I hate that I can’t communicate properly to people I love.
People who are no longer a part of my life but who are important to me historically… I can’t just throw them out. Sometimes I want to, but, if these people make even the slightest effort in my direction, I fail to let them go unacknowledged. I feel as though when somebody leaves me, it’s because of some deficiency within myself. As if, they needed something they couldn’t get from me, so they had their needs filled elsewhere… and that when they come back… I owe them.
Owe them whatever I can give them. Which admittedly isn’t much.
Breakdown
This allowing of myself to be broken down from every angle by so many people is not sustainable. I have recently snapped at someone. She might have deserved it, and she probably believes that she does. But I’ve gotten over my “making it even” mentality with the girl that came before her.
I’ve tried the “you hurt me, I’ll find some way to inflict that pain onto you” thing with this prior lass. It works, in a fashion, but what results isn’t a relationship. It’s a seedling of disdain that grows into a dead baby deer of despite.
Of course, she doesn’t know that. I probably haven’t told her.
Just like how I’ve never told that tumbling social disaster that I never asked her out again because I felt like I’d destroyed our trust. Neither of us trusted the other, and we still don’t.
Quick Trust Test:
Ask her if she trusts you.
Did she say yes?
Do you believe her?
3 is the only important answer. You will never know for sure if someone trusts you. They can say it a million times and paint it on the sky but there is no way you will ever know and there is no reason to fucking worry about it. The thing that matters is, if you believe her, you trust her. Why are you bothering with someone you don’t allow yourself to trust?
Trust issues, of course, feed into the person of relevant relation. She doesn’t trust me to handle her feelings, so she refuses to emote to me, leaving me operating from an obsolete position more often than not. Like the one before her, I don’t know when you need me.
Perhaps I should set up a bat-signal?
Cut-off
Moving on, for me, means completely so. I can’t bring you with if I’m supposed to move on. They’re wholly exclusive to each other.
The equivalent of the end of the cowboy flick where he tips his hat to the pretty lady and rides off into the sunset: moving on.
There are some major problems with this practice:
It hurts.
hurts her sometimes, too (in this case it absolutely does)
It requires a truly surprising amount of control to simply not talk to someone.
this is exaggerated for me, i typically wait to be contacted first under normal circumstances, but when i have to do this i want nothing more than to instigate a conversation
I am not a cowboy.
honest
Now I’m sure that if I just coldly cut people I love out of my life frequently enough, the pain will dull and my will would increase, and I would evolve into a truly stoic cowboy.
Doing so would entirely undermine her efforts at improving me into a Basic Human, but, you know. Just one more way to stick it to her for sticking it to me…
I need to not tell people I like that I like them before I have reasonable certainty that they like me too.
Or at least until I’m fully awake.
Holy shit.
This goes back to middle school for me. Not the person, just… the observation. A girl should never, unless she likes me and is WAITING to be told she’s liked in return, ever know that I like her. It is pretty much THE ONLY RULE I ABIDE BY in interpersonal relationships, this ruled formed by romantic interest but surprisingly relevant across most other “friendlier” affairs.
This is important: If she does not like you, she does give a shit how you feel. Just not a lot, and she will be creeped-out if you tell her.
(I’m using “you” in a self-referential way. Inner Eric is very down on me being forward/honest.)
Something that I see a lot on the social sites I frequent are relationship advice threads in the vein of “girls are like this, guys are like that.” Which I find incredibly annoying. Our perception of groups, even groups as vast as gender (vast in that gender is not really as definitive of a person’s “being”) are highly subjective. Obviously they are. What I see in girls isn’t comparable to what you see in girls, and is even further removed from what you see in GUYS. How about what “she” sees in guys? You don’t even know her.
Anonymous panderings aren’t going to help me. I see the value in getting perspective and varied similar experiences, but it’s hard to flatly recommend “you should…” because of these differences. It’s not like we’re playing Mario and you’re telling me there’s a spiky shell guy at the bottom of the pit I could land on (I don’t know Mario levels, they probably aren’t designed to be that assholistic: Megaman? I dunno.) and I should fall as far forward as possible so I can possibly just make it to the next screen without ever even dealing with the spikey jerk.
But no. People and situations we deal with are not time capsules. Your experiences in a level were different than what I’m going through, EVEN IF she’s the same person… she’s very likely probably isn’t anymore. People change. The content is procedurally generated. If enough people take advantage of how easy the level is it might be scaled-up in difficulty so much that I am crushed immediately upon entry.
I’m having one of those rare moments where all the little nasty things I’ve done to totally unrelated people are, simultaneously, bestowing their requisite amount of guilt upon me.
A lot of this has to do with an unwillingness to communicate. Telling someone who by no means has done ANYTHING REMOTELY negative towards me to essentially fuck off is probably the cardinal sin of all of these, but there are others who deserve an apology just as much as she.
They won’t be getting one.
If there’s one thing I can maintain with a person more than anything else, it’s radio silence. My ability to just NOT FUCKING SAY A WORD is a bit contrary to the venting nature of this rant, but it isn’t really targeting anyone specifically. In some fashion it may reach some of them, this rambling, but given that I don’t expect or intend for it to really go anywhere and coupled with the sea of workout bullshit I post on a regular basis… kinda doubt it.
It is a bit unfortunate that I don’t just allow myself to be happy with someone.
I see something, it is good, and I am immediately mistrustful of it and begin deconstructing and despising both whatever relationship may have developed and then also the person him/herself. As though my insecurities are their fault. Which I rationalize into “truth” when I’m in the midst of obliterating our connection.
So many plans canceled.
I always wonder when these things fall away if those plans, when their date rolls around, if I spark some recollection in the other person’s mind. There are two girls I had fucking promised I’d propose to, and of course I have suspicion that that being entirely fucking creepy might have played a part in getting my ass dumped, but still? There are people now who I had made plans with whose dates are not yet come. What of them? Will they remember? And so what if they do? Are they going to hop a train and waste the time and try to see if maybe there’s still something there?
I would. But I’m entirely fucking creepy, also.
Or maybe it’s more I might. Those two, I knew they were involved with someone when their dates came. When I had meticulously plotted out their romantic little shitstain proposals, of course I would remember their dates. It also helped that their birthdays were right next to eachother… whatever. I’m not really emotionally involved with either of them at this point and it really wouldn’t make any sense for me to show up on the day to propose to either of them. Perhaps this was a bad example.
Fuck… I don’t know. Movie night? Someone I was once horribly enamored with friendzoned me. I can rock the friend-zone, that’s fine. Of course a part of being my friend means putting up patiently with my obnoxiously frequent bouts of silence, but hey. I’m sure that’s better than being a recurring nuisance. So anyway, I was given a drag name and I remembered that night as a sort of ‘birthday’ for this character we developed and the movie we watched when we did. So I came around the same day the following year, with that movie. That kind of thing.
I just wish I had a damn point to remembering anniversaries.
If you’re going to be romantic for nobody in particular, it’s just… cute.
Skullfuck cute, man. Ugh.
How do you tell someone you unceremoniously told to fuck off that it’s okay to come back?
Should I even?
What’s to stop me from repeating the whole “OH MY FUCKING GOD ARE YOU STILL TALKING ABOUT THE SAME BEATEN TOPIC? YES, I MISS YOU. YES, I’D LIKE TO SEE YOU. YES, THAT’S MONTHS AWAY. CAN WE TALK ABOUT SOMETHING NOW?” shitstorm I initiated the first time.
Or she initiated.
Whatever.
Is it really worth going through/risk-throughing conditions that are likely to result in nothing again?
SHOULD I REALLY be so fucking crushed this long after the fact? Is that how I’m going to suffer? Weeks later, it’s like a concussion, hasn’t started healing yet but is very obviously fucking with my ability to think properly. And I want to sleep as much as I possibly can in the hopes that it goes away like so much of an appetite.
I can’t even keep facts straight anymore. I’ve quit making a game of it. It’s not chess, I’m done trying to win, I’m done being the opposing side and would much rather be the lateral companion.
That could amount to a pretty satisfying win.
ASIDE: I have won a chess game by making my opponent cry rather than actually besting him at the game. He actually probably would have won.
I have no sympathy or patience for people who can’t control themselves. One way or the other. Anorexic or obese, they are both irresponsible.
It’s not even just a matter of “wanting” it enough, it’s letting yourself be motivated to act in a way reflecting that desire. Being covetous gets you nowhere. Achieve something…. See More
I’ve been on both ends of the spectrum. It’s nothing monumental to let it go “too far” and make it appear that you have a problem to people who don’t have the same motivation.
Obsessed is a word lazy people use to describe the motivated.
I wrote that for a friend on Facebook who mentioned something about anorexia. Watched something on TV about it I guess. She doesn’t seem like she’s anywhere near considering it for herself, but, it’s an issue I’m fairly familiar with and experienced in dealing with it. Not just myself either.
I’ve been involved in a number of pro-ana communities over the years. Do I advocate “picking it up” as a means to lose weight to impress people? No. Not at all. I support people who have already made the decision on their own. There are people out there who are going to do what they are going to do regardless of how good of a hypnotistical brainscrubber you trot yourself to be.
I’m there for THEM.
Anybody willing to effort a change in themselves, to set their goals and do their damn-best-they-can to achieve them is someone I’ll support. I don’t care if there are oodles of established medical records espousing their methods as dangerous or unhealthy. If safe and healthy were a part of their goal, it would be built into their method.
Like it is with mine.
But I won’t villainize anyone for doing differently. There are folks out there losing weight doing their six meals a day, people out there starving themselves, people out there on the treadmill or in the swimming pool all day long running themselves into shallow graves. Bless them all. Fucking dedicated.
Yesterday I went to Chinatown with birthday girl Fairchild, her boyfriend Bobby, and our friend Roxy.
It was kickass.
The day started with Bobby and the birthday girl picking me up from Bayshore. I spotted a red tulip before the pickup. This is always the sign of AWESOME DAY AHEAD. If I still had my blog from 2008 this would be an awesome moment of thematic coincidence, but alas…
When I was a little kid I loved The Little Mermaid, and I’m not ashamed to admit it was because of Prince Eric. This is probably where my nudging preference for redheads started, though that isn’t as nearly as big a deal as me understanding myself as Disney Royalty. Because, well, fuck yeah!
I heard this particular song at Cabela’s over the weekend during my immensely overplayed descent into sorrow. I was going to do this slideshow of photos of me and her to this song as a sort of sendoff to her, but after writing that letter and not being able to get video-editing stuff working on my now-Linux machine… this will have do.
Good Friday marked the end of my relationship with this woman. We are nolonger anything but memories.
She told me that God spoke to her and said that I am evil and I must be removed from her life.
He’s right, as always.
I wrote her a letter I’m not going to send to her.
But here it is.
Dear Leah,
You’re too important to me for me to end our relationship on the very thing you cite as the reason you are leaving me. As much as I want to hold you and smell your hair and taste your lips for the last time, I won’t be that hypocritical.
You have your belief in God now, and if God has shown you that I am unfit to be your husband and unfit to be the father of your children, then I am going to have to respect that as your decision.
I have been here for you in this life for as long as you have allowed for the chief purpose of supporting you. We are parting ultimately for the same reason I’d part with anyone else: I’m nolonger necessary nor purposeful. I am not part of what makes you happy, nor needed to ensure your well-being. As such I am being left behind.
I am the embodiment and living example of weakness, fear, and desperation. In leaving me you leave weakness, in out-growing me you out-grow fear, and in casting me aside you cast aside desperation. I can understand why I am unfit. I am a painful reminder to you of your shortcomings. .
And so you will be, in time, a painful memory of mine. Of false hope and misplaced trust. My reminder that my search for a partner in life is not a quest that concludes with finding a person.
You found God, after all.
The blame is squarely mine. You were, when I found you, the type of person who was optimally primed to be accepting of my advances. You were, simply, pathetic.
But now you are not. You are a brilliant women with all the (admittedly uncomfortable) righteousness of your mother. Now that you are more like her, you might stop lying to her and to others about your father.
I am sure that when God matches you with your mate, you won’t have to lie about how you met him. You won’t be embarrassed by what a faggot he is, because he won’t be one. You won’t hate yourself for sleeping with him, because you’ve slept with me.
I thank you, though. You’ve dispelled the what-if-could-have fantasies I once lived with. My having never told Tiffany that I loved her or wanted to be with her, and my premature abandonment of Alex because I, like you, feared love. That was why I had taken you back. Alex never would take me back, and now I understand why. You don’t take the knife out so someone can stab you again. I probably would have just hurt her again, just like you are hurting me now. But that’s okay. Unlike her I am not scornful or vengeful over my losses and the exploitation of my vulnerability, because unlike her to me, I love you.
I thank you for your patience with me when I couldn’t do what was expected of me. I thank you for protecting me, even when I knew you were lying to me I bowed my head and smiled because you were holding the shield up for me. Only you could hurt me because you kept everything else out.
I thank you for all you’ve put me through. All the time I’ve lost, all the miles I’ve traveled just to see you. All the nights I worried about you. All the suffering I endured for you. Any or all of it could have been real, or you might have faked it from the very beginning, but I thank you for the experience. All of it. The good was the best I’ve ever had, and in light of it the bad doesn’t really exist. I thank you for that.
So every once in a while I find someone who isn’t quite pleased with the way I behave.
I think we all know somebody like this.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to deal with this person myself. This person was amongst the legion of libelous lunatics linked to L.
Granted, these folks have their share of legitimate accusations. But he doesn’t, which makes him a curious annoyance. Before she decided that she hated me, L’s mother talked to me on the phone once. (And by that I mean “one time” as opposed to “once upon a time.” A single conversation.) She told me this particular son of hers worked in a field with some synergy to my own. I’m a film actor, he is a producer of some sort. Music videos I think she said. I later recall some nonsense about him using his littler-than-the-one-I’m-banging sister for a horror film.
Okay cool. Whatever. But cool. Mom’s trying to establish some sort of common ground to get me to lower my defenses and TALK to her, which I needed and was more clever of her than was probably intentional, but it gave me a reason to add the bastard on Facebook later.
I should note that I have never actually spoken to this guy. All I know about him was the aforementioned film interest, and that he was going to let my girl L live with him to get away from mom when she was old enough to do so.
So basically, until today, a guy I had just assumed was a chill chap confirmed his complete cretinism. An unfortunate disorder, surely:
Kau, kid. I can’t handle that Eric (sp?) kid anymore. For some reason he ended up as my friend and his weird gay shit is pissing me off. You can do what you want, but honestly, if I saw that kid, no teeth. Ever. Sorry kid. Lova ya.
Now, not meaning faggot like a dicksucker. That doesn’t really bother me. He’s just a fag. Major douchenozzle. Waste of space. Sorry if you like him, but damn, he’s the antithesis of a man.
-Jo
He didn’t say this to me, naturally, because he’s a nigger. Now, not meaning nigger like a black person. That doesn’t really bother me. He’s just a jerk. Major picklesniffer. Waste of time. Sorry if you like him, but damn, he actually thinks homosexuality is an insult.
All complaints regarding my personality are of course forwarded to my secretary of slanderous shit. In this case that person was our mutual relation, who graciously defended me:
Ok. 1: You didn’t have to accept the [friend] request! 2. Shut the fuck up about calling people names. Touch him and I will never speak to you again. I’ve tolerated it up to now and enough is enough. I’m sick of everyone bringing him up like that. Forget he ever exists, do something so I don’t have to hear this bullshit and the same goes with talking to him.
If I find you you are talking to him I won’t speak to you. Your immaturity towards this is nonsense.
-L
She’s just great. I love that gal. For all the shit she puts up with just for liking me, she doesn’t seem to place any blame on me and stands by what she believes is true.
That’s a woman, damn it.
Take notes.
I was going to do this whole "Silver Surfer kissing Nova" thing, but I wasn't bald enough.
You know when you look back at when you stopped doing something, and blame whatever it was around that time that influenced you to stop, as the reason you’re presently unsuccessful in whatever you do?
Been feeling that a lot lately.
Anyway, I did a lot of walking this week. More than I am metabolically adapted to, anyway, which I suppose is… any at all… but then it was quite a bit more than that. I believe I have at least three hours of “walking a little faster than what’s comfortable, because that’s more comfortable than being out in this temperature.” I also got quite a bit of oblique work, sliding around on the fuck-ice. I slid down two concrete blocks (squares-in-the-sidewalk.)
As I stepped out of that slide, I very nearly did a Home Alone style fall-on-ass. But I reversed it halfway and torqued the shit out of my right oblique and left shoulder (left arm carrying a shopping bag with a two-liter diet cola in it.) Then the streetlight came on overhead, I got a cheery “fuck yeah bro!” from a gas station across the street, and went back to my Oma’s in a sorely optimistic mood.
Sadly, all this walking and especially this slippery episode led to a weak workout. One of less reps and skipped oblique work.
I mean, my obliques are an isolation exercise, and if I skip them then only that part doesn’t get worked. But only my left shoulder hurt and I still needed to get some pressing in for my chest; unfortunately it’s a compound movement. That means shoulders are along for the ride. It sucked because I could have definitely squeezed out reps to at LEAST MATCH my previous workout, but that shoulder probably would have exploded, and I’m not training to failure anyway.
Even though I haven’t been counting my calories (except on Monday,) I’m pretty sure I’ve been eating near-maintenance. Or just a little bit above what my body is telling me I need. I’m going to fast throughout Sunday and hope for the best. Hopefully by Monday I’ll be recuperated in whatever relevant dimensions and get in a solid depletion-style workout.
