“Where You Lie”

This song is appropriate today:

Tell me again why I should give a damn
Tell me again why I should even care
I gave you everything I had and I swear
There’s nothing left here to, but

All the anger you left behind
All the hatred I feel inside
For in the aftermath of the love that died (love that died)
Keep digging your grave (grave), keep digging your grave

Take your broken promises, and don’t come back again
It’s time to say goodbye, I’m gonna leave you where you lie
Take your broken promises, every one you ever said
It’s time to say goodbye, I gonna leave you where you lie, lie
I’m gonna leave you where you lie

Dead and gone, just a memory
There’s nothing left here for you to see
The ashes fall, burn it all down
Until there’s nothing left around, but

All the anger you left behind
All the hatred I feel inside
For in the aftermath of the love that died (love that died)
Keep digging your grave (grave), keep digging your grave

Take your broken promises, and don’t come back again
It’s time to say goodbye, I gonna leave you where you lie
Take your broken promises, every one you ever said
It’s time to say goodbye, I gonna leave you where you

Lie through my face, you’re nothing but a lie
Lie through my face, you’re nothing but a lie

Keep digging your grave, keep digging your grave

Take your broken promises, and don’t come back again
It’s time to say goodbye, I gonna leave you where you lie
Take your broken promises, every one you ever said
It’s time to say goodbye, I gonna leave you where you lie, lie
I gonna leave you where you lie, lie
I gonna leave you where you lie, lie
I gonna leave you where you lie, lie
I gonna leave you where you lie

I like geeky stuff, politics, squirrels and monkeys.

Erasing the Memories

I woke up today feeling better than I have in months. This breakup is a lot easier than the last. But I’ve said that before. It’s a more normal course for me. Or it would be if Lilith wouldn’t have involved herself1. At this point it’s not about missing Sam anymore.

I realized last night that I’m done missing him. I wish him well and I hope he gets the help he really needs. I will never regret knowing him. I don’t give a flying fuck about anyone else’s opinion of that. “It’s his fault. You should hate him, too.” I am angry with him and the things that I’ve found out recently2, there’s no doubt. But now I know what happened. I don’t need to hear him say it. I don’t need to hear him say anything else now. I was shocked that he’d turned like that, but now I know why. And now I will let all of that go.

But I will torment that bitch until the end of my days.

There’s a process in my brain when someone breaks a connection with me. It doesn’t matter how much I loved this person. It doesn’t matter how much we shared or how deep we were into each other. It doesn’t matter how well we know each other. I have one serious cry – the kind where your eyes are swollen for the entire next day – and then the healing starts. Then I empty my brain. You can see that part here3 it through the written word first. Then the weirdness starts.

The first step is forgetting the voice. I can’t recall what he sounds like. I have a recording, so I can listen to that, of course. But to recall it on my own? Even immediately after listening to the recording I forget the sound. My brain reads the words I’m trying to remember him saying. His voice is missing. My mind has erased it.

Then I forget the eyes. It doesn’t matter how deeply I’ve looked into them or how I’ve stared in an effort to burn the image into my brain. If I try to recall what his face looks like without an image to remind then I will fail. I know the words to describe the color or shape of them, but I can’t see them. If I imagine a face my mind’s eye avoids the area of the face where the eyes should be. There’s nothing there. I’ve erased them from my memory.

Next the entire face goes. When I remember or dream this person (whoever it should be) my mind will avoid the face or… blur it out. I saw a Buffy episode that had a monster with a similar face of what the people in my mind look like. Again, I can describe them with words, but I can’t see what I’m describing.

Then the memories become choppy and segmented. If I were to imagine him from head to toe I wouldn’t be able to do as a whole. I can see a hand, an ear, the stubble on his chin. I can see his weird toes, his calves… The images don’t seem to belong to a single person. They just kind of float there for me to snatch out of the ether.

It’s frustrating for me, but also a blessing. For some I can remember what their touch feels like or their breath going through my hair. But that’s not typical. That happened once when I was standing in my closet and it was almost like a ghost hugged me. That was probably the weirdest memory jolt I’ve had. The weirdness of it is the memory now, though. I can’t actually recall the feeling. Sometimes I will come across something that reminds me of a certain person. When I touch the object I get a sudden rush of feeling. But it’s short and a one-time only thing. My brain adjusts and plugs up the hole that memory may have leaked from. I liken it to the pain of childbirth. I can describe what that feels like but can’t recall the actual feeling of the pain. I’ve read that is a mechanism in place so that women won’t avoid having babies4.

I explained to my counselor that I will forget what he looks like in 2 weeks. She seemed a little taken aback. I’d assumed it was a relatively common thing. “Out of sight; out of mind” as the saying goes. That’s me, basically. She told me that’s a survival mechanism I probably honed from the time I was a child. I had to do it to survive. I asked her if I can fix it. I didn’t want to forget the way his voice vibrated when he called for me in the morning. I didn’t want to forget that growl he does. I didn’t want to forget the beauty of his eyes5. She didn’t offer anything other than “you need to find a way to connect more easily with more people”. Pshaw. That wasn’t the least bit helpful.

So, I tried to fix that. And I failed. There is no stopping my brain from doing what it’s been honed to do forever. I can’t recall his face without looking at a picture. I can remember what it felt like to lie with him, but his voice? Gone. I look at his pictures, but they don’t stick when I shut the app. It’s not because I didn’t love him. Don’t get it twisted6. But I’ve subconsciously released myself from… missing him.

I can’t guarantee that I’d even recognize him if I saw him right now. Forgetting faces is frustrating. I’ve been there with other people. The last time I saw the love of my life I didn’t even recognize him. He had to tell me who he was. I have no pictures of him to remind me. I remember that I really loved him and why I really loved him. Again, I can describe it in words. But I can’t remember the feeling of being in love with him. I know I’ve never loved anyone else the same7. I want to believe that part of my memory is just walled up so tight even I can’t get to it – as opposed to it being gone forever.

I don’t much care who reads this or what their opinion is on the matter. I’m genuinely bothered that my memories just kind of evaporate. Overnight almost. After a while I completely forget what it felt like to be in love with someone – though I can describe it with words. That’s part of what I meant with “The Hollow”. I know that it happened on a logical level. I know because I do have the bare-bones memory that it actually happened. I don’t have the emotional memory of any of it. Not when I’ve decided it’s time to let go. I’ve packed it all away. Except the parts that caused the severance. That won’t go away. And that is why I don’t get back with my exes if we’ve been apart for a good length of time: I forget what it felt like to love that person. I also become friends with exes because I can’t recall the feeling of hurt – just that I got hurt and how. Not the feeling of it.

Anyway, the way she described what I was doing to me leads me to believe that it’s not common. That someone can really remember their loved ones faces well enough to count the freckles on their nose. How though? I told her that I’d forget his face in 2 weeks. She looked shocked. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen her since as she’s been out of town. She seems to think there’s something in me that really isn’t there. That’s kind of sad. When I tell her I was right I wonder what she will say.

Yes, I keep pictures of all the people who are involved in my life because I need to be able to visualize them. If they’ve not been around in a while then I begin to erase them. It does not matter who the person is. It’s all part of my curse. It tortures me. Because I want those good memories. I want to reach back into my past and pull up the good stuff. I can’t do that without visual or audio aids. I can watch that video of Lucifer and I and remember that I had a great time. I smile when I watch it. In my mind I have separated those memories away from the horrible ones I have. I like to focus on the bad ones in an effort to heal8. I can do the same with Sam or TheMan. I can remember that moment for the length of time it takes to watch that video. My brain puts it away after that.

So that’s where I’m at today. I don’t really even care much about the Lilith at the moment. She and her co-conspirator are annoyances on the peripheral of my life – Sam isn’t even part of that. I’ll always know why I can’t stand her. Eventually it won’t even matter. I’ve already begun moving her out of my head. I’ll never know how well or bad any of them are doing. I won’t care. I don’t stalk or circumvent blocks or drive by anyone’s house. I refuse to allow myself to do that crazy shit. I won’t allow more wounds to my psyche before these ones have scarred over. I know she will continue to hurt Sam with the words that I write here, but he also had the choice of finding out for himself when we were together9. He had the choice of talking to me about anything she and that other person told him. He chose their lies over my truth. And that’s that. Good riddance, I guess.

I’m glad it didn’t take as long as with Lucifer, though. Holy shitballs, I don’t have that much time in my life. Once again, as a reminder, my relationship with Lucifer was incredibly damaging. It was likened to an addiction. I had to detox from him and get him out of my system before I could even give Sam a chance. I remind myself what he did to me so that when I see the signs again I can act10. I just remind myself that I’ve been here before and I’m still alive and kicking. Sam’s friends helped me realize that I don’t have any more time for him either. That door that I opened has been closed to him forever.

I’m broken, yes. Lucifer took what I had to give, burned it to ashes, set the ashes back on fire and then pissed on those ashes. Yes, I’m recovering from that. Sam didn’t do all that – though he was digging the triangulation. I didn’t allow it to happen. Not this time and never again.

I like geeky stuff, politics, squirrels and monkeys.

  1. That one has a long life of misery and internal torment to which to look forward. I should feel bad for her, but I hope she suffers for a very long time. []
  2. My suspicions that have all been confirmed. []
  3. I used to do it in a private journal that I’d eventually burn. My deepest thoughts still go into a journal though. Either way, I process []
  4. Silly scientists. We’ve found ways around that. []
  5. Which is funny because he and I have the same color eyes. []
  6. Lilith, if you read this, I hope you choke. []
  7. I was young. We were hot and heavy and dangerous. But he knew me. He knew my thoughts, he could read my face and, yes, he could finish my sentences. We loved the same things. We were inseparable until we separated. []
  8. And, with Lucifer, completely forget him forever. []
  9. I will not stop blogging. Fuck them. If they don’t like what’s being said then too fucking bad. There’s the x to close the window []
  10. As I did when Sam did his thing. I saw the signs and I couldn’t ignore them any longer. I acted in my own best interest for once. Survival mode kicked in and, well, it was different this time. []

What’s the Big Deal about NPD?

I’m putting this here just so people will understand what my thought processes are with Lucifer. He has NPD – a covert Narcissist. He is text book. Apparently, I’m just pining for him instead of healing from what he did to me. So, here’s a link with some information.

Narcissistic Victim Syndrome << This is something I think anyone who gives a shit about me should look at. Let me quote a bit1:

Once a person has become a victim of a narcissist (whether it happened in childhood or later on in life), the victims are already unconsciously primed to enter the narcissist’s “convoluted dance” that opens them up to further abuse. It is necessary for the therapist to gently shine a light on what they are doing in the dance that makes them a victim. Once again, a “Narcissistic Victim” is any person who is harmed, injured or killed by a person who displays pathological narcissism (which can occur on a spectrum of severity).

The victim needs to understand that this “dance” of codependency requires two people: the pleaser/fixer (victim)2, and the taker/controller (narcissist/addict), together both partners dance beautifully in perfect step, and the madness begins. The consequences for the victim not understanding the intricacy of the dance, is that, no matter how often they try to avoid “unhealthy” partners, they will find themselves habitually returning to the same dance floor; the only thing that will change is that they will find themselves dancing to a different tune, but always the personality of the dance partner remains the same.

Therapist need to be seriously aware that narcissism is a very complex disorder that creates a lot of suffering, both to the person who has the disorder, and to those people who have to live with the disordered narcissistic behavior on a daily basis. When I speak of narcissistic abuse, (abuse that can lead to Narcissistic Victim Syndrome), I am speaking about a form of abuse that is very insidious. What I mean by insidious is that the abuse is covert, cunning and often indirect. This form of abuse is often carried out in a subtly and clandestine manner, because narcissists go to great pains to avoid being observed publicly as being abusive. This Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde behaviour of the narcissist (loving one minute and totally enraged the next) can inflict great harm on the victim. Understandably, the fear, distress, confusion, inner turmoil, and chaos that they experience leaves them “walking on eggshells” in order to avoid further conflict with the narcissist. The effect on the victim over time can be very crippling indeed. I liken narcissism to a parasitic worm that manages to penetrate under the skin, where it is out of the sight of witnessing eyes, but is free to injure or consume its host slowly, leaving trauma or disease in its wake. By the way, the narcissist can manage to live on inside the victim even after they manage to escape; it is as if their “seed” goes on.

Emphasis and footnotes are added as well as some editing to make this more digestible. The article above is very long, so keep that in mind if you decide to read it.

I saw a little bit of that in Sam. Just a bit. Like he’s not quite fully developed this way. There was a point where I refused to discuss things with him because he would get angry. The last week of our relationship was seriously stressed. That’s really why we broke up. I was afraid of falling back into the same trap I’ve been in before. I completely and totally freaked out as soon as he started lashing out at me3.

With Lucifer… That mofo… There’s a reason I call him Lucifer. He tore my brain apart and put it back together all wrong. And that is why I’m seeing a trauma counselor. I’m not pining for Lucifer in the way Sam thinks. I’m recovering from him. Because that’s what happened in my brain when he messed me up. I’m the fixer in this scenario. The link above explains it more in-depth. I’m currently wallowing quite a bit, but I’m certainly not pining.

I like geeky stuff, politics, squirrels and monkeys.

  1. It’s quite a long article. []
  2. This is me. []
  3. There really was no reason for the rage he displayed that day. We weren’t fighting and we had an excellent morning. That wasn’t the first time he did that – in less than a week – and I felt threatened. My lizard brain went into autopilot and I lashed back. It’s what I do. []

I Want to Hide A While

Do you know what’s really bad about small towns in my area of Appalachia? The limited collective memory of the people who live here. People who grow up here get put into boxes young and they can never move out of those boxes. If you’d done anything as a teenager or young adult that broke the moral code then that is the label you carry to your grave with you.

It doesn’t matter where you go or how you grow. It doesn’t matter how hard you try to break out of that little box. Your intelligence, hard work, personal growth is all inconsequential. What you did when you were 17 years is all anyone needs to know about you. Find a new friend outside of your social category? Someone will come a long to remind everyone involved why it’s just not a good idea.

There is no anonymity in a small town. You can not go unnoticed. The more different you are the more everyone knows about you. Every interaction you’ve ever had will be scrutinized: how does this person know that person? Ok, then that person is related to that person through this person who everyone know did this thing when he was 17. Oh, my.

It’s almost a caste system. There are some untouchables in certain small towns. The extra-weird weirdos. No one will even be seen being kind to them. When someone passes them on the street they look straight down at their feet. If they can’t see them then they can’t be real. Outcasts, these people. Untouchable.

If you choose to remain in the town after you get out of high school, well, you’d better just remember your place in the system. Yes, go to school, better yourself. Get a decent job and raise a nice family. All of that. But never forget that you are only allowed friends within your box and that your children can only be friends within that box. Non-conformity will not be tolerated by anyone who wants to live without derision. No, no, I can’t be friends. What will the neighbors think?

There’s a certain amount of safety in living in a big city. No one knows your history. No one knows which box you should’ve fit in. No one has the memory to judge you by. You get to make a new impression. You can be in the box or outside of it. There are enough people exactly like you for you to form your own social group – away from the constraints of the tight-knit culture of a small town. Not a conventional person? In a non-conventional relationship? It’s much, much easier to say “who the fuck cares?” when you are surrounded by people in your support group. People who accept you and all of your quirks.

The constraints of that kind of social system1 make me crazy. I’ve said many times “This place sucks my soul.” And it’s true. I was much happier amongst other weirdos like me. I tend to remember the bad things that happen2, but I loved living in a city. I loved my awkward group of friends. I loved the memories we made together. I didn’t grow up there, but they didn’t care. Some of them didn’t grow up there either. They didn’t give a shit if I went to church. Non-conventional relationships were all part of our lifestyle. We didn’t make decide to ridicule someone because they fell in love with someone outside of our social norms. Welcome to the fold, new blood.

I could use some of that big city anonymity right about now.

I like geeky stuff, politics, squirrels and monkeys.

  1. The locals who grew up there can tell you all about it. []
  2. This is, apparently, a major character flaw of mine. I’m going to be working on that. []

A Time to Reset and Rebuild

I become my own self-fulfilling prophecy

I wrote that last summer while I was dealing with the fall out from Lucifer. I was editing out Sam’s real first name1 out of a couple of places and ran into a post wherein I blame myself for what happened with Lucifer. I’m good at making myself feel like shit. Anyway, the above line pretty much sums it all up, I think2.

Today is Easter. I don’t really celebrate except for the kids and Easter candy, etc. But the whole point of the day for Christians is that Jesus is risen and he’s able to finally be who he was meant to be3. Spring is a time of renewal – a time when light finally begins to win over the dark. It’s when we in the winter climes begin to breathe a sigh of relief. Winter – and the darkness – are behind us now. Now comes the rain to wash away the cold hardness of winter. Easter is celebrated as a Christian holiday.

I celebrate it for the hope it brings. Hope for new things, new warmth, and new chances.

Spring is my favorite time of the year. It’s exciting to me to see the robins come or the daffodils emerging from the soil. I love song of all the birds coming home from their winter foraging. Everything becomes shiny and colorful again. The grass becomes green again and the trees begin to show leaves. Spring is the beginning. It’s the start. We celebrate our New Year in mid-winter. But we should mark it in the spring. Everything becomes new again.

I’ll be a bit sad this year. I so enjoyed the yard at my old house. Anyone who follows me on Twitter should remember this. Whether it announcing the hatching of the dove babies or the antics of my Drunk Neighbor. Or just sitting in the back yard under my trees. The bird nests in my bushes with baby bunnies hidden beneath. The squirrel nests that eventually led to frolicking baby squirrels on my porch. I loved watching my heirloom, lavender rose bush just starting to bloom. My lily garden finally emerging and those fucking ants eating them.

I haven’t really dealt with the loss of my home. Because it was so much more than a house with a yard to me. Spring was the most wonderful time there. My yard would come alive. And I loved it. People say “you didn’t really lose that much. At least you’re still alive”, but they don’t realize that the house itself wasn’t what was important. It was the home it represented. The security and stability of it. It was memories, hopes, dreams and traditions.

I still love this season, but I won’t be working out in the yard or watching the babies be born. I won’t be sitting on my porch watching my neighbors in the evening. It won’t be the same at all this year. This year will be the rebirth of me, I think. That’s what this spring will mark. The restart of the beginning of my new life. It’s just Lil’lady and me now. I’ll be cultivating something entirely different this year. I hope I don’t fuck it up.

I like geeky stuff, politics, squirrels and monkeys.

  1. Sam is still not his real name, guys. []
  2. I’m still trying to decide if it’s grammatically correct. []
  3. I’m probably wrong. Whatever. []

I’m Trained to Serve?

When MyDude and I were still living together I would do his laundry with mine. It made sense, so why not? At one point he got really pissed at me for doing it. He said “I know you were probably trained to do that but I can do my own laundry.” It seems like a silly thing to remember, but I found myself thinking about it when I was with a friend the other day.

I have worked with the public since I was able to get my first job. I was trained to be observant and to do my job silently before someone needed something. The glass is empty? Bring the refill without being asked. Someone dropped something? Pick it up for them without being asked. Impress people by seeing what they need before they realize they need it. I’m good at that because I’ve been doing it my entire life.

And, yes, it creeps into my personal life. You have dirty clothes right there and I’m doing laundry? In they go. You need a place to sit? Have my seat. You’re hungry? Eat before me, even if you don’t leave enough for me. I’m good with that. I don’t even think about doing it, really. Well, I haven’t before recently. Not even when Andrew said it that one time. I’m trained, yes. But not by TheMan. TheMan just benefited from something I was already conditioned to do.

My counselor is trying to get me to stop being so conciliatory. Now, I seem like the biggest bitch in my section of BFE. Maybe that’s true. But I will bend over backwards and sideways to do for the people I care about. And this has caused an avalanche of problems for me. I find myself being taken advantage of all the time. Especially by close family members. They know I can’t say no. So, I’m working on that. I’m being very conscious of boundaries. Saying no. It really pisses people off. My people are angry with me, not speaking to me and… Because I say no now and I’m firm. And people in my life don’t know how to handle that.

They wanted me to be me again. But they didn’t want my servitude to change. I’m a pushover. I want everyone to be happy. I want to see people smile. I want them to know they can depend on me. They want me available to them whenever they need something. Now I’m not always available. Now I’m a bitch. Now I’m selfish. Now I’m worthless.

It’s frustrating. This is a huge turning point in my life and most of my problems now are because I’ve done too much for people when I needed help my damned self. Now I’m saying no. And I feel guilty for doing it. Though it does kind of feel better that I don’t have that extra weight on my shoulders. Sure, none of them will help me move, but that’s ok. I’ll figure it out.

I did some research to see what my psychosis is. I’ve decided that I don’t have one or if I do then it’s a manageable one. I want to please people. I want them to be happy with me, to make them laugh, to give them good memories. I don’t want to see anyone suffer and would rather take that burden on myself than see someone else go through it. I don’t want to see someone cry or be afraid or frustrated. Let me carry that burden for you. I’m used to it, right? Give it to me. And they do. Then I get pissed. Because I’m an asshole. Is that a psychosis?

I have an issue with boundaries and now that I’m setting them it’s causing even more problems. MyDude thought I was properly “trained” by TheMan. I was to a certain degree1. He was amazed that I would do anything for him and it pissed him off. He thought I was doing it so that he would be in my debt. That’s not true at all. I just wanted to make him happy – I want to make everyone in my life happy if I can. That’s a bad thing the way I do it. Everyone in my life is pissed at me and I’m over here shrugging. Oh well, my people, this is the me everyone missed. Welcome back, JJ.

I like geeky stuff, politics, squirrels and monkeys.

  1. TheMan was surprisingly controlling and I was a willing victim. []