Broken Bella Donna











{March 25, 2013}  

Thud.

It’s always disappointing to be bought back to earth.

But in saying that, it’s important to be bought back down a peg. To be reminded that I’m not worth as much as I have built myself up to be, to be reminded that this fantasy life I have built in my mind is not accurate.

To force myself to remember that my standing isn’t that important. That I need to back off. That I am too emotionally invested in something that isn’t mine, and won’t be. I need to get realistic and I need to back off.

On an unrelated (but perhaps not entirely) note, I have been thinking lately about strength – what it means to have it, and when enough is too much.

I consider myself a strong person – not phsyically necessarily, but in life. I suppose I’ve been through more than my share of crap – more than some, but certainly far less than others – and I’ve learnt my life lessons earlier than many. I know stuff about myself that some others may never learn – I’m yet to work out if this is a pro or a con.

But I do consider myself to be strong. In scenarios where others will walk away, I am well known for digging in my heels. I will battle on past things that some will shy away from. In spite of my spazz attacks, I think I’m fairly level headed in negative situations and downright bullheaded. I’ve always felt this to be a positive trait of mine, one that others would admire me for, and approve of.

It’s dawning on me recently that this may not be the case. I can think of only two occasions where I have given in, thrown in the towel and not fought for what I believed in or wanted. One of those situations worked out very well for me, and removed a large spazz inducing part of my life and has in no way negatively affected me afterwards. And the other lost me my best friend, and probably future partner. That one was a big downer.

But it’s gotten to the point where I’m just sick of fighting. I’m sick of being the strong person who hides their flaws behind a smile, sick of battling against what I want because I feel it isn’t ‘the right thing to do’, sick of having to face each day as me, when I know that the me I present simply isn’t quite right. I’m sick of trying to be strong.

I have fought so hard I don’t know any other way to be. I want to find that one person I can break down in front of, the one person I don’t have to have a front for. The one person that I can say hey… this is me. I’m not feeling very strong today so you have to be strong for both of us for awhile, ok? I’ll pay back the favour.

And the bit that shits me the most? I think I’ve met this person. I think I know someone who fits this bill. But it can’t happen. I have to fight it, push against it because it’s not appropriate. It isn’t ok to follow. I have to be strong.

My pup is sitting on my knee, with his chin on the edge of my laptop, staring avidly at these words. I suspect it’s the sound of the keys that has him transfixed, but maybe, just maybe he’s reading these words. Maybe he’ll be the strength I need from time to time.

But I doubt it, little one. I doubt it.



{March 23, 2013}  

What is the difference between love, and being in love? Can anyone explain this?

How do you know the difference? When you love someone, as just a friend vs when you love someone as something more? I am incapable of telling the difference. This makes things difficult between myself and those around me.

Hm.

I am not going to make this post about you. I need to focus on something else.

My spazz inducing occasions will be back in full force in a fortnight. I don’t know how I feel about that yet. I’m disorganised, and not ready for them but things will pull together in time. So that should be ok. Having lists and remembering stuff is a good way to relax me and sort things out in my head. and the main spazz inducing problem – the ex – has been silent of late and we’ve seen little of each other so that is relaxing me too. Really, I have no excuses to become concerned, but that doesn’t mean much at all. If I think about it long enough I get little butterflies in my belly, which could turn into nothing, or could turn into a spazz attack, so time will tell on that front. Will have to keep hitting up my vit b tabs in the meantime and see, I suppose. At least I’ve stopped having random spazz attacks relating to food lately, but then again, they’re easily avoided by simply not eating on the day.

So, something positive? Let me think of something in life right now that is making me happy.

I’m watching my new puppy goofing around with his toys. He makes me laugh, a lot. He is a sweet little thing, so full of potential and fun, love and trust, he could be anything – if I work extra special hard to make sure his life is wonderful. The first fortnight he was here I was just holding him at arms reach… unsure if I wanted to get emotionally involved in another dog, so soon after losing my girl. My dog also had a hard time bonding with the new addition but now they are firm friends, and play together which has made my acceptance a lot easier. My loyalty lay with my dog, and I didn’t want to bond with the pup too much if it was going to be at cost of my dogs loyalty. So now I have two boys. One older, loving, goofy, loyal, love of my life… the other a small little heart wrapped in fur. I hope he never changes – the love of a pup is a magical thing, all excitement and adoration.

Life is padding along at the usual speed – one not too taxing, at yet not fast enough to reach the milestones I’m impatient to discover. And yet, just at the right speed for me to learn the lessons I must learn.

I suppose that realisation is a lesson learnt in itself.



{March 11, 2013}  

Thoughts, flowing through my mind, like viscous blood through tired veins. Always thinking, thinking always causing distress, distress always causing behavioural problems, behaviour problems always causing more stress. Why must my mind function as it does? Why is it always with this incessant thinking? It causes me such trouble.

i often find myself wishing I had been born simple, stupid. Simple people are rarely so troubled with stupid thoughts that over complicate simple situations, with extraneous rubbish. A friend can be a friend, a comment can be a comment, a compliment is in fact just a compliment and there is no hidden insults or agendas. There’s no ‘what might they think if i did this, or said that’. Just simple meaning.

And relationships with other people would be AMAZING. I would take them on face value and it would be ok! I would not over analyse it and wonder. If I wanted to talk to you I would just talk. I wouldn’t worry if i was coming on hard or needy, I would just assume that you would be happy to hear from  me. It would not make me vulnerable, just enthusiastic.

What a world that would be.

I always sit and think… maybe I can make this world happen. Maybe I can force myself to stop over analysing. Maybe I am the beginning, middle and end of my own troubles. But it’s hard to break a habit of over thirty years in the making. It’s hard not to be over analytic. It’s hard not to think. How does one change this, without resorting to brain numbing chemicals? And that is certainly not a road I will travel down.



{March 5, 2013}   CMT.

Mmm. Ok. So I cut and pasted a snippet from an entry of this blog, and showed it to you. You’re a sharp guy. I fully expect at some stage you’re going to work out – or it’ll come out in convo – that this has happened. That the text came from my blog. And I anticipate that you will Google it and come looking for this, out of curiosity. I am ok with it. Frankly, part of me wants you to, because it may go some way to explaining things. I suppose that was one of the driving concepts behind showing you those paragraphs – to put the ball in your court. Also it means at least someone is reading this, and that perhaps all of my really clever posts wont have been in vain!

But according to my stats, unless you’re from Columbia, you are yet to do it. And I find that a little disappointing, and almost insulting.

I’ve read, and re read, and re read again most of this blog to see what it says about me. (Much like I re read our convos to try and understand) To see if it makes me look desperate, mentally unhinged, pathetic, or whatever. And I suppose each one of those have been represented in here from time to time, but that’s me. That’s part of the parcel. I can paraphrase a quote I once read credited to Marilyn Monroe – if you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me when I’m at my best. It just so happens that this blog is 90% of me at my worst.

I once had a blog rumbled by a ‘friend’ and what he read on there that I said, or didn’t say, or said about others and didn’t say about him (blah blah blah) really affected our relationship. We are no longer friends now. He took such offense to what he read, my private thoughts and feelings, that it changed our entire friendship. Of course, he chose to search for and read my blog, he chose to over involve himself in my brain, and if he couldn’t handle what he read… bad luck to him.

So. What do I want you to know, should you find me? What do I want you to know that may or may not change everything, or nothing?

Yes, you are the Pervy Policeman – but you know that. Please read any posts where you feel you were the one I was talking about, and note the date. And take that into context. Our friendship has evolved and changed, and that is reflected.

You are not the guy I’m referring to all the time. I’m sure you will work out from context or whatever what is you and what is my ex, whom I’ve had problems with in the past when it comes to inappropriate behaviour of a married man. I’ve never really truly felt you’ve stepped out of line in that regard, though I suppose if my husband spoke to other women as you speak to me sometimes, I would be seriously cut. I trust you when you said that your wife would be ok with it. I’m desperate to know what the situation is there, but am willing to respect your privacy and figure you’ll tell me what you feel I should know in time. And you’ve always kept your hands to yourself and I’ve never felt like you wanted to take anything any further than talk, so…

I intended to write this entry as an open letter, to you, should you ever read it. I am prone to this – I write letters to people that I want to say stuff to, or explain stuff to. I tell them everything I don’t have the confidence to tell them to their face, the stuff I’m scared will change the friendship should it be said. It makes me feel better to get things into writing; it helps me sort out the thoughts in my head. But here’s the catch.

I’m not sure there’s anything I want to say to you, that you don’t already know. I think I’ve told you everything. I suppose there’s a few things that I’ve blogged about that may come as a surprise to you, but honestly? You know just about everything. And doesn’t that speak volumes?

I suppose you don’t know, or perhaps don’t care/give cred to the fact that it reallllllly shits me off when you ignore my messages. I’ve no doubt you have good and legit reasons to do so. But could you please let me know why? It drives me crazy. It encourages me to feel like you don’t really care about what I have to say, which makes me feel like I’m doing all the running in this friendship and that you don’t care if we don’t speak. Which then makes me feel a little used, and like I’ve over shared and perhaps chased you away from talking to me by being too clingy/weird/desperate/psycho. I am desperate to get feedback on my millions of lengthy messages I send you. I teeter between thinking you bearly read them and think I’m just another blathering girl, and thinking that you won’t answer them because you don’t want to open those particular cans of worms.

I want you to understand why I am like I am. Why I am so desperate for attention, affection, appreciation… acceptance. Geez it’s like I’m working my way through the dictionary here. I want to explain to you how my own family dislike and disrespect me. How I have no friends. How I have nobody in my life that I can talk to the way we talk. But you have people in your life, and I don’t want to dump that on you. I don’t want to change the way you view me, or my family. I don’t want  you to feel obliged to have to deal with me. But I don’t want you thinking poorly of me either… I understand that you need to make time in your life for everyone, whereas I don’t have to accomodate for anyone else. When I want to talk, when I want to share… I only want to do it with people who care to listen to me. And frankly, that’s just you. This is sad and lonely, yes, but I need you to understand where it comes from. It comes from loneliness, not necessarily anything more. I’m unsure if I can rule that out though. But this is why I want to talk, always. Because you’re the only person silly enough to care about me.

I have so, so, so many questions I would like to ask you. That I can’t, or forget to, or won’t ever.

Recently you referenced something about what you think, and what is real is often not the same thing. That, and a million other random things you say, make me want to shake you and ask you for explanation. I can’t tell if you drop random things into conversation because you want me to poke at it until you explain, or because I’m imagining everything and you’re just talking.

I want to know how you feel. But I can’t tell if you don’t know, can’t word it, don’t want to word it, or none of this exists and it’s all in my head. I can’t tell anything. It’s so confusing. I suppose I shouldn’t take great surprise from this, if you can’t word your thoughts, when I struggle to word my own. But it’s frustrating. I want to know exactly how you feel about me. But I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I keep wanting to delete stuff, incase you read this, but at the same time – isn’t that what I’m here for?

I expect too much, much more than I’m entitled to, I realise this. And I realise I will use that disclaimer to follow on from eons of thoughts, all crapping on like I’m entitled to know everything. It’s all very complicated, but we never pretended to be anything different.

I think it’s time again for me to step back, and stop bothering you. Time for me to keep out of it and let you extend the next branch. I am getting over involved, emotionally, in someone elses life, someone who doesn’t need me breathing down your neck and bothering you.

All I ask is this. Please let me know if you read this. I need to know if you found my blog. Only because I know it will change the way you look at me, and I think I’m entitled to know why.

Am I going to regret this in the morning?



{March 3, 2013}  

Here’s the thing.

At my ripe age of in-my-thirties… I’ve never been in love. At least I don’t think I have. Then again I could well have a screwed idea of love, I come from that sort of family.

I am prone to hard core obsession at the drop of a hat. I will want to know every last thing about you, so that I can feel like I *really* know you, and I will analyse everything you say to seek out tidbits that I can misconstrue as having meaning. I will fantasize a variety of different scenarios involving us, and develop a secret life in my head that involves us both, where we live happily ever after. But don’t worry, I wont believe it’s true. I will believe it has real potential though, and end up creating interest in guys that I otherwise would never be interested in. I will think about you constantly and I will try to arrange opportunities where our paths will cross.

It’s all a bit high-schooly.

Is this love? If you’re 14, sure. At my age, I’m unsure. Once again, I feel like I haven’t progressed past my mid teens, emotionally.

I am feeling a bit obsessive again at the moment, and working hard to not create these crossing paths. The sooner I’m rid of it, the better.

We were good. I was comfortable with where it was at. I was happy to go for ages between talks, because I was cool with it. We’re mates, it’s ok, I got a bit obsessive but worked through it and realised – we’re just friends. No more.

Then you told me it’s not platonic for you. You ‘like’ me.

Now I’m creeping back to my obsessive stage one. Thanks a bunch!

A little paranoid part of my brain fears that you sensed the tide had turned. That I was no longer hanging out for our contact. And that by throwing that little bit in, you’d have me back on the hook, to feed your ego.

A little romantic part of my brain fears that this could be something more than we both can allow it to be and we’re missing out. That the situation is preventing us from reaching our potential.

The main part of my brain knows this is all hogwash that I’ve been through before, and no doubt will again.

Sighs.

It’s just the same old predictable roundabout. With the same old predictable ending.



et cetera