Kalamity K

The Daily Chaos of Kalamity K
2005-05-23 04:42:41 (UTC)

I Don't Know Anyone Like Me...

...who can take the words and feelings and thoughts of so
many people who love me unconditionally and twist them all
up to make them something sinister, dark and hateful.

I don't know anyone like me who is as adept and excellent
at fucking everything up.

I don't know anyone like me who is as good as I am at
picking fights with people who love me, and deciding I
know how people who love me will react to things, at
making everyone's life fucking miserable.

I was fine for most of today. Not awake for most, but
okay when I was.

I came home. Read a nice e-mail that threw my
precariously unbalanced balanced head out of kilter and
now just reamed my boyfriend over the coals for nothing.

Except it's always nothing, even when it's something.

But it was nothing. It was me being a bitch. It was me
hating the world and taking it out on a man who is
constantly steam-rolled by me. Whom I use and abuse and
treat like shit.

Yeah. Me. The girl who claims to be so nice to
everyone. Treats those closest to her like they are the
objects the most worthy of disdain on the face of the
earth.

I might not be an evil person. I might not even be a bad
person. But I am an insidious, hateful bitch who will
ruin your life - at least your sense of self, sense of
worth - and test your mental strength and push you to the
far edges of your sanity if you stay with me long enough.

I wrote in here once about nightmares I used to have, with
me being thrown against a wall and crumpling down to the
floor with blood smeared in a path down the wall. The
worst is when I see it when I'm awake.

Like right now.

I'm scared. Why does this happen to me? I'm tired of
living like a yo-yo. I'm tired of not understanding how
to control this immense power in me. I'm tired of hating
the world. I'm tired of having to escape.

To escape. Sometimes - a lot of the time - it's more real
than anything real. Sometimes - a lot of the time - it's
the only thing I seem to have.

I'm scared that one day I won't come back. Someone,
anyone, please help me. I've tried everything I know. I
don't know what else to do.

In a few minutes or hours, my boyfriend will come and
knock on the door then open it. "Good night, Sweetheart,"
he'll say. "I'm going to bed. I love you."

And I'll hate him and mumble it back and then hate myself
for not showing him more how important he is to me and how
much I do love him. And I'll hate myself more for being
too fucking stupid to be happy with what I have. And I'll
hate myself even more for everything else and anything
else I could possibly hate about myself - which is a
fucking lot if you ask me - and then I'll need to escape
again, to get lost in my stories and characters, the
lion's share of which are the sort that can never be seen
by anyone, which makes my escapse bittersweet comfort
too. It's not that they won't be seen b/c I won't allow
it. It's that they can't be seen for reasons too numerous
to lay out.

He asked if I wanted to play a card game. I said yes. I
picked a fight with him - through lack of patience - over
not being allowed to sit in my own living room. He had
been about to play a video game and did the same old
routine: I sat down out there for five minutes, he got up
and said to tell him when I was done. Makes me feel like
I'm intruding on my own fucking space. He asked if I
wanted to play cards. I said sure. We started watching
an HBO thing on Tracey Ullman. After it was over, we had
another fight. And now I'm in here railing at the world,
even if it's not really coming across like that.

He said something telling after the first one. A few
minutes after our two-minute (my? two-minute) blow-up, I
said something about it, in irritation. "I thought that
was over," he said. Right there, right there is the
primary reason we should not be together. For seven
years, I've told him that I deal with things differently
than he does. For seven years, he turns around and
says, "I thought that was over." It makes me insane.
Literally. I want to cut my arms. I want to pull my
hair. I just had a frightening image of me cutting my
face. A small fight and a small response shouldn't send
me there. It shouldn't. But it does. And I'm terrified
for the day when I lose control.

That argument we had, three Sundays ago now. It was over
something I can't remember. I left the house for many
hours, maybe 8. He got drunk and called my mother to look
for me - around nine or nine thirty at night. My mother
called me the next day at work to see how things were
going. "Not very good," she supplied for me when I
attempted to answer, no more than 3 words out of my
fucking mouth when she said it. Things were fine, I
said. He knew where I was, I don't know what he was
doing. Well, she said, I just wanted you to know that you
can always come here, we're always here, etc.

The only problem is, while the offer is sincere, the
ramifications aren't. I am so livid with my parents -
with my mother - right now, heartsick, really, is a better
word, that I could not possibly ever take them up on their
offer. I couldn't do it. So everyone gets what they want
but me. My parents are being good parents and offering to
help but know I'll never go back. My boyfriend gets his
prize, the love of his life, the only fucking girl he's
ever really loved for any length of time, so I am rude and
have to question how he could ever really know (though
funnily enough, I don't question my best friend and her
husband, who were the firsts for each, but they are very
different from my boyfriend and I). I get to hate myself
more. And more. And more.

That day we were fighting was pretty bad. I slammed many
doors. He again told me not to slam the doors and said
his normal stuff about "don't hurt the doors". The doors
will always be more important than I am. He told me to
leave if I was going to act like I was, that I wasn't
welcome in my own house. So I left. Not before we had
many other rounds of flare-ups and fighting. I was on the
internet when it started, or about to go on, and I
suddenly couldn't get it to work, until I figured out he
was stopping me by taking the phone off the hook.
Multiple times. If I couldn't talk to him, I couldn't
talk to anyone.

I finally got so pissed and angry after he told me I
wasn't welcome that I just fucking left. We had a few
calm interludes - even sat down and talked for a minute
where I cried like the fucking pathetic bitch that I am,
as usual - at least I think. The moments start to blend
into each other after a while. Seven years of this. It's
been too much. Too much. I went out to the restaurant I
always run to when I get that angry. Andrew was
there. "K2!!!" he exclaimed with a big smile when I
walked in. "Andrew? Hey!" Okay. It's like we're best
friends. I only know him b/c he works there but he
remembered my name once and it really struck me as nice
b/c I was having a shitty day and so we sort of talk every
now and then, about politics a lot, that was our first
conversation, about whatever. There's always a political
crisis when we end up talking. I was all talking to him
and thinking how nice he is and my mind starts wandering a
bit past that, until he says, "I was at my
girlfriend's..." And the door on my thoughts slams shut
immediately. Not that I should be looking anyway. I'm
engaged, remember? Except the wedding's never going to
happen. No more than he's ever going to get his driver's
licence or start going out more to give me time alone or
to be the man he used to. I just don't see it happening.
I don't see it happening b/c I think he's too
comfortable. If I were comfortable, it would be really
easy for me to not change, either. I don't change when
I'm not comfortable. Why would I change when I'm
comfortable?

We got a DVD from his sister in the mail the other day, of
his mother's funeral service. I haven't watched it all.
Was kind of stung when he came and told me he was watching
it when I was still half-asleep in bed. I immediately
wished I hadn't felt that way. I immediately understood
that it might be something one would want to experience
first on one's own - at least part of it, perhaps. But I
was stung because I wished he'd said to me, "I'm going to
watch it on my own for a bit..." I don't know. I was
asleep. Why would he say anything? But it stung me
nevertheless. I watched some of it later. One of his
sisters read something he had written to be read at the
service. In it were things about how his mother taught
them to always live all the experiences they could, to
always live their lives. It was all I could do to keep my
mouth shut. I felt like pausing it and rewinding it and
turning it up and making him listen and screaming at
him, "ARE YOU DOING THAT?" It would have been entirely
inappropriate but that wouldn't be the first time I've
screwed up like that. Hell knows I'm not living my life.
I'm floating and I'll wake up and realise I regret 35
years of my life if I'm not careful.

They did a slide show of pictures of his mother through
her life and in it there was a picture of my boyfriend and
I. I about cried. Both of us looked pretty good - a
rarity to be sure, as a couple in pictures. And I almost
always hate how I look in pictures - especially the ones
in which I'm smiling. But this picture - he has his arm
around me, I'm smiling or laughing, looking right at the
camera, and I look pretty good. It's a nice candid shot.
He's smiling, too, and looking at the camera. Together,
we look good. Together, we look happy. I can't imagine
any picture of the two of together now would look like
that. The latest date that picture could have been taken
was August of 2000. Amost five years ago. What the hell
have we been doing since then? The obituary for her said
the usual things, wife of, mother to, mother-in-law to,
future mother-in-law of K2...

I don't know. We used to be happy together. Even though
I suspect he's nowhere as happy as he proclaims (but then
again, that is me reading into things through the filter
of my eyes so obviously skewed in a negative fashion since
that's my usual bent), I do know (I think I know) that
he's happier than I am, with life, with our relationship,
with himself (as opposed to my feelings with myself).
I've never been one to spend a lot of time on girly things
like planning my wedding or dreaming about it. Never,
ever. I was too busy going out on the soccer fields or
basketball courts or volleyball courts or swimming pools
or debating or playing in five different bands or reading
books or writing essays or doing a million other things to
be worried about such stupid trivial details in a growing-
uppers life. I never dreamt about the kind of guy I
wanted to go out with or marry or spend my life with. I
never wasted time dreaming about having children and what
they would be like and became convinced I'd never get
married or have kids. I never wore a dress or even a
skirt and the standing joke in my house was that I'd get
married in shorts and running shoes. (One assume a shirt
of some sort was also involved.) On occasion I indulged
in picking out names for my kids or noted names that would
nice for kids, that I would give kids if I had a choice.
But I never really did any of that. Now, though, those
girls who did look a lot better to me than I do. Might
not have hurt me to know what kind of guy I wanted to end
up with instead of just going along with the flow. Might
now have killed me to figure out that a wedding might be
something I'd actually want after a certain amount of
time. (For the record, I clearly don't have any hang-ups
with just living together...and marriages scare the fuck
out of me...but yet, there's something in me that wants a
wedding...) I don't like feeling like I'm living only
semi-legitimately (in whose eyes? Not many people that I
know, yet it's a feeling tugging at my brain...) I think
what it is is that I don't like feeling like I'm living in
a dead end. Maybe if we weren't engaged, I wouldn't feel
like that. Truth be told, I wish I never asked him b/c
it's screwing everything up. I wish we weren't engaged
b/c this cloud wouldn't be over my head. I wouldn't feel
like this. I don't even really consider us to be engaged
any more. It's ridiculous. Yeah, I know people who are
perpetually engaged, but that's not my deal. You get
engaged, you get married, or have semi-concrete plans to
do so. You live together, you live together. I'm not of
the Winona Ryder engagement-doesn't-mean-marriage camp.
I'm sorry, I'm just not. You get engaged, it means you'll
eventually be getting married. You don't want to get
married, no need to get engaged. Especially not in a
country that recognises you are married for all intents
and purposes after living together for 12 months. I mean,
really. But when I introduce him as my boyfriend to
people, he always has to give me a jab about it. "Just
boyfriend, huh?" Or, "I've been downgraded." Or, "Is
that all?" Or he'll give a pout. I want to ask him how
many times he introduces me as his fiancée. Of course,
the big glitch in that plan of attack is that he
introduces me to no one b/c he doesn't know anyone,
doesn't do anything with anyone and doesn't leave the
house without me unless it's to go to work.

FUCK I'M FRUSTRATED. Perhaps if we engineered a video
game wedding for us he'd be interested...because let me
tell you. I'll be damned if I plan a stitch of this
wedding without his involvement or before things change
for the better. And it'll kill me when I ask his opinion
on something and he says he doesn't care. To me, when he
says that, about anything (not just stupid wedding crap),
it's the ultimate sign that he could give a shit. You
know, I get it. You don't care if we go to place a or
place b, that's fine. But it's when half of what I say is
met with "I don't care," that is becomes a problem. Even
worse when he says, "If you want me to make a decision I
will but I really don't care." Uhm, I JUST ASKED YOU TO
AND YOU SAID YOU DIDN'T CARE SO DON'T GIVE ME THIS CRAP
AND PUT IT BACK ON ME. MAKE A FUCKING DECISION FOR ONCE.
I can understand there are things about wedding planning
that won't interest him. But here's the rub...half of it
doesn't interest me but if I don't do it, there's no way
in hell it'll get done. No way. He will help plan it but
I can only foresee arguments and disaster. I can't
imagine how we'd get through one thing without a fight,
all of them caused by the bitch, b/c he'll either say he
doesn't care or will jump at the first option or whatever,
and it just all fucking irritates me. It's partly the way
he is, but I partly think it's being pure and simply lazy,
too. I don't know. Am I being really harsh? I'm sure if
my character were put under the microscope I'd not come
out looking too good, either. Shit.

Not to mention the family problems. My mother hasn't been
happy with much of what I've been doing of late, it would
appear, and I mean this going back at least a year. We
got engaged outside a Walmart of all places!, in October
or November 2003, I believe. Wait...I'm pretty sure we
were already living together but we only moved in in the
beginning of November (or mid-November? beginning I
think), so it must have been November 2003...the same
month we moved in together. We'd initially thought maybe
a December/Christmas wedding for 2004 and then thought a
summer wedding around June so his family could attend. I
had a cool idea of having it in the church on the island -
sort of brings a part of his country to the ceremony.
There's a simple but beautiful church on one of Toronto's
main islands just off the banks of Lake Ontario, either
Ward or Centre Island and as it turns out, the priest who
does the services there is one who has done some funerals
for our family before. It was kind of cool - I figure
it's about time we have a happy event for him to preside
over. He's a "real" priest, Anglican, the whole nine
yards, but he's super-cool in many ways and does a lot of
work with Sick Kids' Hospital in the city. The coolest
part (aside from the fact that I know his wife and have
met his kids and he has long hair and plays the guitar and
used to be a drama teacher) is that he doesn't through
religion down your throat. He's almost more
humanitarian/spirtual than God, God, God. The services he
did for my aunt and grandparents were unique and beautiful
and tasteful and absolutely perfect for each of them and
their personalities. I'm not entirely comfortable with
him but I do trust that he'd do a terrific job for us.

But my mother wasn't happy with this engagement from the
get-go. She says she took her cue from me - I didn't want
anyone to know about it for a while but my boyfriend said
if we were going to make it a real engagement we had to
tell people, and he was right, so we told our parents, but
I told her to keep it quiet. I didn't want to deal with
my family, basically. I don't have any brothers or
sisters and I'm not particuarly close with most in my
family though I love them dearly. There are certain
members who would hound me and have hounded me for wedding
dates in the past and wondered when I'd become an honest
woman (in jest) and it just fucking bugged me. As it was,
when they FINALLY needled it out of us at a family dinner
in a French restaurant with my visiting American cousins
one night a while later, no less than three of them pulled
out their planners and told us to choose a date right
then. The date was chosen. Funnily enough, it was a very
significant date for us, and we said yeah, that would be
cool...but of course it's come and gone handily. In fact,
it was a month ago today...anyway.

I don't think either of my parents are huge fans of my
boyfriend and since I made the mistake of divulging to
them that things haven't often been anywhere near rosy, I
think they are even less happy with him. They are always
polite to each other, but I sense tension. Of course,
there is enough tension with me around the house. But I
long to go to my parents' with someone who will take the
pressure off me, who will help me through things, who can
genuinely like being there. I don't expect perfection...
but I wish my parents would be happy to see the person in
my life, and not just be polite. Trust me, my boyfriend
hasn't helped matters, in many ways. I haven't helped
matters in many ways, I guess. But I just...I feel
tension there and I can't stand it. It makes me even more
on edge. I long to go to my parents and be with someone
who can remember he is intelligent and not say things that
are going to put me on the spot or make bad decisions and
say things about me that I don't want to be said. I don't
like having to read off a list of things not to be said
before I go. I was over there tonight and my mother
started talking about jobs again. "Have you heard
anything back about the articling jobs you applied for?"
No. (I haven't applied in months. I have no fight left
in me for this. I'm going to be a fat-assed secretarial
temp for the rest of my life and my brains will go to
waste.) "That's okay," offers up my boyfriend. "The big
application deadline is coming up soon so that'll be
good." I turned to look at him. Why did you have to say
that? My mother pauses for a minute then leaves. I was
talking a bit under my breath. "I was trying to deflect,"
he said. Don't you know that eventually that will cause
me more problems and questions? "No, I don't," he
said. "I didn't." Well it will. You didn't know that by
alerting people to more jobs being available that I'll be
hounded about them? "No," he said. "I thought it would
help." I just had to shake my head. The last time we
were there, he offered up that we hadn't done our taxes
yet, then we fought for days because he denies he said
anything of the sort until I brought it up, as I was
sitting there slack-jawed and watching his mouth say words
I would never say to my parents. Something else came up
and he said, "Oh. Cool. You can do that the same day you
take the car in." I about killed him. My parents go on
about did I do this and that to the car and have I waxed
it yet and oh my god it's 1 May, did you take it in for
the oil and lube yet (due in May). WHAT? Boyfriend of
mine, what are you saying now? Oh, he said. You'll have
two cars, you might be able to get a ride to pick it up is
all. Okay. So he made a good point. But I jsut don't
want ANY of this mentioned around them. I just...I want
to cry. I know he tries his best but I just can't see how
half of what he says he thinks can honestly help the
situation. The car thing, yes, I can see how he would
think it would help. Everything else no. I want to burst
into tears every fucking time. I just... I don't know.
Something isn't right. I was on the verge of saying what
I want, but the problem with that is that if I say it, it
will mean it's a whole hell of a lot of things I don't
have, and that will just make me feel worse, so I'm
keeping it buried for a while longer. Fuck I'm getting
depressed.

But back to my mother. She wasn't thrilled with the news
of the engagement, though she gave up both hugs and said
congratulations. When we were at that family dinner, they
bought us champagne. One called his mother (she is a
grandparent's age) - a relative who has been on me about a
date - from the table to tell her. The one who called was
the reason we ended up spilling it - he wouldn't fucking
shut up and stop needling me/us. He saw there was
something there and in wonderful pitbull fashion, grabbed
hold and wouldn't let go. Thanks. Muchly. So, when I
told her my idea for the wedding in the church on the
island, she was luke-warm at best. I tried to ask her
about why she wasn't being receptive and I don't know if I
got a real answer or not. I mean, she answered me, but I
don't trust her answered any more. I just don't. It's
sad to say, but...whatever. So it's just something else I
don't think I can talk to her about.

You know, my relationship with my mother, I don't know.
It's like a tightrope made of many threads. They are
snapping one by one and eventually there will be nothing
left. Things that should be able to repair it or stem the
damage continue to snap the threads. I don't know what it
is. But the snapping keeps occurring. I have more to say
about this snapping thing, but not now. It's thirty-seven
minutes after midnight and I'm not tired but I'm sick of
contemplating my middle-class suburban life of pseudo-
problems. It's a pathetic self-indulgence that most in
the world likely don't have the time or luxury to give in
to. Just another example of how lucky I should consider
myself. Just another example of how caught up I am in my
own little dramas - I don't even know how good I've got it.

My counselor on Saturday said, in response to me saying
that something wasn't fair, "There are people born without
legs and that's not fair...(he put in another example or
two that I don't remember because I stopped
listening...you'll see why in a second...)" That may be
so, I said, but I have to interrupt you. I said the same
thing to you a while back, that there are many problems
bigger than mine and that I should just shut up, but you
said that it's all relative. So, you can't go and argue
the 'bigger problems' rationale now. (My counseling
appointments are more like debates on psychiatric
philosophy and a study of how best to approach things than
they are actual counseling sessions - I wonder if he
thinks the same? I know a former counselor of mine
thought that...) "True enough," he said, "It is all
relative so you don't have to shut up."

Great. That may well be true...but for right now, I'm
stopping this. I want to go and write my stories. I want
to go and fantasise. This, right here, is me stepping
into my land of escape...

Until then,

K2




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