Michelle's House of Horrors

In your world, I have no meaning
Though I’m trying hard to understand
And it’s my heart that’s breaking
Down this long distance line
But I ain’t missing you at all.
–John Waite/Missing You

At this point in my life
I’d like to live as if only love mattered
As if redemption was in sight
As if the search to live honestly
Is all that anyone needs
No matter if you find it
–Tracy Chapman/At This Point In My Life

I always feel a bit like a consolation prize with men. It comes from having been willing to settle for being that for too long, I guess.

Having been the runner up, or the pinch hitter so many times…or as I have been known to put it when I am in a really bad place “the gash he sticks it in when he has no one better to do,” it can be hard for me not to just let that be how things are with everyone. It is what I am used to. It’s my discomfort zone.

I don’t feel like I am anyone’s main prize. I’m never the trophy. I’m the one who will do if there isn’t anyone better available.

Everyone wants to be the trophy for someone. The person they want to be with more than anyone else. The one they can’t wait to tell about that funny thing that just happened. The one they would do anything for if only she would smile at them. They one they can’t keep their hands off of.

Being an eternal consolation prize is not a great thing to have to admit, even to myself. It’s demeaning. It’s not like I’ve asked for anything better. Well, I have asked…but I have accepted so much less. I have been willing to setting for nothing, essentially.

Like patterns of behavior tend to be, It has been hard for me to break out of it. Particularly with the people who were there when the pattern was established. In order to establish new patterns, there are some things you need. You have to realize it is a pattern and want to change it. And even then you might need to just stop being around the person who you had that sort of relationship with.

It is nearly impossible to create new patterns with the same old people, even if both of you want to. Ever been around people who’ve been to rehab? They always recommend that both of the people stop drinking/drugging at the same time, or it doesn’t work. I would bet that other habits are similar. You don’t do well trying to eat a healthy diet in a house full of junk food. You don’t decide you deserve better treatment and expect the person who treated you indifferently to change their ways. Why? Because your disfunction benefits him.

They’ll also tell you it’s your problem if you are not happy, and they won’t be entirely wrong.

You can only change your side.

The thing that makes it harder than it really needs to be, I think, is that some people are really good at making you feel like you are being unreasonable for asking for more. Especially if you tend to feel that way already.

There are a lot of reasons they can give for not spending time with you…it’s too soon…you’re being needy…you’re overly dramatic…you expect too much…they aren’t ready to commit…they really want to see you but they’re too busy…or you hurt their feelings by not trusting them. Any of those things is a reason for avoiding you. Naturally, you aren’t so needy or unappealing to them that they won’t fuck you when they are in between girlfriends, or bored, or horny or lonely.

And all you are trying to do is be open about how you feel. You are trying to trust them, the way they insist you should, but your brain says that their actions and their words are clashing. You wish they would just tell you the truth so you can move on, because you are trying so hard to believe them that you really need to hear it from them. You don’t believe anything you say to yourself.

It gets harder and harder to trust yourself the more you try to trust them instead.

You are left with the feeling that you just aren’t good enough to be the one. You aren’t pretty enough. Smart enough. Sexy enough. Thin enough. Funny enough. Anything enough.

Being a consolation prize is toxic. It undermines everything you think is true with everything you wish was. It makes you feel like your feelings don’t matter. It makes you feel like your feelings are wrong. It makes you feel like if you were different–better–then things would be different. It makes you feel like if you just keep being patient, things will change.

So when you find out there is someone else, again, there is someone else every time–and of course it won’t be because they tell you themselves–instead of being broken up about it, you’re mostly just relieved that you don’t have to pretend to yourself that they care anymore. Even though a big part of you will always know that they do.

If they cared about you, they would be less worried about themselves and more worried about you and your feelings. They wouldn’t be defensive if you asked questions. They would be honest even if it meant they wouldn’t get a blow job.

Because someone who really cherished your relationship the way they say they do would not treat you like that. Someone who cherished your relationship would treat you like you matter. It’s pretty simple.

Why is it so hard to realize what is so obvious in retrospect?

Because no one wants to admit, even to themselves, that they might be wrong about people they care about. It doesn’t matter if it is a friend or a lover.

Admitting that not only were you wrong, but you were also complicit with what happened because you didn’t want to hear what your brain was saying is hard. It’s especially hard when you are trying to be open to listening to what your heart says instead of only your head. When you are trying so hard to be trusting and vulnerable and you have trusted the wrong people again.

It is the hardest thing to admit that your heart is wrong.

And sometimes it is.

Forgive, let go and be happy.
Keep your heart and your mind wide open, stay vulnerable, stay honest with yourself and others. Don’t let an occasional error in judgement impact how you react to others. Keep being who you are. Get a little Stuart Smalley on yourself if you have to.

Don’t forget to include yourself in the forgiveness.

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Note to self: don’t think that I didn’t notice that switch between first person and second person. You can try to depersonalize this if it makes it easier to think about, but you are still who we are talking about here. You. Me. Bah. Whatever.

First person or second person, emotionally naked remains emotionally naked.

Is it really necessary to have competition around living life? Live life to the fullest, says….everyone. Well, OK, but don’t look down on people because you think you live your life better than they do.

The following questions are all rhetorical.

You run 3 hours a day. I read or write for 3 hours a day. Is one better? You’re more physically fit, granted, but maybe you are an illiterate boob.

You ran an an ultra marathon, she ran a marathon, I ran a half marathon, he ran a 10k. Is one of us living life more fully because of it? Are some of us compensating for a lack of life by literally running non stop?

What if I spend my nights in my sweltering office writing for hours at a time about the great adventures I have during the day?
What if I spend my days reclining with hot tea and bonbons as I write the Great American Novel?
What if I’m writing bodice rippers while still in my Cheeto stained bathrobe?
What if I lay on the couch and watch classic movies all day and write reviews for a movie blog?
What if I just watch Starsky and Hutch reruns?
Or Judge Judy?

See, at a certain point you started to crinkle your nose. Admit it, you did. I did, too.

Every one on the internet goes on and on about living life to the fullest, but who decides what that is? We all do.

I woke up in the in middle of the night last night with an idea, tried to ignore it and go back to sleep. Sighed, and started writing it down. 0300 sucks when you have an idea, and would rather be sleeping. Some of you probably wasted your whole night sleeping. Slackers!

If I spend the evening on the deck with friends drinking wine, laughing and watching the sun set, is that better or worse than doing the same thing while hunting, fishing or boating?

Is racing my bike better than pedaling slowly down to the river and back and enjoying the view?

Is going for a walk to the park and taking pictures of the weird stuff I see living less fully than hiking in the Andes?

Some people think that no life is lived fully unless it includes helping others. Does knitting purple hats for preemies check my ticket, or do I need to run an orphanage in Uganda?

Is larger better than smaller?

I’m just asking.

It’s pretty obvious, to me anyway, that we each have our own answer to that question and that it involves balance. For me, it’s about loving the small things that happen every day. I enjoy the spectacular as much as anyone, but would really rather spend most of my time reading or writing, hanging out with friends, or cuddled up with a cute boy who smells good.

I’ll bet at least some of you don’t think it’s about balance at all, and unless you live life on the edge you aren’t living at all. That’s fine. For you. I will raise my glass to you when I am watching the moon come out and wish you well.

Talking to a friend the other day, I said something about it being a million degrees.

Then I said to myself ‘you never say anything to anyone without using at least one hyperbolic expression.’ Which, uh, there you go. Apparently I exaggerate even when I talk to myself.

Then I thought about it some.

And it is hard for me to hit the right levels right now.

I understate or overstate when I am in an emotional state. Which I am at this point. So if my flare for the dramatic comes at an inconvenient time for some people, well, it is unfortunate that they can’t reach past the personal inconvenience and try some reassurance and empathy. And while I am on a roll about it, fuck them. Was that overly dramatic? Too bad.

I finished writing something last night and decided to look at my word count. I was a few words away from 200,000. I considered writing a little more, but I was done.

Sometimes I can walk away. Sometimes I can just let things be finished when they are done. A lot of times it is too hard to let things be finished.

This post will push me over the 200K mark easily, and that is a pretty big number of words.

Most novels are at or under 100,000 words.

The Harry Potter books are in the 230,000 zone.

“Crime and Punishment” is a bit over 200,000.

“War and Peace?” Over 500,000.

Naturally, I am not comparing myself to any of those. I have neither the talent nor the disposition to write a novel. I have no illusions that I will leave my day job and write…anything publishable.

I still feel like the number matters. Why? I am not sure. I thought when I got to a year of consecutive days I would back off. Do other things. And I do. I see friends, I do stuff almost every weekend, but I get twitchy when I don’t write.

Does that mean I am a writer? Eh. I don’t know. It seems pretentious. I scribble thoughts down, and throw them out like confetti. It isn’t profound. It helps me keep my thoughts in order. Or disorder. It helps me work my way past why/how/what in my turbulent thoughts. It helps me work through problems. Figure out my feelings.

It helps me.

A few people say it helps them, too. That is just a bonus. For one thing, I never thought anyone else would ever read it. People do. Not a lot of people, but a steady number.

I really have no pretense that this is for anyone but myself.

Unabashedly all about me, I am giving myself a bit of a shout out for writing 200,000 words in around 15 months. They may not be the best words ever written, but they are all mine.

Most people haven’t got that many words bottled up inside of them.

I plan to keep letting them out. At some point, I suppose they will slow down and stop. I will enjoy it while they are still here. Thanks for reading them.

Cheers to all 200,000 of them!