Cock Blocked

When I first sit down to write I take a few deep breaths and say a little prayer, asking for guidance and the courage to be honest, open and willing. I get quiet and feel out my gut. What is it saying? What is it asking of me? I do these things, they seem nice, and oh so spiritual, but really deep down I’m just praying for your attention.

Although my writing is for me, a way to fulfill my base-needs, it’s also for you–my readers–at least I want it to be, in part. My hope is to stir something within you, to touch you in place that only you know, to put words to something you feel but may not be able to express by showing you who I am, and by honoring myself.

Lately here I’ve been eating my words, literally, swallowing them. I haven’t trusted my motives. I am, by default, a superb manipulator. I didn’t trust that I wouldn’t be trying to weave a secret message through my work. I tried writing a few pieces but honestly, they were awful, contrived and too controlled. And there’s nothing interesting about (my) measured writing.

So I decided I’d rather be a mastermind than a complacent mind.

Even now I’m up to no good-usually when my mouth is moving –I’m on a mission– but I won’t know what this is really about until later.

For example, when I wrote, “Fuck, There’s No Proof,” I talked about not being able to accept the love that was given—if it wasn’t given how I preferred; and conversely, when someone did/could love me in the ways I wanted it turned me off, I wasn’t interested.

I didn’t understand what I meant, only that I seemed to fall hard and even harder for those who couldn’t love me the ways I wanted, and that I ended up feeling hurt and betrayed. And I admitted to not really wanting, or willing to give a chance to the ones who could show up and love me in those ways.

But I didn’t know why I was this way.

What a mind fuck.

That post was also about accepting that there was no proof that love would last, and in the end, the relationship in question—with someone I wanted more from–came to an end, again I lost someone who wasn’t able to give me what I wanted, and again, from someone I wanted it from so desperately.

It’s embarrassing. I’m such a fucking cliché’. I am the stupid, stupid girl, the sweetheart with the pretty panties, the lacey dress, stuck in a clutch with a dick up my ass.

The lover of the quintessential (bad boy/girl) I think I’m the chosen one, the one who can tame them with my charm and elegance.

Jesus fucking Christ, When will I ever learn?

(I’m not saying my ex’s are bad people, only that I knew—from the beginning–there was going to be some serious challenges along the way, and I ran straight towards it with a sparkle in my eye and a wetness between my legs, I was ready to play.)

Oh I thought for sure they wouldn’t be able to resist me. I mean come on, aren’t I special? (Yeah, gurl, you special alright.)

Shit. It feels so humbling, I’m on my knees, and humiliating, I’m naked fingering my fleshy cellulite, and shameful-you’ve caught me in my crudeness. And the anger around it, good god it has kept me in a place of constant extremes: Extreme pain, sadness, rebellion, confusion; and disillusionment, the ultimate porn-fuck.

I haven’t written much about my grief, or the break-up. I figured you all are sick of my shit by now, and because of the said manipulation. My motives have more intelligence than my best thinking, I can outsmart myself better than any fast-talker I’ve ever met. And I’m dead serious. I can lie to myself like no other. Damn I’m good.

I’ve been telling my close confidants, “I feel like I’m cock blocking myself, like I’m not letting myself do or say anything and it’s all coming out sideways.”

I’m fed up with all this containment. However, it did buy me some time to get to the bottom of a few (more) things about myself. It has been three months since my break-up, (Might I remind you, my third break-up in seven years—winner.) and I’m still grieving the Texan, and hanging on to an idea. My idea of how things were “supposed” to turn out between us.

It’s just sad. We were so close to making it, game changers. Things were happening but it went the other way. Something that could’ve brought us closer together tore us apart. The work we were both doing could’ve made things real for us, but I guess the break-up was what really happened. I hate it. It makes me so mad: the loss of her, our friendship, our future and the loss of my ideas about us.

I have felt a lot of resentment over how things went down between us. I did that thing I do, blaming the other person. I took a little credit by admitting that I had just picked the wrong person, yet again, but that wasn’t really owning my part. That was the cheap way out, without honor.

I kept telling my friends, “I don’t want to end up here again. I just can’t. I can’t find myself broken-hearted and bewildered, it’s too painful.” I knew I played a role but I couldn’t figure it out, so I did a lot of praying, and even more journaling.

I knew what I did: I allowed myself to (knowingly) fall in love with people who, on some level, weren’t able to show up for me in the ways I needed because of their own shit. In a sense, I was just as much of a player. It was like a game to me. The classic, cat and mouse, thrill of the chase. “Oh, let me see if I can get you to give me what I want.” This, is what turned me on, this is exactly what I signed up for in each scenario that left me feeling empty.

I was playing a game and when it didn’t turn out my way, when I didn’t win, I felt shocked.

Which begs the question, why was I surprised if it was only a game? I knew the hurdles, and flags. Why on Earth did I assume it was real—that they would eventually give me what I wanted? It was like saying, “Well, if I win then it was a game. But if I lose it doesn’t count and now I get to pout and be all hurt about it and take it to heart.

Bottom line, my part: I knew what I was getting myself into, but I lied to myself about it, thinking (with me) this person will be different. Oh it’s so classic, so ridiculous and oh so fucking pathetic of me.

And painful, so much pain and grief.

But wait, clarity.

Thank God for clarity, or else that shame would’ve taken me out, but I refuse to allow it.

I knew what I had done but I didn’t know why I kept repeating those patterns. What was drawing me towards people I had to chase? (And this doesn’t mean that they didn’t love me. I know the Texan loved/loves me, but because of her circumstances she wasn’t able to give more.)

I felt so helpless. I knew what I did, but didn’t know why. And I had the feeling that when I decided to date again that I would be pulled in by the same type of person. And yet I felt completely powerless over it: powerless over my own behavior.

Oh and I  cried and cried over it and then one day it came to me, I told a friend, “I don’t know how to stop being me. I don’t know who I am if I don’t start a relationship off by trying to manipulate the other person. I don’t know how to be that girl, a good girl. If I can’t do anything to stop this behavior it must be ingrained in me. He said, “Yeah, gotta have a healthy respect for childhood trauma.”

Yes, that was it. That was the answer. Once again it came as news to me that I am still trying to overcome the chaos of my childhood. And yes, it is bigger than me. I can’t go back and re-write that script.

I witnessed a lot of unhealthy relationship behavior in my formative years. My tiny body, brain and central nervous system were imprinted, hot wired for the cycle of need and lack, lack and need, and now as an adult this is what feels familiar, this is what love feels like-hot and cold, up and down, oh my god this feels so good until it feels so bad-it’s what I know, and what I learned about love.

The saddest part about this realization is that if I only know love through give and take-getting a little and then nothing, it follows that I don’t recognize love as it’s given, only when it’s taken away, meaning if someone shows up, fully ready to give without the pulling away-it means that I won’t be able to accept it as readily. It’s like I need the pain to believe it’s real, but really, I need the pain to be reminded of what I learned about love.

I give. I have no idea what to do about my fucked up shit. I will tell you this though: this is who I am 100%. I fully own this about myself. And you know what? It’s ok. It’s ok that I’m a little dysfunctional. And it’s ok if I find myself in this same situation again. I trust, over and over that I am constantly getting everything from this life that I need. What choice do I have other than to just accept it?

I told a friend, “I’m sick of fighting myself and I’m tired of apologizing for who I am all the time. I’m racy, provocative, manipulative and irreverent; and I am that girl, the girl I try so hard not to be, well, I’m her. And you know what else? I should be a lot more fucked up than I am given my past, but I’m actually kind of normal, kind of.”

He agreed, and I told another friend the same thing, and she told me, “For years I’ve been telling you this.” I just never believed her, but  I do now.

I know I am doing my very best with what I’m working with, my life will either improve because of this knowledge or it won’t, either way, I’m ok.

I want to say more but I fear my manipulation. In my soft places I hope to someday meet up with the Texan again as healthy individuals who can be real with each other. This is something she already knows.

Either way, I know I want to be better, which means I have to stop playing games, stop being dishonest if I want to attract someone-the Texan or another-who’s looking for the same. I can’t be crazy and expect to find normal.

I’m not sure how to do this other than to keep an open mind—by checking my deepest, darkest motives, by trying to be honest and to continue praying, journaling, writing, and, challenging my beliefs and by loving myself through my mistakes.

As always, thank you for reading and for being a witness to my life.

Much love and gratitude, XO

SJ

Advertisements

About monocurious

I'm like air, forever flowing, moving, changing, gaining and losing myself, undefinable. View my complete profile
This entry was posted in addicition, Alanon, Authentic Self, Awareness, Break-Up, Break-ups, Breaking Patterns, change, crossing boundaries, Dating Lesbians, Expectations, game playing, games, grief, Honesty, in love with a woman, Lesbian Break-up, Lesbian Breakup, Lesbian Friends, loss, love, Mending A Broken Heart, Mind/Body Connection, Open Fractured Heart, painful childhood memories, Self-love, Self-talk, selfworth, wounds and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to Cock Blocked

  1. kim mcdougall says:

    I remember hitting a sort of bottom with my involvement with couldn’t stay sober women in the program and asking my therapist if I would ever be attracted to someone healthy for me. She said, “if you stay on this path, keep working on yourself…yes.”

  2. Beverley Woods says:

    Wow. That was so brave and honest and it really hit home for me. I wish I had your tenacity and your bravery to want to keep digging and to keep uncovering more about who you really are and to keep unearthing the Shannon that got covered in the shit of your childhood.

    • monocurious says:

      Thank you. I almost feel like I don’t have a choice. I’m too miserable being miserable. I’m flattered that you read my piece and grateful that you took the time to comment, means so much. Thank you.

  3. Susie says:

    Your awareness, and ability to share it in such a raw interesting way, is a gift. I am continually amazed by how much we are all still learning in our adult years. It can be exhausting and enriching. Thank you for sharing your journey.

  4. katherine zdan says:

    You’re quite a fascinating, complex individual. Armchair Psychologist says: Your past loves are merely experiences to learn from and get you to where you need to be. You may even go through a few more lovers to achieve the change you desire within yourself. You have an intense history with your mother that is revealing itself in each relationship. You keep looking for love, much like you did from your mother, and that struggle, attraction and desire to “fix” someone is all you know. That chase, if you will, is your drug. It explains your dichotomy of wanting love but releasing it upon receipt. In due time, the goal is to overcome the drug of the chase and begin mainlining the 20+ year idyllic relationship you desire and have referenced in your past posts. You are very capable of it, you long for it, and it will, of course, arrive serendipitously. Relax. It’s coming.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s