Aug. 4th, 2013

tearonthefire: (me)
It seems that I'm still a little too close to the revelations I made last Monday, cause I said practically nothing in my last post. I was staring at the symptom and not the cause. The cause, is that my parents have fucked me right up. My mother's done most of the damage but my father's done his fair share as well.

They supposedly divorced when I was 4 but were practically separated from around the time of my first memory, about 2 and a half. From that time forward I looked toward my dad as being better then my mother. He and his side of the family were all brutally honest and came off as pretty rude, in all likelihood it's where my aspergers comes from or at least some general autism. It was completely unlike my mother and her side of the family, for them everything was secretive. They would be the family why'd say someone was at a spa or retreat when they were really in the loony bin.

My idealism of my father was the worst thing for my psyche. He was, in short, a sociopath and terribly narcissistic. Everything revolved around him. If he wanted something from his kids, it had to be at that moment. He took to waking my sister at 6 o'clock for whatever reason he had on his mind. Since I was technical, he'd want me to do things like; go through all the cellular companies for him, or fix their VCRs, or whatever else he wanted. And if either of us didn't do what we were asked at the moment we were asked, he'd ignore us for some length of time.

The punishments for non-capitulation were a lot worse for me. It was probably due to the fact that I'd kept coming back to him more quickly then my sister or that I'd try even harder to make him happy. My sister had our mother's father as a father figure and that was likely why she didn't give into my dad's games as quickly. One of my father's favourite punishments was to have my sister beat me up. I've been passive aggressive since birth and the fact that I wouldn't try very hard to defend myself was in all likelihood a major sign of weakness to him. But it also lead to atomic explosions of anger when someone put me under stress for long periods of time although I could probably more easily contribute that to my mother's upbrining.

Over time my dad got worse and I kept trying harder. Eventually every free moment I had was devoted to my father. If he needed cigarettes, I got them. If he needed a phone card, I got it. I even lent him money for which he repeatedly wrote rubber checks for. My mother had been absolute poisons with issues like these, because of her long list of serious defects she'd repeated say that you had to look past peoples issues and look for who they really were inside. Partially as a result of this twisted wisdom my sister, who was sheltered by my exceptionally judgemental grandfather, disconnected from my dad in high school, long before I. I was 25.

My dad also treated women like uncared for toys. For the most part his lovers consisted of worn out hookers he'd manage to get to move in with him, I'd also have to do whatever they needed to. I guess the prospect of staying on the street was worse then living with my dad. While I'd be his errand girl, they'd be his sex toys, well dumping ground for sexual tension would be a lot my appropriate.

Actually my mother and father had one very important thing in common, neither could stand being the least bit uncomfortable. One of the manifestations of this for my dad, was the constant intake of marijuana and I do mean constant. He'd have a bowel at least every hours and in most cases more often then that. He'd wake up from sleepping in the middle of the night to have his self proscribed meds. But they both dumped their stresses on my sister and I, and because I was older I got the brunt of it.

Whenever either of them had stress in their lives, they'd turn to yelling or demanding something from us. Again my mother was far more damaging in this regard but my father shaped my instinctual reactions to romantic love. I actually find it an irony that my emotional reactions to men are similar to my reactions to my mother, mostly dismissive but my reactions to women are my reactions to my father. The crossover seems strange to me.

The tireless advice of looking past someones faults and the selfless martyrdom culminated in my first real female relationship. I had, had several relationships before this point, one with a man and one very minor 'teeny' one with a girl. Actually my relationship with the girlfriend I spent the most amount of time with started shortly before my first sexual one and the sexual one was as a direct result of her.

Natalie, at this point I didn't even know her name, initiated our relationship by kissing me as everyone was leaving school. It was my first real kiss from a girl, the other was just childish lip pressing, actually it was mostly my first real kiss from anyone, for some reason I've never wanted or liked kissing my boyfriends. It also marked the end of my sanity for the next 10 years. She screwed with me every single day, I wont get into details but bipolar would be an apt description of her treatment of us.

So to make her jealous I went out with someone else. I hadn't expected to fall into a long term relationship nor did I expect her to be my first but she was damaged. It might be all the issues I have with my mother that makes me want to help people or it could be part of the conditioning from my father, either way seeing her stress out and breakdown made me want to reach out to her. But it was the conditioning of my dad that made me believe that the only way I could truly show my love, was to be everything for her and actually her behaviour was identical to my father. I'd pick her up from school by bus, I'd be home to entertain her, I'd listen while she complained about everyone in her life, and I was always there when she wanted to talk about her past.

Her thanks for my support was; to demand more, accuse me of being abusive and neglectful, vilify me to everyone, and hit me. To say she beat me wouldn't be accurate, she'd lash out with a single act and once sent me to hospital with one of those out lashings. She did everything my father did, for example I had dropped out of school and we were sudo living together, if I was even a minute late arriving at her school to pick her up, by bus remember, she'd go to her mother's and stay there, refusing to really talk to me or come back home until I went and got her. Another example is that I'd wake up to oral sex, for some the opposite of an issue but if I wasn't in the mood or I refused, she'd throw a fit. She was actually treating me exactly as my father treated his hooker girlfriends.

I turned myself into her whore just so she'd feel comfortable. I think the relationship even ruined my sex drive, before I think I might have had a somewhat healthy outlook and apatite for sex but with her I hated it. It was a chore. Now I see it as only and ends to make someone feel good or to heal them in some way, I'm basically Florence Nightingale or rather the condition named after her. I started to get really necrotic near the end to, I'd do things like secretly masturbate just so I wouldn't climax for her.

But above all, everything was my fault. Not only was I convinced of it, she even managed to somewhat convince my mother. And I practically begged my mother for help but either her advice made things worse, was lacking, or she just badgered me for involving her. I think I really wanted her to tell me to leave the girl but my mother would never say such a thing and I'm not sure why, I've never heard her tell anyone to leave an abusive relationship. I stopped seeing my friends so I could give her more attention, I stopped playing games, stopped listening to my music. Everything I'd do when I was with my dad. And the worse she got, the more I'd try to accommodate her, just like dad.

It's the height of ironic that my dad put a stop to that relationship or maybe it really isn't. He might have thought that she was detracting my duties to him, which was true. I had stopped running his errands, especially those for his hookers. His saving me from her also reaffirmed my childhood need for him. He'd saved me from my mother every time I was with him and not at home. The never ending mid-level stress that came with the heavy and oppressive air of my mother's home didn't exist at my dad's. Even my sister says that the small of his brand of cigarettes is comforting. In retrospect it was the choice of the lesser of two evils.

I'm not really sure I know how to say what I next want to say but;

Despite some very minor sexual stuff, and I say stuff cause it wasn't molestation nor do I think it was sexual abuse even though it was abusive, my dad never affected my 'sexual self'. Even knowing that his girlfriends were prostitutes and even the very misogynistic and inappropriate comments that came out of his mouth, I never felt sexually scared by my dad. He would insult and belittle; my intelligence, my attitude, my behaviour, everything except my looks. His contribution to my psyche was purely my expectations of what my love would expect from me.

My dad did something to me that in and of itself doesn't necessarily generate something negative but leads me to seek out those with problems and make myself vulnerable to them, which then leads to me being hurt by them. If I were to get my wish, I'd find someone I could forever help but whom would also cherish my support and care for and love me.

This statement seems like an ending but there's still something else and this is part of what's hard to word. I still want a relationship with my dad, one might call that desire 'Stockholm Syndrome' but I always enjoyed our time together. We went fishing, we fixed cars, we work on and in the garage, we did everything one would do with a dad and it was great. It was unfortunately coloured with his disgusting behaviour and comments and his never ending demands on me. Eventually I cut all contact with him because of his psychopathy and his grossness but ultimately it was my sister's embargo and a life change in me that really triggered it. I wish for things to be different even though I know they will never be.
tearonthefire: (me)
For a very brief moment, I thought I would get everything I wanted, with a woman that I'll call Tara. Everyone who knows me will know who I'm referencing. Tara was a lonely suppressed, oppressed, and sexually abused housewife. It's sometimes said joking and then dismissed vehemently that gay woman like to steal lonely housewives away from their husbands. Well we do. Realistically how can anyone assume someone will stay with them if they don't give them attention and stimulation. It's not a gay thing, it's a human thing. On top of that I firmly believe that all women are bisexual shading into homosexual and that the term, 'straight woman', is a contradiction.

Tara was sweat and smart and playful and she had a child, everything I'd dreamt about since I was 3. But she was also heavily conditioned and seriously damaged. She told me some of the terrible stuff that was inflicted upon her, one of which was that her father had sold her to someone as a gift for his son. I'm not sure if this was true but the fact that she would say it, is very telling. She spoke of endless abuse, all of which was being continued by her husband. And I found out latter that she was reaching out to men on the internet for comfort and support, which she traded for cybersex.

Then I came along and I wanted nothing in exchange for my support and caring. It sometimes baffles me how little women support one another in the real world. Not only did Tara speak of not just a lack of support from women but a complete absence of them altogether, something my step sister has also made some comments about as well. It doesn't however surprise me that men would take any opportunity to get any kind of sex for any kind of gesture. Tara tragically was programed to feel that she needed men for validation, support, and self worth. She had no idea how to deal with someone like me, which in the end was part of the reason we failed.

We just began as two anonymous people on IRC, sharing stuff around and facilitating for others. I'm not sure how we went from that, to talking about serious issues but when she revealed her pain, all I wanted to do was take it away. The level of of hurt and suffering she seemed to be enduring would be artistic if it wasn't being inflicted on a person. I offered her everything, to move to were she lived, to give her money, facilitate support, anything. In an attempt to keep her away from me, her husband moved them to the middle of no where but just before he did we hadn't actually became romantic toward one another, it was just support and caring. But I was giving Tara things her husband recognized as a threat to his dominance over her. It also didn't help that their son bonded to me in a very big way.

It's ironic that it was the husband's behaviour that pushed us closer together, his obstinance and disgusting behaviour made Tara a real person to me and made me ever more attractive to her. Their was a night just before she moved away that we kissed and it felt wonderful to both of us. That stayed in Tara's mind when he moved them into isolation and in isolation the only resent good memory was of our kiss. She began writing me love letters, the only love letters I've ever received, telling me of her isolation and loneliness and all the evil things her husband was doing to her. I felt ever increasingly terrible with each contact and more and more desperate to help her. Eventually I came to the point were I decided Tara needed me more then I needed anything in my life and I left my job, my apartment, and I left Natalie as she was back with me from one of her many 'breaks'.

I pushed her husband out of the picture and completely took over, and I was having very pleasant evil thought about the whole thing. I actually sang 'Move it on Over' on the way to her. It took only hours for Tara to begin acting like a real person with a real future. Her health improved, she lost weight, she was going out shopping and dinning with me. I took her back to Ottawa to visit all the people she had spoken to on the internet. And the best thing of all, the greatest thing that I loved shoving in her idiotic abusive husband's face at every chance I got; I shoed her how to enjoy sex. Orgasm for men is simplistic, it's a point and shoot interface. For some women they have to learn how to climax or maybe they need to unblock themselves to allow it to happen. Either way Tara's sexual self awakened.

And ironically it was a minor contention between us. It seems that I use the word ironic far to often when speaking of my life but my life seems to be filled with irony. My sex drive had been tanked by antidepressants forcibly shoved down my throat as a developing teenager by my mother, my repeated failures with Natalie, and the abuse I suffered from a woman who doesn't even deserve a pseudonym. Tara thought she'd be getting a sexually vibrant lover but it was my first failure to her. With her I developed my pension for one sided love making, which unfortunately wasn't as satiating for her as it was for unnamed woman. Tara needed me to be as engaged as she was but I had difficulty matching her level even though I truly wanted to. Everything seemed to start fall apart from there.

When I brought her back to Ottawa we took a lot of midnight walks, we were both insomniacs, and she revealed more and more of her life to me. Including a somewhat sudo-sexual long term relationship with her female best friend. I thought the relationship was important, she didn't. On one of these walks she told me that she was almost certain that she was going to hell. I didn't even need to think of my response.

I'd stopped giving into the bullshit of religion when I was 11, by 13 I was poking fun at the 'Jesus of Nazerus' movie in religion class and telling the teacher that I didn't think I had a bone named blasphemer. Hell however became an embodied if not real place when I saw a certain scene in 'Event Horizon' and in my early 20s I taught hell could possibly be a self perpetuating place that the energy of ones mind would go when you died. By the time Tara and I were together the only thing that was left, was years of judeo-catholic fear priming. I may not have really believed that hell existed but I really did fear it.

I needed to frame my instinctual response to her because it was a real genuine desire and not just an empty statement. I told her 'if I have any place, in any kind of heaven and it's possible for me to, I want you to have it'. When she asked me why I would ever want to do such and thing, I told her it was because I thought she had suffered enough during her life and that I would take on any more misery that she was going to endure. And I well and truly wanted it to be true.

Then the husband filed for custody and I feel certain that Tara then began sabotaging herself. The judge didn't exactly rule against her but he ordered them both to reconciliation or face having their son taken from both their custodies. Despite the lawyer offering pro bono on any further curt work, Tara gave into everything her husband demanded. She told me that she feared he would take him to the US and that she'd never see her son again. She was again shoved into isolation and she forbade me to go out to see her or to help her in any way. Her letters continued but they were full of longing and descriptions of the renewed and redoubled abuse she was suffering. Her letters were as close to anti-love letters as one could imagine, not that they were making me unlove her but they were as miserable as the others were joyous.

For a while we continued to speak but it would just dissolved into bickering, then into arguing. But my heart was well and truly crushed when our mutual friend who was also my ex boyfriend went out to see her. Tara told me almost immediately afterwards that they had, had sex. I questioned another one of our friends about things and found out she had started doing cybersex again but this time with the friends I had introduced her to. She accused me of being immature for telling our friend, who I found out she was engaged in intense, almost cybersex, flirting with, that she had sex with another one of the group. I just left the internet group that I had help start and had spent 10 years of my life with. Friends I had grown up with since intermediate school became solely hers.

And for not being able to support her, for not being able to save her, for not being what she needed, I stayed miserable. I'd remind myself of everything that had happened and of ever opportunity I could have taken to help us. I thought of all her beautiful words and how they meant nothing in the after math. I refused to forgive myself for not saving her.

I got back together with Natalie as I really didn't have the strength to stay away from her and either she had planned from the beginning to do the following or it was just a sick twist of fate, that she left me for a man and a very unattractive and uninteresting man at that. I spent the following years just being miserable and punishing myself for what had happened and it took me years to even move the littlest bit past total self recrimination.

I had thought that Tara was the only person I had ever really loved or had ever really loved me but that belief began to fade over the years and now that I realize how misshapen my heart actually is, I wonder if I ever really loved her at all or if I'm just trapped in a Harley Quinn complex.

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tearonthefire

February 2014

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