Things That Broke Me – Part 3

Originally posted on Feb. 24, 2018 on Journey Into A.

Here we are with the next bit to release…

This one stems from good ol’ Valentine’s Day. Basically Old Faithful for pain.

Valentine’s is one of those days that makes you think about what has happened on all the previous ones, or at least that’s what happens for me. I’ve been hurt on more Valentine’s Days than not. I’m half terrified of the day each year.

Let’s start small. A high school boyfriend avoided me on VD and then called me from Ruby’s Diner that night and invited me to Ruby’s all in the same breath as when he said that I couldn’t possibly make it there in time to order and eat before his mom would pick him up… Lame.

One guy I dated took me to see “He’s Just Not That Into You” and then we sat in his car for over an hour after just listening to Dane Cook. He just turned up the volume or didn’t respond when I’d try to talk. I left the next morning for a week to NY and there was no “I miss you” or anything. That blew.

One year, a boyfriend broke up with me on VD saying that he’d “rather smoke weed than be with [me]”. Now, I had no problems with him smoking weed, but he had told me that he wanted to quit smoking and then would lie and sneak behind my back. All I ever wanted was honesty. He’s also one that used to ridicule my short hair after he dumped me so there’s not much lost in that relationship, but that experience on VD sucked.

Read the last 179 words here.

where you lead, I will follow…

Gilmore Girls will always hold a huge, special place in my heart. I have watched the entirety of the show countless times and still can’t get enough of it. It’s like a warm hug whenever I put it on. It’s like I’m going to go hang out with my friends all in the comfort of my own home.

When I was in middle school, my neighbors had introduced me to Gilmore Girls and right away, I was hooked. I had to go out and buy the first 2 seasons immediately so I could be caught up (oh, the days before Netflix…). I watched all of those episodes, then would watch a rerun every day at 5pm on ABC Family, and then just chomp at the bit waiting for the next episode to air.

During that time, I had started living full time with my dad and my stepmom. I had a rocky upbringing due to being in the middle of a custody battle for 11 years (along with some other stuff from Mom, we’ll get into that another time), so my dad and I had a hard time getting onto the same page (trust issues). He would watch Gilmore Girls with me in the living room just about every time it aired in the beginning of the week and we would laugh together and talk about the show. We really bonded over it.

Growing up, I was a lot like Rory. Total bookworm, had a badass taste in music, and knew way too much about pop culture for people to understand me completely. She made me feel cool and confident in a time where I needed help with that the most. I was definitely proud to be like her and thought it was so cool seeing a young female shown that way on tv!

As I have gotten older, the more I admire Lorelai. She has so much strength and it’s inspiring how she put it to use. How we both built up our strength might be different, but it’s empowering to see a woman overcome obstacles on her own. She went out, made a new family of friends, worked hard and reached her goals. It may have been hard at times, but she got through it with style and her amazing wit.

Read the last 133 words here.

Floating Hard

At my core is a hungry void. I don’t know if it got carved out, or is it an emptiness that never grew shut? It’s mass is my gravitational center. As much as it attracts, it also repels. Nothing penetrates it’s border. Everything it draws to it, clusters and clumps around it’s outer edge. My hurts have accumulated into a thick crusty shell. A longing is in there, echoing. Something vital is missing. A deep need leaks out forcing my fibers to align with it.

I’ve been struggling to look at it. My attempts to focus are ricochet into a scattered field. As I forced my way in, I expected to be overcome with the pain packed around it. Surprisingly I made progress and found some peace.

For my entire life I’ve sensed something I have only now put into words. It’s presence has been so constant I don’t even hear it as background noise. Seeing it, holding it out loud, hearing it in the air is freeing. So far my biggest reaction is simply shocked at what I took as normal:

I repulsed my father.

That is what I have always felt. At first it was a tiny sense, a subtle suspicion. Then a solid truth. In short order it became the believe my identity was founded on.

Looking back, it’s easy to see how I noticed patterns and formed explanations. He was a quiet man. His single word sentences felt short, tried and disinterested. He never abused me, he never did anything intentionally to hurt or deprive me. He also never touched me. It was an unspoken rule that was visceral. Even without words, it seemed to me he was afraid touching would make me weirder then I already was.

I suspect he was reacting to me. I wasn’t at ease with him. Did he pull back because he felt me squirm? Did we deflect each other? Our dance was simply sour, our feet to heavy to ever match. I could be angry. He was the adult, didn’t he have an obligation to make it work? But he was just a damaged person with secrets he couldn’t speak of.

In the silence I grew hungry.

Did the repulsion I sensed carve out my longing? If I felt his love, would it have grown closed? Seeing this, I understand how it fed my fragile standing as a boy. By the time I was 5, I was already isolated, an outsider, the Other. The trauma of the assault fortified my confused conclusions; weak is gross, dirty, repulsive and I was weak. With that, the first layer of pain was laid over the void. This heavy longing floats hard in my throat.


image: photo collage hum