Sunday, June 03, 2007

They pay Oprah for this

I realize that most of you probably imagine me to a kind, patient, loving and occasionally amusing person – clear and articulate about my feelings and sensitive to the feelings of others. A virtual model of consistency, level-headedness and at least a little comic attitude. Certainly someone who doesn’t deserve the unfeeling sons of bitches who litter my love life.

This concludes fiction practice for the day…

“What is it you really need?” he asks.

“Not to die alone….but that’s stupid because, let’s face it, no matter how many people are around your bedside, they aren’t making the trip with you.” He smiles and nods and I continue, “I want to feel protected. Like some man actually wants to protect me. But the minute any man tries it, I wheel around and ask who he thinks he’s talking to – I demand to know if he thinks, for some reason, I’m incapable of looking after myself.”

That’s probably as accurate a picture as I can paint of what it’s like to deal with me.

Now him…the recent villain of the piece…he’s afflicted with the same damn set of emotional paradoxes. Or at least the male version of them. He's just as emotional as me too, only he's stuck with the macho inability to rant and rave when aggrieved.

And this. Both of us have good-sized betrayal issues (I know, who doesn’t?) stemming from our relationships with parents of the opposite sex. Both of us are hyper-sensitive to rejection – real or imagined - and both of us are disposed to think death is preferable to indignity. Our honesty levels (along with our tactless blundering) are about the same. Our sensitivity to undercurrents is very close and we are both very observant - except when it comes to ourselves. Our certainty that only we know what’s really going on is the same. We are independent, passive-aggressive and horribly stubborn. We laugh and cry and care about many of the same issues.

That's why we understand one another, why we connect effortlessly, almost always. Except, of course, for the times when we don’t connect and the whole thing proceeds into the toilet with great haste. And then comes anger. And pain. On both sides. Have you ever seen the tarot card, "The Tower?" It's like that when it happens. Babel. Suddenly we need a universal translator because we are from different planets and cannot make ourselves understood.

Having blabbed my own hurt and innermost feelings all over this blog, I feel compelled to emphasize now that I was talking about my feelings, my interpretation of the whole sorry fiasco. That’s all I knew at the time. And so I write it out and he, this unnamed man whose side of the tale you never hear, comes off sounding like a cad and a bounder. And it’s just that he doesn’t get a speaking part here.

Officially, as narrator and the recently distraught, I want to clarify: he isn’t a cad. My boyfriend is not a twat. And his last two weeks were about as lousy as mine. Only he couldn't talk to anyone.

Just for the record.

11 comments:

zhoen said...

It doesn't have to keep circling like that. I urge you, with all my heart, to find one of the badly named, but rock-solid-helpful books here.
http://www.gottman.com/about/

herhimnbryn said...

(((((0)))))

LJ said...

Thank you Zhoe, Herhimnbryn. Hope you're right Zhoe...about not circling like that. We're trying very hard to sort ourselves. I'll check the books.

Peter said...

Well said LJ...
You have epitomised (my opinion) every man/woman relationship. I don't think we ever get to sort ourselves out when it comes to relationships - such is the joy of the journey of life... Your honesty is refreshing...
Pete NZ

LJ said...

Very kind of you, Pete. It's quite the dance isn't it - from the tango to the place where we tromp all over each other's feet?

Darkmind said...

A 90% happiness rate is good. Roller coasters can't build momentum if they don't have downward swings. And give us a bit more credit. We know he's not a twat. Your blog is emotional and self centered, but you know...in a good way.

beadbabe49 said...

I think I'm with peter on this one...speaking as someone who has been in a loving relationship for 30+ years....we still manage to step on each others' feet occasionally. We hop off faster and the shouting is much shorter but....it still happens now and then.
As long as we're both fallible human beans, I think all we can hope for is longer periods of tranquility and shorter periods of trauma.

Mr. X said...

Is he going to start a blog as well then to vent it all?

Edvard Moonke said...

mr. x took the words out of my mouth...

maybe he can do some guest blogging here and tell us all about the beatings he receives when he opens the fridge and drops a bit of water on the floor?

Teri said...

I adore you. Your writing is so fucking right on.

I wish we could have drinks!
xo

LJ said...

D, thanks. I'm glad you added "in a good way." I laughed when I read that. Sometimes your lack of tact is very endearing.
BB - I've had placid relationships once for twice, but not often. I learn a lot from the ups and downs, hard as they are - and while I don't seek difficulty - it's instructive.
Mr. X - You'd have to know him to know how funny that is. He doesn't like reading. Never reads my blog.
Doesn't write. And he's the sort of person who wouldn't mention it if his shirt was on fire.
Edvard - I'm surprised at you. There are NO beatings. He leaves the toilet seat up, the washcloth in the sink (along with the soap)etc. and I find it kind of endearing. I am not hard to get along in regard to little things and I treat him, normally, like royalty.
It's just that we are both complicated, emotionally - and passionate people are...well...passionate.
Teri - Me too! Me too! I'd love to sit and kill a bottle of wine with you. Maybe two.