Another Relationship from Hell

I’m working on another mix CD. Shenry got me into this CD swap menage e tua and this round’s theme is mine, so I’ve got to pony up. Since this computer’s way too slow and f-ed up to download music, my resources are limited to what I actually own on disc. So, I’ve been going through my old collection and listening to things I haven't played in a while. Part of that collection includes a set of discs confiscated from an old relationship. Listening to those tracks brings back memories…

Back in the day, I used to live with a guy named Mark. Silver and Shenry will remember him. We met at ‘Japan Nite’ during SXSW. He’d won tickets on the radio to fly out to Austin for the festivities (now I’m the one winning tickets on the radio, bitches!). He ended up sleeping on my couch (I used to have 3!). He decided he was in love with me, so he ended up staying. It took me a while to warm up to him, but I did eventually. I remember being really, really sick with the flu about that time.

He was a shy and awkward romantic with eclectic tastes in music, movies, art and fashion. There are a great number of artists, authors and bands that I never would have discovered if it weren’t for him. It’s been a while since I’ve blown the cobwebs off and allowed myself to remember. There’s something about music that really sinks into me, becomes part of me, entwines my heart in its thorny grasp. Certain tracks float old memories to the surface. There are a couple of albums out there that are completely ruined for me now. There’s a certain set of songs by Jeff Buckley that brings tears to my eyes immediately. No, not just tears, complete emotional breakdown. I kind of wish I had them now.

Mark also turned out to be a raging alcoholic who liked to throw me around my tiny apartment. That’s where the prefix ‘ex’ comes in. It didn’t help that he had the emotional development of a 14 year old. I sure can pick ‘em, can’t I? I put up with that for about a year and a half. We moved from Austin to San Diego together and that’s where I finally sent him packing. We were still in touch when I got married. Broke his little heart, but what did he expect? We all know I regret getting married, but I don’t wish Mark and I were still an item.

However, lounging in bed with the earphones on, flipping through track listings for a song that will join ‘Castles Made of Sand’ and ‘Living Dead Girl’ successfully, a sick nostalgia overcomes me. There were times when I had a serious relationship with someone. There were times when I returned from work, shared a meal, and lived in committed (either definition will do just fine) bliss with another person. We cooperated and joined our incomes and had a little life. There were times when I thought I was in love. There were times when I thought it was forever.

I don’t really believe in love anymore, not by my definition at least. I’m too old for that. It’s a fairy tale that little girls dream about. The kind of love I used to dream about doesn’t exist, or, if it does, it’s a bisected version, a one way street and never returned the same. As badly as you might want to ride winged horse, it’s just not gonna happen, ever, because they aren’t real. That doesn’t stop me, from time to time, from believing that “somehow, some way, this time it just might work”. You can’t stop a little girl from fantasy. By this time, however, the baggage and the scarring pile up. You try to mature, to overcome feelings of jelousy over those that came before you. You try not to let your insecurities topple everything. You try to relax and not put too much eggy hope in one basket. Good luck.

Now, I know that reading this might inspire others to leave comments of hope for me. A little story, perhaps, about how their fairytale wedding came true. Maybe, ‘don’t give up’ and ‘there’s someone out there for everyone’. Sure, comment away my friends, but it won’t do any good. It’s like listening to eye witness accounts of UFO landings tell their stories on the Discovery Channel. I want to believe, but I won’t unless it happens to me. And trying and trying at this relationship thing, and failing and failing is wearing me out. Is there any reason why I should bother? Any reason why I should put myself through the torture and pain? How many times does it take? How many loves does it take to get to the center of my heart (that one was a corny joke)?

I remember asking a friend of mine once if she thought I was a slut. She hesitated. Then she offered, “Well, yeah, but who says being a slut is a bad thing?” Her answer didn’t offend. The probable reason I asked in the first place is that I think I’m a slut and was looking for a second opinion. If you scroll down a few posts, you’ll find my entry about “the week of the horn dog”. I like sex. I LOVE sex! Whoever doesn’t, they have my pity. Sex is an f-ing wicked cool thing. But, for me, it’s more like eating. You pee when you have to pee, you munch when you’re hungry, and lord hopes you get it on when you’re horny. That’s almost completely separate from what the heart needs. That particular organ is so much harder to satisfy. My particular heart tells me that it’s starving. I’d cut the damned thing out if I didn’t need it to pump blood. F-ing emotions, f-ing needs.

The fact is, I’m far better off not being in a relationship. Looking back through all my journals (see last post) and snapshot memories, I find that the aspects that I like most about myself disappear when ‘the new guy’ steps in. Without the conflicts of a significant other, I’m far more grounded, logical, and emotionally stable. I’ve never attempted suicide while single. Yet, while involved with a man, I’ve tried and failed 3 times. I have, until recently, supported myself and handled the challenges of daily life with a fair rate of success. So, what is it that makes me mourn my lack of companionship? You can ask me, but I can’t say, because it’s completely beyond me. If every relationship is doomed to fail, and I’m better off without one, why do I miss them?

I seem to have droned on endlessly this time. I went from music to Mark to why I’m not in a relationship, or why am I not in a relationship. Thanks for sticking around! Don’t you have better things to do? Up and down, and all around. It’s what you call a menstrual cycle. But, it doesn’t make what I have to say any less valid.