Poison: The Secret of a Perfect Couple
An abandoned poison canister I saw yesterday on the street.
I have never spoken about these specific things before, with anyone.
Right now, that feels like it is making me sick.
Because these things that I am leaving out help me stay stuck re-creating my "life" with my stepfather.
I spent nine years in a relationship with someone I did not like at all.
I am sure this is common enough to hear this after it is over. But I don’t mean that is just how I feel now. Even from the first moments, where things are supposed to be doused or at least tinged in initial excitements and illusions, I was disgusted bored and disinterested.
He didn’t have a chance. No one did, really. I pretty much expected all people to make me miserable. So I needed one who would function to prove me right. And he was ideal.
I never, ever liked him. Not at all. More specifically, I was not in the least attracted to him. Really, I found him disgusting. From the very first day I met him I did not even register him. Later, when he pursued me, I registered that I found him friendly but physically unappealing and not retarded but certainly not intelligent.
It is not the case that I learned to like him. That I could grow to appreciate his talents (which were myriad). I did not.
I think, instead, I decided what "relationship" meant for me: misery re-enactments! A familiar program to settle me solidly into comforting old anxious depression-type feelings where I could throw myself into work then bury myself in my secret world. A world where I avenged myself of the pain inflicted on me by those around me. And feel righteous about it.
I lost something I was really learning to enjoy and get good at, sex. It became another way I could mangle myself.
The more time I spent with him, the more disgusted I grew. There were times, many, when I could barely stand the sight of him. Yet, and perhaps because of it, he pursued and pursued me.
I thought there was something certainly wrong with me because I felt like I did.
I couldn’t stop how disgusted he made me, so I would continue to be disgusted with him and then me in turn and then grow more anxious and do more work.
Some times it was so desperate. I searched for a way out.
To make sense of things I think I approximated the appearance of a relationship by becoming good at material acquisition and behavioral training. Of him, I mean. I thought that if he was always doing as I asked, that that would work. Then I would like him.
It had the opposite effect. My respect for him, which had never been there to begin with, grew to become a complete impossibility. He ceased to even be a person to me. He became just a dog to train and scold and be frustrated by.
It was all so tidy and orderly. Everyone was impressed. We were the perfect couple!
Now, things are not so tidy. No order to it. I have never been so terrified (and aware of it) ever. Developing relationships with people only on the idea that I respect them and not just expect them to perform for me in some way is shockingly new and bizarre.
Being vulnerable is torture. I hate it because it doesn’t guarantee me misery like being in a relationship with someone I am disgusted by did.
These relationships offer the chance, however remote it seems based on the logic of my life so far, of feeling better. Of not being able to feel righteous and wronged, but instead supported and cared for.
That last sentence makes no sense to me. But I am beginning to recognize myself, laying in wait to be wronged. So I can be fulfilled in my poisonous way.
Right now, that feels like it is making me sick.
Because these things that I am leaving out help me stay stuck re-creating my "life" with my stepfather.
I spent nine years in a relationship with someone I did not like at all.
I am sure this is common enough to hear this after it is over. But I don’t mean that is just how I feel now. Even from the first moments, where things are supposed to be doused or at least tinged in initial excitements and illusions, I was disgusted bored and disinterested.
He didn’t have a chance. No one did, really. I pretty much expected all people to make me miserable. So I needed one who would function to prove me right. And he was ideal.
I never, ever liked him. Not at all. More specifically, I was not in the least attracted to him. Really, I found him disgusting. From the very first day I met him I did not even register him. Later, when he pursued me, I registered that I found him friendly but physically unappealing and not retarded but certainly not intelligent.
It is not the case that I learned to like him. That I could grow to appreciate his talents (which were myriad). I did not.
I think, instead, I decided what "relationship" meant for me: misery re-enactments! A familiar program to settle me solidly into comforting old anxious depression-type feelings where I could throw myself into work then bury myself in my secret world. A world where I avenged myself of the pain inflicted on me by those around me. And feel righteous about it.
I lost something I was really learning to enjoy and get good at, sex. It became another way I could mangle myself.
The more time I spent with him, the more disgusted I grew. There were times, many, when I could barely stand the sight of him. Yet, and perhaps because of it, he pursued and pursued me.
I thought there was something certainly wrong with me because I felt like I did.
I couldn’t stop how disgusted he made me, so I would continue to be disgusted with him and then me in turn and then grow more anxious and do more work.
Some times it was so desperate. I searched for a way out.
To make sense of things I think I approximated the appearance of a relationship by becoming good at material acquisition and behavioral training. Of him, I mean. I thought that if he was always doing as I asked, that that would work. Then I would like him.
It had the opposite effect. My respect for him, which had never been there to begin with, grew to become a complete impossibility. He ceased to even be a person to me. He became just a dog to train and scold and be frustrated by.
It was all so tidy and orderly. Everyone was impressed. We were the perfect couple!
Now, things are not so tidy. No order to it. I have never been so terrified (and aware of it) ever. Developing relationships with people only on the idea that I respect them and not just expect them to perform for me in some way is shockingly new and bizarre.
Being vulnerable is torture. I hate it because it doesn’t guarantee me misery like being in a relationship with someone I am disgusted by did.
These relationships offer the chance, however remote it seems based on the logic of my life so far, of feeling better. Of not being able to feel righteous and wronged, but instead supported and cared for.
That last sentence makes no sense to me. But I am beginning to recognize myself, laying in wait to be wronged. So I can be fulfilled in my poisonous way.
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