Friday, August 14, 2009

Why I don't trust men

Everyone on earth needs to read this:

http://shakespearessister.blogspot.com/2009/08/terrible-bargain-we-have-regretfully.html

I have stopped being a commenter at Shakesville for reasons that I'm not going into here. But I can't abandon the site completely because every so often, Liss just nails one.

Dear Thing 1, I quit. Love, Velma

What do you do when someone says and acts like they don’t want you in their life anymore…but they refuse to contact you to set up a time to get your stuff out of their house?

I cannot for the life of me figure out why Thing 1 is refusing to answer my calls and emails on this topic. Currently there are two theories duking it out in my head. Both may be partly true…or neither.

Anyway, theory one – he’s a controlling bastard. As long as he has my stuff, he still has control of the situation (and of me) to some extent. Not to mention, and thank you Daphne for bringing this to my attention, as long as he has my stuff I will continue to contact him periodically to try to get it back. And he can use that as proof somehow that I’m “stalking” him or needy or not letting go or whatthehellever. He can pretend to be the poor, put upon martyr having to put up with this psycho woman who won’t leave him alone.

Theory two – he doesn’t really want me to walk out of his life, but he’s incapable of doing what is necessary to get me to stay voluntarily. He’s incapable of apologizing and changing his behavior. So this is all he has to keep me tied to him. God, that’s really pathetic. I’m the one who worked to keep us together, he never really made an effort (because he never had to). And now, at the end, he’s the one who won’t do what is necessary to let me walk away.

In either event, I’m not interested in playing. My gut tells me to just walk away…let go of the stuff, deal with my guilt over abandoning the dog, just never contact him again. But part of me doesn’t want to let him keep my things. He has some clothes of mine that I really like and can’t replace easily. And he has the cake carrier that my mom gave me and I really want that back. Not to mention if I don’t return the few things I have of his, I’m sure he’ll whine about that and use it to try to make me the bad guy.

I really don’t want to have to turn this into a confrontation, but that may end up being the only choice I can live with. I’ve done it before. I drove seven hours to Lubbock to get my stuff back from the evil ex. It was ugly. But I can’t help seeing a lot of parallels between the two situations. The longer this goes on, the more I see him behaving just like my ex…and there’s a reason he’s an ex. There’s a reason he’s one of the few exes I don’t speak to. I really did not need to be subjected to this behavior again.

Dear Thing 1,

You’re a selfish, self-centered bastard. I would hope you spend the rest of your life miserable, but I don’t have to. You’ll do it whether I hope for it or not. You like being miserable and you like pulling others down with you. You can do it without me. I quit.

Love,
Velma

The good news, I have a dinner date tonight.

Monday, August 3, 2009

Surprisingly enough, not a rant. It does happen from time to time.

I don’t have the slightest idea what to rant about today. Too much stuff bouncing around in my brain. Thing 1 had a “wonderful” time this weekend “hugging trees”…which I suppose is better than hearing him say he had a wonderful weekend fucking like a rabid weasel. But not by much. I just keep telling myself…he’ll fuck it up. He always does. I’m too tired of the whole thing to even rant about it at this point. Though I’m sure he’ll say or do something stupid soon and I’ll be furious all over again.

Anyway, this is not a rant. It’ll happen from time to time. You can spot the non-rants ‘cause they won’t have a “Dear So And So” in them.

I’m thinking about implementing some serious changes to a) my life, and b) my relationships with both boys. If Thing 1 can’t figure out a way to make our relationship more egalitarian, then we may not have a relationship at all any more. I need more control. I’m tired of feeling like our relationship is at his whim. If it doesn’t change, I may just have to walk away.

And as for Thing 2, well, he has to step up and start making an effort. When he is hurting, I’m always there. No matter what else is going on in my life. If he can’t find a way to do the same for me, then our relationship may end up dying of atrophy.

I can’t do it any more. I can’t be the one doing all the work. And I’m not willing to have less than I deserve any more. And what Thing 1 doesn’t understand is that I mean that in a much broader sense than just sex or being considered a primary partner or having him give me more of his heart or whatever it is he tells himself I’m all about. I mean it in a holistic sense. I’m not willing to be treated as less than I am. Full stop.

I guess I’m a little disappointed in myself because I have such a hard time implementing my feminist ideals in my private/sex life. I let men I sleep with/love get away with shit that I wouldn’t tolerate from anyone else. Stuff that if they were doing it to a woman I know, I would yell at her to leave them.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t get involved with the hard-core woman haters. But you scratch pretty much any guy and you find all sorts of imbedded sexism. They don’t really respect women. They don’t treat us very well. They don’t treat us like equal partners. They don’t take our feelings into account.

One of the last things Thing 1 said to me that really touched me was that when we were having sex it was all about me for him. About getting me off. I believed it at the time. But looking back, not so much. There are a lot of things I asked him to do that he didn’t…that he wouldn’t do for me. Simple things – nothing complicated or degrading. Certainly not as out there as some things we actually did. Given the things I was willing to do to and for him, it makes him look pretty selfish. He is pretty selfish. And it isn’t just about sex. There are a lot of little things I’ve asked him to do and he says no just to say no most of the time. Even when it’s something he likes to do. If I ask, the answer is almost always no.

Or maybe it just never dawned on him that when I say I want something, I actually mean it. He has this real problem with believing the version of me he has in his head over the real me. Sometimes I think that’s a result of spending so many of the formative years of our relationship living 1200 miles apart. I wasn’t a real physical presence so of course I mostly lived in his head. He could imbue that version of me with whatever thoughts and opinions and desires he liked. Yes we talked a lot, online, on the phone, in person on the rare occasions when I could come and visit. But those visits weren’t the real world. We had to stuff everything into 4 or 5 days a year – you just don’t get a realistic idea of who a person is like that. I’m sure I’m guilty of this to some extent as well, though I’ve made a real effort to be open-minded and figure out who he is on a daily basis since I got here 2 years ago.

And maybe it’s just that way with men…they don’t see us as real human beings. The image is so much easier to deal with than the real person who has wants and needs and opinions that contradict his. Which leads back to the feminist interpretation – of course I’ve spent more time trying to figure out who he is, that’s what people in subordinate positions do. People with power don’t have to care what people beneath them think or feel.

It really does feel like starting over from the very beginning. There’s this guy and I have to decide if he’s worth it (multiply times 2). I have to decide if their behavior is such that I want to allow either of them into my life. Thing 1 has to prove to me that he’s really seeing the real me. That he’s listening to the real me. That he believes what I say and respects me and what I have to say. Thing 2 has to prove he’s someone who can actually be there emotionally for another person. That he has the ability to give. That he can listen instead of running over what I say.

I have to find a way to look at them both objectively and not through the eyes of someone who loves them. If they are causing me more pain and stress than can be counter-balanced by the joy they bring me…then I have to tell them that then and they either have to change that balance or I have to cut them loose. They’re both, in different ways, bringing me down. I fight so hard to not be depressed. I just can’t decide if I’d be more depressed with or without them.

I know, this rambles and makes no sense. I’m not apologizing.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Dear Thing 1, You are not forgiven. Love, Velma

This is a short one, because I'm too wrung out to type much. And it's still too personal, but if I don't scream about it somehwere...I'll explode or something.

Dear Thing 1,

Do not apologize for the things you did that I consider cherished memories. It makes it almost impossible for me to forgive you for the shit you did that actually hurt.

Just. Stop.

Love,
Velma

The boy is making me crazy. I can't figure out how to even begin to forgive him and that's not normal for me. He's making me a worse human being. *sigh*

Dear Grocery Store Bagger, Pay attention to your job. Love, Velma

Just a quick mini-rant. I had to do my normal Saturday morning errands earlier. The most important being picking up groceries at the Food Lion just up the street from my apartment.

I got the world's most annoying bagger. He wasn't paying any attention to what he was doing. Some of my bags were stuffed to bursting. Some had almost nothing in them. And I had to tell him three times to put the 6-pack of Mike's in a bag.

Seriously, the first time he was putting them in the cart, and I said, "I need those in a bag."

Nothing.

The second time, he was staring out the big windows in the front of the store. I said, "I need those in a bag."

He at least turned to look at me, but still didn't actually do what I asked.

The third time, I actually picked them up myself and said, "I need these in a bag."

Finally, the light dawns for this dimbulb. He thows my Mike's into a bag, dumps them in the cart, and instead of bagging the rest of my groceries, he goes running out into the parking lot to talk to someone in a car.

I bagged the rest of my groceries myself. The checker even felt the need to apologize to me for the whole thing.

Sheesh.

Dear Grocery Store Bagger,

You'll have plenty of time to talk to you friends when they fire your ass.

Love,
Velma