Soul Mates

Alone at the homestead tonight, I have the private pleasure of reading my favorite bloggers, uninterrupted. My passion for reading "things" is nearly insatiable. I have not read many of the "classics", and while I'm sure they are well-written, I have difficulty getting past the language at times, making my mind wander and losing the focus of the read. I read headlines in line at the store, signage in c-stores and as I'm driving. (Not a great habit to have, but one of my quirks nonetheless.) I'm a quick reader, and I pick up more information about people that way... sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse. It has always been my way to escape for awhile, and a well-written book can render me oblivious to the rest of the world for hours on end. To be done only in the privacy and safety of my own home. No more sunny days in the park... there's too many weirdos out there. But, I digress...

Lounging around in my favorite USC jersey (coz I look so damn "cute" in it :P) listening to some of my favorite classic rock (radio variety - to pull out the good stuff will not bode well for my sanity tonight) it occurs to me that there is too much "fluff" in my little brain going on... brought on, I'm sure, by my latest foray into online matching services, of which I have little faith. We all want our "Soul Mate". I didn't put much stock into that when I was young (first loves are always Soul Mates, we just don't know how to deal with it, or the world gets in the way) and I've had several. The ones that you don't see but instinctively "feel". The ones who, from a glance across the room, just know where to be, what to say, how to react to anything. The ones who can see you at your darkest and love you just as much as when you're at your brightest, even more. The ones you can say anything to and they don't judge. Ever. The one with which it's just "there". Not to be confused with the one you have great sex with but can't talk about your childhood fears with, or the one you can talk to about anything except what you really like in bed and have to have there to make a choice because you always choose what they want. I'm no longer in search of my Soul Mate, had them. I'm in search of the man who is strong enough to love me, as me.

Backing up, I have come across My Alter Ego in the blogosphere... we'll call her mae... (look, I've said it before, I have the creativity of a rock... I make no excuses for it anymore - it's analytical and logical or I can't comprehend it.) Anyway, reading through those delicious archives (and I'm devastated that I can't get the links from 2 years ago to work because I'm sure there is even MORE fantabulous writing hidden there) I've found myself - my creative self. I have been completely stripped down, and laid out for the world to see, only it's not me doing the writing. It's not the to-the-letter history of my life, but there are eerie similarities in the ebb and flow of our childhoods and the pain, feelings and thoughts (only mae articulates waaaaayyy better than I). If she were evil, I'd swear she was my doppelganger (or maybe in this twisted cosmic existence, I am hers) and sometimes I'm put to wondering if we were to meet, would the heavens part and cataclysmic pandemonium rain down? Ok, probably not, but I'm just blown away.

She writes of things I've seen, pieces I've missed, pains I've squashed down into the deepest parts of myself not to be seen by another's eyes. I laugh, I cry, I hurt. I've lived the lie, I've bared the truths and I've loved 'til I hated and hated 'til I accepted.

We all have our personal hells. To say yours or mine or his or theirs are any more or less important than anyone else's is absurd. How we live, what we learn and take from those hells, and what we don't allow to be taken, is individual. Hers was horrific. As was anyone's who has been through traumatic rape and molestation. Or sexual assault and mental fucking.

I was compelled to email this person the other day. No earthly reason I could think of would ever give me just cause for intruding on someone's world, but it was out there. I had just discovered her. I was in awe, which I'm sure was blatantly obvious in my witty line of being "an instant fan". Ok, remember, no creativity and a penchant for spewing forth the unedited truth. I've accepted my shortcomings in the literary and vernacular worlds. Had I read more in the archives before I sent that stupendous piece of email, I'm sure I'd have been able to say what I REALLY meant, which was, I'm a fan of your writing style, not a "stalking you like a freak" fan. I share similarities of your past, but cannot understand because mine wasn't identical. I relate to the way you think about life in general because I have those same proclivities that shaped my world from my formative years and beyond. She delves into taboo (and by that I mean in this screwed up holier-than-thou Stepford Wives bullshit spoonfed us by the media world) thoughts and acts that I can only begin to understand. Things that until just days ago, I thought I was a horrible person for thinking, feeling and wanting.

Her freedom of expression of herself, her sexuality, her "I am me, you will not make me" posture is refreshing and nearly poetic. Those who are closest to me (and there are VERY few) know I am a very sexual person. This does not mean I am a whore. This means that I connect with those I love in the most intimate way, and that way changes with my moods. It's a switch. Hit me just right, and I can make you wobble with a flip of the hair and a subtle twist of the hip. I grew up somewhat modestly, yet there was always something a little different. I dressed somewhat "preppy", yet it always seemed to have an unintentional edge to it. This gave a lot of people a very wrong first impression of me, and yet they drew like moths to a flame. I was the one who hung out with the guys because the girls were bitches and the guys did the fun stuff. I got to drag race, ride dirt bikes and snowmobiles, learned to change my own oil and my own tires, read maps (although I did have the bitch tendency to actually ASK directions) climb water towers. I was "one of the guys" but K's girlfriend. That didn't mean I wasn't girlie... my nails were usually pink, and my hair was always perfect (except after above activities and various other "fun stuff"). ;) I didn't have to watch out for myself because there was always someone around who would.

As with all good things, that came to an end. Life moved on, kids came, guys went. I learned all about watching out for myself because nobody else was gonna do it. It's true, God watches out for stupid people, because my dumb ass got out of more trouble spots than I even knew I was in. It wasn't until years later I realized how fortunate I was to not have had worse happen to me. I learned to be still. Stopped listening to my heart because it just kept getting my ass kicked. Locking your heart away is a lonely place to put yourself, but it beat the alternative of giving it to someone and having them hand it back to you in pieces. At times I've wondered if had they died rather than just left, would it have been easier to accept? Hope is hell, wishes are empty, promises are nothing.

So the kids were growing, and I was missing something. It wasn't sex. Apparently I could have that anytime I wanted it, long as I didn't want anything else. That's a lonely road to walk as well. And if you think casual sex doesn't cut you to the core, wait til it catches up with you 10 years later and kicks your ass again. We are worth so much more than for what we give ourselves credit. Having someone walk away can have you in a shell and on a shelf. We believe every awful thing we tell ourselves and every horrid lie an angry person spews at us because it's easier than believing the good things. How often do you hear you're beautiful, kind, caring, loving, intelligent, wanted, needed, loved? How often do you hear you're stupid, useless, only loved when it's convenient for them? How many promises have been made, then ripped out from underneath because you "weren't worth the time and/or effort?"

Yes I am. It is you who is not.

Pee Wee, I was yours. I was safe. And then you started treating me like I was a stupid child, in front of people. Repeatedly.

Captain Crazy, who for all you taught me, and loved the child within, who brought out the woman who now knows what she wants, needs, desires and will not tolerate, you were not man enough to stay.

Hero, we were there for a fleeting moment. The world was ours. We were Bogey and Bacall, Hepburn and Tracy. You couldn't accept flat out bald-faced love.

And I ask you men, why do you say it, if you don't mean it? You can't take it back. My southern roots and upbringing taught me you don't break promises. If that means you don't make them, so much the better for being honest than to be a liar. Does it give you pleasure to say the words, give the hope and shatter the dreams by saying you were with them because they were there? With each one comes years of working up to letting anyone in again. We know better.

Does it ever occur to you why we have so many people in miserable relationships because everyone is too afraid to open up for fear of having to feel the pain? I'm there. You don't get my deepest fears and darkest secrets, because you ALWAYS use them against me later to bring back the pain, re-open the wounds, add a layer to the scars. I did not ask to be intelligent, open-minded and emotionally charged. That's just me. I've learned to let people in and let people go. Usually at an incredibly high price to myself. My father once told me I wore my heart on my sleeve. I don't believe that's true. After having it handed back to you so many times, you stop putting it out there for the world. And going through the motions sucks.

So tonight I ponder many things, and remember the moments with those who brought me to who I am today. And I want more. I've surrounded myself with unavailable people, I've walked away when someone was true because I just couldn't put myself out there. It's easier to live a fantasy with someone who's just out of reach than to deal with the day-to-day in your face realities of a relationship.

What are we taught? The Princess always gets her Prince and lives happily ever after. They don't tell us the Prince does coke, or drinks, or uses you for a punching bag when you're 8 months pregnant. They don't tell us the Prince cheats on us unprotected because we're fighting and they're pissed off, putting our lives and the futures of our children at risk.

What are we taught? Soap opera drama is the norm and it's perfectly acceptable. We're not all size 2. But you don't see 10's, 12's, 14's and 16's gettin' the movie star. Just because we're not anorexic models doesn't mean we don't know what to do when the lights go down. I can turn you six ways from Sunday if I'm so inclined, but you better hold my interest, because if you can't, I won't. I like certain things and if I have to repeat myself constantly because you don't listen or care, your loss. Someone out there will.

What are we taught? True love will conquer all. Really?

Didn't conquer the ass clown who re-married his ex wife because it made the kids happy, even though he constantly said "you're the one". I get the distinct pleasure of seeing his unhappy ass with his unhappy wife and their unhappy kids. I feel bad for the kids. If you stay married for them, you teach them to be miserable, stuff their feelings and lie. And don't think for one moment those kids don't know that everyone is unhappy because of them.

Didn't conquer the one who wasn't able to accept love and happiness as it was unconditionally handed to him, no questions asked. He doesn't want to be happy because with it comes the worry that he might fail. The only failure you have is that you are not true to yourself and what you want, need and desire.

Didn't conquer the need for the cocaine and the all night partying. You're not 20 anymore, grow the fuck up.

So we all make our beds, we all lie in them (I prefer to lie in mine naked) and deep down we have to learn to be soulmates with ourselves first. Then the world will open up to us.

Miss B