Needful things
That was fun this afternoon! I smiled so hard my face hurt, and I felt Very Lucky. I had fun dissecting, hehe. Next.
Why am I so upset when Ex doesn’t text me and lets me worry about him? I know what he’s like, I know his behaviour, his past behaviour with me and it was my decision to be there for him, so he would have something I never had: someone who’s there for him, supports him, encourages him and is trustworthy. I decided that, me, saint M. Knowing all too well he can be very selfish and specifically with me for some reason. Why does that piss me off? When I made that decision, did I attach some strings maybe? Did I want something in return? I wanted to be there for him unconditionally, to ‘cure’ his troubled soul. He went through some awful stuff, yes, none of which was or is my responsibility. Also, I was not appointed by a higher force to nurse him back to sobriety and common sense. He has no obligations and I shouldn’t expect anything from him because he is not capable of giving me what I want. So what do I want from him that I am not getting and what is pissing me off so much?
I want him to fix me. I’m giving him what I want him to give me; unconditional love and safety. I want him to fill this gaping hole inside of me, where there was supposed to be parental love. Someone who believes in me. Supports me no matter what, makes me feel I matter. And I choose someone to do that who is the furthest from being likely to do it. Why did I choose him?
I felt safe with him because subconsciously I saw he was more damaged than me, so there was less fear of not being good enough. He was so in need of love he would take anything I would give him. And stay. He wouldn’t abandon me, walk away from me as my father had done. He also gave me something familiar; he made and makes me feel bad about myself. It’s familiar and so it feels comfortable even though it hurts. When he doesn’t treat me the way I think he should be treating me I can lash out in righteous indignation, huff and puff and be all hurt and need apologies the whole works. Which I don’t get, which pisses me off more, til I come to my senses, cool off and remember I was the one who decided to keep in touch with someone who’d been very mean and aggressive with me. I’m asking for it. I want him to need me, it makes me feel important, it makes me feel I matter. It makes me feel powerful. I can toy with his feelings; text him daily, then if he doesn’t do what I want, or keeps me in the dark about something, which is what alcoholics do, then I keep silent for a few days, make him worry about me (‘for a change’) and act like a righteous snob.
I want him to love me and make everything okay again. I want him to hold me in his arms and make the pain go away. I want this from a man who has so much hurt inside him he is incapable of kissing or touching and fucked me like a cheap whore. He’s so selfish in bed, yet he aroused me to no end, why is that? Sex and love are two completely different things for me. If I don’t let him do what he wants exactly the way he wants it, he’ll be mad at me, he’ll get angry, he’ll push me away. With the sex I can bind him to me. Make him need me.
Why do I suddenly crave chocolate? I want to soothe myself, I want to soften the pain I’m starting to feel because of the things I’m writing. Comfort, love, reassurance. All from a Kitkat? I have a hole inside me that can never be filled. I’m trying to fill it anyway, with men, with chocolate, with praise and compliments from anyone who’s offering.
I need him to make me feel I exist. I am seen. When he doesn’t, I need chocolate, cookies, fat, anything in big amounts, to fill me up inside, give me a false sense of satisfaction, of full-fill-ment. I have to be stuffed to the rafters. I’m starting to feel panicky because of not giving in to the Kitkat. Why? I need to be full. Why? I can’t. Why? The hole will eat me up. Why? It will get bigger. There will be nothing left of me. Why? I only exist by the grace of the things I put inside of me. Okay, that hurts.
So someone’s opinion of you is interchangeable with a bar of chocolate? Yes. Oh my. So if there is no-one to confirm your existence, you don’t exist? Not exactly. I need feed-back. Constant feedback. That’s why I stuff myself constantly. Because you are lonely? Because I need to keep putting things inside. To not feel the hole. The hole scares me. A lot. What is in the hole? The voices. Of my mother and my father and what they said to me, that I’m bad, that I’m a bad person, the things, you know, stuff they said. They hurt me. Their words. I was small. And they hurt me. And now I keep covering it up with food and attention from men like Ex. Sweetheart, it’s okay. Really. The hole is okay, the voices are okay, the chocolate is okay and you are okay. Have a break, have a Kitkat. I don’t want it anymore. Okay.
Wow. Powerful stuff this.
Why am I so upset when Ex doesn’t text me and lets me worry about him? I know what he’s like, I know his behaviour, his past behaviour with me and it was my decision to be there for him, so he would have something I never had: someone who’s there for him, supports him, encourages him and is trustworthy. I decided that, me, saint M. Knowing all too well he can be very selfish and specifically with me for some reason. Why does that piss me off? When I made that decision, did I attach some strings maybe? Did I want something in return? I wanted to be there for him unconditionally, to ‘cure’ his troubled soul. He went through some awful stuff, yes, none of which was or is my responsibility. Also, I was not appointed by a higher force to nurse him back to sobriety and common sense. He has no obligations and I shouldn’t expect anything from him because he is not capable of giving me what I want. So what do I want from him that I am not getting and what is pissing me off so much?
I want him to fix me. I’m giving him what I want him to give me; unconditional love and safety. I want him to fill this gaping hole inside of me, where there was supposed to be parental love. Someone who believes in me. Supports me no matter what, makes me feel I matter. And I choose someone to do that who is the furthest from being likely to do it. Why did I choose him?
I felt safe with him because subconsciously I saw he was more damaged than me, so there was less fear of not being good enough. He was so in need of love he would take anything I would give him. And stay. He wouldn’t abandon me, walk away from me as my father had done. He also gave me something familiar; he made and makes me feel bad about myself. It’s familiar and so it feels comfortable even though it hurts. When he doesn’t treat me the way I think he should be treating me I can lash out in righteous indignation, huff and puff and be all hurt and need apologies the whole works. Which I don’t get, which pisses me off more, til I come to my senses, cool off and remember I was the one who decided to keep in touch with someone who’d been very mean and aggressive with me. I’m asking for it. I want him to need me, it makes me feel important, it makes me feel I matter. It makes me feel powerful. I can toy with his feelings; text him daily, then if he doesn’t do what I want, or keeps me in the dark about something, which is what alcoholics do, then I keep silent for a few days, make him worry about me (‘for a change’) and act like a righteous snob.
I want him to love me and make everything okay again. I want him to hold me in his arms and make the pain go away. I want this from a man who has so much hurt inside him he is incapable of kissing or touching and fucked me like a cheap whore. He’s so selfish in bed, yet he aroused me to no end, why is that? Sex and love are two completely different things for me. If I don’t let him do what he wants exactly the way he wants it, he’ll be mad at me, he’ll get angry, he’ll push me away. With the sex I can bind him to me. Make him need me.
Why do I suddenly crave chocolate? I want to soothe myself, I want to soften the pain I’m starting to feel because of the things I’m writing. Comfort, love, reassurance. All from a Kitkat? I have a hole inside me that can never be filled. I’m trying to fill it anyway, with men, with chocolate, with praise and compliments from anyone who’s offering.
I need him to make me feel I exist. I am seen. When he doesn’t, I need chocolate, cookies, fat, anything in big amounts, to fill me up inside, give me a false sense of satisfaction, of full-fill-ment. I have to be stuffed to the rafters. I’m starting to feel panicky because of not giving in to the Kitkat. Why? I need to be full. Why? I can’t. Why? The hole will eat me up. Why? It will get bigger. There will be nothing left of me. Why? I only exist by the grace of the things I put inside of me. Okay, that hurts.
So someone’s opinion of you is interchangeable with a bar of chocolate? Yes. Oh my. So if there is no-one to confirm your existence, you don’t exist? Not exactly. I need feed-back. Constant feedback. That’s why I stuff myself constantly. Because you are lonely? Because I need to keep putting things inside. To not feel the hole. The hole scares me. A lot. What is in the hole? The voices. Of my mother and my father and what they said to me, that I’m bad, that I’m a bad person, the things, you know, stuff they said. They hurt me. Their words. I was small. And they hurt me. And now I keep covering it up with food and attention from men like Ex. Sweetheart, it’s okay. Really. The hole is okay, the voices are okay, the chocolate is okay and you are okay. Have a break, have a Kitkat. I don’t want it anymore. Okay.
Wow. Powerful stuff this.
posted by M. at 1:24 AM
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