i am not broken.

I realize we all have issues with our parents, and that mine aren’t all that different from the next person’s.  Talking about my relationship with my mother always feels like betrayal.  I don’t know if it’s because we are similar, or because she’s genuinely not nice to me.  Or because I’m oversensitive.  But relating to my mother has never been something that I’ve done well.

I’ve spent plenty of time resenting her and the things she does.  Yet I love her and I know that she is a great mom.

I’ve lived thousands of miles away from the place I grew up in for nine years now.  It was July, 2001.  I know this because a) I still have the receipt for the one-way plane tickets, and b) September 11, 2001 was a marker of sorts for many of us.  It’s not easy to forget that day and the things that led up to it.

Since leaving I haven’t gone more than one, maybe two weeks at the most, without talking to my mother on the phone.  And I hate the phone.  (maybe this is why?)

My mom, she drives me insane.  She makes comments, passive-aggressive comments.  She takes jabs at you when you least expect.  She constantly needs to have the upper hand.  She knows more than you, and if she doesn’t, it’s only because she doesn’t care.  She will not hesitate to use something you say today against you tomorrow.  She keeps score.

When I talk about how I don’t want to be her and when I mention that I did something, something that was totally my mom, I’m conflicted because I love her.  Outsiders love her.  She did a good job raising us.  She managed to find joy in her relationship with my father and has been married to him since 1974.  Apparently she knows more about sustaining and thriving in a relationship than I do.  And sure, not all relationships are meant to last for a long time, and maybe she isn’t as happy as she lets on, but really she’s kept her shit together and they make it all work somehow.

But the point I’m trying to get at is that I call her nearly daily.  I tell her about my day.  I put my son on speaker.  And I have this expectation that she wants to hear from us.

Let me try to word this so that maybe you can feel it the way I feel:

I expect that my mom wants to know what is going on in our lives.  I expect that she wants to know about the fake non-date that I went on with a boy who doesn’t appear to want to kiss me.  I believe that she wants to know about the car accident that a friend of mine recently got into.  I expect that she wonders how his recover is going.  And everytime I can tell that she isn’t listening to me, everytime she takes another call from someone she speaks to ten times a day, everytime she hangs up with me because she has to get in the car (it’s a cell phone, for fuck’s sake), every time she asks me a question that she’s already asked me, I remember that this is how it’s been for years.  I remember why I stopped giving her information when I lived back there.  I remember why I was always looking for a way out.  I remember why she’s been demoted to only the most necessary and relevant facts.  The sting of rejection is sharpest with my mother.  Sure a boy can reject you, but you can get over that.  He will go away.  Mom?  It’s difficult to get rid of her.

And I scold myself for letting it get to me.  For letting her in, believing that I should trust her with my openness.  And I close back up again.

It’s been nearly a week since I’ve called home.

1.  Walked into door at work, to find crush boy walking out.  Normally I make morning coffee.  For those of you who missed it before, even though the office provides us with free-flowing coffee all day long, we split a french press.  He tells me not to put it on.  Which means he’s going for a drive to get some.  And not only did he go out for coffee, but he went to the Good Place, which is much farther away than the sbux on the corner.

2. Half day of work, followed by office party in parking lot.  With food and booze.

3. Except I’m not big on beef, which was what was being served.  So we went out.  And drove past the entire office (remember, parking lot party) to park the vehicle upon return.  Rumors, for sure.

4. We socialized.  And drank.  I hit the glenfiddich.  and some other stuff.

5. Got a text from a friend I haven’t heard from in awhile.  This made me hugely happy.

6. Drank some more.

7. Left party quickly.  Together.  (no one noticed, right?)

8. Hung out at his place.  A couple more drinks.  I washed his dishes.  He fed me.  Leftovers from last night, when he went out for dinner and called to invite me, but I was busy.  But seriously he fed me.  Sure it wasn’t like he cooked – all he did was heat up leftovers, but this girl has not been served a meal by a man since the day my marriage ended.  And he fed me.  And I thanked him for that.

9. I had to be somewhere so he took me back to my car.  At the office.  Party had moved inside to the boardroom.  One of the girls saw us come back.  I had to change my clothes for the thing I was supposed to be at.  By the time I went back inside, changed clothes, and drove my car out, that same girl was back outside smoking again.  This time with a couple other girls.  One of the newly outside girls attacked me “HEY WHERE DID YOU GO?!?”  So yeah, no one really noticed.  Except the girl who saw us come back, she’s now got all kinds of gossip brewing in her head, I’m sure.  She was quite nice and giggled and said nothing.

10. There’s no 10.  There doesn’t need to be a 10.  That was enough.  And wonderful.

Came across these tonight while I was cleaning.  I haven’t worn them since I was pregnant and my sausage fingers became too fat to fit in them.

Now that they fit me I no longer want to wear them.  But they are pretty, so if they end up missing, at least I have this picture to remember.

But it’s not.  I’m re-reading pamie’s book right now.  It’s 2 in the morning and I have to be at work in six hours, but I’m in bed, crying once again over this book.  It’s helping me make peace with things I guess.  I’m too cheap to go back to therapy, especially when I hate so much the idea of paying someone to listen to me go on and on about myself.  So I read and take what I can get from these fictitious characters who are sort of feeling exactly what I’m feeling.  There’s something cathartic about finding a character that you identify with; one who has similar motivations and pains.

I don’t like going to his house.  I don’t like knowing that that house is surviving without me.  I don’t like seeing how things have changed since my departure.  That his life goes on and that he has new things on the walls.  (Except he doesn’t.  My father’s paintings and photographs are still up.  As are the pictures we had taken of the baby when he was just born.  Including shots of me.)

It bothers me, it even hurts me to know that he’s moved on.  Even though I told him to, even though this is how I wanted it.  Even though I have no desire at all to be with him again, it bothers me to know that he has Someone Else.  It angers me.  I am so, so angry when I see them together.  Uncontrollably angry.  I’m not sure exactly why yet, but I have a growing list of possible reasons.  I keep track of these reasons because I’m tired of feeling this way.  I don’t want to be angry.  I want to be able to put some positive energy into my own life and relationships.

1. As I mentioned in a previous entry, I am jealous that someone wants him and no one wants me.  I am starting to feel pretty.  And I am starting to believe that when men who I have awesome chemistry with don’t want me, it’s their loss.  But still it hurts to know that it was so “easy” for him.  I feel like I felt back in high school, when none of the boys asked me out.  Ever.  Do you know that I’ve never been on a date?  Never.  Prom was not a date.  Dating happens between two people who might kiss.  My prom dates were never boys I had the opportunity to kiss.
2. After all this time, he really is the only one here who knows certain things about me.  I had a Serious Thing happen this week and he was the only one who really understood how serious.  But he isn’t my friend.  I can’t tell him things.  He doesn’t care to support me emotionally anymore.  I’m no longer mourning the loss of my marriage, but now I’m kind of hurting for the friend that I once had.  It’s lonely over here.

Incidentally, I DID tell him about the Serious Thing.  I cried.  He moved closer to me because his normal reaction would have been to hold me.  But he stopped himself.  Because we are not friends.  Neither of us knows how to do that, so we don’t.

Back to number one and the fact that I haven’t dated – no wonder I feel so awful about myself.  I jump into bed with men.  Move in with them.  Get married, have kids.  But I don’t date.  I don’t know how to.  And now that no one is making a move to date me, I feel so rejected, which makes the thing where the ex is getting regular sex, that much more painful.

It really can’t get much worse from here.  Well no, I realize it can.  It can get much, much worse.  But my non-existent love life?  That’s got to improve soon.  I’m sure.

It was a weird weekend and I can’t say exactly why.  Well, I can technically I guess.  I didn’t hear from him the entire weekend.  From friday evening when I said goodbye to him at the bar we both ended up in after work, to Monday morning.  Zero contact.  No texting, no IM, no email.  Nothing.  I emailed him Friday night more than once.  None of my emails were questions, but still.  I can’t tell you when the last time we went an entire weekend with zero contact.

When I realized he hadn’t answered me Saturday, I decided not to email anymore.

I don’t know what to make of it.

Also from today -

me: what’s that on your neck?

him: not a hickey.

He answered quickly, no time to pretend or deny or whatever.  So no, not a hickey, I’m sure.

Ok that was flirting and you know it.

I put an intention out to the universe last week.  In writing.  “I will go on a proper date.  This month.”  It was Wednesday when I wrote these words down and sent them to my girlfriends.

Friday night I decided to run the stairs near my house.  129 of them.  Ten times.  Have I mentioned that I am not a small girl?  Anyhow I ran the stairs.  And when I was done I did some wall squats and stretched on the grass nearby.  As I was stretching I noticed a car passing.  These particular stairs are situated behind a stripmall.  No one drives back there, especially at 8PM on friday night.  That back driveway is pretty much reserved for delivery trucks, as it provides access to the loading bays of the stores at this end of the strip mall.

I stretch some more.  Do some crunches.  Push-ups.  You know the drill.  Vehicle circles back around.  I realize it’s the mall security guy.  Since there were no cars back there I never bothered to properly park my car in a stall.  I just sort of pulled it over to the side and left it there, at the base of the stairs.

So I thought I was going to get in trouble for parking my car in not a stall.  As I went to the car to try and avoid getting in trouble, because I’m dorky that way, he comes back.  Rolls down his window.  Stops at my car.  And then he proceeded to tell me about how he was watching some kids and making sure they weren’t about to graffiti up the building, because that’s what they do, those kids from up the hill.

Thirty minutes later I had learned that he was a special olympics volunteer, that he was with a woman for 5.5 years.  That he ruined that relationship buy buying an awesome sound system for exactly the same price as the engagement ring that she wanted.  That he met his next gf on the internet and that it wasn’t working out.  (This is where I realized it was a pickup).  That he was born into the hell’s angels.  That he goes to the tattoo show every year.  (I did not tell him I skate – we have a track set up at the tattoo fest and if he really does go, he’d know that.)  He has two kids.  When he realized I truly wasn’t interested, he told me about some girl in Malaysia who is saving herself for him.  Because he’s that great.  Maybe I was supposed to be impressed by that?  I wasn’t.

So in the pro column, I went out alone, did something I enjoyed, got exercise, AND met a man.  In the con column:  Dating is a scary world.  One that is full of men that I feel absolutely no attraction for.

He bought me apples.  It’s sort of normal.  When he goes out for fruit in the middle of the day he emails or texts or calls to see if I want anything and if I want to come along.  This time he didn’t.  He just bought me what he knew I’d order.  Surprised me.

The thing with him is that he does these things that come off as really sweet and thoughtful and awesome, but I don’t think he thinks about them.  I don’t think he sits there and thinks, “hm she’s pissed off and I get that and I’d like to make it up to her.  Maybe I will get her some apples.”

I’ve told a couple of you this this week:  He has these smile lines at the corner of his eyes.  Just little ones.  But I’m finding myself staring at them.  And aside from his arms which I ogle almost daily, and I have not bothered making a secret of it, the eyes are totally sucking me in.  He does not yet know of my creepy attraction to his wrinkles.

One little thing set me off today.  Well no, it was a series of little things.  But this is a pattern with me.  Something is said.  It affects me negatively, and then I spend the day thinking about it, or not thinking about it, and then it comes back into my brain again and again.  Just works its way back in.

Basically I’m fine.  I’ve been doing well.  I’ve been feeling good and not crazy.  And then this thing happened and I can’t control my thoughts and I’m fixating on beating myself down.  All I can think about is how I’m ugly and fat and not good enough.  And these negative thoughts take over and fester and holy fuck I had mcdonalds for dinner.  mcdonalds.  When there’s a perfectly good pot of veg chili in my fridge.

And I tell myself that how I react to what happened is within my control.  What he did or didn’t do, I can’t control that, but how I respond and how I let my thoughts go on and on and SHUT UP ALREADY, that’s all within my reach.  And when I return to my senses I realize that this is me overreacting, but when you’re right here in the middle of this crazy time, there’s no backing down or talking yourself down from wherever it is I’m perched.  There’s just me being pissed off and feeling shitty.

At least I told him.  I could have told him sooner, like when it was happening, but I was afraid I’d come off as mega monster crazy woman who is uber jealous.  And I don’t even think it’s jealousy.  It’s something else.  It might be jealousy.  The root of it might be jealousy.  In which case I’ve just outed myself.  But seriously.  Getting distracted every three sentences or so because a hot woman walks by?  I have every reason to feel disrespected.  Which turns into me feeling shitty and awful and ugly and fat and severely unworthy.

This is going to help me get over the ridic. crush though.  I hope.

Those of you who I actually know in real life – you are part of a select few people who know about this website.  Welcome, and pls refrain from using my real name in your comments.  tks.