It's all still in my head right now, ideas swimming around in free-form, but I am beginning to piece to together a connection between my grandparents' escape from Nazi occupation in 1939, the passing down of intergenerational trauma, and my own, reoccurring, descents into victimization and self-punishment.
My mom has a tendency to brush it off and change the subject when I start to talk about my link to my paternal grandparents' escape from Nazi Germany. Maybe she feels it's a part of my identity that has absolutely nothing to do with her, and maybe she doesn't like that. Perhaps it's just a topic that causes her eyes to glaze over, the way mine do when she begins another diatribe about the state of the healthcare system.
But I don't think I should dismiss this connection I feel, this need to explore this part of my family's history, and how it has contributed to who I am, both genetically and emotionally. I wonder, is progeny responsible for the indefinable guilt I have experienced since early childhood? Do two generations of repressed trauma and secrecy have a noticeable affect on the third generation?
I've always had this bizarre sense, way back in the depths of my consciousness (however, it is a conscious awareness), that when I am out on the streets, dating ex-cons and murderers, taking drugs, and allowing myself to be abused in various ways, that I am some kind of vigilante investigative reporter, tracking down stories for which most journalists would not risk their lives or reputations. The darkness of the world has always compelled me to make sense of it, to understand the inner workings of said darkness on an individual level. Through understanding a few specific people, I am gaining a generalized education in the development of dysfunction, addiction, and learned (as opposed to instinctual) fear.
I wish I knew my grandparents' story better than I do. I know only surface level information, little more than what is available through a Google search, with justifiable reason. My grandparents, Henry and Elly Glass, were miniature-sized couple who walked slow, were perpetually cold due to prescribed blood-thinning medication intended to counteract years of Elly's Viennese cooking. Despite decades in the U.S., their accents were as heavy as they were precious and they, in true European fashion, had complete outfits for every occasion. Neither owned a single garment made from denim, and they considered peanut butter to be proletariat. Charming as they wereCulturally, we have accepted Holocaust survivors' reluctance to unveil the atrocities they have witnessed. My Jewish heritage was not revealed to me until the summer before my junior year of college. Revealed to me so casually, in passing, and as if the information had always been common knowledge, I was stunned. It's funny to me now, looking back, how plainly it had been presented to me throughout my life. Yet, as casually as it was mentioned to me that August day of 2003, the evidence to back it up was the area of contention, the question that could not be asked directly of either of my grandparents. Also, as I had always been aware of this vague family history, I'd been equally aware that it was not appropriate to ask them about it.
So how do my holocaust survivor grandparents fit into the story of my own life, filled with dangerous characters, illegal substances, and willing footsteps towards complete submergence into anomie? My grandparents, from such a completely different time and place that even with what they had to endure during Hitler's regime, I believe they would've been devastated to learn of the places I had gone willingly, the chemicals I ingested, and the men I allowed to invade my aura.
When I think about what they went through, the adversity they had to overcome, how they had to leave their country, lose friends and family, suffer who knows what kinds of personal violations in order to secure their freedom, I am ashamed of myself. What a complete lack of respect I've had for my family's history.
My grandfather always wanted me to pursue the arts. In his opinion, I should have focused on fashion design. Well, I think that would've been ab-fab, but I was too impatient to learn how to sew. I was also too impatient to learn to play the guitar, deeming null my prospect of becoming the next rock god(dess). I considered other options in the arts, such as painting, but found as a teenager unwilling to get a full-time job for any longer than six months, the cost of materials was a major deterrent. Photography offered even more absurd financial woes.It wasn't that I chose writing as a career path because of it's low overhead, I just got lucky. Writing requires no accompaniment, or special ability other than typing (but even that I postponed until my mid-twenties, opting rather for spiral bound notebook and decent quality pen).
Am I reaching here? Am I wanting to make something out of nothing because of the identity it might provide me? Probably. But I won't know what I'm searching for unless I travel down a few dead ends along the way. Too bad life doesn't have a GPS system. I guess some questions have to be important enough to be worth searching for answers, and getting hopelessly lost along the way.
Below is a flash version of the anthology from my memoir class at UW. You may recognize the name of one of the authors. And here's an "oldie but goodie" that I thought I'd throw in for comic relief.
I tried to break up with HAM again a week ago. He said he would quit drinking, or that he would try his best, but didn't want to promise because he's an addict and doesn't trust his promises in regards to such matters. I tried to tell him about how I want t get married and how I want to move away to go to grad school, and how I probably want to have children one day. He said he would move with me to New York, but wouldn't move anywhere else until he finished his undergrad at UW. He is still opposed to marriage, and said he might want kids one day, but isn't sure, and definitely doesn't want them now. So we're still together and I'm trying to make the best of it. He said we could have sex more often. It's improved a bit, but then he got sick, and now I'm sick. We were going to try sleeping in the same bed together again, but since we've both been sick, we haven't done it yet. And honestly, we stopped for a reason. I just can't handle the snoring. I don't think that will change. I don't think it's right that we sleep separately. I don't think it's what a couple should do--especially one that has only been together for two years.
I dreamt of my ex last night. It was dreammy and romantic and we almost made love, but I stopped myself because I didn't want to cheat on HAM. Why can't I get him out of my subconcious? Why is he still there? Is it because of this memoir? I don't think so, because I thought about him and dreamt about him before I ever started writing. why does he have what seems to be a permanent hold on me? I want to call him. Not to get back together with him, but just to talk to him because I like him and I love him. I don't even want to be with him again--we're totally wrong for each other. I just want to be able to talk to him sometimes. He's interesting to talk to, and says such sweet things to me. I am a word person. HAM thinks that actions speak louder than words, and yes, that's mainly true. But words are important too. I love being told that I'm the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, that he wants to marry me and love me forever, that I'm the best thing that's ever happened to him, that I taught him how to love and changed his life and all that shit. Maybe it's all total bullshit, but I don't care. It feels good to hear and I miss hearing it. I know when I dream about him, it's not about him, but about that feeling that someone truly loves me, that I am the center of their universe, that I am loved. HAM is kind, sweet, faithful, gentle, thoughtful, intelligent, funny, and an all around honorable and decent human being. I just wish he would make me feel like I'm the center of his universe. I wish he would look into my eyes and tell me I'm the most beautiful woman he's ever seen and that he wants to love me forever. But he would never say that.
I guess what I wonder is, am I supposed to accept that? Are any healthy, non-abusive, honest men like that? Does someone like that even exist or am I living in a fairytale? Should I just be happy that I have a really fucking great guy who I can totally trust, or should I continue to search for more? Is that just being greedy? I mean, if all sane men are cool and collected, unromantic, and practical, then I should really just count my blessings. But if there are men out there who are intelligent, funny, sane, AND romantic and emotionally open, then I want one those ones!
It's late and I've been thinking...I want to have a baby. Not right now. I want to go to grad school next year and don't want to have to deal with breastfeeding and childcare, but I do want a family. I want to get married. I want to be healthy. I want to travel. I want to leave Washington. HAM does not want children, he refuses to get married, has already told me that he will not leave Washington when I go to grad school, and he said he wants to drink and will not stop, but he'll stop in front of me. I realized that stopping in my presence is not enough. Not getting married is not enough. Not having children is not enough. Not moving to be with me is not enough. He loves me, but not the way I need to be loved. I tried to break up with him because of alcohol, and he made me feel guilty about it, like I was totally out of line for wanting to be with a sober person. So then I tried to break up with him because he doesn't believe in marriage, and he made me feel guilty for that because "you'd rather just find someone who will marry you than be with a really good guy". God, he has this way of making everything that he says sound so reasonable and everything that I say sound irrational. But I know in reality that I deserve the things I want. I'm not asking for the moon, a million dollars, or to be the next Brady Bunch. I just want to leave Washington, get married, have a family, and be with someone who is passionately in love with me. Why the fuck should I feel guilty about that? How the fuck is that irrational or unreasonable or shameful in any way? It's not much. It's just a few things that I know I want for my life. Instead of just accepting that we are different and want different things, he wants to keep me as his girlfriend, keep drinking, never get married, never have kids, and never leave Seattle. It's not the goddamn life I want! I finally just conceded and said, "Okay, let's stay together. I surrender. I'll drink with you and I won't care about marriage, it doesn't matter. Everythings' fine." So I drink with him. I don't even want to, but fuck, if I don't drink with him, I hate him. I am seething with anger when he drinks around me and the only way to cure my disdain is to join him. I'm so fucking mad. I don't want this and he won't let me go. They never let me go. They always want to control me. He acts like he's so much better than all my other boyfriends, and yeah, in a lot of ways he is, but at the same time, he's set it up so it's cool for him to have female friends but unacceptable for me to have male friends. He's unwilling to read my writing or be supportive of what I'm working on. He refuses to acknowledge my past. If you deny my past, then you deny me. And by denying my writing, he's also denying one of the most important parts of me. It hurts. I'm tired of being judged and controlled and treated like a silly girl. He calls me "pet". That's his nicknmame for me. I'm not a goddamn pet. I'm a woman. I'm older than him. I know more by default. I know what I fucking want out of life and this isn't it. I want my needs and desires to be respected as valuable pieces of information about who I am. I want to go to grad school, live outside of Washington State, get married, and have children. I need a relationship that supports that, or I need my freedom. I'm tired of sacrifcing who I am and made to feel guilty about what I want. I love HAM. I'm mad at him, but I truly love him. I wish he wanted the same things as me, or that he was at least willing to meet me half way, but he's not. It's what he wants or nothing at all. I can't last in something so one-sided. I deserve to be happy, too. The things I want matter. Maybe not to him, but they matter and they're valid and I won't stop wanting them no matter what he says.
Well, I have to say, today was a good day. At the beginning of the quarter, I ended up with a really terrible parking spot, so at every tuesday, my teacher drives me to my car after class. We talk about my book, grad school, whatever, and tonight she offered (I didn't say a word about it) to write me a letter of recommendation for my grad school applications! I love her. Her name is Theo Nestor and her blog is http://writingismydrink.com/. She is great! I feel so blessed to have this amazing teacher in my life and to have the money and opportunity to take this class. It is helping me so much. I always connect more with instructors than students--why is that? I can't call myself super smart or anything, I can't call myself a dummy either. I don't know what it is, I just feel safer with my teachers than my colleagues. But I feel so humbled that she just offered to write me a recommendation without any prompt. I know my goal here is to stop letting others dictate my worth and feelings, but still, it means a lot to me, and I think that is allowed. It's not like she decided whether or not I am worthy as a writer, but she reinforces my belief that this is what I am supposed to do. I plan to read her book over the break because 1.) I'm curious, 2.) It is respectful since she's reading my work and helping me with it, 3.) I'd like to know more about her as a person and a writer. Today was a good day for me. I feel grateful to be free of confining relationships, and able to pursue my calling, and even more so, I am grateful to finally acknowledge my calling, to fully give in to its power and accept that I am destined to be a writer, and to believe that one day I will be a good one.
Today was very good for me as far as therapy goes. it has helped me to reshape my memoir in a way that seems to fit better than what I had originally planned. It took me half an hour to write one paragraph, but I think it has the potentional to turn into a good jumping off point for my story.
To write memoir:
Start with a bit of musing, present the problem, report what you found out, and then tell the entire story of how you got there, followed by the internal shift that occurred as a result.
My rough forward or first paragraph:
I’ve always looked for someone or something to show me the way. I never believed in God, but I’ve had no problem making a person my higher power. When I first decided to write this memoir, I had planned to write about abusive relationships and my final escape from a man that almost certainly would’ve killed me had I stayed. I thought men were my problem. My relationships with men over the years have been enmeshed, volatile, isolating, and abusive, so it would’ve been easy for me to say. However, unhealthy relationships have abounded throughout my life. From parents to teachers to bosses to girlfriends to substances to groups, I made each of them my God. I believed that if I followed them and did exactly as they said that they would provide me with all the love and happiness I couldn’t give myself. I depended on them to tell me how to live, who to be, and what I’m worth. Typical of someone who depends on others to act as director of her life, I also blamed them when I could no longer rely on them. I ran from one to another, always believing that the next one would finally make me whole. After writing out two thorough outlines for a memoir and finding that neither one seemed right, after recounting all of the painful experiences and false hopes I held about others, I realize there is one definite, undeniable common thread weaving through the fabric of my life; me.
Well, I thought it would be a good time to post something new
since I have recently been falsely diagnosed with PTSD and bipolar disorder. It
really sent me into a fucking depression for a few days there. I was going to
sign up for disability and start collecting my checks. I felt like a fucking
crazy person. Not that people can’t function with those disorders, but damn, I
can barely function as it is, so that was like way too much for me to handle.
Plus, this so-called psychiatrist, who turns out to be nothing more than an
ARNP, prescribed me gabapentin, which made me fucking insane for a few weeks,
but then, after I complained about the gabapentin, she wanted to put me on
Lamectyl, one of the two main drugs for bipolar disorder! And I am NOT bipolar!
I might be a nut—I might pull out my hair, chew on my lips and fingers, and have
an immense capacity for self-loathing, but I assure you, I am not bipolar. I
should be so lucky as to enjoy manic episodes of overwhelming self-esteem and
delusions of grandeur. No, lucky me, I suffer from pure MD….Major Depression.
Yes, that’s right, it’s the depression part of bipolar without the fun part (the
part that keeps people from wanting to take their meds). Yeah, woohoo, yay, me!
I have regular-ass old depression. Old school, writer shit. Typical Jew shit. Go
figure, big fucking surprise. So I can’t get a real job, or a real life, I’m stuck here in my dad’s house, a thirty-one year-old chick, with a less than part-time job, and a desire to
become a “published author” one day, when I’m the only one (and occasionally my
therapist) who reads my blog. I drank nearly an entire bottle of wine and then
silently snuck into my dad’s bathroom and found a bottle of benzos from 1996.
Will they still work? I took four. We’ll see. I also binged on peanut butter and
various sugary substances for the first time in a long time. I’ve been doing
good, in fact, I weighed myself today and I was down to 115.6, the lowest weight
I have been in over a year. But I probably sabotaged that tonight since I ate
almost 3000 calories in one sitting just a little while ago. I am such an idiot
some times. Do I want to sabotage myself? I don’t know, maybe. My ex called me a
few days ago for the first time in months. I didn’t even know he had my phone
number. It pissed me off. I told him to never call me again and I hung up on
him. But still, it fucked me up. I told him, “Well, I hope YOU feel better,
because I don’t. You think you can just call me up and apologize and tell me
about your life and whatever, and I’m gonna be OK with that. Well, I’m not. I
was fine already and I planned to never talk to you again. So I hope YOU feel
better, because I don’t. I feel worse. I’m gonna go now. Don’t ever call me
again.” And then I hung up. It felt scary to officially and finally take my
power back, but it felt good, too. He knew I meant it. He didn’t call again.
That was it—he knew I was serious. He knew I meant it when I said “never call me
again.” And he knew I meant it because it’s the truth. I never for the rest of
my life have any need or desire to talk to that asshole ever again. He’s put me
and HAM and our relationship through hell and he has absolutely nothing to offer. I
don’t need him to write my memoir. All I need is MY story, MY memories—not his.
If he wants to write a memoir, then he can go right ahead, but this one is mine
and I know enough about him and the rest of the losers of my past to write my
story, I want to call is something like, “My Life Through You”, or “Chameleon:
The Story of the Girl Who Changed for Him”, or “UFO: Unidentified Female Object”.
Maybe the last one is best. I’d like to keep my misery lighthearted. Seriously,
though, if you can’t laugh at your own life, you have no business laughing at
anyone else. And, sorry, but that just won’t work for me. I need to laugh at
all of us—we’re all fools. Even the smart ones.
Well I haven't written for the last couple days because I feel like I have nothing to say. I am close to my period and not sleeping well, and of course I am hungrier than usual. Today I ate an ice cream cone with two scoops of ice cream and it was fantastic. I caught up with pretty much my only friend - PH, my old AA sponsor. She's recently separated from her husband has moved into a condo in Juanita, or is in the process of moving. I offered to help her but she said she might just invite me over as a guest, not to help her move. I told her that I'm not sober anymore and of course, she didn't judge me or try to change me, which is why we've always had such a good relationship. She just offered an ear if I ever need to talk to someone or if I am concerned about it and need someone to talk to. It's a pretty wierd thing, to go from having almost four years clean to drinking wine and smoking weed again. I can't say that I feel great about it, but I don't feel like shit either. So far it has had little to no impact on my life, and I think that's about as much space as those things should ever take up in a person's life. Before I got sober and went to AA, I let it run my life. All my decisions were based on drugs and alcohol and keeping my addiction going but under cover. The men I chose to date were always more fucked up than me, my friends were all more fucked up than me, my jobs always sucked so they were easy to just quit without warning and still feel justified in doing so. AA taught me how to be a decent human being, a productive member of society, how to care for someone other than myself without being totally codependent. It also taught me not to put all my eggs in one basket, meaning that, nothing in life can be the answer to all your problems, be it religion, drugs, a job, a person, or AA. For a while there, I let AA be the guiding force in my life, so when that stopped working, I felt like I'd lost a limb. It was extremely painful to be so let down by people I thought so highly of, especially when I needed them so desperately. It wasn't just the people that I needed - I needed structure, guidance, just help in general because I was sad and lost. I prayed more and it didn't help. I tried to get a new sponsor and one girl turned me down, another girl stood me up twice. I tried to make friends with people and they ended up rejecting me. I thought so much of the people in AA, I was brainwashed to believe they were the epitome of reformed derelicts, because I thought I was, too. I went from being a lying, stealing, cheating, selfish bitch, to volunteering every week rain or shine, not talking badly about anyone, helping anyone I could, praying every night, and following through on all my promises and commitments. Not to mention, I was as honest as I could be, wouldn't dream of cheating or stealing. I thought everyone else was as "good" as me. But I wasn't good, I was perfect, and perfect is 1) not sustainable and 2) impossible for anyone else to live up to. So I was just setting myself and everyone I encountered up to fail. And they did. And then I quit AA. But after I let go of AA, my life did start to improve. I stopped praying (something I always felt awkward doing anyway) and went back to being an agnostic with leanings toward karma and past lives. I continued to work out and develop my relationship with HAM. I had some bad habits, too, like the binge eating and the talking to ALL every once in a while, even though I had no intention of ever going back to him (which I made clear whenever I talked to him). But I don't know, all this shit went down with ALL and HAM, and me, and what I want out of life and a relationship, plus the antidepressants and the Ambien, the panic attacks and depression. All this shit just snowballed and reached a crescendo and then dissolved into nothingness and everything was peaceful and the way I always wanted it to be, and then we got high. I don't know if it was because we were trying to cover up some emotional pain, which is what they want you to believe in AA (and it definitely has validity), or if I have just changed. I certainly don't feel like the person I once was before I began AA, before I was sober. I have a great job with a super cool boss and a lot of responsibilty. I am totally trusted and never micromanaged, and I love it. It's perfect for me. And I'm in a relationship with a wonderful guy who always treats me with respect and supports my goals, and vice versa. He's smart and in college and we play scrabble together. I also go play scrabble with my grandma every week, which I love to do, but it's also kind of like volunteering (and I can't think of a better way to volunteer my time than to hang out with my sweet little grandma). My life is drama free and on track. I'm starting the memoir writing course at UW in October, last week I worked out six days in a row, I've been cooking a lot of really fabulous meals, and I like to have a glass of wine or a few hits off the weed pipe in the evening after all of my responsibilties are handled. And I never get drunk, don't even wanna get drunk. I like to sip one glass of excellent red wine over the period of a few hours, and that's all I desire. I don't know if I will switch over from this to being unmanageable and powerless, or if I will remain a casual, light enjoyer of these substances. Is it worth it? Another question I don't know the answer to just yet. Sometimes I think I must be out of my mind to drink or smoke anything, and other times I think, there's just nothing wrong with this, millions of people do the same thing as me with no guilt and no negative consequences. But we live in a guilt-driven society and I am product of it, AA being even more guilt-driven than regular society. But the fact is, I got sober because of ALL, and I'm thankful to him for shifting my life that way, but maybe my problem was more related to childhood pain that has since been worked through. I don't feel resentful or angry toward either of my parents or the other parental figures from my past. I am an adult now, I am responsible, and in a healthy relationship, working on my professional goals at work and with writing on my own time. Life is good, and playing scrabble stoned is a total blast. If shit gets out of hand, hopefully I'll have the the awareness that it's out of hand, and the respect for myself to cut it out.
Lately I don't even know what to write about. I feel like crap today because I drank three beers last night, which was way too much for me. I'm such a lightweight now. There was a time when three beers would've been an appetizer for me. I was drinking like cases of beer back in the day. Well, I don't know if it was really cases, but it was a shit ton of beer, just sucking them down like fruit punch. But now, three beers gets me pretty loopy and feeling like ass the next day. I still went to counseling this morning, then work, then the gym where I did personal training and cardio, and now back to work again. So I'm not fucking up as far as my responsibilities go, but as far as my general well-being, I'm fucking up. It's just not worth it. It's not that fun. For instance, last night, HAM and I were watching the first episode of Mad Men, and int this episode, one of the guys tells his fiancee, "Of course I love you, I'm giving up my life to be with you, aren't I?" This made HAM laugh, so I jumped on him immediately and gave him a hard time the rest of the night for laughing at this guy's joke about marriage being a trade-in for your life. HAM knows I want to get married. Ever since we first met and he asked me what I wanted, I said I wanted to get married. He said he didn't believe in marriage, and he explained to me that he didn't need the government interfering in his personal life. I understand that. I don't need that, either, but I still want to be married. It doesn't have to be legally bound, that's really not the point for me. I just want the commitment. I want him to declare his undying love for me and make a promise to stay with me no matter what. I don't need the court document, I just need the personal statement during a ceremony where I get to wear a pretty dress and there are witnesses, like his mother. So for me, when he jokes about marriage being the end of his life, I take it seriously. I'm a good girl. I'm pretty, funny, smart, and I'm a great cook. I mean, I have my flaws like anyone, but as far as girls go, there's lots of guys who would feel lucky to have me, and I think HAM should want to marry me before someone else tries to steal me away. There's these two guys who work in the same office park as my counselor, and every time I walk by, they always stare at me. Today, they finally decided to say hello to me and I found out that they work for an engineering recruiting firm that allows them to travel to several different countries. They are both young men, fine looking, with careers, and I know they think I'm cute. Of course, I'm not interested in these guys, I love HAM and only want to be with HAM, but the point is, it's not like I'm some loser that no one else would want. I'm attractive to people. And once they finally talk to me, they discover that I'm not a bimbo, I'm actually interesting to talk to and funny and not at all stuck up. I'm someone that guys want to get to know. And HAM is young. He's only 24 and I'm 31, so I worry he's not ready to commit to me, and I could spend years with him waiting for him to want to get married, and in the end he decides he wants more experience or I'm not right for him, and he leaves me when my expiration date has long since passed. In a lot of people's eyes, my expiration date already passed since I'm over 30 (for some men, 25 is the cut off). It's not that I believe in these expiration dates - I think they're offensive - but they're a reality for a lot of people. Women's stock goes down as steadily as men's stock goes up. As men progress throughout their lives, working their way up corporate ladders or what have you, they continue to increase their value to the opposite sex, meanwhile, women get older and accumulate more fat, wrinkles, and gray hair, making them less and less valuable with every passing day. It is sad, but it is a fact that cannot be denied and it is true in almost every culture. Men are visual creatures and they desire beautiful women. It may not be all that matters, but the fact is, it does matter. HAM loves the way I look today. He loves my big butt and small waist, he loves my makeup and hair and he loves my tan and nails. I can keep up a lot of this stuff, but there is the inevitable aging process that will change the shape of my body, turn my hair gray, and produce fine lines and wrinkles on my face. I want him to love me enough to love me when I'm old. I want him to look at me and not just see a hot chick with a nice ass, but I beautiful woman who he wants to grow old with, who he loves so much that I would be beautiful to him no matter how many years have passed or how many gray hairs I have. I have been with people who have said they felt that way about me before, and I don't really know if it was true or not, but I know there are some men out there who truly love their middle-aged or elderly wives, and I think I deserve a man that loves me that much, too. A man who doesn't see my gray hair or wrinkles, but sees the real me and thinks I'm amazing, stunning, and the only girl he'd ever want. That's how I see him. I imagine him twenty years from now, HAM the man instead of HAM the baby. I see him being just as sexy, if not more so. I see him always being the guy I want to be with more than anyone else in the world, no matter if he develops a gut or stays in perfect shape. Whether he loses his pretty blonde hair or keeps it. I don't care, because I love him as a person, not as a good-looking person. I've never even been with a good-looking guy before I met him. All my boyfriends were toothless, fat, or bald. Or all three. I don't care about looks on a man. I care more about their sense of humor than anything else. I need someone who makes me laugh, and who thinks I'm funny, too. HAM does that, too. He thinks men are always funnier than women, as I've mentioned before, but he does think I'm funny, and I think he's funny, too. But I do have this fear that he'll only love me as long as I'm pretty, and one day if I'm not pretty enough, he'll either stay with me out of obligation but long for someone younger and more attractive, or he'll just leave me. Because when I met him I was physically perfect and since then I've gained like seven pounds. My stomach isn't perfectly flat anymore and I've had months of being pale instead of tan, or I've been too poor to afford to get my nails done so they grow out and look ratty for a while. I'm just afraid how I look is extremely important to him because I looked perfect when he met me and he's really into physical appearance. He loves Katy Perry and he was totally into the idea of my getting breast implants (which didn't pan out partly because of cost, and partly because I read all of the literature that they give you when you go in for a consultation and it scared the crap out of me). Katy Perry has those giant milky globes and I have just slightly more than a twelve-year-old. I often joke that I should shop in the training bra section. So I don't know, maybe I'm just insecure, as my counselor says. I know I'm insecure, but I don't think it's all in my head, I think HAM really has an aversion to unattractive women and wouldn't want me if I was fat or ugly. And I can control fat, and I'm not ugly, but I can't stop time. I will get old, I have no say in the matter. I just hope he'll fall more in love with me and see me as beautiful as I get older instead of just old. I know I have an expiration date, I just hope he'll still want to drink me once I've gone sour.
Today was good. I worked an extra hour than usual and I got my paycheck. I got my nails done for a pretty good price and I got dark green french tips. They look beautiful. But Thursday sucked. I've always wanted to be a nude model. Not a pornographic-style nude, but nude art - painting or photography, it's just something I've always wanted to do and do before I get too old. So I found a person on line who's local and his photographs are very artistic and beautiful. I emailed him about modeling and he said I could send some clothed photos of myself so he can see if he's interested. I mentioned all of this to HAM and he did what he always does when he's mad; nothing. He just turns silent and then I have to keep bugging him until he finally tells me what his problem is. This time, it was that he felt like I was doing something behind his back. Then he said that all those male photographers just want to sleep with their subjects. He said, "You want some dude to take nude pictures of you?" as if I was going to some back alley motel so some dude with a camera could snap dirty pictures of me and sell them on a porn website. So we started fighting and the truth came out. It had little to do with nude modeling, and everything to do with the whole thing that recently happened with ALL. He hasn't said much about it since it happened, but it finally came out on thursday that he thinks about it frequently and it disgusts him and he doesn't know if he will ever forgive me. I tried to explain that my wanting to leave him for my abusive ex-fiance had much more to do with medication that with my heart's desire. When I left ALL in February 2010, I knew I would NEVER be with him again. I wasn't attracted to him anymore and had no desire to try to fix his broken ass ever again. But then, a year later, I'm dealing with the worst insomnia of my life, as well as an awful binge-eating disorder. So first, I try every natural sleeping rememdy known to man and none of them work. Then I try Ambien, and it's like a miracle drug. The problem is, I don't actually have a prescription for it, I'm taking my Dad's Ambien (which he knew about - I wasn't stealing it from him). So I go to my doc and try to get a script for it since it's the only thing that works, and the doc tried about a zillion other sleep aids but refuses to give me Ambien. So I continue taking my Dad's supply, and start to become depressed. The binge eating gets worse, I'm having freaky nightmare almost every night, and still can only sleep for four hours at a time. So I get on anti-depressants and my initial reaction to them is anxiety, panic attacks, and worsening depression...but they stop the binge-eating, so I stick it out. Meanwhile, my ex gets a hold of me after we hadn't spoken in a long time, and he's telling me he loves me and would do anything for me, and I'm desperately trying to get HAM to say this to me. I want to know where the relationship is going and he keeps saying, "I can't predict the future." No "I love you and want to be with you forever," just, "I can't predict the future." So I get more wrapped up in ALL telling me what I want to hear, and even though I know I don't want to be with ALL, I feel attached to him because I want to hear, "I love you" from someone since I'm depressed, anxious, and crying nonstop every day. Then ALL disappears. His phone is disconnected, his Facebook page is deleted - he's just gone. And then I feel so alone, and HAM doesn't love me, and doesn't want to be with me, or isn't sure, and I start feeling desperate to get this attention from someone, so a month later when ALL reappears and says he still loves me and wants to be with me, I actually consider it. Then I confess all of this to HAM, he talks me out of going back to ALL, tells me he loves me and wants to marry me and have babies with me (one day) and then I feel hurt. I feel like, "Why the fuck didn't you tell me any of this before?" And I'd spent so much time talking myself out of loving him or imagining a future with him, that it became difficult for me to just change my mind. But I finally did change my mind. I adjusted to the antidepressants and got off Ambien FOREVER (thank god), but in the process, I hurt ALL, I hurt HAM, and I hurt myself. HAM and I fell madly in love, I cut ALL completely out of the picture, and everything was bliss and fun and love until thursday, when I found out that it wasn't all bliss and fun and love. There is still pain and uncertainty for HAM, and I don't blame him at all. So I spent the whole day crying and feeling like shit about what I terrible person I have been. But, to my credit, I have spent every day since HAM and I committed to eachother trying to be the best girlffriend I can be. I cook, I clean, I wear lingerie, I got my nails done with french tips (his favorite), I give him rides and pick him up whenever I can, I brought him lunch today, we have sex pretty much daily, and I spend as much time with him as I can. But apparently, all of that doesn't compare to being betrayed. And some of the things I said to him were so hurtful and I'm so embarrassed, but I swear it was the Ambien making me crazy! But even if it was the Ambien, the words were still hurtful, my actions were still hurtful, and I can't take any of it back. It happened and now I have to live with the consequences, which could end up meaning that I lose the man I love and hope to be with forever. I hope he decides to forgive me and forget that part of our past, but if he doesn't, I have to somehow accept that and move on. God, I'm such a douchebag sometimes. In honor of my douchbaggedness, here is one of my favorite songs:
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