Broken Bella Donna











{April 29, 2012}  

I am so tired.

I had the strangest night last night, resulting in an uber late night… I somehow managed to touch base with an old ‘friend’ and get hit on by a married member of our country’s finest, all from the comfort of my own home. Thanks Facebook!

I have no idea how I feel about either of these points, but I do know that I thought I’d have time to correctly digest the first, before the second even occurred. I didn’t know the second was GOING to occur.

I have been fighting the urge – on this blog (April 7 most recently), as well as every blog I’ve ever put fingers to keyboard over – to contact this old ‘friend’ for some time. In all honesty, it’s been an ongoing battle for the last ten years, with the occasional moment of weakness allowing me to reset the button and start it all off anew as soon as I crack the shits with him (again). For seemingly no good reason I messaged him last night to see if we could touch base, not with intention of being close friends anymore but just so we could… not NOT be friends. A few hours later not only did he say he would like that but he told me his wife – who was the nail driven between us – had suggested to him previously that he should contact me. And sent a friend request.

I know I’ve done the ok thing here, because I didn’t even think to check if he was online today, I don’t care if he doesn’t message again and I also don’t give a shit if his wife looks at my profile. Which I suspect is the reason she suggested he add me. All of this indicates to me that I no longer really give a shit about it, ergo I am OVER it. So it should be ok to going back to being friends! Huzzah!

It was also overshadowed by the very strange four-hour conversation with the local constabulary, who appears to be hitting on me.

Not hitting hard… but just little comments. Hints, as it were. References to how he’s holding back saying what he REALLY wants to say. Comments about my looks that started with small compliments and escalated up to a little more. Trying to orchestrate opportunities to get me alone so we can talk without interference from my nosy mother.

For some strange reason – the wee hours are encouraging to talk about stuff you may  otherwise withhold – I told him about my spazz attacks. He seems keen to ‘help’ me with that – usually people express concern or discomfort about the topic. He’s the first to offer assistance. Bizarre. I do wonder if he COULD help… but I don’t know. And I don’t know if I want to know what the trade-off could be, should he be able to.

Of course, in his position of power, he may well be able to help me too. But I have no idea. We don’t see each other often and when we do I fear it’ll be weird, after our convo.

How do I keep getting myself into these situations? I NEVER go out looking for married men to skulk around until they give me their attention. They just seem to find me. Best I can guess is that perhaps they see me as a safe option, someone to flirt vicariously with, all whilst understanding I’m not going to get all bunny boiler on them. I’m someone they might like to think they’d have a crack at if they were single, but they know that it’s ok to chat me up because I wont take them up on it and they can’t cross any line because of my moral dictatorship. Or something like this.

One was flattering. Two was weird. Three is wrong.



{April 25, 2012}   Grrrs

I am a bad person; at least I FEEL like I am a bad person.

I presently feel this utter… dislike for someone in my life. In fact today I felt so angry, I borderline felt like I hated them, and that’s a very strong emotion.

I feel like this person is so toxic in my life that I will never, ever progress past the person I am today until I can say I have separated myself from them. To remove their pathological lying, their negativity, their emotional abuse, their childish behaviour.

I will not have my beliefs ignored simply because you enjoy doing things to piss me off.

I will not judge my abilities because YOU don’t like what I do – everyone else does, so clearly that’s YOUR problem, not mine.

I will now allow you to use your fluctuating moods to dictate the running of the house. You can sulk, puff around like you’re dying, or refuse to do things – I will work around you. You will not guilt me.

I will ignore your put downs. I will not believe that I am the person you paint me out to be. I understand that the things you criticise about me are aspects of yourself that you don’t like that you are projecting on to me, or simply things about me that are better than you and you feel the need to ‘knock me off my high horse’.

I will not lose faith in myself because you tell me I can’t do it. I am smart enough. I am good enough. I can do it. I understand that by holding me back from my potential, you can keep me under your thumb where you can see what I’m doing and dictate my life, but this isn’t fair. It doesn’t matter what YOU want in my life, I am my own person and your controlling ways are not healthy for me. But you don’t care. You only care about yourself.

I am the bigger person. And it’s very sad that the rest of the household have to put up with your shit.

But all of the above doesn’t stop the fact that I feel like a bad person… when you feel this way about your own mother, what does that say about you? Does that make me the bad person she paints me out to be? The older I get, the more I realise no… it doesn’t. It just means I got lumped with a bum deal for parents.



{April 21, 2012}   Life is a funny thing

I’ve spent… lets be honest, the past 8, 9 months feeling strung out about today. Such a simple social outing I used to enjoy so much, ruined by spazz attacks and the weirdness surrounding my good self (!) and a ‘friend’.

I rearranged my time and committments in order to try and avoid today; I bailed from my responsibilities and tried to re-write expectations so that I could get out of even attending. Events conspired to force my hand and off I went anyway.

If I can interject here (and I can ’cause this is my blog), the big theory with spazz attacks is that you’re supposed to meet them head on and get past the fear. I’ve never been a fan of that and have – in the past – avoided them until my brain had forgotten how much it hated them, and then eased myself back into it – with varying levels of success.

Today, life forced me to meet them head on. Though I can’t really say that, as for some epically strange – and wonderful reason – I just never felt that concerned. I spent more time wondering WHEN I would start feeling scared, then I did actually thinking I would. Either way, it didn’t happen and I was able to attend – and speak with the offending, stress inducing person, without any cause for concern. Lets hope that this now means this chapter is closed, and I can go back to enjoying my day out and helping my community without fear of… whatever it was I feared. Failure? Letting them down? Inappropriate behaviour from others? Letting myself down? All, or none of the above? Who knows.

Either way it feels good, and this win should be enough to motivate me towards the next one, knowing that I can – and will – get past them! 🙂



{April 13, 2012}   Gnack.

Yawn.

This is uber annoying.

I have – as previously stated – always blogged about my spazz attacks, because for me, blogging about them has alleviated them in the past.

So the question begs – why the hell does the idea of blogging about them NOW actually make them feel WORSE?

I have no idea what has triggered this, but something has. I feel like I’ve regressed and I suspect what caused me to start on the positive upward climb away from them in the first place was support and acceptance. I don’t remember ever thinking “My spazz attacks are getting better”; they just started to abate and I never noticed, I just enjoyed being a bit more ‘normal’. Now they seem to be back with a vengeance – but thankfully not as bad as they once where when I was in my teens – and I’m regretting not enjoying the lack of them more.

Weirdly, they seemed to settle a little after my ex’s accident, and only flared back up after his passing, many, many years later. Is this related? If so, why? I am under less stress for not having him in my life.

I digress.

I have no support these days – the family don’t know, or don’t WANT to know about them and no one here really understands, tho I think my sibling has an idea. No friends locally and no one I catch up with regularly online, tho a few online have an understanding of my problem and have given me some support in the past. No partner and no potential on that front either. I am alone and I wonder if this is causing it to flare up again? Knowing that I am on my own and battling it with no one to stand behind me and support.

Verbally, I am a big fan of ‘you can rely on no one by yourself’. I advocate it and claim to be a lone wolf. I will give you the impression that this is a GOOD thing and that it is proof how strong I am, that I don’t NEED you or anyone else. But privately, I hate it. I want to have someone I can rely on, whether they be family, friend or lover.

I’m in a really weird place with my spazz attacks. They’re waffling around making me feel nervous without often coming to anything more. I suspect in the dying days before The Trigger Day I’ll feel a lot worse, but right now I’m a bit meh. I’ve deliberately tried to ensure that I don’t have to be there, that the pressure is off but events are conspiring to try to force my hand. Once I have finalised preparations and we are as organised as we’re going to get… I’m hoping it’ll be ok. What I REALLY want is to feel that fizz of excitement. If I can only feel a positive emotion I’ll feel a lot better. I need to break this mindset that something will go wrong – that something COULD go wrong.

This Trigger Day… will occur eight times this year. As it does every year. Last year something happened and caused me to spazz, and since that day every time I have to front up I’m reminded of it and I feel bad, stressed. If I can get through a few days without stress I KNOW I’ll have rewired my brain and be better, feel better, and things will be ok and it will no longer be an issue. I will no longer think ‘it will happen’ and I will think ‘it didn’t happen then and it wont now either’… and it will be over.

A friend proposed I try a natural suppliment that may help – unfortunateyl I’ve left this too late and by the time I recieve it in the mail, I wont have adequate time to trial it – naturally, part of my brain is thinking ‘what if it makes it worse?’

The positive that I keep hanging my hat on? The last one or two times I had to do it last year, it DID go ok and it DID go smoothly and I DID feel better. I need to remember this!

And I need to relax my stomach muscles. Every time I feel myself starting to spazz, once I consciously relax my muscles, esp my stomach, I feel ten times better. Maybe I should start looking into natural muscle relaxers…



{April 8, 2012}   Squeeeee

Three  posts in 24 hours – what ARE you going to DO with me?

Secret: I sell beauty products out of a catalogue. It isn’t a job, or a career, but a means to ensure I could buy what I wanted, when I wanted, without having to rely on other lame women who think they can buy a car from the profits and soon realise that they’ll never make enough so they quit. If it makes a few bucks, bonus, if it doesn’t at least I get a discount on my shit.

So I discovered a bag of bloody perfume samples of products that are sooooo early 2000s, and now redundant, that I had poked away in a draw. Weirdly enough they still smell ok. In true 2012 fashion, I will endeavour to use all of these up by wafting around the house in scents I wouldn’t usually wear, rather than throw them out and waste them! Atta girl! Like eating fuckloads of zucchinis until you turn green instead of composting them, I shall use what I have and save money! Not that I would’ve spent any money on perfume any time soon – I quite literally have a life time supply without adding these to the fray. The world may end tomorrow, and I may have no power, no fuel, no TV or internet but damnit I’ll smell pretty.

Incidently I found these whilst trawling around looking for a long lost document I need rather urgently for my studies – a document I fear is lost. This is NOT good news for me.

I also found my old diaries – not “Dear Diary” kind of diaries (pfft who needs them in the age of The Blog?) but day to day diaries, full of appointments, meetings, birthdays, blah blah. Mine also carry a few other things – namely any quote, lines or references I’ve stumbled across that I found inspirational or particularly funny, and any texts or notes from phone conversations that I’ve wanted to keep for future note.

(Also in one memorable year I had written down two short sentences that popped into my mind, like another voice in my head speaking to me, instructing, but that’s a whole other kettle of fucked up fish!)

It’s the texts and phone conversations over a three year period that, backed up on my very maudlin state last night, has put me into very chartered, very dangerous territory.

I had totally forgotten that he told me he was in love with me.

I had remembered that he told me he wanted me bad, that he continued this talk after they got engaged and then married, that he would ‘always think very highly’ of me, that he had dirty dreams about me, that he was jealous when I spoke to other blokes, and displayed this by just being really cranky to me.

How the hell can you forget the last man to tell you he was in love with you, who you actually gave a shit about? When you spend so much time lamenting what was, and what could’ve been, and how he makes you so confused with all his crap now… how can you forget that?

I also forgot how he kept trying to find out if we could give it another go AFTER starting the relationship with his now-wife, like she was a pawn in the game of trying-to-make-me-jealous-and-get-me-back.

I also forgot one other vital thing: I was pretty hot property.

At that time I had 4, four, FOUR guys after me. And they were really nice, sweet, lovely blokes who would’ve treated me really well. I should know, three were ex boyfriends and one was a very close friend.

I know that sounds like gloating and fuck it, it is – a chick really does hit her straps in her early to mid twenties and it sure as shit is all downhill from there. I will never be that desirable, that hot, that funny and carefree and relaxed again. I wish I knew it at the time and I would’ve enjoyed it a hell of a lot more.

Now my idea of appreciated is being hit on by two married men and one guy who spends – literally – over 50% of his time totally wankered off his tree.

You know what? With a lot more confidence I could go back to being that girl. That’s my goal… to be her again.

My goal: BBD gets her confidence back.



{April 7, 2012}   God help me.

I NEED to write this email… and I can’t get it out of my system any other way but here, not safely. Lets hope if I type it here, I wont have to do it anywhere else…

Uh, hi. I know I told you I never wanted to hear from you again, I know I told you I was ‘over’ all this bullshit. But I find getting you out of my head impossible.

I have no interest what so ever in any sort of future for us other than just passing comments on each others facebook… I just abhor the idea that you and I will never talk again, that we’ll never be able to be friends in any capacity. And I want desperately for you to contact me and try to touch base again – it’s almost always been me, and I hate that because it leaves me feeling like some desperate sad arse.

Your profile is public so I wont access anything that I can’t already, I’m sure, and that means you’d be able to see all of mine which you presently can’t. I have nothing really to gain from this other than the peace of mind that you and I no longer hate each other. That’s all I really want. Because I hate that idea.

I don’t hate you.

I don’t even resent you anymore.

I think I’m a little indifferent… but you make up such a magnificent – both in size and emotional joy – part of my past, I don’t want to lose you.

But I also don’t really want your wife accessing all of my shit.

She still hates and resents me. I’m not all that fond of her still, to be entirely honest.

I just dooooon’t knoooooooow.



Hello random people who run around ‘liking’ posts.

Just a heads up – if you’re someone whose blog I already read, and you ‘like’ my posts, I’m cool with that. But if I’ve never seen you around before, and you like a post but don’t bother to comment, I’m going to assume you’re spamming for people to come look at YOUR blog and I’m gonna ignore you.

Esp if you like a post that’s so self absorbed and uninteresting that I know you’re just full of shit.

 



{April 6, 2012}   Douchebaggery

This post is bought to you today from The Big Building Project. Sitting here in my future office chair (check – comfy), at a collapsible table (not check – daggy) blogging away, ready to cut and paste when I get back to a PC that has internet coverage.

Until my battery runs out, at least.

Had a weird dream last night… don’t remember most of it now – at this fine hour of 11am –  but at least I remember the pertinent bits, the bits that stand out in my head as blogworthy. Had I been prepared to ruin my entire nights sleep by hopping out of bed and grabbing my laptop in the wee hours, this whole dream may have A) made more sense in context and B) been more telling, but fuck that, I like my sleep.

It was almost like two dreams, unrelated but somehow connected by small references made by the main characters. Upon re-reading this I feel anyone else who isn’t me is going to wonder why I bothered typing it down, but it makes more sense when you get to the end, in a very introspective way, so bear with me.

Firstly – and most memorably – I seemed to be hanging out with a guy I semi know who lives in my town, but keeps largely to himself. I think he’s about my age, I have helped him with a job in the past so got to know him to a certain point, about as much as I’d like to anyway. In this dream we were just hanging out at a function (that incidentally wasn’t placed around where we live, but some random dream-scape place that pops up from time to time in my dreams but I don’t believe I’ve ever actually been to in real life) and I was kinda getting a vibe from him that he was chasing after me in a romantic sense. (Don’t think he is in real life and I’m certainly not interested in him.) We end up back at someones house (I think it may have been his family, whom I’ve never met) and I was staying there, sleeping on the couch. He was fussing about and somewhere along the line everyone came into the room and we were watching a DVD, but I started dozing off because I was tired and hello, I’m meant to be SLEEPING in this room. I realised as I dozed off that as I relaxed I basically tipped face first off of the corner of the lounge, so I crawled up, turned around and lie facing the other direction, where it turned out he was. As I dozed off I became aware that he had started stroking me, down my side, from my cheekbone down my ribcage to my hip, in the same manner you would absent-mindedly stroke a cat you were fond of, but somewhat lavishly. WTF? I think I also weighed a few kilos less in this dream, ha ha!

However somewhere between the function and the napping, my ex came into the dream, somewhat snappily asking this guy what his intentions were with me. (This ex is the one I’ve been having issues with previously in the blog, hitting on me even though he’s married.) We also – in the dream and I have no recollection about the context of this bit, I just remember it as a snapshot that occurred at some stage – found ourselves in a similar position as the lounge napping scenario, me lying down napping, him there as well, only he was sitting beside me with a warm, heavy hand lying palm down on my ribcage, in a very possessive “She is mine” fashion.

Now, the next bit brings me to ask “What does this say about me?”

I was much more comfortable with being ‘owned’ than ‘appreciated’.

Perhaps it was because one of these men (in the waking world) represents the unknown vs one representing the known, perhaps it’s because one of them I’m actually drawn to and the other is more of a personality I’m repelled from. They couldn’t be two different characters and I suspect that’s why my brain sought them out. One is outgoing, social, open-minded, sexual and not afraid to tell you what he wants. The other is withdrawn, quiet, close minded and quite a bit different to most people. Honestly, barring the fact they’re both male they really couldn’t GET less alike.

And when presented with a man who was polite, quiet, respectful of my space vs a man who wanted me know that I was ‘his’… for some reason I preferred the latter.

Of my last three boyfriends have been two quiet, meek, shy guys who were willing to let me pace the relationship and flutter around looking after my every whim, lest they offend me and I run away. The other – and last – was the aforementioned guy who took control, told me exactly what he wanted (though in his defence it wasn’t a one way street – he wanted me to know what I wanted too, so he could provide it) and was willing to ‘wear the pants’ in the relationship.

I’ll give you one guess which is the one who is still on my mind.

Then I’ll give you a guess which one of the relationships lasted SIGNIFICANTLY less time than the other two. ANd we’re talking 4 years vs 2 years vs 3 months.

I cannot work out what that says about me. I know I’m a relationship dud – life experiences have caused that – and I think that a guy who can take the lead is a good thing, as one of us has to and it can’t be me. However that sort of attitude comes with the personality that isn’t willing to nurse me through. ANd people wonder why I’ve been single for so long now, I just can’t be bothered with the whole bullshit that comes with it!

On that note, I’m sitting here in My Big Building Project, mere meters from where my (now married) ex groped me up only a few months ago. Since I growled at him over it (via text, I’m SUCH A BRAVE GIRL!) his hands have been kept to himself but it hasn’t stopped the lingering eye contact, the smiles, the odd text message and little comments… some of those things from both of us. Urgh. He’s just so fucking charming. He isn’t ‘my type’ (though these days I’m unsure exactly what my type even is) but I can’t help but stare at his profile when no one is looking, or his hands, and remember what was.

The other day he stopped in and I found myself propping my head on my hand, just watching him and chatting, and he kept turning to me to talk and when he did this, the other people there couldn’t see his face. And he looked at me with that expression that said lots of things, none of them you would repeat in front of grandma and now he’s back in my head.

He isn’t traditionally attractive. He isn’t spectacular at anything that chicks like, like music or sports. He is a crap husband and he’s a player. He doesn’t write me poetry or sonnets, or bring me flowers or chocolates and he’s married to someone else. He isn’t super smart or the funniest guy around. He isn’t rolling in cash and he has a kid.

He is the last guy who made me feel special, sexy, desirable and like someone who means something.

Is that it? Am I such a sadarse that the way to my heart is by accepting me?

I blame my parents, and the fact that since I hit puberty, neither of them have actually liked me. I’m like a less bleached Marilyn Monroe, but with more hang ups.

It’s so very peaceful here in My Big Building Project. But so very very cold. What am I going to do, when all I have to do is think? This could get very dangerous indeed.

Ha. If I had this sort of privacy when I was with the aforementioned bloke, I reckon I’d be married and tooting out kids by now.

I need a haircut.



{April 4, 2012}   Sleepy

Man I’m buggered. It seems to be a reoccurring Wednesday thing.

Today I had to get up early, and I never set an alarm so I just woke and woke and woke… and woke so much I forgot to sleep. And now I’m sleepy.

And I feel physically sleepy too, because Wednesday is my Involuntary Hard Work Day. Wednesdays are the day I go out and clean up after a gaggle of girls, a bounty of beauties, a veritable netball team of kids under ten.  It’s fun and I enjoy feeling useful, so it’s all up and up on that front.

(I say involuntary hard work day because that separates it from the voluntary hard work days spend chasing my tail trying to keep this joint tidy. I do so look forward to the day when that ceases to be my problem!)

And I’m one step closer to that day – the early start was courtesy of my sparky arriving bright and early to get onto the first step of that job. The ball is now firmly in my court, to take the next step towards making my new abode snuggy, environmentally friendly and hopefully not a black hole for electricity and money.

(I just mistyped money as monkey. I should’ve left it – I also genuinely hope my new abode doesn’t become a black hole for monkeys.)

So far so good. Just need to beat down this tiny, niggling spazz attack dancing around the fringes of my brain, slapping me around the head with an octopus in late rigor mortis at every available opportunity, and life will be jolly good!



et cetera