Thursday, May 04, 2006
I suck. I know, "Wah, wah, Sassy. Quit whining." But it's true, I suck. Well, I may be good at a few things, and I may be smart or have lots of other positive things about me you could point out as proof of my AntiSucking, but the truth is, I suck. I am quite good at fooling people into believing otherwise (including myself on occasion), but the truth is, I am a broken person. That sounds so melodramatic, but I don't know how else to say it. I had an argument with Rusty tonight, and it just upsets me, because I realized the reason we keep having this same argument over and over--it's my fault. And the argument can't be fixed until I'm fixed. All this time I thought I was "pretty healthy", or at least CLOSE to normal. But that's not really the truth. I'm like a functioning alcoholic--sort of a functioning emotional cripple. He said something tonight that just stabbed me in the heart--he claimed that I don't show him that I love him.
Rusty is good to me. He treats me better than any boyfriend I've ever had, better than my former husband ever did. He respects me, he admires me. Sometimes, it feels like he even worships me. And I've spent a lot of time getting comfortable with that, having never experienced it before. Sometimes I like to close my eyes and just bask in it like a summer sun. He deserves to feel as good as he makes me feel in those moments, but I don't know how to do it. I feel like I show him all the time. But this is just not something I ever learned to do. My family... well, you'd have to know them to understand. They're good people, they really are, and I love them, come what may, but expressing love--hell, expressing any emotion is just something that Isn't Done. And I don't mean in that Prissy Uptight WASPy way that's portrayed as a stereotype so often in Hollywood. They are masters of passive-aggressive expression--say, "I love you." while you trash their most beloved possession, or saying, "That's a pretty dress, why don't you wear skirts more often?" and 5 minutes later, "She looks like a streetwalker." There's this feeling that since they're family, they have license to say all the ugly things that go through their heads, and you still have to love them. Or that you can say those things as long as you're "joking". Well frankly, I never realized how much that really, truly fucked me up. Apparently none of the things I instinctively do for the people I love are actual ways one is expected to express their feelings. And when I think about it, I suppose it's really stupid of me to expect him to understand that buying his favorite snack at the grocery store means, "I love you." or that everything I do to make him comfortable or healthy is the only way I know how to show him how important it is to me that he's still with me tomorrow. My parents weren't physically affectionate toward each other--hell, they weren't even particularly verbally affectionate, either. An occasional hug, or peck on the cheek, a "Love You." as they bolted out the door, that's all there was. Throughout my adolescence and into my adulthood, every sign I showed to my family that I was interested in a boy, in love with someone, or just attracted to someone, made me a target for ridicule. I can recall dozens, maybe hundreds of nights I cried myself to sleep, feeling like I was the weird one for having all these feelings that apparently nobody else understood. I was foolish and juvenile. I stifled all those stupid thoughts and urges until I stopped having them.
It makes me truly sad to think about all the joy and exhilaration I denied myself all those years, protecting myself from something I didn't need protection from, and hurting from the broken hearts after it ended anyway. I'm sad for that girl, but I'm angry as hell, too.
So here I am, a stone's throw away from 40, and I don't know how to show him how much I love him and need him. I hope it's not true you can't teach an old dog a new trick, because this old bitch needs one.
Rusty is good to me. He treats me better than any boyfriend I've ever had, better than my former husband ever did. He respects me, he admires me. Sometimes, it feels like he even worships me. And I've spent a lot of time getting comfortable with that, having never experienced it before. Sometimes I like to close my eyes and just bask in it like a summer sun. He deserves to feel as good as he makes me feel in those moments, but I don't know how to do it. I feel like I show him all the time. But this is just not something I ever learned to do. My family... well, you'd have to know them to understand. They're good people, they really are, and I love them, come what may, but expressing love--hell, expressing any emotion is just something that Isn't Done. And I don't mean in that Prissy Uptight WASPy way that's portrayed as a stereotype so often in Hollywood. They are masters of passive-aggressive expression--say, "I love you." while you trash their most beloved possession, or saying, "That's a pretty dress, why don't you wear skirts more often?" and 5 minutes later, "She looks like a streetwalker." There's this feeling that since they're family, they have license to say all the ugly things that go through their heads, and you still have to love them. Or that you can say those things as long as you're "joking". Well frankly, I never realized how much that really, truly fucked me up. Apparently none of the things I instinctively do for the people I love are actual ways one is expected to express their feelings. And when I think about it, I suppose it's really stupid of me to expect him to understand that buying his favorite snack at the grocery store means, "I love you." or that everything I do to make him comfortable or healthy is the only way I know how to show him how important it is to me that he's still with me tomorrow. My parents weren't physically affectionate toward each other--hell, they weren't even particularly verbally affectionate, either. An occasional hug, or peck on the cheek, a "Love You." as they bolted out the door, that's all there was. Throughout my adolescence and into my adulthood, every sign I showed to my family that I was interested in a boy, in love with someone, or just attracted to someone, made me a target for ridicule. I can recall dozens, maybe hundreds of nights I cried myself to sleep, feeling like I was the weird one for having all these feelings that apparently nobody else understood. I was foolish and juvenile. I stifled all those stupid thoughts and urges until I stopped having them.
It makes me truly sad to think about all the joy and exhilaration I denied myself all those years, protecting myself from something I didn't need protection from, and hurting from the broken hearts after it ended anyway. I'm sad for that girl, but I'm angry as hell, too.
So here I am, a stone's throw away from 40, and I don't know how to show him how much I love him and need him. I hope it's not true you can't teach an old dog a new trick, because this old bitch needs one.
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