I think that between songs I’ve written and emails I’ve sent, I’ll be able to piece together the broad strokes of what I’ve been going through. I would still like to capture a bit more of the nuances, though, because the details are what matter.

I spent July until the first week in November falling for someone against my will and better judgment. This seems to be a pattern with me. I don’t know if I am attracted to broken men, or they are attracted to me (it is probably a bit of both), but this last experience was fairly typical.

He’s a fellow musician that I knew vaguely from the open mics we’d both frequented back in 2005-2006. I never really spoke with him much, but I knew who he was. I thought he was a good musician and one of the cool kids who would never deign to take notice of me. So when we became friends on Youface, I was a little surprised.

He’d just broken up with someone and so he pursued me pretty intensely, first on Youface and then in person. Via  Youface, he found me at an open mic, bought me some vodka tonics, and then we sat in a friend’s backyard drunk, holding hands and talking about all sorts of things. At the end of the night, he kissed me and said, “I’ve had a crush on you for awhile.”

For a while it was nice. He’d come over and play songs for me. We’d go to dinner or the movies. We’d play at open mics together. We’d make out a lot and actually slept together on our first date, which I was okay with, but apparently he was not. We talked about it and I thought we’d worked it out.

Then after a month or two he started saying things like “Oh, don’t fall for me, I’m pretty flaky” and “You know I’m dating other girls, right?” Which, before you shout “DICK!” at your computer screen, I did know he was dating other girls. I approved of him dating other girls, because he told me early on that he tended to jump impulsively and head long into serious relationships and ended up regretting his non-choice and resenting the girl. I said that I had been there and done that and did not want it, so you go ahead, honey, and date all the girls you care to.

It went along merrily in this way for several months.  Then, in October, he started playing an extremely unpleasant game of push-pull, in a series of messages spanning about two week’s time:

You’re a special lady, [Iris]. I’ve expressed interest in keeping the “dating thing” a bit on the lighter side, and I’m still of that mind, as I’m terrible at picking partners. [...]  I dread the thought of not having you to talk to and hang with, when possible. You’re funny, easy to be with, and you really care about the people in your life. There’s really not much else worth looking at.

But I’m perpetually trying to make sure I don’t get into something that’s not right for me, as I have a remarkable record of doing so, while thinking I was absolutely with the best person ever. For that reason, I’m currently dating a few different ladies in hopes of narrowing my chances of making another poor decision.  If you gotta move on, please don’t let me stop you. But if you’re still around when the “smoke clears”, I guess that’ll be my sign. (Emphasis mine)

But I gotta say you’re awesome. I can’t write off anyone who gives me a hand-made [...] zombie-doll for my birthday, especially with the enthusiasm you displayed in giving it to me. My mother has known me 41 years and she still doesn’t get it. That gift really stands out as one of the best ever, despite my lame reaction (I may have been a bit burnt out from the barroom interrogation, but I dug it).

So anyway yeah, I’m dating around, and at least one of these ladies could be called “nice enough”. But I don’t fuckin know what I want, that’s all. Do I want to blow everyone off and tour Europe for a couple of years? Maybe. Maybe not. Whatever.

Point is, stay in touch. You’re a good friend, and I like hearing how you’re doing. Call up and say some shit. I’ll listen. I don’t want to figure out where we’re all going. I just want to go, and see who’s still there when I finally find my head.

In case you missed in, the summary is: Don’t wait for me, and don’t count on me, but if you’re still around when I get my shit together, hey, I might date you!

I wrote the following:

Here’s how I think and feel: we are more than friends. I don’t want to make out with my friends. I don’t want to hold hands with my friends. When I hug my friends, I do not hold on for longer than five seconds. While I can acknowledge that my friends are attractive people, I am not attracted to them.

It is the presence of these feelings, whether they are acted on or not, that makes people more than friends. And all I want to do is keep hanging out and learning more about you and seeing if we want to either move forward or stop. I think that’s all dating really is, right? [...]

So no intercourse? Sure, that’s a good call, especially if it makes you needlessly confused. No making out, even? Okay, yeah, that can be put on pause, too.

BUT–and this might sound completely bonkers–touching–especially non-sexual yet intimate touching–is really important to me. I don’t remember my mother hugging me until I was fourteen and leaving on a band trip, and she hugged me after she saw my friend get hugged by her mother. Before and after that, the only physical contact I had was beatings. So touching and being touched is really important to me, so if I had to be around someone I’m really into and I couldn’t touch them and they wouldn’t touch me, I would be totally bummed, and I don’t have the time or energy to be so bummed right now.

So hanging out with me means that I’d want to hold your hand during the movie, or lean against you at a show, or press my face into your neck when we hug goodbye, and I’d really dig it if you did those things, too; especially touching my neck or my hair. I have a neck/hair thing. And if that weirds you out, or freaks you out, or in any other way causes you to react negatively, then we shouldn’t hang out in person. Because like I wrote before, if there was no physical contact, I’d feel super-sad, and I don’t want to be sad, or be sad around you, because otherwise being with you and talking with you normally makes me very happy.

He wrote, “Suffice it to say that I understand your needs, and so I have to keep my distance until I know what the fuck I’m doing over here. My head is in a scrambled place now[...b]ut I’ll call you sometime soonish, and if you don’t wanna talk, just say so.”

So I gave him another gift–the gift of time, and the gift of my absence:

I’m going to give you time to figure things out. And I am going to protect myself. Which means that I can’t talk to you in any way–phone, email, facebook feed, nothing.

I fall into the pattern of giving until it hurts, and I can’t keep doing that. I have so many people who need things from me–my friends, the kids at work, my family, myself–that I have to be more selective about what and how much I give. I can’t be a part of your life until you know what you want from me and how you want me in your life. There’s no good or bad here, it’s just painfully obvious that we can’t give each other what we need right now. I do want to talk to you. I enjoy hearing what you have to say, and I like telling you stories…and all that other stuff that you already know. Not talking to you and not seeing your comments on my stupid facebook posts makes sad. I was having fun working on a trumpet part for your song. Writing this email makes me want to cry. But I know if I keep talking to you it will hurt even worse. I can’t keep giving so much of myself to someone who can’t reciprocate. And I think if I keep being a part of your life, on your terms, you won’t have as much of an impetus to figure out what you want. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I care about you very much and I don’t want to hurt you in any way, but I have to take care of myself first.

Please get back in touch with me when you’ve figured out what you want.

fuck.

I’m feeling very alone and isolated lately. It seems like I’ve become the 3rd, 5th or 7th wheel to a social circle made up completely of couples. Everyone’s all married or coupled and happy, and even if they aren’t happy, at least they are not miserable. They’re content. I’m not. I’m broke, and pissed off most of the time, and wondering why the hell I can’t manage my finances or date someone for longer than six months without shit all falling apart.

The worst part of being broke is that I owe money to people. Not discover card, or a student loan company, but people. My friends and family. That sucks. I feel shitty every time I think about it.

But then I also get pissed when I think about people that I know that aren’t fucked up financially. I know that isn’t fair. But that’s how I feel.

Wah, wah, wah.

Booze destroys the things I love. My mother was a drunk her entire life, and while she was extremely fucking functional, it took a toll on our relationship. Shit, I’d be a drunk, too, if I were married to a man like my father. I am not, and this is an extremely good thing.

Two of my best friends are brothers, and they are both drunks. Both have crashed or otherwise damaged cars that they were driving while intoxicated. One has gotten so many DUI convictions that I don’t think he will ever be able to drive again (which is probably a good thing). He’s also broken his foot and leg while behaving stupidly while drunk. I haven’t spoken to him recently, but I saw some pictures and he looks like hell.

I have another friend who talks all the time about her drinking problem, but she continues to drink, and sometimes misses events because of hangovers. She’s a great musician but her drinking and her loss of passion for music have left her career stalled, and I don’t think she’ll ever get the recognition she deserves.

I drink. I used to binge drink every weekend, and for a year or so, almost every night. I still like to drink, but in moderation. If I happen to get wasted–which might happen two or three times a year–it is almost always accidental and I hate the way I feel for days afterward.

I hate being around drunks. The smell reminds me of my mother, and how sad she was; it makes me think of all the poems she never wrote, all the songs she never sang, because it takes so much time to drink and be drunk. Drinking wreaks havoc on a person, too. It makes you smell like an open beer can that’s been left in the sun. Your skin is sallow and your breath…combine drinking with a lack of dental hygiene and, to misquote Carlin, you’ll end up with breath that could knock a buzzard off a shit wagon.

I don’t know why these people that I love drink to excess. I know why I drank–I was shy, with low self- esteem, and drinking allowed me to be uninhibited, to make friends, to be fun and to have fun. Maybe those are their reasons. Maybe it is because drinking runs in the family. I don’t know, and I don’t particularly care.

I care about them, though. I want them to get better. But I can’t make them better. I am having a hard enough time making myself better. If they want to be better, they have to do the work, for themselves. You can’t change for love, or for money, or for any other external reason. You have to love yourself enough to say, I’m going to stop killing myself. I’m going to get out this hole, and find a better way to spend my time.

I could still be a drunk. I could be a cutter. I could be a fucking junkie whore. I have all the reasons to be. I also have so many reasons to leave all of that shit  behind, to be sober, to take care of myself. I have a job I’m passionate about, I have songs to sing, books to write, friends to be with, a nephew to play with…there is so much in life to do and see, and you can’t do or see any of it from the bottom of a bottle.

Sometimes my disappointment in those I love causes me to ache physically. I’ve been thinking about this for the past five days, and sometimes it makes me gnash my teeth in frustration.

I want to fix everyone I love who is broken. I’ve always been that way. But I can’t. I can’t do it for them. I can only walk away and say, I can’t do this. I love you too much to watch you destroy yourself. When you decide you want to live your life, let me know–I’d love to be there with you.

]]> http://allofme.wordpress.com/2010/02/08/forget-about-it/feed/ 0 missjulie http://allofme.wordpress.com/2010/01/26/foot-in-mouth/ http://allofme.wordpress.com/2010/01/26/foot-in-mouth/#comments Tue, 26 Jan 2010 19:43:41 +0000 Miss Julie http://allofme.wordpress.com/?p=1341 ]]> I really need to work harder on thinking before I speak, or write comments.