Daddy Issues

I am a person with daddy issues. I get it. I understand what not having a father’s presence in my life has done to my psyche. But just because I know, does not mean I have the power or the want to stop it.

I love from afar. I seek the unobtainable. I crush very easily and go on tireless campaigns to prove myself worthy, unforgettable, and needed. None of these actions are done to actually land the man. Just gestures to stun and awe. A means of validation, proving that I am lovable and unforgettable.

But there are times when, dissecting my various encounters, I wonder if my actions are less about validation and more about making my insecurities self-fulfilled prophecies.

I am unlovable because I do not allow myself to love or be loved. I am forgettable because nothing that I reveal is authentic or real, all about getting to know them but not them getting to knowing me. I will be alone because I trust myself with myself above anyone else. I will be alone because I actually like being alone, pushing people away or keeping people at bay so I can be alone.

Why do I do this?

It’s easier to be proven right, I know how to process that, than go down the unchartered road of being proven wrong. I don’t know how that would work or how to even evolve in that situation.

Note to self, Loose Ends

Let’s start off by saying an apology is owed. This is the generic apology you give another for the part you’ve played in their own demise. The remorse for placating a situation of someone else’s choices biting them in the ass. So in that regard I am sorry. Note to your wife.

I apologize to you as well for the betrayal you feel, which was unleashed because of the betrayal I felt that day. I can acknowledge my wrongness. I WAS complicit in the lie. The lie that attached individuals tell themselves and the “other”. The lie that says, “if things could have been different or if I met you/known you first we could be”. But we both know that’s a lie. And those “what if” lies are the most devastating. They give hope. They feed dubious situations and irrational insecurities about worthiness, fulfillment, even aloneness.

That lie and that sense of connection fed a loneliness and sense of loss I had. Hell, it found places to fill inside me that I didn’t even know was empty. BUT again, it was a lie. A lie cloaked in possibilities. Let me be clear, I did job then nor do I now even believe that we wanted it to be true. But being broken together was better seemingly than being broken apart. Especially when neither has/had the courage to fix it. Maybe we didn’t even know we were broken then, but I see it now. Hindsight. 20/20.

Flash forward months down the line. A friendship you encouraged would yield an eventful, fruitful conversation that revealed the depths of your brokenness and the shallowness in what we created. I wasn’t the only one. Let’s be clear, I NEVER assumed that I was the only one to get the childish schoolboy antics you do in front of and behind of closed doors. EVERYBODY (and I mean everybody that has a vagina, that has met you) knows that side of you. So I don’t feign hurt that I was one of many in that sense. I am, however, hurt that I was not the only person that you created the “lie” with. The warmth of what potential we had was provided to another. There was a lack of genuine thoughts, expressions, words, and moments. Being made to believe that it was my inefficiencies and blindness that caused me to be missing out on a soulful, loving man. And although it is true, you were not that man but I was blind. Although you apparently have these conversations indiscriminately, I do not. I don’t lie about building a life, an escape from current life and responsibilities with men often. I am very deliberate with my attachments. So finding out you do/did more than once was hurtful.

But in an effort of having full disclosure, that summer, escape and building a life around the “lie” was the theme in my life. (Wow! Epiphany). Whether it was a wordsman, a soldier, or a politico, that summer I was revolving and evolving in a house of cards. Shaky. Flimsy. All lies.

So why was I mad at you? Especially when (realizing now) I was betraying you as well. Probably cause I was upfront and fully honest. Fully honest about it all. Undigested or unanalyzed, on my end, real time news feeds on it all. I do not open up often. I was genuine. You hid and hide from your connections. That’s what hurt. But all this sounds disingenuous due to the overall fact, see first paragraph.

With all that being said. I apologize for the betrayal and hurt feelings. I apologize for perpetuating the lie, leading to moments of disarray and upheaval. I apologize for my part in it all. You deserve it and are owed this. Note to self, apology accepted.

Geeked out…

” I can’t believe I gave my panties to a geek.” Samantha Baker 16 Candles

I think about this sometimes when I review my past selections. Men are never as cool as they think they are. Women are just more accommodating, depending on where they are in life. And in my past life I have been very accommodating at times.

I can honestly say that at this time in my life I am all geeked out. Not that I do not have a thing for smart guys. Far from the truth. It just means that I am over the guys who think they are cooler, sexier, more worldly than they are. I am into those guys that are comfortable in their own skin, since I am very comfortable in my.

Cracker Jacks

The text message read: “Well I’ve been just trying to put my firm together and realizing that I only have time for one good woman or nothing at all.  So, I’m just trying to focus, I guess…”

Let’s focus for a few on this statement. Have you ever had a conversation with someone that resonates, neigh reverberates, in your head and heart long after it’s over. The a fore mentioned is one such conversation. I get it. It was a hook-up. Not one of my better decisions but it was a means of escape for a bit so I’m not broken up about it. It was what it was…BUT

“One good woman”. What was he trying to say or imply? I’m not good…or better still there is this phantom idyllic woman who is better suited for his needs. One that he’ll be a “good man” for. Please. Spare me. He wasn’t a good person in general so the “good man” thing is going to be a stretch. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not perfect by any means BUT there was a line wrapped around the door of people who were more than willing to tell me ALL his dirt. I had the cliff notes version of his character (or lack there of) and the story of him (which he thought it prudent to leave in the shadows to add to a persona he thought he had). All this I left at the foot of the bed to try to see what was there…and sadly there was nothing.

So would this “good woman” be smart? Driven? Politically active? See the potential and not the current situation? Cause all of that I was…along with counteracting his convoluted sense of self-importance and immaturity, trying to  optimistically believe that there was something redeemable about him. So is that what “good women” do? To be fair, video vixen I’m not but he wasn’t  a baller so we cancel each other out and its back to intangibles.

Here’s the truth: Our interaction wasn’t about him at all, but about an escape. When you’re sick you look for the quick fixes…and I have a chronic “fear of relationship” syndrome  so you see where I’m going with this. He  made it about him, which in turn makes it about me (or rather my worthiness of him). He was the prize at the bottom of the cracker jack box. Both of which are disappointing…I hate cracker jacks.

All of this comes off angry and bitter, which isn’t what I want to relay. Like I said, I get what he were trying to do…but in the process my ego got bruised…guess I should focus on being a “good woman” before the next cracker jack comes along…damn I hate cracker jacks.

Best-laid plans of mice and men oft go astray…

I learned last year that what I had planned for my life mattered less than what was planned for me. (That only makes sense if you realize/accept that your life is not your own).

I planned to move and go to law school. Seemingly small things to ask for, or so I thought, but it led to a disastrous experience that cost me a hell of a lot more than I gained. (It is at this point that someone might chime in the bought sense is the best kind of sense…to which my response: *flips the middle finger*. Say that to me when you have to walk away from a dream back to a life that held no promise of…anything).

So, I came back and fell into a routine of no expectations…no planning…no direction. Beaten down, maybe. Disillusioned, definitely. I just found what little half job I could and started to randomly send resumes to anywhere that was hiring. Friends wondered what my plan was to which my response was, “Don’t have one”. And I was honest about that, I did not have nor was I thinking of a plan. But how long can someone who is accustomed to crossing every “T” and dotting every “I” going to last just letting things come about by chance? A year.

So, I planned. It was simple. Independence. That was my plan. Self reliance. Living on my own again, no fear or doubt. But this time I consulted the ultimate planner. Since it was not my life to make decisions about, asking for guidance was the logical step. I met no resistance…so I forged ahead. But as the title states “Best-laid plans of mice and men oft go astray…”

Begin at the beginning…

Let me begin at the beginning…

So I am not sure how is started. Random me seeking something stable. Lonely him, away from home in a foreign country. I was sad but he was the saddest. I needed to be needed and he needed me. The beginning was easy, but the ending not so much. There was intention, on my part, for this to be different. I needed something afar to look forward to, which allowed me to get over my reality.

Happy Birthday GI Joe!

Specifically, he was young. Very young. But he was living this existence…one where he would wake up in a new reality everyday. He did not know what the world was going to be like when he arose in the morning, or who was going to make it through the day with him…whether he was going to make it through the day. The one constant was his mother, his best friend, and me.

A year of altered sleep patterns to fit the schedule of someone across the world. We planned a future of vacations and holidays. Dinners and parties. It was an escape for both of us.  But like I said it did not end well. A year later, he came home and he disappeared. Emotionally and physically.

09′ He was in Iraq

10′ He came home

11′ He is back in Iraq

So question is: Are we back at the beginning?

Break a leg…

If you broke a limb (for the sake of literary license let’s say a leg) and you did not go to a doctor to get it set, what do you think would happen? I think most people would agree that it would heal…not properly of course. But your bones would fuse themselves together again, in a patchwork/makeshift kind of way. You would survive, live to tell the story.

“I think about my friends and how most of them are broken women, in some way or another.” NAC

I came to the conclusion that I was broken. At some point in time I was broken by some action or group of sentences, that lead to a crack in my foundation. I also soon realized that I am healed. Not by some extraordinary means…but I fused myself back together in some makeshift/patchwork sort of way. I think we all have to heal ourselves to be able to get up from rock bottom and keep moving. It is a truth, not something to be analyzed over. It is just something we all have to do.

But what is the proper way to fix a limb/bone/leg/soul that hasn’t healed properly…re-break it? If it were a bone, you would.

Through the looking glass…

“At what point does the life that we “see” for ourselves become a hinderance and you have to let it go for the life that you can actually have…when is it ok to let go of possibilities in favor of the concrete?” Me

I am wondering this lately as I ponder the various relationships that gravitate in and out of my life. Those people who I give my time and credence to. I wonder if “Mr. Perfect” ever actually shows up? Is there a such thing as “perfect”? Yes, I do think there is. Not perfect in action or deeds. but perfect for the balance they bring to your life…but i digress.

At what point do I need to just accept that the boy next door is who I need to let come and borrow a cup of sugar.. So what? He doesn’t carry a whip and fedora like Indiana Jones, nor does he possess the smoothness of the star quarterback…but even the first string needs a the second string to sub in case of injury. And aren’t we all injured, in some form or fashion.

I mean this to say that I want to jet set around the world with my “him”, whomever “him” is. But I may not ever find that . The guy I may find is the one who wants to eat canned ravioli in front of the television. He will be a great provider, smart, loving, supportive…he will be all those things but a regular homebody that prefers to be left to his own predictable devices. Is that so bad? Doesn’t every woman want a husband that is stable and steady in the ways that they are unpredictable and shaky.

Should this be the (new) ideal that I just need to accept. Quite possibly. But also, maybe my 30-year-old eyes are getting tired of the masquerade and play with various acts but mediocre actors and supporting casts.