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.

Her Heart Cried Wolf

There was a girl. She moved with her parents to a new village. They told her "Be careful, we are strangers here. Men are like wolves. They will eat cute little sheep like you."

She went out and collected berries every day. It wasn't far from home and she knew that the berries she would bring home would be used as brilliant dyes for her mothers colorful wool rugs. One particular hill was her favorite. Not because it had the tastiest berries but from it she could see a boy from town herd sheep. He looked like an ant. She felt big and felt free.

One day she went down the hill to say hello to the boy. "Would you like to be my friend she asked?"

"Okay" he said. And they would play together. She made friends with all the children in town and was happy. But she liked this boy the best.

One day she strolled down the hill to see the boy. He was there with another girl. The girl was sad. She didn't know why this other girl was better than her.

"WOLF", cried her heart. "He is a wolf", she cried and cried with her heart. She cried and cried. She could see the boy from her hill. But she didn't feel so big or so free anymore.

One day the boy came to her and said "Do you want to be friends still?"

The girl felt silly. Why couldn't they all be friends?  She was very happy. She would be friends with anyone. As long as they were nice.

One day the boy was playing with a different girl than before. "Do you want to play?" she asked.

"No. This boy is my friend now" said the new girl. The girl seemed mean. She hit the boy. She said mean things to him.

"WOLF! WOLF! ", cried her heart. She ran home, sad that they were no longer friends. "He is a wolf", she cried and cried with her heart.


One day the boy came to her and said "Do you want to be friends still?"

"What about the other girl?"

"She was mean. I told her to go away."

The girl felt silly. Why couldn't they be friends now?  She was very happy. She would be friends with anyone. As long as they were nice.

One day she met a different boy from the village. He liked her and she liked him. They would play together.

The first boy saw them playing and approached them saying "Can I play with you?"

"No. This boy is my friend now" said the girl. The first boy went away, sad that they couldn't play together.But the second boy was mean. He said mean things to the girl. He laughed at her when she fell.

"I don't feel good", said the girl one day and she ran home. "WOLF", cried her heart. "He is a wolf".

She ignored her heart for a long time. She thought it was being silly. She didn't say anything. She played the boys games even though he wouldn't play her games. Sometimes he wouldn't play with her at all and she watched while he played with different boys.

Until one day; "Do you want to play today?" said the second boy.

"No, I don't feel good." said the second girl.

The second boy went away. And the girl was happy until her parents told her that she had lied. So she went to the second boy and told him the truth; that he had been mean. But the boy didn't see how he was mean so he got angry. He said mean things to the girl. He told her he never liked her and she was annoying.

"WOLF", cried her heart. "He is a wolf", she cried and cried with her heart. Her heart was right this time.
She missed the first boy but he was gone. Moved to a different village. So she was alone.

She started to play more with another boy from town. She picked berries with him on the hill and played with him later in the day. Her heart would cry "WOLF! WOLF!" and she didn't know why. This boy was very nice to her.He would bring her flowers and say nice things to which her heart hummed warnings and whispers of omens to come. He was probably the nicest boy she had ever met. Even nicer than the one that got away.

One day was particularly bad. Her heart screamed at her with cries of "WOLF!" even though she new this boy was very nice. She couldn't take it anymore. It was broken. She couldn't control it. You could tell her to move on. You could tell her to not let old boys from the past break your heart. But its not always to you, is it?

She took it out. She took her heart right out of her chest. She listened to it scream. Perpetually. Never ending. The sound of its cries was deafening. The sound to painful to bear.

She took that heart and she buried it. Deep below the berries and the flowers on her hill.

Mermaids Message

And I shall send it out like a message in a bottle:

I was a mermaid. Something naïve. Something delicate but still strong. Independent and beautiful. I loved you. I didn't know if I did. I didn't know if I could. But then we became one. And I gave you everything. I gave your my heart, my body, even my personality. I shrunk up like you left me on the beach to shrivel and dry. Like my heart was a paper weight. Like you didn't really want it. But you took it. You let it sit there and gather dust. I sunk to the bottom of the sea. I couldn't see who I was. I saw dark.

I gave my voice for you. I gained legs in exchange but I didn't use them. I should have. Instead I sat beside you. Watched you live, when I thought I was living with you. I felt so numb for the first time. I felt like I forgot how to feel. I felt like I should correct it with blades or knives. But I didn't. I wonder what that says about me. I felt abnormal for not slicing my flesh.

I shriveled. I was engulfed in myself. I fell into my stomach. I didn't know that I wasn’t a souvenir. I sat preserved on your shelf. Like some collected trinket. I thought things were getting better. I thought. You were....

Its when you said you wouldn't change that I knew they had never changed. We moved like the waves. High and low. Ebb and flow. And I thought it was growth. But it was a storm.

I could talk to you now. My heart is squeezed like a sponge every time I think of you. Like your memory haunts me. Your ghost is still trying to get rid of every drop of love I have left. You appear sometimes. And the pain makes me think of old men. Men who sit on their porches and stare at the sea and feel pain. Because the one that they love is dead. They die that way. They die from the pain. Their hearts are tired.

I know I could die this way too if I was old enough. If I had loved enough. But somewhere I knew to be careful, to be cautious, to be safe with my treasure. I was enamored. But I was torn, because somewhere in my ocean as i was swirled in the currents of infatuation, I saw your dark.

I tell myself that I can't remember. Dates, times, faces. And I say, “Oh, what a bother. How I hate my awful memory. I can't remember anything.” But I don't want to. Maybe I just say it over and over again because I don't want to remember. I want to love him instead. But I can't because you still have a hold on me.

When it became apparent you couldn't give me what I tried to give, I crawled back to the ocean. But you come to my shore. Not begging. You couldn't beg. You're much to proud. You asked to try again. But when I finally said no......

...... It felt like the coldest drink of water. The most refreshing and relieving experience. I lived through five months of desert. And now? You can't ask me to walk there again. You can't. And yet you did.

You walked onto my shore. Crept close to the edge of the water. And called out to me. I said “I can't” and You responded with anger. You fake. If you cared you would have been gentle, soft, kind, considerate. But you were stubborn, unyielding, and stagnant. You knew I wasn't coming back. And you were angry.

You told me that my feelings were annoying; that when I was upset, it was an inconvienience to you. You told me you never loved me. You lied to me.

Months later. And here you are on my shore again. I'm back from the reef. I've seen colors. I've seen a world of happiness. Your memory hurts me but I find happiness.

It's been months and yet you call timidly. And I could be nice. But I know you will take advantage of that niceness. You think, "She will talk to me like it's normal, like everything is okay between us. Then I'll step a toe over the edge of the tide line. Test the water... see how she yields".

But you never would swim in my ocean. You would never sacrifice to be part of my world. You would only bring me into yours. You would put me in a glass cage. A display. A trophy. I stayed there. I pressed my lips to the glass and rolled with ecstasy every time you met your lips with mine. I was tossed by the tide. You were a whirlpool. I craved it. But it always left a sadness. And I didn't know why.

When I said goodbye I promised you one thing. That I would find myself. I said I was sick. I'd go get better. I never said I'd come back. So here you are. At the oceans edge. You wanted me back. You wanted me behind glass, on your shelf, in your cage.

Well. Its now a glass cage. My ocean. I am separated by glass. I will swim in my aquatic home where you can't reach me. Separate from you. Forever.