Pride/Humilty

Pride

Stiff rigidity and tempered steel.

To bend this habit is like breaking bone.

But in the days following my stark refusal to release my pride…

It’s sharp regret.

I find myself unable to say what I think is expected.

It’s like dirt in the throat. Sand in the mouth. Broken glass along the tongue.

Wishing I had learned differently.

Grown up in a house of strong affection and open emotions.

But such is not my world. I wish it were.

It’s entirely a weakness, pride is. I know this. I know this with every fiber of my being.

And yet I still cannot break the habit.

The masks, the boxes, the robotic responses.

Co-dependency crippled me all those years ago. I carry a scar so long, so deep that I can feel the rippling skin tightening with thought. So calloused yet so paper thin.

Don’t show weakness. Don’t show need. Don’t show want.

Don’t break character. For the love of god, do not cry.
Do not ask for help. Do not show desire. Do not be vulnerable.

Just let him go. Just like you let them all go.

Pride is a prickly bedmate. A cold companion.

But I know no other better.

---

Humility…

That fear bubbles up and locks my tongue so neatly when I think to be otherwise. And the moments happen more and more. I think of every bright shinning piece of the past years.

When he’d go out of his way to check on me when I had been my quiet, reclusive self.

When he knew what joke to make to get me to smile.

The way the heat rushed through me so easily when he brushed his fingers over me.

The natural way my head tilted against him when I sit close.

The way he knows to stroke my hair when I’m feeling nervous.

The way he gets just the right level of teasing and sarcasm to make me smile.

The way he kisses the top of my head as an afterthought of affection.

The way he knows I carry all my tension in my neck and shoulders.

The way he recognizes the look of self-loathing in my eyes and knows the right words to make me actually feel solidly beautiful..

I miss that syrupy thick feeling while lying on the cool sheets and allowing his fingers to dance over me.

But that fear, that victim mindset leaps to attention.
It hisses-snarls-screams at me…

“Remember what happened last time.”

The one time I tried handing my heart over. I tried full, unconditional trust.

Unconditional trust is overrated.

Unconditional trust is what turned me into the victim.

Conditions are safe.

Source

Feeling Worthy

It’s a soft yet constant stroke of his fingers on the thin, delicate skin of her inner wrist.  The way he outlines the shape of her tattoo.

On the cinema movie screen, Simon Pegg’s wrist’s are exposed.  Covered in bandages practically to the elbow, a hospital tag firmly attached.  She winces, flashing back to those two awful weeks in late summer years ago.

Before she can curl into herself, his head is tilting against hers and his hand is moving up to play with her hair.  Carefully. He doesn’t say a word.  He knows better than to ask.

When they are out in the parking lot, he does finally speak.

“This work schedule is hard. I’m glad you came tonight. I miss seeing you.”

He’s parked his car right next to her’s and they stand between them, her leaning against him.  She’s quiet before she says softly.

“I almost didn’t. I love spending time with you, you know I do. But…after the other day, I’m worried about being able to include you in my general social life.”

“You mean Horrorama.” He murmurs.  She nods against his chest. “And Rogers.” He adds. She nods again, then looks up at him.

“I know you have very different viewpoints on…specific matters.  But you’re both important to me.”

“You’re important to me.” He replies carefully, his eyes hesitant. He doesn’t want to fight again. “I don’t want to ruin Horrorama for you.”  His eyes move around the dark and mostly empty parking lot carefully, “And I didn’t mean to cause issues with him with my comment the other day, but you know how I feel about proper protection.”

“I know.” She slips her hands into his pockets and tugs lightly, affectionately. He smiles and adjusts his legs so she can lean more comfortably between them.

His hands stroke up and down her arms as he sighs. “Anything for you though.”

She stares up at him in surprise.  He’s never said that combination of words towards her.  About her.

“I’ll be on my best behavior.” He agrees.  Then he pauses. “But if he brings up politics first…”

“Well.” She lets out a small chuckle, “I suppose he brings it upon himself then.  But be nice.”

“So like…at nerf level? So he won’t get butthurt?” He says, a twinkle in his eye.

“You can’t talk about anything without being slightly asshole…” She replies with an eyeroll.

“Twenty percent.” He offers, “If he brings up politics first, I’ll argue back at twenty percent.” His head moves closer and drops lingering kisses on the crown of her hair, one arm moving down to wrap around her hips.  She lets out another chuckle.

“You’re awful.”

“I’m awful.” He agrees easily. “You’re not. You’re wonderful.”

She moves her hands around his belt, marveling at how easily he lets her maneuver over his holster and clip holders without tensing.  She’s aware of his PTSD and the history with his ex wife (stealing his own weapons and threatening him with them).

She isn’t interested in removing or touching them, just moving around them to snag the hand he has placed against his car.  She interlaces her fingers with his and turns her head to lay flat against his chest.

There are days when she wonders if it would be better to just stay at home, locked in her room, never dealing with other people.

There are days when she wonders if she’s ever meant to have any sort of relationship that actually works.  If she’s just punishing herself by picking people who seem unavailable for the most part (whether physically or emotionally).

Then there are nights like this. When it all makes sense. And even though he has his faults, his hangups, sometimes he actually lets it drop for her.

When her hand fits perfectly into his and his words crawl into her soul and build a nest to rest and remind her that she isn’t unworthy.

(Photo credit)

Relationship Amok

I haven’t talked about my “romantic” “love” life in many posts, huh?

Notice the quotations.

That’s a slick way of me saying I have no love or romance going on really.

Mostly cause I’m a fuckup who only pursues fuckups or fucks it up with other fuckups.  Sometimes there’s a non-fuckup involved, but those rarely last.

Monkey bars, sandpit, cliff; anything more straightforward than a conversation.

Most recently, I’ve been talking about (bitching about) Army.  You regular readers are aware of what sort of person he tends to be and how I fluctuate between hopeless romantic and pure Grade A rage.  I’ve been told this is normal in a lot of relationships.

However, I’ve also been told I deserve better when he decides to crawl under a rock for three weeks and not contact or talk to me.

On the other hand, I also do similar things to a lot of friends and most family (all if I could…my mother doesn’t let me).

That cool, soft dirt under that smooth, flat rock is comfy.  It’s like home.  It doesn’t judge me on the amount of food I’ve eaten, the weight I’m at, the mood I’m in, the voices I hear, the voices I don’t, the urges I have, the pain I’m in, etc.

The rock is nice.

So who I am to judge?

Doesn’t stop me of course.

Have vagina; will judge.

Basically I was ready to toss Army to the curb because of some rude things he said to me over a month ago, followed by a long period of absolute silence.

This sounds like a book he’d write (fyi, the ACTUAL book is not about what you think it is).

But then my health went into the shitter again and guess who’s one of the first people to quickly visit me in the hospital?

Now, granted the fact that he’s a paramedic makes him frequently in hospitals in general.  But he made a special trip to the hospital I was at while NOT on shift.  I think that means a bit more.

(It means the fucker enjoys pissing nurses off and blathering medical jargon with the techs while he’s bored.)

And now he’s regularly checking in again.  And talking me down the other night when I was in a dark place.

He wants to go to the dog park this evening.  I agreed.  It isn’t a date.  No big deal.  I have no clue where we are, but I know he’s someone who makes me smile and feel good about myself.

That can’t be a bad person to spend time with, right?

Fear

This was not intended to be a blog that talked a lot about “romance” constantly.  Or feelings about men. Especially Army.

I feel like I talk about him too much.  And my indecision too much.

But I have to get this down or it’ll continue buzzing about in my head.

Gods I sound like a 14 year-old.

He asked to come over last night because he needed support.  He’d just dealt with a suicidal coworker and patched her up from various things she refused to go to hospital for (I don’t want to divulge a bunch of info about a person I don’t even know, but basically she got attacked by her ex and her exes new partner).

My immediate reaction was panic.  I’m in a rough place myself, as you guys know.  And there’s the red F-A-T cuts staring up at me from the spot above my knee.

But Army’s never asked such a thing.  His texts got a bit ramble-y in going on about needing me.

I acquiescence, darted into the shower, then covered my thigh with the largest band-aid I could find- which thankfully just covered the marks.

I can’t really describe the night well in words.  I know I had this post earlier that got into him being more deeply romantic.  But that didn’t even touch on what happened last night.

It hit after our (first) round in bed.  I maneuvered so my back was facing him as I sorted through the shocked thoughts and voices in my head.
___

No no no no.  That is not the feeling I think it is.  No no no.

I think it is.

You do not love him.  No.  You are incapable of romantic love, remember?  That’s why he’s safe.  He doesn’t want that, he doesn’t try to bring that forth.

Well he did tonight.

I don’t know why he did that.  He shouldn’t have acted like that.  He’s supposed to be safe.  We need to run.  Run run run run.

I dunno if I want to.

Yes you do.  You always want to run.  You have to be in control.  We are the ones in control.  We can step back anytime, unscathed. 

I don’t think I can walk away unscathed now.

I don’t want you to walk.  I want you to run. Run run run.  Push him away.  Say those things you’re so good at saying.  Hurt, wound, kill.  Don’t fall.  Don’t fall.  Falling is for losers.  For the weak.  For suckers.  We are strong.  We’re too strong for this.

___

It’s at that very moment that he runs his fingers through my hair and kisses my temple in concern.
“Are you all right?” He asks and his tone is more deeply worried than I remember ever hearing.

I realize my cheeks are wet and that tears are slowly trailing down my face.

Great.  The crazy girl’s not only talking to herself, but making herself cry.  In front of an audience.

I glance up at him nervously, waiting for some accusation, ready to make an excuse.

His fingers smooth over my cheeks and he tilts his forehead against mine.

“That was intense, huh?  Feels more real now.  Serious.”  He pauses and his eyes reach down into my psyche and pull out the words to make everything crumble, “It isn’t just you.”

Run run run run run run run.  Far far far away.

I manage a slight smile and curl closer into his chest.

I feel like Cassandra; knowing the fall of Troy, but not being able to do anything to stop it.

___________________________________________________________________________

“Diggin’ a hole and the walls are caving in
Behind me,
Airs gettin’ thin but I’m trying,
I’m breathing in,
Come find me

It hasn’t felt like this before
It hasn’t felt like home…before you

And I know it’s easy to say, but it’s harder to feel this way,
And I miss you more than I should, than I thought I could,
I can’t get my mind off of you

I know you’re scared that I’ll soon be over it,
That’s part of it all,
Part of the beauty of falling in love with you,
Is the fear you won’t fall

It hasn’t felt like this before
It hasn’t felt like home…before you

And I know it’s easy to say, but it’s harder to feel this way
And I miss you more than I should, than I thought I could,
I can’t get my mind off of you

And I hate the phone,
But I wish you’d call,
Thought being alone,
Was better than, was better than…

And I know it’s easy to say, but it’s harder to feel this way
And I miss you more than I should, than I thought I could,
I can’t get my mind off of you.

Can’t get my mind off of you”

-Joshua Radin, “The Fear You Won’t Fall”

The Romantic Side

His hands are warm and dry, the grip firm as he tugs me over to his side of the couch.  I easily nestle against his chest.  The movie is terrible, but I feel like I could just drift off like this.

His hands ghost across my back, before slipping under my shirt and rubbing along my spine and shoulders.

“You seem tense along here.” He murmurs into my hair.
“Yeah.  New meds have this weird stiffness side effect.”  I reply.  He kisses the top of my head.
“Is the BP better at least?” His tone is hopeful
“A bit.  Starting to creep back up. But not anything dangerous yet.”

I smooth my cheek over his chest, seeking out the spot where I can hear his heartbeat.  My eyes drift close as I focus on the soothing rhythm.
“Are you even watching the movie?” A teasing tone this time.
“Not really.  It’s pretty bad.  I can’t even understand who we’re supposed to sympathize with- Jesse James or Robert Ford.”  He chuckles in agreement and the warm sound of it vibrates against my ear.

When I get up to turn off the TV so we can leave, his arms catch around my waist and he tugs me back into his lap.
“Nope.  Stay.” He insists, nuzzling the spot where my shoulder meets my neck.  A smile tugs at my face.  It’s been awhile since such simple actions push through the cobwebs of my heart and soul.  I feel something bubble slightly.  Some emotion I haven’t felt an awhile.

It’s later when we’re lying together, a good portion of my limbs draped over him that he gives me that sideways grin I love so much and reaches out to run his fingers along my side.
“I’m glad you’re here.  I like just being like this.”  He says softly.  My eyelids flutter.  He starts to say something else, but stops himself, deciding instead to press his lips against my forehead and eyelids multiple times.  Lightly, as if painting what he won’t say against my skin.  I resist the urge to chew my lip nervously.

When he walks me to my car, he promises (as much as he can) that he will get off work for my birthday.  With his dog’s face firmly pressed against my hip, one of my hands gently rubbing her ears in that way she adores, he kisses me one last time.

I tuck the whole night away in my mind to flip through and review for the next time it takes weeks to arrange for us to spend time together.

His girl Sofya (Zoe’s foster sister)

Is it me?

Slight trigger warning: brief mention of sex, but only in a vague sense

________________________________________________________

Army couldn’t perform the other night.  You know, perform. 

I don’t know why.  He wouldn’t elaborate.  We’ve only had this problem once before in our entire on and off again relationship and that time he explained in detail about his issues (which aren’t important at this time, so I won’t expand on that).  He was also strangely distant.

I think it’s me.

I’m worried I’ve gained weight, though I’ve been trying so hard to be good and not.  I guess I haven’t gone up any clothing sizes and my friends and family remind me think about that when I start thinking in a non-logical fashion.  So if I’ve gained weight, it must be not enough to cause me to go up in any sizes.

But obviously something’s changed.  I must be doing something wrong.

It’s sort of funny though because though on one level, I’m upset and confused and concerned, mainly I just don’t give a damn.  I don’t think I’m all that attached this relationship, even though I sometimes try to convince myself otherwise.

I mean, Army is a good friend.  But I just don’t feel any magical chemistry like I used to or like my friends talk about with their significant partners.  I mean, I enjoy the sex, I enjoy spending time with him, sometimes I like how he makes me feel.  However, there’s no craving anymore, there’s no dwelling on him when he’s not there.

Again, I think it’s me.  I think it’s that depression catching up to me and trying to kill my romance.  Not my libido, which is crazy healthy still.  But it’s like if the possibility isn’t right in front of me, I only sort of “itch” in a general sense.  Like “Hm. I could really go for sex right now”, not “Man I wish Army was here”.  I don’t think that much at all anymore.  Most of the time I can’t kick him out of my apartment fast enough after we’ve finished.  He’s the one who’s wanted to stay and cuddle.  I feel like such a boy.
But even the other night he wasn’t cuddly.  I don’t even really know why he came over.  I didn’t ask him, he asked me.  Was it just to throw my own unattractiveness in my face?

Thank you, I’m well-aware of it already.

I’ve buried that desire for actual romance down so deep that I don’t fantasize about it anymore.  Except when certain songs come on the radio or my iPod.

Then it’s hard not to cry.

I don’t understand why I can’t handle anything beyond a casual, secretive physical relationship.  I want to.  I want to so much.  But I just wreck it every goddamn time.

I just want the punishment to end.

Meanings

(slight trigger warning for brief mention of sex and intimacy)

After having two almost entirely meaningless and vapid posts I am mad at myself.  I really need to stop dodging my issues and get them down. 

This is a safe space.  Safe space.

Yeah, I’m gonna compare myself to a fictional character instead.

I doubt most of you have heard of the show “The Girls”.  I stumbled across it on Netflix while I was sick with pneumonia and watched all of season 1 within 3 days.

It’s about four girlfriends in New York who are in their early to mid twenties and have no effing clue what to do with their lives.

I wish I could say I identify with the chic yet bohemian Jessa, who I like the most out of the four girls.  But I know it’s Hannah.

I’ve even made that exact expression.  At work.  It’s uncanny.

She has body image issues.  I have body image issues.  She’s a compulsive writer.  I’m a compulsive writer.  
Now she’s also way too attached to her (entirely normal) parents and can’t keep a job to save her life, but that’s not important.

The main thing is her weird relationship with this guy named Adam.  They have this fuck-buddy-type thing, not officially dating, and mostly based on sex.

Wow.

That sounds familiar.

Now, Hannah attempts to break it off with Adam but then realizes she doesn’t really want a boyfriend anyway.  She sort of likes what she has with Adam anyway.

Wow.  I swear I’ve said those exact words to my best friend too.  It’s ridiculously creepy.

When she confronts Adam about how he’s been a shitbag lately, he is distant at first, then they have this weird fight in the middle of street and he screams: “Do you want me to be your fucking boyfriend??!!”

And then they’re good again.  And it goes well.  They hang out occasionally.  Adam prefers to be as close to naked as possible. 

Him wearing full pants is actually a rarity, but I didn’t want to scar your eyes.

They have slightly adorable couple-ish moments.

He pees on her in the shower because he thinks it’d be funny.  She is not amused. 
(thank god I’ve never had that happen- I would likely mutilate Army)  I’m not sure why I included this incident in my description of their relationship.  I guess I meant to show their level of comfort and humor with each other.

Then she balks when he confesses his love for her.  Now, granted, the character was distantly apathetic and a tad Aspie-eqse up until the last two episodes where he got weirdly clingy.  So Hannah’s understandably weirded out.
________________

Now, Army never says the “L” word.  Ever. 

But last night was….the closest he’s gotten. 
And I’m trying to not balk.  Not run.  Tell myself it doesn’t change anything.  It doesn’t have to change anything.  It doesn’t have to mean anything.
It doesn’t.

I don’t know what I want. 

Why am I so broken that confessions of deep emotional and attachment make me want to turn tail and bolt?  Or self-sabotage like a crazy bitch.

I hate being broken.

Pretending I’m like this fictional character of a moderately-successful show makes me feel slightly better.

I ain’t good for anyone else…

I turn the TV off, to turn it on again
Staring at the blades of the fan as it spins around
Counting every crack, the clock is wide awake
Talking to myself, anything to make a sound

I told you I wouldn’t call, I told you I wouldn’t care
But baby climbing the walls gets me nowhere
I don’t think that I can take this bed getting any colder
Come over, come over, come over, come over, come over

You can say we’re done the way you always do
It’s easier to lie to me than to yourself
Forget about your friends, you know they’re gonna say
We’re bad for each other, but we ain’t good for anyone else

I told you I wouldn’t call, I told you I wouldn’t care
But baby climbing the walls gets me nowhere
I don’t think that I can take this bed getting any colder
Come over, come over, come over, come over, come over

We don’t have to miss each other, come over
We don’t have to fix each other, come over
We don’t have to say forever, come over
You don’t have to stay forever, come over

I told you I wouldn’t call, I told you I wouldn’t care
But baby climbing the walls gets me nowhere
I don’t think that I can take this bed getting any colder
Come over, come over, come over, come over, come over
-“Come Over”, Kenny Chesney

____________________________________________________

I am weak.  As always.  I’ve always been weak.

I fall easily back into my label of “fuck-up”.

But it feels better this way.  I don’t deserve good. I don’t deserve real.  I don’t deserve respect.  It doesn’t matter.

I’d rather have a brief evening of laughter with him that a whole lifetime of romance.

Sucess and the Art of Ignoring

After that whole fretting thing in my last post I thought I should inform you all that the date went very well.

So well, in fact, that we actually went out again on Sunday.  And he actually went to museum with me- I’ve never dated anyone willing to do that.  He even seemed to enjoy it.  How strange.

We saw “Warm Bodies” (which was FANTASTIC) and had a couple of lovely dinners (on two separate days, obviously).  He seems really awesome and sweet and funny and a little bit awkward, but that works out because I’m a little bit awkward myself.

I’m trying to not let this stuff get away from me.  That is always a bad idea.  But I seem to have nicely accomplished that so far.  I’m letting myself have that nicely warm feeling but not dwelling or daydreaming like I (*ahem* Claire mostly) usually do.

There is a bit of recoil, like usual when it comes to a new relationship but I think I’m doing a great job ignoring it.  For the most part.  Victoria is livid over us eating a healthy dinner two days in a row so she’s fighting hard on the restricting front, but I’m too warm-feeling to even care.  In fact, I’m even going to a friend’s house tonight for dinner.  I think I’m actually winning against Victoria for once.  That’s never happened.

Apparently there’s something magical about the dating game…

______________________________________________

I suppose I need to come up with some alias since I’ll be taking about him for at least another week (we plan to get together again this weekend).

Let’s go with……

Craig.

Risks of romance

Things are taking a strange turn with Army. Technically good, but that has half of the system trying to backpedal as quickly as they can.

There is something about being being treated sweetly and wooed that always has red flags raising in this head of mine.

First Army goes to Horrorama with me and is absolutely wonderful. I spend the night at his place after and it feels way too good to be held by him again.
Red Flag #1

Then he invites me to dinner on Halloween, but his job sending him on an extra call causes him to stand me up. I am upset. He spends hours texting me all sorts of sweet and apologetic things until I can’t even manage mild annoyance.
Red Flag #2

This past weekend I had a bit of a rotten time and though he’s technically on shift, he again spends hours texting supportive and endearing messages.
Red Flag #3

Tonight he takes me out to a movie and afterwards we fool around a bit in his car. During the whole “heat of the moment” timespan, he says some surprisingly deep and romantic things about missing me, needing me, wishing we still lived together, and being thankful that I gave him a “second chance”.
Red Flag #4

I go with it during- mostly because Charlotte is fronting and she’s eating it up. But Daria, Rika, and Victoria are all getting on edge together.
Sidenote: I never noticed the “anti-romance” alters’ names all end in “a”. Interesting.

Anyway, when we part ways, there is some serious talking in the peanut gallery/system during my whole drive home.

Victoria just finished texting him confirming that he meant what he said in his car. He’s adamant he feels that way and hinted about things changing and that we “need to talk in person”.

And now my head is a twister.

Uniballer taught us long ago that wooing and sudden sweet talk only leads to manipulation and heartbreak.

But Army’s never been the manipulating type. But he usually so emotionally stunted that we can barely deal. That is not “deep relationship” material. But maybe he’s seeing things differently.
We’ve had friends and Mom tell us that Army and I moving into separate places has made him realize he misses me when he took me for granted before.

But why? We don’t deserve to be missed or needed. And we certainly didn’t deserve the second chance that was ours, not his, as he seems to think.

Our insides are so broken, crazy-glued, and delicate that how is it possible to consider entrusting another person with even a part of that again?

It was mere weeks ago that we were reminded of the lesson of lies men feed us to try and gain trust. A lesson we should be well versed in.

So why is my heart jumping and clenching at the idea? Is that excitement or abject terror?