst of all, the reason someone else will find it difficult to love and trust again.

As I was reading the preamble to the point she was making here, I was on a totally different page as to where she was going with this.  I was riding on a whole other train on that ride.  When I read along and get to the above quoted statement and I stop my train dead in its tracks.  According to DK (yes, in his twisted logic and mouth that can’t stop spewing lies and fantasies of comfortable denial long enough to admit to the weather outside), I (ME!) am, in fact, that girl.  And yet, how can that be fact when he is, in fact, that same person for me…that guy?  And if I stretch beyond myself and presume that in our own little worlds and our own little lives that we are both correct on this matter….what the hell?  I mean, what IS that? 

I’m floundering about lately, trying to figure so much…so much love, so much pain, so much twisted truths and blatant lies, so much WTF’s, so much slander, so much hatefully random mean-ness, so much utter selfishness, so much damage, just…well, so much, so much!  After the last two absolute denials and random mean text spewing in response to my attempt to find peace, closure, and an amicable place to end this nightmare from hell, I finally just snapped.  The first denial of reality(at least the first in awhile, that is), I felt socked in the gut, taken aback, literally a deer in headlights, but then the very next one was just so much more of random senseless garbage that I snapped and lashed out (and lashed out pretty “randomly” if I may say so myself!)…..I atually had a thought where I felt justifiable in thinking that this man has become so inherently cruel and evil-ly twisted that he deserves to die a long, slow, painful death.  I have never, EVER, thought such a horrible thing regarding anyone in all my life! The thought itself shook me to my core.  I felt overwhelmingly guilty. I searched myself for the saturation of love and gratitude that I typically can find for most any human being on the planet, except perhaps the most heinous of the infamous serial killers…  Nope….not there anymore.  I believe every last ounce of optimism, blind faith, and agape that once ruled the lush kingdom of my heart and soul, has been stomped and shredded to a microscopic dust of frustration , hurt, and resentment. Beyond what I’ve ever thought was possible. No, you can’t love hate away for some people.  No, you cannot be so accepting and caring that a horribly damaged person will heal and become beautiful again.  No, you an’t be so unassuming and selfless and take every stab of hurt and bullshit a mean person dishes out and think that this person is one bit more capable of seeing the beauty in the world and in humanity, much less in me.

At this point, the part that is most senseless is thatg I want nothing from him.  I don’t ask for him back.  I don’t chase him.  I don’t try to gain back his love.  My desire in this had become nothing except the bleek hope that he just might not speak terribly of me or think the worst of me forever or spread more lies and hatefully untrue insults to my character.  I guess that in itself is a bit selfish, as it does still mean I was hoping for something from him and I’m not going to feel badly about that because in my world, those things are basic considerations which should be every moderately decent human being’s right on this planet, and maybe even all the others as well.  So, I will not see that basic expectation as truly selfish, but more as me asking to be treated with basic and minimal consideration as a person…..me, asking for the only absolute right that I believe anyone and everyone is truly entitled to merely by their existence as a human being, with all the parts and pieces that make them human. 

Is that too much for him because he hates?  Does he hate?  Or is he as completely apathetic as he poses most of the time lately?  Who knows? I certainly never will.  I lean toward believing the apathetic part, but then what of  the nasty accusation explosion off all that OLD stuff when I requested some closure and expressed my desire to leave it in a good place?  Requested and desired at this point, merely so as to (hopefully) not feel as though either of us have wasted the last 7 years on truly and completely ridiculous nonsense.

Who cares?  Just more mean-ness and hurt added on top of an already existing avalanche of the unthinkable and often unspeakable crimes against my heart and assaults to my spirit…  What damned difference should it make anyway?  It will soon be over…like it or not….over…over…OVER…

And at least now, I can safely know there is an end to the pain being inflicted, even if not the damage done.  This is the glorious positive in this whole last hoop-la of his bitter, hateful, ugly past 5-6 years!  Yay!

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No answers

Today my heart was sinking faster than the sun and I drove past two small children sitting in a big easy chair in their front lawn. REmnants of a yard sale I presume.  Their little legs sticking straight out with their tiny feet just dangling past the edge of the cushion…  and I remember being little and the worst thing I could imagine was rain for a baseball game, my sister crying over anything, or my mother not loving me.  I knew the broken heart of the child.  My heart broke every time I wanted to do something more than anything in the world, but was not given permission or the crush I had on the little boy next door who liked my best friend instead.  I vividly remember the pain of those things and feeling completely heart broken.  And now, I looked at those two little kids, sharing the big comfy chair in their yard and what fun that must have been for them and I wished with all my heart that I could just go back for even a minute’s reprieve from the vast brokenness of growing up, the vulnerabilities you have that come with age, wisdom, and fears you didn’t used to know even existed as a child, dangling your feet over a sift chair and giggling.  The security that tomorrow will always be coming, the trust that that’s just the way the world works and the confidence that you never have to think any differently because you’re going to be a child forever….until you grow up, which is so very far away it’s unfathomable.  The only deep pain I knew growng up were the moments that my mother’s lack of compassion, understanding, time, attention, or love were slapped in my face too many times to give me the chance to slip into fantasy world where she did love me.  Aftyer those times, I would sit in my room and write stories about how much my mother loved me and all the hugs and kisses she gave me because I was special.  And in time, I would feel better.  I could almost put myseslf into those stories so well that they became true,- in my openly imaginative mind and the deperation of denial.

I don’t have that luxury anymore.  And instead of my hopes and wishes that I would grow up to be loved by a husband and family of my own; people who would love me every day, not just when other people were present.  The deepest irony of my lot in life is that life has placed me in the very same position I was in as a child.  Ensuring that I never feel the safety and comfort of love I can depend on. Promising me nothing except more insecurity that further serves to make me so difficult to love and respect.

As an adult, I know have some tiny bits of understanding as to why I never got a puppy or a kitten and even why I wasn’t allowed to go to the fair, the carnival or the circus.  And I even understand a little that my mom just didn’t feel developing friendships was what mattered for children and why she chose to inhibit and prohibit that seemingly natural part of childhood.  I understand the beauty of those tiny broken hearted moments which I was fortunate enough to be able to escape with the simple tools of pen and paper and hiding places.  I can think of those sadnesses and smile a little because I almost miss them, as horrible as they seemed at the time.  I would trade so quickly to be my daughter’s age again.  She has a mother who holds her and tries to understand, although sometimes I don’t really because her life is so entirely and drastically different than the childhood I knew.  I love when she is confident that even if I’m upset with her for a minute.  I see the confidence that she knows unequivally that I love her no matter what.  She knows she is wonderful, beaitiful, capable, and loved…no matter what life throws at her.  She has the blessing of that strength and conviction and all the confidence that comes with it.  The confidence that children should be given to grow within from it.

And I am still a child without security, longing for love and respect and compassion from the one person who insists he will never give that to me again.  My worthiness doesn’t matter, my beauty, my abilities, my spirit, the light of my soul…none of it matters because just like my mother he will never choose to love me again, at least not with his heart and maybe not even with his body.  I should somehow find the blessing in that and be grateful for even knowing I once had something so beautiful, but I’m apparently a stubborn, hopeless case who just pines and hurts and waits for the pain to kill me and make the life-long suffering of this very affliction cease once and for all.

I wait and pray.  I write and wish.  I hope and dream. And nothing.  It’s all a twisted repeat cycle only furthering my insecurity becvause now I know that he once tried to love me exactly the way I always prayed and hoped for.  And he does not now and I don’t have the ability to write it all into a happy ending strong enough that my mind can forget for awhile that I’l grown up with the same broken heart and the very same unfulfilled prayer.

Maybe God’s lesson for me is that love should never have been so important to me;that perhaps some of us are not intended to receive it, but just to be gratefulo for the ability to feel it and give it away to others.  I don’t know what God has in mind for me.  I only know that it has never been what I’ve dreamed or prayed for and the chances of that ever changing are almost down to zero due to the circumstances life has placed upon me.

the unintentional gift

He paid her an interesting visit Sunday night around 10 pm….

Today, her heart felt like a balloon floating off into the blue skies of joyful eternity and simultneously felt like it was carrying a 200 pound albatross….  Heavy as hell!

Perspective.  She mustn’t lose it.  He drinks.  He lies.  He has hidden, completely unknown motivations for his behavior.  Of course he misses her life; her “cool life” that once brought him such happiness that his heart opened “wider than ever before”. That is, if it had ever been opened at all before…?

Hers had opened in increments…  A shy heart, wanting so badly to open, but holding back hiding behind the door trying to assess the situation prior to stepping out into the vulnerable company of another seemingly open heart.  ….Until him…. at which time she had ripped it from her chest, undressed it completely, and handed it to him, naked and beating fervently, as a graceful offering of her last hopeful faith, absolute adoration, and blind trust.  Trust: the ultimate gift that is an automatic bonus when genuinely offering up your heart to another.  When you hand someone this rare and precious gem, it apparently automatically comes beautifully gift-wrapped in the fragile, delicate paper of trust.

What was the game this time?  She had seen him Saturday night and ignored him.  She no longer had any interest in trying to reach him or get through his army of pride.  She had surrendered to her love for him and had no fight left.  She no longer saw the purpose in fighting against her own heart.  This Sunday visit had to  be somehow directly related to that little run-in.  Was he just doing a maintenance check to be sure he still had ownership of the very thing he repeatedly claims he no longer wants? 

She told him that on Sunday too.  When he’d brought up their past and how/why they had gotten to this point, she told him, “Whatever the past, whatever the future Dave, it is what it is.  For whatever crazy reason, I am still here at this very moment and for whatever crazy reason, you are still next to me at this very moment.  Apparently, I’m going to love you no matter what you do, have done, or are doing.  Why question any of it anymore?”

Of course, speaking to him of such things now was a little like asking her coffee table to develop compassion for the global climate.  It was void of reaching any understanding, but she threw it out there anyway.  She had willingly handed him that partly because it was the simple, uncluttered truth and partly because she still lacked the answers to his panfully difficult questions, which were the very same questions that had been burning through her mind for more than two long years.

“Why am I here right now? Why do I still love you?  Why can’t I stop?  Why doesn’t it ever go away?”  Ahhhh…these additional questions of his that she, herself,  had grudgingly come to just accept as unanswerable riddles of perpetual life perpexity.  No matter his questions or her answres, he kept stopping to tightly hold her against him, sighing deeply when she asked, “What’s wrong?”  He had sighed an awful lot the entire night; deep long sighs of frustration tempered for the moment by the relief of holding her.   …And she, she had bargained his fish for her sex on the upcoming Tuesday and he had agreed, laughing at her bargaining tactics.  She had laughed too.  It really had become just that silly.

So after his return with the evidence of his choice to be with her, instead of at home in his own bed, she gave into him and no fish were involved in the matter.  When he returned, she had woken in a fuzzy haze of confusion at his presence and slowly realized she was naked and in his brief absence, her bed had turned into a silver platter…  His silver platter, where inside his choice, she innocently rested her compromising feelings about having sex with him.  The very moment she’d given into him, she briefly wondered to herself if this was the right thing to do.  And the immediate, unhesitating response from her deepest soul intuition was, “You belong to him.  Who are you to withold from him his very own possession?  Deny him his right to what is his?”  It came to her suddenly that at times she didn’t give herself to him only because she was desperately trying to re-claim her rights to the property she had already given him free and clear.  That’s all.  It changed nothing whether she wanted to physically give it back to him right at this moment or not…  Nothing changed by trying to stake a re-claim of her body.  Her body was only the physical manifestation of her heart.  She could refuse it to him and still, at the end of the day- at the end of every day- it was still going to be his and no one else’s anyway. 

What the HELL???!!?!?!!  Oh gosh, this love business is freaking SERIOUS…. Thank God she had never let herself get there before!!  Of course, if she had, then maybe she’d have only had a portion of herself to give him at all from the start and she wouldn’t be in this very predicament now?  She didn’t know and she could no longer presume to know or understand such things…  She wasn’t even sure she any longer wanted to understand these things.