Monday, August 10, 2009

Backstabber, backstabber, backstabber...

I'm not actually listening to the Dresden Dolls right now. But, somehow, that song is stuck in my head, and has been since yesterday. Maybe a sign?

I'm frustrated. I feel stoppered up, words just bottled inside me and I wish I had someone in my life that I could talk to without having to constantly explain myself or my though processes. I usually don't mind explaining things to my friends, my odd twists of logic, my survival/strength-based worldview. It allows me to clarify things for myself, communicating that to other people, and get feedback, input, general critique that I can toss around in my head for days.

But, as I've mentioned, I've been talked at. And talked at some more. And when I finally was able to talk a little, with C on the way up to the club on Saturday, I felt like I was only addressing surface issues.

I don't feel lonely, just, as per the usual, alone.

I do have great friends, wonderful, loyal friends that I love spending time with. But it doesn't take too long for me to wear out, for me to need so desperately to get away and get back to myself, be alone so I can relax. So I can be a little more me.

It's why I love driving so much. Racing along the freeways by myself, 90 miles an hour, listening to whatever suits my mood, thinking, enjoying the extension of myself in car form, knowing that I shouldn't take corners so hard, shouldn't whip myself around on onramps, but I do it anyhow and eat through my tires much too fast.

That was one of the things that attracted GV8 to me when we met. He followed me back to the place I was crashing at, and as soon as we parked, got out, "I love the way you drive... so confident."

And I am.

A few months ago, someone slammed into my driver's side going much too fast for the intersection we were in. I saw him coming, saw that his car would physically impact my body, adjusted quickly so that he would hit the backseat door instead of mine, and then controlled the spinout to avoid the traffic around me, finding a curb to slam into to stop my car.

No panic, no screaming, no pants-wetting.

You see the situation and you handle it.

$5100 later, my driver's side backseat door was no longer concave.

If I had freaked, if I had allowed myself any panic, things would have gone much more poorly.

I still remember feeling the spin, seeing the cars to my right, knowing that the man who hit me would drive me into them if I did not do something, gas the car, go into the 180, check over my right shoulder, hair flying, see the curb, bring the car around, nail it, not even bothering to think about what would happen if the speed of my car would tip me over and onto my passenger side. Just a knowledge that that curb had to stop me, and if it didn't, if I tipped, I'd handle it.

While scary, I was thrilled. Thrilled to know that my instincts, my ability to keep calm in emergencies, and my father's constantly drilling on driving manuevers when I was younger... it worked. It came together.

Mario Kart probably helped some. Just sayin'.

Anyhow, away from driving, back towards original goal.

Well, there's not a goal set. But back towards topic declared.

I'm lacking in people like me. There's the one girl, my friend, and I do need to visit her. And there's one or two people I've seen in the blogosphere where I blinked and said to myself, "Yeah, they got it."

It makes me remember that dream I had a few months back. I was hanging out with friends in someone's apartment, and Hardwood Floors walked in with some chick, some beautiful girl with my coloring, but different body, and so young and naive.

I was hurt but I didn't show it. I congratulated him on finding a girlfriend, he hugged me, and I went back to talking to people.

But then someone started fighting and I left.

I went down the stairs of their apartment, to the ground floor, and started walking. Directionless, whatever caught my eye, until I saw some yellow flowers on a large bush peeking out from behind someone's house. I walked up their driveway and found a wide dirt path, which I followed. The dirt path continued up a slight hill, and suddenly I was in the country, a few old southern-style houses around me, and so much plantlife. I walked under something resembling a willow, its lean branches hanging down in front of me, filtering the sunlight.

I felt so at peace.

And then I looked around.

There were people. There were these wonderful, bestial people. Men and women lounging about, all of them sorts of predators, people who engineer, people who hunt, who are wild and damaged. But the area we were in was a sort of peace zone, where none of them had to perform, had to attack, had to be doing anything other than rest, recharge, and stop hunting for whatever they sought.

I feel like I've started writing some hippie blog entry. Bah.

As I stood there, watching and at ease, Hardwood Floors came up the path behind me. Told me that he ditched the girl, that she would never understand him like I did, that he'd constantly have to hide his nature from her, that he'd never feel happy and complete, never feel accepted, never let down his guard in case he frightened her.

I believe I told him, "I know."

Heavy petting ensued.

And I woke up.

It's hard to... be with other people sometimes. It becomes this mismash of who you are, who people see you as, and who you want to be seen as. I try so hard to give people a more complete picture of me, but I keep getting pigeon-holed, I keep feeling as though only one side of me is there and that, as more and more people in life deny the other, maybe the other doesn't exist.

Maybe it's just in my head.

People who know me... I'm always this strong, confident, mildly confused woman, sexually confident to an extreme, comfortable in my skin, intelligent, and gentle. Introspective, introverted at times. Cautious until comfortable, it has been said.

But they weren't there when I played with Jake. They weren't there when I flaunted my other lover in front of him, when I played on his weak points and drove him into a frenzy of self-loathing and tears, until he was repeatedly slamming his skull into the hood of his car because he was not worthy of me, because I made him feel worthless with my words and actions. Because I could. Because I wanted to.

Even after that, he begged to be allowed to stay the night, just to cuddle with me, just to be with me.

Even after that, he proposed.

I was 17.

I got so high off of that night, off of hurting him, off of getting him to hurt himself.

I was an angry, disconnected child.

Now I'm a disconnected adult. I think that, maybe, I compensate now for all the damage I did to others in the past, by being so nice all the time. Atonement for an atheist, how amusing.

It's still there, though. That need to hurt, that need to self-destruct. It's no where near as strong as it used to be, not even close. But it's there.

I try to tell people this. Not the stories. But when someone tells me how wonderful and nice I am, when I overhear someone telling another how great I am, how low-drama and non-crazy I am... I have to stop. I have to wonder what they're missing. I have to wonder what makes it so when I see Wolfboy and he sees me, we recognize each other. That first night I met him, coming up on eight years, I knew him to his core. He still can't get away with lying to me and he hates that fact.

I'm going to try to get used to this. The alone. Not having a person I can sit down with and talk, compare notes, relax. Someone I don't have to pretend for.

The first step to all this is becoming alone.

A week ago, I started wearing what looks like a simple wedding ring. It was a gift from my parents, a small sapphire surrounded by smaller diamonds. Very minimal, just my style, should I have wanted a ring with jewels in it. I'm more a plain band kinda girl, but... eh.

But I've been wearing it. The nice guys who would never mess with a married or engaged woman keep their distance. The assholes who would... they're easy enough to deal with. The concern here is not the assholes, the ones who do not respect other's bonds, but the men who actually would. Someone with my retardly moral code, someone worth dating.

I'm distancing myself. Even thinking about stopping things with Ev. I am going to go see The Bassist's band play this week, and we're going to curl up and watch a movie on Sunday, but I've already resolved myself to a lack of interest.

September 5th. A year of singledom.

Once I am truly good being alone, able to control and discuss with myself my own internal drama, confident in myself, knowing that I need no one to make me happy, to validate me, then I'll know that I'm ready for a relationship.

Until then, this ring stays on and I continue to do what I am so good at: keep my heart out of the game.

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