The Lies That Save Us

I went on a date once with a guy and he told me that the fact that I am so open with my blogging scared him.

I asked him the obvious, already knowing the answer; “Why does it scare you?”

“Because if I piss you off or hurt you, you’re just going to tell the world” he said.

“Are you planning on hurting me?”

He never called me again after that.

Believe it or not, there are a lot of things that I don’t post in my blogging.  There are certain lines that I don’t cross out of respect to privacy.  Sure some people will know who or what I am talking about, but those people are my real-life friends and have heard it all first hand, in greater detail.  Everyone else…well who’s to say anyone else even cares what I write.

I recently ended a relationship that was like a poison in my blood.  I was obsessed with “being there” for this person who was going through some very difficult psychological happenings, and throughout the process there were really good times.  However, there was also a lot of him doubting me, a lot of me having to explain my actions and motives, a handful of him getting drunk and telling me he hated me and once that I was awful, and a lot of me feeling completely drained at the end of each day.  Now that we are broken up he is constructing walls around me in his head, kinda like that movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.  Except that’s a movie and this is an actual person who is very openly telling me “I am trying to forget you and all of the silly stuff you put me through.” Finger pointing, blaming, redirecting, etc…Nothing I’m into.

The movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was inspired in part by a poem called Eloisa and Abelard.  It’s absolutely gorgeous, and it makes you want to fight monsters and destroy worlds for someone.  There is a line of the poem that I really connected with in regards to this person;

“Though cold like you, unmov’d, and silent grown

I have not yet forgot myself to stone.”

Everything that I put myself through for the sake of this person was very clearly linked to my experience with my mom.

My mother suffers from a range of psychological ailments.  I believe the last official diagnosis was “psychotic schizophrenic manic depressive.”  She has been plagued with these issues ever since I can remember, and only within the last handful of years has she made any real progress on the matter.

I remember the moment I became an adult.  I was seven years old.

My dad, sister and I had returned from Ralph’s with an armful of groceries.  As we approached our apartment door we noticed that it was open and that our living room was populated by a dozen or so paramedics.  On a stretcher there in the living room was my mom, hooked up to some breathing tank thing and asleep.

She had tried to kill herself. Again.

After they left I ran in to my room which I shared with my younger sister.  I knelt down between our two beds on the floor in an oversized shirt which I used as pajamas.  I placed my entire face into the palms of my hands and began to weep.

As I sat there on the floor crying I was oblivious to the lack of emotional restraint I had.  Part of being a child is acting in extremes.  Small disappointments result in dramatic outbursts.  Bubbles floating in the air result in fits of laughter.  Your mother being wheeled out of your apartment after taking a bottle of anti-depressants results in an outpouring of tears into your hands.

I looked over my shoulder suddenly, I’m not sure why.  There was no sound, no shadows.  I’ve always had this gift for being able to tell when someone is behind me, just enter the room and I can feel you there.  Standing in the doorway was my dad who had just seen me in my room.  He stood in the doorway briefly, sighed, and walked away to take care of my sister.

The expression on his face made me realize how alone he must feel having to do this whole parenting thing on his own.  Suddenly, in that moment, I straightened my back, the tears stopped almost immediately, I wiped my face dry and went to help him with my sister.

My childhood was put on pause when I was seven.

I would spend a lot of time with my mom listening to her.  It’s not something that my dad had a lot of patience for.  My dad is a laborer, and a damned hard worker, but when it comes to feelings and the emotional stuff he often struggles to relate.  So I would sit with my mom and just let her talk.  It was sometimes tame, sometimes obvious unrestrained ramblings.  I would piece together all of her stories and find tangents between them.  I would hear what she was saying but then also seek out where it was coming from and why.  I have been a psychoanalyst ever since I was seven.

It was difficult at times but I was there for her, and that alone showed how much I loved her.  We developed an insanely strong bond that remains in tact to date.  I was by her side and I always will be.

Now as an adult 2,500 miles away, it interests me to look back at the types of men I have dated in my 29 glorious years on this planet.  It always seems that I end up with someone who thinks of themself or is perceived as a “lost cause”.  I think I’ve learned a lot about my habits with dating recently and, yes, I think I have been drawn to people like this because of my desire to fix everything with everyone, ever.  I have limitations though, and realistically I can only do so much for someone.  And also realistically, I really didn’t feel right in a relationship.  Not just that one specifically, but just in general.  I have so much going on in my life right now, and I felt guilt as the realization crept upon me that I have not allowed for there to be time in my life for a monogamous relationship — and worse; I felt guilt that I realized I am ok with that.  I felt guilt around deciding this, because hey if I could be there for my mom then why not for a boyfriend.  Well you know what the difference is?


Don’t ever treat me like shit.  I wont tell the world your name, but chances are the people you’ve encountered already know exactly who I’m talking about, and I’m done being blamed for your issues and insecurities and my life style.  I never blamed us not-working-out on you, but you seem to love to blame me.  It just didn’t work out.  Some things just don’t work out.  Why does someone have to lose?

Travis and I are getting in to the Fleshbot awards and after party for free.  I’m going to have coffee with my pal Buck Angel and (hopefully!) do a photo shoot with him next week. My Swamp Witch friend in Arizona has surrounded me with wards.  Today I danced on my bed and wore wolf paws.

It’s finally over, my life is back to normal.



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One Response to The Lies That Save Us

  1. I was nine when I became an adult…for different yet still eerily similar reasons.

    I love you, you’re fantastic and you’re perfect.
    That’s all.


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