Broken Bella Donna

{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?


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