Studying Politics

As sad as it is to admit, this is the first time I've never run into the arms of distraction while feeling heartbreak.

Did it almost take me out? Yes. I entered a bar, tracing the line, almost falling back over the edge. I sit here today, still sober. Another man has not profited from my prior destruction, and because I've been pushing through, I have discovered two new eyes sitting within my skull. My ears don't just hear, they grasp the lesson. I believe what I am being shown outside of stories and paintings of possible futures; empty apologies mean nothing. What do I see and hear right now, in front of me? I pay attention and I notice how my body feels.

How often have any of us accepted treatment we've been told is normal and expected? Boys will be boys. How often can a man say something cruel while labeling it a joke? How does our reaction so often become the topic of debate?

I will continue to sit back and listen. How do people believe they can talk to me? Why? How do they talk to other people? Did the way they talk to me change as their likelihood of being fucked decreased/increased? What if they realize that likelihood never existed in the first place? Do they get resentful about a lack of payoff?

What I've learned is that a recovery program does not make someone a better human being. When a person wants to be your friend their behavior does not jump around all over the place, there is consistency at the core of their existence.

When someone wants to be your friend, they do not expect you to be their mother, maid, therapist, sexualized fantasy, and muse; who they'll most certainly replace once they are bored or find a better supply. Those who are not your friend definitely hate boundaries.

I've said it before and I'll say it again now: I have dated and held connections with those who have wanted to have a hold of me, not be with me.

And because of my time reflecting, through spirals and falls into the dark, I see more clearly now why I would have seen that as "being enough". My parents did not see me as enough. They never taught me what healthy love was. They did not love each other; they were dependent on one-another. They existed in a dysfunctional system and that system caused devastation to their children.

Keith was demanding and needy, he controlled everyone he could. He used his childhood to gain sympathy and to achieve the largest benefit of doubt. I was told he wasn't abusive. His anger and displeasure were the fault of everyone else. My mother sucks the air out of the room. There is no space for anyone else to exist. She needs to be the one cared for, protected, and carried. She stole my voice to protect her abuser, and the abuser of her children. I became who I became, a Womxn I no longer need to be.

I hope to be someone different. I've never known better, but that doesn't mean I can't be and do better.

I deserve better.

I'm going to start by healing whatever broken part of me still cries over a dude who doesn't know my birthday or how old I am, even though we spent my 34th birthday together.

It has been a long week.