it seems that i only have something to say here when i have crossed the line from "miserable" to "abhorrence of existence". to be fair, i am never all that far from "miserable"; just as there is a bar on every corner in a small town.
i officially moved in with SBM in december '06. the reality is that we started dating in may '04 and as of july '04, i spent every non-job-related hour in his abode. when i was ruthlessly fired in early november '04, i curled up on his couch and there i stayed until september '05 when i found a job [read: employment that was not synonymous with suicide]. since then, i have continued to spend every non-job-related hour with him.
even writing that paragraph gives me goosebumps. why? i don't know. i have been mulling over that since the topic of cohabitation first presented it's ugly head. october '05 was when the issue first came up. it was an ugly conversation, rife with misunderstandings, accusations and feelings of being unloved [equal parts of all on both sides]. why? the surface reasons are best described as "symptoms" of an underlying affliction. there is no cure for the common cold; we can only treat the cough and fever. well, my throat is sore and this fever is far from breaking. i need to find the absolute source of this consumption.
the more time that i spend with my mother [all of which is wonderful], i realize that we are almost mirror-images of each other. this is disturbing on many levels. i have inherited her strength of character and impossibly-thick skull. i am sure that these, and all of the other traits, can be used as strengths if only i could get my McGuyver up as easily as my Irish. one trait that has been called into the spotlight recently is "hording" or "survival". it seems that my mother and i are always in survival-mode. we horde groceries and shiny things in the event of apocalypse or a break-up. we will be stingy with our lovers, but give everything to family and friends. we draw lines in the sand and call it "self-respect", when in fact those lines are fears dancing. oh, and communication is not our strong suit. [note: as i write this post, i am struggling with the words. veritably, i feel as though i am 6 years old and fumbling through an explanation of the 11th dimension. please accept this as my apology for lack of clarity, decent vocabulary and sentence structure and whining. again.]
there are times when SBM and i run into a road-block. he genuinely has an interest in constructively working to remove the blockage and continue happily forward. though, i believe his tone and approach could be modified, i recognize his intent after the fact. when we are in the moment and he makes an earnest attempt at "clean up", i completely lose my shit. i'm sorry. there is no nice way to say it. i instantly slide back to 12-year-old intelligence: angst-ridden, tearful, ON THE DEFENSE, ready to quit [just so you stop "yelling" at me] and my patented iamnottalkingyouaremean face. oh, and i stop speaking all together. that tough-as-nails-i-can-handle-anything demeanor just flies out the window along with the speech-center of my brain.
i have progressed to the point where i been able to staunch tears and stoicism long enough to try and talk myself out of anger. i begin by asking myself why i am angry. the child in me points a sticky finger at SBM, cries "he's mean!" and promptly reaches for the cheesecake. OBESITY EXPLAINED! my higher levels of consciousness explain that i just can't get over myself and that all of these problems are the result of hard-wired defense mechanisms. i then ask myself how i can reprogram my responses. i melt down and i sob, "i don't know." more cheesecake ...oh and a half-gallon of mint chocolate chip. the child and the higher conscious commence to feeding each other and whining about how horrible adults are.
now that i am removed from the stressful situation, i would like to "verbally" examine these defense mechanisms and maybe a basic plan of action on how to reprogram myself.
i have been "thinking" about it for so long. the act of typing it out and proofreading that result may help.
i guess the real issue here is that i never assigned much value to myself. i don't know if this is my mother's fault, although other people (including therapists) do place the blame with her. she and i never got along; it's only been in the last 4 years that we have been able to have a relationship. the journey to this point has been wrought with horrors and always the feeling of impending doom. we have arrived, however, and the fruits of labor are sweet. i believe that we had such a hard time because:
* she did not want children
* she considered abortion, but due to her inverted uterus, it was virtually impossible for her to conceive. i was the miracle baby.
* she wanted me to be self-sufficient. her method to achieve this centered around reminding me EVERY SINGLE DAY that love does not exist, money is of the utmost importance, one should not depend on anyone - especially if the "anyone" is a male... the list goes on, but i think that these are the most important points.
my childhood was spent moving between two households: my mother and her extended family (my aunts, uncles and grandparents). whenever my mother "could no longer deal" with me, she would send me to my grandparents house. that 4-block walk was always a difficult one; it became infinitely more difficult after my grandparents and great aunt kate had passed away. jesus, i miss them.
even now, i feel that i have no home.
the issue of "home" is a very touchy one with me. i never felt that i truly belonged anywhere, especially where i was told that i was wanted. "they must be lying. i will not subsist on their pity." i have only recently been able to accept the love and respect of my aunts and uncles. unconditional love is an extremely valuable commodity, as demand severely out-weighs supply.
i guess you could say that i have "trust issues".
my mother made such an issue of money... according to her, we were always broke and of course, [according to her] i did not respect her and i had no appreciation for money. "it doesn't grow on trees, you know." she would buy staple items and treats for her patients, but [it seemed] that she couldn't care less about me. i am sure that my memory is faulty, but i don't even think we chatted for the better part of my life. she would yell at me for "whatever", i would apologize for the imagined or actual transgression and continue snaking while watching television.
my feeling of homelessness has actually brought SBM's feelings for me into question. i always thought that "home" was a feeling that i would find with someone special. not necessarily a lover, but someone that i could connect with. i guess i have turned that off. even now, when i go to visit my family in OurTown, i do not feel as if i am "home". i could not have a greater love than what i feel towards them; those that have shown me what unconditional love is. i feel great comfort and familiarity when i am with them; i feel welcome. but nay, that is not my home. nor is my home with SBM, though i believe that one day it could be. he has noted that i am ready to leave at a moment's notice. baby, that's years of practice. my formative years were not spent "communicating" and "making things better." ... when i heard "i am unhappy with this" it was usually followed by "get the fuck out". i'm sorry, i guess that is still ringing in my ears.
maybe i need to make a home for myself, alone.
it was only a few years ago, when i stopped feeling as though i was completely alone this planet. this was after i escaped theaccountant and before i met SBM. i formed a connection with the rest of humanity when i realized that we are all broken; it's not just me. i have gained some semblance of self-respect, a bit of confidence and i feel that i am "on the move". my biggest break-though? i stopped wishing for death on a daily basis; now, i only find myself seriously considering suicide a few times a month.
this is not an exaggeration.
i moved in with theaccountant because i listened to his lies and i believed that no one loved me except for him. it was not long before i realized that he did not love me either. and yes, it really will stop your heart when you hear, "if i don't love you, no one ever will." of course, it's obvious that statement is a simple tactic of control. i usually see through that sort of thing. but he wore me down with other abusive words; those that slipped through the cracks of my defense and took over like cancer, leaving me vulnerable to even the most textbook of strategies. after living with that abuse for 8 months, i swallowed my pride and went back to my family. later that that year , my mother and i started building our current relationship.
theaccountant took whatever money that i was earning and monies that i had saved. when i left, i submitted a bill for $5,500. he paid $700, even though he had agreed to pay $5,500. currently, he is hoping that i die, so that his debt is forgotten. during the 8 months at garysdeathcamp, i went to school full time and held 2 jobs. i gave him my paychecks to cover rent, groceries, car insurance (he had to drive me to/from my night job. for school and my other job, i took the bus. i did not have my license yet.) and his shopping trips to wal-mart to buy the damndog special treats and whatever else theaccountant felt that he needed; generally things for himself.
when i left, i took a duffel bag full of clothes. he told me that i was worthless; an easy mark. he explained that i was fat and ugly, which rendered me completely undeserving of him. i could go on, but i don't see the point.
there are times when SBM speaks, that i think, "jesus, i thought i had escaped garysdeathcamp." i know that i am being dramatic.
so i "officially" moved in with SBM in december. no, i am not happy with the arrangement. originally, he wanted me to pay for half of everything:
* rent - cost of barn = $600
* utilities = $200
* phone/internet/tv = $100
* oil (approx. per year) = $1500
i did not feel that it was feasible for me to pay half of everything, because i would only be left with a smidgen of savings at the end of the month. this made me think of thedeathcampscenario. as a contradiction to this, i feel that if we purchased a house together, i would be more than happy to give everything i have to that end.
currently, i pay for nothing but groceries. stu feels that this is wholly unsatisfactory and selfish. he is correct.
i feel as though my back is against the wall; i feel that i have no choices. he does not want to buy a house yet, he does not want to move to another rental. i would prefer to live anywhere but where we currently are. IT IS NOT MY HOME. that place is filled with his memories, his parties, his old roommates, girlfriends and loves; i know the stories of the stains. IT IS NOT MY HOME. he just tells me to get over it. i'm sorry, i was hoping that he would be a little bit more receptive.
"what do you want me to do? move every time i get a new girlfriend?" he has a valid point, but i don't think it's fair that i should "just get over it". or am i just that selfish?