Jan. 21, 2011
I should have seen it coming. I did see it coming. It was a great big, “turn back” sign, a huge warning to “Beware”. But like the fool and his folly I skipped happily onward, lured by the promise of the magical red shoes, the hope for something I’ve never seen on earth and keep dreaming of. At my age I should know better. When a man says all the right things and pushes your resistance, its only continued resistance he ever really wants, not surrender. When he changes his tune and starts doing things “for” you, instead of WITH you, it’s the beginning of the end. Silly me, I thought it was just a different love language. I’ve been sheltered. But I should have known. I have seen it plenty of times. So instead of quality time, we get excuses and projects and errands, and gifts of service instead of what we are really hungry for: A hand to hold, a heart to hear, a laugh to share and eyes to look back at us.
Relationships are difficult under the best of circumstances, but for some of us they seem impossible. I am to forgiving. To quick to give the other person the benefit of the doubt, and to try to trust that they still care while they are busy back peddling. I am to kind, to concerned and too iconic. I don’t mean to sound vain, or self important, but it’s true. I am very pretty to look at, and men fantasize about who I am and what I am like, but its flat, and two dimensional, and prevents them from ever seeing ME at all.
They scrutinize and pursue me. I try to warn them that I am high maintenance; a Real, flesh and blood woman full of intense emotion and passion, and loneliness and my own life and goals and dreams, but they stare at my lips, or breasts or thighs and don’t really listen to my words. All they see is the one side, and it fuels their desire. I am creative, spontaneous, independent, beautiful, affectionate caring and compassionate. They work and work to convince me of their sincerity, until at last I let go and surrender, and try to get to know them, and let them see me in return. And then the fantasy is dissolved.
All of a sudden it is all too obvious that I am like almost any other woman, with the full range of moods and needs including the negative ones: moody, clingy, sarcastic, insecure, unreasonable, and jealous, with PMS and a bit more baggage then most. Baggage is a byproduct of being too pretty, too young in a soulless society of superficial values, and youth worshiping pedophiles. Most overtly pretty women have this problem, ignored and mistrusted by men and women alike we float on the edge of uncertainty, longing for deeper connection and being increasingly unable to trust ourselves and those who attempt to reach out to us. Sooner or later we are abandoned and deserted most of the times we try for it. It only adds to the negative baggage we carry. How do we change it except to settle for less then we deserve or give up on romance altogether? Even then there is no guarantee. I am twice divorced with very little dating experience, and none of it positive. So I am lonely, and unwilling to date again.
A roommate once asked me why all the really gorgeous women he dated always seemed to be so messed up. This is why. We either become cynical, un-trusting bitches, or we try to keep trusting and believing in people and get screwed over again and again, until we are nothing but a huge, hopeless, helpless bundle of defense mechanisms. It’s YOUR fault. Which do you prefer? The bitch or the waif? The baggage or the ice queen? Chances are you’re going to get a combination of both. I dare you to rise to it, to fight your own dragons and not hide your head in the sand when you meet ours. To be patient and constant and sincere all the way to the bone. The reward will more then be worth the gamble, but you have to mean it, all the way, no turning back, not just WANT to mean it, then flip channels.
I have a lot of consolation prizes, from my relationship disasters. You know, when they were doing things FOR me, and avoiding being present WITH me. Like pretty clothes and new shoes, like rebuilt computers, an education and a new career or two. There were a few material things that have come and gone. But the price I paid in trust, faith, and self esteem isn’t really worth it. I have lost some of my best and most valued friendships, and the ability to trust even those closest to me. I feel isolated and trapped in a superficial level of relating that seems without end or purpose. Life as a dried up, bitter old cynic seems rather pointless.
I am blessed to have made unexpected friends with Ex’s and their new lovers, But I am more cynical then ever and feel that IF this is the type of relationships I am doomed to have, why not make the best of it? Why not enjoy it knowing what it is from the very start? Why not seek out sugar-daddies who can give me material comforts for longer lasting consolation prizes? Maybe diamonds are a girls best friend. A trust fund is nothing to sneeze at, and having an attentive companion while touring the world is not a bad way to see it, even if they never see the real me. Maybe lots of lovers are the very spice of life. Sure to some it may sound kind of slutty, but honestly, I challenge you to walk five years in my shoes. At least with an arrangement like that, things would be very clear cut, and well defined from the beginning, and less hard feelings when all is said and done. So long, Next!
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Losing at Love
I don’t know what it is. Maybe I am a doormat. I am certainly pretty, strong, generous, kind, capable, a great cook, sassy, passionate, funny, smart, loving, kind, and tolerant of all kinds of people very different than myself. Sure, I am also, fickle, pissy, picky, cynical, sometimes bitter, whiny and too willing to trust people at their word. I give my heart away at the drop a hat (not my body, but certainly my heart). I am compassionate, and I secretly love people with strong personalities right or wrong. They’re like brightly lit archetypes. And I am a moth.
I have been trying to figure out what that is about, always losing at love. There is one man who rocks my socks and my world so totally, so completely, that I am a shapeless ball of uninteresting wax whenever I am near him. Neither one of my husband’s ever did this, although one came pretty close. I have loved and adored this particular man my entire adult life. I reconnected with him this past year and he made overtures of love at me that sent me reeling through time and space, and molecules. Since we are both grown-ups now, and have known each other forever, I chose to really believe him. Not just because the butterflies in my stomach and the rose garden told me too. Big mistake. Sort of…
I’ve spent two decades avoiding contact with him, and loving a memory because he is a confirmed bachelor. -Even before his own bad marriage. It’s crazy. I am crazy. I lose my balance so easily when he puts his hand in the small of my back, breathes on my neck, or even just smiles with his eyes and says something as simple as “hello”. If he makes contact with my skin I turn to liquid mercury, and melt into the carpet fibers to get lost amongst the pet dander. It can take me days to clear my head. What a boring conversationalist. I am no challenge at all. No wonder he loses interest. I probably would too.
I don’t NEED him. In fact a relationship with him would likely be the first ADULT one I’ve ever had. Believe me I have tried to resist his charm, and gorgeous smile. His playful banter while he spent 6 weeks trying to convince me how very compatible we are and right for each other. The light in his eyes and the way he reached for me when I talked about the space time continuum. I did resist. Really. I even tried to argue but didn’t have anything solid to stand on to prove my point. I could play hard to get, but I detest games, and I’ve wanted him a long, long time. Seeing him show some interest drove that home hard. Life is messy. This whole thing is so very bittersweet.
I have married men as different from this one as I could find, that still attracted me, and it’s made a huge mess of my life. Yes, I got a beautiful and amazing daughter, the first time I ran from his rejection. Yes, I learned body art and got to explore some fringe communities even more intriguing and extreme, the next time, when he moved back, and I avoided him. But I’ve never felt so totally adored, and seen, and valued as the four months my dream lover called, and wrote and pursued me, while allowing me to be the silly, clutzy, clingy, waif I sometimes am, welcoming me into his home, his arms, his time.
There is no need to give him a name. If I haven’t completely bored everyone to tears, and lost all my readers, then everyone who knows me already knows of whom I speak. Including this glorious creature himself. So go ahead, roll your eyes and shake your head and put it down to another rant of the ever dramatic Tamia. But find the strength to bear with me while I figure this out. This is lifting the veil of my psyche and the mask I usually wear. Jeepers! We human beings really are just a bundle of reactions and defense mechanisms sometimes. Even when we think we’re all enlightened and spiritual and educated.
All the self examination has made me realize how much the heartache of never fully capturing this man’s attention and affections has shaped the rest of my life, and relationships, and influenced my choices. When he actually exited my life I turned the empty longing I felt towards the next nearest friend with a flair for style. I admit it, I went a little redneck, but who wants a cheap duplicate of some original you can’t have? The constant reminder would be torture to a passion filled creature such as me. I convinced myself that this other person was the one that broke my heart, and instead tried to duplicate him in my later relationships. I am not that crazy or obsessed! I didn’t KNOW I was doing all this!
What is this crazy, crazy defense mechanism? Why are so many people jealous of me when I can’t seem to get what I really want? I only ever wanted to have a deep intimacy where my lover truly is my very best friend, and someone it is SAFE to trust completely; to explore the depths of trust and intimacy and realism in romance. But it seems that while they are still writing songs of love, they are not for me… So, I will settle for great looks, fame and fortune, and have a life that some will envy. But I love home! I love a home filled with the ones I love, and trust and can really be myself with. I love cooking tasty meals for them. I love all the mushy, soft, warm, romantic, snuggling that ensues with a lover you trust completely.
And the intimacy of folding the laundry while stirring the soup and stealing kisses. Sunday comics cozy in bed, with coffee cups and wet towels abandoned on the floor. Happy, lazy pets, ignoring the phone… If steamy sex gets added to THIS mix it’s just icing. I can’t even imagine the bliss. I have never seen it. What would this feel like? I would never get anything done. But who cares? Life in the arms of heaven needs no qualifiers.
I’ve made some really stupid choices, not fully knowing what I was doing in my youth. I guess we all have. Now, cleaning up the debris from days gone by, I feel like I have feet of clay, and a heart of stone. I want to be loved like that, who doesn’t? – Clearly some people don’t want to put into it what they want out of it. We’re all here for different reasons, and relationships are often difficult at best. Certainly they are not really for everyone. I am ready to have a grown up relationship or none at all. But I do not even know how to begin, and it certainly takes two on the same page.
So I have all my love to give and share and grow, and my lifelong crush still won’t have me and distance makes it forever unlikely, and honestly, no one else will do. I know that now. What’s left of my trust is little more than skin deep anyhow, and that doesn’t grow back so easily. So I am done seeking substitutes; two marriages gone badly showed me what a mistake that was. So I will sit this one out. Welcome to the bench. Damn. Now I feel like Jane Austin. How wall flowery is that?
I have been trying to figure out what that is about, always losing at love. There is one man who rocks my socks and my world so totally, so completely, that I am a shapeless ball of uninteresting wax whenever I am near him. Neither one of my husband’s ever did this, although one came pretty close. I have loved and adored this particular man my entire adult life. I reconnected with him this past year and he made overtures of love at me that sent me reeling through time and space, and molecules. Since we are both grown-ups now, and have known each other forever, I chose to really believe him. Not just because the butterflies in my stomach and the rose garden told me too. Big mistake. Sort of…
I’ve spent two decades avoiding contact with him, and loving a memory because he is a confirmed bachelor. -Even before his own bad marriage. It’s crazy. I am crazy. I lose my balance so easily when he puts his hand in the small of my back, breathes on my neck, or even just smiles with his eyes and says something as simple as “hello”. If he makes contact with my skin I turn to liquid mercury, and melt into the carpet fibers to get lost amongst the pet dander. It can take me days to clear my head. What a boring conversationalist. I am no challenge at all. No wonder he loses interest. I probably would too.
I don’t NEED him. In fact a relationship with him would likely be the first ADULT one I’ve ever had. Believe me I have tried to resist his charm, and gorgeous smile. His playful banter while he spent 6 weeks trying to convince me how very compatible we are and right for each other. The light in his eyes and the way he reached for me when I talked about the space time continuum. I did resist. Really. I even tried to argue but didn’t have anything solid to stand on to prove my point. I could play hard to get, but I detest games, and I’ve wanted him a long, long time. Seeing him show some interest drove that home hard. Life is messy. This whole thing is so very bittersweet.
I have married men as different from this one as I could find, that still attracted me, and it’s made a huge mess of my life. Yes, I got a beautiful and amazing daughter, the first time I ran from his rejection. Yes, I learned body art and got to explore some fringe communities even more intriguing and extreme, the next time, when he moved back, and I avoided him. But I’ve never felt so totally adored, and seen, and valued as the four months my dream lover called, and wrote and pursued me, while allowing me to be the silly, clutzy, clingy, waif I sometimes am, welcoming me into his home, his arms, his time.
There is no need to give him a name. If I haven’t completely bored everyone to tears, and lost all my readers, then everyone who knows me already knows of whom I speak. Including this glorious creature himself. So go ahead, roll your eyes and shake your head and put it down to another rant of the ever dramatic Tamia. But find the strength to bear with me while I figure this out. This is lifting the veil of my psyche and the mask I usually wear. Jeepers! We human beings really are just a bundle of reactions and defense mechanisms sometimes. Even when we think we’re all enlightened and spiritual and educated.
All the self examination has made me realize how much the heartache of never fully capturing this man’s attention and affections has shaped the rest of my life, and relationships, and influenced my choices. When he actually exited my life I turned the empty longing I felt towards the next nearest friend with a flair for style. I admit it, I went a little redneck, but who wants a cheap duplicate of some original you can’t have? The constant reminder would be torture to a passion filled creature such as me. I convinced myself that this other person was the one that broke my heart, and instead tried to duplicate him in my later relationships. I am not that crazy or obsessed! I didn’t KNOW I was doing all this!
What is this crazy, crazy defense mechanism? Why are so many people jealous of me when I can’t seem to get what I really want? I only ever wanted to have a deep intimacy where my lover truly is my very best friend, and someone it is SAFE to trust completely; to explore the depths of trust and intimacy and realism in romance. But it seems that while they are still writing songs of love, they are not for me… So, I will settle for great looks, fame and fortune, and have a life that some will envy. But I love home! I love a home filled with the ones I love, and trust and can really be myself with. I love cooking tasty meals for them. I love all the mushy, soft, warm, romantic, snuggling that ensues with a lover you trust completely.
And the intimacy of folding the laundry while stirring the soup and stealing kisses. Sunday comics cozy in bed, with coffee cups and wet towels abandoned on the floor. Happy, lazy pets, ignoring the phone… If steamy sex gets added to THIS mix it’s just icing. I can’t even imagine the bliss. I have never seen it. What would this feel like? I would never get anything done. But who cares? Life in the arms of heaven needs no qualifiers.
I’ve made some really stupid choices, not fully knowing what I was doing in my youth. I guess we all have. Now, cleaning up the debris from days gone by, I feel like I have feet of clay, and a heart of stone. I want to be loved like that, who doesn’t? – Clearly some people don’t want to put into it what they want out of it. We’re all here for different reasons, and relationships are often difficult at best. Certainly they are not really for everyone. I am ready to have a grown up relationship or none at all. But I do not even know how to begin, and it certainly takes two on the same page.
So I have all my love to give and share and grow, and my lifelong crush still won’t have me and distance makes it forever unlikely, and honestly, no one else will do. I know that now. What’s left of my trust is little more than skin deep anyhow, and that doesn’t grow back so easily. So I am done seeking substitutes; two marriages gone badly showed me what a mistake that was. So I will sit this one out. Welcome to the bench. Damn. Now I feel like Jane Austin. How wall flowery is that?
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