||[Oct. 5th, 2009|01:38 pm]
Last night i lay propped up in my bed, knitting a sweater and listening to The Downward Spiral on my iPod. I have big speakers and a subwoofer and a house with some pretty bitchin' acoustics, but headphones seemed comforting and appropriate.
I lost my job as the lovely assistant in a film version of my life that never could have been real.
- Short of being the kind of woman that inspires a great song like Lover's Day, I will settle for being the kind of woman that inspires a great song like Reptile.
- I got a picture in my head of a very, very bewildered girl staring at the white envelope with no return address in her hand while the album plays on her stereo. "Holy fuck," she's thinking. "We just went out on a couple of dates, for fuck's sake!!" The laugh this gave me was definitely partly self-effacing as I pictured a poor, bewildered guy reading my insane missives from BrokenGirlLand.
- It takes a man as talented as Trent Reznor to make getting the last word into an art. When anyone else does it, it's just petty and fucked.
I'm trying to figure out why i latched on so inappropriately to this person, and keep myself from doing it again. I'd love to believe my girlfriends that say he was a prick, but i spent all weekend thinking about the whole thing and finally understood what he meant about the bond. I fucked up, pure and simple. If nothing else, i didn't get out when i knew i had to, when i knew i was going to FREAK THE FUCK OUT in a situation that had been defined clearly enough.
Nothing quite so shameful as watching yourself behave like a petulant child that tries to prevent an adult from leaving by clinging to his pantleg. As if it hadn't become clear enough already that something in my head was very, very broken despite all swaggering talk/behavior to the contrary. I apparently was crying out to the universe to break me, to humble me, to remind me that those things i never did anything with but drink and fuck away aren't really GONE.
Sigh. It's not that no one has ever been sweet to me.
A man of unbelievable education and experience worshipped the ground i walked on, inconvenienced himself in a million ways to please me, and was willing to subjugate every part of his life to my comfort level. I loved him, but it killed me. I just felt like i was taking advantage all the time, and that if this man was relying on me solely for his happiness, he could really be nothing but very, very disappointed. I broke his heart, and i still regret it even though it was the right choice.
A man of unbelievable empathy, kindness, intelligence and beauty watched me sleep, stroked my hair, watched me put on makeup with reverence, held my face in his hands and kissed me with everything from appreciation to passion to raw, unadulterated lust. He turned me to jelly, and he thought i was good for the reasons that mattered most to him. Though the things he loved about me were never anything i would have considered attractive, it was truly an honor. When he left, i thought i was going to die. I subjected him to untold cruelties, always trying to punish him. his sweetness survived, a testament to his character.
Those feelings were wonderful and good, but ultimately not as intoxicating as what i experienced in a few interactions with a distant admirer. Beautiful, cool, lovely and sweet. Cool for the same reasons i suspected i might be cool. "Such a lovely girl..." mumbled almost to himself while touching my dress, my leg. It felt like tuning a guitar using harmonics, when the sound waves finally synch up and... magic. Relief, even.
As much as the petulant part of me needs to write that off as not real, as a lie... it wasn't. It's just that it didn't mean quite what i thought it meant. it didn't merit my ignoring the truth. it didn't merit me clinging to my fantasy, snapping and snarling when anyone tried to pry it gently from my hands.
And now, it's true that i have to move on and stop thinking about it, and i know that given the amount of time this spanned i WILL get over it. it will be little more than an uncomfortable memory in a little while, something that will make me wince when i think about my pathetic behavior. All that is true.
However, i am petrified that no one will ever make me feel that way again. I am petrified that the only people who can make me feel that way again are emotionally distant, are waaaaaay over there and unavailable. I'm petrified that i have no capacity to control myself, to figure anything out before i pour my heart into whatever vessel looks solid enough to hold it.
I am petrified, and i feel a little bit like I'm drowning in "who I've always been" as i realize it probably isn't who I want to be.