Why do some have it and some don't?

Love, I mean. Sometimes you see a couple who so clearly love one another that it's like there's an aura of love around them. Then there's people like me, people who bounce from one situation to the next, never quite seeming like both parties are ever equally in love and both in love at the same time. Why is that? What do the lovers have, aside from each other? Kismet? Trust? Perseverance? Luck? The right upbringing to find and nurture love?

I want to believe in love -- not necessarily the fairy tale variety, but the kind where you both feel your lives are better for having each other, where you're happy with what you have together, where you know that you love and are loved, where you feel like problems are more surmountable because you have each other, where there is still passion and affection after years together, where you really know one another and it just brings you closer. Every couple has problems to deal with, but how and why you do it can make all the difference.

Right now, I'm not ready to love again. I know this. I am still sometimes finding ways to hurt over my last relationship. I am not trying to go backwards and date her again but I don't really seem to be getting very far forward either. I don't think right now I could fall in love with someone new even if she was perfect. And the imperfect butch I'm seeing hasn't a chance.

I think I liked it better when I was just flirting with butches, not actually dating any to feel guilty about. If all we do is flirt, no one gets hurt. I'm finding that I'm in the driver's seat this time, whether because I'm more willing to walk away or because she's just not a driver's seat kind of butch, I'm not sure. Probably both. Either way, it sucks.

I'm pretty damn sure there's no way out of this but to hurt her, and I hate to be in that position. What makes it even worse is that I find one of her closest friends more attractive than her -- and they already have the friend's most recent ex-girlfriend in common. I'd have to be a real bitch to go out with her friend. Even as I was getting on someone else's case a bit for actually cheating, here I've considered doing something pretty similar myself. I don't think I will, but I didn't think my friend would either.

I've said my heart was broken before, and it's always healed. I'm afraid this time it's different, though, and it's actually broken in the sense of no longer functioning that way. I guess time will tell.

Two steps forward, one step back

Lord, what a ride. Today has beeen a roller coaster. I've come a long way in the last several months, in getting over that last breakup, dealing with teenagers, briefly dating a rich nutjob, and figuring out a thing or two about life and myself. Even so, I'm still having roller coaster days like today sometimes, something I went for years without having but I suspect that's a thing of the past. I just have to get used to being an emotional person.

Sometimes I think I'm nearly ready to give dating a try again. Then one of three things happens. I consider the idea of trusting someone with my heart and my body and conclude that I'm nowhere near ready for that; in fact the idea sends me to bed curled in a fetal position or possibly hugging Big Curious George. Or I'll be reminded of a past relationship, usually my last one that mattered but sometimes a previous one or one that ended as soon as it began, and I'll think about whatever hurt or hurts me about that and conclude that maybe I'll never be ready to face that kind of hurt again. Or I'll think about how far I've come and how much farther I can go with some more time to work on myself, and I'll conclude that I should put off being in a relationship for a while, maybe a year or seven.

Or, on a day like today, I'll do all three of those within the space of half a dozen hours or less. But before I get started on all that, I'll have a bunch of emails from various friends and get to feeling all connected with my peeps and have a fun conversation with one of my closest friends, just goofing and being playful and having no fear or anxiety or jealousy or regret or pangs of heartache. It was great, exactly the thing I've been missing from my life lately, up until Sunday, when I got in that space for the first time in months and loved it. And I hate to lose that mood and get into a down mood, but at least they're coming fewer and farther between and not usually lasting as long. I'm getting there.

Wild-Eyed Crazy Mary

Johnny B. Goode

Bad Memories

I'm a storyteller. Most of my friends are, too. It's something I value in a person, good storytelling and a willingness to share their history with me, take me through some moment in their life like a tour guide. All of my best memories are based on events since I've reached adulthood. My former partner used to say sometimes, "Don't you have any good memories from your childhood? Why don't you tell me some of them? You shouldn't focus on the bad memories."

Well, okay, sure. I have some good memories from my childhood. But most of them make lousy stories. "I read a Nancy Drew book cover-to-cover." "I played with the toy plane I bought myself and got it to go further than I'd been able to before." "I ate a lot of Hallowe'en candy." "David and I walked along the train tracks and got out of having to play softball."

The thing is, most of my good childhood memories are of me doing things alone, up until the point where they start being replaced by memories of me getting drunk and/or high with friends in high school. And, because of the nature of my childhood (and of course how my personality was shaped by and interacted with it, classic nature/nurture), I wasn't a happy child. I was a guarded child, a sad child, a child who felt like she constantly had to look out for herself, protect herself, make sure she got something -- whether food or winning an argument or acquiring and protecting belongings or whatever. Having to be constantly alert and protective of myself, prepared to deal with any threats, kept me from relaxing, being carefree, being happy.

Now, I'm not saying I had the worst childhood ever. There are a lot of folks far above me in the competition for that title. I always had a roof over my head, something to eat, something to wear, something to read, and I was never exposed to any gunfire or anything like that. But I never had anyone I could trust, and that takes its toll on a person.

So last weekend I was reading Hard Times by Blayne Cooper, and I came across a passage that really resonated with me about childhood memories, others' reactions to them, and how I feel. It actually applies to a lot of adult memories, too, but there's a higher percentage of good ones in that pool. This is the passage:

Kelli grimaced. "Ugh! Are all your childhood stories disgusting and traumatizing?"

Lorna snorted softly. "Not really. Even my family managed a few good times now and then. It's the bad memories that stick though, you know? One sound or smell and they come rushing back whether you want them to or not. It's like they're seared into my brain."

"Don't you think they can get better over time?"

Lorna thought about that for a moment. She knew something about hauntings of the past. "I think ... not always. Not the ones that burn way down in the pit of your stomach. Those are there for good. You just have to hope you're lucky and do your best not to dredge them up very often."

Pensively, Lorna glanced up at the small window that allowed moonlight to penetrate the room. "Someday I'll be some pathetic old lady with Alzheimer's and I won't remember what year it is or even my own name. But I'll still see Kirby splattered on the concrete every time I see an Alpo commercial."

This is what it's like for me to deal with the memories that sometimes make getting through the day so hard. I'll be working, doing some coding or data analysis or something, and maybe I'll take a break to check my email or maybe I'll hear a coworker in the hall or maybe my phone will ring or belly will cramp or I'll take a few minutes to check one of the websites I visit. It doesn't really matter what, but something will trigger me. I'll be going along with a hum-de-ho sort of mindset, just sort of busy or curious or bored or intrigued but not really feeling anything in particular, run into this trigger of whatever sort, and turn into a basketcase. It usually completely derails my concentration. It may lead me to cry, panic, feel devastated, feel overwhelmed by life and utterly incapable of coping, feel desperately in need of escape, feel simultaneously lonely and so in need of protecting myself that I can't reach out. Or maybe I do, I've gotten better at that, but then it backfires as often as not and leaves me feeling more isolated than before because whomever I've reached out to was unavailable, distracted, critical, cranky, monosyllabic, distant, or had drama of their own that took precedence over mine. Or maybe I tried to reach out, but I couldn't say anything real. Couldn't risk being that vulnerable. Whichever way it goes, it usually just sucks, and it happens far too often.

I guess this has turned into a mighty long-ass post about my PTSD memories, but maybe someone will read it sometime and understand a little better when someone they know seems to have too many bad memories or give them too much attention.

Dino kid!

This was taken at Dinosaur's 4th birthday party. She's a great kid and a redhead to boot!