When it Suits Me

I write because I can't tell anyone else but the anonymous ear on the other end, wherever that is. It is nice to think that they are worlds away. A chance happening. A person on the other end who stumbles upon my sloppy typed phrases like finding a message in a bottle. The ink has been smeared from water damage on its long ocean journey....really I write to NOT be judged. Because if I truly used this blog as an outlet for its INTENDED purpose, which is to have some cathartic release in just....journaling, just... getting it out!

....Then I would swear more. I would be much more "fuck all!" and put significantly less effort into seeming poetic and elegant in my writing. I wouldn't second guess myself. I would type like I was sprinting with my eyes closed. And I would just come right out with it and say "YES. I HAD A THREESOME LAST NIGHT AND I DON"T KNOW WHAT THAT SAYS ABOUT ME".

I think I liked it. No. Not the threesome. The sex. The parts of it. But not the whole. It's going to be awkward to tell him I'm not interested in doing it again. That "yep, lol, told you so, I'm definitely straight".

But really it's fine as long as I'm not contracting STI's....or babies.

But I do think about if I'm doing it out of some desperation. Like a cry for help. To fill a void. To avoid....feeling lonely. Instead of embracing the alone.

In college I wrote hundreds of journals about how I was madly in love with this boy. Oh God. Wait. I'm just, as we are reading, as I am writing.....RIGHT NOW.

Was this the first boy I ever loved? It can't be... It.....Thinking, hold on. Seriously I'm thinking right now about this......

Okay so I'm listing my crushes and as I dismiss them as crushes I wonder if I really loved him at all! If it was just a crush, or an obsession. Because love is more than attraction right? I'm seriously not going to go into that because we all know how complicated the question of "what is love, what TRUELY IS LOVE" But yes. Love is selfless and patient and kind. But if we are going to be SIMPLE. About it...I would say I loved him. Because I torn my self apart, up, down, inside out, over him.

YES. It must have been him. I....wow. I don't know if I ever realized that before. Before him, in highschool, I was so logical about the fact that I wasn't interested in any of the "options" and neither were they in me! It was a graduating class of 25ish after all. So I didn't look very hard for "love" back then.

College came. I loved 2 boys. Was romantically involved with 3. Screwed 2 (and a half). Made love to 1.

Hooked-up (the pre-mentioned half) with 1 guy. It was literally Just The Tip. and dat tip was flacid.

This all came about in 4 years. High school I was a Christian. The first boy in college broke my heart. And my faith fell apart. I wrote a biographical novelette and a play about Freshman year and all that drama. I consider copy-ing and paste-ing those journal entries here but honestly. I'm scared of reading them. I feel like reading them would be as if a person with amnesia discovered that they killed and ate somebody. And I don't want to remember....really, considering we are platonic friends now. He's on the other side of the state, so I don't see him that much. And when I do I wonder if his girlfriend likes me and is okay with our friendship. I'm not mad at her and I don't think she is a bitch. I just worry.

What I'm trying to say is that THAT STORY is MANY stories and the history is long, old, complicated, and...its not the story for right now.

Tonight's story is about how incredible it is that we can be so many different people in one lifetime. I NEVER thought I would be the person I am today. When people tell you such impossible tales with no real grasp on context or reality it feels like they are telling you about the dream they had the night before, not the people they knew 4 years before.

Finally my stories start to seem like that. Like it has to be fake. But threesomes happen. Its not THAT crazy.

Part of me wonders if I subconsciously want to hookup with as many people as I can, make some sort of world record out of it. With, of course, the stipulation..."most partners in intercourse in one lifetime without the contraction of an STI or an accidental pregnancy"

It's actually a pretty great life right now. I've changed so much. But my friends havn't. So I can't tell them the tales of the "new Marie" because the old Marie doesn't do those things. Not that they would disown me as friends or stop liking me. But they wouldn't approve, and it would make them feel uncomfortable. So I don't talk about it.

BUT I WANT TO TELL WHOEVER I CAN. I WANT TO TELL YOU HOW AWESOME MY HOOKUP ESCAPADES ARE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was madly in love with a boy. Jan 18th was....maybe....our anniversary. We dated for a year and a half. He was the longest relationship I've ever had. He was the only guy who I would have followed, anywhere. I loved him so much. So much that to this day I can't...I just can't comprehend, no I get it. I understand why. But my self esteem can't handle the fact that he was unhappy with me. That he is over it in 3 months and ready to be friends. And I....I see him. Then the next day, I'm just sad. And I wish I could just get over it. But I don't have the ability to make that decision. Its like telling a cut on your hand to heal.

So ....that's why I worry about myself. That my hookups aren't a life choice. They are a way to cope and get some confidence back. I think. Maybe.

After the breakup. I...a lot of people told me he would change his mind. I wanted to believe that he would.

I have to admit I hate telling you all this because I KNOW how many people went through all of this shit in 8th grade. And here I am. Dealing with this after my college graduation.

I know that a lot of people would tell me "Oh, cry me a river". I also know that a lot of people sympathize and empathize. But no matter if your reaction to this is supportive or destructive....I still have to deal with this mundane, AVERAGE part of life.....on my own. It's in me. This experience. The feelings generated are EPIC, powerful, passionate, colorful, bright, raw. But all these feelings are just. Normal. They feel anything but normal. Like if Aliens came to visit. And it was CRAY-Z. But it happened on a regular basis. So our individual experiences are so STELLAR AND INCONCEIVABLE, but when we look at the bigger picture. Most everyone has felt that way. Everybody. It is a Normal, Average, Mundane, Part of life.

I'll tell you more about it another time. For now. The history of my hookups:

I first tried hooking up after getting out of a "lightly emotionally abusive" (wft Idk it's complicated) relationship. I think I tried once or twice between the first relationship and the second, but it was a juggle of thoughts and emotions all boiling down to "I can't do this! I don't know if it's "too soon" for a hookup, or maybe I'm just not that type of girl!".

But I was at an anime convention around Halloween and I was pretty damn drunk on Everclear 3 nights in a row and it was one of the most amazing weekends of my life (it was safe and responsible to defend myself a little bit there)...and totally hooked up with an army brat. Washboard abs and a super hero eye mask were the only things he had on as we fucked in his car. I recall specifically the Halloween print socks were the only things I was wearing. Halloween is my favorite holiday ;)

After that I was like, "welp! I guess I can do hookups! That was fun....LETS DO IT AGAIN!"

I'm not Fine

I’m starting to wonder how mad I am at him. I realized I didn’t write “If”.

I mean, when we made up after our first fight (was it even a fight?)…I’m starting to think that I’m numb. I’m starting to think it hurt so bad that I just shut down. I didn’t really get over it. I died. That I couldn’t be mad at him because when I cried I cried everything out, melting out my feelings from the inside. Smelted down.

I cried the hardest I have cried over this relationship in a long time. Once it was over…I felt…

Fine?

Fine is meh. Fine is blah. Fine is nothingness, apathy.

Am I fine? Our discussion was logical but I don’t remember having anything to say. It wasn’t emotionally satisfying. It was just. Here is my side. Here is yours. We got confused I guess. A miscommunication. I’m starting to realize just how much miscommunications aren’t just an “oops” a “boo-boo”. It’s a big deal. IT’S A BIG FUCKING DEAL. A 5 car pileup. Not a body scrape.

Was it emotionally satisfying? I don’t know if we are okay. I think I have pushed away. 1 step forward. 2 steps back. Return to Start. Don’t collect shit. Because fuck. We BOTH don’t understand out feelings. We both are sensitive and paranoid. And even I he lies. I’m sorry. Even if he tells thetruth and says he can handle it….if he acts the same way I won’t stick around.

I think that’s why I hate putting that burden on someone else, because if they had the same baggage or problems I wouldn’t help them carry it.

I’m a hypocrite.

I’m a double standard.

I’m the same person I was with ___.

I don’t think I’ve changed or gotten better. I don’t think I’m stronger or more open or more emotionally stable. I still can’t tell him how I feel. I have no desire to tell him this. To show him this. I still hide and deny. Fuck the counselor I CANT.

No one wants to be around a depressed person. No one wants to see it day after day. It’s just not FUN to be around.  You can only take it for so long before it wears away at you. It’s harder when it’s about him. When I say “I have this problem”, because there is nothing he can do.

I don’t THINK. That it is going to WORK. I don’t THINK. That I am healthy enough for a relationship.

It always hurts. There is never a day…a moment really. Where you don’t do something that makes it hurt. But it’s not your fault. You can’t predict what it will take. There is nothing you can do.

I think I’m crazy. I think I’m unfit. Even if you stuck around long enough to see it through I don’t know if it will last when the smoke clears. I love you. But.

Every pursuit of Love that I have made has been a miserable process. Miserable. Yes, you are the best thing to happen to me. But. I have a year left before college is over. I can’t shake what you said about it being short term (to paraphrase). About it not going past graduation. Why did I do this If that was the case. That’s not what I wanted! When it’s over, where will we be? Why try if it’s not going to last.

I don’t want it to end. But I don’t know.

This is a grueling investment for me. This is work. Why invest in something that you can’t fix? Something that never has lasting payoff. I’m trading ages of sorrow for moments of happiness. Glimpses. Fruits of labor that last for the time between blinks.

If a life time is a blink of an eye…

I know relationships aren’t stagnant. I know that is foolish to think there is a time when I can just STOP working at it. But I’m tired. This is the swamp that I live in. It’s dark. Thick. Inescapable.

But then I blink and I’m okay. Like it was all a dream. But blink again and I’m back and I realize I live on 2 planes, 2 dimentions. It won’t be long before I return to the swamp. To forever blink back and forth between 2 worlds.

Laughter sounds like crying. I try not to read what I’ve written because it sounds so pathetic.

I’m wasting so much time.

Sensible. Light. Reflection. Part B

This is Part B of my reflection, after the darkness had lifted I found the truth and expanded on it.



Oh the Humanity.

Never in a million years did I think I’d be here. The one once known as the “good little Christian girl” sitting in the doctors room, naked from the waist down, waiting for my nurse to come examine my vagina because….well…I had sex with my boyfriend. I did it. And I liked it. Oh. I liked it very much. But the irony is the freedom. To feel unembarrassed about the situation. To be unashamed of the inconvenient consequences of my actions. To not deride myself for my decisions like I used to.

My Ex squeezed my personality into something meek. Something, that is definitely not the frank, blunt, wacky, zany, just plain weird, and yet loyal and considerate person I believe myself to be. I’m a bit of a social blunter. Sometimes I do it for the chaos, for the satire of poking the thin vinyl wall of the balloon that encases all the hot air of social convention. My curiosity rarely goes far enough to really hurt people for the sake of experimentation, but over all I’m quite strange. Quite curious. I know it. I enjoy it. But the darkness consumes my thoughts far less than they used to.

I’m happy. I’m starting to learn about balance. About peace with myself. That’s not to say I feel like I have control all the time, or I should. But just that I don’t want my bad experiences to haunt me and I don’t need the bad self deprecating habits to flourish. I’m working on sloughing the old ways of thinking away. My thoughts can hurt me. My perceptions matter. And I’m still figuring things out. But I’ve learned to recognize depression and PMS and I’ve learned to try to diminish and trivialize the thoughts that tend to flood my consciousness during that time. It sucks, feeling like I have to grab my bags and run during a day or two. But it’s better to get away, to a calmer place. Not totally out of life, I still have school. But away from my boyfriend. Giving distance and space to clear my thoughts and not potentially hurt him with paranoid lashings.

I think the thing that hurts the most now, is not the past, is not memories or negative thoughts. But the fact that he expects an emotional meltdown. He has chosen to not let it surprise him. To assume that it will happen. But I assumed I was fine. I assumed that once the memories were gone and the emotional bitterness had subsided that I would no longer be damaged. But when I cry during sex twice in one week, we both know. We both know things aren’t okay.

And I apologize to him honestly I feel more sorry for him than myself. It’s not that shaking to me. It rattles me for a while, that’s why I cry. But often I can recognize the trigger and work through it. I can self evaluate my progress. He on the other hand, has no warning. I feel like I have given him a hesitation and a fear. A light tread.

It’s funny because I wonder how healthy this is. Back in the day (and still sometimes now) I had thoughts of acting a certain way in a relationship to not be a burden to my partner. Now this idea is fine in theory. I didn’t want to be high maintenance, I didn’t want to be clingy or annoying.  But as I tried to BE these things I gave up what I wanted and needed. I became a door mat. I lessened myself and my worth in attempts to be humble. This is fine in THEORY, because in theory your partner is just as selfless and kind as you and won’t take advantage of that. But with my ex it wasn’t the case. My ex was a pusher. I was a pushover.

So now in a new relationship I realize, the partner is new, but the behavior is old. And that, frankly, needs to change. It’s not going to be about being an ideal. I just want to be me. And I will be the me that is kind and considerate and caring. But not meek, and sensitive, and unsure. 

Hopeless. Dark. Paranoid. Part A

This is the first part of my recent reflection of my life. Written in despair. Foiled by Part B....

How can we teach women to love themselves? How can we fight that resentment we will ultimately face when we go through a relationship that spirals due to our very nature. The nature of irrational emotion, the nature of poor decisions, indecision, regret of decision, hating our very selves for feelings, thoughts, paranoia that we feel is so far from our control. How do we fight a control freak nature when the world makes us feel helpless? We fear our emotion. We feel pain. We fear our femininity. We want to be more like men.

How can we love ourselves when our Exes were abusive and our minds were clouded and our feelings numb…..yet we felt the same fear and longing and paranoia in a relationship with a great guy.  How can we love ourselves when he is too good to be true, and we don’t feel worthy and we still feel unsure that we are loved and we still feel like he is annoyed by us or doesn’t want us around or thinks we are too hyper or too crazy? When we break as many promises now as we did to ourselves then. When we resign to what we think will make him happy. When we devalue ourselves. When we don’t give ourselves an opinion. When we are ashamed to feel.

When a guy is so perfect and we feel so pathetic and so unworthy that we pick and pick off flakes of gold on his perfect personality until we find what is underneath. When we find a human being under the statue, there isn’t a sigh of relief. It’s fear. Its uncertainty. If he isn’t perfect, he can be angry, annoyed, ashamed, embarrassed, scared. Of me.

A friend once told me that I didn’t have to eat the fast food just because I bought it. If the burger was gross I had the right to throw it away. Forget about kids in Africa. You paid for the RIGHT to eat as well as the actual material food. Once you pay you can ultimately decide whether to eat it or not. You can take as many bites as you like and if you feel full, stop. Don’t force yourself to feel obligated.

But I did. I felt like I SHOULD and obligation became an idol. Like I should follow through. Like it was the right thing. Like it was too late to turn back. And I hated myself for thinking that way and I knew it was wrong. But it carried over. And it didn’t just go away. I may have forgot about him and the scars were not his signature. They were MINE. I cut myself. I HURT MYSELF.

When it felt like we talked so much and we were so open and I felt so free and comfortable…. yet we didn’t talk enough? What wasn’t being communicated? The problem was hidden.  There are still things hidden. Maybe not consciously.

I prayed for the blood. I wanted it to excuse this behavior. I hate myself and I want the blood to say “it’s not you, it’s me” How can I love myself when I feel so broken and I can’t say sorry enough? When I don’t want you near me. Being self destructive seems so romantic. The idea of going out.  Not caring about you. It’s so much work to care. When I rely so much on the next text message. I’m crazy. I’m crazy. I can’t do this. I’m not capable. I’m not different. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t you. It was me. It was me.

And I text you: “My period will come and go and I will be dandy as a daisy. Unless you are as bad as the last guy I don’t think I’ll need counseling. If I do then fuck, it really was all my fault.”

And Oh my God. You are scared of me. You are thinking. “Oh My God. I picked the most psycho chick in the bunch. How did I not see it coming?” You are scared of me. And I am so ashamed.

And I’m going to look back on this and realize it’s all lies. But….I’m not going to care, because I’m just going to hate myself for even THINKING it in the first place. I’m going to hate myself, even if it’s not true, BECAUSE it wasn’t true.

Spice and Nice say "I like you"

So my horney self  is super ghetto. I say things like; “Yur so fine. I could just. UUUUH. Summa Dat.” I literally can’t describe my attraction to you in a way that is not “hoodish”.

I’ll name her Shaniqua because I’m terribly racist and can’t think of a more offensive name.

Shaniqua says:

“You prime grade-A BEEF. You made me wanna bite off a piece of you.

I sleep over and you ‘cuddle’ with me but the way you touch me all night and I pretend to be asleep but you can see right down my shirt and your lips are like a centimeter away and I just want to grab your crotch and ooooooooooooooooooooooooh! 

I wake up the next morning tired and horney as shit.

You show. Shall I repeat? You show, lets hope you grow. HOT DAYUM.

I come home and my roommate tells me to go masturbate.

Like really? You’re confused?

I want. Your penis. Like fo realz.

So am I physically attracted to you? HELLZ YES. I would hit that.”

But the more romantic me….which I will not give a good protestant white girl name because that IS actually racist says:

                “I want sweet kisses from you. You have nice soft lips. You make me feel like sprite; zip, bubble, fizz, aaah! I love the way your beard feels. I love how warm you are. I love how willing you are to give me a massage or just take my hands and warm me up. I love how solid you feel. You make me feel safe. You’re like a teddy bear. You have nice shoulders; they are sturdy and broad and sexy. I love the way you smell, the smell of your hair and your stupid pesto chapstick. I love that you carry chapstick. You like…. YOU CARRY CHAPSTICK. You have a nice smile and kind eyes. I love that you will cook for me and treat me like a princess. You pamper me. I love your kindness. You are the nicest person I know. Sometimes I worry I will take advantage of that. You remind me to be a good person. Because you are a good person."  

This is my spice side and my nice side saying the same thing: "I like you.”

Stages of Grieving

I masturbated again.

Not that I’m ashamed of it, but I don’t really know why I did it. I wasn’t especially horny and my parents are going out of town soon, so I could have just waited a few hours and done it without the feelings of fear or embarrassment  in potential interruption. But I did.

I’m not addicted by any means. But it does fall under routine of habit so I suppose it was….I’d say normal. But that is….quite funny that I say normal when considering how strange it really is. Because I can’t really masturbate anymore.

It’s been almost exactly 4 months since I broke it off with my Ex. I was elaborating the constantly changing array of feelings I was experiencing post breakup with a male friend, and he pointed out that they were following the supposed “Stages of Grief”. Despite the fact that no one died, these stages work for any type of loss. They fill every situational mold; whether in dealing with a loss of a life, a loss of a relationship, a loss of a job, or what have you. The stages usually go something like; Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance, and healing.

I was grieving.  I thought I was just filled with regret. I never thought I’d miss him. Not after feeling so free after saying it was over. But here I was missing him. Stage: sadness.

Right after the breakup the first feeling was a surprising sense of relief. I’d done it. And I was HAPPY with my decision, which is rare. I was so proud that I could say “no”. I felt like such a failure with “no”. And I didn’t miss him. Not for the longest time. I didn’t see him much. It was finished.

One night I had to text him for school related things. We were in the same club. I was furious that he quit his position (not surprised one bit, but still furious) and left the responsibility on my shoulders. I was even more furious that I had to contact him. So the text conversation quickly delved from a stern business lecture about my lack of respect for him for ditching his responsibility, into a very personal trashing of each other. He definitely got under my skin.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt closer to insanity than at that very moment. Phone in hand, I shook violently, quick of breath, under the covers with only my tiny cell phone illuminating the expression of madness on my face. I remember feeling complete apathy, no, not apathy, DESIRE, to destroy him, and if I was destroyed in the process than so be it. I hated him. I hated him.

Cruel words were exchanged. I don’t really remember mine. I remember his. They hurt. I laughed.

After that it was anger. I was filled with regret and anger for the longest time. I worked through a lot of it with a counselor. I never thought I would go from being so introspective to so self denying. But I did. I denied how I felt in attempt to create a hologram, a rosy vision, of my life.

When did the anger turn to sadness? Who would have known that I’d start missing him. Who would have thought that I’d try to text him? What does this have anything to do with my masturbating?

Well if you know anything about sex and Pavlov then this should make perfect sense. I trained myself to feel sad after sex. Orgasm was the bell and sadness replaced drooling. Here I was, masturbating as usual, and as I orgasmed. I saw his face. Mind you, I was thinking of someone else during the process, but he came to mind right then, and I thought to myself “NO”.

“NO. NO! NONONO! PLEASE NO! NOT AGAIN.”

But by then the floodgates were opened and my chest swelled with a familiar wave of sadness. An ache, a pain in my chest. Physical pain. What’s different about this particular climax is that I realized just how normal this post sex sadness had become. I realized that I would be sad as I finished because it was so normal now.

Nearly every time I had masturbated after the breakup I was left in tears. I couldn’t help but think of him because our relationship was sex. Sex and videogames. Any other perspective would see that combination as heavenly, but for me it was hell.

BECAUSE NOW I CAN”T FUCKING MASTURBATE WITHOUT CRYING! HOW LAME IS THAT? CAN YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE? GET OUT OF MY HEAD! GET OUT OF MY HEART! I DON”T WANT YOU HAUNTING ME ANYMORE!...sorry. I’m done.

And that’s pretty much it in a nutshell…..

But there is another kicker to this story. A secondary note is that I didn’t always think of him. But I was sad, because I knew just how wrong I was before about sex. I entered the relationship thinking about sex casually. But sex was never going to be casual for me.  Maybe it could have been. It could have felt safe but I feel so damaged now. I feel like I’m downloading to healthy, like I’m watching the load bar creep to 100%. It’s excruciating. But I had sex with him after only 3 weeks. I didn't want to. But at the same time I was so numb. I didn’t care until later. But later is too late.

He was a chemical, he blocked all the feeling out. My fear made me numb. And I hated myself for that decision. Because I didn’t know who to blame. But trauma isn’t about blame.  It’s about the fact that I tried to convince myself that, it wasn’t a big deal. But it was a big deal and he wasn’t the right person and it wasn’t the right time.

And I hated myself because it was like a drug. Like a girl who gets drunk and sleeps with some guy and regrets it in the morning. But I didn’t take any drug. I was just. Drugged. I literally can’t remember that scene in color. The first 2 times were grayscale. Yet it was my responsibility. It was my fault. I didn’t say no. I didn’t say no then.

I knocked over a cup of water at his apartment one time and I wanted to cut myself. Not that I was afraid he would be mad, or that he’d hit me, I just felt so…. Incompetent. I never was myself with him. I was lying. I was acting. I was so scared. I didn’t feel safe to be me. My friend’s say I was the most depressed they had ever seen. And that was before the sex. It took me 5 months to realize things weren’t going to change.

He’d kiss my arms after sex. I thought it was the most romantic thing. It said: “Thank you, I love you.”

He never actually said those words. Now when I look back on that memory I think about how even if he said I love you then I wouldn’t have it accepted it. I wouldn’t have heard him if he said it during sex, or right after. Maybe I would have right before. But he never had to say that to get me in bed with him. Now I look back and I see him kissing my wrists and it looks more like a Native American ritual. I learned in Elementary school that some Native Americans would thank the tree for its sacrifice before cutting it down. I felt like that tree when he kissed my wrists.

But now there is the nicest guy in the world. And he likes me. And he really likes me but every time I try to like him back there is SO MUCH FEAR. I feel like an abused dog. One that you get so close to petting before at the last second it gets too scared and runs away. My parents were gone and I invited him over. We could have banged. And it would have been….if only you didn’t screw with my chemistry. He is so nice. 

Dead Heart Bitter Rant #1

I've never been in more than one relationship.

I've never been in a relationship longer than 5 months.

I’ve never been in a consistently happy relationship

I've never written a thorough diagnosis of my relationship with my parents and their relationship with each other.

My Ex

My Parents

I've never written something substantial about how scared I am off relationships because of these people.

I just saw a TV show.

Whitney, A show on NBC, had a moment where the central couple had said they had wanted a family free Christmas, and the male lead turns to his girlfriend of 3 years and says, something along the lines of 'technically you can't get a family free Christmas because we are family now'. After all the drama of the episode with quote is probably the sweetest line in the episode. It offers resolution to the episodes plot and also shows that even though the couple went through drama in the episode they will persevere. This perseverance is a continual theme throughout the show, considering the show is about the couple.

The main character Whitney is intimidated by marriage because divorce was so common in her family. The show shows the couple as being very committed, and stable, and adorable, but the show also shows the couple facing persecution because of their unmarried status, adding pressure to Whitney's aversion to marriage.

I only explain this more thoroughly because the running themes in the show relate to my angst as well as this quote from this particular episode. What I have a problem with IS the quote. It seems so cute at first and yet then I think about my family and what this quote would mean more literally. First I think how I'd like to 'get away from my family during the holidays just like everyone else' (a terribly paraphrased statement from the main couples friend). So what do family and marriage have in common? How could I see this adorable episode closing quote in a negative light? Well.

In my mind the thought process briefly goes like this. Family often gets treated poorly in comparison to friends. Even with the closest of friends, family is still people that you are stuck with. They are family. That's all there is too it. Obviously sometimes parents disown their children for shit-stupid reasons, but often you can get away with treating family like shit because you just can't get away with that behavior around friends or people you want to impress. That passive-aggressive behavior only flys in family situations.

Family sticks around. Friends will leave if you are too much of a dick. Now I KNOW that I have been a COMPLETE and utter bitch to my friends. Some massive PMS+emotional drama+external pressure= Flip Shit session. But I often that gets corrected. They will confront you, AND you will actually take that to heart or ….you will not be friends anymore. Parents and sibling go through daily, hourly, minute-ly abuse. They usually just brace for impact and take it because when they do point out the pimple on your behavior, it just doesn't seem to cure the problem. Why?

There are too many factors to count. For me it’s a lot of things. Lack of respect overall, indifference (because I will be back to college in another city far away in a week),  and sheer conditioning to respond negatively towards them. Telling you why being a brat to my parents is now conditioned into me is another thing entirely but I'm just getting the point across that I just don't have the time or the incentive to change my habits. I can change my behavior once, usually through the motivation of plain guilt, but I usually revert back to being a twat. If this last section of text disgusts you, than good. It makes me cringe to re-read such obstinate thinking.

So when I THINK. When I just THINK about my boyfriend being family. It makes me cringe. I NEVER want to treat him that way. I never want to see our relationship turn into my parents. I don't want to be my mom, and I hate. I HATE. That I can't appreciate the qualities in him that remind me of my dad, because I think somehow that those qualities I can't respect. And in not respecting him, the “my mom” in me will react to the “my dad” in him MORE, and cause a freaking nuclear reaction.

There is little wrong with my dad. ...Well. There used to be. It could be age. It could be pussy whipping. But yeah. He has gotten worse. It could also be my growing lack of respect for him, but I just find him so doltish now. He is slow. He is scatterbrained. He is passive aggressive. He can't be intimate with me without being TOTALLY awkward. He has bad social skills around family (but is fine in public)....That last sentence sort of answered it for me. That's it! He is fine in public because he doesn't have my mother judging everything he does. There is significantly less pressure on him. We all know to some extent (unless we have subatomic self confidence levels) that performance goes down (and this is shown in psychology studies) when we are observed by a judging audience or given negative reinforcement. Stress can work to benefit or hinder performance.

From experience? My mother is destroying my father.

She is so controlling he has dumb-ed himself down in order to preserve sanity. To stay sane he....just shut down. No opinion. No emotion. Just whatever she wants. Like a doll. So. He ….he gave himself a lobotomy.

That's my dad.

My mom treats me like an extension of herself. Like I'm still fucking attached to an umbilical chord....as if that meant I wasn't a separate person. She wants me to do everything like her. She dresses me up, does my hair and makeup like a doll. She doesn't want to talk to me about anything other than business. One time she called. She sounded like she was in a good mood and actually wanted to talk, wanted to catch up.

I probably got a minute worth of recap of the past week in before she cut me off to tell me that my choice of Christmas present was unacceptable, like I cared! I’m 20. I wanted a Playstation, My choice of present may seem juvenile but I certainly won’t act in a juvenile way when you don’t get me one! I’m not going to cry or throw some fit. I’M TWENTY YEARS OLD.

Now I can totally understand that they don’t want to get me a Playstation 3. I have no problem with the fact that you want me to have one less distraction up at college where I am far away and you can't always make sure I'm being responsible. I understand that PS3s are expensive and that you are paying for two children to go to college. I understand that you would rather buy something practical and not a toy.

I do have a problem with the fact that you think I’m “too old” for videogames, but that’s a rant for another day.

But what I REALLY have a problem with is that you pretended to care about me. You pretended to want to know about my life, when the only things we ever really talk about are bills you need to pay or grade on a test that I got.

You pretended to give a shit about me. But you’re not my mom. You’re my consultant, attorney, claims adjuster, manager, accountant, etc etc. It’s just business.

Salt in the would is that you think video games are for children and that I'm too old for that. Rude. And untrue, statistically. Nerds tend to have more fulfilling lives after highschool and last time I checked the rest of the world was starting to understand that videogames can be a medium of art and not just a medium for which stunted adults can drool as we press the X button and stare at a screen wasting our time. Oh but of course you think art is a waste of time. That's why you choose NOT to support MY major while you go to community college to go take art classes and get metal casts of your feet.