Welcome back, me.

This sporadic posting is really quite silly, and I wish that didn’t rhyme. This idea I’ve had for so long, of being a poet? I really do know better.

And that’s not the tone I was hoping to start all this up with, but there we have it. I’m not feeling the optimism and this isn’t the place for faking it. A year ago I felt optimistic, grateful, and surprisingly stable, despite all the upheaval in my life. I was willing to face the upheaval, to initiate all those positive changes, because I felt so stable and centered. Now I’m reeling from one extreme to another in the span of minutes, but I don’t think it’s anything as simple as regression. That calm, sedate outlook of a year ago wasn’t an escape from my emotional instability; it’s what my depression looks like, reduced by a couple orders of magnitude. I was still stuck deep in the middle of it, even as I was surrounded by so much goodness, and it left me just a bit slow to respond to all the stimuli in my life. Which can look a whole lot like stoicism and stability, but really isn’t.

And now? Another manic phase. Not in the sense of being genuinely bipolar, just in the sense that all people tend to vary across the spectrum of emotional intensity throughout their lives, and me more than most. So what does my mania look like, reduced and held in check and not completely ruling me? Typical feminine hysterics. I’m kinda disgusted with myself. There’s been crying these past few weeks, and the occasional desire to scream at the people around me, especially the ones I care about. I’ve been grinding my teeth in my sleep again, fighting down anger more often than not and sometimes for the silliest reasons. I have a surprising reserve of energy, both emotional and physical, and a restless sense of being unfulfilled in pretty much everything I do. I don’t trust any of my happiness, though I spend a bit more time trying to ensure it than maybe I should. And in retrospect those two should be joined by an “obviously,” not that contrary, denying “though.”

The big news this month: David and I are a couple. An item, a unit, together in our togetherness. He is my boyfriend. I hate that word now more than I ever have. I’m pushing 25, which is still quite young, but boyfriend sounds entirely juvenile, the appropriate word for teenage histrionics and fumbled, clumsy first kisses. But our coupledom is more or less official now, mutually agreed upon, and our language hasn’t evolved quickly enough to accommodate the modern variety of romantic attachments. To be perfectly frank, I don’t trust it. He’s gotten close and run away so many times, and though the past couple weeks have been entirely new and different, I can’t seem to convince myself, emotionally, that this will last. That I’ll get to hold on to this, to him, or even get the chance to ruin it in typical self-sabotage and clumsiness.

But, all my doubting and mixed emotions aside, he’s joined the ranks of my boyfriends. Ryan, Jacob, Ben, and now, David. Such common names. I like to think they were uncommon men, but on closer inspection I’m not so sure that’s the case. Ryan is mean in a very old fashioned sense of the word. Ignoble, small-minded, petty, base, sordid, and vile. (Thank you dictionary.com, for saying what I’ve been afraid to say.) I love him dearly to this day, think about him more than I’d like to admit and I wish all the time that I could see him, play some part in his life, but I don’t want to get anywhere near the life he’s chosen. He had a remarkable intelligence, but he’s slowly burned it away in his desperation to escape reality. Turns out heroin isn’t so great for neurological health, nor are cocaine, acid, meth and the myriad others I’m sure he’s tried that I don’t know the first thing about. He’s reduced himself to something so small: another prisoner, petty thief, mean, low-life young man. Heartbreaking and common, pitiable in no small part because the story is so very mundane.

Jacob has a remarkable kindness, an absolutely unique virtue, and I often think that I was lucky just to touch him, to get to play any role in his life. He was, in my life, quite extraordinary, largely because he taught me what genuine respect looks like, how it feels to be treated with consideration and compassion. But observed from a greater distance, these things are rather common, though not as much so as they ought to be. He was the perfect Baptist boy, grown up into a respectful young man with a respectable career, a pretty, darling wife and a neat, tidy life. His wedding was excruciating for me. I had to watch this radiant, joyful woman and not let on how I was comparing myself to her, my knowledge that I in no way measure up to her and am utterly unworthy of the life she’ll find with him. Surrounded by so much joy and I wanted to just be happy for him, not jealous and resentful that I couldn’t measure up to this simple goodness. And then to admit to myself that even if somehow I could immerse myself in it I’d feel bored and stifled in the space of a minute. He is good and admirable and worthy of immense respect. And common in all the best ways, all the ways I was never able to conform myself to.

Ben? Common in the most negative sense of the word. Utterly lacking in ambition or really anything in the way of distinguishing qualities. Two years with him taught me just how much I disdain commonness, how incredibly stifling it is to strive for mediocrity. My mother taught me that disdain and I’ve worked very hard to get past her condescension and pretension, to dial down the judgment and see the people around me as people, not graduations to measure myself against. But with Ben I realized I need to set higher standards in seeking out a partner. If I want a relationship that will hold my attention, I need someone who fascinates and confounds me. If I want to grow with someone, I need him to accept me in all my strength and challenge me. If I want to go anywhere worth going, I need someone approaches life with tenacity and ambition. Ben did none of these things.

Does David do any of these things? Is he any less common than any other failed relationship? I adore him, can’t help but smile when he smiles and want nothing but happiness for him, want desperately to be part of that happiness. He does fascinate and confound me, with his wit and sensitivity and stubborn reluctance to share himself with the world around him, me included. He reminds me quite a bit of Ryan in that. He challenges me with his gentleness, which is entirely new and surprising. I’ve always been gentle, even given my occasional pig-headed stubbornness and flaring temper; I’ve rarely met anyone who challenged me to greater compassion. Jacob did, and David has a kindness about him, a sense of virtue and fair play that I can only compare to Jacob. And he has next to no ambition. The dreams are there, sure, but they’re little more than dreams. He’s not willing to face any kind of adversity to achieve them, and more and more that reminds me of Ben. He has all these strengths, but these weaknesses too, and I’ve gone and accepted all of that in all its messiness. I’ve fallen in love with him and now I have to wait and see if it’ll rip my heart out or slowly fizzle to disappointment or drag on too long into biting resentment and regret.

I know this won’t work. I absolutely know it won’t. I’m not anywhere close to being mature enough for any real happiness, and I didn’t choose him wisely, didn’t work out ahead of time what sort of strengths I need to challenge me, what weaknesses I can accept with grace and patience. Do I really need to be challenged to greater compassion when it's such a struggle for me to assert myself? And much like Ben, he can’t and won’t handle my extremes, my outbursts of passion and defiance and stubbornness. It’s good to be tempered and held to a higher standard of self-control, but so often it feels like rounding off all the sharp edges, softening myself until I’m safe and utterly predictable, giving up my strengths right along with my weaknesses. He tries my patience and I don’t know if I can support him the way he deserves to be supported. He can’t read my emotions, can’t tell when I’m hiding hurt and frustration, is so often distant and distracted, that I doubt he’ll be much good at supporting me. And I already love him, have committed to trying this with him, so I'm hesitant to say any of this to him for fear that it'll just stir up trouble, make it that much harder to be happy together.

And in another couple hours I know I’ll be glowing with affection again, grateful for him and my place in his life. I feel so crazy right now, unmoored and feminine in the worst ways. Where’d my reason and hard-won self control get off to?

Growth

It’s been a while, and I don’t know if anyone is still checking in here, but if you are… Well. You know already that you’re appreciated even when I disappear, right? I’ve said it often enough, and it feels redundant and somewhat hollow to just keep apologizing. I’m lucky for my friends, that there are people in this world patient enough to stick around through years of my mood swings and capriciousness. And pedantry.

There’s a smile there at the end, and on a better day I’d be able to make the words themselves convey that, but just at the moment I’m not going to spend enough time rewriting to make my tone clear, but instead just tell you. I’m happy. I’m also slightly overwhelmed by my good fortune and by the responsibilities I’ve chosen to take on. I’ve been given more than I know how to accept and bitten off a bit more than I can chew, but I’m determined to make the most of it.

I’m back in school. It’s taken four years and the humility of accepting my mother’s money (which, truth be told, she can finally afford so I don’t feel as guilty I might have in the past), not to mention a considerable measure of emotional energy. I’d forgotten how terrifying it is for me. There’s nowhere I’m more qualified or better-equipped than a classroom, and at the same time it terrifies me beyond my ability to explain. All those eyes on me, the potential for judgment, the need to prove myself not only informed and insightful but also socially graceful, all these things press on me with a near physical weight as soon as I walk in the door, make me clumsy and awkward. But when we discuss characters and social context I do know what I’m talking about, when political events are linked to contemporary philosophers I have insight past what I’m being spoon-fed, and it feels good to get back to what I’m best at after having been away so long.

Work is going remarkably well, and though my boss and I butt heads more often than I’d like and I know my attitude isn’t always what it should be, I’m confident I’m doing a good job. And, ignoring the possible patheticness of the admission, they like me, they really like me! The students, the professors, even the other staff, all seem to be pleased by the job I’m doing and enjoy my company during the day. It feels so good to be appreciated that I almost don’t know how to respond. My social circle continues to grow, both in number of people and in emotional depth. I had forgotten the feeling of seeing my friends on a daily basis, the ease and comfort of spending time together without having to plan for it. It is, to me, the most basic and essential pleasure, and keeping that in mind it’s not at all surprising to me that I’ve been so despondent for the past several years. How could I not be, with all my friends and everyone I care about so far away from me, our only contact carried out in hurried phone calls, half-ignored instant messaging, and the occasional stolen bit of time together that always manages to feel stilted and contrived despite everyone’s best efforts? My old friends are so precious to me, and I love them with a depth that only comes from years of mutual loyalty. No one new can know all the backstory that Rachel and Melissa do, have the effortless insight that Lilah and Jacob always surprise me with. But Bridgett, David and Chris are here with me, day to day, they get to see first-hand the mundane realities of my life. They get to see the slump in my shoulders when a week has been a little too long, to respond to my emotional needs with thoughtless, helpful gestures that make hard days easier to bear and good ones even better. And I love them for it already. Not the same love I have for the people who knew me through my misery and stuck with me despite it, but a real love all the same, and there was a time that I shared this same easy association with them.

Love. It’s a big word, and over-used to the point of being trite and hollow, but it’s important nevertheless. I’m getting more comfortable with it, not letting it rule me or excluding it from my mental vocabulary in an effort to avoid melodrama. I feel a small, simple love for my new friends, something basic and unembellished and essential, and just feeling it makes me grow, makes me more of the person I want to be. With one in particular that feeling is growing more profound, soothing anxieties and motivating simple changes. It scares me a bit even as it excites me, and I’m cautious of the feeling, a bit untrusting, but can’t and won’t deny it. He is exceptional and I am grateful for him. And doing my best to keep an open mind about what will be, not ruin this for either of us with anxiety or presumption. I think he’s doing the same.

And I think I’ve typed enough for one sitting. There’s more to say, and I hope I’ll get back here to say it in the next couple days. If I don’t (and even if I do) you are all welcome as always to call me, give me a piece of your mind for being so distant and unreachable. It might even make my day.

Success!

My metered poetry project seems to be paying off, and more quickly than I'd expected. I had some lines knocking aorund in my head in the shower last night that just wouldn't go away until I wrote them down. Looking at them today, they're actually not half bad. The part that thrills me, though, is how it wasn't just easy to write something - it was imperative. It's been several years since I really felt that way, that these ideas were inside me and wouldn't be still until I had put them on paper. I've been telling myself for years that it was just a dry spell, and the longer it went on the less I believed that.

I've stitched them together a bit, and though this is by no means a completed work, I'm so excited by this that I can't help but share with anyone who will listen (which includes you, captive virtual audience).


address

I am
Head and heart tied tail-to-tail
swimming circles in brackish water
Quickly lost to apprehension
missing the words to bring you closer
Siren in a desert land
and desperate for a sailor

(In this piece, I play both damsel
and dragon – stop me
if you’ve heard this one.)


I am
Heart and head tied tail-to-tail
fighting for direction,
sinking fast
Easy prey for a knowing smile
and hawk-bright eyes with sober intent
Holding on with both hands tight
to pleasures I know weren’t meant to last.

(I woke without an ounce of guilt,
only the weight of his hand on my breast.)

You may want to avert your eyes

Remember what I said a few months back about irregular line breaks? Yeah. This is your advance warning.

I went far too long without writng anything, and now the task of coming up with words worth saying seems incredibly daunting. So I set myself a project: metered poetry. A series of 13 rhondels, specifically, hoping that such a clearly defined structure would help me work through the troubling lack of inspiration. Anyhow, it's proving to be slow, agonizing work, and I'm trying to find ways to encourage and goad myself. So, here's the first of the set, and the only I've actually completed so far.

Shame

So why do you keep telling me
How small, how helpless I’ve become?
My plans and hopes, all come undone
With all the things I’d tried to be.
A graceless fall to bended knee
And so much more before I’m done.
So why do you keep telling me
How small, how hopeless I’ve become?

The precious past where I’d come from,
A loadstone weight for dragging me.
So trapped inside I didn’t see
My weapons lost, your battles won,
How small, how helpless I’ve become.

Sad, silly girl.

Funny how connotation can be everything, and how much it changes with context. Pretty sad just at the moment, yeah. And it turns out I’m really fucking silly. No surprise on either count, really.

This is what it looks like when my confidence has been shaken.

We finally talked about it, addressed it head on, and, yeah, all that stuff I was so afraid of was suddenly right there in front of me, playing out in my living room. “Maybe it would be… more reasonable… if we just hung out, and not…” And this time he didn’t even need to finish, the vaguery left more kindness than confusion. It is, as he said, entirely reasonable, prudent even, a wise course of action. And wisdom is apparently much more important now than it was a month ago. All I can think is I wish I felt the same.

I don’t want to be as shaken by this as I am. Some reaction is to be expected, a bit of regret, a nagging worry that I’ve just been rejected. But I’m crying, and I don’t like that. I’m angry, frustrated, and I’m not sure how proportionate the reaction is. Just hang out? We’ll see how well I do with that, but at the moment I look at his face and see something other than a friend, stand close to him and just want to be closer. Simple little things that were a joy change so quickly into a nuisance and an embarrassment. And I’m still crying.

This calls for whiskey, a hot bath, and then bed once I’ve crossed from maudlin to apathetic.

More about Ben

No one should be subjected to listening to me talking about this again, so here it is. Those readers who have been privy to my various rants on this topic are encouraged to stop reading.

Turns out I’ve still got a lot of venom left. I just keep realizing, with time and distance, how little I actually liked him. And how much I really disliked him. Hate might even be an appropriate word, as little as I want it to be. I was so afraid I’d be lonely without him, that I’d miss him when he was gone, and that’s just not how it is. I had never believed it was possible to stop loving a person, mostly because I had never done it, but even in the abstract, I just couldn’t see how it would work. I mean, does all that feeling just go away? I could understand it turning into something else after a certain amount of grief, like the years I spent hating my mother as only a daughter can, but real tenderness and affection are always still there, buried underneath all the anger and hurt, and with time and distance they usually come back to the surface. I didn’t think this was a thing that could be changed or chosen; I always assumed it just was.

And so I figured, given time and distance, my anger with Ben would fade, the hurt would get dealt with, and I’d remember the very real affection we used to share; I’d miss him. And maybe it just hasn’t been long enough to come to that, but if I’m honest with myself, I really don’t think that’s the way this is progressing. I don’t miss him. I don’t think of calling him or stopping in to say hello, and in fact the idea of doing either is entirely unpleasant. If I pause in a moment when I feel happy, safe, collected, and capable of sorting through the emotional quagmire of a failed relationship, mostly I feel nauseous. Some of it is definitely leftover anxiety, the sense of dread I had for so long with him, just waiting to see what horrible lie would be uncovered next. But there’s more, and I haven’t sorted through the stuff on top of it to be able to describe it very well yet, but it’s something to do specifically with him. His actions, his intentions, even his physical form. He’s… icky.

Maybe this emotional turnaround is possible because I didn’t really know who he was at all when I first started to care for him. He lied to me so often about so many things that when I remember the first year or so of our relationship, I’m remembering someone who I realize now doesn’t really exist. This conflicted, big-hearted, tender and considerate guy… Doesn’t exist. Even after almost three years I can’t say for sure how much of it is a conscious fabrication, and how much he really believes. I’m not certain whether or not his motives were ever actively malicious, though they were consistently self-serving and almost pathologically narcissistic. He lied about who he was, what he wanted, where he had come from, what he liked about me and what he wanted from his future. He lied about his friends and family. He lied about me when he talked to other people. To be honest, I don’t know what was the truth in most of these, just that he told different stories at different times, each conveniently making him look like the good guy at the time. God, I HATED that. I hate him.

I really do. It’s scary. Behind the anger, and the hurt, and the petty desire for some kind of revenge, I hate him. I don’t want him to be happy. I don’t want him to be.

I really don’t have enough distance yet to know what I’ll feel about this in years to come. But I seriously doubt I will ever find myself missing his company. And if I do, I’m pretty sure I won’t be remembering things as they actually were.

Some Conclusions (and, rather belatedly, a beginning)

So I’ve been doing some thinking about independence and freedom and relationships.

Shocking, I know.

Leaving Ben like I did, forcibly cutting him out of my life and feeling so much better for it, that was well and truly a first for me. I don’t let go easily. (Stop laughing. I’m allowed understatement.) Each time I walked away from Ryan, it wasn’t so much like pulling teeth as it was amputation without anesthesia. And letting Livvy go… well, that wasn’t so much my choice, and I don’t know if I could have made it if it had been. So where did the impulse come from to do something so completely foreign to me? Why is it so surprisingly easy and clear now that I’ve got just a little space? Oddly, I think it has to do with the time I spent with Ben.

I’ve always been terrified of just being myself. Eighteen months of therapy trying to figure out the whys, and as long as the list is at this point, I know I still don’t have it all sorted out. I’ve learned over the course of my life to let other people tell me who to be. Sadly, I’m still not even that good at it, but I just kept plugging away, always looking for someone new to validate and justify and reassure me that I’m something worthwhile and maybe even a little loveable. I did what I could to mold myself into what I thought they wanted me to be (which is a rather inexact art to say the least), and when the persona I created inevitably failed to satisfy, I got angry. Usually I could hold up appearances and keep pleasing until they were in deep enough I could convince myself they owed me something. You don’t love the me I created just for you? Well, then, you’re a hard-hearted bastard who wasn’t worth the time, and I hate you, and please tell me what I’m doing wrong so I can be better.

My god. This is a terribly unflattering picture I’m painting of myself. Honesty really isn’t kind.

So, I’ve gone on like this, picking people to get close to and molding myself to them as best I could. A shamefully large portion of my self image is based on what people have told me they liked about me, when I adopted those traits in the first place because I knew it would please that person. Fairly hollow, fragile little ego I’ve been building.

And here’s the thing: It didn’t work with Ben. I mean, sure, at first, it worked like a charm. I learned to talk like him, read his books, played his games, learned all about guitars and amps and pedals and a hundred other thing I hadn’t cared the least bit about before I met him. I gave up any semblance of control over my body or my sexuality in a way that continues to shame me every time I think about it. And it worked, but only for a little while. He lost interest in me remarkably quickly, but instead of pushing back or picking fights he just… Got distracted. It was like I was invisible. I’m the youngest in a family that fractured when I was fairly young, so I’m something of an expert at getting attention, even if it’s not always the kind I want. I learned more about his hobbies; he lost interest in them. I tried to get to know his friends; he stopped hanging out with them. I got desperate, resorted to the oldest and lowest attempt at grabbing a man’s attention: sex. It didn’t work. I picked fights; he stopped talking to me. I pouted and sulked; he stopped interacting at all. I tried every trick in my rather extensive repertoire, and not a one of them worked.

I was befuddled, felt helpless and worthless and alone in a way that I never had before. If he had rejected me outright I’d have had something to react to, some clue about how to better mold myself into what he wanted, but ignoring me like that turned out to be the most devastating thing a person could possibly have done to me. I spent the next year, give or take, locked in the worst depression I’d ever faced, and that’s saying something. I’m not sure exactly where I would have ended up if I hadn’t already been in therapy at the time, and I’m quite glad I didn’t have to find out.

But here’s the thing: I’m stubborn as all hell and loyal to the point of masochism, but I’m not stupid, and despite my rather stellar lack of a sense of self, I don't have a weak personality. Turns out, as willing as I am to shape myself to whoever’s around, I’m not at all willing to go without a self. Ben wouldn’t tell me who to be, didn’t seem to want me to be anyone, and somewhere in there I just started being myself out of spite. (Turns out he didn’t like that any better than the persona I created just for him.) And the funny thing? I really like the real me. Alot. Too much to let her go any time soon.

And you know how life just isn’t complete without irony, or some equally sadistic literary device? Yeah. There's this guy. And he’s intelligent, knowledgable, kind and just a little socially awkward, incredibly attractive, and he seems to think I’m the kind of girl he wants to get to know better. And, yeah, I can see already what he likes about me and what he’s not so thrilled about. And it is so tempting, would be so easy, and the sad fact is, I don’t really know how else to have a relationship.

Which is why this is Not. A. Relationship. And those of you who have been saying otherwise can just shut it.

This is just me and him spending time, while I get a better grip on who I am, hopefully giving him a chance to learn the same thing as I do. And we’ll just see how that goes.

Well and truly over.

I signed the last of the paperwork releasing the old apartment to Ben on Monday. With any luck, I won’t ever have to see him again.

I had no idea this would feel so good.

I’m reveling in this newfound sense of freedom. It occurs to me that not only is this the first time I’ve ever lived alone, it’s also my first time to live my life entirely on my own terms, without being responsible for or reporting to anyone else. Somehow ever since I first moved away from home there has been someone in my life to make demands or pass judgment on how I spent my time, and I never quite realized what a weight that was on me. It’s been a way of life, for as long as I can remember, to constantly look over my shoulder and double- and triple-check my motives and behaviors. The really sad thing is, I don’t think that ever made me a better person or even more responsible or productive. It just made me paranoid.

And now? The sense of freedom is almost overwhelming. There’s an almost palpable lightness, and I feel more sociable and more productive for it.

Unsurprisingly, my insomnia seems to be rising out of its seasonal hibernation. Falling asleep is taking longer each night and I’m waking up several times thought the night. Still, my dreams have been pleasant and I have enough energy to make it through the day, though my eyes are a bit puffy and people keep commenting that I look tired. Not as bad as it could be, all things considered.

The sun’s been out all week, and it’s still early enough in the year that that means it’s a pleasant temperature, though at this rate I’ll be miserable before May is out. I’m thinking of driving up to the lake this weekend to bask in it, maybe even with company. (Incredible to think that just a year ago I was frustrated and stifled and lonely, desperate to find anyone who would enjoy the same things I do. Crazy how quickly life can change.)

Okay, enough fractured thoughts. I have no transitions or even a conclusion. Done now.

Sigh

Sad, silly girl.

This is too much even for my current level of anonymity. Call for details.

Regression

I’m waiting by my phone. Actually waiting by the fucking phone. Something is very wrong here.

Also dwelling on minutiae, going repeatedly over a single set of memories, and oscillating rapidly between helpless grins and a general listlessness. I’m a sad, silly girl, and apparently I don’t care enough to do much about it right now. Occasionally the thought occurs that the phone might ring, and that might somehow make it all magically better. *sigh*

Boys are stupid.

I’m stupider.

Somebody kick me.

In an effort to post more often:

I’m in my new place, and so far I’m loving it. My fears about not sleeping well with no one else around were apparently unfounded. I’ve fallen asleep quicker, slept deeper, and all around enjoyed myself more than I have in several years.

I never really realized how uncomfortable I had become around Ben until I was away from him for a while. I went by the old place to get one last load of things yesterday evening after my yoga class. He should have been at work, but had a last-minute shift change, so was home, and was actually on the back porch smoking when I pulled up, so I couldn’t just drive away, because he saw me as soon as I saw him… It was awful. No screaming or fighting, or anything overt, just terrible, weighty awkwardness. It was the first time I’d seen him since last Friday, and the difference was palpable. We only made eye contact a couple times (mostly because I only looked in his general direction a couple times) and kept a minimum of about five feet between us the whole time. It was especially strange since throughout the last couple months, when we were growing really distant, and even after I told him I’d be moving out, we still touched occasionally. The intense intimacy dried up a long time ago, but we stilled hugged occasionally, didn’t hesitate to bump into eachother in the kitchen, anything like that. So it felt weird to be so distant, but I really didn’t want to be any closer, and somewhere in there I realized that I really, really don’t like being around him anymore.

Afterward I dropped by Bridgett’s apartment and finished that bottle of wine while watching Lost, and it cheered me up considerably. I’m in a position that I can be finicky about the company I keep without turning into a total hermit, and that’s nice. I hung out with one of the undergrads from work earlier this week, and it was incredibly refreshing to have so much intelligent, interesting conversation. He’s knowledgeable on a wide variety of subjects, and has a very subdued, calming demeanor, and I enjoyed his company immensely. It continues to amaze me, this steady growth of my social circle and the quality of the people involved. So, so reassuring and enjoyable.

I fall asleep smiling more often than not. I’m so lucky.

Dream a little dream...

My subconscious is mean.

Really. And it’s starting to get very, very upsetting. I keep having these really terrible, violent dreams. They’re not horror/slasher flick material or anything, but it’s always someone I care about, or am at least close to, and always me trying to hurt them, verbally at first, and that never seems to work, and eventually I start to hit them, desperate to make them see how angry I am. And in the dreams, it never seems to work. The things I’m doing are horrible and violent, and the other person is always so placid about taking the abuse, and that only makes dreaming me angrier and awake me more disturbed.

This is so hard to talk about in the abstract. The worst of them were about a friend who betrayed me last spring whose name is far too unique for me to risk posting iy here. Let’s call her Sue. I haven’t had a Sue dream since sometime this fall, and I’m quite glad. They were gut-wrenching, every last one, and I’d wake up shaking and disoriented with my heart pounding, simultaneously horrified and angrier than I can remember having been at any other time in my life. For months she’d show up in the middle of whatever else I was dreaming about, and she would immediately take precedence over anything else. I’d start by calmly confronting her about the things she had done, and she’s defend herself half-heartedly, utterly convinced she was in the right and scoffing at me for believing otherwise. This would make me angry, and I’d start to yell, or lecture, or sometimes even cry. Often Ben was there in the background, and I’d appeal to him for help, but everyone, Sue included, would just stare at me and tell me how irrational and unfair I was being. And inevitably the dreams all progressed to violence. I’d slap her, punch her, nock her to the ground and kick her or pull her by her hair and beat her head against the wall. And nothing ever happened. I’d wake up in the middle of it, my body still hopped up on adrenaline and all the various chemical components of anger, but immediately I felt sick, disgusted that I could be so violent, and the anger and shame would get wound up in eachother and follow me around throughout the day. This went on for months.

Since the Sue dreams have tapered off, I’ve started to have similar dreams where other people evoke my anger, take my wrath. I should say now that it’s really very rare for me to dream about anyone I really know, an that when I do people bleed into eachother, having the face of one person, the mannerisms of another, and yet I recognize them as someone else entirely. This makes the violence even more disturbing. Last night, for example:

The details are already blurring away, but I remember Ben, and a strange house I wasn’t comfortable in, and looking to him for some kind of assurance, and also being irritated with him for something I don’t remember anymore. And then I was angry at him, and I don’t remember why, but I feel like it wasn’t anything to do with the dream, just real-life Ben stuff that shows up every time I see his face. And I do, specifically, remember seeing his face; he arched an eyebrow at me, in that condescending thing he does that he thinks is somehow winsome. Anyhow, at some point I snapped, started yelling, and when he didn’t get the point I reached up as high as I could, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pulled his head down so I could slap his face repeatedly. As usual, the hits never seemed to fall hard enough to get a response, and he continued to look calm even as I slapped him.

It wasn’t until after I was awake that it occurred to me that I reached up as far as I could, and could only grab his collar. Ben is only 5’10. I can reach his face if I stretch a bit. And when I started thinking about it, I realized it wasn’t Ben’s face I was hitting at all, hadn’t been him that was with me for a while. This is where it gets most upsetting for me, but some exposition is needed to explain it.

So, I work with a bunch of attractive, intelligent, charming guys. I’ve mentioned this, and I make no secret of how much I enjoy it. The students have all gradually become more comfortable and familiar with me, and now many of them drop in just to say hi, talk openly and comfortably, and some even flirt just a bit, that easy, meaningless flirting that happens in situations that you know nothing will come of it. There’s one of them, though, who does none of these things. Let’s call him Joe. I was intensely attracted to him when I first saw him, and unfortunately the attraction has continued to grow. I’m not comfortable with it. I don’t know this guy, not as a person, and this overwhelming attraction is based on nothing more meaningful than the fact that he’s startlingly handsome. And Joe, of course, is the one student who hasn’t warmed up to me in the least and is still distant and rather aloof. Nothing about this situation pleases me.

Add to this the fact that Joe is at least 6'3, and you’ve probably guessed who Ben turned into in this dream before I got so very mad at him. This is an unflattering commentary on my unconscious desires to say the least. I find myself drawn to someone despite my better judgment, only to realize months later that this is the one person out of the dozens I’ve met who remains distant and, in fact, would most likely not notice me if my head were on fire. Apparently I’m a glutton for punishment, even unconsciously. Stupid emotions. Stupid guys, with their height and broad shoulders and emotional inaccessibility. Stupid dreams, making me think about it even when I’m asleep.

Moving (again)

I got a new apartment!! *dances*

It’s smallish, and perhaps more “cramped” than “cozy,” but I like it a lot. It’s definitely a step down from my current place in terms of space, amenities, and general aesthetics, but it has one very important feature: I’m the only one who lives there. That would make up for a world of other woes.


I move in on the 3rd, and have four people with two trucks between them who have offered to help. I really have lucked out in the friends department. I’m so excited about having my own place again, and can’t wait to have dinner parties. There is the slight hangup that it’s too small for me to put in a dining table, which means we’ll all pretty much be sitting on the living room floor with plates in out laps, but I don’t think anyone will mind too much. I’m planning on making a big mess of spaghetti for my friends who help me move, so I’ll actually host my first gathering my very first night there. I’m thrilled beyond words. Can’t wait to start doing this every week or so, inviting over a few people, making a big meal, asking a couple people to bring a bottle of wine, and just spend the evening talking about whatever comes up. I’ve spent far too many years being far too antisocial; it’s time for me to start interacting again, and the best way to get over my fear of that is to do it on my own terms, in a way that lets me feel like I have a measure of control in the situation. My house, my guest list, my cooking, all things that will contribute significantly to a sense of security. Hopefully I’ll be able to create an environment there that somehow shares that sense of stability and comfort with everyone I invite over.

I can’t wait.

Life as Normal

And what does that mean, anyway? For now I suppose it means work – and since I went without posting for over three months, I suppose I should bring you all up to speed. I’m still at the university, but now I’m working as the graduate secretary in the physics department. It’s absolutely wonderful, and I love the people I work with: the other secretaries, the faculty, and most especially the students. The work itself is general secretary fare, making copies, answering phones, compiling inane, meaningless reports, etc, etc… (The King and I, anyone?) But boring as those things may be, I’m honestly helping people more often than not, and that makes the tedium more bearable. The people I work with are just plain above average intelligence, absolutely without exception. Every last one of them. It’s wonderfully refreshing, and there’s a very high geekiness factor, so people even laugh at my jokes more often than not. I can’t remember the last time that happened. And the fact that a good number of the grad students happen to be remarkably intelligent, attractive, and charming young men my age? Icing on the cake. Departmental policy stipulates that I not date them, but makes no mention of persistent flirting. It makes even the longest days pass quickly and pleasantly.

As for home life, Ben and I continue to tacitly ignore each other 90% of the time. I wish I had known years ago how much easier it is to simply ignore him in return, rather than scrabbling for morsels of his affection. I’m happier and have more time to pursue my own interests without his commentary. And his occasional guilt trips, remarkably, aren’t working. More than anything it irritates me, his pettiness and double standards. I’m very much looking forward to having my own space, making my own decisions without anyone second-guessing me.

My social horizons just keep broadening, and it amazes me every time I stop and realize how many friends I have, and what an exceptional quality of people they are. I’m very fortunate, much more so that I deserve, and I hope I can re-learn how to be the kind of friend I used to be, loyal, considerate, and generous, without falling back into some of the bad habits that came with that. My friends deserve my best, and could probably do without the neediness I’m so loathe to go back to. So, for now: Try to remember when I get home at night that I have options beyond just picking up a book, and that my friends would like to hear from me; balance listening and talking, and make more of an effort to remember what’s going on in other people’s lives; don’t assume that I’m imposing any time I call or visit. It doesn’t come naturally yet.

I’m learning, and personally, I think I’m doing a pretty good job. Thank god they’re all so patient.

The middle of the end?

Ben and I are breaking up.

(All of you out there who have been quietly biting your tongues for the past couple years can clap and cheer now. You haven't been nearly as subtle as you'd like to think, but bless you for not rubbing my nose in my bad [or even somewhat dubious] choices.)

Wow, that seems much more dramatic (and possibly traumatic) written out like that, and I don't think that even begins to sum it up. Somewhat more accurate to say that I've decided to leave him, and the choice seems so natural and obvious that neither of us can find any reason to fight it. This affair (and in retrospect, isn't that a good word for it?) has been over and done with for months now. It's only survived this long because we're both so terribly codependent and unwilling to take big risks.

Truth be told, I'm really very relieved about this. It's scary, sure, and this means very soon I'll be living by myself for the first time ever, but I think it's about damn time. The goal is to be in a new place be February, though that's not going as smoothly as I had hoped. Yes, this means that I'm moving again, for the ninth time in less than six years if anyone is keeping count. I dread the mechanics of it, packing and unpacking boxes, arranging furniture, begging help out of overly generous friends who really would rather be doing just about anything else, but I’m really looking forward to having my own place. Game nights and dinner parties without any advance warning, no one’s dirty dishes in the sink but my own, thermostat set to whatever suits me (and my budget), a welcoming, inviting place to invite friends or even *gasp* a romantic interest. (Not that I have any such thing specifically planned, but the idea is nice in the abstract.) It will be rather barren at first, but I look forward to creating my own space, without having to accommodate or justify or beg.

The emotional ramifications? I’m scared half to death. Relieved that there haven’t been terribly many fights or ugly confrontations between Ben and myself. Incredibly proud of myself that I actually had the nerve to do this. Worried that I’m being unfair to Ben, that I’ll miss him and that as flawed as what we had together was, it really was the best I’ll ever get. (And isn’t that just the gooey candy center of this all? That I’m still afraid I don’t deserve any better.)

More to come, and hopefully with less than 3 months in the interim. I was so afraid to write as I panned all of this, as if putting it on paper would steal my nerve, or commit me to something before I had time to make up my mind. No matter; who’s reading this thing anyway? The anonymous expanses of the ‘net are sure to forgive.