Issues of the Body

*warning*  Hormonal Bitch Fest *warning*

I hate ovulating.  All I want to do is have sex with any man walking by.  I can’t stand it.  I question all my thoughts, ideals, motivations, current life; all because of some damn hormones that want me to answer the call.

Last night, my keys ended up locked in my car.  When I finally admitted that I wouldn’t be able to get in my car by myself, I called my insurance.  They promptly sent out an independent contractor that opened my car in about 1 minute and all I could think about was taking this complete stranger home.  I wanted that guy so completely, I noticed every detail of his body.  His hands.  His neck.  His scruffy face.  His lean muscles.  His voice.  His face and where it could be buried in the nape of my neck as he pounded into me.  Oh. . . I surmised complete satisfaction in no time.

I don’t know what I was thinking.  I was so pissed off at my ovaries.  I was in a bad mood all night and angry with myself.  This sort of thing has been happening for several months.  I recognized what is going on.  I understand why I want to get fucked.  I know all about the wonders of one night stands.

Thing is, I’m in no position to act on these irresponsible impulses.  My life is full and complicated.  I just need to get through the next several days and lose that business card.  Damn.

Desperate

Out of Control

He won’t listen, he won’t clean, he won’t speak, he won’t do anything.

He’s indignant.

He thinks he should be able to do everything for nothing.

He blames.  Points his finger.

Works to teach a lesson,

He can’t know or even understand.

He’s little.

He’s a kid.

He’s terrible.

He breaks my heart, my belongings, my hopes, my plans.

Nothing I do works.

Therapy.  We’re on year five.

Anger Management, books, therapists, O.T.s, PhDs, psychologists.

Schedules, plans, charts, tests, pets.

Unconditional love.

Change is nowhere.

My heart is broken.  I have no hope.

My Family Is …

Passive aggressive bullies.

Now,  Be Nice.

Okay … Full of shit.

Nope.  Try again.

My family is full of people trying to make it.  Trying to make their life full.  Trying to navigate what they need, what they want, what changes their minds, what keeps them going, what pushes against them, what others need, what others want, what pressures them.

One wants you to visit.

They miss you.  They love you.  You aren’t trying hard enough.  Where did you get that idea?  No.  I can’t believe you thought I’d want that.  I want.  I want.  I want.  You just need to show up.  Be present.  Do whatever.  But also run it all.  You disappoint me.  You should have.  You needed to.  You can’t keep me from doing this.  It means so much to me.  Since when?  Since always. You never said.  I shouldn’t have to.  You are letting me be.  You don’t expect me to do it.  I already paid for something else.  I want to do this.  Well, I just thought you’d want to see your family.  I thought you cared.

One doesn’t want to visit.

You don’t love us.

Yes, I do.  My family is full of needs.  My family is full of hurt.  My family is full of love.  My family is full of sadness.  My family is full of shame.  My family is full of desires for laughter.  My family is full of missing out.  My family is full of ideas.  My family is full of procrastination.  My family is full of disappointments.  My family is full of borrowed feelings.  My family if full of unclaimed feelings. 

Ownership.

Questions About My Behavior

I spend an awful lot of time feeling right. I know everything. I have every answer. I think everyone else in incompetent.

Why do I do that? Why do I try to fix? Why don’t I let people tell me the answer? Why don’t I think they’re capable? Why don’t I let them be better than me?

They’re answer is the better choice. I can listen. I can let others lead.

Why do I think they need to be rescued? What’s happened that I am certain they can’t do anything by themselves? Why am I so frightened for their safety and protective of their feelings at the sake of their feelings?

I think I’m an asshole. I don’t know better. I don’t know everything. Is my behavior is reinforced? Expected?

I will not fall in line to be the way I’ve been. I will be in the present. I’ll let others lead. I’ll listen. Today.

Kicked Out

I have been kicked out of many things in my life.  Some of them were institutions that promoted love  and understanding.  I was kicked out of Brownies – that’s the step below Girl Scouts.  You know that song you sing with your troop it has the line “My honor is to try and my duty is to love?” They were loving me right out the door.

I was kicked out of youth group.  Youth Group – where you go to church during the week to hang out with others that love God and talk about how you need to be accepting of all people – kicked out.  I was kicked out.

Most recently, I was kicked out of couples counseling – where you go to make things better with your partner.  Yea, asked to go somewhere else to work on my “issues.”  I have mentioned before that I am working on some codependency issues but the couples counselor felt that I wasn’t allowing us to progress do to other issues.

I was still too hung up on my daddy issues and my ex-spouse issues and my mommy issues.  I need to find someone else to pay to work those out before we can go back to work on the relationship.  Last I checked, our problem wasn’t my dad being an addict.  Or my mom being apathetic.  Or my ex being a douche.  Now all of these can contribute.  Yea, yea, yea.  I know.  But I can have some current, up to date, complaints that are legitimate and worthy of discussion.  Worthy of repeating.  Worthy of standing up against.  I can and I do.

I haven’t dismissed the “work on the past to help the future” decision made for me.  I have gotten underway discussing all the wonderful things about my family and I feel like shit.  My new therapist has told me that I was physically abused – by today’s definition.  I am not attaching myself to that bullshit.  I got the hanger.  To me, it’s just what happened when I was a pain in the ass.  Or the belt when I was a pain in the ass.  Or the brush, spoon, chair.

I was a pain in the ass.  I still wouldn’t say I was abused.  Would I?  I am having a difficult time enough trying to set appropriate boundaries for the members of my family that don’t know what they are or give a flying fuck about them.  I am not going to run home for Thanksgiving and say, “You abused me.”

It doesn’t matter.  It wouldn’t change the past or the future.  These people aren’t capable of change.  They are nice enough on the phone but they can’t even clean up when I visit.  Or the other half can’t even call at all.  They have too much.  They’re just as unhappy as I am.  They need just as much help as I do.  They aren’t going to get it.  They don’t want it.  They aren’t there yet.  They may never be there.

This is my own thing.  I have to heal without confronting.  The response would halt any progress.  My awareness is sometimes great, sometimes lacking.  The irony may be right in front of me.  But maybe I’m not there yet either.