“Love the Way You Lie”

I first listened to this song a few weeks ago, and it’s really been sticking with me. On top of the facts that I’ve harbored a long-time appreciation for Eminem as a sort of guilty pleasure and Rihanna’s chorus is catchy and sung beautifully as always, I’m a one-time survivor and currently navigating my way through a relationship-turned-nonrelationship much like the one addressed in the song (second-time survivor-to-be?).

The song lyrics and video illustrate so perfectly situations and peculiarities I’ve experienced with both of my abusive relationships. The first one was completely one-sided–more like the circumstances the character Tommy on True Blood grew up in. My abuser completely obliterated what little sense of self I had going into the relationship and left me honestly believing I deserved all his vitriol and poison, and the first time I tried to get away, I spent two weeks completely lost and confused, not knowing what to do without him there and feeling completely unable to take care of myself alone. It’s so difficult to get someone who hasn’t experienced at least something similar to even come close to understanding, and even then, no one I’ve known has expressed to me that they were in the same boat in the past, so I’m more assuming the people who’ve dealt with similar are relating on some level.

A dependency so consuming and intense characterized that relationship. I literally did not exist outside the abuse, and that is what made it impossible to leave the first time. How could I leave if I was nothing on my own? It wasn’t until I met someone who gave me the vibe that it was possible to have a relationship where I was my own person, a good person, worthy of respect and care and appreciation simply for who I was and not what I did or didn’t do, how well I obeyed and cooperated, or how utterly self-sacrificing I was, that I was able to finally end the relationship and get away from the abuse.

It is a bit scary, looking back, because honestly if it wasn’t for that truly good person who opened my eyes to the possibility and instilled a sense of hope that I could have something genuinely kind, I don’t know how long I would have stayed… I don’t think I could have left him on my own. I was so weakened by the abuse, and I was absolutely not one of those women who could pick herself up off of the floor and just leave, alone and groundless, out of sheer determination to escape the cruelty.

Even now, I’ll say how much I realize I don’t deserve anything like that, and have marginally removed myself from bad situations, I’m once again caught in the cycle of abuse. It’s even scarier knowing that I recognize this and still entertain the idea of not cutting all ties and making my escape.

Embedded in all the drama, pain, hurtful words, and hardhearted treatment is an intense passion. Embodied in the line “Maybe that’s what happens when a tornado meets a volcano” is the power of the interaction between us. While I have never been an instigator–at least not intentionally–and definitely still have a tendency to defer to an abuser, being self-sacrificing and obedient even when my heart isn’t truly in it, I have gotten better about standing up for myself and have used my penchant for observing idiosyncracies and picking up on the things people are truly sensitive about in order to push buttons when I’ve had enough. I honestly don’t like being that way, but it seems to be the only way I can manage to cope when I feel like I’m being attacked and mistreated. It’s become intoxicatingly cathartic to respond with meanness and hate when I’m being subjected to the abuse. I quite simply don’t have it in me to be violent and can’t see that ever happening because even when struck I don’t have the drive to fight back, but I can be just as vicious with words.

This obviously isn’t healthy, and the fact that I keep forgiving it all and even vaguely consider going back honestly disgusts me. I feel trapped in the same situation as my first abusive relationship–I don’t know if I can ever truly move on without something beyond my own will to pull me away. It certainly doesn’t help that there would be a benefit to going back, something I’m increasingly desperate to have. I know how much of a bad idea it all is, prolonging the situation and incessantly ignoring the truly awful in light of the bits of good.

My inability to get away from these situations on my own and my seemingly terrible luck (a full two-thirds of my relationships have been abusive, odds that are heartily discouraging to me for future relationships) are starting to jade me. Of course, I’m an impossibly hopeful person, so I doubt it could ever become my default state of being to anticipate any relationship turning this dreadfully sour, but it certainly lowers my desire to pursue anything close.

You ever love somebody so much you can barely breathe when you’re with ’em?
You meet and neither one of you even know what hit ’em
Got that warm fuzzy feeling, yeah, them those chills you used to get ’em
Now you’re getting fucking sick of looking at ’em

That’s how it went both times. Wonderful to start and then blindsided by the bad. It makes me feel like there’s no way to avoid it; that any relationship, no matter how amazing it is to start, has the potential to turn into something just as destructive.

So I’ve developed a habit of being detached. I just don’t know that it’s really the way I want to be…

Emoting and Trusting

I generally tend to wear my heart on my sleeve as far as my general mood and emotions are concerned. I actually find it pretty difficult to contain myself, really, when I’m excited about something, upset, angry, and so on. Though angry is an extremely rare occurence–as Leonard described Penny in an episode of “The Big Bang Theory” once:

Leonard: Dont take this the wrong way, but you do seem to have that overexposed-to-gamma-radiation thing going on.
Penny: Excuse me?
Leonard: Its just that usually you’re sweet Bruce Banner, but when you get angry, you get all… Grrr!
Penny: I turn into a bear?
Leonard: Seriously? Gamma rays? Bruce Banner? How can you not get The Incredible Hulk from that?

I can also get Shakespearean when angered. When a co-worker at my last job commented once on how I’m always so cheerful and pleasant that he’s become convinced I simply don’t possess the ability to become angry, I explained that it’s simply a rare state of being for me, but when it does happen–look out, because I can craft some pretty confusing-on-the-surface-but-truly-vicious-once-you-get-it insults. He subsequently took it upon himself to find a way to make me get Shakespearean on his ass. Alas, he never succeeded…testament to how truly difficult it is to anger me, if someone dead-set determined to do so never could!

Anyway, I digress a bit.

From a combination of things, while I have actual trouble containing my general moods, I find it quite near impossible to express things I’m feeling deeper. Things that are a result of a lot of thinking or that just have more significance than my current overall state-of-being.

It takes a lot of building up for me to mention things I want. Even when directly asked, I deflect the question and leave decisions up to the asker. In most situations at this point, that can be explained by my easy-going nature, and I am a strong enough person that if I have a really solid opinion on something, I’ll voice it. But there’s a definite grey area wherein I have a slight preference for something that I find difficult to mention.

I know exactly what this primarily stems from: the emotional abuse of my first relationship. It was fundamentally manipulative, and one of the most prominent manipulations was belittling and obliterating my wants and preferences. If I asked for things, no matter how truly significant or insignificant they were to me, I was berated for being “needy,” “silly,” “stupid,” “inconvenient,” etc. Over time, I learned to simply stop asking for things or voicing preferences, because if they weren’t the same things my boyfriend wanted, then they were on some level Wrong.

It’s been the most difficult thing to overcome from that abuse. While I’m sure plenty of people would say I haven’t improved by virtue of the fact that I still have trouble talking about wants, desires, preferences, and the like, it’s not obvious from that how much I’ve progressed since ending that relationship. I have recovered quite a bit–at first, I couldn’t voice things at all. Getting an opinion out of me on anything was a full-on process. Trivial preferences still are, but at least I do now talk about things I feel strongly one way or the other.

Other feelings equally suffered blows at the hands of my first relationship, but they were easier to recover. It didn’t take much for me to bring up liking, missing, or even loving people shortly after that relationship ended. However, at this point in time, a long string of friendships and a couple of relationships that have ended in me being hurt and feeling tossed aside after a lot of effort and vulnerability seem to have turned that back around. The only people I now feel comfortable telling how much I miss them are ones who’ve been there effectively forever: my sister, other family, and friends I’ve had since high school or even longer. People I’m quite confident won’t be dropping me like a hat, because they’ve quite obviously had plenty of opportunity and haven’t done so.

Living alone for the first time in my life, I’ve gotten to missing people more. I definitely need social contact; I get quite hard on myself and overly-critical when I spend too much time alone and have too much time to think. I’m in a much better mental state when I interact with friends, even briefly, as close to every day as I can. And I’ve made some pretty cool friends here in Australia, but I have trouble telling them that I miss them or like them or anything else I feel because I’ve become so terrified of being vulnerable to people.

Admittedly, I’ve put myself in some of the most vulnerable positions possible with respect to interpersonal relationships the past year or so. Moving to another country with someone, relying on them for my ability to stay in this other country. Having that all dashed to pieces and trying to find my own way to get by as a result… That’s some pretty tough shit. Immigration, in my opinion, is right up there with American student loans as some of the worst things a person can have to deal with.

Beyond feelings and emotions, even my ability to trust has been whittled down to a toothpick. I’m finding it so hard not to be cynical about people’s motives. My immediate internal reaction has gone from thanks and appreciation and warmth to questioning what it is someone wants from me when they’re doing something nice. I’m starting to expect strings being attached to everything people do and say, and I can’t get over the disbelief when people are genuinely nice. I keep wondering what I did to deserve such treatment and when it’s going to all be turned upside down; I’ve lost my ability to accept that anyone can be kind to me without expecting something in return, and the few situations I’ve been in recently where it’s quite simply impossible for me to interpret them as motivated by something darker have left me thoroughly confused and on edge. It doesn’t make sense to me, and I can’t make it make sense in any way.

I don’t like that I’ve become jaded over my emotions. I don’t like that I used to just tell people what I think quite freely and now I just can’t. I don’t like that I can’t trust that people will be nice to me without wanting something out of me in return. I don’t like that some careless and thoughtless people have managed to affect me so deeply.

How do you get over things like that?

Indefinitely After Un-Relationships

In the course of my usual morning blog-reading on Saturday, I was led to this post by Jill on the winding path of dating when it’s complicated by the fact that you’re a very vocal feminist. While I will be the first to admit I’m (generally, in person) not a vocal feminist in the slightest and quite probably do nothing to help feminist causes at times, there was a particular section that really inspired reflection upon my own path through the world of romantic relationships:

It would be nice to be in a long-term stable relationship, but only in the sense that I would like to find someone with whom I am actually motivated to build such a relationship. In reality, though, I’ve kind of settled into the idea that I will probably not end up creating such a relationship; I feel like maybe that reads as sad or depressing, but it doesn’t feel like that at all. I mean, I’ve never been the person to fantasize about My Ideal Wedding, but I have fantasized about My First Published Book since before I could actually write. … I read all these stories about women my age who are totally anxious about finding The One and getting married, and I keep hearing that women my age have this biological clock thing ticking quite loudly, and even a lot of my friends seem to be feeling like they should be locating their person right about now, and I often wonder if there isn’t something seriously deeply wrong with me not only because I don’t feel any of that anxiety but also because I don’t at all fear A Life Alone. Maybe that will change in a decade — my mother says it will, and then she reminds me that she would be a really great grandmother. But it means that in the meantime, I can get to know a lot of different people without feeling like I’m auditioning them for the role of Jill’s Perfect Mate.

I can distinctly remember declaring to my dad at the age of four that I was never getting married and never having children. Once I got a little older and it became apparent to me that getting married wasn’t the act that created children and it was indeed possible to have one without the other, I began to entertain the idea of getting married as a potential activity in my life someday, but like Jill, I was still never one of those girls who planned out these wonderful, elaborate weddings, dreaming of the day they would walk down the aisle in a gorgeous white dress and recite vows asserting eternal love and devotion.

Instead, I spent hours upon hours going through my dad’s old books of house plans (he at one time owned and operated an incredibly successful construction business), picking out which ones I would someday love to live in: tremendous, extravagant, luxurious homes that would be a testament to my infinite success at whatever occupation I currently saw fit for myself “when I grew up.” I empasize the I in that statement because I honestly only ever pictured myself living in those grand homes. Whenever I imagined days spent in the library reading and writing, hours working out in the dedicated gym room, cooking in the professional-grade kitchen, and lounging on the vast patio by the in-ground swimming pool and landscaped gardens, there was no one else residing in the home with me, partaking of these various luxuries. It was only me, single-handedly enjoying the material fruits of my impressive talents and labors.

While I still entertain the possibility of someday finding someone that is so thoroughly Awesome I can’t not want to share my life with them, just as when I was dreaming of my single life in mansions, I’m not at all put off by the idea of going about my existence “alone.” And like Jill, in the face of supposedly knowing, patronizing remarks about how it’s only because I’m young and doubtless one day I’ll be driven to get married and settle down, just give it about ten years and my biological clock will run rampant and all-consuming, I find myself questioning my lifelong lack of such an interest. Is there something wrong with me that it has never once been an intensely motivating factor and I quite positively don’t ever see it becoming an issue? Is there something terrifyingly strange and powerful that will suddenly turn on out of the blue in about five or so years that will completely change the mindset I’ve had for the past 26?

That last thought frightens me considerably more than the idea of never marrying. I’m quite proud of where my life experiences have led me and the person they have created. I like who I am the way I am now, and I find it absolutely mortifying to think that overnight I’ll turn into one of all the other irrational, unreasonable, and quite certifiably insane women out there intent upon having ridiculously convoluted relationships, marriages, and families. I may not have always been able to articulate exactly what I am after in a potential relationship, but I can assert that the common, expected course of a relationship has always felt artificial and unnecessarily complicated to navigate.

It really disturbs me to think that some Unknown will completely change me. Hell, beyond the whole dreaming of single life in a mansion, even when I played with dolls it wasn’t the traditional Barbie-marries-Ken-and-here-is-their-happily-ever-after. No, I had one Ken doll and about a dozen Barbies. Naturally he never got married, had affairs with all of the Barbies, and–SHOCKER!–sometimes there were threesomes, and some of the Barbies were lesbian! Having children was always a categorically negative thing, and none of my Barbies (or Ken) ever wanted to upset their exciting lives by having to buckle down and raise a child.

And of course, every Barbie had their own expansive, lavish mansion they lived in on their own, but occasionally with whoever was their current fling (or flings!).

These sort of childhood behaviors are what convince me that my lack of a drive to get married and settle down is an inherent, consistent part of me. That the fact that I’m not after any sort of “traditional” relationship is never going to change–it’s not just a phase I’m going through if I’ve been declaring my distinct dearth of interest in it all since I was four! It’s frustrating when people don’t understand how much thought I’ve put into it all, and how if I bring up having a relationship or getting married it is most definitely not because I’ve been bitten by the Insanity Bug and now suddenly want a fairy-tale ending.

I suppose that would be the one thing I am displeased about–the way most women operate has unfortunately set a stage that makes it impossible for me to have an intelligent, reasonable conversation about what I would actually want in a relationship and for what reasons I would actually consider the idea of getting married without the expectation being imposed on me that I’m going to be just as fanatical as every other woman, saying one thing when I really mean the complete opposite. This is probably the main reason I’m not terrified of being alone: I’ve learned it’s much more simple, pleasant, and enjoyable to just never bring any of it up. Why would I bother with the difficulties of trying to convince someone I’m not like all the other chicks when I can enjoy what I have with them without saying anything at all?

Again, I’m sure I’d be thrilled if I met someone who was equally uninterested in all the complicated nonsense people introduce to relationships when they want them to fit a certain timeline and array of specific qualities. Who was so thoroughly, unbelievably Fantastic that my independent, adventurous life would feel somehow less independent and adventurous if they weren’t included. I have the funny feeling, though, that I will wind up quite thoroughly happy with a string of all manner of entertaining, inspiring interactions while I work my way towards that mansion I’ve always wanted…